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Vanya Hargreeves lands in Dallas, Texas, October 12, 1963. Her world is gone, ceasing to exist, and a new one begins as she falls through the air.
Her brain is scrambled, her mind muddled as she goes crashing face-first into the dark cement. She groans, struggling to stand before she manages to pull herself up. Her head is pounding, and she is gasping, unable to steady her breathing as she breaks away from the blue hole just a short distance away.
Air pulsates around her, pushing her further and further into where she knows cars are located, can hear the rubber push and pull against gravel, can feel the large variety of steps that walk closer, farther, in every direction around her.
Everything is so loud, so bright, and Vanya squints, the sunlight leaving her blinded. She walks, letting her feet carry her as she grips the side of her head. Her knees ache from the impact, and she’s sure something's cracked, but as she walks, thoughts swirling, a mess in her cerebrum, while a horn honks, filling her ears.
She is hit head-on, sent flying a few feet away onto the hard gravel of the street. Vanya groans, dazed as she lies there, for her body has already given out, her energy depleted. The slam of a car door reaches her ears and in a moment, two figures are towering over her, staring her down.
“Son of a biscuit.” A voice comes, soft and sweet but irritated, and as the sun shines on in the distance, Vanya moans, gasping out, before her vision fades to black.
Vanya wakes, wincing as bright light hits her eyes. She groans, gasping as pain passes through her, shooting throughout her limbs to her back and then to her legs. She wants to scream but finds that she can’t, her voice coarse as she sits up.
Suddenly, there is someone besides her, and Vanya flinches, just noticing their presence, and as Vanya turns, frightened as tension builds up around her, she finds a blonde woman, one with deep blue eyes and thin pink lips.
She is easily one of the prettiest people Vanya has ever met, for her hair is spun like gold silk, glimmering in the natural light that pours in from the window, and her skin is tight, smooth and beige, tanned just right under the summer sun, and her brows, filled and arched bring out the black of her eyelashes, umbrellas to her orbs in which hold the sea.
The woman gapes, before jumping up, flailing as she reaches for a clear glass cup on the dresser. She pushes the cup towards Vanya, practically shoving the glass into her face, “Drink.”
Vanya nods, feeling out of place. — I mean, who wouldn’t feel out of place when they wake up in a foreign home? —She takes the cup from the woman’s face, her own calloused fingers meeting smooth but overworked hands. She’s warm, Vanya notes, the woman is so warm compared to Vanya’s cold, and for a second, Vanya revels in it, basking in this strangers’ heat.
She takes a sip, allowing the water to fall down her throat, past her esophagus, and enter her stomach, and before she knows it, the entire cup is empty, the liquid gone. The woman laughs, taking the cup and setting it on the dresser before situating herself in the chair once more.
Vanya stares, scanning her features, tracing the wrinkle in her forehead and the bridge of her nose and the light line of her lips. Yeah, Vanya finds she is extremely pretty. The woman clears her throat, meeting Vanya’s eyes before she drops her gaze. Vanya blushes, suddenly embarrassed, and she fiddles with her fingers, nervous, “Thank you.”
The woman nods, sticking a hand out in a second, and she speaks, introducing herself, “Sissy Cooper, at your service.”
“Vanya.” She nods, accepting the gesture as she links their hands together.
“Well, Vanya. ‘S pleasure” Sissy smiles, tilting her head, and in her, Vanya sees someone familiar. Someone she can’t quite place a finger on.
Vanya hums in response, a quick approval as she takes in the room around her. An awkward silence befalls the two, hanging in the air, and as Vanya peers over the room, eyes ducking to the door, then to the walls, and then to the floor. She feels Sissy’s eyes on her, following Vanya’s every move.
She clears her throat again, tossing a perfect curl over her shoulder as she speaks, “Do you… Do you remember anything?”
“How you hit me with your car?” Vanya chuckles, raising a playing brow, feeling bold. “I’m sure it’s embedded in me now.”
Sissy, however, does not get the joke, jumping up as she grips Vanya’s shoulders. She rocks the brown-haired girl back and forth, frightened ocean blue meeting confused russet as Sissy apologizes profusely, “I am so sorry! Do you need to visit a hospital?! I don’t mind driving!”
“It was a joke, uh.” Vanya laughs nervously, peeling Sissy’s strong fingers away as she reassures the blonde, “It’s fine, really.”
“Well, you remember anything? Anything at all?” She pressures and Vanya groans quietly, slumping over slightly in her spot on the mattress.
Vanya wracks her brain, pushing past the barrier in her mind, struggling against the blockage for a couple seconds, until she remembers, the thoughts rushing in, and she fucking bursts.
Not literally, of course, for if she did, there would be nothing left of this world. And that is exactly the problem. The visions come rushing in, of Leonard’s careful manipulation, twisting and coiling her until she was but a weapon made for destruction, of slicing Allison’s throat, a clean, fatal blow, of Luther’s arms around her, squeezing until she could no longer breathe, of Diego and Klaus, staring at her, unmoving as they watch her scream against indestructible glass, of ending the world in a beam of light and a deadly impact.
She destroyed the world.
Vanya was the reaper of the apocalypse, the one that ripped Five away from her so many years ago. She has the harbinger of death, the looming threat that had the Academy running around in circles. She was a ticking time bomb, edging closer and closer to erupting.
Suddenly, it's as though she can’t breathe, her eyes filled with tears as her chest tightens. Vanya’s sobbing, fat tears flowing down her cheeks, and soon, her cries are growing louder in volume, so loud that she’s practically screaming. Sissy grabs a hold of her, a hold that Vanya throws off, because Sissy is burning and Vanya is freezing, trapped behind the bars of her own mind. The touch is too much, so much to handle as her heart pounds, and Vanya claws at her chest, cursing, apologizing to people that are no longer there.
They’re dead. All of them. All seven point eight billion people, people with their own lives, their own homes and families and needs and wants and- who the fuck was Vanya to end all of that? They’re all gone. Her siblings. Her father. Her mother. Pogo. All of them reduced to ash and dust and memories that only she would carry.
Sissy is gone now too, followed by the soft click of the door behind her, the noise flooding Vanya’s ears as the tears escape her. Everything is so loud, too loud, so loud, and Vanya wants to scream, words of helpless apology falling from her lips instead, the names of her siblings following just shortly after. Luther. Deigo. Allison. Klaus. Ben. Five-
Vanya cries, curling into herself as she drops to the mattress, brown locks flying around her. The bed shakes just a little, and in the back of her mind, the walls move just a little more too.
Vanya sobs, and Vanya remembers .
Vanya has grieved before. Ben, for one. Five, for two, but she supposes that doesn’t really count. Or well, didn’t count. It counts now, considering that they’re all dead, save for her.
She spends the first few weeks in bed, stuck in this house with these strangers and these thoughts and these infuriating powers. Emotions are new to her, short to say, considering she’s been emotionally stunted by her adopted father her entire life.
The denial comes first, and Vanya is left believing that she is merely dreaming. Simply stuck in limbo, floating, maybe, and that somewhere, somewhere there’s a tether that will come and lead her back.
Then comes the anger, and Vanya is furious. Furious that she is left to a single space in time, alone to build an entire existence. Pissed at herself, mainly, but often, she will find herself blaming them, telling herself that she had only done what she had been pushed to do. That it was all her sibling’s faults, that if they had just helped her, instead of trying to blame her or ruin her concert or fucking shoot her, they'd be okay. She hates herself immediately after. Harlan, Sissy’s son, visits sometimes, and with him, the anger will ebb away, trickling into a thin strand, replaced instead with equal parts content and worry.
Next comes the bargaining, and Vanya bargains a lot. Alchemy, — she remembers from one of Five’s rants when they were children, just how he would go on and on for days and then switch to something new — the turning and transformation of matter, is often believed that if one thing is taken from the universe, another thing of equal value must be given. It’s funny really, that Vanya was given everything she had ever wanted; powers, people who seemed to care, a fresh new start, but only at the expense of the only people who would ever understand. And so Vanya tries, of course, she doesn’t dwell into the formulas immediately, but she tries. She begs and begs, pleads and prays, crying out to anyone, please anyone, bring her siblings back. Take her for them. Her for seven billion. There is never an answer, leaving her a pitiful mess under the covers as she shatters, whispering as she begs for the sweet release of death. No one answers and Vanya is left to enter the fourth stage.
Depression. It isn’t all tears. But it is numb. And Vanya has felt numb before. So she welcomes this stage, holds it close as the sound of practically the entire world floods into her ears, leaving her all but a shaking, irritated mess as she attempts to grasp onto the easiness that was life before all this. For a while, Vanya wallows in her misery, doesn’t shower, doesn’t eat, doesn’t breathe, it seems, and the days merely pass by, a whistle in the wind.
Acceptance comes like a snail, slow and steady with recurring thoughts, but when she’s finally there, she rejoices, the slight feeling of pride bubbling in her chest. She is able to move again, can help Sissy with Harlan, and Carl with work. Her powers are touchy, but Vanya can breathe, can let intense feelings such as these slip through her fingers for as long as she needs.
Her family is gone, and Vanya is trapped in 1963, but she has a family willing to care for her, and maybe she can restart to build her own again.
Vanya wakes, gasping as she sits up quickly. Sweat settles on her forehead, a high pitched ringing echoing in her ears over the soft music of a violin. Her violin, the one she had used to destroy the end of the world.
She huffs, the quick rising and falling of her chest becoming rhythmic as she glances around the room, her tired eyes searching for danger. She had seen- she had seen Luther. Strung up high in the air, trapped in the clutches of the White Violin while Vanya watches from inside herself, no longer occupying her body, as he is stripped of life, withering before her.
They’re dead, have been for nearly a month now, and Vanya struggles between hating forgiving herself.
She needs to leave.
And gosh, she wished she hadn’t. Vanya wished she hadn’t shrugged on her coat, hadn’t walked out that door, hadn’t taken the keys to Sissy’s car.
But she drives down an empty road anyway, both hands on the wheel as she stares ahead. In the distance shines a light, illuminating the road before her, only a man is standing next to the vehicle that lights her way, dressed in white. His hair; white, his pants; white, his shirt and hat? White. He is all white, almost like the White Violin that rests inside her, save for the black shoes and bow and the splatter of blood on his side—
Her heart stops while her stomach lurches, off-put by his stare, and Vanya shifts in her seat, making eye contact with the man. She gulps, watching his every move. He takes a few steps closer, a hand tucked behind his back while the other focuses the round flashlight, projecting the light onto her. Something cocks, resounding in her ears, and before she knows it, two men are on her side and the one in front has pulled out a gun. She’s speeding off, pressing hard on the gas and leaving them in the dust as she yelps, before bullets fly, penetrating the glass of Sissy’s car.
Vanya ducks, attempting to dodge the bullets that come straight at her, before she swerves the steering wheel, sending her into a hollow plot of earth. Her heart races, pounding in her chest as she pants. Grabbing the keys, she throws the door open, leaping out of the car as the keys jingle in her hands.
Vanya curses, barely able to see in the dark of the night, running into the cornfield while the three men follow. They are hot on her trail, rustling in between the stalks of corn, and she can hear them, can hear their footsteps as though they are right behind her, can hear the cocking of their guns as if she is the holder. She crouches on her knees, steadying herself with a hand on the brown on the Earth, holding her breath as she looks around, frantic.
Someone approaches, the loud rustling of the field plants alerting that they are closer, closer than Vanya should ever want them to be and she runs, knowing that they follow. Gunshots fly, whizzing by her head, missing her by a measly inch as she ducks between the cornrows, springing through the field.
She turns, trying to take a breath, only to come face to face with one of the three, and he shoots, never second-guessing, and Vanya finds that there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to take off, no place for her feet to carry her. She huffs, crying out as she spins, looking for a way out, and in the back of her mind, she curses her power, wishing for another, maybe one like Five’s.
But Five is dead. And Five is gone, as are the rest of them. And the him that was supposed to be home, tucked away somewhere in 2002, was probably now screwed over too, trapped in the ruins of a world she had destroyed, imprisoned in a land forsaken by even god himself, empty.
The bullets fly as she scrambles on the earth, palming her way through the field in the cold of the night, and the gunfire continues, until her eyes meet feet, and then light as she raises her gaze, and fuck.
Something explodes in her, snapping like pulled coil, and as the man fires his rifle in her face, it doesn’t even land, before it goes shooting back in a burst of wind. Her eyes glaze over, a sort of milky white as she clenches her fist, the tension in her body expanding, and the man in front of her is sent flying back, crashing as she levels the land around them.
She runs off, her breathing heavy as she panics, confused. The sky is clear, with no moon in sight, and as Vanya runs, her feet carrying her somewhere she can only hope is safe.
Vanya hides, and Vanya waits.
Five lands on November 25, 1963.
It’s shit, to say the least. The ground rumbles from beneath his shoes, wind whipping as his hair flies around him before the blue portal closes, leaving him stranded in a fucking warzone.
He walks out of the wet alley he had landed in, gunshots flying from both sides. The sky is a faded yellow as planes soar by, men shouting from the top of their lungs in the midst of battle.
He rushes towards a newspaper, his thoughts a mess as he grips it with fervor, only to read the date, curse, and bound up again.
He is frantic, a desperate man who has already lived this, or something along the lines of this, and to watch the world go up in flames again, for whatever the cause, after everything he has worked for — though of course, he failed the first time, — is infuriating.
He opens his mouth, his voice a deep he himself is not used to, before something explodes from next to him, bursting in his ear. A missile, round and black travels through the air, only to be stopped by a floating figure. The figure, a woman of size he knows all too well, holds her hands out in front of her, and a barrier forms around her, a barrier the missile collides with, exploding in a sea of fire and smoke. Her eyes are a milky white, the whole of her is the same actually, a ghostly pale that would only ever suit her.
She is blocked by the explosion, and Five searches for more of his siblings. They’re a team, he notices, all dressed in black and backing each other up. Klaus thrusts his hands out, summoning disfigures spirits behind him, beings that attack soldiers before the man, as lanky as ever, stretches, ignorant to the projectile that heads his. Luther jumps in, bruised and bloodied as he takes the projectile head-on, roaring as he does so. Diego calls out to him, spinning midair as Allison speaks words Five is too far away to hear, but the way her opponents’ brains literally implode tells him he shouldn’t want to.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Five furrows his brow, glaring at the trick his brother plays. Suddenly though, there is a hand upon his shoulder, white and wrapped, stopping him in his tracks. Five swivels his head, confused, more concerned by the fact that his own siblings don’t recognize him, but comes face to face with a man in a blue suit and glasses, hair white with age and a beard to match. “Hazel!”
“If you want to live, come with me.” Hazel makes no mistake, instantly recognizing him in the way that Diego couldn’t, and he is hurried, hair slightly frazzled as the world burns for a second time around them.
“Hazel. What the hell is going on here?” Five’s heart is pumping, beating loudly as smoke fills his lungs. But he has no time for that, there’s not a single second in between for him to panic, so he pushes through, fighting, always fighting.
“There’s no time to explain.” Hazel shakes, solemn before he points to the sky, delivering news that sends Five in a spiral. “Those are nukes, old-timer. Headed straight for us.”
Forget not panicking. Screw staying calm. Five’s stomach lurches, twisting and turning as a projectile missile drone above them, headed their way. They’re massive, wrapped in titanium, hiding a deadly surprise inside as they edge even closer, gaining speed and distance as seconds fly by. Something that big would wipe out the entirety of the continent, maybe even farther, he curses. Still, he bites, wishing the erratic pumping of his heart would just cease, stop for just a moment so he could just think. “What about my family?
“You can’t save ‘em if you’re dead.” And fuck, fuck because Hazel’s fucking right and he’ll have to leave them behind. Again. Have to carry another set of dead bodies upon his shoulders, hope and pray that they forgive him one more time, just one more time.
And so, Five takes his hand, sealing the fate of some other time, some other reality in 1963 with its own Umbrella Academy. They blink out of there, and Five’s stomach churns at the way his family looked, stunned as they gape at the sky. But there’s no time for any of that, for he is somewhere else, somewhere almost… pleasant, the streets filled with people as the sun shines brightly.
He turns towards Hazel, frantic as he takes in the new world around him, wondering for a moment if he had merely imagined it all. “What the hell was that?”
“The end of the world.” Hazel sighs, meeting Five’s eyes, and all of a sudden, Five just seems to realize that they’re almost the same height, if not Five being a little taller. “November 25, 1963.”
Five laughs bitterly, taking in the sight, glancing at the ladies who walk by, giggling into their hands. He ignores them, finding his uniform too loose as he tries to adjust the coat collar.
He turns, coming face to face with a clothing store, mannequins dressed in its windows, but that’s not what’s important. That’s not what causes Five to grin, or rejoice, or cheer from his place on the sidewalk. Because in the transparency of the glass, the sun hits the window, and Five is met with a different him, an older him, one taller and more handsome and right.
Hazel notices the way Five marvels at himself, palming and patting down his body, not exactly subtle with his amazement. “You should be as old as your siblings now. It’ll be as though you never left.”
“How’d I get my body back?” He stares, incredulous as he gets a feel for himself, before he snaps his head towards the older Hazel. Five couldn’t be any older than thirty-five — maybe forty, he couldn’t exactly tell. Staying in the apocalypse for the majority of his life meant scavenging and struggling to survive, not examining himself in the mirror —, accompanied with long legs, a sharp jaw, and broad chest and shoulders. It really is as though he never left, body filled with muscle instead of stripped of its nourishment, leaving Five a skinny, malnourished adult in the apocalypse. But he is grown now, correct now, with black hair and pink lips and a more than attractive face.
Hazel exhales, the sound carrying throughout the air as he admits, wobbling as he takes a seat on the bench before them, its light wood digging into “Think of it as a thank you gift. I got to spend twenty years with Agnes because of you.”
Five winces, trailing on, “Is she…”
“Dead?” Hazel nods, bitter as he watches cars drive on, “Yeah. Cancer. I made a promise to her, though. So now you have ten days to stop the apocalypse. Plenty of time.”
“I’m sorry Hazel. Truly.” And Five means it, taking a seat next to the grieving man. Silence hangs over them, and Five licks his lips, resting his forearm on the crest rail of the bench, trying to find words, “When do we start?”
“ You start today. There is no ‘we’. Just me and my promise to Agnes and you and whoever else you want to recruit.” Hazel shifts, tapping the top of the suitcase he dragged along with them. He takes one last look at him, searching him, before his eyes rake over Five’s figure, chuckling as he jests, “Maybe find some actual clothes first. I only expanded you, meaning that your clothes were stretched in the process. You look ridiculous in that uniform.”
Five scoffs, agreeing, that stupid uniform was the bane of his very existence, too itchy and too tight for his liking. Of course, he was thankful for the fact that the uniform, as shitty as it was, still fit, now hanging off him. It was better that the atrocity fit, better than the fact that if he appeared in 1963, wearing a tight schoolboy uniform and talking to an old man, he’d be shunned by this underdeveloped society, maybe locked away in a mental asylum. He ignores the jab, raising a single brow in Hazel’s direction, “And the Commission?”
“I quit those assholes.” Hazel scowls, holding his chin high, “Don’t owe ‘em jack shit.”
Five laughs, before three men emerge from behind a bus, rifles in hand, glaring at Hazel and Five. They are not subtle in the slightest, all of them with white hair, standing out in a sea of people with brown and blonde as they stride closer, readying their weapons as Five jumps up, “Well, then. Who the hell are they?”
“Shit.” Hazel curses, following Five’s gaze. The men are closer now, emanating a deadly aura. In a split second, something is shoved into Five’s coat pocket, and the briefcase is pushed into his arms. Hazel is frantic, biting as he remains seated, “Run!”
He pushes through the universe, bullets flying, his molecules expanding just in time as he ducks behind a teal car, gasping as he holds a smoking briefcase. The rain of bullets cease, and somewhere in his heart, he knows Hazel doesn’t make it. The asshole, dying a heroic death after losing his wife. It was all just a ploy, wasn’t it? A suicide mission disguised as retrieving the savior of the world. He curses, spotting the three men before bullets are flying again, and he is ripping another portal between space and time, teleporting on the building just above.
He lies there for a while, panting as he catches his breath, the multitude of jumps putting a strain on his new body. The men vanish, a white truck mysteriously speeding away while sirens wail in the distance. Five ducks between an alley, scurrying away as he reorganizes his thoughts, noticing a shadow in the window.
He meets a man named Elliot, whose face is wrinkled with paranoia more than the effects of aging. He has every right to be paranoid of course, for even in his Commission days, Five doesn’t jump as nearly as fast. Elliot leads him to his brother, shaking as he hands Five Diego's mugshot. It is more than enough to go off of, and once again, Five is warping, bidding farewell as his tall figure hovers over his newly acquired acquaintance.
Five snickers, smirking as he blips away. He’ll have to keep an eye on Elliot. The man did make a tasty cup of coffee. But first, a change of clothes.
He finds Vanya in an array of corn, heart swelling, practically bouncing in anticipation as he walks closer and closer to where Elliot leads him. He blends in with the stalks of vegetables, irritated by the way they itch and scratch him, but finds that he enjoys this new view, the way the world looks so much smaller now as he practically towers over everything. He scoffs as he breaks into an empty space, running his fingers through frayed hair, the long digits passing along the small tangles and knots.
He catches a glimpse of her easily; no one could ever miss her, would never dare to, a smile instantly lifting to his face. — She is as beautiful as she was a few days ago, when she was dressed in her white suit, hair swishing around her as she destroys the world, bending their siblings to her whim as they cry out. Five doesn’t feel nearly as bad as he should, finding out that his most precious person is the reason he spent so much time in purgatory, living a nightmare, should’ve been ….crueler, he supposed. — It’s genuine, a grin that belongs to only her, and he wonders if she recognizes him, ached for him the same way he ached for her over the past few days.
She doesn’t, it seems, her brows crunching, mouth agape the same way it always does when she is confused. Oh well, he sighs, separating the corn that conceals her from him, he’ll just have to make sure she never forgets him.
“Who- who are you?” She beats him to the punch, stuttering as she rises from her huddled space on the earth, hair pulled behind her ears, matching well with the blue that she’s chosen to adorn.
Five smirks, teasing, watching as her cheeks change in hue as she takes him in. And Five’s heart fucking implodes, overrun with validation, knowing he has her hooked. He smiles, holding her gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks down at her, “Your husband.”
“I don't-” She inhales sharply, gasping as she stares, running her eyes over him. She licks her lips, wetting the pale pink skin, and Five goes feral, unhinged as he basks in her leers. Her cheeks are a bright red, blending into her neck, and Five’s mind wanders, wondering just how far that blush would travel before she is speaking, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t have a husband.”
Five’s heart sinks at that, only ever so slightly though, while the voice in his head whispers. She doesn’t recognize him, not yet, but that’s okay. So he digs in his pocket, keeping his eyes on her. Soon, during his search, his fingers come into contact with the outer band of this burning promise, and he is clutching it, pulling it out to put on display before her.
Vanya stands there, wind pulsating around them, — was that her powers in work or the simple passing of a breeze? — and suddenly, Vanya breaks away, eyes filling with confusion and something similar to fear as she stumbles back. She is frantic, patting down her figure in hurried motions, hunting for something Five can only guess holds a great deal of importance. She pulls out a black ring, the band thick in width, smaller than his own but matching in design, the reminder of a commitment that flickers even brighter now. Neither one fits around their fingers, but the swirling markings tell her enough, for one moment she is peering at him with fright, and the next, she is incredulous, exclaiming, “Five?!”
He smiles, a crooked grin gracing his features as he affirms, “Hi, Vanya.”
Vanya gapes, too stunned to even move, and Five’s smile widens, bordering on sadistic as she stands before them. In a second though, her russet eyes are watering, brimming with tears, and Five’s stomach churns, displaced with such a sight. She is crying, Vanya was crying, and it was all his fault.
“Vanya?” He holds out both hands to her, attempting to provide comfort. But she is just so small, so tiny compared to him that Five worries she’ll snap if he lifts her, shutting down the part of him that brings up the fact she’s a literal walking mass weapon of destruction. He licks his lips, the chewed skin there miraculously dry, hovering over her as she sobs into her hands. “Vanya, are you alright?”
She wails, tossing head back towards the sky, before her face connects with his chest, arms thrown around him. Five stumbles, bending slightly to fully grab ahold of her, hugging her in equal fervor. She cries just like this, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as he hushes her, whispering sweet words into her ear. He was a desperate man, willing to take everything he could get. And as Vanya hugs him, clinging to the cloth across his back, her body pressed against his own, Five tries to contain his smile, rubbing circles into her. Only he would get to see her like this, only he would hold her this close.
Soon enough, she finally has the courage to break away, peering up at him with puffy red eyes, a clear sign of crying, before she bites her lip, Five tracing the movement with his gaze as she finds the words to speak. “I thought…. I thought you were all dead.”
He chuckles, noticing the way she marvels at his sound, eyes shining whilst she grins, “I’m very much alive, dear.”
“Yes, I can see that now.” And she’s chuckling too now, huffing out little bouts of laughter into the center of his chest. Five would do anything for her, he already knows, ring pressing against his thigh as she squeezes tighter.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, stepping away, putting some distance between the two of them before he does something he regrets. Or well, doesn’t regret, he supposes. Nothing would be better than planting his lips on hers and swallowing her whole, tracing the curves of her body as they memorize the feels of the other. But now was not the time nor the place, Five knew. So he licks his lips, tongue darting out as his mouth curls into a crooked grin, eyeing Vanya who traces the movement before he snickers, proud. “The hole you created must’ve taken out quite a bit of energy.”
Vanya stalls, peering up at Five with big brown eyes, curiosity in her gaze, “What hole?”
“Oh, Vanya. Sweet, silly Vanya.” Five is on fire, pinching her nose, and she jumps back, yelping. He grins, something wild and feral, and she shudders, a shaky breath escaping as he announced, “Let’s go.”
And sure enough, he was leading her away, wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks. They’d finish this conversation later, but for now; Vanya was his, this Five was sure.
They have a world to save though, and only eight days to save it.
To say Vanya is surprised is nothing short of an understatement. She is astounded actually, running her eyes up and down Five’s adult body as he sits beside her, grumbling as he chugs a cup of coffee, watching hungrily as his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows.
He is dressed in all black, reminding her of mysterious detectives she’ll see on television sometimes; black shirt, black pants, even accompanied by the signature trench coat. He sighs, setting the cup down, before he makes eye contact, staring into her very soul, “I assume you know what happened April first.”
She avoids his stare, fiddling with her fingers. She couldn’t bear to look at him, see how soft and sweet his gaze was, knowing that she was the reason for his years of suffering. “I caused the apocalypse, didn’t I?"
Her heart lurches, springing all over the place as he nods, solemn. Still, he smiles, lips pressed tightly together, and Vanya wishes he would scream at her, punish her for ruining his life, be angry with her for condemning him to a living hell on earth. He does nothing of the sort; instead, he grabs her hand, linking their fingers together, his warmth reviving her natural cold, and Vanya wants to cry at his next words. “It’s not your fault.”
Her brows furrow, creasing while she tries to contain the urge to shatter before him. She’s sorry, she’s sorry, she’s so sorry. But the words don’t come out, and she is left staring at him with glassy eyes.
“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” He assures, swiping a thumb across her cheek, wiping away the clear liquid that has gathered there. Five pulls away, shifting in his seat as he clasps her hand in his own, holding onto her with a tight desperation she has never seen in him before. “The apocalypse… It’s coming, Vanya.”
And at that, Vanya jolts, fear clouding her vision as she inquires, “What do you mean it’s coming?”
“I mean it followed us here. To 1963.” He is serious, voice deep and low. It’s new, all of him is new, but Vanya adjusts, darting to the moles on his cheek that have always remained, then to the full of his brows, and then to the sea of blue-green that swims in his eyes. He is Five, just older, and Vanya supposes that he is right.
She croaks, impending doom looming over, and Vanya wonders if that’s what she’s been feeling all this time; if she could never really get over the falsified death of her siblings because there was something more, something that made her wait. “That’s not- That’s not possible.”
Five shakes his head, offering a patronizing smile. “Eight days from now, the world ends in a nuclear doomsday. I’ve already seen it.”
And they are right back where they started, Vanya wants to laugh. Eight days left until the end of the world for the second time in a row. Five has come for her for the second time, hoping, begging for her to believe him, and Vanya wishes she didn’t have to. Still, though, she does, burying the bile that rises in her throat as she swallows the news. “What- what causes this one?”
“I don’t know.” He admitted, staring down at their joint hands before looking back at her. Gods, she hoped it wasn’t her, she prayed that she wasn’t the reason the world would end again. She ignores the way her stomach drops at the answer, biting her lip as she asks, “How do we stop it?”
“That I also don’t know.” He declared, huffing out a heavy breath.
Vanya wants to scoff, or scowl, or laugh. She wants to do something other than sit here, other than wait for mass destruction to fall before them. Instead, she looks at him, russet meeting blue-green in a trade of emotion. “Then what do you know, Five?
“We brought it here, so if we leave, it’ll go with us.” And suddenly, Vanya’s mind clicks to a blonde woman and her child, and the world fades, Five’s touch feeling so far away as he reiterates, “We need to leave, Vanya.”
But Vanya can’t hear him, can’t register his words over the pounding of her own heart, can’t breathe while her mind drifts to Sissy and Harlan. They needed to know, they needed to leave, or get away, or go somewhere, to escape. They didn’t deserve to be obliterated by another apocalypse, and she’s bouncing up, rocketing out of her stool as Five calls for her, already at the telephone. “I need to make a phone call!”
Vanya jumps from her place beside him, ripping her hand out of his own, rushing to the telephone. He calls for her, echoing her name, only for her to ignore him. Five follows, downing the rest of the mediocre coffee before heading her way, leaning into the striped wall as the call connects.
A woman's voice rings through, panicked as she asks for their whereabouts. Five scowls, and Vanya shoots him a look of confusion, apologizing to the woman on the phone instead.
There’s an exchange of muttered words before Vanya is glancing at him again, speaking into the phone, “I, uh, met someone.”
“Who?” The voice comes, suspicious, almost disappointed, and Five is yanking the phone away from Vanya, lifting it to his ear and growling. “I’m her husband. Who is this?”
Her voice is nice, he supposes, covered in a thick Southern drawl, but she was acting like Vanya was hers, as though she wasn’t allowed to have met Five at all, and Five needs to teach her a lesson. Besides, the husband bit wasn’t exactly a lie; when they were children, they had decided to get married, swearing their lives to each other before Five had gotten himself stuck in the apocalypse. The woman stutters, tripping over her words. “Vanya doesn’t have a husband, who are you?”
“I’m her husband.” He repeats, smirking at the way Vanya silently begs for him to stop talking, her hands clasped together in prayer. Five has to push down the urge to laugh at how cute she looks, opting instead to continue speaking, voice gruff and matter of fact, “You’ve only known her for a month, how much do you know actually about Vanya?”
“I’m Sissy. Sissy Cooper.” The woman breathes, swallowing when she realizes Five was right. Five hears the movement, the pushing of air down her throat, and chuckles, content with the way the woman understands that Vanya is his, pleased, actually. Sissy, her name is, sighs, clarifying, “Been housing Vanya for over a month now.”
“Mhm.” Five hums, patronizing the woman. Vanya frowns, glaring at him, and Five’s voice catches, air trapped in his throat. She looks divine, nothing short of perfection, as though she could destroy Five at this very moment, kill him and leave his corpse to rot, and Five would probably thank her. His pants are suddenly tight, and Five wants this pointless conversation to end, “Name’s Five. Vanya’s busy-”
She takes the phone back, aggressively shoving Five into the wall, holding him in place as she pushes out hurried words, shouting, “I’m not busy! Not busy at all!”
“I’ll explain later. Is Harlan okay?” Five blinks, stunned as she keeps him pinned to the wall, new found strength overpowering his own, before he’s smirking, enraptured by the works of her. Sissy speaks some words, and Vanya replies, keeping her brown eyes on him. He hears the last words of the woman's sentence through the speaker, something about coming home, whilst Five’s blood runs cold and Vanya agrees in earnest, “As soon as I can. Promise.”
Five hangs up the phone, pushing against her, slamming a hand against the switch hook. A dial tone follows, indicating that Sissy or whoever the hell she was, was disconnected.
But Five doesn’t care about all of that, can only see a threat to his plan, an obstacle that lies in his way, sitting between him and his happy future with Vanya. Something wild snaps in him, boiling with rage that Vanya has found another, seething at the fact that he has lost the one thing he keeps fighting for, only to be cut off by her retaliation. “What the hell, Five?!”
“We don’t have time for this!” He snapped, gripping her shoulders tightly. She flinches, twitching in his grasp, and Five hates that for her; never wanted her to be afraid of him. But for this, to keep them together, to make sure she stays by his side, he’d fear monger any day of the week. She’d see he was doing this for all of them later, and with that, he hisses, “We need to go, Vanya. We have to stick together. Find the others, figure out how to stop doomsday. Whoever that person is, they can’t be more important than the end of the world.”
She stops at that, gulping down whatever it was that she was going to say. She knows he’s right, they both know it too. Vanya exhales sharply, clicking the telephone back into place before she’s following him outside, and something dark festers inside him.
He follows her, a mere precaution as she splits away from him the next day, prattling off that she couldn’t stay with Luther, not after what he did to her. It confuses him for a bit, until he shouts for her to stay close to him, reminding her that they need to stick together. She refuses, driving off, because of course she does, of course Vanya has to make things difficult.
Five trails after her, watching as she embraces the woman from over the phone, heart sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach, disgust settling inside him. He watches as she hurries after the woman’s son, taps into her powers, breathtaking as she transfers her energy into his pubescent body. The boy rises up, gasping as his mother appears, panicked but oh-so relieved
He watches, resolve breaking, cracking just a little bit more as Vanya kisses the blonde, cold, soft hands traveling up and down her motherly figure in the soft glow of the ceiling light. The apocalypse seems insignificant as Vanya is led to bed, small moans echoing from beyond the door, and it takes everything in him to stay, holding himself back.
Five imagines driving a knife into tanned skin, watching blood pool and stain blonde hair as he blinks away.
Five observes, frowning as she fidgets from her spot near Luther and Diego, before bounding down the stairs of Elliot’s building, a smile suddenly replacing her features as she comes face to face with Allison and Klaus. They embrace, giggling as they come together, clutching at one another in desperation. The Academy hasn't seen each other in months, years for some of them, so Five lets this one slide, clenching his jaw as he lulls in the corner.
He could wait. Five could hold on just a little longer. Vanya was growing, he supposed, and it was only natural that she played along the way. It was time though, for the game to end, and for the blonde women to go along with it.
It is November twenty-first, a single day before President John F. Kenndey is resigned to the workings of fate, and Five discovers that he has had enough. He has already killed the board of electives for the Handler, covered himself in the blood of his superiors for his family, and even then, his siblings don’t listen.
Five was never one to take pleasure in killing, but of all, he is the most upset about Vanya. Sweet, shy little Vanya who looked up to her brother the most. Vanya, who considered Five her best friend, decided he was like a lover enough to marry them under a tree when they were children, didn’t listen, couldn’t even make it to the window because she was busy screwing around with some farm Frau.
So he gets rid of her, obviously.
He blinks in front of her house, late at night, the yellow of the wood offering him a patronizing grin as he makes his way inside. Such a terrible color, one to represent happiness, when all that has reigned upon these people is torture and destruction. Her husband isn’t there, and the boy was sleeping in his room, tucked away under the covers.
She is surprisingly easy to get to, blinded by the noise of TV as she sits on the couch, legs sprawled out as she lays. She doesn’t see Five at all, not until he is right above her, but by then, it is already too late. He is driving the knife into her, the exact same way he has dreamed for a series of days and nights, hacking away at her body as she scrambles to get away. Sissy gurgles, blood making its way up her throat, enough that it makes her cough, some of the sticky crimson liquid sticking to him.
Five grins, sick as he stares, enjoying the way the life trickles and fades away from her. She pleads, begging, and Five laughs, shoulders lifting while he chuckles, the sound dark and echoing.
He takes another look over her figure, at her glassy blue eyes, just another person he had to run over for his future, not that he minded at all. Vanya was worth it, worth all the suffering and the madness and the desperation.
He blinks away, reassured that Vanya will forever be his.
Vanya sobs into Five’s shoulder, clutching onto him from her place on the floor, hands covered in blood. Sissy was dead, and her own husband had killed her. Had found out about their affair, about Sissy’s plan to run away. She cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Five remains unusually calm, holding her close while their siblings are huddled around, standing off to the side as hushed whispers are exchanged between the group. They are here to stop the apocalypse, not deal with emotions, and Vanya knows that, Vanya promises that she knows, but the tears keep flowing and she can’t breathe, can't think as she catches up with what's happening. She can’t fucking breathe, and the walls are closing in, getting smaller and smaller with every heaving short breathe Vanya takes. Her friend was dead, brutally murdered as blood piles around her. Sissy had her whole life ahead, a whole son to take care of.
Five whispers sweet nothings into her ear, her only constant in a world that continues to drag her down as he keeps her steady. He wipes her tears, pecking her reddened cheeks, and her heart flutters. She's blushing before she knows it, the gasps of their siblings filling the room.
He scowls as they rise up, sending Vanya a soft look, one that she can’t ignore, before a noise fills their ears, a bump by the stairs. They jolt, snapping their necks in the direction of the sound, only to find Harlan, stunned in fear as he shakes.
The TV runs in the background, local news playing as Mr. Kennedy is just seconds away from turning the corner. Vanya’s ears pound, listening to the collective heart beats of everyone in the room, trying to ignore the way Sissy is devoid of her own, the pumping of life gone from within her.
His eyes land on his mother, studying her cold corpse, and Vanya can tell the instant it clicks, can tell when he finally understands what he’s seeing. Harlan gasps, panting as he shakes, and she is breaking away, blood still on her hands, in front of him in a quick moment. It’s futile though, because Harlan's chest lights up, illuminating the dim room, the same way Vanya’s does as she powers up, and they all go flying back, shooting into the air as the house combusts.
A wave of power ricochets throughout the air, and wood splits, glass shattering as this house that she was able to call a temporary home is destroyed, remains askew against the earth. Vanya shudders, groaning from her space on the ground, head ringing as she pulls herself up, stumbling before someone is behind her, setting their hands upon her shoulders and holding her up.
She turns, swiveling on her feet, and Five comes into view, black trench coat flowing down to his knees as he jumps in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, the TV flashes, springing to life, and in it, civilians panic, running amok as the building around them are leveled, collapsed in a bout of smoke as the reporter's voice breaks through, “This just in: the 36th president of the United States, Mr. John Fredrick Kennedy, has been attacked! He appears to be injured and is being rushed to the hospital as we speak!”
Sirens resound through the air, before the TV flickers off, and the field goes quiet. Five curses, and Vanya can hear the way his heart is erratic, moving miles in a minute, before the rest of their siblings bounce up, appearing from their spots on the field. She scans the land, running her eyes over the grass diligently, before she sees him, lying there, unmoving.
Vanya finds power in her legs, rushing towards Harlan, and she is right there, right there as he shudders, shaking in the dirt. Five blinks next to him faster though, landing on his knees before Sissy’s son, holding his head in his full arms.
Vanya stutters, shaky as she hovers over Harlan, sitting across from Five to get a good look at the boy's face. He is blue, pale and devoid of life, and Vanya whimpers, praying internally that he is okay, screaming that he didn’t deserve this. — Why was it the best kind of people who had the cruelest fates? Why was it that they had to suffer so much? This was no time for breakthroughs, Vanya lectures, squeezing her eyes shut, no time for revelations. She had to focus — “Is he okay?”
Five looks at her, graces Vanya with so much affection that she has no idea what to do with. And gods, did she wish he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter that her night with Sissy was plagued with thoughts of Five, of how disappointed he would be with her, it didn't matter that he introduced himself to the farm girl as Vanya’s husband, didn’t matter that he looked upon her with a hunger she’d only seen with love-struck men. She didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve his love or care or even his time. No matter how many moments she thought of connecting her lips to his own over the course of the past few days, they were in the past, — literally and figuratively, — and he had moved on, had found someone in the apocalypse worth living for, a name he still won’t disclose.
He looks sad, solemn as he holds Harlan, shaking his head and Vanya lets out a shaky breath. She is crying again, eyes overcome with a familiar wetness, and she is tired, so goddamn tired, of fighting, of always running from something. She takes Harlan from Five’s hold, thinking she imagines the way a scowl passes over Five’s features, marring his new face before it quickly disappears.
She holds Harlan, shaking as she cries, sobbing to the sky. She can’t hear him, can’t feel a heartbeat or the small rise and fall of his chest. He is merely a child, one that she had doomed by offering him another chance at life, before he had doomed the world, setting the apocalypse further in motion.
Their siblings gather once again, and Vanya can hear Luther make some casual remark in the distance, some shitty attempt at comfort as they loom over her, before she is remembering the way he pinned her to his chest, squeezing until the world faded into black. Her hand darts out, white light erupting from her palm, and her siblings are sent shooting back once more, sky-rocketing further into the field.
She rocks Harlan’s figure back and forth, pleading to someone who doesn’t listen, never listened; didn’t listen when she begged for her siblings, didn’t listen when she begged for release, didn’t listen when she begged for her first friend in 1963. They don’t listen, don’t hear her pleas even now, and Vanya is left a scrambled mess, thoughts scattered. Her vision is clouded, and she knows her eyes are once again a milky white, wind whirring as currents fly, forming a vortex that separates her from her family.
Face turned towards the sky, Vanya wails, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her hair whips around her, dancing in the high speed of the wind, and Vanya wishes for death, cursing the gods above. She is alone once again, trapped in a space where no one could save her, the only voice that remains the damaged, screwed, terrible version of her own, the same one that spoke to her only a month ago.
Vanya weeps for all that she has lost, before something — someone — zaps beside her, and she is pulled close, falling victim to the warmth of another.
His plan works terribly and perfectly, pieces falling in a way he’d never accounted for, but still landing in the places he had expected. Vanya sobs into his chest, mourning the loss of her temporary lover, before her child stumbles down the stairs, and they are sent flying, overturned by the force of the attack.
Apparently, that is the way Kennedy dies too in this reality, with a big enough blast that cement goes flying, ricocheting through the air, flying fast enough that they’re like bullets.
The woman’s TV flickers to life, and on the screen is Dealey Plaza, smoked and in flames, all the buildings in the vicinity leveled to the ground, destruction impendent as screams echo throughout the street. The TV dies, flickering out the same way it had flickered in, before Vanya is rushing away from him, booking it towards a small figure.
He sighs, burying the hate that swells within him, for this was a child, someone who couldn’t even think to steal Vanya away, and jumps faster than she arrives, holding up the boy so Vanya wouldn’t have to.
She cries when Five breaks the news, unknowing of the way Five rejoices, heart soaring at the realization that there was no one in his way, not a single reason for Vanya to stay behind in 1963 left, nothing to separate the two.
But abruptly, Luther’s words are fading beyond his ears, and he is sent flying back, as are the rest of their siblings in a burst of energy. It takes him a while to stand, and in the center of a whirlwind resides Vanya, hair whipping around her as tears fall, pure ghost-white eyes overflowing with power.
She is enchanting, stunning as she screams herself into mayhem, and Five wants to kiss her, wants to worship the ground that she walks on, wants her to never forget the pleasures he will surely bring once given the chance.
He appears next to her in a zip of blue light, pulling her close as the current picks up, tossing his trenchcoat to the whirlwind. Her head pressed into his shoulder, Five grins, the feral beast rising within him once again. She depends upon him, needs him to keep her sane, the same way he requires her for the same thing, and Five couldn’t be happier. His black hair whips around his face, the short strands occasionally smacking him, and soon, Vanya melts, squeezing the muscle of his back as she breathes him in.
She sniffles, pulling away after a span of minutes, revealing red eyes and ruined lips. And God, Five wants to kiss her into oblivion, longs to outline her body in a series of pecks and smooches. Vanya lets out a shaky breath, and Five’s mind drifts, wondering if she will make that same sound when they are wrapped under the covers, tangled in each other’s limbs.
He smiles at her, performing only his best for his Vanya. He had not prepared for this situation, had suspected she would be angry, yes, but not this. There’s no doubt in his mind that the apocalypse would surely happen, not unless they left immediately, but even then, Five can't quite brings himself to care, too wrapped up in the way her eyes flicker to his lips, then back up to his eyes, before her own orbs flutter, and she’s speaking, whispering softly to the wind. “I want to kiss you.”
She lets it slip, he knows. But she had meant it, had thought it in the very least. And he is smirking, Harlan’s dead body already floating to the back of his mind as she yelps, face heating with intensity.
She has never been as red, flailing as she apologizes, stumbling over her words as Diego and Luther limp closer and closer, Klaus and Allison leaning over each other all the while. Noting the way she pauses at the sound, desperation clear on her face before it is wiped clean, Five chuckles, pride swelling just a little larger as he falsifies, “It’s okay.”
Vanya nods, cheeks aflame, before she glances down at Harlan once more, running her fingers across his pale and desolate across. She drops her head, hair following with her quick movement as Five looks on in curiosity. Vanya places a kiss on the kid's forehead, whispering words he can’t hear as she caresses his face, probably wishing him well in the afterlife. Vanya was always so considerate, wasn’t she? Always so quick to put other people before herself?
Five scowls, ignoring the way his sibling's face's twist and turn in confusion. They wouldn’t understand. They would never understand. They only had each other, Five and Vanya. They only had each other, and Five would keep her as his for forever long he could, for however long he is able.
“Vanya, we have to go.” He mutters, words flowing into her ears. He wonders what she would do if she knew he had killed Sissy. He wonders if she’ll go her whole life condemning Sissy’s husband, Carl, wishing he were dead, never knowing that it was in fact her one of her own that slaughtered the woman. It doesn’t matter though, Sissy didn’t matter, not in Five’s book at least.
He’ll go the rest of his life burying this secret, carrying what occurred here today with him and only him. — What were a couple of dead bodies piled against hundreds? Nothing, actually, only a mere fraction compared to the grand scheme — Five speaks reassurances, reminding the Academy of their mission, and Vanya nods, following behind him with pure adoration as she grabs his hand in her own. Five leads and Vanya follows, and for a man so willing to sin, Five hates the way he expands so undeniably evident with pride.
They hold onto one another, gathered around Five as he holds the battered briefcase between them. The sky is black, the remains of battle buried deep within the them that are covered in dirt and little droplets of blood. The wind whistles, carrying their worries as a single thought resounds in their heads.
They were going home.
They share a look, voices trapped in their chests, but still, they all understand, and Five rolls his shoulders, the briefcase clicking as it opens.
Blue light pours out of the case, crackling as they dig their feet into the earth below. Hearts pounding, the universe rips, bending to the whim of a feral man named Five, clutched in his hold as the wind picks up, whirring and whipping around them. In a second they’re gone, almost as though they were never there in the first place, all that remains of them a scrambled timeline and people who were lied to in the process.
They land in the same house that plagued their entire existence in a flash of bright light, gasping as they break away from each other. The Academy rejoice, bubbling with excitement, already naming the things they would do with an averted apocalypse, only to find the man that was the cause of this plague standing before them, the reason for all the hatred and fear that rests inside of them only a short distance away. They find their father, and another family, another pair of kids who had to suffer the same fates, cursing at the sight.
Five transports them to a reality in which his hell is averted, in which his purgatory never exists. All of it, all the pain and the ache and the longing, gone, vanishing with the simple click of a case. They exist no longer, not here, not in this reality, a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. It’s funny really, how far strung on they’ve been led, pulled taut by the universe and it’s hellish plans, their constant suffering an amusing joke to their makers.
The Umbrella Academy is replaced with the Sparrows, and it is another reality destined to be destroyed, another world affected by their presence.