Genesis of Sky

Section 2

Cid screamed in unrestrained rage, but only for a second. Partly he stopped because he realized he was only dreaming...and partly because it made his side flare up in white hot pain. "Owwwaaaaaaaa...." he groaned, holding his side, positive he had broken ribs. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, trying to get a hold of himself, letting the dream-rage bleed out of him, and trying to hold in the pain he felt in his side...and his leg...and his head.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Shera looking over him in concern. "What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice shaking. Cid realized he’d probably startled her out of a sound sleep.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, though. He was still too busy hurting like hell to talk.

Shera started looking him over, then after a long moment, when Cid seemed to be feeling just slightly better, she asked, "What were you doing?"

"Ahhhghh, I was sleeping, dammit!" he shouted, then instantly regretted it.

Shera pursed her lips then said, "You were screaming. You scared me."

"Sorry," Cid muttered. "Bad dream."

"It must have been," she replied, "if you got hurt so bad dreaming it. Maybe that’s what happened last night?"

Cid thought about that for a long while. "Might be," he said finally. Last night, and this night, these injuries he woke up with...the very same he had received in his dreams. "Strange thing to happen though...dreamin’ about gettin’ hurt and then wakin’ up hurt."

"Yeah," Shera agreed. "Let me see." She went to turn on a light and Cid groaned, grumbling about Shera going into mother-mode.

"Damn, woman, why do you have to be such a ^%*)(*^ hen?!"

Shera shrugged as she took a look at the marks on Cid’s face. "I don’t like to see you hurt, that’s all."

"Not like you can do anything about it," Cid growled, but not in anger.

Shera huffed. "I know a little first aid...it’s not like I’ve never helped some banged up techie or a certain Captain that gets himself in trouble over doing it when he builds things."

Cid made a face. "^&%$ you."

"I love you too, Cid," Shera snickered. She kept looking, crawling on her hands and knees on the side of Cid’s bed. After a moment, she asked, "Is your leg hurt?"

"Guh, yes. Dislocated."

Shera looked at him keenly. "How do you know?"

Cid growled low. “I just do. You ain’t gonna?,” He didn’t get a chance to finish; Shera was too quick, and she did know some first aid, and had already relocated his leg.

"GHAAAAA!!" Cid shrieked in pain, "WHY DON’T YOU %^%#^&@ WARN ME NEXT TIME!!"

"Sorry," she answered, without the tiniest bit of remorse. "Needed to be done...I thought it might hurt worse if you knew it was coming."

Cid set his head back on his pillow and wiped his head and eyes. "Why the hell can’t you use materia...?"

"You know materia wouldn’t have fixed that."

Cid merely grunted; she was right, but he didn’t have to admit it. "Why don’t you get me a Potion or something and let me go back to sleep."

Shera nodded and left, returning in a few moments with a small Potion and once she had given it to Cid, she turned out the light and said, "Good night."

"Not so far," he grumbled in reply, and waved her out. Once the door was shut, he tried to get comfortable and hoped he wouldn’t have any more dreams.

* * *

James was watching Cait with a singularly dumbfounded expression. This...this...thing...

There just weren’t words to describe it...cat...monster...childish feline beast...

Whatever the hell it was, Cait Sith was camping out in his living room.

As soon as he had said it was OK for the cat to spend the night, he had launched himself at the big white winged thing he rode and undid a zipper on its back, pulling all manner of objects out of it. A sleeping bag, blankets, night clothes, videos, bags of popcorn, stuffed toys, women’s makeup...

After a long moment of awed silence, James spluttered, "What the hell are you doing?!"

As Cait began rolling out his sleeping bag at the same time he was putting curlers in his fur, he said, "Sleepin’ over. What does it look like?" The giant moogle huffed and also began unrolling an extra-large sleeping bag. "After we watch the movie, we can give each other makeovers!"

James just shook his head and began wondering if he had been cursed or something.

* * *

The next night, Cid was loath to go to sleep. He was afraid that he would dream again, dream about any number of events in his near-forgotten past where he had been hurt and then wake up hurt the same way now. It had all been bad enough the first time around, but then he had time to recover...right now he felt pretty beat up. The Potions and Cure materia had helped a lot, but he had limped all that day, and he still felt it.

He was also somewhat scared to find out why his dreams of the past were haunting his present life.

There was no reason he could think of that would cause this strange phenomenon of dreaming injuries and then waking with them, fresh, as if they had been inflicted anew. And why were they dreams of his past?

They say the past always catches up with you, Cid thought to himself, but why this way, why now?

Cid’s past had been kept secret for a long time, and now he wondered if really anyone still alive knew the whole story of it. As far as he knew, Tseng was dead, killed by Sephiroth...there was always a possibility he was alive, but that was slight. Even he himself had forgotten much of it, or only remembered dimly; both by his own effort and just by the passage of time. Was Jay still alive?

Cid growled without realizing it. He didn’t want to think about Jay, wished he had stayed firmly where he was left, in the past, forgotten.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his bare hands. One thumb rubbed lightly at a scar on his other hand. If there was any memory he wished to be spared dreaming it was that one. That, perhaps, scared him most of all. That he would end up dreaming about the time he came by that scar, and its mate on his other hand, and the other scars...the scars that he wore such long gloves to cover, so no one would see them and he could ignore them most of the time.

He shook his head, and pulled his hands apart, so he wouldn’t touch the scars anymore. There was still a reason to forget his past, or at least set it out of waking memory as much as possible. He finally lay back on his bed, and settled under his covers. He looked out his window, out at the stars of midnight, and hoped he dreamed of them tonight. Eventually he fell asleep, and dreamed...

...About four days later, Jay had gone back to work, somewhere out of Midgar again. Cid’s leg had been put back in place by a local doctor and his other hurts tended; his leg still hurt, and he limped, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to get out of Midgar and recover his drawings.

As he made his slow way through the dusty, filthy streets, he thought about what Jay had said when he found him last, about the look on his face, and the tears he had shed. It had been a very long time since he had last seen Jay cry...and the only time he ever had that strange expression he had wore when he had pulled Cid’s leg out of joint was when he looked at that one picture of Cid’s mother he kept. Jay almost never looked at the picture, and even more rare were the moments when Cid saw him with it, but Cid remembered the look on Jay’s face, so unusual, so sad.

Cid considered this for a while, and realized he must have done something that reminded Jay of his mother. Then he thought again about what Jay had said...‘that Dragoon crap’...‘dancing like a girl’...

He had never tried dancing; he wondered why Jay would say that. But the thing about Dragoons...it brought to mind something Cid had forgotten, stories his mother had told him when she wasn’t reading to him from the picture books.

He tried to recall one story in particular as he walked to the gates of Midgar.

Once upon a time, Cheryl had told him, as Cid sat on her lap and looked up at her face, so long ago that they call it legend now, or myth, there was a kingdom called Baron. There was a great castle in the midst of Baron, and as all kingdoms did, Baron had knights, men sworn to guard their King and kingdom. There were Dark Knights, wielders of shadowy blades, knights of terror; and there were Dragon Knights, who wore armor shaped like dragons and they all used long, bright lances. In other kingdoms there were warrior monks, ninjas, mages both Black and White, and once there was a Holy Knight, a Paladin who helped to save our Planet. Sometime I will tell you that story, but this time I want to tell you about the Dragon Knights.

Why? he had asked, curious, wondering about the story with the Paladin, since it sounded like it would have many exciting adventures, and she answered, Let me finish, Cid...you’ll see that maybe this story is even more exciting. His mother smiled, and there was a glitter in her eyes.

So she continued. The Dark Knights were hand picked by the King of Baron to learn the arts of their profession, to learn how to spend a little of their life in sending out magic waves to harm their enemies. But the Dragon Knights, called Dragoons by some, were not picked by the King...they inherited their position, though some young men of the Dragon Knights would be picked by the King to be Dark Knights. The Dragon Knights were special; they had talents that no one else in the whole world had. They could summon small dragons to heal them, and they could jump so high that it was like they could fly. They often fought in the air as they jumped, for sometimes monsters would come that flew, and they would swing their lances as they fell. And they all had the same name, for they all were descended, in so long a line even Baron was young compared to it, from the same father, who some say was Bahamut, the King of Dragons. All of them were called Highwind.

Like you? Like you? Cid had asked excitedly, remembering his mother’s last name was Highwind.

Cheryl had smiled again, and said, Yes, like me...come outside, let me show you something! So they had gone outside their house in Midgar, and his mother had picked up a long handled mop as she went. She had told Cid to stay on the porch, and she had gone out into the street. She had looked around for a moment, back and forth, and satisfied there was no one around, she smiled at her son again and then she jumped!

And it had been no ordinary jump; Cid had watched her, his mouth gaping, as his mother turned a somersault in mid air, still flying up and up, and he had wondered if she might even reach the plate. But she hadn’t, and on her way down she had again twisted in mid air so that she now faced downward, as if to fly straight into the ground, and her mop she held like a weapon. He had been scared she would crash, but at the last second, she had speared the ground with the end of her mop, turned down to land on her feet, and quick as anything she leapt back several feet, to land back where she had started.

See, Cid, even though they say it is a myth, it’s true...the Highwind line is true. I’m not a Dragon Knight, she had said, as she danced back to the porch with uncanny grace and lifted up her son in her arms, but I learned I could still do some of the things they did.

Wow was all Cid could say for several minutes, gaping at his mother. Then he had asked, Am...am I a Highwind too? He knew his last name was McKenzie, like his father.

You’re mine, aren’t you? I’m a Highwind, so you are too, she had answered, still smiling. Maybe when you’re older I could teach you to jump like a Dragon Knight, like a Highwind, even if your last name is McKenzie. Cid had smiled, and Cheryl had carried him back into the house. He saw his father sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper, and then he looked up at Cid. Has your mother been showing off again? he asked, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

Cid shook his head, breaking the reverie, as he reached the gate. Things had been different then, when he had a father. He had disowned Jay long ago. But now he realized perhaps why Jay had been so angry four days ago. Cid had done as his mother had, moving in ways she had never lived to teach him, like a Dragoon, like a Highwind. It must have hurt Jay to see it...and suddenly Cid realized for the first time why he had no father. It wasn’t because he hurt him...not because he had disowned Jay for beating him, it had happened much earlier, when his mother died. Cid was too much like his mother, and Jay couldn’t deal with it. He had lost both of them that day, even if Jay still insisted that Cid was his son.

But Cid had no sympathy left for Jay, if he could have ever had any. He walked out the gate, and toward his drawings, not realizing tears were leaking from his eyes. "It doesn’t matter," he muttered to himself, "I don’t have a father, I don’t want him either."

It was a long walk, but eventually he reached the papers he had left in his flight from Jay. Some had been scattered by the wind, and thus lost, but most of them were still there, held down by the straightedge. Cid gathered them up and tucked them under his arm. He looked up at the sky, today cloudy and thick with impending rain. Rain was another thing he enjoyed, if only because it never rained in Midgar. But he couldn’t stay out in it today, not without risking his drawings.

So he limped back to Midgar, and said, "No father. I’m a Highwind, like my mother...." And his face was set like stone.

* * *

The next day was a thoughtful one. Those kinds of dreams Cid could deal with rather easier, because he didn’t wake up hurt. Last night’s dream had been a little uncomfortable, a bit of a mixed bag; on one hand there was the memory of realizing why Jay had been such a bastard, and on the other...a story out of better times, something to make him smile.

There was a bit of an irony here: very very few people knew it, but after Cid had joined the SAF, someone had dragged him to one of those fluffy, floozy ballets that the Midgar Dance Troupe had put on, and after he had offhandedly remarked that he could do that easy, more than one of his friends at the time had nearly forced him to prove it. So, essentially on a dare, to prove he wasn’t just blowing hot air like most SAF kids did, Cid had taken some dance classes. While he was by no means accomplished, he had the versatility and agility, and had he wished, he could have been a professional dancer. Those old friends of his had laughed pretty hard for a while, but Cid had the last; he’d given a few of them quite a sound thrashing while dancing at the same time, and he’d gotten quite a few more dates then they had. He was glad it never got widely published that he could dance as well as he could, because it made him uncomfortable, and now he remembered why...well, remembered there was a reason outside of the usual macho fighter-pilot mentality. Although the girls always seemed impressed.

So, it was a thoughtful day. When he saw Shera later, she was very relieved that Cid hadn’t ended up injured during the night. He told her the story he had remembered in his dream, about the Dragon Knights, and she thought it was a wonderful tale. She too remembered hearing stories of Baron and the crystals, of the Paladin. Cid and Shera spent most of the day swapping stories they had heard of those ancient days.

Cid didn’t tell her about his name, however. Cid McKenzie didn’t exist...

* * *

Cait Sith wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, sniffling at a particularly emotional moment in the film he had popped in James’ VCR. Mog was sobbing quietly, his huge white body shaking and heaving. Bits of popcorn lay strewn about the room. James, however, was more...entranced? Awestruck? Or perhaps simply stunned by the cat and the moogle. He really hadn’t watched the movie, not being one to go in for what was commonly called a ‘chick-flick’. Nothing against them existing...it was more that he didn’t like that they reminded him of his late wife. Cheryl watched them from time to time, but it wasn’t that; it was the emotions usually portrayed that dredged up painful memories.

But this Cait Sith was something else. Apparently, the cat had decided that ‘sleep-over’ meant ‘do all sorts of things teenaged girls would do’, and the threat of a makeover hung over James like a dark cloud. He would beat the cat dead with a broomstick before he would let it get anywhere near him with eyeshadow.

After watching the cat and moogle cry over the movie for a little longer, James asked, "Did I make some mistake? I had the impression that you were a male cat."

Cait Sith turned to him, startled. "Oh, well, yes, I am. I am a certifiable male magic cat."

"Then why...all...this?" James asked, motioning to the hair curlers in Cait’s fur, the movie, and the makeup.

Cait grinned sheepishly. "Well...ya see, ter be honest, while I really do wanna help ya with yer ghost problem, the idea of a sleep-over in a real live haunted house really tickled my fancy. Now don’t get me wrong, I take yer problem very seriously, especially after hearin’ the details. But why pass up such a golden opportunity? And isn’t this how a sleep-over should be properly conducted?"

"Well," James said, clearing his throat, "I suppose, if you are a teenaged girl."

"What’s that got to do with me? I’m Cait Sith, the Puss in Boots," Cait answered, showing off his little red boots at the appropriate moment, "And as such I am allowed to do unexpected things. I’m a trickster; didn’t anyone ever tell ya about me when you were a little kid?"

James frowned, "Yes, a few times. Heard you were a summon too. But...you aren’t here to play tricks on me, are you? Because I really don’t need any more tricks played on me. Having the ghost of my son ready to kill me at any moment is quite enough." His voice had grown harder as he spoke, wondering if perhaps Cait hadn’t arranged that himself, if he were a trickster as he said.

Cait flicked his ears back. "No, no, no...I didn’t come to play no tricks on ya." His little shoulders slumped. "Really. I am Cait Sith, but I don’t play that many tricks. I actually mostly just play games."

"So...this...‘sleep-over’. It’s just a game you’re playing?"

Cait brightened. "Yep! Just having fun. So, ready for your makeover?" The cat bounced up exuberantly.

James’ eyes suddenly flared. "No I am NOT."

"No?"

"No."

"Pedicure?"

"No."

"Manicure?"

"No!"

"Shampoo and style?"

"NO!"

"Facial?"

"NO!"

"Therapeutic massage?"

"NO!"

"Mudbath?"

"Oh dear GOD!"

* * *

When night came, Cid wasn’t as afraid as he had been the other nights. Last night’s dream hadn’t been so bad; he had some hope that perhaps he would escape from any nightmares tonight. He lay down on his bed and pulled the covers up, and after a few moments, he slept.

He did dream again that night, but hope failed him. Not only the hope of a night without terrible dreams, but also the hope that he would escape reliving the worst of the memories that haunted him.

* * *

Cid sat up quickly, his eyes squinted shut and jaw clenched. He sat very still for a moment, except for a slight tremor in his hands. Then, with a very soft, child-like crying, he tucked his hands under his arms, hunching down and holding himself tightly. He sat like that for a long while, rocking, trying not to think about the nightmare or the burns or the cuts…the scars long healed now bleeding again.

For a while he was alone like that, then Shera quietly opened the door to his room. Cid didn’t want her there…he just wanted to forget again, leave this nightmare in the past. But it wasn’t much use to say so, because the sentiment was very weak. When Shera sat down next to him and put her arm around him, Cid leaned into her, still wishing she would go away but relieved she didn’t.

Inevitably, Shera wanted to see what had happened this time…Cid felt far more reluctant to show her the strange nightmare wounds inflicted on him tonight than he had been on other nights. "Cid," she whispered softly, "let me dress them at least…I won’t ask where they came from."

He nodded slowly, sniffling still. Gingerly, he held out his right arm, sucking in his breath when he did. Shera bit back a slight gasp, surprised at what she saw. This wasn’t like the other nights…before, none of the strange injuries had any real look of deliberation to them. But this….

On the underside of Cid’s arm, just below his wrist and extending most the way down to his elbow, several small jagged letters had been burned into his skin. It was hard to see exactly what it said, but it looked like it might be a name. JMCKENZIE.

Shaken but saying nothing, Shera quickly spread some ointment on the burns and covered them with gauze. After that, she noticed there were several deep, parallel cuts right at the point where his hand met his arm, bleeding freely. She wondered what had caused them…they didn’t look like cuts someone would intentionally make. Shaking her head a little, she covered them as well, after carefully mopping up some of the blood.

After she finished, Cid lowered that arm and exposed his left, which had the same sort of cuts, but no burns. She had half-expected to see something as bad as on his right, and was very glad she didn’t. She bound up the cuts quickly, then set his hand down.

Cid said nothing as Shera bound the wounds, just closed his eyes, trying to put the sight of them out of his mind. He hated seeing them, fresh as they were, bringing the memory of how he had acquired them the first time far too close to the surface. Once he felt Shera set his hand down, he opened his eyes again, glad to have the old scars covered again, the way they had been for sixteen years.

The two sat in silence for a long time; the only sound heard being Cid’s occasional sniffing. After a while, Shera started feeling uncomfortable, unsure if she’d overstayed her welcome. She shifted, then started to get up, but before she could get far, Cid moved his hand slightly. Just enough so that his little finger touched her leg: it was a subtle sign but impossible to misinterpret. So she stayed.

Eventually, Shera fell asleep, still sitting next to Cid with one arm behind him, having fallen from his shoulder earlier. Cid, still lost in thought, didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until sometime later, when she had begun a slow slide down and back. He looked at her, smiling a very little, then decided to save her the trouble and laid her back on the bed, settling in beside her.

Cid watched her softly, for a moment letting himself go, glad to have the chance to do something else other than dwell on nightmares. Her glasses still sat on her nose, so he took them and set them on the nightstand. Then, after a long pause, he very gently touched her cheek, so lightly that if she had been awake, she might not have felt it. He didn’t think he’d ever done so before…touched her with his bare hands…

He saw the white gauze on his hand, slowly staining red, and frowned slightly. That was why…those scars from a time when he had wanted to cut off his hands with such ferocity he had almost reached bone. He hated seeing the old, tough skin, hated the strange tingling dullness he felt whenever anything touched the scars. And then there were the letters: that…brand…mark… Cid clenched his jaw, breath hissing from between his teeth. Feeling the cold chill of nightmares creep up on him, he shook his head a little and tried to ignore it.

He knew he was fighting a losing battle…it had never been easy to forget when memories surfaced. Wearing gloves all the time helped some, but not always. With a ragged breath, Cid shifted, moving as close as he could to Shera, close enough that his head rested on her shoulder now. He was glad she stayed.

"Maybe," he whispered quietly, voicelessly, "maybe…if…if I told you, it wouldn’t be so bad…they say that, don’t they?" Shera didn’t stir, but Cid hadn’t expected her to. Steeling himself, he began to whisper into the dark…

He was fast, always had been fast…but today, he moved like wind over water. Jay would never catch him.

Cid glanced behind him, grinning viciously. Jay was far behind him, and those two Shin-Ra goons were even farther. With a laugh, he turned forward again and continued running down Midgar’s filthy pathways. There was no way in Hell that bastard would keep him from the sky, not anymore. This was the last time. He wasn’t going to fight Jay anymore; he was never going back.

He was well aware that this only made Jay livid. Jay liked to try to keep Cid in line, but he never could. The only thing that worked was beating Cid senseless…and that only worked if he could catch him.

That wasn’t happening today.

When he realized he had turned down a dead end alley, Cid was not at all concerned. Vary rarely would Cid use the physical gifts his mother had left him…mostly out of ingrained fear, since Jay was relentless about keeping them hidden. He didn’t want his son to be a freak of nature, anything less than a full man, and every time Cid seemed to move a little faster, or with more grace than Jay felt befit a real McKenzie man, he tried to beat it out of him. Most the time it worked...but only for a little while, and only to keep them under the surface.

Highwind…not McKenzie. Never McKenzie.

He looked up at the high wall of stacked metal scrap. Then he jumped, and in an instant Cid stood on a slight outcrop halfway up, holding onto the wall with one hand. He looked back at the alley, and saw Jay and the two Shin-Ra just turn the corner.

Cid let out a harsh laugh, catching Jay’s attention. When he was sure the older man could see it clearly, Cid flipped him the bird. Jay turned an even deeper shade of red than he already was, his body visibly shaking with rage, and Cid laughed again. Then he turned back to the wall and leapt up to another outcrop about fifteen feet away.

He continued climbing in that manner, intending to find his way into the next Sector, where the Chocobos were kept. Cid planned on stealing one of them and riding it out of Midgar. He was by no means a thief, in fact, he hated the idea…but he would rather be a thief than go back. He looked up, searching for another place safe to jump to…but he never found one.

He staggered, swaying dangerously on his high perch. He looked down at the men far below…one Shin-Ra lowered his fist, the green glow of magic fading from around him. Cid held his head, feeling a mist fill his mind, and suddenly he had no idea what he was doing. He thought he was climbing up the wall, but he felt himself moving downward…then he felt himself fall, and hit the ground…somehow he managed to land on his feet.

Stumbling forward, Cid tried to figure out what he was doing, but nothing made any sense. Did he want to go in that direction? He took a halting step one way, but then spun back into another, unable to make his legs obey him. Soon he fell to his knees, trying to shake off the spell, but he couldn’t.

He saw Jay coming toward him, but couldn’t remember what he was supposed to feel about that, if anything. He felt Jay grab him roughly by the arms, and he looked up at him, completely bewildered. The butt of a Shin-Ra pistol quickly relieved him of his magic-induced confusion and his consciousness as well.

When Cid came to, his fury kindled instantly. He knew where he was…back home…in his room, lying in his bed, like so many times before. He tried to leap to his feet, but something held his hands bound. He looked up at his hands and saw they were handcuffed to the spindles of his headboard. He yanked on the metal cuffs, but they didn’t yield. He’d been caught… Shaking his fists, Cid screamed his frustration.

Then he heard hard footfalls coming into his room, and he glared harshly in their direction. It was Jay, just as he expected, and just as he expected the older man was nearly incoherent with fury. Cid bared his teeth at him.

Jay stalked over to Cid’s side and glared down at him with a heat he had rarely seen. It didn’t scare him, however…he had long since learned what Jay’s anger meant, and he could handle it. Cid hissed, "What the ^$%$ are you going to do? Not a damn thing you do will make any $$^#*&% difference, and you’ll burn in Hell for it Jay!"

Jay’s jaw clenched even tighter than before, and Cid could see him beginning to reach the breaking point. Jay grabbed Cid’s jaw, clenching his fingers so tightly there would be bruises later. "You will address me as your father, or so help me, I’ll make sure you never forget." Jay’s voice was very low and surprisingly calm, the voice of someone dangerously angry.

Cid just glared back, his blue eyes defiant. "Like hell I will. I don’t have a ^$$#**$ father."

Jay’s grip moved from Cid’s jaw to his throat, his grip tight. "You are mine Cid McKenzie, you worthless piece of ^%$#." His large fingers tightened, choking Cid.

Cid had just enough breath to gasp out, "H-high…ghh…win..nd." Jay shouted in incoherent rage and let Cid go, stomping out of the room. Cid called loudly after him, "^%#^%%$, you mean NOTHING to me! You’re no one, nothing but a cowardly %^#^! You can’t &^%$%& control me any more than you can catch the wind!"

Cid continued shouting curses at Jay, until he came back several minutes later. His eyebrows came together in curiosity, wondering what Jay brought back with him. The older man looked back at Cid, and there was a dark glint in his eyes that Cid didn’t care for. He watched in concern as Jay took a hammer and used it to tack a large nail to the windowsill near the bed.

When Jay turned and unlocked the handcuff holding Cid’s right hand, Cid immediately tried to stand and get away from Jay, but the older man was too quick. With Cid still struggling fiercely, Jay managed to wrap a belt around his wrist and yank it tight. Then he hooked the belt to the nail, pulling Cid’s arm to the side and holding it securely palm up. Cid tried to pull on it, but could only flex his arm a very little bit. "What are you gonna do, &^%$#$^&*%#@#?" he asked loudly, but he was scared to find out. Jay hurt him often, but not with such purpose…

As Jay bent the nail down with a quick blow of his hammer, he looked back at Cid and said, "Make sure you remember who you are." His voice was cold, and Cid shuddered involuntarily. He watched Jay pick up the fireplace poker they kept in the front room, and set it so the top was standing in front of the window. Then he picked up a blowtorch he had brought in, and lit it, applying the blue-hot flame to the tip of the poker.

"What are you gonna do?" Cid whispered quietly, as the fire heated the metal poker until it shone with a red glow.

Jay picked up the poker from the handle, then held it just over Cid’s arm. The younger man could feel the heat coming off the hot metal. Jay clenched his jaw and after a second, he began burning marks into Cid’s arm.

Immediately Cid stiffened in pain, but he didn’t make a sound. Not at first…he didn’t want to give Jay the satisfaction…but it wasn’t until after that he realized he had been screaming. Every few minutes, Jay would reheat the iron, then go back to carefully burning marks into his son’s flesh.

When Jay was finished, he set the poker against the wall and pried the nail out of the sill. Cid just lay there in shock, his breath catching in quiet sobs, tears flowing and his throat sore. Jay pulled the belt off Cid’s arm and held it by the wrist, not touching any of the marks. He held his arm so Cid could see his handiwork.

"What does it say," Jay asked, his voice almost devoid of emotion.

After a moment to recover, Cid looked at the marks…it was a brand he realized, and he was so angry and hurt he could hardly see. He closed his eyes and hissed faintly, "I’m Cid Highwind…." Now more than ever before he knew he would rather die than take Jay’s name.

"WHAT DOES IT SAY!" Jay screamed. Then, in a quieter voice, "If you can’t read it…you have two arms…."

Cid’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Jay. He shook his head, almost disbelieving…but the sharp, hot pain in his arm wouldn’t let him. Nearly choking on his hate, he spat out finally, "It says J. McKenzie."

"That’s right," Jay whispered, "and what does that mean?"

He knew what Jay was after, but he would not bow. "HIGHWIND!!" Cid cried at the top of his lungs, tearing at his already sore throat, unwilling to let anything else pass his lips. He was his mother’s son…he had no father. "I AM CID HIGHWIND! YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT FROM ME!!"

Jay grabbed Cid’s arm with his other hand, closing his fingers over the burns and eliciting a stifled cry from his son. He roughly pushed Cid’s arm down and again secured the handcuff around his wrist. He looked down at him in rage, but he restrained it, for the first time in a long time. Then he spoke, biting off the words harshly. "I’m going to work now. I’ll be back tonight. And if you can’t remember who you are and whose son you are by then, I can make you another reminder." After that he stalked out of the room and slammed the door.

As soon as Cid heard Jay close the front door, he screamed out all the pent up rage and pain he felt, pulling at his restraints powerlessly.

One thing was for certain however: he was Cid Highwind, and nothing in heaven or hell would change that.

Cid had been thinking about it for most of the day, thinking about what he could say to keep Jay from branding him again and yet not give up what he felt was his birthright. His mother’s name…one that fit him so well…and his mother’s dynasty as a descendent of the Dragoons. That fit him as well, and he enjoyed the uncanny grace she had blessed him with.

He looked at the letters burned forever into his arm, blinking back tears, unable to ignore the fierce pain. He wanted to wipe away other dry tears that traced his cheeks, but he couldn’t, not trapped like he was. "What am I going to say?" he asked himself for the hundredth time, but he still had no answer.

Time slipped by, day going into night, with nothing but the dim lights of Midgar to mark it by. Cid was getting nervous, anticipating Jay’s return and dreading what he would do when he arrived. He absently chewed on his lip, half hoping Jay would come home soon and let him up…he was getting hungry.

As it turned out, Jay didn’t make it home that day. Cid lay on his bed all night, then all the next day, hungry and thirsty and nerve wracked.

He began pulling harder at the handcuffs, trying to squeeze his hands through, but to no avail. As day turned into night again, he began feeling desperate. He tried to swallow back more tears, but his throat was too dry to do it. At this point, he felt like he would sell his soul for a glass of water…there was no telling when Jay would be back…

Another day came and another night. By now Cid was not really aware of it, as things that couldn’t be real kept wandering about and his senses and his thinking was far too clouded. He was having trouble breathing through his nose; apparently, it had started bleeding heavily sometime the day before. He was so thirsty he had totally forgotten to be hungry, and when he looked at the handcuffs holding him he thought it perfectly reasonable that this was merely a puzzle to be solved. The best solution he could find was to cut his hands off, so he went about rubbing and pulling and scraping his wrists against the metal bands with singular determination.

He didn’t feel it when the edges of the cuffs finally cut into his skin and he started bleeding or when bits of his abused flesh dropped off, but eventually he gave up that tactic anyway. He had forgotten what he was doing and why.

He didn’t know if he had fallen asleep and started dreaming…but there was someone here, someone that touched him kindly… He tried to see her, but his sight was too dim. He heard her, and clung to that soft, low voice…he even felt cold water on his lips…but it was a mirage just like the rest. He smiled a little even so; at least she tried…

Everything hurt, but he wasn’t really aware of it. Breath was hot, and his skin was cold. It would be nice to get up…

Some indeterminate time later, Cid heard something, a regular rhythm, a thump, thump, thump, and it took several seconds for him to realize it was footsteps. Another voice, deeper…it…harsh…he didn’t like it… Was it sad? He felt his hands lower slightly and his cold fingers curl up…then a stinging pain that took forever to register. A little clinking, like metal against metal, and the sound of tears…he cried tearlessly, having long run out of tears to shed, but was that an answering sob? The thumping again…growing softer.

Without warning, molten hot fury coursed through his icy body, energy flowing into him from nowhere. Cid stood on shaky legs, his head hanging forward…but somehow he managed to grab the fire poker on the wall and carry it out into the front room. He could hardly see, but his dim sight took in enough. It was him…Jay…that man who left him…standing in the middle of the room…was he crying?

No matter… Cid lifted the poker over his head in one hand, then with a strength he should not have possessed, brought it down and across Jay’s back, gouging a long slash and causing him to cry out and stumble forward. The older man turned around just in time to see the metal come down a second time, across his face, taking a chunk of flesh with it.

Jay fell back, clutching his torn cheek, looking up at Cid, fear written in his dark eyes, but Cid’s held little expression. Again he swung the poker, striking Jay across the face a second time. He tried to back away, but Cid’s blows came faster. Now holding the poker as if it was a spear, Cid stabbed it into his father’s stomach and yanking it out with unnatural force. Jay made a choking, pained moaning noise as he saw some of his intestines being pulled out on the hook of the poker. Another strike to his arm broke it with a loud crunch.

Cid continued his assault, striking Jay at least a dozen more times, breaking more bones and ripping more bits of skin from his body. Then, as suddenly as it came, the strange energy bled out of him, and he dropped the poker on the ground. Jay was unconscious, with wounds that were very likely fatal. Cid saw the gore he had made, and felt nothing. Just before he too fell to the floor, he remembered the brand on his arm and the last four days, just well enough to grin slightly, coldly, thinking his rage justified. Then he knew nothing but the dark.

Go on to Section 3