we'll meet again

by starbrrymilk (littledewdrops)

Summary:

"even if you knew everything there is to know about right now, you could never predict what will happen next. we don’t live in a universe of rules, we live in a universe of chances."

in which your typical dysfunctional superhero family manages to fuck up the timeline all over again. and this time, they must take a trip down memory lane before embarking on a journey to search for the rest of the forty-three children because it may just be what they need to stop the end of the world.

alternatively... the hargreeves attempt to clean up their mess, only to find themselves in an even bigger one over and over again

Notes:

"can we pretend to leave, and then, we'll meet again when both our cars collide?"
— helena; my chemical romance

Chapter 1: PROLOGUE; the end and the beginning

Notes:

disclaimer: considering that the transition of vanya hargreeves to viktor hargreeves only occurs on season 3, changes will only be applicable to act 3 (season 3 timeline) instead of act 2 (alternate timeline). this is by no means a way to disregard/ disrespect both the actor and character, but done in order to keep the universe compliant with the new season. thus, within acts 1-2, number seven will still be known as "vanya." then, changed to "viktor" in act 3.

***we'll meet again takes place after act three of we'll carry on. it is a direct sequel, and you may need to read the first fic in order to understand certain events mentioned in this story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

━━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━━

PROLOGUE
the end and the beginning

"can we pretend to leave, 
and then, we'll meet again
when both our cars collide?"
helena ; my chemical romance

━━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━━

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            

            IN ORDER TO PROCEED to the next portion of their story, we must first take into consideration the two concepts that will play a great role in this tale. 

I must warn you that the information soon to be presented may bore you or overwhelm you as we dive deep (but not too deep) into the aforementioned subjects. We will deconstruct them in a way that will tell you the gist of their destiny, for they are equally substantial in order to comprehend and predict the ludicrous concept of fate.

Now, where were we?

Ah, yes.

The two concepts that play the greatest role in this tale:

1. Time
2. Reality

As already mentioned in the past, Number Five and Number Eight are the two star-crossed lovers that will contribute greatly to the prevention of the apocalypses that are hereby triggered by their family of nine.

The former is the embodiment of time and space, the boy who has the ability to leap through it.

The latter is the representation of the consciousness and the unconsciousness, the girl with the power to reflect the depths of the mind and in relation affect one’s perception of reality. 

They work hand in hand because while time works differently in the mind, the mind can perceive and preserve various instances in time.

These two can then be regarded as the most important constructs which will then dabble with the meaning of their destiny as we know it.

 

            Now that it has been established, let us proceed to dissect the fate of the main characters through allegories in the form of two of the many fairy tales that Number Eight had grown to love.

Peter Pan tells us the story of a boy who failed to grow old and a girl who yearned not to. They both fly to Neverland, an escape that is otherwise known as a place for the lost and the land that defied time.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (and Through the Looking Glass) tells us the story of a girl who fell down the rabbit hole and, soon after, entered the world on the other side of the mirror. She witnessed a variety of realities that made her wonder if she had truly gone mad.

The two additions of the Umbrella Academy, Number Eight and Number Nine will thereby take the place of the said female protagonists featured in the aforementioned fairy tales. 

In other words:

Number Nine, Eliza Hargreeves, the younger twin, becomes Alice. She is the girl who fell down the rabbit hole, whose madness continues to eat her from the inside out.

Number Eight, the maiden who yearned for an escape, will not only play the role of Wendy Darling, but she will also live up to her title as The Looking Glass. 

And if it hasn’t already been implied: 

Number Five, the boy who failed to grow up, is none other than Peter Pan. It is his hand whom Wendy Darling had once decided to take. He was the one who gave her the escape she so desired. He is the one who will travel vast oceans and infinite skies —even alternate universes— just to return to her, however long it may take.

Moving forward…

 

            TIME is beyond us. It is barely comprehensible from a human standpoint and as such, we only have a working concept of it. 

Time is a reflection of change, interwoven with space to form a continuum. In the simplest sense: where space exists, time also exists. It is for this reason that Number Five is not only able to jump through space, but his ability also evolves into the power to leap through time. 

Through numerous instances, the most important lesson he learned from this was:

Time travel is a crapshoot.

This is not only a truth based on past experiences, but it will also continue to be a constant notion proven by future events.

 

            In quantum physics, the theory of the multiverse supports the existence of parallel universes and alternate realities, which can both constitute small and infinite distinctions. There exists a bubble of space-time in which something had and had not, did and did not, would and would not happen. 

As told in the words of Reginald Hargreeves:

“The physics of numerous quanta tells us that we cannot be certain about anything, especially if time is concerned.

Even if you knew everything there is to know about right now, you could never predict what will happen next.

We don't live in a universe of rules, we live in a universe of chances.”

Fate is the construct that they will constantly defy. It is the limitation that they are forced to live with however, it is equally important because it is the force that spins their story. 

 

            Fate had declared that the Umbrella Academy is the catalyst for the end and in return, they are bound to meet again to prevent the aforementioned apocalypse(s).

By the notion of infinite possibilities, the same nine people find hope in constantly changing their current reality.

In the same way that the timeline diverges from the slightest alteration, the tiniest change in the past can also make up for a completely different future. 

Chaos theory, butterfly effect, say what you will, but the fact remains that:

The world is always changing.

The Umbrella Academy’s involvement with various events across the timeline is merely a glimpse of the problems that await them.

 

            REALITY, on the other hand, is the state of existence in which numerous variables constitute a totality. It is perceived by the mind and thus, can be subjective based on one’s comprehension.

When something is wrongly perceived, we call it an illusion, but such cannot exist independently away from reality.

According to Number Eight, who has access to the doors of one’s mind, perspective varies depending on each person.

What a single person experiences may be completely different from another for there is no being that is completely alike. 

And therefore, in the simplest terms, reality can also be perceived as a persistent illusion.

So…

Q: How can you be certain of what is real and what is not?

For instance, if a color-blind man claims that the sea is green and not blue, does that mean that what he had witnessed cannot be deemed as reality even if it is what he perceives it to be?

In another case, if a schizophrenic person claims that someone has done something everyone has failed to see, does that mean we are to ignore what they adamantly believed to have happened?

Who is to declare what is merely smoke and mirrors? 

If the vast majority of the populace is what determines which is real and which is not, by default, can it also be said that reality is merely a social construct? 

Then, what if a young girl truly did see a fairy, but we refuse to accept the truth, having already come to terms that magic cannot and does not exist? What then?

 

            The Rashomon Effect declares that there is no such thing as singular objective truth. A single event can be portrayed in various ways through multiple perspectives, altered by one’s own interpretation.

There are two sides to every story. In fact, two is putting it simply.

Therefore…

A: Since there is no such thing as absolute certainty, there is no such thing as absolute reality.

By definition, reality can be both subjective and objective. It will depend on the state of one’s mind and their own perception of reality. 

As already mentioned by the theory of multiple universes: 

All realities can exist.

It all boils down to what you chose to believe in.

And that, my dear, is how magic truly comes into existence.

Notes:

here we go againnn! i am so excited for this book and i've got big things in store for all of you. as promised, it shouldn't be as angsty as its prequel (in my terms at least) but there will be plenty of oncoming chaos so buckle up and welcome back, dear readers :)

 

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 2: ACT I ; the chance to rewrite the stars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

━━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━━

ACT ONE
the end of an era

"came a time when every star
 fall brought you to tears again."
helena; my chemical romance

━━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━━

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            

            THE LAST THING THEY REMEMBER was the whirl of electric blue that swallowed them like a maelstrom in the ocean. They twist and turn; it almost feels like they’re constantly torn apart and put back together again, and yet there was no pain. Instead, it was an eerie sensation they can’t seem to comprehend. 

The next thing they knew, the Hargreeves find themselves in an all too familiar place and an all too familiar time. 

They opened their eyes only to catch sight of the same setup at the long dining table they often ate their meals at throughout their childhood.

Their father was sitting at the end of the table silently appreciating the sound of the recording playing in the background. Their mother stands behind him, never being invited to eat with them, treated like some mere housemaid. 

Luther and Allison were making eyes at each other, Diego was just carving the arm of his chair, Klaus had just finished rolling up a joint of weed, Ben was immersed in one of his old books, Eliza was braiding the ends of her hair, and Vanya was eating her meal at the seat across their father, sneaking glances at each and every one of them.

It’s just like yesterday—

But, this wasn’t exactly their “yesterday.”

 

            As soon as their consciousness slammed into their thirteen-year-old bodies, all seven of them felt sick. It was as if they were run over by a bus, involuntarily reliving those dreadful days in the academy. Not to mention, they’re forced to bear with the nauseating aftereffect of the time jump.

It’s like déjà vu; the state of finding the unfamiliar familiar, feeling as if what has yet to happen had already happened—

Only, it turns out that this was indeed something that already happened once upon a time. 

 

            At first, it felt surreal; like waking up from a dream, unable to decipher what was genuine or not. It’s like watching life unravel through a screen— Or some might even say, it’s similar to the moment when one opens their eyes after a drunken night only to be greeted by an unbearable hangover.

Their minds still feel too hazy to recall prior events to their arrival but the resemblance and familiarity were almost uncanny. 

It’s too vivid —too nostalgic— and that’s what makes it so chilling.

All the more when they realize: 

This wasn’t a dream. 

If anything, it was closer to a nightmare than it was a dream. But even worse than that, it was a memory— Emphasis on ‘was’ because apparently, the said memory was now their present.

Shit.

The thought seemed to enter their heads all at the same time. Reality all dawns on each and every one of them.

Someone gasps.

Someone throws up.

Someone stands and slams their hands against the table.

All of their eyes are as wide as saucers as if they’ve seen a ghost. 

 

            From beside Diego’s seat, Number Five and Number Eight are nowhere to be found, leaving two empty chairs in an all too chaotic scene.

They know how this went down all too well.

November 10, 2002

This blasted day was the catalyst of it all. 

The day Five fought against their father and ran out of the dining room. The same day that Eight chased after him, only to arrive home alone.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

            Reginald Hargreeves wasn’t having any of it. His eyes narrowed at the seven children, utensils held tightly in his hands as he sternly commanded, “Settle down.”

If looks could kill, they’d be six feet under the ground.

His voice cuts through their silence, immediately preventing the discreet gestures and meaningful glances they shared. Each member straightens up at the mere sound of it as if his presence sent shivers down their spines. Some force themselves to swallow the lodge in their throats whilst others avoid looking him in the eye.

Despite how long they’ve escaped his clutches, the trauma of his reign is still fresh in their bodies. 

The old man was supposed to be just a terror of the past but here they were, feeling as if they were facing the monster under their beds. 

They have the consciousness of grown adults but they still feel as small and inferior as their childhood selves. Rage and fear stir an awful storm of emotions that Eliza Hargreeves doesn’t fail to catch. 

Their home is still as cold —is still as blue and gray— just like she remembers.

 

            “It is already bad enough that your two other siblings hold no esteem towards the order and regulations within the academy. There is no need for this mutiny,” the old man barked, continuing to berate them for their menial faults. “Have you forgotten the values long ingrained in you? Have you no concern and decided to descend into a path of anarchy?”

The tension present in the atmosphere makes them wholly aware of the way things never changed.

But it should have changed. 

It’s been seventeen years since then. They’ve grown, grasped on straws, and paved their way with their bare hands. 

They should be able to face him this time around even if it meant looking Satan in the eye.

“Do you all wish to face a grave punishment in order to set an example?”

 

            The members of the Umbrella Academy were not brave. Rash, maybe. Foolish, more likely. But brave? 

It’s never been their strong suit, and after all these years, perhaps that aspect will still remain the same.

Regardless, if there was one thing that truly changed it was the way that they were finally learning to count on one another. 

It took a long road to get there, but progress is still progress be it as minuscule as it seemed.

And it starts rather simple:

Allison glances at the other kids around her. 

Luther responds with a nod, Diego returns the look with fire in his eyes, Vanya forces a thin-lipped smile and Klaus holds her hand encouragingly.

She stands with the courage she gains from the others and walks over to their old man.

“Number Three? I will not stand for this impertinence—”

Their resolve to face their past begins with four simple words.

“I heard a rumor—”

 

---

 

            Number Eight remembers how this goes all too well. She’s back on that sidewalk, breathing heavily, knees buckling. It feels as if her heart was going to escape the cage of her ribs and her palms are so damn cold.

She hates how this went the first time around. 

The image of Five’s departure is still fresh in her mind; the way his eyes shifted to green, sparing her a mere glance before that whirl of electric blue consumed him. He was deaf to her words, too caught up in his hubris to even stop in his tracks and acknowledge her presence.

It’s like reliving one of the worst days of her life.

‘But it’s different this time,’ she reminds herself despite the gnawing fear inside her.

It’s different because Five wasn’t running to leave them— to leave her.

 

          The girl finally releases the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when she catches sight of the distant figure turning his heel and making his way back towards her. 

His green-turned-blue orbs meet her eyes and her heart almost stops at that instant.

Eight runs without a second thought regardless of the way her shoes almost skid against the pavement— Regardless of the way it was already hard enough to breathe.

Five is staggering as he attempted to meet her halfway. The jump through time took a toll on his body more than he anticipated it would be. His eyes are bleary and he’s pretty sure he’s bound to pass out in a matter of time, but he forces himself to take big steps across the concrete.

The boy almost stumbles when his wife throws herself at him, but he doesn’t complain even once. He only returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around her to embrace her even tighter.

They made it.

They fucking made it.

It was at that exact moment that those four miserable decades almost seemed to be worth the trouble. 

Almost.

 

            Eight is still holding onto him as if it was a matter of life or death, but Five only leans against her, trying to prevent his body from collapsing on the sidewalk as his adrenaline began to dissipate. 

They’re still caught up in the height of their emotions, heaving deep breaths as they adjust to the present.

It might have been foolish to think so, especially considering the way they’ve been together all this time, but at that moment, they seemed to have the same thought in mind.

“I’m home,” Five rasps, mustering the two words he yearned to tell her ever since his departure.

Despite his exhaustion, a boyish grin breaks through his face, proud of the way he seemed to know what went on in her head perfectly. His smugness doesn’t falter even as his consciousness fades.

“Welcome back,” Eight chuckles breathlessly, feeling as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders. The tears don’t fall but her eyes do well up from the euphoria that washed over her.

The mere sensation of the girl wrapped in his arms causes a warmth to spread in Five’s chest as her soft laughter tugged on his heart. He manages to press his lips against her temples before the exhaustion completely consumes him.

After all these years, his foolish stunt, all the shit she got herself into, the tragedies they’ve gone through, the Temps Commission, and the entire apocalypse aside—

He came home to her.

And that meant more to her than he could ever imagine.

 

---

 

            They’re thirteen all over again; smaller bodies, lesser scars, a little naive and incredibly ignorant about what was to come. All the disasters and shit they’d be going through were almost unimaginable. The world and everything else was still the same old same old—

But they’re not.

Their consciousness is older, some wiser (shocker). But, all that aside, their figures were still as small and vulnerable. It’s not easy to adjust to it even if this was their second time around.

In Eight’s opinion, her sixteen-year-old body was definitely preferable compared to this petite prepubescent one, especially considering how she had to drag Five’s unconscious figure back to the academy alone.

But what the hell can she do? They are stuck in an inevitable dilemma once again. 

Then again, there are definitely worse things that could have happened.

 

            She doesn’t know how she managed and she’s almost apologetic for how sore Five might feel when he wakes up from his slumber, but her worries were momentarily lifted when she finally arrives back at their front door to catch all seven of them waiting for their return home.

Klaus is the one who swings the door open at the exact moment the girl passed by their front gate. 

Five is still slumped against her back, too weak to even maintain his consciousness. His arms are wrapped around her as she holds him tightly in an attempt to carry (er, drag) him back to the mansion. It was difficult and she’s a tad bit surprised that she actually succeeded, but it was definitely worth the effort.

“You’re home! What took you so long?” the fourth child greets as boisterous as ever, flailing his arms around while he welcomes them back.

Allison, who had been standing right beside him, let out a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank god, you made it.”

They already crowd her before Eight even gets a chance to give them an answer. 

 

            Vanya is the first to ask about their brother, motioning towards Five’s unconscious body in concern, “What happened to him?”

“Knocked out,” Eight tells them. “That time jump really took a toll on him.”

“Give him to me, I’ll carry him to his room,” Luther offers but the girl merely stares at him as though it was an unspoken way to convey her refusal to let Five go.

It reminds them of the way Five had done the same when they arrived late at Hazel and Cha-Cha’s crime scene. They almost roll their eyes at her stubbornness.

Diego urges her, “Oh, c’mon, Eight. You can’t possibly believe that you can carry him through two flights of stairs.”

“I know,” she gives in but not without adding, “But I’m not leaving his side. Not even for a second.” 

“No one’s stopping you,” their leader actually does roll his eyes at their inseparable attachment. He takes the boy’s unconscious body from her without any qualms, carrying him in his arms with ease.

Allison turns to their Momma’s Boy to instruct him, “Diego, go get Mom, will you?”

“On it.”

But before he even gets to leave, their attention is immediately averted towards the soft voice that calls out.

“Eight—” She cleared her throat, croaking out, “Eightie.”

It was only then that they noticed the other two people present in the room.

 

            Eight could have sworn that her heart almost stopped beating the moment she laid her eyes on her reflection. Everyone else also stiffens as the sudden realization dawns on them. Hell, even the said two people were still having difficulty wrapping their heads around reality.

The older twin doesn’t beat around the bush, releasing a shaky breath as she wraps her sister in a tight embrace. “Jesus Christ, El.”

“Ben,” she calls his name soon after, pulling him by his arm to drag him into their hug.

They’re alive. They’re alive. They’re alive.

Tears escape Eliza’s eyes as her twin tightens her hold on them, and before they even know it, Vanya, Allison, Klaus, and Diego have joined in on their embrace. They realize they’ve been doing so rather often, even if their family was never really one for physical affection… or affection in general.

 

            “You don’t know how hard it was to be stuck with Klaus after all these years,” Ben tries to make light of the situation, forcing out a laugh. And yet, the way his voice broke inevitably gives him away.

Klaus gasps accusingly, “Excuse me, Benjamin—”

“I can only imagine,” Eight cuts him off with a laugh.

“You must have had the patience of a saint,” Diego doesn’t fail to slip in, commending their two siblings as they ignored the boy they’ve been teasing.

“I’m right here!” the fourth child scoffs dramatically, feigning hurt.

“I still can’t believe it,” Eliza laughs, hugging them even tighter as she admits, “I missed you all so much.” 

“We missed you both too, El,” Vanya agrees, voice all choked up from the sentimental moment.

“You guys don’t know the half of it,” Allison chimed in.

 

            It’s only when Luther clears his throat loudly that the other seven take notice of the two who were not included in their little group hug.

Looking as if he felt left out, the first Hargreeves gives them a pointed expression as he motions towards the boy in his arms, “Uh… Remember this guy?”

Their huddle finally dissolves as they release each other from their grasp. 

Eight is the quickest one to get back on track.

“I didn’t forget about my husband, Luther,” she huffs as if she was offended by the mere thought. 

“Yeah right.”

The girl ignores the snide little comment, as she motioned them all to head upstairs, “Let’s go.”

They finally begin to move but it only takes a couple of steps before the eighth child stops in her tracks at the sudden realization.

“Wait, what about—”

“The old Scrooge?” Klaus smirks, beating her to it. “We took care of him.”

“No, Allison took care of him,” Ben corrects him. “We just watched her.”

“I held her hand and F.Y.I. moral support goes a long way, bro.”

“He’s right,” Allison snorts. “As much as I hate to admit it, it was a team effort. I wouldn’t have been able to do it if you weren’t around.”

“Why? Afraid of ruining your reputation as Daddy’s Little Girl?” Diego doesn’t fail to strike a nerve.

“Aw, jealous, Number Two?”

“Hey, in case you’re forgetting ‘two’ comes before ‘three.’”

“That’s probably because he thought having you lose to a girl would be another blow to your pride.”

 

            “Say all you want, I still liked it better when he was dead,” Klaus chimes in, snorting at the fact that they were still arguing over their father's affection like they had when they were children.

Eliza chides him warningly, “Klaus.”

“What?” he defends himself. “You act like we never wanted to leave this hellhole.”

Eight heaves a deep sigh.

These next few days were definitely going to be taxing.

 

---

 

2002-11-13
DAY 03 | 02:59

 

            NUMBER FIVE WAS so damn lucky that he was too exhausted to witness, or much less hear of, the emotionally taxing family gatherings that had followed right after their arrival. 

Their past was already aggravating and the thought that they were facing it all over again was even more daunting, but heart-to-heart talks were neither of their fortes.

They may have been all in this together but that doesn’t make their circumstances any easier. If anything, in an attempt to make the most out of this long-awaited opportunity, it was only amidst this short interval that they began to confront their problems. 

The Hargreeves finally get the chance to focus on each other without the Commission coming after their lives and without the threat of the apocalypse looming over their heads, and yet they make the most out of it by talking.

That doesn’t sound too bad, doesn’t it?

As if.

See, if there were a couple of things to remember, all according to the previous experiences of the Hargreeves, it would be:

• Family reunions suck. 
• Family meetings, even more so. 
• Family bonding always led to some sort of chaos and a series of disasters.

Other notable things to remember would be that two of the nine members of the academy were rather explosive. 

Eliza Hargreeves was a bomb that fed on the negative emotions of others. And to make matters worse, Vanya Hargreeves was the nuke that had not only blown up the moon but also caused the end of life on earth as they knew it.

Most important of it all:

The Hargreeves are absolutely shit at communication.

 

            That being said, even Number Eight, the alleged best one at it, was anything but forthright. She may be impulsive as hell, but she runs away from her problems and tackles them in a roundabout manner instead of facing them head-on. 

Emotions were messy. 

It was bad enough that she was often caught up in the storm of it, but having to let her guard down and take apart the armor that took years to build was never her forte and it was never going to be. 

She’d rather be by Five’s side and wait for him to wake up than be stuck in the middle of all that.

Besides, she’s their Number Eight, the mind reader, the Looking Glass. Nothing gets past her. 

She already knows whatever the hell they want to say, alongside the secrets they kept hidden for all these years. 

There was absolutely no need for them to know her side of the story. They can’t afford to look under that rock and she can’t stress enough that ignorance is fucking bliss.

After all, there’s an explanation as to how Pandora had unleashed the terrors of the world the moment she looked into that stupid box.

In the first place, who in their sane mind can sit through all those heart-to-heart tearful family meetings? It’s not like it could make up for their tragic past.

She’s pretty sure that even Five would take her side on such matters. 

Perhaps the temporary escape was the only silver lining in the boy’s day's worth of slumber. 

 

            Allison’s rumor bought them a bit of time to escape their father’s clutches. Two days after their arrival, Sir Reginald Hargreeves was still rendered unconscious thanks to their little stunt. According to their sister, it should take about a week before they face him once again. (Fingers crossed, that is.)

Oblivious to their time travel shenanigans, Grace and Pogo agreed to help the children cover up the little incident, in fear of the dreadful repercussions the man would impose on them if he ever learns that Number Three used her powers on him.

Hopefully, by the time their old man gains consciousness, they should already be on their way back to the future (er, their present) not only due to their reluctance in repeating history but also for the sake of preserving the timeline. 

They can’t stay for too long, but Five’s current condition almost makes them reflect on the declining chance that they’ll be able to leave sooner. It makes Eight dread the worst-case scenario, especially considering how the boy has yet to wake up in the span of the past two days.

Regardless, through it all, Number Eight doesn’t leave Five’s side like she said she would.

She already put him through so much after the prior incident with the Commission. The least she can do was to be there at the exact moment he’d wake up—

It’s the least she can do for the person she loves.

 

            Likewise, Eliza Hargreeves refuses to leave her twin sister’s side. She couldn’t afford to care even if it meant that she’d be spending the next few days as a third wheel. (Unknown to them, it would displease Five more than it would her, but he’s always had his issues with sharing. He’ll have no choice but to suck it up.)

Eliza had spent half of her life (does it still count if she was dead for most of it?) away from her twin, so they can try to pry them apart as much as they want but she is definitely not letting that happen without a fight.

Thus, the twins are stuck to the hip like how it was when they were still recent additions to the academy.

It’s also for that reason that while Number Eight was seated at the side of Five’s bed, watching him sleep, Eliza was curled up in the armchair of the boy’s room, adamant not to sleep without her twin nearby.

 

            It’s already the dead of the night; too late for anyone to hear her, much less listen to whatever she was rambling on about. Eight had just finished draping a blanket on her twin sister’s dozing figure before she took her place back at Five’s side. She speaks to the boy’s unconscious figure, informing him of the things he missed out on regardless of the unlikely chance that he could actually hear her.

“You should’ve seen the others today. It’s even worse than yesterday,” she began softly, taking Five’s hand and playing with his fingers as she spoke. “Their eyes are swollen from the amount they cried. I swear to god, it looked like they’ve been binge-watching a bunch of tear-jerkers.”

“Thankfully, El’s there to drain them of all the gloom but they’re still pretty insistent on conducting family meetings despite all that.” 

“They’re making it seem like some kind of group therapy, and seeing how at least one of them would always turn into a sobbing mess, I honestly can’t see the sense in it.”

“I keep reminding them that ignorance has its perks… I mean, if they really had to hear it, I would have spoken up, wouldn’t I? That’s my job as the telepath, but they still won’t listen to me either way,” Eight heaves an exasperated sigh. “Stubbornness probably runs in the family…” 

“Honestly, I’m just thankful Vanya hasn’t blown the house up. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Speaking of which, we’re secretly helping her with her powers. This time, we’re easing off the pills gently. We can’t afford to let Mom, Pogo, and especially the old man catch her after all. You’d be glad to know that it’s going better than I thought…”

“I mean, it's not that I expected a lot. We were such a mess after all…” she mutters only to correct herself the next second, “No, rather, we’re still a mess.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re not awake for all of this. You would’ve complained and reminded us of how we never have our priorities in check,” she laughs humorlessly, trying to keep her mind away from the dreadful possibility that he might not even wake up.

Eight intertwines their fingers and holds Five’s hand tightly before curling up beside him on his bed.

“Take your time resting… But in case you’re forgetting, I’m here. We’re all waiting for you, Five,” the girl watches his sleeping figure, taking in his peaceful features. Seeing him this relaxed was almost a miracle.

“I hope you feel better soon,” Eight leaves a soft kiss on his eyelids, a depiction of utmost devotion.

 

            ‘It’s going to be alright,’ she tries to assure herself despite the inevitable doubts crawling in her head. 

It’s like an itch under her skin, like the calm before the storm— Or perhaps, referring to it as trauma would be a lot more appropriate. 

In the same way that Number Five would likely find it difficult to believe that there wasn’t a threat of the apocalypse looming over their heads, Eight still can’t find it in herself to let her guard down. 

She can’t give in to relief —can’t enjoy the moment—  unlike the rest of their siblings that seemed to have accepted the state of things, who had already been focusing on healing from their emotional wounds.

They’re a few steps ahead, already making amends with their past, and yet, here she was, still unable to accept the way things are even if she was already a few decades older than them.

The eighth Hargreeves attempts to keep telling herself otherwise, refusing to give in to her neurotic thoughts, but it doesn’t exactly come easy, especially when Five’s not completely back yet.

It’s always been them against the world. He’s always been the source of her courage and it was rather difficult to attain such without him.

But, hey—

They waited this long. Things are finally starting to look up. 

It’s going to be different this time around. 

It has to be different.

It will be different.

Even if she’s not confident in her abilities, Number Eight believes in Number Five more than anybody else— more than herself.

Even if it’s beyond her capabilities, she knows that he’ll make sure of it.

They’re going to take it on together like they always do. Hand in hand. One foot in front of the other.

Notes:

the trailer just got released and i'm so adkahfkwd. i have a rough outline of the whole story already (hahaha), and i was a tad surprised to know that i can make my au work out (i was mainly scared about that). once again, acts 1 and 2 occur in an alternate timeline but we will be converging to (season 3) canon for act 3.

speaking of which, here is our first wave of chaos. no specific update schedule yet, but let me know you think about it so far :)

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 3: the house we grew up in

Summary:

"and it's alright and it's coming on. we gotta get it right back to where we started from."
— right back where we started from; maxine nightingale

2002-11-13
DAY 03 | 08:21

 

            THE BOY’S UNCONSCIOUS FIGURE was so serene compared to his usual grumpy self that even one of his most crass brothers doesn’t fail to snort at the sight of him.

“Funny. If I didn’t know he was such a prick, I'd say he almost looks adorable in his sleep,” Diego spoke, eyeing the fifth child with amusement. 

“If he heard you call him ‘adorable’ to his face, he wouldn’t hesitate to stab you,” Number Eight gave him a wry grin as she sat on the edge of his bed. 

“Well, don’t worry,” Luther scoffed sarcastically. “He’ll wake up eventually, be back to his normal unpleasant self… Who knows? Two of him might even kick you in the groin.”

“You’re really holding that against him, huh? It was just the paradox psychosis, Luther.” Number Eight gently combed through her husband’s hair while he continued to doze in peace. The affectionate expression on her face eventually morphs into a concerned one as she sighed wistfully.

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t there and— He’s sweet on you because he likes you,” Luther mutters irritably.

“First of all, my other self was there,” the girl looks up to meet his eyes, adding coyly, “and second, he doesn’t like me, he loves me.”

Diego makes a retching noise at the sound of that.

 

            Number Five had yet to wake up three days into their return to the past and yet Number Eight had barely left his side, only doing so to accomplish daily necessities. Although, even that was a bit of a stretch. 

She didn’t sleep, she barely ate, and not to mention, she constantly refused to leave Number Five on his own.

Her total disregard for her own needs causes the rest of the Hargreeves to settle for an intervention.

“Okay, all jokes aside,” Eight turns to her brothers, noting how it was unlike them to stay too long in Five’s room. 

They were all equally aware that the boy would find it extremely unpleasant to wake up to a room full of people so they’ve only taken turns to avoid crowding him in hopes of not being on the receiving end of his rage. She had been the only permanent visitor being the only exception or rather, the only one immune to his homicidal tendencies.

And so, she asks out of growing suspicion because, among everyone else, Luther and Diego were the worst at tolerating Five’s tendency of being brutally blunt and tactless.

“What are you doing here?” 

“What? I can’t roam around in my own house?” Diego retorts challengingly, a tell-tale sign they were up to something.

“I don’t have to be a mind reader to know something’s up. What is it?” Number Eight probed, raising an eyebrow. “Done sobbing in all those family meetings, was it? Or have you all decided to settle for actual therapy next? I might be able to sit through individual sessions but you know damn well I’m not putting up with group counseling.”

“You weren’t even there,” Luther muttered bitterly.

“Well, the last I’ve heard, family meetings were only for specific emergencies and important circumstances,” their sister scoffed in derision. “Since when did we conduct them to play house?”

“Of all people, I never would’ve thought you’d be against it.” Because she was their Eight, the one mediating their fights as children, the one who manages to keep them all in line when their leader isn’t able to. The essence of her power was not only communication but also unity.

It’s ironic to see her so adamantly rejecting such a trivial thing.

Eight heaves a deep sigh when she notices the forlorn expression on the blonde’s face. It takes a beat before she gives them a fairly reasonable argument. 

“I’m not against it, Luther,” she began. “I just don’t see why you’re trying to force pleasantries and fake niceties… We don’t have to start acting like people we’re not. Just go about your usual selves and quit trying to spring that heart-to-heart bullshit on anybody because frankly, we don’t need it—”

“Harsh,” Diego snorted again in partial amusement because Eight wasn’t usually this… He wants to say ‘cold’ but that may be putting it too gravely so perhaps ‘cynical’ would be the better term. 

But then she continues—

“Nothing is going to change the fact that we’re a bunch of estranged siblings that have only reunited a few days ago after what? Decades? We can’t just hope that our dysfunctional family would somehow manage to piece itself together through a series of juvenile confessions. You can’t rush these things, it’ll take time.” 

—And hearing that, they realize that she placed more thought into this despite what they believed.

She’s still their Eight, always telling them the truth they ought to hear as if it would open their eyes.

Something about it reminded them of how fast the past week had gone because just a year ago, they thought she was dead, they thought Five was never coming home. Just a year ago, their entire family had still been split apart. 

 

            Diego eventually clears his throat, breaking the tension in the room, “Look, I don’t give two shits if you won’t attend those god awful family meetings but— Eat. Mom made pancakes.”

“Five and I lived through the aftermath of the apocalypse. I think I can survive skipping a meal or two…” Eight shrugs nonchalantly, barely even sparing it a thought, “Besides, even if I don’t head down for breakfast, Ben, Vee, El, or maybe even Al is going to come here with a tray full of food, demanding I take a bite.”

“We’re only concerned because you haven’t left his side since we got here. Even Eliza spends more time with us, and that’s saying something considering how she’s been sticking by your side most of the time,” the second Hargreeves argued, always so worried about their disregard for their bodies despite both Eight’s and Klaus’ insistence that he was overreacting.

“I already said I wouldn’t leave his side. I just kept my word,” the girl volleys back stubbornly. “What’s your point?”

“There’s no ‘point.’ We’re not here to start an argument, this is an intervention,” Luther proclaimed. “We're taking turns watching over Five. Allison and Klaus are taking the next shift. Then, Vanya. Then, Ben and Eliza. We’ll call you over as soon as he wakes up. So just go.”

“No.”

"We're not trying to negotiate with you—"

"No."

Diego scowls in exasperation, “Stop acting difficult, you little—”

“I’m not leaving his side!” Eight snapped back, temper aggravated by the mere recollection of the aftermath of her death. 

She remembers the despair in Five’s eyes, how lost they seemed, how the blue had paled to gray in comparison to their usual vibrant hue. She remembers the way he held onto her tightly as if he was trying to crush her bones to prevent her from running off on her own again. She remembers the way his voice broke, how he was nothing like his usual condescending, smug or brilliant self.

It reminds her of the state she found him in the first time she arrived in the apocalypse.

“You don’t get it. You weren’t there. I—” I have to make it up to him. I can’t put him through that shit again.

“Eight,” Diego interrupts her, snapping her out of her thoughts. “We’re just asking you to eat a meal or take a shower for fuck’s sake.”

“But—”

 

            With her continuous protests, Diego and Luther turn to each other and share a knowing look, aware that their sister was too far gone to listen. Eight was as stubborn as a rock, and even during their childhood, Number One and Two were never able to talk to her out of the most reckless things she gets herself into. 

It doesn’t help that they’ve never been as good at persuading her with mere words. They weren’t as eloquent as Allison, as cunning as Klaus and Five, as reasonable as Ben, or as compelling as Vanya and Eliza. 

Not to mention, any argument would be futile against Eight, the telepath of the family who knew the inner workings of their minds. She always found a way to turn things around.

If anything, they were clearly fighting a losing battle but, if there was one thing Luther and Diego had in common —their last resort during crucial moments and their only shot to overpower the eighth child— it would be brute force.

So instead of playing mind games, and trying to fight her with logic, Eight Hargreeves is once again manhandled by their Number One, who picks her up from the ground with ease.

“Get your ape-hands off me!”

Despite the way she was thrashing around to escape his grasp, Luther carries her out of Five’s bedroom, sets her right outside the door, shuts it in her face, and locks it tight.

It takes less than a second for her to slam her fists against the wood and demand indignantly, “Diego! Luther! Open this door!”

“Not until you eat the food Mom made!” Diego shouts back from the other side of the door. 

‘Children,’ Eight seethed. They were acting like incorrigible children.

She wonders if the age regression was partially to blame but with the way they were simultaneously laughing in victory, she could tell that her idiot brothers seemed to be having the time of their lives.

Assholes.

“Diego fucking Hargreeves, open this door this instant or I am going to kill you!” Eight growls in unadulterated rage.

But despite her threats, he only scoffs loudly, “Yeah right. Like I’d buy that.”

This little shit.

 

            The girl takes a step back, heaving a deep breath in an attempt to clear her mind and calm herself. 

It takes a moment before she manages to think straightly, and when she does, she digs into her pockets to fish out a pin.

“You know that I can pick locks, right?” Eight eventually reminds them, a smug smirk momentarily glosses over her face when she successfully manages to unlock it and turn the knob. 

She pushes the door with her shoulder only to find out that it was being blocked by the tallest member of their family.

“Way ahead of you, Sis,” Diego smoothly retorted. “It won’t matter if you can’t push it open.”

Eight slammed a fist against the door once again as she cursed them under her breath, “Luther, you goddamn Neanderthal.”

 

            Just as she was about to turn her heel and run outside the house, she hears Luther shout back as if they already anticipated every scenario, “Don’t you dare climb through the fire exit!”

“Eat shit, ape-man!” 

“We can play this game all day, Eight. Just go down before we resort to Allison’s rumors.”

The girl scowls in indignation, threatening them with the voice of her mind, ‘I’m going to get you back for this.’

‘Goddammit, Eight,’ Diego thinks back before blurting it all out loud, “We’ll open it in an hour. Just go down and eat!”

She was going to kill them. 

Really, she’d insist.

And even if she was too soft to actually follow through with it, she’d settle for at least kicking them both in the shin.

That would show them.

 

---

 

2002-11-13
DAY 03 | 09:35

 

            ‘It’s probably the sleep deprivation,’ she supposed. One of the worst parts of puberty was that time of the month. Yet, her temper still keeps flaring almost nonstop despite how her monthly cycle had already passed so, she rules out the likelihood that that was the cause. 

Besides, when she’s not mad, she’s too damn tired that she doesn’t even bother to think beyond that. Surely enough the acute paranoia and the shadows following her around from the corner of her eye wasn’t a symptom of PMS. 

Therefore, she was either lacking sleep or she was slowly being driven insane. 

Whichever it was, it was due to such that Number Eight finds herself walking aimlessly around the mansion instead of heading towards the basement like her brothers had kindly instructed. Not only was she incensed by their display of brute strength, but she was also aggravated by the haziness and chronic groggy state of her mind. 

Walking around their own home felt like trying to navigate through a damn maze— and that in itself was ridiculous because out of everyone, she was the one who had an ability akin to an eidetic memory. (Ironic, considering that the twins had never regained the memories of their lives before the age of five, but you get the gist.)

It turns out three days of no sleep was undoubtedly affecting her constitution. And as it is, she’s definitely not in the right mind to be making decisions.

Eight being Eight, the girl seemed to find herself prone to self-sabotage either way.

 

            In her defense, she was initially thinking of Five’s well-being when she walked into the infirmary. Not that it was anything new because she was always thinking of him one way or another. It’s a quality she earned having spent most of their lives together, and it’s a only normal reaction, especially considering how the boy was a permanent fixture in her life.

So, yes, when she was scavenging the cabinets of the room in search of supplements and vitamins —a go-to source of nutrition back in their apocalypse days— the girl was thinking of him first and foremost.

She just happened to come across a bottle of sleeping pills which she figured would somehow assist her with her terrible insomnia. It then led her to hoard anything else they could use; medicine for headaches, ointment for burns, antiseptic for wounds. Eight ends up filling up her pockets with medical supplies because being overly prepared was surprisingly a rather effective way to counter the acute paranoia worsening by the day, or so she tells herself.

Putting aside their training room, the inner workings of the infirmary was something ingrained in each member of the academy, having spent most of their superhero days in that exact room. It doesn’t take long until she finds the serum Reginald Hargreeves had used on her back in the day in an attempt to enhance brain function amidst his experiments to further improve her powers.

She’s almost dumbfounded to learn that he still has it despite how his plans were disrupted by Allison’s rumor.

And then, she gets a thought.

‘An undoubtedly stupid thought,’ a familiar voice in her head (that sounded awfully similar to Five’s) tells her.

But she pushes her doubts back into a box in her mind and takes the syringe because it wasn’t as if the boy was there to stop her, and she might eventually need it.

(Lies.)

Despite her attempts to deny it, every fiber in her body is telling her to take it there and then.

 

            There’s an itch in her skin and a whisper in her ear that tells her it's the strength that she sought; the power to protect her family and the answer to their problems. 

And well, sanity be damned. She’s always been willing to give everything for them.

From the corner of her eye, the shadow that constantly followed her seemed to have taken the form of the monocled man, urging her to take it, reminding her that she knew just how it worked— just how much it aided her ability.

So against her better judgment, the girl rolls her sleeves up, injects the familiar substance into her veins, and the world spins for a moment.

Her bleary thoughts seemed to have regained their focus and even if this was likely just a temporary fix, she figured it was better than nothing.

As soon as she hears footsteps nearby, Eight immediately rolls the sleeves of her uniform jacket back down, hastily getting rid of the evidence in the nearest bin. 

She heaves a deep breath to regain her composure and the moment Pogo walks in, she had already anticipated his words.

“Miss Eight?”

 

            The moment the old chimp called out to her, having found her in the most unlikely place he assumed she’d be found in, Eight already had an alibi in hand. Perhaps it was an instinct built after spending quite some time in the Temps Commission, but sneaking around had long become her forte ever since she spent her childhood hiding from her siblings in that dusty old closet.

“Hi, Pogo,” she greets him back with a smile. “Sorry about the mess, I was looking for anything we could use. I may have hoarded a bit on supplements and painkillers.”

She wasn’t entirely lying per se. The key to it was to keep them in tune with the truth for as much as one can.

The old chimp assures her with a similar gentle smile as he informed her, “Your siblings have been looking for you all over the mansion. I believe Grace had gone out of her way to make you a healthy meal.”

“So, I’ve heard. I was just about to head over,” Eight smiled warmly at the mention of their robot mother.

“Well, don’t make her wait too long. She’s a little disappointed that you haven’t been joining the others for your meals. The woman may be an android, but she still has feelings, dear.”

“I’ll find a way to make it up to her…” she promised, preparing to make her way out of the premises, walking right beside the old chimp.

But right when they were about to exit the infirmary together, the girl turns to the figure beside her.

“Pogo.”

“Yes, Miss Eight?”

“Thank you,” she musters the two words she wasn’t able to tell him back in their present when he was still alive. It was one of the few things that managed to slip her mind, having been too caught up in the prevention of the end of mankind.

“For what, if I may ask?”

“For caring.”

“There’s no need to thank me for something as simple as such.”

 

---

 

2002-11-13
DAY 03 | 11:07

 

            By the time Number Eight was able to return to her husband’s old bedroom it had been an hour or two since Luther and Diego had so thoughtfully kicked her out. The girl had made herself comfortable at the edge of the bed while Vanya was on watch duty. 

The other child sat on the single-seater couch adjacent to the couple and observed her sister as the telepath quietly immersed herself in one of the old books Ben had recommended. 

She suddenly breaks the silence that lulled over the room, meekly mumbling, “…I’m sorry”

Her sister doesn’t even have to look at her to know what she felt guilty about. Instead, Eight spoke gently in a way that reminded Vanya of their mother, “Vanya, we talked about this.”

“But I—” her voice broke inevitably as tears welled up in her eyes. “It was because of me… If it weren’t for me, the apocalypse wouldn’t have happened. You two wouldn’t have—”

Eight stands from the bed to squeeze herself beside her sister on the couch that surprisingly fits two pre-pubescent children. She links their arms together, successfully interrupting the brunette before she continued to pull on that thread.

“If you’re going to pin the blame on yourself then you should point fingers at us too,” the eighth child spoke. “We were responsible for making you feel that way.”

Vanya leans her head comfortably against her sister’s as they both watched the boy in front of them, “That’s not true.”

“Really?” Eight snorts derisively, scorning herself rather than the girl who had caused the end of the world they managed to escape from.

“Well, not entirely,” Vanya gives a sheepish smile, knowing it would have been useless to deny it anyway. “Dad made a mess out of all of us. We were just kids. We didn't know any better.”

Her sister’s jaw tightens at the mention of the man, inevitably muttering under her breath, “You're too kind. I wouldn’t even call that man my father.”

“Eightie…”

 

            Eight ignores the tone of her sister’s voice, turning the girl’s left arm around as she averted the subject, “It’s a shame we had to jump through time, your tattoo is gone now.”

“I can always get it again when we’re older,” Vanya assures her, trying her best not to mind the way her sister often evaded conversations about herself.

She was certainly speaking the truth albeit. The reason why Vanya had decided to permanently ink the same umbrella on her skin was to find that sense of belonging she had long sought with her siblings, after all. And she has that now.

(Well, they're getting there at least. Baby steps.)

In the last couple of days they spent together, she found herself feeling closer to them than she ever had in those eighteen years that they lived in the horrid confines of the academy. Her sibling's attempts to include her in their activities were certainly an improvement. It's the most she can ask for.

 

            “Truth be told, I always saw it as a brand before you got one,” Eight admitted, snapping Vanya out of her thoughts. “But with or without it, it doesn’t make you less of a member. Whatever Reginald says, whatever he taught you to think—”

The seventh child’s smile widens in return.

“I know…” Vanya nodded slowly, “I only learned it recently but, I know that now, Eightie. You don’t have to remind me.” 

Eight mirrors the smile on her sister’s face as she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It feels like a weight (be it as minuscule as it was) was lifted off her shoulders.

And at that moment, she hears a voice call out—

‘Eight?’

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Number Eight immediately jolts up as soon as she hears the voice of Five’s mind. She rushes to his side while Vanya meets her eyes. They nod at each other in understanding, and the seventh scampers off to fetch their robot mother.

The second time he calls her, he actually manages to croak her name out, eyes blearily blinking open, “E-Eight?”

The hoarseness in his voice makes her realize he’s parched, and so she immediately takes the glass of water set on his bedside, supporting him as he struggled to sit up.

Before he takes a sip, Five can’t help but note, slightly dumbfounded as if he had already anticipated waking up in an empty room, “You’re here…”

“That asshole can't pry me away from your body even if he tried,” Eight tells him resolutely, before muttering rather irritably, “Although Luther and Diego —those jackasses— did try, so I kicked them in the shin.”

He gives her a proud smirk just right after he replenishes his fluids, and yet she doesn’t miss the way it falters after a second.

 

            The boy reaches out for her hand and weaves their fingers together out of habit. And yet, despite the intimate gesture, he refused to look her in the eye. Eight can’t tell whether or not he’s still hung up on the series of misfortune events that they’ve recently gone through, but she chooses to ask him forthright instead of violating his mind.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” he looks up to meet her eyes, pursing his lips together to force a thin-lipped smile.

“You know you can’t lie to me, right?” she spoke knowingly, calling him out on his bullshit.

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at her, “I know.”

“You gonna tell me about it?” the girl hummed, speaking in the same manner he often would with her.

 

            Five heaves a deep breath, avoiding her gaze once again as his eyes fall back on the door Vanya had left open. It takes three beats before he admits it, “When we were stuck out there in the apocalypse, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t hear his voice in my head.”

Eight sucked in a breath as she realized who he was referring to.

“He always kept saying, ‘I told you so,’” he let out a derisive scoff, sneering as he mocked the old man. “I honestly doubt I’m up for any of that crap right now.”

“Five,” the maiden gently probes him to look back at her as she assured, “Al rumored him unconscious so I doubt he’d be able to tell you that.”

“I’m sure he’ll find a way,” Five spat scornfully, a tight smile on his face despite the tension in his jaw and shoulders.

Eight purses her lips together before leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek, “Well then, it’s your chance to prove him wrong.”

Five sighs exhaustedly, but something about the way he was tracing his thumb against her knuckles assures her it’s fine.

It takes another beat later until—

“Eight?”

“Hm?”

She’s thoroughly surprised to hear the next three words that escaped his lips.

“I love you.”

 

            The girl can’t tell if this was because of the aftermath of what had gone down with the Commission, the way he had witnessed her death, the way they’ve been attempting to avert the apocalypse all this time, or the way he had been constantly driven over the edge—

But one thing was for certain:

As much as the boy had a knack for words —a mind witty enough to effortlessly make snide comebacks and extremely convincing threats— the combination of those particular three had always been some sort of a rarity. 

Number Five only ever admits that to her face when he’s so damn tired and all his guards are down. All the more reason why it was so precious.

The way he tells her in such a straightforward manner without his usual cocky antics or sly grins only attests to the fact that he was indeed exhausted.

Regardless of how old their consciousness was, her cheeks burn slightly at the suddenness of his words. But despite it all, Eight doesn’t hesitate to respond—

“I love you too.”

 

---

 

            HER SKIN IS TOO DAMN COLD and he thinks he’s going to be sick. The crimson puddle that surrounded her stained not only her skin as it seeped through the gaps of the wooden planks. Her eyes are left open looking at a far distance, unable to see him. 

She’s not breathing and different reasons aside, he also can’t seem to find it in himself to do so.

The sight is absolutely chilling despite how such gruesome scenes had always been a norm for him.

It’s precisely because it’s her lifeless body that the mere thought tears him apart.

“E-eight,” voice trembling, the boy pleaded, “Wake up.”

“Please.”

“Please, Eight,” The second time he repeats it, it’s softer, followed by a painful sob. 

 

            He’s never been so vulnerable. Never felt so powerless until that day. And that was saying a lot, especially since he —they— lived through an actual apocalypse.

Armageddon aside, it felt like his world truly ended when she breathed her last.

But he still screams continuously, throat burning as he went refused to accept reality. He chants her name both in her head and in desperate cries as if it was a way to wake her up.

Eight. Eight. EightEightEight—

Foolish as it was, he grants her one last thing often found in the girl’s beloved fairy tales; he presses his lips against hers.

A true love’s kiss.

And yet, skin cold, blood spilled, she doesn’t wake up unlike the princess cursed to eternal slumber. 

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

2002-11-14
DAY 04 | 03:58

 

            NUMBER FIVE JOLTS AWAKE in the dead of the night, tremors creeping up on him as he relived the death of his wife. He’s panting heavily, trying to recapture his breath as if he had been drowned in ice-cold water. Instead, it was cold sweat that trickled down his neck.

The panic only seemed to grow when he realizes the empty space beside his bed, lacking the familiar figure of the girl who had often been adamant to sleep by his side for all the years they spent together.

He trashes around, flinging his sheets as if he’d find her underneath it no matter how foolish that thought might be. His nails dig on his palms as his heart pounds dangerously faster—

“Five?”

Thankfully, the soft voice that called out to him, snaps him out of his hasty thoughts, eventually quelling the fear that had been eating him out.

 

            He lets out a shaky breath, catching sight of the maiden’s eyes, peering at him from the comfort of his couch. The boy realizes what she had been doing from the open book laying on her lap, then again Eight forgoes her current task, immediately rising from her seat to approach him.

She holds his hand cautiously as if the mere feeling of warmth would be able to assure him. 

It does.

A little bit, that is.

The maiden always had a knack for knowing what he needed —had an uncanny ability to know him like the back of her hand— with or without her telepathic ability.

 

            “What time is it?” Five asks when he finally regains his composure. He shields himself with his usual deadpan expression, refusing to look the girl in the eye.

“Almost 4 AM,” she answers, and yet the worried expression on her face doesn’t seem to dissipate despite his insistence on avoiding the matter.

As the boy ruffled his already touseled locks achieved due to his days' worth of slumber, Eight asks for the nth time that day, choosing mundane means over her ability to read his mind. She knows he would have refused to speak about it otherwise.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t mind me,” he says, pulling her close as he moved around to make space for her on the bed. “Go back to sleep.”

Instead of complying, as stubborn as ever, his wife pulls away, sitting up at the edge of his bed as if to say she wouldn’t be sleeping until they dealt with whatever was weighing on his mind.

“I wasn’t asleep so you didn’t wake me.”

“Drop it, Eight. It doesn’t matter,” Five insisted as he grits his teeth, just as obstinate as she was.

Eight frowns at his usual self-deprecating demeanor, always so adamant not to admit he deserved salvation as if the simplest display of weakness would kill him.

“Of course, it matters, you idiot,” the girl berates him. “What's wrong? Aren’t you tired?”

“I brought our family decades forward with me, what do you think?” he snaps at her, choosing to retaliate as if it were a way to shield himself.

Then again, it was clearly the wrong way to go, seeing as they had already spent almost a lifetime together. They were too far gone to only start putting up with each other right then. She’s already immune to his snide remarks and that snippy tone definitely wasn't working on her. 

 

            “I think you’re acting like an old grouch,” she countered dryly. “But…” The pointed expression on her face eventually morphs into a softer one as she gazed at him affectionately, “I’ll let you off the hook this time because you’re exhausted and you really did do a good job.”

He at least had the decency to look guilty after his little outburst.

“Sorry.” A beat later, “Come here.”

Their fingers are still intertwined, allowing him to easily tug her closer when she still wouldn’t relent to him. Number Eight inevitably tumbles back on the bed, head falling on his chest as he wrapped her arms around her.

“That’s an awfully demanding way to request a cuddle—” Eight was just about to say until their eyes meet and they both try to beat each to it.

“I'll be the big spoon,” comes out synchronously and hastily as if they were just two kids calling dibs on the last cookie.

Eight purses her lips together, feigning indignation, “And that’s coming from the guy who absolutely refused to be called a spoon.”

Five scoffs, pulling back to make space as he waited for her to comply with his demands. “Just hurry up and come here.”

She lets him win this one time but when his arms are finally wrapped around her torso, her back against his chest, she still mumbles petulantly, “I get to be the big spoon next time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, hush.”

 

            Minutes passed as they silently lay together, merely basking in each other’s warmth and presence. He continued to listen to her even breathing as if it were a lullaby— an assurance of her safety and a reminder that she was alive.

The soft sound of her breath and the feeling of her chest rising and falling slowly lulls him back to sleep, but the thought still remained persistent in the back of his head. 

Unaware of whether or not the girl was still awake, he calls for her anyway, voice as faint as a whisper, “Eight.”  

The girl mirrors his actions, silently repeating his name back, “Five.”

It takes another handful of minutes before he speaks again, but regardless of whether or not she had fallen back to sleep, Five speaks his mind anyway, finding it easier to express himself without her gaze on him.

“You can’t…” Five began hoarsely. He doesn’t like the way ‘die’ rolls off of his tongue so instead he settles for— “Do that again.”

“I told you I’ll do my best not to as long as it isn’t your life on the line,” Eight reminded him of her words that day, and yet he doesn’t find the same amount of assurance as he had before.

“That’s not good enough,” he muttered under his breath—

Because although, the boy was always aware of his priorities. The first one is always the hardest to uphold, that being: her safety and their family’s. 

Because before Five Hargreeves yearned to save the world, he is set on protecting his world.

 

            If there was anything he hated more than not knowing the answer to a question, it was being wrong… But beyond that, it was being aware of what was wrong, and yet being incapable to do anything about it.

As Eight had once told him, Number Five was an Icarus.

He absolutely despised the feeling of being helpless and there had only been a handful of instances that he had faced such, namely: (1) that leap through time that led him to the apocalypse, (2) learning of the death of his siblings, and (3) anything and seemingly everything to do with his Number Eight.

Ever since their childhood, he had witnessed the way that the girl had dangerously played around with the line between life and death. 

Despite not being a believer in such, he feels like he used up a lifetime’s worth of luck watching her survive every moment when Death had come knocking on her door.

He had witnessed it twice in fact —thrice if he counts that one instance he read in Vanya’s book— but the one time he actually did hold her corpse in his arms, made everything else seem trivial compared to that. 

It felt as if his world actually ended. 

Everything turned dark and he couldn’t find the way out. If it wasn’t for the light she showed him at the end of the tunnel, the thrum of blue that had escaped her fingertips, then perhaps he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did even though he knew it was what he had to do.

 

            But ever so thoughtless of her own well-being, Number Eight argued back rather calmly, “If you were in my position, you would have done it too. I’ve seen it, you know. Nahshon showed me.”

He’s never one to easily back down anyway.

“This is non-negotiable, Eight,” Five insisted sternly. “You can’t pull that shit on me again.”

“Five—”

“Please,” he cut her off.

The way his voice broke —hell, the fact that he was actually pleading— causes something to churn inside her. Her chest tightens even more than she anticipated when he continued.

“I can’t… I can’t—” he finds difficulty mustering his words despite his usual capability to present himself so smugly, “It’s not a life worth living without you in it.”

 

            At that moment, Number Eight was tempted to come clean and admit she knows how it feels, that she almost died once for a similar reason. That even if it took three losses in her case, her life or lack thereof barely had any value without him present.

She squirms out of his arms, turning around to face him. The girl takes his hand in hers and places it on her chest, right above her heart to remind him of reality.

“Five, I’m not dead. You saved me.”

“But it’s only a matter of time until we face a situation I wouldn’t be able to,” he counters despite what admitting his weakness often did to his pride.

Then again, another way of looking back at their words also meant one thing:

‘It’s a life worth living as long as you’re in it.’

And it’s for that reason she admits, cupping his face and forcing him to look her in the eye to allow him to see just how much she meant it.

“For what it’s worth, you'll always be the reason why I'm still alive both literally and figuratively,” she leaves out the gravity behind her words as she finished with, “I love you.”

“I know.”

She wants to say that he doesn’t know the extent of it, but instead she rolls her eyes at him, settling for “Sweetie, this is the part where you say it back instead of saying ‘I know.’”

“I shouldn't have to tell you those words. You can always read my mind,” he smirks slyly, gradually reverting back to his usual insufferable self.

“What difference does it make if you already said it earlier today?” Eight huffed.

“Exactly,” Five twists her words with a smug smile, “I already said it, therefore you already know it. And I’m not particularly fond of repeating myself, dear wife of mine.”

“Stingy.”

He snorts in amusement, but instead of leaving her with nothing, the boy presses his lips against hers. It’s neither hurried nor desperate but simply intimate and sentimental. 

The way he kisses her reminds her of the soft part of him that laid behind those sharp jabs and crass words. She’s reminded of his sacrifices and everything he’s done for their family, and it’s more than enough to satiate her because although Five Hargreeves wasn’t the type to easily utter such words, he always had other ways to prove it. 

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 4: the last remaining shred of sanity

Summary:

"lighten up a little, stuck in the middle, can't help but go insane."
— lighten up kid; mayday parade

Notes:

cw: implied (underaged?) sexual themes/ innuendos, and spoilers for the "great gatsby" by f. scott fitzgerald
tw: mentions of suicide, mental disorders and similar themes

2002-11-14
DAY 04 | 11:26

 

            THE PLAN IS SIMPLE or so Five says— Rather, it’s what he always claims, and in all honesty, Eight can’t tell if it was just his way of placating her or if he was truly that confident in his abilities.

Then again, knowing him, with his usual smug smirks and smart-ass quips, it was likely to be both. 

She knows he’s right most of the time —he certainly had results to back up all his claims— but with everything they’ve gone through, she doubts ‘simple’ was the right term to call it. 

In the first place, trying to decipher their father’s involvement with the apocalypse was complicated enough, even more so with the way that they had to hose their siblings down amidst all of this… chaos.

 

            “Klaus…” Number Five began, with all of them seated around the table in their basement, conducting the first worthwhile family meeting since they arrived back in their past. “You mentioned something about how the old man killed himself to bring us all together, right? Did he mention anything else regarding that?”

“What other reason do you need? The old bastard’s crazy, you said it yourself,” Diego sneered whilst the fourth child opted to gather a response.

“Well, he gave me the usual lecture about my appearance and my failures in life—” Klaus trailed on, “Yada yada yada. No surprise there. Even the afterlife couldn’t soften a hardass like Dad, right?”

Luther chimes in, “I think I know where Five’s coming from. Dad wouldn’t just kill himself.”

“Then again, he might have been depressed,” Ben reasoned out. “Like you said, he’s been holed up in his office and room all day and night.”

Diego rolls his eyes at that. Had it been about anybody else, he wouldn’t have spat snidely, “He wasn’t depressed. That would mean the old monster was actually capable of feeling something.”

“I hate to admit it but Diego has a point,” their leader agreed. “There weren’t any signs. Suicidal people exhibit certain tendencies, strange behaviors.”

Eliza mutters under her breath, “What would you know?”

“El?”

It only garners Allison’s attention, but the subject is immediately averted by their Number Eight.

 

            “Pogo and Mom helped him reenact his plan. It’s why Mom was acting weird back then. Her program was adjusted to incapacitate her ability to administer first aid,” the eighth child reminded them.

“But the tape—” Vanya brought up.

“Was created to further the murder mystery,” Eight finishes. The spite present in her words doesn’t go unnoticed. “Reginald Hargreeves is anything but forthright. By solving that bullshit mystery of his, he thought we’d want to save the world together as a team just like old fucking times.” 

“The thing is, I had to jump to the future to figure out when it happened but,” Five continued, “Dad, he can’t time travel so how’d the crazy bastard actually know to kill himself a week before the end of the world?”

The other seven stare blankly at him. Eliza, Allison, and Klaus react consecutively.

“Uh…”

“Well…”

“You know…”

Number Five talks over them without sparing another beat,  “Don’t answer. That was purely rhetorical.”

Eight rolls her eyes at his condescending demeanor.

“Truth is,” the boy reckoned. “Our whole lives he’s been telling us we’d save the world from an impending apocalypse."

Vanya furrows her eyebrows, “He did?”

“Yeah,” Klaus agreed, leaning his elbows against the table. “But I always thought he just said that to scare us into doing the dishes.”

“Or to justify additional training,” Diego adds.

“And chores,” Ben joins in.

Five nods in acknowledgment, “I thought so too, but what if the old man really knew it was going to happen?”

Luther looks at him quizzically, “But knew how?”

“What if he has other connections?” Eight who had been brooding things over spoke up. “Five and I were recruited by the Temps Commission. Who’s to say there aren’t other organizations?”

“No idea. He does seem like a man with infinite connections,” Five admits, “But whatever it is, the fact remains; his fakakta plan worked. We all came home. If we want to succeed in changing the future, we might actually need his help.”

"No. Absolutely not," Diego had already decided. "There's no fucking way I'm going to play along with another one of that monster's schemes."

Eliza, having recalled that odd sensation amidst their childhood, takes a guess in an attempt to open up their chances, “Maybe that’s only because Dad knew it was Vanya.”

The seventh Hargreeves agrees, “He did know about my powers… I only found out when I read about it in his notebook. You know, the red one, monogrammed in gold. The one he was always writing in.”

“The notebook!” 

Both Five and Eight turn to each other in realization, having forgotten about their futile search. The events of the past days, caused them to miss a couple of things but now, they finally had a lead.

Step One: Unravel Dad’s secrets.

 

---

 

2002-11-14
DAY 04 | 17:08

 

            The stuffed animal on her bed won’t stop talking. It sits unmoving and unalive, but nevertheless, she hears its childlike voice, sulking like a petulant child.

And that’s when she realizes that perhaps she had truly gone crazy.

“You left me here for years,” Eugenia, the fox plush that Grace had once made her with their old uniform scraps, grumbled loudly.

“Yeah, well, get in line. You’re not the only one I left behind,” Eight scoffs, recalling her own siblings’ complaints, all their thoughts that went unsaid. 

“Meanie,” the toy whines at her rude remarks. 

The maiden heaves a tired sigh, ignoring the doll as she hid the crimson notebook they had stolen from Reginald’s office, stuffing it in the old box under her bed. 

 

            As soon as she closes the dusty old lid, she finds herself staring back at the mirror across her old room. Her reflection gazes back at her as if she were the same old helpless teenager from back then.

Still seated on the ground, she continued to brood over the changes in her body.

Even with lesser scars, even without the three bullet wounds that tainted her chest, she can’t help but wonder when it was that they’d stop stinging.

She only snaps out of it when Eugenia retaliates with the words she feared to hear. 

“Karma’s going to get you back, you know. He’s going to figure it out. All your secrets… I wonder what your hubby would think. I wonder what your family would think.”

And Christ, at that moment, Eight can say for a fact that even if she can’t hear Dolores like Five could, the mannequin was definitely better company.

 

            In a fit of rage, Number Eight swipes the stuffed toy off her bed, flinging it against the wall of her room. 

It cries. 

The sound of its loud child-like whining rings in her ears, and she wants it to stop, but since when has the universe granted her any favors?

So, she does the next best thing, pressing her hands against her ears as if it would mute the noise of the world around her.

She hates this goddamned place so fucking much. 

‘Hate’ might even be an understatement. 

Back in the day, she had almost chosen death over living another second under the old man’s clutches. And although this time around, they’re certainly learning to stand up for themselves, what if they mess up their long-awaited chance? What if they ruin their future? What if they’re causing more harm than it’s worth?

The Umbrella Academy certainly had a knack for fucking things up after all.

Not to mention, this stupid old mansion was reminiscent of the years she suffered without him, of her mistakes, of the people she abandoned— the people she failed to protect. 

She just wants to forget it all —to be relieved of that nightmare— but unlike most people, that was a luxury Number Eight had never been granted.

 

            In the silence of her room —a sound she was apparently deaf to— the girl gnaws on her lip, trying to let out any semblance of frustration. 

The ringing is still audible in her ears and she is only pulled back into reality when her sister bursts into her room. Coincidentally, she fails to recognize the other figure that trailed after the former.

“Eightie, Mom made cookies!” Eliza beams as soon as she catches sight of her sister, only to falter when she notices something awry.

The ninth child was an empath after all. With her ability, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the meaning behind the dark sordid hues that enveloped the room. 

 

            Eight loves her sister, truly. She had, in fact, risked her life just to bring her twin back to life. It’s for that same reason that she refuses to show the girl her vulnerability even though the other maiden was (quite literally) not blind to their emotions. 

So, instead of sparing any half-truths —or worse, any full truths— Eight shuts her eyes, asking for a moment to regain herself.

“Give me a sec.” 

To her surprise, when she averts her gaze back to her door frame she meets Five’s anticipating eyes instead of her twin sister’s.

And as per fucking usual, Five Hargreeves is on top of things fast enough.

His recuperation is too quick for what he's achieved —for having brought all nine of them back to the past— but here he was, back to his usual insufferable self and just as sharp as ever. 

So really, she should have known that it wouldn’t be long enough until he notices.

 

            “Time travel can mess up the mind,” Reginald had once warned Number Five. All the more why it was aggravating to see how he hadn’t seen this coming.

Perhaps the sleep deprivation was a side-effect of the jump. But either way, the small discrepancies in his wife’s demeanor were beginning to come to light, from her slower responses to her pale complexion, and from the bags under her eyes to the way he hasn’t caught her sleep a wink. He can’t believe he almost missed the signs. 

But Number Eight is beyond talented at keeping up appearances. It was something they both mastered in the Temps Commission. 

In his case, he manipulates words and withholds the truth. It wasn’t lying per se, it was simple evasion.

Eight's way is more akin to illusion and misdirection. She knows what she needs to say —how their minds work— and thus, she slips in enough truth so no one would suspect it. She’ll manipulate them into thinking otherwise and no one would be able to tell.

All the more why he knows that it was likely to be worse than it seemed.

 

            Hence why, the moment their eyes meet, he then turns to the younger twin to say, “Leave us alone for a while.”

Eliza only stares at him, tempted to say no, but then the boy went as far as to remind her.

“She’s my wife.”

“She’s my twin,” their Number Nine volleys back, just as challenging. “What’s your point?”

“My point is you can trust me to know her well enough to handle this.”

“You’ve been together long enough therefore it’s my turn to be with her.”

He narrows his eyes warningly, “Eliza—”

“Five—”

“I’m not some toy at a playground for children to be fighting over,” Eight interrupts their little row, arms crossed over her chest as she stands between them to remind them of her presence.

The two at least had the decency to look guilty.

“We were just—”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

 

            “Five, stop trying to compete with Eliza. We’re almost twice her age so start acting like your older,” she chastised. “And she has a point, you know. We’ve always been together. You ought to cut her some slack.”

“Yes, dear,” he rolls his eyes at his wife’s reprimanding but nevertheless complies.

“And El,” Number Eight then turns to face her twin. “I’ll catch up with you downstairs. Just leave us alone because otherwise, Five might just blink away with me in tow, yeah?”

“Oookay,” the ninth child gives in, dragging her words out in an attempt to make light of the situation. It feels like she won the battle but lost the war.

The downcast expression causes Eight to purse her lips together, reminding her, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Eliza perks up a tad bit. “I’ll save you guys a seat then, okay?”

The older twin nods while the other girl gives Five one last warning look, “And don’t hog her for too long, Five, or else, I’m bringing everyone up here.”

“Fine,” Five scowls in exasperation.

And just like that, the younger twin leaves like a hurricane.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            “Is it just me or are they all acting like children?” is the first thing the boy tells her when they were finally left alone.

Eight gives him a pointed expression, “Cut them some slack, we’ve all been through a lot. And besides, you’re not any better, Mister.”

Five raises an eyebrow, challenging her with nonchalance, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for one, you’re—” 

Just as she was about to make her point, she hears the incessant voice in his head. 

‘—You’re hiding something—’

‘—Should’ve listened to the old man—’

‘—How did I not see this coming—’

Eight frowns when she recognizes the evident concern present in his thoughts. It causes a twinge of guilt to settle in her stomach.

 

            She decides to bite the bullet and allow him to unload his rebukes, “Out with it Five. God knows you’re dying to—” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Five doesn’t even let her finish, refusing to beat around the bush any further. The tone of his voice makes the pang in her chest grow.

“I—”

“How long did you sleep last night?”

She’s unable to get a word in edgewise with his continuous admonishment.

“No… You…” the boy realizes the error in his question because she, in fact, did not sleep at all. “When was the last time you slept?”

Eight averts her eyes, fists clenched beside her as she mumbled softly, “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“Damn it, Eight,” he curses under his breath. “Tell me that’s all you’ve been hiding from me.” —Because she was the type to put herself down when everyone else was suffering; the type to put herself second. For someone who could be so insightful, the maiden was absolutely inept at taking care of herself. 

Considering his state the past few days, he was almost certain that that was the case. But as aggravating as it was, he also knew it was a trait of hers that wouldn’t change any time soon. 

 

            “I’ve been seeing things, hearing voices…” the girl finally speaks up after a beat. “I’m sure it’s just a side effect of four— three— no, five?— days of no sleep. It’ll pass eventually.”

She omits the truth about the syringe. Or the pounding headache she was having that was reminiscent of the times her eyes glow red. Or how often her nose had been bleeding. 

Honestly, as of the moment, she can still taste the blood in her mouth. 

But what was the good in saying all that?

He has too much on his plate. He’s done so much. He’s better off without this trivial issue—

Better off without her.

Eight shakes her head as if it would knock some sense into herself. 

 

            By the time she actually does come to her senses she hears him insist (er, demand), “Get some sleep.” 

“I can’t okay?” the maiden cries out exasperatedly, exhaustion taking a toll on her inhibitions. “I can’t sleep a wink. I tried— I’ve been laying beside you every night but it won’t come to me.”

Five’s shoulders seemed to have loosened up but her tone still continued to rise in pitch, and now, the cracks in her voice were beginning to surface, sentences barely even coherent.

“No one was supposed to know. I couldn’t—” 

Great, she’s rambling.

“—They need us. What if something bad happens again and I fail all of you? What if I—”

‘Damn it, Eight. Pull yourself together,’ the snide voice in her head hisses, even more so when she notices the way the boy had been looking back at hers.

At that, Five finally pulls her into a tight embrace to keep her from spiraling further. She holds him as if her life is on the line, as if the tension present the last few weeks still hasn’t left her body.

“Shh… shhhh…” the boy soothes her until she is limp in his arms and she finally concedes.

Eight admits, voice hoarse and soft, “I’m so tired, Five.”

And as per procedure, he always knows what to say. 

“I’m here.”

‘It’s my turn to take on your load.’

‘Let me.’

 

---

 

2002-11-15
DAY 05 | 21:45

 

            THEY WERE STILL NEW to this whole ‘team’ thing. Ironic, considering the way they were raised for the sake of it. But alas, the truth can’t be easily changed. 

Five and Eight worked better together, whether or not the rest of the academy were included in their definition of ‘together’ was a whole other story neither of them is willing to discuss.

And yet, in some cases, it’s almost clear as day.

 

            ‘Patience,’ the boy chanted in his head, trying to keep his temper at bay. Restraint is evident from the way he’s been clenching his fists tightly in his pockets, jaw tight, neck tense.

In the last 24 hours, they were able to make a semi-decent plan with barely any cooperation from the others. Eight had attempted to placate him continuously, but it does nothing to change the way they’ve been doing everything on their own again. 

Ironically, the only thing keeping him sane were the moments they spent together without the rest of their family to exhaust him.

The first of which, was time spent hidden in the deepest corners of the library. 

 

            Their backs were pressed against the shelves, shoulders pressing against each other while they were surrounded by piles of books he had collected, said to be able to assist them in some way. There were those of String Theory, Time Travel in Theory, Paradoxes, and a variety of subjects related to Quantum Physics.

So far, the boy was insistent on creating a small series of events in order to alter their fate; a.k.a. a re-enactment of the Butterfly Effect achieved by leaving around a handful of notes around the house addressed to at least one of the nine.

Eight would’ve been the best candidate, Five already concluded, fully aware that their Numbers One, Two, and Three would be too skeptical; Four and Nine would barely figure it out and yet disclose it to the entire family; Six and Seven may have a shot but they’d have doubts of their own. Eight knew him best, proven by the way he found her to be the only person on earth tolerable enough for him to be married to. Simple as that.

But it wouldn’t be too bad to have other backup plans in mind.

Cue the pile of books— The books that, Number Eight, of all people, ironically found extremely difficult to read. Understanding them was one thing, but it was reading for God’s sake, that was something they used to bond over.

She finds herself staring at the words as if they were some secret alien code. The letters mold together and shuffle around. Her sight darkens from time to time as if the ink that stained the pages were akin to the darkness that consumed the sky.

 

            Five, who had been watching the girl beside him instead of focusing on the book in his hand, finally speaks up by the nth time she nods off, “You won’t be able to help until you're functioning on a full amount of sleep.”

“I had a nap,” Eight argues back pathetically.

“Keeping your eyes shut for thirty minutes doesn’t count as a nap,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Remind me to get Pogo to examine you.”

“You didn’t sleep last night either!”

“Yeah, to watch over you,” the boy scoffs.

Eight scowls, pulling away from his side as her delicate constitution gets the best of her, “Then what do you want? Go ahead and just cut me loose if I’m such a burden.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, doll. I would never call you that.” Five’s gaze pierces her as he looks back at her with such intensity. The sincerity behind his words causes her to heave a deep breath in an attempt to collect herself.

She mumbles apologetically, “‘M sorry for taking it out on you.”

He smirks. That single dimple on his cheek surfaces and causes her heart to do little backflips like some juvenile schoolgirl with a notorious crush. It feels as if even her consciousness had regressed in age, even more so when the boy slyly suggests, “And to answer your question, you may not be able to think straight but I wouldn’t oppose if you decide to assist me in other miscellaneous ways.”

“Such as?”

“Moral support in layman’s terms. The reward system works wonders, I believe.”

“And what reward are you requesting?”

"Not much."

The girl raises an eyebrow at that, but then, he presses their foreheads against each other, sapphire orbs capturing her soul. 

His gaze shifts from her eyes to her lips, and he says, voice hoarse and almost soft as a whisper, “Kiss me.”

Her own eyes glance at his lips. As much as she was trying to keep her raging hormones in check, even she surprises herself when she still manages to joke around, “Need I remind you, we’re in a bit of a time crunch, sweetheart.”

Five pulls away for a moment, rolling his eyes at her response. The loss of skin contact disappoints her a lot more than she anticipated, but there’s no way in hell that she’s admitting that.

Instead, she hears him mutter childishly, “The world isn’t going to blow up for another 17 years.” 

‘But I might if we spend another second in this house,’ goes unsaid.

 

            The girl sucks in a deep breath, watching Five lick his lip and bite down on it for a fraction of a second. And yet, in that short amount of time, he catches her staring, lips quirking up to give her another one of his smug ass smirks because he knows he had her.

And—

Oh. 

Five pulls her towards him once again, foreheads pressed, noses touching. His fingers find themselves brushing against her neck before diving into her soft locks. Then, to top it all off, he tests the waters by pressing his lips against everywhere else but her lips. 

Oh, this sly little shit.

He travels from her forehead to her eyelids, to her nose, to her cheeks, to her neck—

Fuck.

He spends an awful lot of time leaving ghost-like kisses on her neck.

It’s soft and chaste, far from the rushed intense kisses they often get caught up in at the height of their emotions. It’s more of a peck if anything; just enough to keep her wanting.

"Fiiive," the girl whines. Whether it was in protest or yearning, she can't even tell.

 

             The next thing Eight knows, she’s the one melding their lips against each other. She kisses him with fervor as if it had been too long since, and she finds herself right there where he wants her to be; weak to his touch.

Think. Goddammit, think.

There’s a nagging voice in her head that keeps reminding her of their priorities —the priorities that he himself often reminded everyone of— and yet here they were, starved of a well-deserved break.

Each kiss is deeper than the next. The boy acts as if he was desperate to mold their bodies together— to close every distance, to engrave her very soul into his body as if it were a way to preserve her presence by his side. 

Their breaths are warm, hearts beating loudly in their chests. When she opens her eyes from time to time to catch his own, she realizes they’ve grown darker— deeper. Instead of that typical shade of green, she gets lost in an intense azure hue reminiscent of his portals. 

Her arms find themselves wrapping around his neck. Her hand momentarily rests on his tie, using it to pull him even closer before loosening it and swiping it away from him.

Think. 

The way his fingers move gently through her hair both soothes and incites her. His lips were chapped yet soft, tasting of black coffee.

He ventures her mouth, leaving no corner untouched, and yet, he is undoubtedly far from sloppy with his ministrations.

Think. Think. Think.

One moment, she was straddling him, seated perfectly on his thigh, his hands slowly exploring her curves, and the next, he was laying her on the carpeted floor, using the books and their discarded uniform jackets as some sort of cushion. 

Think, Eight. Think.

The feeling of his skin against hers is the only thing keeping her sane, and yet, at the very same time, she is drunk on his breath and her vision is spinning.

Screw it.

 

            It’s only when he runs a hand against her back, trying to undo her zipper, that she finally mustered enough restraint to speak up.

“Wait. Wait—” Number Eight mumbles between kisses, eventually groaning as her skirt rides up along her thigh, “Damn it, Five—”

“What's wrong?” Kiss. “Were finally alone after weeks.” Kiss. “Do you know how much I had to put up with?”

“I just left you with them for three days,” she tells him flatly.

“You took too long,” the boy murmurs against her lips, but instead of a hum of acknowledgment, she lets out a soft mewl as he proceeds to nuzzle on the crook of her neck.

“And now that we’re finally together your twin won’t even give us any privacy,” Five then growls, hand caressing her thigh, brushing her skin, and it takes everything in her not to come undone. 

The heat spreading through them doesn’t dissipate as quickly as she’d wish.

“Five,” Eight gently pushes his chest and, with an insane amount of self-control she should be commended for, reminds him, “Stop. We’re thirteen.”

Five doesn’t do anything further than that, but he refuses to stop kissing her, petulantly insisting, “Fifty-eight.”

“Our consciousness may be fifty-eight but our bodies are thirteen. We’re not going beyond first-base—” He kisses her even deeper, one that almost leaves her breathless and dizzy, causing her to all but moan, “—Okay, maybe until second-base.”

“Second-base?” he snorts in amusement. “What a juvenile way to put it.”

“I think giving in to your teenage hormones is more juvenile, wouldn’t you say?”

“Procreation is the body’s natural response to near-death experiences; it’s the circle of life.”

“For someone so pragmatic, I never would have put you as someone who easily gives in to their primal urges.”

“I’ve had a long week,” the boy complains. “At least let me kiss you.”

“I know and I’m proud of you,” Eight pulled them apart, and yet still kept their foreheads attached, arms still wrapped around each other while she attempted to catch her breath. “You did great but—”

“Ah! Ahh! My eyes!”

 

            The girl was just about to make her point but Klaus’ sudden interruption seemed to have done it for her. 

They’re caught red-handed, with Eight still splayed on the floor and Five hovering over her. Their precarious position could be easily misunderstood— Or in this case, maybe right on the money. 

Their disheveled appearance, flushed faces, and unkempt hair only seemed to aggravate Klaus’ likely incorrigible reaction. Not to mention, the color of their lips only added ammunition to support their ‘thoroughly-kissed’ aspect.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, when this is all over, we should finally move out,” Five ignores his brother’s figure, turning to his wife as he swore under his breath.

“Be nice,” she warns him while they pulled apart from each other. The boy reached out towards her as soon as he was standing in order to hoist her up.

When he finally does, he turns to the fourth child, snarling, “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Too busy fixing herself to appear a tad more presentable, Eight rolls her eyes at Five’s standard for nice.

And yet, it doesn’t seem to matter since Klaus was still too caught up in the scene he just witnessed.

He cries out, “Oh my god, this must be what it's like when you—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Eight grimaced, and yet with Klaus, her warning went unheeded.

“—Walk in on your parents having sex.”

“We were not having sex!”

“I can’t even look you in the eye!”

“I asked you,” Five cuts them off, speaking through gritted teeth. “Why the fuck are you here, Klaus?”

“Yikes, sexual frustration must not agree with you. Is that really how you treat your brother who’s been worried about you these last few days?” the other boy feigns hurt. 

“If it’s you, then absolutely yes.”

“Suit yourself,” Klaus singsonged and she just knows they were going to regret this. 

(She was right.)

Before either of them was able to do anything, Number Four shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice likely audible until the hallways.

“FIVE AND EIGHT ARE MAKING OUT LIKE HORNY TEENAGERS—”

The girl flings the uniform blazer she picked up from the ground, hurling it towards her brother in a desperate attempt to keep him quiet.

Klaus gasps dramatically, “Eightie!”

“I swear to god, Klaus,” Eight grumbles, hands pressed against her face to hide the way her cheeks flared up in utter mortification. “Shut up.” 

“Or what?” he challenged, a shit-eating smile plastered on his face.

“Or else, I’ll take your spleen out and feed it to you,” Five gives him an equally feral grin that seems to do just the trick.

Klaus makes a face at that. “Geez, graphic.”

 

---

 

2002-11-15 
DAY 05 | 22:16

 

            “Liz?” Ben Hargreeves calls out to the figure of the girl seated on the ground, leaning against the library doors as if she were waiting for someone.

“What are you doing out here?” he then asks.

She looks up to meet his eyes, giving him a sheepish smile. “They’re making out.”

“Oh,” he makes a face of acknowledgment, realizing that it was about time for the old couple to give in to their hormones.

Even he, who spent nearly half of his life living as a ghost, can agree that returning to their prepubescent bodies was no walk in the park. Not to mention, the occasional emotional outbursts brought to you by his sisters. (Eliza, unlike the rest of them, had always been prone to such, so there was no shocker there. But otherwise, they were all equally out of it.)

“Yep,” the girl nods in agreement. “And well, even I can read the room. After all, Five’s been trying to hog Eightie all to himself.”

“And you’re all alone here?” Ben furrows his eyebrows in slight confusion because knowing her, that part he can’t seem to believe.

“Well…” Eliza trailed on awkwardly, allowing him to connect the dots on his own.

The boy glances back at the closed doors before averting his gaze back to her, “Klaus came waltzing in there, didn’t he?”

“I tried to stop him!” she defended.

“Oh, I know you did,” he deadpanned. “But when does he ever listen?”

“The damage has been done… Wait with me?” the ninth child pats the space beside her, inviting him to take a seat— And well, since when was he ever able to say no to her?

 

            Ben leans against the door the same way she did, a book resting against his lap as his finger drew circles along the floor.

“Oh, yeah,” she speaks up after a moment of silently watching him, forgetting that she hasn’t returned the question. “Why are you here? I thought everyone’s gathering downstairs?”

“I was going to check up on what’s taking you but then, I thought I might as well return this book on the way,” he answers, waving around the novel he had just finished reading.

The cover reads, ‘The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.’

“Ohhh, another one, huh?” Eliza smiles teasingly, “Ben Hargreeves, who would’ve thought you’d use your long-awaited second chance to drown yourself in books?”

“Hey, I’m not that bookish.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she promised, before prompting him. “Go on, tell me about it”

“Do you want me to bore you with the details or just the brief synopsis?”

“You know I’d listen to you either way.”

“I don’t want to put you off reading so I’ll give you a vague summary.”

“Alright.”

 

            “It's about a guy named Jay Gatsby who rose from nothing and became an incredibly wealthy and influential man all for the sake of a woman— His old lover, whom he had to leave behind because of war. Years later, when he finally had everything but her, he bought his mansion so that he could be across the waters from her,” he began.

“That’s so romantic,” she gushed, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“Well, Daisy was rich from the start,” Ben tells her simply. “Back when he was fighting in a war, she ended up getting married to someone else. But, see the guy’s a huge ass. He has a mistress and everything, and yet, when Daisy and Gatsby attempt to rekindle their own flame—”

“He keeps getting in the way,” she scrunches her nose. “Ugh. Typical.”

“Exactly,” the boy confirms, noticing the way she seemed to be brooding it over. “What do you think? Wanna read it?”

Eliza asks bluntly, “Does he get the girl in the end?”

“You can’t be any more different from your twin. Eight would kill me if I spoil the ending even if she asks enough questions to put two and two together,” he chuckles, recalling the way he often exchanged books with the other sister.

She huffs, “If I’m going to spend a whole day reading, I’d rather hope it won’t go to waste with a sad ending.”

“That is so you.”

“So? Does he?” She turns to him with anticipating eyes.

“No… He doesn’t get the girl.”

“Why?” The forlorn expression on her face reminds him of a kicked puppy. 

Ben heaves a deep breath before confessing, “He was murdered.”

Eliza shoves his shoulder after gasping accusingly, “You couldn’t have told me that beforehand? You know how much I hate tragedies!”

“But I think he could have,” the boy doesn’t fail to add. “Ended up with her, that is… If he had just a little bit more time.”

The ninth child frowns, grumbling her complaints, “Everyone wishes they had more time, but the next thing they know— Poof, bye-bye. Hope you liked living, because welcome to hell, sucker.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” The boy gives her a knowing look.

 

            It takes more than a beat for her to respond, breath hitching at her admission. “Honestly, I still can’t believe it, you know… That we’re alive again... Sometimes, I bump into walls, forgetting I can’t phase through them.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And sometimes I think, what if…” Eliza stammers. “What if we don’t make it this time?”

“Like Five and Eight would let that happen,” Ben nudges her, shoulders and knees pressed against each other. “Worse comes to worst, we’ll hang around Klaus like we’ve always done.”

Her lips quirk up wryly, “I didn’t think you liked being the embodiment of Casper, Ben.”

“If anything, I’d say you were the friendly ghost, were you not?” He reminds her. After a second or two, he points out, “It’s unlike you to be so pessimistic.”

“I know… I know, but—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Ben assures her with the same words she had with him, adding,  “You have every right to be, Liz.”

“We have every right to be,” the girl doesn’t fail to correct him, resting her head against his shoulder.

And he smiles, leaning back at her like they used to as children. “Just don’t forget to bounce back, alright?”

“As long as you’re all around, there’s absolutely no problem with that.”

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 5: the skeletons in the closet

Summary:

"what will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems?"
— i'm not okay (i promise); my chemical romance

Notes:

cw: underaged(?) drinking
tw: implied/ referenced mental disorders, suicidal ideation, mentioned past suicide attempt, and other similar themes
*** please proceed with reader discretion

2002-11-16
DAY 06 | 00:00

 

            NUMBER FIVE HAS A KNACK FOR NUMBERS so perhaps it would be easier to articulate how he felt about his wife through abstract statistics.

In order to predict the chances of Number Eight’s death, one must add the probability of such on a normal day to the probability of death by risks, dividing the total by the former variable. 

(Of course, this is only according to a simplified formula.)

At the age of 58, this narrows the likelihood of her death to 1 in 287 chances. At the age of 16, it is 1 in 5566. At 13, it is 1 in 11026. Their age and risk are directly proportional; as her age regresses, the likelihood of her death also decreases. And yet, an estimated probability is almost nothing compared to the gravity of reality. 

Such can be proven by the following situations which take into consideration the notable moments wherein Number Eight was said to be placed in grave danger:

AT THE AGE OF 12, he grew to fear her self-destructive nature after witnessing the way she had offered herself as a scapegoat for their father.

AT THE AGE OF 17, she was riddled with bullets, only escaping death by sheer luck. Not long after, she runs away from home and offers her life to the Commission.

AT THE AGE OF 18, he found the maiden half-dead in that snowy field, stranded with him in the post-apocalyptic world.

AT THE AGE OF 50, she almost succumbed to illness and he is forced to make a deal with the Temps Commission in a desperate attempt to keep her alive. 

Despite all his efforts…

AT THE AGE OF 58, she died in his arms. She died in exchange for his life.

In total, that leaves him with:

• 3 near-death experiences
• 2 power-induced comas
• 1 death which had just occurred 5 days, 14 hours, 36 minutes, and 29 seconds ago

 

            On the day she died, he had taken the place of Orpheus, the man who ventured into the underworld to save his dead lover, and she had fulfilled the role of the aforementioned woman, Eurydice.

However, unlike that ill-fated tale, Five Hargreeves was not foolish to look back. 

He did not have time to hesitate. He does not waste a single second. He runs.

He runs and he runs and he runs, reversing time by seconds until she is once again safe in his arms— 

Or so he believed until he had come across this damning revelation.

 

---

 

2002-11-15
DAY 05 | 23:49

 

            ONE HOUR AGO, Klaus Hargreeves had interrupted the old couple’s library tryst under the excuse of a family meeting (or so he claimed). In truth, ever since their return, the term “meeting” had already begun to intermix with the meaning of “bonding” but that wasn’t even the worst thing yet.

When they have all gathered in the living room later that night, the fifth Hargreeves doesn’t beat around the bush to express his displeasure.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, scoffing snidely, “Have we ever mentioned how much these family meetings suck?”

“Your wife here made that rather clear the other day,” Luther snorts mirthlessly, and yet it doesn’t prevent Five from stating his point.

“We never get anything done, nothing I say registers in your pea-sized brains, and—”

“Someone always ends up throwing hands or prioritizing other nonsense that’ll interfere with the whole point of said family meeting,” Eight had finished for him.

The boy smirks, “Exactly.” 

His wife nods in agreement despite the shot glass of tequila already in her hand, “Cons of a family of nine, I suppose.”

But despite all their whining, they don’t try to evade the little gathering anyway. 

 

            The Hargreeves would not be the same without their tremendous amount of emotional baggage.

Number One still can’t seem to get over their father, conflicted with the idea of the man and the truth he had withheld from them.

Number Two can’t seem to forget the life they left behind, the people— the woman he had lost an opportunity to be with.

Number Three still longs to be with her daughter, the one person she had always been thinking of from the get-go.

Number Four is not only struggling from grief but also experiencing the after-effects of withdrawal.

Number Six can barely fathom being in his corporeal form, always touching walls and objects in an attempt to remind himself that he was alive.

Number Seven is constantly yearning for company, having spent all those years being isolated from her siblings.

Likewise, Number Nine can’t bear to be left alone, fearing that they would fail to recognize her presence as they had when she was still a ghost. 

 

            In conclusion, their trauma was seeped deep into their bones, aggravated by the way they were reliving their childhood in their younger bodies.

Their solution? 

Surprise, surprise. Alcohol.

It doesn’t take a genius to know who instigated such (ahem, Klaus), but what mattered the most was the way they were doing things they have never done before, things they’ve never done with each other.

It’s an important step to turning their lives around in order to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself and to allow them to grow closer as a family— Or whatever bullshit it was that Allison’s therapist had taught her.

Obviously, them being them, everything goes to shit rather quickly.

 

            Number Five is left as the only one with a sound mind. He opted not to drink as much as they had, fully aware that at least one of them had to pull themselves together. With his wife’s current state, he knew better than to lower his guard down, even more so when he had incorrigible children (er, siblings) to look after.

Always so keen on efficiently making the most out of his time, he multi-tasks, still trying to solve the mystery of their father’s involvement with the apocalypse, all the while consulting the others despite how inebriated they had become.

Klaus had been merely kidding around, but either way, he blurts his thoughts out loud, “What if this is all part of Dad’s big conspiracy? He’s always been a little… You know, cuckoo. Being the narcissist he is, he could’ve been painting this grandiose purpose for himself. He was obsessed with our powers after all.”

It was clearly a lapse in judgment seeing as none of the others was in the state to answer rationally. Nevertheless, Five actually takes it into consideration, “No… Cruel as he may be, wiping out every human on this planet doesn’t sound like his thing. He was obsessed over making us heroes.”

That leads Number Two to scoff in derision, bitterness evident in his tone, “How would you know? You skipped out on his golden years.”

It was the thought that had always been at the tip of their tongues and yet none of them ever had the guts to say it until then.

Eight, however, wasn’t standing for any of this. 

“Easy, Diego,” the girl warns, immediately coming to Five’s defense despite her typical neutral stand as the mediator. Her eyes narrowed admonishingly as she snaked her hand towards her husband's. 

 

            Despite the display of support, the fifth Hargreeves was never one to back down from a battle either. He sneered at his brother’s words, daring him to go on, “Skipped out?”

The tension in the room was palpable enough that it could be cut with a knife. 

This only goads Diego to ramble on, too drunk to put a filter on his words, “When Ben and Eliza died, Dad just treated it like it was some kind of lesson we have to learn from. When Eight vanished, he lied to us and told us she was dead; didn’t even give us the chance to save her. But here comes the fucking golden child, Number Five who, despite every shit he pulled to antagonize dear old Dad, gets a painting over the mantelpiece. No matter how long it’s been, he never stopped believing you’d be back because you’re just so fucking competent, aren’t you?”

“Diego, word of advice,” Allison laughs dryly, partially teasing, “You have got to get over your Number Two complex.”

“Oh please, that has nothing to do with this,” the second Hargreeves scowled. “He ran off. He doesn’t have the right to act like he knows what we’ve gone through under Dad’s reign of terror.”

“I’ve told you before, Five was doing it for us,” Eight stressed, migraine aggravated by their bullshit. “Just because we had it rough, doesn’t mean he had it any easier.”

“Doesn’t change the fact he left though…” Luther chimed in, turning to their brother. “I mean, I know you had it rough, Five, but we all thought of it. Everything went to shit after you jumped. No offense.”

With the lack of inhibition, some of the others make a sound of agreement, failing to take into consideration how the person in question already felt.

Even Allison goes as far as to say, “Well… He’s not entirely wrong. I mean, based on what El told me, you of all people should know because you’ve been the most miserable when he left, Eightie.”

All this time… After every single thing that put them to misery, it was rather funny to see how things developed. It turns out hearing what they thought as they continued to run their mouths would be just as agonizing.

Five’s jaw clenches. 

Eight tightens her hold on him, intertwining their fingers.

“Then again, she followed his footsteps,” Diego scoffed. “Figures, you’d side with him.”

 

(The first strike.)

 

            The girl already had it bad without the few shots she had taken (sleep deprivation and all) but even so, Number Five was rather certain that she was in a better state than the others who, with the copious amount they had ingested, seemed to be overwhelmed with bitter emotions.

“There aren’t any sides to take, you idiots,” she spoke calmly despite feeling anything but. “You’re all drunk and sad, and we’re reliving the trauma in this stupid house. None of you are thinking straight, you’re just lashing out.”

“Oh, please. I don’t have to be sober to be able to tell what we had to clean up after the mess of your departure,” Diego downs another shot, forgoing the salt or the slice of lime. Instead, he growls harshly as if the volume of his tone would disguise the way his voice slightly breaks in pain. 

His attack is aimed at his sister this time around.

“Do you know how many times we tried to find you?! How it felt to file that police report only for it to turn into a cold case because guess what? You didn’t even have the decency to leave a note.”

 

(Strike two.)

 

            Five, although, managing to hold his temper back when it came to himself, finally snaps, “And say what? Be right back, just trying to find a way to save you, morons?”

Vanya remains tongue-tied despite yearning to come to the couple’s defense.

Consequently, the boy gives in to aggravation, “You think we had it easy, Diego? We were stuck in the apocalypse for decades, trying to find a way to save the world.”

“I’d trade this hell hole for the apocalypse any time,” Klaus remarked carelessly.

“Klaus. Not now.” Eliza nudges him in warning, fully aware of how their emotions were morphing into an array of blue and red hues. She can’t seem to find the right words to say, overwhelmed by the vivid roars of anger and whispers of hurt calling out to her.

“What? It’s true!” the fourth child cried out defensively, prattling on crassly, “Away from the old man and none of this bullshit? That’s a dream compared to the academy. Hell, Vanya would understand, Dad fucked us up so bad, she was furious enough to blow the whole world up—”

 

(Three.)

 

            “You have no idea about what we’ve given up for this family,” Five hissed, interrupting his brother’s words. 

Ben only watches, forgetting that he has the ability to be heard, forgetting that he can finally do something just as the rest of them had.

Instead, fuel is added to the fire when Diego spurred on, “So now’s your chance! What’s your excuse? Tell us!” 

Luther, ever so dedicated to his role as their leader, was finally able to notice the first tell-tale sign of disaster. He holds their Number Two back in an attempt to stop their fight from escalating, “Diego, that’s enough. They got it.”

There’s that quick glance of pity, but behind it is the desire to gain answers to the questions that had weighed on their minds from the decades of loss and separation.

 

            Five refuses to respond, refuses to tell them all the shit they’ve been through, refuses to let them know—

Because ignorance was bliss , as Eight had often claimed.

They're better off not knowing. He didn’t spend all that time biding his time in the Commission, bearing with those excruciating years in the apocalypse just to let it all come to waste right then.

The sight of their corpses is always still vivid in his head. They still haunt his dreams. They continued to be a constant reminder of his priorities, a constant plague in his mind.

Priorities.

(Right.)

Number Five’s greatest priority was to save them— To protect them.

Protecting them from the truth wasn’t any different.

 

            “See, you’ve got nothing!” Diego shouts and Number Eight gives in to impulse. Her emotions get the best of her, already vulnerable from her current state of mania and psychosis. 

For the first time, Eight is the one who resorts to violence, lunging forward as if she could beat some sense into them. 

Five wraps an arm around her waist, holding her back from doing anything stupid, but even so, the girl growled, “Just because you don't understand, doesn't mean—”

“He’s not worth it,” Five cuts her off in an attempt to pacify her, failing to recognize how his words would be interpreted by everybody else.

That little remark is the catalyst of it all.

They’re not worth it.

And the implication of those words hurt more than they could imagine. Neither of them sees eye to eye, lashing out in order to defend themselves because it was always easier to hurt others and drag them down with them rather than accepting the pain brought unto them instead.

 

            They fall into chaos. The blues and the reds grow darker and darker. Everyone’s thoughts are loud, aggravated by their emotions but, it wasn’t even their thoughts that had gotten to her— She’s way too accustomed to that, having spent years trying to get used to it.

Their thoughts sound like sirens blaring in her ears. Her head pounds as if a knife had been stuffed in from her nose, cutting her whole skull open. 

Pained, Eight thinks, ‘Shut up.’

Her hands find their way to her head, covering her ears and crouching down in an attempt to shield herself from the chaos. 

‘Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.’

As Eight retreats in her shell, Five grows vigilant, concern evident on his face as he held her close.

‘Shutup. Shutup. Shutup.’

His efforts go unnoticed as the noise grows even more unbearable by the second.

‘Shutupshutupshutup—’

“SHUT UP!” 

Wait.

Did she say that one out loud?

 

            Number Eight realizes she was mistaken when she looks up, finally deaf to their thoughts, only to catch sight of her twin sister’s eyes. There’s a mist of red hues swirling in her pupils like blood dripping into a pool of water. The ripples result in a devastating wave of emotions.

Their crimson shade reminds her of her own —of the way the usual blue hue of their powers shifts accordingly— and yet it was the glassy sheen of unshed tears threatening to fall that makes Eight wary.

Worry gets the best of her.

How could they forget? Their empath, always sensitive to heightened emotions, was prone to precarious outbursts.

“Eliza,” Eight takes a step forward, freeing herself of Five as she cautiously approached her sister, prepared to do damage control.

It’s too late, however, for the other girl had forgone all civil pretenses, screaming at the top of her lungs, “What the fuck do you know?!”

Their ninth member’s furious outburst leaves the rest of the Hargreeves stunned.

“You don’t know a goddamned thing. You don’t know anything because they’ve always protected you from the truth,” The surge of warm angry tears stream down her cheeks. “If you just look closely it’s there! It’s always there. If you were a ghost for as long as we were then you would know!”

“—But, who am I kidding?” she laughs sardonically, voice shaking as she was completely driven by the storm of emotions that had engulfed her. “None of you even had a clue that someone tried to kill themself right in front of you. And who knows how many times that happened because it’s all normal for you to overlook things, isn’t it?”

“Dad abused us all our lives and even away from here, he haunts us. Luther was sent to the moon, Diego’s own perception of himself is wrapped up in some stupid hero complex, Allison rumored her own daughter, Klaus’ almost succumbed to his addiction way too many times to count, Five was stuck in the apocalypse, Eight sold herself to the Commission, Ben and I died, and to top it off, Vanya ended the fucking world!” 

“You undermine each other’s feelings but, do you honestly think any of us had it easy?!” she screeched with contempt, throat aching from the sheer volume.

Silence.

If their petty fight hadn’t sobered them up then the maiden’s words surely had.

 

            Eliza Hargreeves can’t tell whether or not she got through to them —it was her twin sister who had the knack for conveying their thoughts rationally after all— but either way, it’s the first time she lashes out at them in unadulterated rage, the first time she didn’t seem concerned about what they’d think of her. 

She heaves deep breaths, gradually coming down from her neurotic emotions as proven by the way her eyes revert to their usual color.

For a moment, she thinks it was the end of their heated argument. But, despite the gut-wrenching diversion, it turns out that their little spat was simply a catalyst for an even more controversial subject than none of them seemed to be able to fathom.

Everyone was frozen, faces ghastly pale, stunned by one particular detail that none of them (except the person who declared it) managed to overlook. 

“H-hold up.” 

As usual, Diego is the first to jump the gun. She doesn’t have to be an empath to recognize the guilt and terror painted on his face

“What the f-fuck are you talking about, El? Who t-t-tried to—” he forces his words out despite the way his stutter had resurfaced, swallowing the lump in his throat, “K-kill themself?”

Eliza slaps her mouth in horror when she recognizes her mistake. 

A shiver ran down her spine and the hair on her skin stood straight, heart beating rapidly as cold sweat trickled down her neck. She can’t tell whether it was caused by the sensation of her sister’s evident fear or her very own.

“No— It’s nothing— I didn’t mean to say it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking— It just slipped out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” the ninth child sputters out an apology. ‘To whom?’ the other seven weren’t able to discern.

“Was it you?” Five narrows his eyes. His concern could be easily mistaken for aggravation. 

“N-No. I—”

“If it wasn’t you then who was it, Number Nine?” the boy demanded sternly. They always resorted to numbers when the going gets tough. And surely, it wasn’t a good sign.

 

            The Hargreeves share wary glances as they attempt to figure out who the person in question was.

Allison turns to Vanya, almost everyone’s first suspect.

“I-It’s not me... I mean, I-I’ve had thoughts… I thought of how easy it would be sometimes but…” she rambled, immediately turning back to her sister to gain an explanation, “El?”

Their efforts turn out to be futile for the one who revealed such a heavy secret was too overwrought with emotions to answer coherently. Eliza merely continued to chant frantically, voice all choked-up, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Ben finally speaks, placing a hand behind the girl in assurance as he faced one of their brothers, feeling as if he was kept in the dark despite how inseparable they had been, “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Don’t look at me,” Klaus had immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I may be self-destructive but I'm pretty sure all my overdoses count for addiction, not suicide.”

“That’s not something you should be proud of,” Diego snapped.

“Then, who is it?” Luther raises his voice, commanding their attention. His agitation is mostly directed at himself, at the realization of his own ignorance. He was supposed to be the leader, wasn’t he?

 

            Each of them sucked in a painful breath, audible enough for everyone to hear, like a pin drop echoing throughout the room.

And only in that momentary silence do they finally get an epiphany.

The rest of the Umbrella Academy finally notices that someone else was silent, that someone should have known because the said member had access to all the deepest darkest secrets of their dysfunctional family. The said person wouldn’t let them be if that were the case because she had the duty of seeing all perspectives, because she had been the most protective of them all. She had always risked everything to keep them alive.

They’ve only ever seen themselves reflected by the mirror, but the looking glass sees all.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Number Eight feels as if time had stopped the moment that the younger twin had dropped the bomb on them. The noise of their thoughts and their voices had already melded into a buzz over her ears, akin to hearing static over the radio. 

Part of her seemed to be fretting. The bile rises up from her stomach, burning acid through her chest. Her lungs constrict, gut tightening.

How did her twin sister know? Eliza wasn’t supposed to know. Nobody was supposed to know. She was alone. She made sure of it.

Another part of her can’t fathom what was happening. She hears the crashing of waves, the sound of the ocean beckoning her like a siren calling out to lost sailors. 

How she could be both numb and on-edge at the same time was the least of her concerns right then, but it felt as if her soul was being forcefully driven out of her body.

The tide rises.

It’s cold. 

It’s getting harder to breathe.

She blocks out their voices. She puts up her walls, brick by brick. 

But as per fucking usual, Five is the first one to catch on.

 

            “Eight…” he calls her name, voice hoarse as he stared at her in horror. As much as he pulls her back to reality, she tenses at the mere mention of her name.

Every fiber of her being is telling her to—

‘Lie.’

‘Lie, Eight. Lie.’

‘Cover it up like you usually do. They don’t have to know. They don’t have to—’

But all their eyes are drawn to her.

It’s too late.

She won’t be able to take it back. She’s at a loss for words just as much as they were, that only one thought seemed to come to mind.

She has to go.

They were never supposed to find out this way. They were never supposed to know.

“Eight...” they chorused. She fails to recognize the evident concern plastered on their faces.

Eliza remains apologetic, hoping to alleviate the situation as she reaches out to her sister to steal some of her emotions, “Eightie, I—”

The older twin stumbles back, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I-I have to go.”

Of all times, she can’t will herself to lie, so she does the next best thing… 

She runs.

 

---

 

2002-11-16 
DAY 06 | 00:00

 

            NUMBER FIVE HAD ALWAYS KNOWN where to find her. He was the master of their game of hide-and-seek, or perhaps in this case, a game of cat-and-mouse. 

Whichever it was, there were plenty of reasons why he didn't run after her just yet, namely: (1) he needed more details in order to assess the situation as he usually does before jumping into any dilemma; (2) he could not fathom the courage to see her, to once again be reminded of the way Eight had been vulnerable and placed in danger because of his own incompetence; (3) as much as he hated learning the truth in such a manner, Number Five finds himself even more aggravated by his inability to figure out what to do. 

And if anyone knows him, they should be able to recall that his greatest fear had always been not knowing. 

Number Five prided himself as a genius, after all. At the age of 13, he had not only mastered the use of his spatial jumps, but he had also successfully jumped through time on multiple occasions, disregarding his inability to return back.

He was the mastermind behind their attempts to prevent the apocalypse, the boy who had not only brought his family out of harm's way but had also transported their consciousness back to their childhood bodies as a part of the many steps he has been taking to prevent the aforementioned Armageddon. 

But in this case, he is once again stuck.

And for someone who had always yearned to comprehend everything with a snap of a finger, there is nothing he hates more than being stuck.

It reminds him of the time when he was being trained as a child by Reginald Hargreeves. When he had been stupid enough to allow his hubris to get the best of him, ignoring Eight’s attempts to talk sense into him despite his immediate insistence on leaving the academy. Or when he had to bide his time within the Temps Commission.

Being stuck equated to inadequacy.

What can he even say? Out of everyone in that room, he should have known. He should have seen the signs. She trusted him the most. They’ve always been together, haven’t they? They’re married for Christ’s sake!

And yet, Number Five finds himself dumbfounded, unable to utter a single word, listening to his siblings as if he were watching them over a television screen.

 

            “Liz, since when did you know? How did you know?” Ben Hargreeves had turned to the younger twin in concern, hoping to get an explanation or at least a response to the question.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” Eliza stammered. “It wasn’t my place to—”

Surprisingly, it was Vanya who probes her, “El, We have to know. Otherwise, we won’t know how to help her, yeah?”

After a hesitant glance, she began to inform them of what happened.

“We were 17… Ben and I were already dead…” the ninth child trailed on. “Remember when she got shot in that mission?”

“Yeah,” Allison nodded slowly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she recalled the series of unfortunate events, “Yeah— She pushed me out of the way. She saved me. I thought—”

“She saw it coming,” the younger twin cut her off, pained by the thought.

“Eightie had access to information. I’m sure she knew, but that wasn’t what made me realize it,” Eliza’s voice breaks in continuation, “I was a ghost back then. I stayed behind when she asked you guys to leave the room. And then, she started crying. Like— Like she was so broken and her emotions didn’t add up. I mean, wasn’t she supposed to be relieved that she was alive?”

They listened. 

“And then it dawned on me...” the maiden’s breath hitches.

“She wasn’t relieved because she tried to get shot on purpose,” Five had finished for her, fists clenched in frustration.

 

            His nails dig crescents into his palms, but he ignores the pain, browsing his head for each recollection, each time, each sign, he had missed.

Eliza’s revelation aside, there was that time she offered herself to the Commission. There was that time in the apocalyptic world when she almost died of hypothermia. There was that time with Hazel and Cha-Cha, or that time when she was shot by the Handler.

The line between her martyrdom and suicidal ideation was slowly beginning to blur. 

Which was which?

But more importantly, if he had known, would he have been able to prevent it?

Either way, despite his frustrations with himself, it turns out that that was all he needed to will himself to find her.

Number Five doesn’t waste another second, blinking away toward Eight’s side.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            They always knew that Number Eight willingly sacrifices herself in exchange for their safety, but they never thought it would warrant her yearning for death.

“How could you not tell us?!” Luther had turned to their ninth member accusingly.

“How could she tell you?” Ben argued back, recalling how damn helpless they’ve been the past few years. Dead. Stuck. Unable to be seen and what more, heard?

Eliza just as easily retorted. “None of you ever believed in Klaus so even if I told him, he’d just be left heartbroken and hopeless as it already was! Not to mention, before I could even have the chance to tell them, she was already gone! What good would it have done if had I said it?”

“I— You could have told me. And if not me, then at least Benerino. You know that one of us would have listened to you, El. We’ve been stuck to the hip since we were kids!” Klaus tells her despite the girl’s intentions, hurt by the thought of overshadowing someone else’s needs because he knows— God, he knows what it was like to never be taken seriously. “I get it, you were so worried about the shit I might get myself into that you couldn’t move on. But I’m not that much of an asshole to downplay my own sister’s problems, especially when I know what that’s like!”

“F-Fuck!” Diego exclaimed in denial, fists shaking right beside him “Fuck! N-no. No, Eight couldn’t have.”

“We fought back then,” Allison hyperventilates. “Oh, God. I drove her to the edge, didn’t I?”

“It was my fault,” Luther interrupts her, spiraling just as easily. “If I— If you two didn’t die because of me—”

Instead of being able to correct any of their assumptions, Eliza breaks into sobs.

And then, the chaos grows.

Each domino falls on top of the other, falling and spiraling like a snowball effect. 

It grows and it grows.

 

            Everyone talks over the other, their emotions overlap and turn darker and darker like tree leaves hovering above forest skies. They rustle loudly like thunder rumbling amidst the gray clouds that were promising rain. 

It reminds her of thunderstorms, of the numerous times she hid under her bed with just a blanket, fretting over something seemingly as trivial as that but never turning to anybody else for help.

The noise reverberates in her veins, aggravating the thudding in her chest, until—

“Stop it!” Vanya shouts, face pale, eyes whiter than they were meant to be blue.

Glass shatters and the unprecedented force of her powers immediately shuts them up. 

Nobody was harmed but the gust of wind was enough to capture their attention, especially with its impact that boomed against the walls.

The energy around them quelled as the seventh child heaved a deep breath, enunciating, “It’s no one’s fault and I don’t think Eight would be any happier if she heard that.”

“Look,” Vanya continued. “There’s not much we can do about the past, it already happened. The most important thing is that we know now. It’s up to us to try and understand her side of the picture. After all, Eight’s always been doing that for us.”

And they all nod, because really, what else was there left to say?

Notes:

we're (finally) fixing the unsolved issues of the prequel, it's been a long time coming.
we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 6: the gateway to another world

Summary:

"slip inside the eye of your mind, don't you know you might find a better place to play."
— don't look back in anger; oasis

2002-11-16
DAY 06 | 00:08

 

            NUMBER EIGHT KEEPS DROWNING deeper and deeper, engulfed by her mind. The waters are both loud and cold. The waves keep crashing, dragging her by her ankle as if there were chains that weighed her down. In their wake, she is rendered helpless, pulled along by the current. The tide rises and she’s trapped, unable to move, unable to breathe.

It was within the old closet of that desolate hall in their gigantic mansion that she found a haven. Somewhere along the line, it wasn’t so much of its confines that gave her comfort, but rather the boy who took shelter beside her. 

When he left, it was no wonder why she refused to set foot back in their hideout, relinquishing the key to Pogo, because there was no point in returning there— No point in the agonizing reminder of him.

She needs him as if he were the key to everything, the solution to each problem. She needs him like he was each breath of air that filled her lungs. 

And see, perhaps that was the thing, they had been bound to each other for so long that it became difficult to tell where it was that he ended and she began.

Although, what Number Eight fails to recognize is how the same could easily be applied to him.

 

            Number Five can’t live in a world without her and for that, he screams, begging her to turn back. He chases after just as she had when he jumped into the future.

“Eight!”

(Funny how their roles have reversed.)

She can’t move. She keeps running and running towards the haven of the old closet and yet when she finally sets foot between those four walls, she keeps hearing him call out to her.

The girl turns back to catch his eye for a mere second, but her eyes begin to blur. The world shakes. Dark spots block her vision until—

She falls.

Five blinks towards her, catching her before she hits the ground. The temporary adrenaline that rushed through her body finally fails her. All those sleepless nights render her unconscious.

He sucks in a breath, reminded of the way he held her dead body.

 

            Ironically, despite the boy’s inherent ability to travel through time, he has often complained about his lack of it. 

Likewise, it felt as if he still did not have enough time to process the tragedy that had occurred not too long ago.

That is precisely why Five feels like lost her for the second time. 

Eight.

He is unable to breathe, unable to think, as if something has lodged itself in his throat, reaching out for his heart and gripping it with a vice-like force.

Eight. Eight. Eight.

He cradles her in his arms rocking back and forth as if it would do something to alleviate the dreadful reality. A hand runs through her hair and yet it still feels as if they were stained with that crimson hue. 

Her blood still feels fresh on his skin. The bullets are loud from behind them. The world had stopped spinning long ago but he couldn’t care less if he'd be in the crossfire, couldn't care less if he died.

 

            When the rest of the Hargreeves arrived at the scene, they are rendered speechless by the state of their brother that they have arrived to. 

They’ve never seen Five seem so fragile— Catatonic.

One look into his empty eyes is enough to suck in a breath out of all of them.

And the rest of what happens occurs in a blur.

All he remembers is holding her close. 

He won’t let go. He will never let go.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Eliza’s, he presumes with the way his emotions turn dull— Numb.

He hears Ben’s voice assure him, “Five. She’s alive. She’s breathing.”

It’s only then that he manages to loosen his hold on the girl, but regardless, he refuses to release her.

He feels he’s stuck back in the apocalypse during those first five agonizing years, or more concerningly—

He’s alone. 

He’s alone. He’s alone. He’s alone.

All those years, he’s only ever had her.

 

---

 

2002-11-16
DAY 06 | 05:09

 

            “You have to tell someone,” Ben says later that morning when the sun was finally rising from the horizon. Neither of the Hargreeves had any sleep, but unlike Number Five who opted to stay by the maiden’s side, the rest of the seven took turns camping outside the infirmary, sparing him the momentary privacy he had long sought.

They try their best not to overwhelm him, walking on eggshells, fully aware that they were partially the reason why this whole issue was brought on. 

Instead, they take turns, each with their own chance to speak with him, to apologize. 

Albeit, apologies were also one of the things they have yet to get used to. Many were the things to feel sorry about but even more were their problems.

The younger twin, in particular, was immediately admonished by the sixth child as soon as she was about to return for her shift.

 

            “I told you,” Eliza had countered petulantly, frowning due to the worry that seemed to be constantly plastered on Ben’s face.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he tells her sternly, the crease on his forehead deepening in concern.

In truth, she can’t exactly comprehend what he meant by that. Which was it? Someone who can do something? Someone real? Alive?

He keeps talking as if things haven’t changed.

The girl gives him a wry smile, reminding him, “Ben, we’re not dead anymore.”

‘We can do something. They can see us.’

“Okay, well put,” he nods in agreement, though not without adding, “But, it’s not going to do you any good if only either of us knows.”

“Eightie is our first priority right now,” is all she says, downplaying her own circumstances.

Ben heaves an exasperated sigh before joining the others, who seemed to have assembled in front of the door, whispering harshly amidst their little gathering.

 

            “They’re both as stubborn as each other. I swear to god, it’s like they’re competing for a prize,” Diego hissed, recalling how they had to force Eight out of Five’s room just the other day. Although, in this case, he seriously doubts they could pull the same trick with the fifth child. 

“Bold of you to say such, considering that you can be just as bad, Di,” Klaus snorts, earning a scowl from their brother.

Allison suggests, seeing no other way behind it, “Should I rumor him?”

“No, that’s just going to make things worse,” Vanya says with 99% certainty.

“That’s it then, we either leave them alone or get beaten into a pulp,” Luther deduced.

“Well, yeah,” the fourth child snorts, finding amusement in the thought, “Unless one of you has a better idea dealing with our little psycho.”

 

            “I’ll take it from here,” Eliza chimed in not a second later, earning a series of worried expressions from the others.

“El…”

“Are you sure?” Allison even asks.

“Yeah. Empath of the family, remember?” she shows them both her hands as if it would prove her point. 

“I can handle Five…” A beat passes. “I think.”

Despite the uncertainty present in those last two words, she manages to convince them by adding, “Besides, I was going to stay by Eightie’s side either way. She’s my twin after all.”

‘And I caused all this,’ she thinks, but it goes unsaid.

Klaus might as well have read her mind because he does her a favor by averting their attention elsewhere. “Great, I’m starving.”

Despite such an apathetic response, the empath knew better, fully aware of their brother’s tendency to hide behind a mask of indifference. Klaus was truly more perceptive than he often let on. Shame everyone else often underestimated him.

Eliza gives him a grateful smile taking a deep breath to prepare herself from heading in.

Ben gives her a reassuring squeeze from her shoulder, asking, “Do you need me to guide you in there?”

“No,” she whispers, shutting her eyes for a moment in preparation. “I can take it.”

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Oftentimes, when people claim that the world has “faded into black,” they fail to take into consideration the emotions that are felt alongside it. The archetypical saying is often related to ambiguity, to nothingness. It’s just darkness that either leads to a beginning or an end, a mere turning point.

For Eliza Hargreeves, however, she had witnessed the way such can be taken into a literal sense.

When the world faded to black, it wasn’t as dramatic as one would have believed. Her vision flickered or rather, gradually shifted. The two people in the center of the room were but a silhouette of the boy cradling his lover in his arms. 

A sea of blue has them surrounded, threatening to engulf them like a vortex in the ocean. Their shadows lurk and grow, like tree roots that glued them to the ground, consuming them until the darkness is all there was.

She can feel the thoughts gnawing on her, prickling her skin and demanding access to her own mind. In truth, it was more akin to a sensation than an emotion. 

For example, their fear coils itself around her throat like a snake climbing up her body. It slithers, and then hisses in her ear, causing the hair on her skin to shoot straight up. Their grief then manifests itself in the clenching of their guts, a punch to their stomach, and each one morphs into a pain that climbs up their throat like invasive vines. As it crawls up their torso, one would fail to ignore the death-like grip on their chest. 

And see, that’s what most people fail to realize.

Love hurts, even more so than grief. 

It makes it difficult to breathe as if one’s lungs are attached to another’s, knotted and intertwined. 

And they can ruin you. 

They might ruin you. 

But you will let them.

It’s akin to handing someone a loaded gun, knowing perfectly that they might shoot, but also willing to get shot if it meant that their beloved would be the one pulling the trigger.

It is often painted in a romantic light, but by witnessing Numbers Five and Eight’s love for one another, Eliza Hargreeves can attest that love is merely an enduring sort of pain. 

It was undoubtedly ugly and depraved, and yet, there was something so beautiful in suffering so sweetly with another, to find someone carved perfectly with a space to contain your own soul.

If it were poison, then they were undoubtedly intoxicated by it. Through them, she is blinded by the bittersweet darkness.

 

            “Five?” Eliza called out into the room, trying her best not to let her lack of sight get to her.

Somehow, she can immediately pinpoint his location from the hostility in his voice.

“I’m not leaving her, so don’t bother,” he tells her the same way Eight had often insisted, speaking without looking away from his wife.

“I wasn’t going to make you,” she assured him matter-of-factly, knowing that could only end badly.

Satisfied, her brother-slash-brother-in-law gives a huff of approval, “Good.”

Albeit, she ends up flinching when she hears something clattering from the corner.

 

            Unbeknownst to her, Number Five had blinked toward the other side of the room, taking a foldable chair to set it behind his sister. He was rather chivalrous, much to anyone’s surprise. Fully aware that Eight would have pestered him had she been awake, he also knows better not to heed her hypothetical nagging about taking care of their siblings. 

Regardless, Eliza makes no move to sit down, unable to read the room.

Growing confused as to whether she happened to be ignoring him or whether she hadn’t gotten the message, Number Five gives into his impatience, opting to tap her on the shoulder to tell her (or force her) to sit down. And yet when he does make a move to do so, the girl unsubtly yelps.

And well, he’d be dumb not to notice that something wasn’t wrong right then.

 

            Five narrows his eyes at the ninth child, blinking right across her to confirm his suspicions. The maiden was unable to hold eye contact, looking aimlessly at a distance.

Although she couldn’t see the wary expression on his face, she didn’t need to be an empath to sense the tension in the room.

“You…” 

Uh oh.

“What the fuck, Eliza? Are you blind?” he finally spat. 

Busted.

“Um, no…” the girl stammers, “Not really.” Not technically.

“Jesus Christ,” Five sighed in exasperation. “You two… You’re both—”

“I’m fine! It’s only when I’m around Eight,” she defended as if it was a reasonable excuse. “It started last night… And well, I feel the same as you do. I don’t want to leave her side but if the others figure out, they’ll make me leave.”

“Fine,” the boy scowled, only opting to speak a tad bit gentler when he notices the inevitable way she had tensed her shoulders. 

“I won’t say a word. Just…” he rubbed his temples in frustration and commanded like he was speaking to a child. “Sit.”

She obliges without wasting another second. Blindly reaching out to grab her twin sister’s hand and holding it just as she had when they were children. 

They watch over her in silence, brooding and mulling over heavy thoughts that the telepath would inevitably hear had she been awake.

 

            As usual, Eliza had been the one to break the silence, unable to bear the lack of human interaction, much to Five’s evident displeasure. It would have been awkward had she let it on any longer, she believed. It would have even been more awkward had she not, he’d have argued.

Either way, finding a need in filling the silence, she says, “Feels like this isn’t the first time this happened.”

“Because it’s not,” he smiled sardonically, stating facts because it truly wasn’t a first to have them both watch over the unconscious eighth Hargreeves in concern.

Eliza, however, felt prompted to say, “You’re lucky, you know that?”

At least he knew of her whereabouts. At least they were both alive. At least he had the pleasure to be with her all these years. 

Unfortunately, it did not come out the way she intended.

“Lucky?” Five snarled. “You think I’m lucky?”

She never had a knack for articulating words, unlike her sister. Then again, which of the Hargreeves ever had a skill for such? Even Allison had difficulty with it.

“I mean, you’ve been together forever, Five, while we actually lost Eight once,” she attempts to clear up. “And that is saying something because I was dead. I’ve been watching over her, hoping —begging— she would hear me or at least see me. But she couldn’t. At least, you’re here by her side actually capable of doing something.”

“I didn’t mean to downplay what you’ve been through, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that…” Eliza continued, heaving a deep breath before assuring him, “We’re just as scared as you are.”

The tendrils of his anger finally dissipate morphing into a dagger of grief-like pain.

A beat later, he admits, “I lost her not too long ago.”

It feels like she misheard him.

“What? How is that… How is that possible?”

“The battle with the Commission…” Five trailed on.

“Yeah?”

“She died.” The words taste like lead in his mouth. “I turned back time but she died in my arms, shielding me. And I can’t— Shit. I can’t—” Let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

 

            “I’m sorry,” the empath tells him wholeheartedly nothing but genuine. She even goes as far as to reach out in an attempt to steal a bit of his pain.

“Don’t even try,” Five swats her hand away, “And worry about yourself. Unlike you, I can see with both my two eyes.”

“In Eight’s defense, I would have done the same thing if I were in her position,” the corners of her lips quirk up wryly.

“You have done the same thing. It probably runs in your blood,” he muttered irritably. “Don’t think I forgot about how Ben died— why you died.”

Five being himself, he doesn’t fail to add that derisive scoff, “Honestly, it was incredibly stupid of you to rush towards him like that.”

“I didn’t know I was going to die,” she drawled dryly.

“And if you did, would that have changed anything?”

The longer it took for her to come up with an argument, the more it only proved his point.

“Okay, you’re right,” their Number Nine finally agrees. “I would have done it either way. But!— But that's just stuff you do for the people you love. If you were in our position during any of those situations you would’ve done the same thing. I know it.”

“Well at least, Eight was absolutely right about one thing,” Five mutters, eyes trailing back towards his wife’s figure as he leaned closer against the bed, resting his elbows as he held her hand.

He silently presses his lips against her knuckles, before recalling one of their debates during their childhood, “Love makes fools out of all of us.”

“But I don’t think you’re better off without it,” the other twin doesn’t fail to argue as if would alleviate the semblance of melancholy hanging in the air. “Eight might be your greatest weakness, but I can also see how she became your strength.”

“You guys both understand each other and make up for what each other lacks,” Eliza continued to explain. “We look at you two and see you together… And it just works, you know?”

He permits her a thin-lipped smile. 

“Besides, it’s fun watching the golden child make a fool of himself once in a while.”

To that, he rolls his eyes.

 

---

 

⊹⊱ A BRIEF INTERMISSION ⊰⊹
brought to you by one of the 43
children who, at this moment, had
already made a vague prediction of
the consequential events and their 
relevance regarding the future
of The Umbrella Academy.

 

            THE HEART IS A PECULIAR THING. It feels for others despite already being vulnerable by itself. And although that alone is often referred to as 'empathy' in its most basic form, what is empathy if not an attempt to connect with others, either consciously or subconsciously?

As often implied (if not already mentioned), unity is the essence of Number Eight and Number Nine’s ability. They could easily wage a war if they so wish, and at the same time, prevent such a disaster, precisely because their strength lies in their comrades— their army.

Unity is one of the key reasons, if not the greatest one, which explains why Reginald Hargreeves had opted to adopt them.

 

            Number Eight and Number Nine are often referred to as two halves of a whole. They’re identical twin sisters, similar in both appearance and ability. They complement each other, allowing them to create a chain reaction that links not only the minds but also the hearts of others. 

And, see, those two factors are known to be the essence of a soul.

Once again, it is due to Reginald Hargreeves’ foresight that these two maidens will be able to utilize such a skill on the other seven members of the academy.

 

            The combination of telepathy and empathy not only unites one’s soul with another’s but also permits one to understand the entirety of a being.

Such an example would be the original apocalypse brought forth by the cataclysmic ability of Number Seven, in which all nine members of the academy had been able to synchronize with one another, escaping the end of times by mere minutes.

In doing so, they had partially accomplished Reginald’s intent in forming the academy. That is, to have a group of extraordinary beings defeating evil and protecting the world, but mainly embodying what it means to be a team.

The man was greatly displeased to know that Eight Hargreeves stands as an obstacle despite her purpose, often choosing to walk a lonesome path. She had not only squandered her potential but also prevented the fruitful benefits that could have been reaped had she counted on the other eight members of the academy. 

(This will also continue to be a problem moving forward, but perhaps we ought not to dwell too much on the details.)

Now, unto the more pressing matters…

 

---

 

2002-11-16
DAY 06 | 09:58

 

            IT STARTS WITH A FAINT RUMBLE like a buzz of electricity, one that the hyper-aware temporal assassin doesn’t fail to notice, especially during his vigilant state, having never left his unconscious wife’s bedside.

“Quit it,” he scowls at the other seven who had gathered with him in the infirmary, choosing to eat their meal beside their sister’s side. “Who’s doing that?”

“Doing what?” Allison furrows her eyebrows, looking up to meet his eyes, having been seated crossed-legged on the floor beside an oddly cheerful Klaus.

‘Must be high,’ the fifth child deduced from the grassy scent he was giving off.

Vanya finally speaks up, noticing the buzz of distant voices as if hearing voices through a wall, “I hear it too.”

“It’s not because I'm high, is it? Because I’m telling you, this is the best I’ve felt these last few days,” the fourth child sighed wistfully, earning a sharp jab from Diego that causes him to whine,  “Ouch— Diego!”

They all twitch, feeling a ghost-like touch that mirrored the same twinge of pain Klaus felt.

“Five,” Luther stands, preparing for any intruders. “What are you talking about?”

There’s a faint sensation equally present in their minds. Of numbness. Of nothingness. A blank canvas. A clean slate.

It was oddly worrying.

“You’ve got to be dense not to notice it by now, monkey,” Diego turns to their brother, half-joking and half-wary. He pulls out one of his knives, watching the windows as they circle the middle of the room.

The colors shift.

Purples, oranges, and greens are no more. Yellows are hardly evident. Reds grow fainter and fainter. The last ones to vanish are blues.

Just in case, Ben places a hand on Eliza, who had yet to regain her vision, “Alright, I think it’s fairly safe to say that no one’s doing that—”

“What is that?”

“What the fuck?”

“What’s going on?”

Soon enough the world is black and white.

Five prepares to cradle his wife in his arms when the younger twin, who had yet to let go of her sister’s hand, captured everyone else’s attention, “I think something’s going on with Eight.”

The room grows darker and darker.

Their thoughts overlap with each other, making it difficult to discern which was their own.

 

            The clashing of souls is a form of collision, which then results in a resonance of energies, eventually turning into a synergy. 

The Monocle had hypothesized such an occurrence, and yet, had never come close to its discovery.

This burst of energy then results in a corporeal event; tangible, despite the abstract qualities of thoughts and emotions. 

What Reginald Hargrevees had failed to take into consideration is the aftermath of this union.

To begin with…

First, there was darkness.

And then, there was light.

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 7: the rashomon effect

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"nothing around here is quite as it seems, not sure if anything's real or a dream."
— welcome to wonderland; anson seabra

B-SIDE:

"we'll begin with a spin, traveling in the world of my creation. what we'll see will defy explanation."
— pure imagination; gene wilder (kathleen)

            THE SENSE OF LONGING begins in one’s heart. It is a sensation akin to hunger, a primal instinct. It is precisely why humans are weak in regard to their inherent desires.

The rational part of them is what suppresses such unadulterated yearning. It's what sets humans apart from other creatures. However, the mind is also known as a tool of creation, and as such, desire also manifests in one’s mind.

Together, it can therefore be implied that it is a feeling that comes from within one’s soul— the intertwinement of the heart and mind. 

 

            Number Nine and Number Eight fulfill their respective roles as the embodiment of the aforementioned elements of the human psyche, creating an alternate reality. This world, however, is not as distant as it seems.

Based on the information already presented, one can deduce that such had already resided within them, created through what renowned psychologist Sigmund Freud referred to as Id. This is located in the deepest and innermost level, known as the unconscious mind. The part which, even Number Eight had admitted, was the most difficult to access.

Although the complexities of human psychology cannot be denied, the union brought forth by both empathy and telepathy has undoubtedly caused a resonance, allowing the Hargreeves to transgress minds via the connection of their hearts.

However, it will be quite significant to remember:

The mind is a tool of creation.

Considering that desire induces weakness, it is an undoubtedly lethal weapon that is capable of driving one mad.

 

---

 

            LUTHER HARGREEVES had always wanted to go to the moon. It became an opportunity his father had offered and ironically an era that had plagued him all his life. It was when it dawned on him that he truly was alone.

Prior to that space mission, he had lived his last few days on earth alone in the academy, nor was he able to make amends with the rest of the family before he left. He always knew the importance of the team, that they ought to be together, but somehow that dream gets farther and farther away until eventually, he gives up and stops forcing them in on it.

He’ll be on his own for the rest of his life while his remaining siblings get on with their lives and forget about the academy— Forget about him.

And it almost feels that way but that morning, the man had jolted awake from his bed with a loud thud. 

 

            Luther had somehow managed to bump his head against the top bunk, causing him to roll to the ground and groan loudly in pain. Regardless, that little whack in the head still didn’t seem to clue him in.

Nor does realize what was going on even as their mother opened the door in concern, “Luther, dear? Are you alright?”

“Mom?”

The man catches a glimpse of himself at the full-body mirror situated across the unfamiliar room, recognizing his adult body. What takes him by surprise though, was not the unfamiliarity of the area but the lack of simian features he had been long accustomed to. It was a state he had never imagined seeing himself in ever since that horrid mission.

And for that, there’s a smile of disbelief on his face despite the utter confusion, “Where… Where am I?”

“What are you talking about, silly?” Grace chuckles.

 

            He looks up to meet her eyes in an attempt to get any semblance of information. Instead, he is greeted by another mind-boggling oddity. 

Mom was…

Old?

‘It’s not polite to call a lady that, Luther,’ his subconscious scolds him.

But then, what would be a better way to call it?

There were wrinkles under her eyes, the roots of her blonde hair were definitely white, and although she held up well in spite of her age, she truly did appear like a mother who birthed children within their twenties. The most baffling part though was the way her mannerisms were natural, almost as if she was… human.

 

            “Are you still half asleep, dear?” the woman snaps him out of his thoughts, though he still stares at her agape, dumbfounded by the state of things.

“Mom, where are we?” he asks for the second time.

“In your apartment,” she looks back at him as if he were the one acting crazy. “What has gotten into you today? I know you and Diego are sharing a room now because your brother insisted I stay, but I told you, if you’re bothered by it, I can get out of your hair.”

“No, don’t—” Luther stands all of a sudden. He finds the little bit of courage he’s lost all these years and tells her the exact words he wishes someone would have told him before, “You don’t have to keep living with Dad if you don’t want to.”

Grace looks at him blankly, and for the nth time, manages to surprise him, “Dear, your father’s been gone for years. Diego just didn’t want me to live on my own in such a large home, remember?”

 

            “Would you like some coffee? It seems to me that you have yet to wake up,” she smiled both teasingly and endearingly. “I’ve also made breakfast if you're hungry.”

Everything felt so normal, almost as if he truly just had woken up from some odd dream. But then, he repeats his mother's words in his head.

“Diego…” Luther turns to his mother as he followed her towards the kitchen, “Mom, where’s Diego?”

“At work,” she answers matter-a-factly, coyly adding, “Most people work full-time, unlike you, dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an astronaut, remember?” the woman sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, just as she always had. “You told me that since you don’t have any expeditions soon, you’ll be accompanying me to my checkups. Is something the matter?”

“O-oh,” he laughs sheepishly, feeling obligated to pretend everything was normal as if his mother would begin to worry. “I knew that.”

She gives him another one of her usual smiles before turning to face the sink.

As he begins to feast on the breakfast she had prepared, Luther finds the need to ask as if it would be able to make up for his insistence on shutting her down like some vacuum, “Is there anywhere you want to go after this, Mom? What about the park or the museum? You’ve always wanted to go outside.” 

“A day out would be lovely, dear,” the woman hummed. “But don’t forget we have that family dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? You mean all of us?” 

“Is something the matter?” Grace looks at him worriedly. “We have them every Sunday. It’s unlike you to forget.”

 

---

 

            DIEGO HARGREEVES always cared about how other people would perceive him despite all his tough antics and crass words. It was precisely because he cared about them that he acted that way. It was because he cared so much about how their father saw him that he always strived to be the best version of himself— to prove he was enough, to prove that he wasn’t just Number Two. 

And in the same way, it was because he cared about his siblings that he acts as if he can’t afford to show his affection, as if that would somehow undermine his intentions of assuring them that he was tough— Tough enough to have their backs, tough enough to protect them when no one else can.

After all, Diego Hargreeves had an insurmountable incorrigible incredibly persistent case of the chronic hero complex.

Nevertheless, in spite of everything he does, the world always seemed to remind him that he was never going to be good enough.

But then, he wakes up that morning, presented with everything he could have dreamed of.

 

            He shoots up from his desk as soon as he felt someone slap a bundle of papers against the back of his head. In the aftermath of his actions, a pile of folders takes the fall only to be caught by the same person who had woken him up in the first place.

“Hargreeves, for the love of god, drink some coffee, take a walk, do anything— Just stop dozing off,” a familiar voice nags him. “We have a mountain of open cases. If you want to get off work on time, then you better get started now.”

“Eudora?” He turns to face her, stunned by her presence. It’s only then he realizes the all too familiar place he was at.

There’s a badge on his belt, papers on his desk, and two familiar friends whose cubicles were set just across his. The precinct was bustling as usual, with people coming in and out.

“Stop calling me that,” Eudora Patch doesn’t fail to tell him like she usually does, albeit something about her seems more bashful than usual. “We agreed to keep things professional, remember?”

“Ooo-kay,” he drawled, taking it as a good sign. Accustomed to her typical badgering, he immediately jumps on the chance to ask. “How ‘bout dropping the pretenses during dinner tonight then?”

“Nice try,” she snorts, sipping on her mug of coffee. “We’re all working overtime, and you begged the captain to let you off early because you have that family thing.”

That leaves him rather dumbfounded as if the information he’s receiving is way faster than his brain’s ability to comprehend them. “I do?”

“That’s why date nights got moved to Fridays, remember? Sundays are for your family. You’ve complained about it all the time. And yet—” the detective points at the picture frame situated on his desk, presenting their family of nine alongside their mother and Pogo. “—You never seem to be honest about your feelings anyway.”

Wait. Date nights?

“Tell them I said hi,” Eudora gives him a wry smile. And with that closing statement, she walks away to resume her work, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.

 

            “Nice going, Hargreeves,” Beaman snickers, a desk away. “I still can’t believe you two are smooching booties.”

“Wait, what?”

Although Eudora does leave him stunned, his mind is completely preoccupied with the family picture set on his desk because… Well, since when were they this chummy? 

The Umbrella Academy was anything but a functional family.

He begins to feel as though missing something very important.

“Beaman, psst. Hey,” he calls out to his friend, walking over to sit on the seat beside the man’s desk.

“I’m not doing your paperwork, Diego—”

“No, no, not that. I—”

The man raises an eyebrow and turns to him warily.

“Look, this going to sound a little weird but I need you to fill me in on a couple of things about me.”

 

---

 

            ALLISON HARGREEVES strived for perfection as much as she had yearned for attention. Their childhood was shitty enough and they deserved better. They deserved at least the bare minimum, and if she can get what she wants through mere words then why not go beyond that? Why not use it to her advantage? After all, Dad said it himself, didn’t he? They were extraordinary.

So she goes and does just that, taking what she can with just a handful of words. She makes it happen for herself, builds the very family she desired and makes things happen for them.

It was lie after lie, rumor after rumor—

Until even all that goes to hell, and she's left wondering if she truly did deserve 'better' because the universe never seemed to be able to give her that.

It was also precisely why she almost cries as soon as she walks out of her bedroom that one morning, only to catch sight of her daughter in their living room. 

 

            Claire was seated on her father’s lap, reading a book to him with a bright smile— Only, it wasn’t her ex-husband present in this perfect picture family, but instead, a man with one of the kindest expressions plastered on his face, looking at their daughter lovingly. A daughter, who seemed to be a tad bit older than she had remembered.

“Mommy, you’re up!” the seven-year-old beams, walking up to her and enveloping her in a hug. 

“Claire,” Allison nearly let out a sob as she held the child close. That second opportunity to be with her was almost enough to make up for the fact that she wasn’t even able to say goodbye prior to the apocalypse they failed to prevent.

Almost.

Thankfully, her husband had interrupted them before she was able to pull on that thread. 

 

            “Good morning, babe. Did you sleep well?” he kisses her temple affectionately, and in that small gesture, she can already tell he’s levels above Patrick.

Allison doesn’t know how she knows his name, but either way, it comes out of her innately with a soft laugh, “Ray, baby. What are my two favorite people doing this morning? Do you want to do anything with me? The Zoo? Or how about an amusement park?”

The past is so easily forgotten, and she almost immediately puts everything behind her in those few moments, but then her husband says, “What do you mean, babe? Your day’s completely booked, remember?”

“What do you mean?” she furrows her eyebrows.

“Well, you have brunch with your sisters this morning,” he trailed on, picking up Claire and carrying her in his arms. “That’s why Claire and I are going to spend a Father-Daughter day.” 

“Daddy and I are going to get a makeover,” the girl chimed in.

Allison snorts at that, finding amusement in the thought of a grown man doing such a thing for his daughter, “Makeovers?”

“You know I can’t say no to her,” the man whispers in his wife's ear, before resuming his explanation of the day’s festivities. 

“And then what?”

“And then, we’re meeting up with you for your sister’s concert before the usual dinner with the whole Hargreeves clan.”

“Wait, what?”

It feels as if she misheard that.

“We do it every week, honey,” he reminds her as if it were an obvious detail, but the past Allison would never make that mistake. She was quite insistent on keeping her picture-perfect life and her days in the academy separate. 

Thus why she's completely bewildered by that statement, “We have a family dinner? No, wait— You’ve met my family?”

 

---

 

            KLAUS HARGREEVES has always been deemed as a failure so he didn’t see the point in trying hard enough. In the first place, when was ‘enough’ enough? No matter how hard he tries, they all treat him like a joke anyway. Ergo, it’s better to save your energy and face facts— 

You will never be good enough.

So, he half-asses the academy, barely survives his adult life, and constantly embraces his reputation as the boy who cried wolf.

Thanks to all that, he had also long accepted inevitability. 

It’s for that reason that he can’t understand why Eliza cared too much, can’t understand why Eight always gave her all to protect them, can’t understand why someone would die for another when they all knew how futile their efforts will turn out to be.

But then he loses the love of his life and he realizes how damning inevitability truly was.

And so, when Klaus Hargreeves snaps out of his trance and meets those familiar blue eyes, tears instinctively run down his cheeks.

 

            “—laus, Klaus,” David Katz was calling for his attention, looking at him oddly as he set a freshly brewed cup of coffee in front of his boyfriend. “Earth to Klaus—”

Klaus himself sucks in a painful breath, speaking softly as if the man in front of him would suddenly vanish into spoke, “Dave?”

“Yeah?” he returned. There’s a smile on his face despite Klaus’ peculiar behavior. There’s that stupid smile that the Seance adored so much.

And it calls come crashing down on him.

He remembers Vietnam; the bars, the dancing, the tattoos. He remembers their first kiss and the next, the way the butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He remembers the mountain, the rain of bullets, and Dave. Dave. Dave. Dave— Dave lying down with a bullet in his chest as he screamed for a medic, unable to accept the inevitable.

He remembers blood, death, and the dog tags of the man he held in his arms.

 

            The next thing Klaus knows, he becomes a crying hiccuping mess. He forgoes whatever it was he was doing, walking up towards the man and embracing him tightly as he chanted his lover’s name, sobbing and sniveling, “Dave. Dave—”

He doesn’t even notice where he’s at; hasn’t even wrapped his head around the state of things nor does he question the peculiarity of this reality. If he was being honest, he really couldn’t give a damn. There was nothing more important that this moment right here.

“What’s up with you today?” Dave chuckles, holding onto him just as gently as he ran a hand behind the back of Klaus’s head, gently soothing him. He attempts to lighten up the atmosphere by asking, “Were you even listening to what I was saying?”

“No, no, not at all if I’m being honest,” Klaus laughs. It comes out hoarse and choked up.

Nevertheless, he feels the way the man's chest goes up and down as he laughs at his response. “Ah, why am I not surprised?”

Klaus buries his head against the nape of Dave’s neck, “I’m just so glad you’re back.”

“What is up with you today? Bad dream?”

“Yeah…” he breathed out. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

 

---

 

            BEN HARGREEVES had missed out on so much; on growing old, on finding himself, on living. But, having watched all his siblings fall apart, he failed to dwell on any of that. None of them ever really lived a life worth living, and that was saying something considering how he and Eliza had been watching over the remaining members of the academy in spite of their deaths.

So, yes, if one were to ask him if his answer would still be the same regarding that cursed book —if he were to choose between death and life imprisonment— he would likely still pick the same answer.

Then again, there was a rather thin line.

 

            Despite choosing death, he lives a life stuck in the same cycle of inevitability, unable to do something, unable to change, unable to escape the bounds of the old academy.

Despite choosing death he’s been giving his all to remain in the mortal world, to stay behind, to watch over them as a ghost. He was never even able to fully embrace the state of eternal peace, immediately being conjured by Klaus as soon as he had passed. And to make matters worse, the very people he stayed for (Eliza aside, of course) are all deaf to his words and blind to his presence.

If that was the case, then he might as well have chosen a life of imprisonment instead of eternal rest.

But here it was: a second chance of being with the people he loved— A second chance at living.

And they were already so bad at it.

Until...

 

            Ben Hargreeves got up that morning with a jolt. The alarm clock on the nightstand was continuously blaring. And so, soon as he forces himself to rise up, he turns it off and heads outside the bedroom.

The room, or rather, the apartment felt oddly familiar despite its newfangledness.

“Liz?”

“Klaus?”

He calls out for his two constant companions, only to arrive at nothing. 

“Guys?”

 

            When he earns no response, he explores the small confines of this new residence, coming across a wall of picture frames. 

In one of the photographs, he’s seen wearing a graduation cap, holding what appears to be a doctorate. There’s also one with the whole family celebrating their birthday over cake. And in another, there’s him and their Number Nine, alongside Klaus who seemed to be having the time of his life as per usual.

What does take him by surprise, however, was the way that, aside from pictures of their typical trio (with Klaus photobombing them in most),  there’s one of him and Eliza, looking particularly close. He has an arm wrapped around her, her lips pressed against his cheek—

Wait.

Were they actually together?

Don’t get him wrong. Damnit, after all these years of neverending pining, it’s dream come true but— Really? 

Is his mind playing tricks on him? Because in all honesty, everything feels like a mess. 

He can’t discern the past from the present. Not to mention, there’s a concert poster of Vanya’s hanging on the fridge.

Thankfully, the phone rings before he gets all caught up in existential dread.

 

            “Master Ben—” He could have sworn that he’s never been that relieved to hear Pogo’s voice over the phone.

“Pogo, thank god.”

“—I’m just calling to inform you of the details for tonight’s family dinner. I was able to book a private room, but do tell me if you’d like any adjustments,” the chimp queried. “Should I make an advanced order for their finest bottle of champagne perhaps?”

Ben furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “Champagne for what?”

“To celebrate your sister’s achievement of course.”

Right. 

Vanya. First chair. Concert. 

Christ, he is so out of it today.

“Right, of course. I’m sorry I just woke up, I’m a little out of it…” It takes another beat before he realizes, “Wait, you said family… Is the whole family coming?”

“Yes, as far as I’m aware. The whole family is attending this week, your mother and I included.”

Great. Maybe he can get some answers there—

Then again, knowing them, maybe he shouldn’t keep his hopes up either.

 

---

 

            ELIZA HARGREEVES never thought much about her past. She had always been their little ray of sunshine; a little flaky and a bit of a scatterbrain, but blindly optimistic nonetheless.

In her defense, most of her lows were caused by the rest of her siblings. For an empath, emotions were highly contagious after all. But she’s not pointing fingers at anyone. Eight did say she was a little too much of a martyr. Then again, her twin shouldn’t be one to talk—

Wait. Where were we?

Ah yes.

Unlike her twin sister, Number Nine was not plagued by her history at all. She’s more than content with their new family, no matter how dysfunctional the Hargreeves could be. 

Although she cared for their parents, she had a habit of basking in the present. So really, she couldn’t care less that she was an orphan.

It’s just that, she may be putting it a little too lightly— 

Because yes, she did spend a couple of months in her childhood conversing with her ghost mother, kudos to Klaus. And yes, she did want to learn more about the woman and her husband, and she spent quite an awful amount of time wondering about the life she and Eight could have had without the academy.

But, she’s fine. Truly.

Eliza Hargreeves had never given the past too much power over her. 

Then again, she never truthfully made amends with it either.

It’s why the twins had always been insistent on sticking by each other— because they’ve been together from the start like two peas in a pod. 

It’s not a testament to say that the Hargreeves were different, but this was another family. One that only she and Eight shared. The others had their own circles too! (Except maybe Vanya and Luther.)

Regardless, it was still rather shocking information to receive when her twin had picked her up from her art studio.

 

            “Huh? Who am I? Where am I?” were the first couple of questions that escaped her lips as soon as her sister had shaken her lightly, having caught her dozing off on her desk.

Eliza hears someone snort, but as soon as she turned her head to look at the person in question, she’s almost rendered speechless.

It was like looking at a mirror.

“El?” Eight Hargreeves gives her a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”

Now that she thought of it, she had never seen Eight’s grown-up figure. She was always young… And well, after their jump to the past, even younger.

Having earned no response, the older twin asks again, “El, you okay?”

“Eightie!” Eliza beamed, finally snapping out of her thoughts, but regardless, her sister doesn’t fail to catch on.

Eight looks at her oddly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean— You were—” she loses track of words, feeling as if there was something important she was forgetting. 

“I was what?”

“You were—” she tries again, coming up with nothing. Instead, she shifts the subject, “Why are you here?”

“I was picking you up for brunch,” Eight answers simply. “We’re meeting Vee and Al, remember?”

“Brunch?”

“I thought it’d calm Vanya's nerves, considering her concert and all.”

“Vanya has a concert?”

“Yeah,” Eight answers each of her queries despite the way they didn’t seem to end. “Ben says he’ll pick you up from Ma’s house.”

“Ma? Our Mom’s alive?”

“Yeah, you said you’ll drop by without me as soon as you’re off work,” Before Eliza slips in another question, Eight already beats her to it, “What is up to you today?”

“Nothing, I woke up from the wrong side of the bed… I think…” she mutters, mostly to herself before linking their arms together to steer her sister away. “Anyways, brunch?”

 

---

 

            VANYA HARGREEVES always wanted to be good at something —anything— when in reality, it was just her way of trying to fit in, to finally be worthy of the company of her extraordinary siblings. 

She just wanted to be one of them but instead, her father had ostracized her all her life. And her siblings, with no say in it, had grown to do so as well.

Then again, she couldn’t blame them. She doesn’t like herself either; so much so that she never felt comfortable in her own skin.

Although, when she did wake up on the bus that morning, somehow everything just felt right.

 

            Her hair is shorter, she realizes, though she doesn’t think too much of it right then. It was just simple, nice, a change she somewhat appreciated. She never truly delved into the deeper meaning behind her preferences, but point is, for once in her life she almost feels comfortable being herself.

Almost.

It was a little nerve-wracking to meet her sisters for brunch. 

Although her memories were a bit hazy, a part of her thinks that all this wasn’t real. It’s a reflex; she refuses to think she’s worthy enough, and thus, believes things are often too good to be true.

But this time’s different. Really, she swears. Something feels off. (Then again, she’s had powers all her life and she failed to recognize that, so what does she know?)

Either way, her sisters were definitely acting like all of this was normal.

 

            “Allison,” Vanya turned to her sister whilst the twins were getting dessert from a buffet. “Does any of this seem... I don't know, weird to you?”

“What do you mean by weird?” Number Three looks at her, confused. 

“Well, just a while ago we just heard that Eightie was—” Vanya trailed on, coming up with nothing. 

‘Eightie was what?’ she thinks, failing to remember and eventually trying to go about it another way. 

“We were—”

'We were what?’

 

            When the words still won’t come to her, she heaves a deep sigh and gives in, averting the subject as she stood up to head towards the beverage area. “Nevermind, I think I need more coffee.”

“Vanya, come on. I’m no telepath or empath, but you can talk to me about it” Allison probes her, holding her arm to prevent her from escaping.

“It’s just… None of this feels real, you know?” Vanya blurted out. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful and it’s amazing but… It’s weird.”

“Isn’t that called imposter syndrome?” 

“Who has imposter syndrome?” Eliza chimes in, having just returned to their table with her sister. There’s an array of small cakes on her plate, similar to the one her twin had been holding.

“Vanya,” Allison answers for her, before turning to face her again. “Maybe it’s just your stage fright talking.”

Eight places a hand on her shoulder, and just as Vanya looks over to meet her eyes, she asks bluntly, “Are you happy?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I have everything I could ever want,” the seventh Hargreeves admits, but also thinks, ‘It’s definitely better than before.’

‘Wait. Before? What about before?’

Instead of allowing her to dwell too much on it, Eight snaps her out of her thoughts, “Then just remember that you deserve this happiness.”

Vanya gives her a small but genuine smile, touched by her words. “Thanks, Eightie.”

 

---

 

            FIVE HARGREEVES dedicated his life to his family. They were all he ever had because of a particular mistake that led to a lifetime’s worth of imprisonment in the post-apocalyptic world.

He was lucky enough to have Eight, he’d admit, but that was the most he could ever ask for. 

(Keyword: could.)

Number Five was pragmatic. He bases his beliefs on facts and statistics. He was never one to hope for the impossible even if he goes out of his way to attain exactly that. Knowing that something was unlikely and having too much pride to back down from having the unlikely were two different things after all. 

But, he does have to admit that Eight’s wish —or rather, her dream for them— was rather tempting in a way.

In the first place, it was unlike the maiden to yearn for anything for herself. Unlike Five who’s a go-getter, Number Eight stops at wishful thinking. She doesn’t do anything to take what she wanted unless prompted by the death or well-being of her loved ones.

For example, when they were just naive children plotting their escape from the academy, Number Eight had thought of everyone else’s future except hers. All she was ever really sure of was that she wanted to stick with Five.

So, when they had grown a tad bit older, back when they were as old as their siblings, it had certainly come as a surprise when she admitted to dreaming about having their own family.

“Starting a family? What— You want kids? Marriage? The typical house in the suburbs with a dog and the picket fences?”

“Yeah, why not?” 

“Nothing. I was just a bit surprised. It’s awfully… Normal… For you, that is.”

“Well, we’ve always missed out on so much, you know? Nothing inside that stupid house was normal, and I always thought that someday, it’ll be our turn to have what everyone else did—”

Although she had taken her words back, going as far as to say that it was just a stupid fantasy in fear of overwhelming him, Number Five was determined to prove her wrong. 

But, no matter how hard he tries, they couldn’t have any of that. Not when they were living in the academy; not when they were stuck in the apocalypse; and especially not when the Commission had not only altered the maiden’s body but had also kept them on a leash. They spent their whole lives under the gun.

Thus, he tells himself that their marriage was enough. That he didn’t want their own family as much as Eight did. And besides, he’d rather not fuck up his children just as his father had.

Eight is everything to him so he gives his all to provide what she yearns for to the best of his abilities; he gives his all to give her the happiness she deserved and the same happiness she relinquishes for them.

Now, he was beginning to wonder—

When was it that her definition of happiness began to intersect with his?

 

            He wakes up with a groan, thoroughly displeased by the state of exhaustion that still plagued him. He tosses and turns in his bed, burying his head against the pillow, only to feel the mattress shift. 

The first person he thinks of is Eight— Which, in his defense, was a completely natural reaction; they shared a bed for god knows how many years. 

But then, he hears hushed voices. 

“How long do you think he’ll be sleeping?”

“Why can’t we just wait in the living room?”

Two rather unfamiliar soft voices. 

“You’re too loud.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re too loud.”

And although, his senses which were honed via the Commission’s alterations, Five detects no hostility from them. Otherwise, anyone in such proximity would already have their head bashed against the wall.

Five decides it would be best to observe the situation further, turning his head to face the source of the noise. He was thoroughly taken aback by a sight, so much so that he has to wonder if his bleary vision was causing him to hallucinate.

 

            There were two similar pairs of wide green eyes staring at him intently, belonging to two rather young children. Their features were not only identical to each other’s but also their parents, and judging from the looks of it, he was almost certain that they were…

Twins.

The boy spoke first, turning to his sister to whisper accusingly, “You woke Dad up!”

“No, I didn’t!” the girl protested, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

They were either too preoccupied with arguing with each other not to realize that their alleged father was already awake or they failed to recognize how they were speaking a lot louder than they believed. 

Either way, Five hears them loud and clear. Although his mind was able to process the situation he was in, faster than the rest of the Hargreeves, it was still utterly bewildering.

“Mom said we shouldn’t wake him because he was up late. Oh, you are so going to get in trouble.”

“Shh… Keep your voice down, snitch. Now, you really are going to wake him up.”

Five sat up to face them, breathing out, “What… What in the world?”

“Dad!” the two five-year-olds exclaim, looking guiltily at their father as if they’d been caught red-handed.

And right then, the fifth Hargreeves finds himself in an even bigger dilemma he would have never imagined.

Number Five wasn’t one to dream of the impossible, he was the type to get it. So when the opportunity presents itself and they could have everything they ever dreamed of having, what then?

 

            “See!” the boy points at his sister as if he had perfectly proved his point. 

The other child rolls her eyes at him, huffing, “He wouldn’t have woken up if you stopped talking.”

“Nuh-uh! It was your fault. I told you we should go.”

The girl suddenly pauses, seeming to have caught a bright idea, “If we give him coffee, do you think he’ll be less mad?”

Her brother nods in agreement, hastily climbing down the bed, “Do it quick! Hurry! Before he gets out of bed.”

Five, too busy running a hand through his hair in an attempt to collect himself, suddenly turns vigilant from the implications of such, “Wait—”

Before he manages to tell them off, the kids were already out of the door, dashing towards the kitchen.

And not a minute later he hears a sequence of unsettling noises; something clatters, someone screeches—

“Ah, shit,” the man curses under his breath, blinking toward his children.

 

            Number Five catches the pot of coffee right on time. His daughter covered her mouth with her tiny hands as he lifted his son from the chair he climbed, placing him back on the ground beside the other twin.

They both stare at him in awe but somehow manage to beat him to it just as he was about to reprimand them.

The children point fingers, throwing each other under the bus.

“Eli dropped it!”

“Gracie woke you up!”

Eli and Gracie.

It doesn’t take a genius to know who those kids were named after.

Something about it causes a slight pang in his chest, but more importantly—

Speaking of moms…

Number Five looks around in search of his wife. 

When it turns out to be futile, he then turns to face the two five-year-olds and heaves an exasperated sigh, “Where the hell is your mother?”

Notes:

as you may have noticed, i’ll be exploring more of eight’s powers compared to the prequel (bc back then we’ve seen more of five’s, so now, it’ll be her turn). i’m paralleling a lot the of things from the former fic to this one which is also why you’ll be seeing more of five’s side of things in this book compared to eight’s.

now, about this alternate reality, i’ve always had this idea the moment i thought of eight and eliza’s power (bc twins and halves and wholes and all that stuff) and i’m so happy i finally got to execute this arc. i also ended up watching wandavision when i was outlining it last year so tada, meet eli and gracie ft. dad!number five the series never got to show us. (this was also inspired by that iconic season 2 scene where five goes “i’m the daddy here!”)

thank you for all your reads, and i hope you're enjoying this so far ♡

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 8: the picture-perfect fantasy

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"everybody knows that this reality's not real, so raise a glass to all things past and celebrate how good it feels."
— no hopers, jokers & rogues; the fisherman's friends

B-SIDE:

"held up repeating all our lines, fake blue skies. painted a picture out of words turned white lies"
— playing fiction; roam

            ONE OF THE FEW PERKS of dying once was that you learn to appreciate the little things. Ben can attest to that. Even with no recollection of her own death, Number Eight would second that. Eliza Hargreeves, on the other hand, finds herself doing exactly that. 

The moment that Ben opened the door to her mother’s house, she immediately jumped into his arms, releasing a deep sigh of relief.

Although she had met with her sisters earlier that morning, there was still nothing more assuring than having a constant. Everyone else had been acting weird —Klaus who had his own quirks included— but she was hoping that at least one of them would be the same person she knew. 

Despite being unable to tell whether or not Ben was acting weird like the others, she hopes for the best anyway. 

That was until her mother clears her throat.

 

            Eight and Eliza were the spitting image of their mother had she been their age. Likewise, her personality was a little bit of both. Charming but a little calculating underneath all those smiles.

They broke apart from each other as she spoke, “Sweetie, is this the dashing young man you've been telling me about?”

“Ma, we're not— I mean, I— Ben!” Eliza stammers, face beet red as she turns to face the man to ask for his assistance. She blushes even more when he silently takes her hand, a habit he often did to assure her even back when they were still in the academy.

“Oh, hush,” the older woman interrupted her. “No need to be embarrassed. I heard all about it from Grace. Your father would need a little more convincing, though.”

“It’s already a work-in-progress,” the sixth Hargrevees returns the smile, offering his arm to his girlfriend.

Eliza bites her lip and quickly gives her mother a quick hug before taking him up on his offer, clinging to him as soon as she can. 

Ben takes it as a sign to lead her to his car, but from behind them she hears the woman call out one last time, “Don’t forget to drop by again sometime, dear!”

And right then, she couldn’t help but wonder if this truly would be what it would feel like if her parents were still alive.

 

            Just as they were about to get into his car, Eliza finally musters the courage to ask, albeit her efforts fall short and leads to a barely coherent sentence, “Are we really…”

The man beside her quickly catches on, “You don’t remember?”

“Okay, you’ll probably find this weird confusing, but I don’t know what’s been going on ever since I got here, Ben,” she admits, rambling as she often did when she frets over the slightest things.

He freezes, hand still over hers and arms linked together as it finally dawns on him, “You just got here?” 

“What—”

“I mean it’s really you this time…” he pauses. “Right?”

“Yes. Gods yes—” Eliza blurts out, “And it’s weird because my memories are foggy and I know all these different things but—”

“You can’t believe any of this is real because it’s too good to be true,” Ben finishes for her.

For a moment, a part of him fears that it’d be the end of their little charade, that they’d be back to how they were when they drew the line at friendship, refusing to act out on their feelings. But Eliza never fails to take him by surprise.

Her heart leaps in her chest from both relief and happiness in knowing that she’s found a comrade.

In a rush of adrenaline, she leaps into his arms and crashes her lips against his. The bottled feelings they held for each other finally burst free.

And this was it.

This was but a glimpse of all the things they could have had, all the ‘what-if’s and ‘maybe’s she dwelt on and he dreamed of.

 

            Ben tentatively reciprocates, gently pressing his lips against hers, taking in her unsteady breathing. And as soon as they pull apart to calm the violent beating of their hearts, they’ve both got goofy smiles remaining on their faces.

Eliza breathes out, foreheads resting against each other’s as she met his eyes to convey her joy, “I don’t know what’s going on but thank fuck for this.”

“I think there’s a lot we’re going to have to figure out,” he informs her, arms still wrapped around her waist. “Based on what I’ve seen, the others aren’t all the same.”

As optimistic as ever, the woman goes about it another way, “Well, at least we’ve got each other. That’s one step forward, right?”

 

---

 


            TWINS WERE IRONICALLY a unique existence. It meant having a constant from the very beginning of one’s life. It meant never having to feel alone. It meant being born with your best friend. 

Of course, all that’s coming from a subjective standpoint but, knowing Eight Hargreeves and her tendency to put meaning behind every little thing, Five was aware of her habit of romanticizing a lot of things. Being a twin would be no exception. 

It was likely the reason why their imaginary children happened to be twins, Five deduced. But having watched the two five-year-olds these last few hours, he realizes that unlike Eight and Eliza, Eli and Gracie were an absolute handful.

“Stop it!”

“You started it!”

“He wants to go to me!”

“I was playing with him first!”

They could never seem to get along.

 

            Five Hargreeves had a mastery of many things —he was a completely insufferable over-achieving know-it-all, as Eight often put it— unfortunately, parenting was not one of those things.

“Dad!” they screeched simultaneously.

(Not to mention, adding an innocent little pup into the mix was a whole new nightmare.)

“Eli, Gracie,” the man commanded sternly, slightly pitying the dog caught in between their little game of tug-of-war, “Put the dog down.”

They at least had the decency to comply when told to, but even so, the two reminded him of Luther and Diego with those endless plate-breaking-utensil-throwing feuds they often got in amidst their childhood. 

Then again, Eli and Gracie were his children so they probably deserved a little more credit compared to his insufferable gremlin brothers. 

They were civil compared to those barbarians, and as much as he knew of how bad it was to condone such, the twins’ witty arguments were a lot more amusing to watch.

 

            “This is why I'm the favorite child,” his daughter huffed, causing her brother to protest.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh! Didn’t you know you were adopted?”

“Daaad!” the other twin whines. “Gracie is being mean again!”

He feels a migraine coming up but nevertheless, he patiently tells them both, “First of all, there’s nothing wrong about being adopted. Although, you’re both clearly not. You look too much like me and your mother.”

“Second… Eli,” Five then turns to his son, “Don’t let your sister’s insults get to you. It spurs her on to pick on you more often.” 

“And lastly… You, Gracie,” He picks up the other twin, holding her in one arm as he chastises, “Stop bullying your brother.”

The young girl bats her eyelashes as she feigns innocence, countering his statement with words he’d never expect, “But you said you bully Mom all the time because you love her.”

Fuck, this one definitely took after him.

She’s witty and snarky (and she really got him there).

Five heaves an exasperated sigh and speaks through gritted teeth, “Yes, but this is different.”

“But why is it different?” Gracie challenged, tilting her head curiously. Even he can’t tell whether the gesture was calculated or not.

Thankfully, just as he was finding difficulty formulating a response, they heard a familiar voice call out from the foyer, “Kids?”

And with that, Eli’s demeanor changes completely from timid to smug. 

He sticks his tongue out at his sister, blowing a raspberry as he responds to the question his father failed to answer. “Because I’m telling Mom! And Mommy sees through everything!”

They’re his and Eight’s kids alright, Five thinks, heaving his nth sigh of the day as his son bolted out of the room to run towards his mother.

 

            When Five meets Eight for the first time that day, he had expected her to appear older compared to the last few days they’ve been stuck in their teenage bodies. 

The one good thing he had discovered regarding this so-called utopia, after all, was the way they were both in their prime, supposedly the same age the rest of their siblings were. It was almost as if they had grown up together. (That also happened to be one of the few clues he took note of in order to further decipher this new reality they seemed to be facing.)

He was correct.

What he didn’t expect however was the way his wife acts as if nothing was out of place.

 

            Gracie, after having escaped her father's clutches, runs up to the woman alongside her brother. Eight gives them both a kiss on the forehead, quickly glancing at her husband before smiling back at them.

“Remember our deal? Did you two rascals give your dad a rough time?”

The children shook their head in unison, linking their arms together to portray a feigned display of amiability.

Five scoffs at their duplicitous nature, “Oh, so now you two are getting along with each other.”

The young boy turns to his mother to deny their father’s accusations, “We behaved like you told us to, Mom.”

“You almost dropped a pot of coffee.”

Their daughter reaches her arms out, kissing her dad’s cheek when he once again carries her in his arms. “Sorry, Daddy. T’was an accident.”

“That isn’t going to work on me, young lady—”

Eight lets out a laugh as she picks up the other twin before leaving a quick peck on her husband’s cheek. “Well, you did say —and I quote— ‘taking care of our kids on my own is a piece of cake compared to saving the world with the members of the academy.’”

“Calling it ‘a piece of cake’ is a bit of a stretch. But they are a lot more tolerable compared to our brain-dead siblings so my point still stands.”

“Oh, you just love being right, don’t you?”

“If I wasn’t in the right, we both know you wouldn’t have married me.”

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Contrary to popular belief, Five may be an intellectual, but he was a doer. He worked best when the moment was crucial, formulating the plan somewhere along the line. Time was fickle after all. There was no point in dwelling too much on the future when there were almost an infinite amount of possibilities.

Eight, on the other hand, had always been too wary for her own good, overthinking every single little thing no matter how insignificant it may be.  In his blunt and honest opinion, sometimes, it was a little aggravating. But it’s one of the things that made her who she was, so he wouldn’t dare change that. Besides, if they were talking about altering personalities, her self-sacrificing demeanor should be at the top of that list.

Point was— She refuses to act upon things without gathering enough information. 

Perhaps it was one of the downsides of having been given an ability to easily access such. She had become so dependent on her power that not knowing scares her shitless.

Therefore, this new mysterious reality shouldn't be any different.

But when Number Five asks with their kids finally out of sight, “Where were you?”— Eight responds nonchalantly as if everything was completely normal. 

“I was with El and the girls. We always have brunch before Vanya’s concerts and then dinner with the family, remember?”

 

            “Speaking of which,” she reckoned. “We have to start getting ready for the premiere. As you may have noticed, the twins are a handful—”

“Don’t you think there are more pressing matters we ought to be attending to?”

Noticing his reluctance, she turns to him, eyes boring into his own. “Is something wrong?” 

Where should he even start?

“We don’t actually have kids”?

“None of this is real”?

“Why didn’t you tell me you tried to kill yourself?” Or more importantly, just “Why?”

“Why, Eight? Why?”

 

            Just as he musters the courage to bring it up, she snaps him out of his thoughts, calling out for him in concern.

“Five?”

He remembers the first time he’s seen her that day, the way her eyes lit up at the sight of their family. The way he’s never seen her that happy. The way he’s never been able to give her that and the way they’ve never been able to attain this form of pure joy— 

‘Shit.’

How can he afford to be the one to ruin that?

Instead, Number Five swallows the lodge in his throat and mutters, “It’s nothing.”

It’s not either of the things he intended to say.

 

---

 

            Once again, Number Five was aware of many things. He made it a habit to challenge himself ever since their childhood. His hubris never allowed him to give up even if the solution to the problem that he happened to be facing was almost impossible to attain.

Today of all days was the very first time he finds himself having difficulty comprehending the causation and results of the various events that followed. 

It was as big of a puzzle as Eight always was. 

And being the skeptic cynical person he once was without her, gaining no sort of explanation was beginning to eat him from the inside out.

 

            To begin with, on the way to Vanya’s performance, the family of four makes a stop at Eight’s parents' house to drop their dog off. 

It commemorates Five’s second time meeting his in-laws. (Well… Does it count if it took place in this convoluted reality? More so, does it count if this dimension dictates that it’s already been many times?) 

Surely, he makes a better impression compared to his first actual encounter with them, however, he remains vigilant. His guard is constantly up as he tries to take note of the numerous events taking place in this otherworldly place. There’s plenty to store in the box of his mind, and he’s not oblivious to how he’ll only be able to sort through them much later. 

Before he knows it, they’re already on their way to the concert, barely allowing him sufficient time to gather any information.

 

            With one kid in each of their arms, Eight with their son, and Five with their daughter, they’re already whisking their children away after dropping their sentiments.

“Say goodbye to your grandparents.”

“Bye, Grammy and Grampa!” the twins waved in unison.

Just as they were about to leave, his daughter struggled in his arms, exclaiming, “Wait! Wait—”

Five turns around to see what was the hold up, and just as he does, the girl peeks over his shoulder, catching her twin’s eyes before they call out in unison, “Bye-bye, Mr. Pennycrumb!”

He realizes it’s the first time he actually hears their dog’s name. And at that, he immediately turns to give Eight an accusatory look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the woman huffed defensively, shifting their son in her arms. “Your children named him.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Mr. Pennycrumb?’” Gracie asks.

“I like it,” Eli declared, glancing at both their mother and father. “Penny likes it too.”

“Of course, he does,” she smiles at their children endearingly, indulging their little fantasy.

Although he doesn’t say it outright to his children, Five doesn’t fail to whisper in his wife’s ear, slipping in his typical amount of snark, “I’m pretty sure their sense in naming is something they took after you.”

Eight playfully rolls her eyes back at him as they make their way to the car.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            As soon as they arrived at Icarus theater, Number Five had already braced himself for the inevitable chaos that was about to ensue the moment that his daughter struggled in his arms.

The little girl seemed to perfectly know which of her parents was easier to convince because despite being held by her father, she calls for her mother who just so happened to be carrying her brother, “Mom, mom, Eli and I can walk.”

“No, if your father and I let you down, you’ll be running off to god-knows-where,” Eight had maintained her stand for a good ten seconds until her little boy pleaded with those big doe eyes.

“Please, Mommy?”

She heaves a sigh and lets the boy down, but not without warning him and his sister who had almost lept out of Five’s arms. “Hold your sister’s hand or always make sure you’re with me or your father, okay?”

They both nod obediently, a large contrast to their mischievous behavior earlier that morning.

“You really think you could trust them?” Five scoffs, knowing better.

Eight gives him a sly smirk, “I know I can trust you to be one step ahead of them.”

But that’s the thing.

Everything seemed perfect— too perfect. In all honesty, it makes the hair of his skin stand up, seeing as Number Five, for the life of him, can never seem to put his guard down.

In this sudden new dimension where all their wishes miraculously came to life, the man finds himself unable to know what exactly he ought to do. 

And like every other time, he couldn’t bear to let anyone know that.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            His reunion with his siblings right outside the theater was not what he was expecting either. Instead, he’s almost left dumbfounded just as he was the rest of the day. Which as one would expect from someone like Five Hargreeves, was growing to become an aggravating feeling. 

The man absolutely loathes not knowing because more than anybody else he was always the one they turned to for the solutions. 

Instead, he finds out that he happens to be the one person not kept in the loop. 

 

            Klaus Hargreeves is the first of the other seven that Five encounters. He was as boisterous as ever, standing beside a man with whom he seemed particularly affectionate. A smile immediately makes its way to their faces as he lights up at the sight of the two children.

“Where are my favorite spawns of Satan?” he opens his arms out before pinching the cheek of each child. 

“Klaus, stop calling my kids that,” Eight doesn’t fail to scold her brother as their daughter whined in annoyance, rubbing her sore cheek soon after, “Uncle Klauuus.”

“What? It’s not like they know what it means,” the fourth Hargreeves laughs in defense, winking at the woman, “Besides, I’m not far off the hook. Five is their dad.”

“Is that so?” Five taunts him.

“I was kidding!”

Dave doesn’t fail to nudge his lover with a smile, “Behave yourself.”

And nothing. 

He gets absolutely nothing from that encounter.

 

            Meeting Allison and her family weren’t any different. As much as he respected his sister for her tendency to be one of the few rational ones, he doesn't gain any information from her.

Instead, he was left both watching over their children and eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Claire!”

The twins seemed to adore their cousin, embracing the child who seemed to be a year or two older than them.

Allison, being the doting mother she was, smiles at the sight of them endearingly before teasing, “What about me?”

Eli beamed, “Hi, Auntie Allie and Uncle Ray.”

This ‘Ray’ crouches down to level with their eyes, “How’s my favorite niece and nephew?”

“We’re your only niece and nephew,” Gracie rolls her eyes, it comes out more adorable than it was sassy.

And once again, nothing.

They continue to greet the others, who act as if they’ve always lived this life all along.

 

            Even Diego seemed to be in on this little play. The second Hargreeves smirked as he picked up his niece from the ground, teasing his brother after noticing the constant look of exasperation plastered on his face, “Couldn’t find anyone to babysit, huh?”

Gracie giggled as she rode the man’s shoulders, “Uncle Batman!”

“That’s not Batman, princess,” Five tells her as he took the child back in his arms, giving his brother a sardonic smile. “That’s just someone trying hard to be him.”

“Why you little—”

“Hehe,” the little girl snickers, whispering loudly into her father’s ears, “Mommy said it would make him happy.”

Diego, who doesn’t fail to catch it, huffs, “Little rascal, you really do come from the poison seed of your father.”

 

            Meanwhile, the other three were already gathered together chatting as Eli attempted to grab his mother’s hands to call for her attention.

“Mommy, Uncle Di and Daddy are fighting again.”

The identical woman laughs to tell him, “Honey, I’m not your mom. I’m Aunt El, remember?”

Five overhears them when he hears his son complain, “Mommy, stop standing next to Auntie El! It’s hard to tell you apart!”

At that, Ben and Luther cackle.

The first Hargreeves makes light of the situation as he reminisced, “You should’ve seen them when they were little. Pulled that prank all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Ben tells his nephew. “They’d play this game where they copy each other and you’d lose if you can’t tell them apart.”

“You’re such a meanie, Mommy,” the child grimaces, scrunching his nose at that.

The others burst into laughter as Eight picked him up, stifling her own chuckles to kiss her son’s forehead, “Sweetie, I wasn’t pulling that trick on you.”

By this time, he was almost certain he would never get answers.

Instead, Five makes a mental note to talk to each and every single member of the Hargreeves at their so-called family dinner.

 

            When Number Five finally meets their seventh, it had already been the time of her performance. Vanya was almost like a completely different person. Other than her new look, she radiated an air of confidence he’d have never expected from his sister.

As she played alongside the orchestra, his son climbs up his lap and he almost forgets his priorities after hearing the boy ask, “Daddy, do you think that I can play as good as Auntie Vanya one day?”

“Of course. You can do anything you want,” Five answers absentmindedly.

Eli asks the same way his twin sister often challenged the man’s words, “How sure are you?”

“Because you're my son.”

It scares him how he could easily say such with no hesitation.

 

            In a span of less than 24 hours, Five Hargreeves had been overwrought with a myriad of emotions. And if anyone knows him, they were definitely well aware that he hated anything to do with feelings, never one to wear his heart on his sleeve. 

Perhaps it was one of the commonalities of the Hargreeves; a shared childhood trauma that stunted their emotional growth.

Some of them were clearly doing better than the others, but either way, when presented with even just some of the things they desired the most, a human’s primal instinct goads one to relinquish themselves to their urges; to give in and appreciate the pleasures of life.

As someone who has spent a lifetime stuck in the apocalypse, guilt-ridden for having left his siblings on the onslaught of Armageddon, Number Five often denies himself of such, too preoccupied with trying to save the world as if he ought to pay for his sins.

Being with Eight was an exception enough, but otherwise, he never allowed himself to be happy. 

For once in his life, however, he relinquishes himself to his humanity, basking in the fragile and temporary joy of his newfound family.

 

---

 

            Come dinner time, Number Five finally loses his shit. He’s done wallowing in blissful ignorance. He’s done being taunted by this cruel fantasy; the very things they’ve been stripped of were constantly being waved at his face. He’s done watching his siblings sucking it all up as if it was some sort of drug.

He enlists the help of his two children, making use of their sly and charming nature to distract their mother by dragging her to the dessert aisle of the buffet. They exceed his expectations with the way they also managed to bait their cousin, Claire, who in turn, was joined by her father, Ray. Dave choosing now of all times to head for the restroom just so happened to work in his favor.

With Grace and Pogo having just retired early, he couldn’t choose a better moment to bring it up right then.

“Okay, snap the fuck out of it,” Five cuts to the chase, always as tactless as ever. “I’ve had enough of this charade and I need answers. Now.”

 

            The rest of them were looking at him as if he was the crazy person, but to his surprise, they had merely accepted the state of things a lot earlier than he had expected.

“What are you talking about?” Luther questioned after taking another spoonful of their meal.

For once, Diego seemed to have agreed with him, “It’s a bit too late to be asking that now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Allison chimed in. “We’ve been having this dinner for months and none of you ever spoke up about it.”

“Months? It’s been more than a year,” Klaus raised, and it was only then that they began to act as if something was awry.

Ben spoke up, “It’s just been weeks for me. I asked El—”

“And I got here a few days later than he did,” Eliza finished for him.

“I got here seven days ago,” Vanya mumbled as they began to ponder the discrepancies of their arrival. 

It was all beginning to come together.

Number Five recalls the way he had witnessed Eight’s life flashing through her eyes, how he watched almost a lifetime’s worth of memories in a span of seconds.

‘Time works differently in the mind,’ he reckoned. It makes him wonder how long they’ve actually been here if that was the case.

 

            It was just like his siblings not to have communicated properly with each other— to have only realized such an important thing right now. 

Five lets out another sigh. He realizes he’s been doing that quite often. In his defense, this time, he was at the peak of his exhaustion. They were harder to deal with than his imaginary children, that’s for sure.

Even worse, when asked for an explanation, the rest of the Hargreeves only let out a series of—

“Eight said—”

“—Eight said—”

“—Eight said.”

And it’s only then that they finally grow to realize what the woman’s role was in this sick little play they’ve been acting out. 

They’ve never been aware of the extent of their powers, something Reginald Hargreeves had once again failed to grace them with. Considering the complexities of the mind's inner workings, Eight’s, in particular, was one of the most difficult to decipher. 

Five doubts that the knowledge he once attained would be sufficient enough to understand it all.

 

            With the revelation of the (partial) truth, the dream-like trance they had once been engulfed by dissipates and morphs into something akin to a somber atmosphere.

Ben was the first to speak up, “You think she’s—”

“Brainwashing us?” Klaus attempted to complete his sentence, lacking the same amount of tact most of them did.

Eliza nudges his side and shoots him a glare.

Ben merely corrected dryly, too accustomed to Klaus’ typical behavior, “I was gonna say, ‘aware of it.’”

“So what if she is or she isn’t?” Diego scoffed. “Knowing Eight, we could tell her the news and get back just as easily. It’s not like she has it against us.”

That solution doesn’t seem to sit well with Klaus, “I don’t know about you but I like the way things are. What’s the harm in staying here?”

“That’s the point,” Five reminds them. “We don’t know the consequences of staying here. We don't what happened to our actual bodies. For all we know, too much time has passed and all our chances to stop the 2019 apocalypse are reduced to squat.”

“So what’s the plan?” Vanya easily complies unlike the rest of them. 

“Do we just… I don’t know, talk to her?” Luther shrugged.

“I think you’re forgetting about the way we left things off,” Eliza mumbled wryly.

“But she’s Eight… She’s Eightie, not some irrational monster,” the seventh once again reasoned out.

For a second there Five had hopes that the rest of them would actually be helpful, but unfortunately, some were not as quickly entranced by the notion.

“But why do we have to go back in the first place?” Klaus repeated, adamant on his stand.

And at that, Five Hargreeves finally spat, the words left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

“Because news flash, geniuses, none of this is real!”

 

            He knows what it was like to relinquish himself to delusions. He knows that better than anyone. He had spent the first five years in the apocalypse doing exactly that, basking in the company of his hallucinations; and spent even longer, having a mannequin act as his voice of reason, listening to Eight talk about everything that they could have had if things went another way.

Reality sucked. Always has. Always will.

But that was life.

‘Deal with it,’ he almost snapped.

Instead, Allison beats him to it, snarling, “So what?” 

“I haven’t seen my daughter in weeks because of the damned apocalypse we didn’t even get to stop. And you said— You said we had to prevent it for her sake as much as ours,” she hissed. “Who knows if this apocalypse still exists in the first place? Just because there’s nothing else for you to solve, doesn’t mean you have to keep finding problems in everyone else’s lives. Everything is finally perfect!”

The tension in the room was growing grimmer by the second. 

He had failed to take into account how much grief had the tendency to change a person.

“Mom?”

“Babe?”

 

            Much to their luck, when Allison turns her head back to catch her husband and daughter staring at her worriedly, it takes everything in her not to break down. Instead, she chooses to run away.

“We’re going home.”

To no surprise, like any other Hargreeves reunion, it has quickly turned into a disaster.

Soon enough, Klaus stands with her, “I think I’ll head back with Dave too.”

Ben and Eliza give each other knowing glances.

“Klaus, wait up,” she calls for him while Ben stays behind for a minute longer to tell Five.

“Meet me somewhere tomorrow? We’ll try to figure it out.”

“Yeah, I’m out,” Luther walks away too quickly, Diego following him out not too long after.

When he’s left alone with Vanya, his sister suggests, “How about we sleep on it a little longer? Give some time for the others to think about it… I mean, we all have our problems to deal with.”

“Okay,” Five mutters in defeat.

“You know, we’re on your side, right?”

“Right.” It almost comes out sarcastic, but he bites the urge back. 

And then, he’s all alone, reminded of the state he found himself in during that jump to the apocalypse.

 

            By the time Eight arrives back at their table with each of their kids holding onto one of her hands, unsurprisingly, she asks, “Where is everyone?”

“They left,” Five answers, tone gruff and hollow.

“You okay?”

Even then, she doesn’t fail to know when something was bothering him.

He pulls her in for a quick embrace, resting his head against the crook of her neck. Reminding himself that this time's different. She's safe. She's fine. She's alive. 

Although it turns out to be longer than intended, he couldn’t help but ask, “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

It sounded like he was asking permission from himself more than anybody else but Eight doesn't point it out.

She nodded wordlessly, lightly brushing the back of his head as she wrapped an arm around him. Something tugs on his heart when he notices their children silently enveloping his legs with their tiny arms in an attempt to assure him with a similar embrace.

For a moment, he thinks it's enough.

For once, he's tempted to wait things out.

Notes:


here's to mr. pennycrumb, who didn't have any scenes with five (i'm still mad about it). also, i wanted to update "we'll find you" until ben's chapter to give a background on eliza and ben's relationship but i didn't make it on time, so i'm sorry 'bout that ;-;
we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 9: the looking glass

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"i can’t help but second guess living behind this one-way mirror. i’m hypnotized by this anomaly, such strange uncharted territory."
— five; sleeping at last

B-SIDE:

"i'll show you every version of yourself tonight"
— mirrorball; taylor swift

            “KEYS?” NUMBER FIVE asked the woman who was nestled between his legs. They were seated by the fire, immersed in a conversation to make up for the lack of things to do in the post-apocalyptic world. It was the only light amidst the darkness with the way the clouds veiled the moon and stars but they were too caught up in some sort of discussion to even be bothered by such.

“Think of it this way,” Eight leaned back to rest her head against his shoulder as she explained further. “There are some parts of yourself you share with me but close off to others. All of those portions lead to hypothetical doors in your mind—”

“I get that,” Five says, hands subconsciously playing with the woman’s fingers as she intertwined them with his. “But why keys?”

“I thought it was the best way to describe it. You lose some, you keep some, and they unlock things so long as you use it on the right locks.”

“Alright, so inside a person’s mind there’s a hallway of doors and you can’t open them unless you have the right… keys.”

“It’s a metaphor, Five,” she rolls her eyes at his condescending tone before elaborating, “There are also doors that lead to a person’s memories but that’s a whole other story.”

“Okay,” he waits for her to go on despite how he’d been acting as if the notion was completely ridiculous.

“Point is… The deepest parts of a person are usually accessible through the mind. Unlike the proverbial doors, my powers allow me to access such in a literal sense. It’s like walking around a corridor—”

“Of not-so-metaphorical doors, this time?” he snorts, earning a nudge from her.

“Now, I could either break those boundaries —which hurt like fuck, by the way— or unlock them,” Eight continued but not without adding, “It’s all just hypothetical though. I never really had the chance to explore the latter.”

 

            “Then try it with me,” he tells her simply, but to his surprise, the woman pulls away, turning around with an expression of awe plastered on her face.

“Really? You’re willing to do that?”

“We’ve got nothing better to do in this wasteland, and you're usually helping me with my time jumps. I don’t see why I can’t do the same for you.”

She gazes at his blue orbs searching for a clue —waiting for his tell— as if she was making sure he wasn’t lying. 

Five looked downright serious.

“But people… don’t often have the nicest outlook on telepathy. It’s the invasion of minds,” she broke the momentary silence. “You’ve seen our siblings. Have you forgotten why you were the only one who I ever invited to my secret fort?”

“You mean that dusty old closet you always hid in? It’s hardly as nice as you made it sound.”

“Hey! I cleaned it up, and for someone who complains about it, you sure stayed there a lot—”

“Eight,” Five cuts her off, leaning forward to reduce the distance between them. “It’s not like we still have secrets from each other. You’ve read my mind a bunch of times, I’ve explored every crevice of your body— Hell, we’ve been together for half a decade in this apocalypse, and likely even more. Don’t you think we’re way past trivial things like this?”

“But this is different. It’s not trivial. This is… deep…” she trailed on as he rested his forehead against hers. “…Deeper than you can imagine—”

“So?”

Despite his nonchalance, Eight thought, ‘I love you.’

There was something so endearing about having someone offer a glimpse into their soul. To allow one to see all the good and the bad, to enable one to discover the ugly behind those beautiful facades.

And for that, she felt a wave of affection engulf her, pulling her into a sea she didn’t mind drowning in. 

 

            Before he knows it, the woman cups his cheeks and presses her lips against his, yearning to convey herself. The gesture was minuscule compared to the way he made her feel, but her touch lingered. It always did. Eight always knew how to mess with his mind. 

When they parted to catch their breaths, she whispered, “God, I love you so much.”

Her voice was soft but the meaning behind it was loud and clear.

He doesn’t say it back (not when she’s awake) but in truth, he loves her twice as much as she loved him— No, maybe even more than that.

Then again, if she had heard it, never one to let him show her up, Eight would have found a way to prove him otherwise. After all, three decades after that conversation, she had in fact, taken a rain of bullets for him.

 

---

 

            THE RATIONAL PART OF ALLISON knew that everything Five said made complete sense. They had to figure out a way out of here. There were numerous priorities and maybe an actual daughter waiting for her in the future. To top it all off, there was an imminent apocalypse they still have to stop. 

So yes, as much as she hated to admit it, her brother was definitely right. (Then again, when was he not? Five often went out of his way to rub it in their faces.)

The other part of her, however, begged to differ.

No matter how much they tried to reason out, there was almost nothing that compared to what she had now— the picture-perfect family that the Umbrella Academy failed to be; her lovely daughter and an amazing husband.

This was it. This was everything she wanted to build with her rumors, the dream that blew up in her face.

So, could anyone really blame her if she was somewhat reluctant to allow said daughter to spend the day with her uncle and aunt who might just put nonsensical ideas in her head?

 

            “Claire, baby, maybe we should reschedule,” Allison had suggested when the child had just reminded her of her day out with her cousins.

“But we’ve planned this for weeks, Mom. You promised,” she pouts, reminiscent of the way she sulked when forced to sleep.

“I know, I know but—” Allison hesitated, “I don’t know if this is the right time.”

“Is this about your fight with Uncle Five?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows. “They care more than you think, Mom. I mean, they were the only ones who got to visit you in the hospital when you gave birth to me—”

“What?” The woman cuts her daughter off, gazing back at her as if she misheard her.

“What?” Claire mimicked, tilting her head in confusion.

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it isn’t. Aunt Eight told me,” the seven-year-old rambled. “When they used to work at the Commission, there were times when they checked on our family during their missions. In the first place, the only reason why they got the job was to get back home to the academy. They’re the best siblings anyone could ask for. If I had a sister or a brother, I would’ve wanted them to do the same for me. But I don’t, so can’t I hang out with my favorite cousins, instead? Please, please, please, Mom?”

Allison had drifted away sometime mid-conversation, thinking her daughter’s words over.

 

            Like the telepath explained to the fifth Hargreeves, every person has a set of keys that protect the deepest realms (or ‘doors’ as she called them) of their minds.

Number Eight has eight keys.

The first key was family; the Umbrella Academy.

It made perfect sense. Eight’s motivation to carry on was driven by her self-proclaimed duty to protect them. Her whole life had always been centered around them even if it meant driving herself over a cliff, even if it meant tearing herself to pieces.

 

            “Claire, do you know what the Commission does?” The woman asked first and foremost, concerned about whether or not her daughter was aware of the gory details of the gruesome organization.

Thankfully, she merely shrugs, oblivious to the full truth, “I don’t know, time-traveling spy stuff?”

The third Hargreeves releases a sigh of relief, but even so, there were too many questions running through Allison’s head. She didn’t know where to begin. 

‘Since when were they looking after us?’

‘Why hide it?’

More importantly— Was it true?

‘Is anything in this world even real?’

And it hurts because even if she knew the chances that all of this was false, she wants to believe her sister. That the Eight they knew wasn’t just a lie. That a part of her took that bullet to save her; that it was not merely a means to take her own life.

 

            The guilt begins to grow in Allison’s gut, manifesting itself in the tightening of her chest. Unfortunately, before the woman was able to pry her daughter for answers, the doorbell rings and she is forced to snap out of her thoughts.

“Five couldn’t come,” is the first thing Eight says, sparing her sister a regretful expression.

“Figures,” Allison smiled ruefully, before mustering the short-lived courage to confront her, “Do you think we could… um, talk?”

“Now? Aren’t you running late for work?”

“Right,” she held back, thankful for the opportunity to stall. 

There was a lot to talk about, she had to collect her thoughts in order to prevent them from blowing up at her face. After all, Eight was easy to talk to when it came to everything but herself. 

They’ve put this off long enough.

 

            “Don’t worry about Claire, the twins are looking forward to spending the day with their cousin,” Eight averted the subject, motioning towards her children waving from the car window. 

‘Oh, it’s not her I’m worried about,’ Allison was tempted to say, catching sight of the way her daughter beamed excitedly. 

Instead, she purses her lips together and embraces the girl tightly, willing herself to hold the child for one last moment.

“Bye, Mommy. Have a good time at work,” Claire kisses her cheek before running toward her Aunt’s car to meet her cousins.

Allison waves at her before turning to Eight, “See you tonight, then?”

“Tonight,” her sister confirmed with a nod.

The woman sucks in a breath.

A part of her prepares herself to confront Number Five. Another part of her prepares to let go of this fantasy.

 

---

 

            To be perfectly honest, this utopia wasn’t exactly perfect. But it was better. Or to be more specific, it was preferable compared to the hellhole known as their actual reality.

It was only during the time Luther spent in this dimension that he finally grew to accept that he will never regain the relationship he once had with Allison. It was a brutal truth he happened to be slapped with when he had witnessed her family of three, all happy and content. No matter how much he would have wanted it, she never saw him as a candidate, as proven by her new perfect husband, Ray. 

Perhaps his efforts were always too little too late and she will always remain as the one who got away. 

And now, he had enough time to accept that.

This was precisely why Luther Hargreeves was surprised to find Allison knocking on his door early that morning. 

 

            The woman had blown off work in search of someone to unload all of this information on. Among them, Luther had always been the easiest one for her to talk to. Even if their past was behind them, it was one of the few things that hasn’t changed. And right now, she needed that more than anything else.

“Allison—”

“Are you aware that Five and Eight were looking after us the entire time they’ve been working in that time-traveling black ops shit or whatever?” the third Hargreeves cuts him off, barely giving him enough time to greet her. She already waltzed into his apartment, too preoccupied with the revelation to bother with pleasantries.

“The Commission?” Luther knits his eyebrows together. “Five told me a few things about them back when we were trying to stop the first apocalypse. Remember, when Klaus went missing?”

“Yeah?”

“We got to talking…”

Allison looks flabbergasted by the thought, “Five actually shared?”

“Well, he was threatening to kill an innocent man. Milton Green, was it?” the man reckoned sheepishly.

“Now, that sounds more like him,” she mused, finally pulling out a chair as she sat by the dining table of Luther and Diego’s shared apartment. “What did he say?”

“Okay, so you remember how Eight left us when Ben and El died?”

“How could I forget?” Allison snorts mirthlessly.

“Five said she was offered a sketchy deal to get her on board. In fact, she even made another one in order to meet him in the apocalypse.”

The woman shifts uncomfortably in her chair, “What were they about?”

“I’m not too sure about the details but they were turned into the perfect instrument for the rehabilitation of the time continuum or whatever that means,” Luther answered. “I didn’t really get it. All I know is that they were forced to kill for their job and—”

She ponders his words and less than a beat later, the woman blurts out, “You don’t think they were actually turned into the ‘perfect instrument’ do you?”

“What would that even entail?” Luther gives her a look.

“I–I don’t know… We’ve fought Hazel and Cha-Cha. They were insanely strong… What if their bodies were modified the same way—” she pauses. 

“The same way?”

She reluctantly continued, offering Luther a sympathetic glance, “...The same way Dad changed you.”

“Shit,” was all Luther managed to say.

The second key was Eight’s life away from the academy; the Temps Commission, the dreadful apocalypse, and everything else in between.

It was the page that the other seven barely caught a glimpse of.

 

            “What do we do?” Allison turns to him, their alleged team leader.

To be perfectly candid, he doesn’t know what to do. In the first place, it was the same reason why he believed that he wasn’t as good of a leader as their father had expected of him.

Instead, he takes a page out of their usual gimmicks, heaving a deep breath to maintain his composure, “What else can we do? We’ll call a family meeting.”

“Hope it goes better this time…” Allison mutters under her breath regretful for the way she acted the last time.

“We both know it won’t be, so…” Luther trailed on, attempting to come up with a solution, “What if we talk to Eight first?”

“Eight? Really?” 

“She’s our telepath, allegedly the best one to handle these sorts of conversations. We get through to her, we get through to the others,” the man reasoned out. ‘Like always,’ he thinks, hoping that the past wasn’t as much of a fantasy as this dimension was.

Allison doubts it would be as easy as that, but she can’t think of an alternative. Five said it himself. Eight was the one person who can always talk sense into him.

It was their best option. 

(Wrong.)

Number Three always had a habit of turning to the easy way out. It wasn’t always a good thing.

 

---

 

            The Hargreeves have a notorious amount of trust in their eighth member. This is a fatal mistake that will pave the road to multiple dilemmas in the future. 

If her current actions were anything to go by, Number Eight ought to be the last person they should believe in. She had access to multiple perspectives, an advantage in misdirection which was also an important skill in the mastery of the art of deception.

In this case, they have failed to take into consideration that this was her turf. No one knows the way the mind works better than she does. And it should have been in their best interest not to strike her nerves, or to at least consider that she may have had a hand in this.

And yet, when Numbers One and Three had confronted their eighth member in search of answers, the last thing they expected was her nonchalance on the matter.

 

            “What of it?” she returns the question when bombarded about her past. The woman’s voice was so cold and apathetic, void of any emotion that the temperature felt like it dropped past freezing. They’ve never known her to speak in that tone. 

It causes a shiver to run down their spines and the words they wanted to say to come back to their mouths. But they were (ex-)heroes for god’s sake. They weren’t one to run away from adversity.

Allison remained insistent, fists clenched beside her, “We just want to understand you and everything you’ve done for us. I get it, okay? We have a bunch of apologies we have to make so just give us the opportunity—”

“And what would that do?” Eight smiled. They can’t tell if she meant it. There was something both chilling and melancholic about the way her lips curled up ever so slighty. “You think everything will be back to the way it used to be by saying ‘sorry’? I couldn’t care less about whether or not I gain an apology from you. I didn’t give up all of this for that.”

Luther intervenes in an attempt to talk sense into her. He calls her name warningly as if it would remind her of who she was, of what her duty is, “Eight.”

She would understand. Always had. Always will. They just had to let her know.

(Boy, were they wrong.)

This Eight was not someone they could reason with.

They had spent more than enough time attempting just that but in the end…

 

            “None of that matters,” the woman cuts them off coldly. “We all have a second chance here. It’s what everyone wanted. Why are you ruining it?”

“Because it’s not enough, okay?!” Allison finally snaps, infuriated by her sister’s stubbornness. “It’s not the same… It might not be a perfect life but my Claire is out there and Five was right,” her voice breaks. “Damn it, Five was right.”

“See, that’s where it’s not fair,” Eight scoffed, laughing sardonically. “At least you had a job you chose. At least you had the chance to have a beautiful daughter. At least you had the chance to build the life you dreamed of— One way or another, you’ve always gotten what you’ve wanted with your rumors. How is this any different?”

Allison looks at her incredulously, bewildered by her sister’s brutal honesty. When was the last time, Eight spilled all her thoughts to them?

The other woman can’t seem to find the appropriate response to their sister’s argument, but she does grow to question, “Is this your doing? Are you aware that you’re messing with our heads, Eight?”

“I’m not the only reason this world came to life. I’m just protecting it,” her voice was laced in spite. “You all wanted this, no less than I did—”

“Look, I know you’ve been through a lot—” Luther began, only for his efforts to be cut short.

The structures around them shake.

“Don’t patronize me,” Eight hissed under her breath. “You barely know a thing.” 

She made sure of it. She did it to protect them.

Because that was her duty. Because she was the protector.

And now—

Now, the world shifts.

Her response falls on deaf ears as Luther continues where he left off, “—But we need your help figuring this out.”

It breaks.

“You don’t belong here. Get out.”

It shatters into a million tiny pieces that were almost impossible to catch.

“What?” the two asked in unison, unable to hear her coherently.

The darkness is calling out for them.

“I said,” she repeated, tone almost venomous, eyes empty. “Get. Out.”

They fall into the gaps of the infinite fragments.

“Eight!” her two siblings shout for her before they’re engulfed by nothingness.

The world shifts for the second time. 

It reconstructs itself to maintain perfection— To maintain this little fantasy.

 

---

 

            NUMBER FIVE WAS FUCKED. The more time he spent with his family, the more he watched them closely, and the more he realizes that he was absolutely, utterly, and completely fucked. As much as he was starting to fear the thought of it, this utopia was, in fact, beginning to grow on him. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what Allison and Klaus were on to. 

But he also knew better than that. 

It was for that reason that the man chose to distance himself from his family, bailing himself out of his day out with his wife, niece, and children. 

He was getting too attached and nothing good can come of it. He needed to do some damage control.

So instead, he runs off searching for a solution, gathering some of the members of the academy and hosting a family meeting— The family meeting that Eight wasn’t a part of and the same one which Allison and Luther failed to attend due to the aforementioned events.

Unsurprisingly, like its many other precedents, the said family gathering was not at all fruitful. 

Everything came down to him as per fucking usual.

So later that night, just before they went to bed, he finally decides to bite the bullet and confront his wife.

 

            Five has difficulty initiating the dreaded intervention without coming off as crass or tactless. Eight had always been the one who confronted him, and in the rare case of the opposite happening, she immediately understood what he wanted to say, sparing him all the awkwardness that came along with it. This time though, neither of that happens.

“We have to talk,” he simply begins, wondering if he even ought to ease into the subject in such an obvious manner.

He had initially come to believe that the maiden was in on this little fantasy, acting upon their idea of her. But then, he doesn’t miss the way she mutters exasperatedly, “Why does everybody want to talk today?”

At that, Five narrows his warily, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s nothing…” Eight sighs, heaving a deep sigh. She seemed absolutely exhausted in his opinion but nevertheless, she hears him out, “What is it?”

“Look…” he trailed on, hoping to find the right words. “Do you remember anything before we got here?”

“The failed attempt to prevent the apocalypse, the fight with the Commission, where do you want me to begin?”

It clicks.

This was his Eight, who, like the rest of them, seemed to be completely taken by this new reality.

“So, you know that this isn’t real…” he asks cautiously. “Right?”

The woman, on the other hand, seemed impatient enough, “Where are you heading with this?”

Finally, it was his turn to heave a sigh, all aggravated and harsh, knowing that she was doing it on purpose, “Stop playing dumb, Eight. You can read my mind. You know perfectly well what I’m referring to—”

“Then why are all of you so insistent on destroying it?!” she inevitably snaps, the same way she had with Luther and Allison.

All of his intentions to come off tactful were thrown out of the window. Number Five retorted almost cruelly, “Because it’s not real. None of this is.”

Silence.

He immediately wanted to take his words back the moment he catches the glimpse of pain evident in her eyes but she beats him to it.

“Don’t get started on me on what’s real or not,” the woman scoffed, “We spent decades talking to Dolores, how is this any different?”

“We’re not in the apocalypse anymore, Eight.”

‘But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way,’ goes unsaid. Eight bites her lip, fingers curling to form a fist as she mulled his words. 

Like he was one to talk. 

Between the two of them, he had a harder time forgetting about the apocalypse, so much so that it had become his life’s mission to prevent such.

 

            With the momentary silence, Five finally quells his temper, looking her in the eye in an attempt to convey himself. 

“I know…” he spoke as if he were the one with the ability to read minds, “I know that I shouldn't be one to talk, but I also know what it feels like to be driven insane.”

“This is everything we yearned for. We finally have it, Five,” she croaked, “This was what was taken away from me, and this is the impossible you’ve always wanted to attain. What more do you want?” 

He shuts his eyes, pained despite being aware of what she was trying to do. 

“Don’t.”

“Look into our kids' eyes and tell me that this isn’t real.”

She’s got him there.

“Damn it, Eight. I—”

“Stop deluding yourself. I’ve seen you with them. You can’t let go of this just as much as I can’t.”

The third key is her dreams— their dreams; everything they yearned for, everything they missed out on.

Eight who lived in fear of repeating the past saw a future in Five. Meanwhile, Five who had a tendency to live in the future, who survived all those decades just to save his family, only relishes the present because Eight happened to be around.

But now… Now, they have this. It was the best of both worlds.

They’ve dedicated their entire lives protecting the academy, so couldn’t they be granted this one thing?

In the first place, his two children were also family, weren’t they?— And if their motivation to stay alive was anything to go by, you always do whatever it takes for family.

“Would you just—” 

His damned feelings get the best of him. 

‘Would you just listen?’ he wants to say, ‘Like you always had.’ 

Neither of those she seemed to have caught. Or perhaps, even if she had, she chose to evade him anyway. 

Eight lies in their bed, turning away from him as she pulled the covers over her head.

“I’m going to sleep. I’ve had a long day,” is all she tells him.

“Fine. Come find me when you can hold up a decent conversation,” Five scowled before walking out of their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

It echoes in his wake.

 

---

 

            Ben Hargreeves had stuck by Klaus (who tended to mask his pain through his ridiculous antics and self-destructive habits) and Eliza (who often fails to realize her own problems due to her self-sacrificing inclinations and her people-pleasing nature) long enough to be able to tell when something was wrong.

Seeing Five —even if he was just inauspiciously walking a dog around sometime past midnight— makes the man realize that something was definitely wrong.

Thus, the sixth Hargreeves, who had been driving around for a cup of late-night coffee, offers his brother to join him without a second thought.

 

            “I know there’s a lot on your plate, and I’m sorry I couldn’t think of any other way to help,” Ben spoke up as he watches Five settle in his car, Mr. Pennycrumb resting on his lap.

“This is plenty enough,” Five assures him, seeming nonplussed as he sipped on the cup of coffee his brother got him.

“Want to talk about it?” 

He’s tempted to say ‘no’ but he put off enough conversations with Eight and took her ability to read his mind for granted, so why repeat the same mistake all over again?

While Ben’s eyes remained on the road amidst their aimless drive around the city, Five eventually confessed, “She’s been acting weird, accepting all of this so easily that it was so unlike her.”

“For a moment… I thought that maybe she was just acting according to this world’s conditions,” he adds. “But then I talked to her tonight and I realized that this is definitely a place where Eight would lose sight of herself.”

Ben remains silent, trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t come off as patronizing, but before he gets the chance to speak, Five snidely mutters, “Sometimes, I really do think it’s my fault. It’s like Diego said —like everyone so kindly reminded— things would have gone differently had I stayed like Eight told me to. We could have had this instead of simply yearning for it.”

“I… I don’t think so.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, “For one, I could have figured out a way to keep you and Eliza alive.”

The other man pulls the car over with that one statement, “That thing was my fault.”

“You had no control over your powers—”

“Vanya didn’t either, but she was still the cause of the apocalypse,” Ben volleyed back. “Look, I get that you never intended to blame any of us, but my death and Eliza’s? That was all me. I was seventeen and stupid. I should have listened to Eight and Klaus.”

“And Luther should have listened to you. And Eliza shouldn’t have jumped at the chance to tame you—”

“We’re getting off track,” the sixth Hargreeves shook his head as he averted the subject. “My point is… I don’t think things would have turned out too differently.  Eight might love us but she absolutely hates the academy. Maybe some events would have changed but I’m certain for a fact that she would have left either way. She has a habit of running away and whatever this world is, it’s her form of an escape.”

Five knows that better than anyone, but he merely responds with a grunt, gazing outside the window as he bottles his guilt up. 

Perhaps it was the sense of relief that came with being heard or it was because his brother was finally alive and he simply missed this. Whichever it was, it was what caused the words to escape him as Ben continued driving, “You know, I was the one who said I’ll take her away from it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” his brother says knowingly, “You guys were always busy trying to do what you can for the rest of us. I figured you at least had each other’s back.”

The fourth key is love— because before there were Eli and Gracie, before the academy felt like an actual team, before she met Lila and Nahshon, it had always just been Five and Eight. Eight who hid in a closet and Five who found her hiding spot. Five who got lost in time and Eight who gave up everything she could to be with him.

 

            “This is going to sound stupid, considering that you’re already married but…” he trailed on to remind the man beside him. “She loves you, no matter how difficult you both can be. You know that, right?”

“I know that,” the corner of Five’s lips quirk up as he smiled mirthlessly, “It’s also why a part of me can’t help but wonder, would it really be so terrible to stay?”

“I never would have pegged you for a family man,” Ben averts the subject, pursing his lips together in a half-amused manner. 

“I never would have thought you’d finally have the guts to ask out Eliza, yet here we are,” the other man easily retorts.

“You noticed?”

“Only idiots wouldn’t have noticed. You’re as smitten as Luther used to be with Allison—”

Ben smiled wryly, “The others don’t know we’re together yet.”

“Case in point,” Five snorts. “Idiots, the lot of them.”

Ben chuckles, but then averts the subject, “You owe me, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Our bet, remember?”

“This hardly counts as something trivial, Ben.”

“Don’t try to get out of this on technicalities,” Ben rolls his eyes at him. “I told you, you have a habit of getting caught up in the bigger things, but one way or another, Eightie is the one that’s going to drive you mad. She isn’t just someone you can make sense of with your equations. How’s that working out for you?”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Five grumbled in annoyance.

“C’mon, let me have this. It’s not always that I win arguments against you.”

“That’s what makes it all the more annoying.”

 

---

 

            Perhaps their foolish habits ran in their blood. Eight may have been incredibly evasive but her twin sister wasn’t any better. Eliza often refuses to speak up about matters regarding herself, choosing to suffer in silence.

See, the truth was the ninth Hargreeves had been hearing voices ever since she got here. 

It started off faint, barely even coherent to disrupt her daily endeavors. She couldn’t be bothered by such a menial thing and she wouldn't dare burden anyone else with it.

Of course, in doing so, things were bound to get worse.

And now, it’s nothing compared to before.

 

            She can’t pinpoint when exactly it started. It comes and goes like an attack. Her vision falters, she blacks out every now and then, and her head pounds as if someone was trying to drive a knife in her. The noise in her mind gets louder and louder by the second, but the pain was too debilitating for her to recognize whether it was even her own.

‘Can’t breathe.’

“—We need your help figuring this out.”

‘Help.’

“—Get out—”

‘I can’t escape.’

“What?”

‘Don’t—’

“I said— Get. Out.”

‘Run. Run. Run.’

“Eight!”

The woman gasps when she snaps back to reality, recognizing the voice of her siblings.

‘Make it stop,’ she silently pleads.

Their despair calls out to her, coiling around her neck and stealing her breath away. 

‘El?’

‘Is that you?’

“Eightie,” she breathes out, gasping like a fish out of water, identifying the voice of her twin sister. 

‘Listen to me, okay? I can’t stay for long but you have to get out.’

"What?"

'Get out, El. Get out when you can.'

Her chest constricts and the colors change too erratically. 

But she’s alone. With no one in sight, she shouldn’t be able to see anyone else’s emotions and what more, feel them?

‘Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP. MAKEITSTOP.’

She feels like she’s losing her mind and—

“Ben,” the maiden whimpers as she loses her strength. She begins to stagger, curled up on the ground as her consciousness grows bleary.

It doesn’t take long for the world to fade to black.

Ben Hargreeves returns to his apartment that evening only to catch sight of his girlfriend laying unconscious in front of his doorway.

 

---

 

            Number Eight was right. Deep down, Five knows that. The moment he returns home and hears someone crying, all of his protective instincts immediately shoot up. 

He is so fucked.

The man turns the lights on, only to catch sight of curled-up figures, hiding (or so, they tried) behind their couch. The twins were sniveling and inching further and further back trying to sneak away but nothing gets past him.

As soon as he set Mr. Pennycrumb back on the ground, he blinks in front of them and crouches down to ask, “Why are you still up at this hour?”

“Daddy,” they sniffed in unison, providing neither an answer nor an explanation. Instead, they walked up to him with their short legs, wrapping their tiny arms around him. And he returns the gesture, holding them close despite being unable to comprehend what the hell was running through their little minds.

It’s then that he realizes. 

They were so small— so vulnerable.

Every fiber of his being is telling him to protect them— Protect this. Whatever this was.

Eight was right.

In truth, he truly doesn’t want this fantasy to end.

Eight was fucking right.

 

            “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he carries them both, one twin in each arm as he climbed up the staircase. Their heads were buried in his shoulders as they refused to release him. 

For once, the two rascals were both silently compliant. It makes him worry ever so slightly. He’s too attached and he knows it.

Just as he was about to leave the room after tucking them in their beds, his son tugged on his sleeve to stop him, “Dad, do you— Do you not love Mom anymore?”

The unexpected question leaves him dumbfounded.

“Why would you say that?”

Gracie climbs up her brother’s bed to join him with their father, embracing her twin’s arm to relieve them both of their worrisome thoughts. 

Hoarsely, she whispered, “Eli and I heard you two fighting.”

“You were listening?” Five looks at them, wondering what they could have possibly felt for them to go as far as to confront him.

The twins nod meekly.

It takes longer than a beat for all that to settle in, but when it does, he ruffles their hair, wiping the wet streaks on their cheeks and assuring, “I wasn't fighting your mother, I was fighting for her.”

‘Because some things were worth fighting for.’

It seemed to have satiated them temporarily.

“Now, go to sleep,” the man instructs them. (‘It’s just like you to run away from your feelings,’ he can hear Eight chide him in the back of his head.)

His daughter gradually reverts back to her cheeky attitude, shaking her head as if she was so sure of her words, “Can’t.”

“And why not?” he volleyed back, daring them to go on.

Eli joins in with a grin, “Mommy always sings us lullabies until we fall asleep.”

And, how can he say no when those pairs of wide green eyes gaze back at him pleadingly?

Five heaves an exasperated sigh and inevitably ends up complying.

But then, he finds that he doesn’t mind that much.

Notes:

the aforementioned bet between five and ben is featured in chapter 6 of we'll find you. i'll also be expounding on ben's death in the spin-off, but there's no need to read it to understand this story :)

 

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 10: the truth behind our broken wings

Summary:

"tiny little broken thing, what’s that i see on your wing? is it heavy enough to keep you pinned inside this lucid dream?"
— one for the rocks and one for the scary; mayday parade

            THEY’RE LOOKING AT HER as if she was out of her mind. Which, in her defense, was happening quite literally. The longer they stayed in this alternate dimension, the more they realized truths about themselves apart from each other, but beyond that, the more she was being driven mad by the resonance of their souls.

She’s unable to tell her fragments apart from the others’ (and even more so her twin’s) but she does know one thing—

“Allison and Luther are gone.”

“Gone how?” Diego narrows his eyes at her, unable to decipher whether there was a deeper meaning behind that statement.

As usual, Five is the one who actually asks the question that matters, “How do you know that?”

“I don’t actually know…” Eliza mumbles meekly. “I— I think somehow Eight and I are connected. Sometimes I can hear her but…”

“…But?” Vanya tries to help her finish her sentence.

“She’s nothing like the Eight in front of us.”

“So, big deal,” Klaus attempts to make light of the conversation. “This Eight is an imposter. How bad can it be? The amount of things that were revealed to us back in reality seems to prove that we never really knew Eightie.”

No one voices their thoughts out, refusing to confirm nor deny the truth in his claims and ignoring him like they’re used to.

 

            “Five?” Ben turns to their brother to gain anything remotely useful, perfectly aware that they weren’t going to gain any answers from Klaus.

“Freudian Psychology states that the unconscious mind is run by instinct and desire, known as the Id,” the fifth Hargreeves takes a marker before drawing a diagram on Ben’s walls. “That’s where we’re at right now.”

“The Superego which acts as our moral compass is present on all levels of the mind but it’s the Ego that connects these two together, allowing the two areas to compromise with each other. This Ego is only present in the Conscious and Preconscious mind,” he continued, encircling terms along the way as the others are left gaping in confusion.

Diego, who lacks the most patience, is the first to crack, irritably spurring him to cut to the chase, “And that means?”

“It’s her, but just a part of her,” Ben deduced, earning a nod of acknowledgment from his brother.

Vanya finally spoke after giving his words much thought, “The aspect driven by desire, I'm guessing?”

"Exactly," Five confirmed. "Eight’s other self is somewhere else between the three areas, that’s what you’ve been hearing. We’re in the deepest realms, within the unconscious. It’s just as hard to leave as it is to enter."

"The problem is…" he draws a line across the two points. "How do we get from here to here?"

 

---

 

            Their perfect reality was falling apart and if one were to pinpoint the catalyst, they ought to be confounded by the numerous possible events that led to such. 

Perhaps it had begun when Number Five had stepped into this world, fulfilling his role as yet another harbinger of the end of times. Perhaps it was when they began to question the state of things, or when Luther and Allison had decided to confront Number Eight about it. 

Whichever it was, they were going further and further down the rabbit hole. The conscious thoughts engulfing their minds begin to unravel their fragile utopia by pulling the fragments apart, creating gaps— gaps which Number Eight is implied to have closed.

Thus, it was only a matter until the imperfections began to show.

 

            To begin with, Diego Hargreeves was having an awfully bad day. Not only were two of his siblings missing, one of his sisters seemed keen on imprisoning them in this strange dimension. Compared to the whole Vanyapocalypse incident, it seemed like a piece of cake, but then again their family still had its issues.

The icing on the said cake, however, was when his girlfriend finally decided to dump him for a second time around. 

It may have come out of the blue but it was definitely a reenactment. A memory, one might say. His mind was playing tricks on him.

It had been so familiar that he could enunciate each word and predict each gesture from the crinkling of her eyes (a telltale sign that she was trying hard not to cry) to the way her words turned hoarse despite their sternness (typical, considering Eudora Patch’s firm yet kind demeanor).

A part of him had always figured that things were never going to work out. 

She’s too good for him, he thinks. He only knew how to drag her down.

For instance, had Eudora Patch accepted his offer to go waltzing in the dead of night to catch those Commission hires, she’d probably be dead by now. 

He shudders at that thought.

Her occupation was bad enough— To be so close to situations like that, but thinking that he’d be the one to drag her in those. Fuck, he wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t be able to fathom that, wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for being the cause of her demise. Ben and Eliza’s deaths were bad enough, he didn’t need another one on that list.

He’d only bring her trouble.

Whether it was just a re-manifestation of his old memory or just evidence that he had fucked up the second chance he had, he refuses to acknowledge his feelings or wallow in those wasted opportunities, claiming he had better things to worry about.

So just like every other time, Diego Hargreeves uses it as an excuse to throw himself into hero stuff because that's the only thing he actually knew how to do. 

Or so he keeps telling himself.

His immeasurable hero complex had always been difficult to cure, but it had, in fact, saved his ass a couple of times, preventing him from spiraling down a pit of depression much like Luther on the stupid moon. 

And in his foolish attempts to unravel what the fuck his sister’s been up to, he comes across a startling discovery.

 

            “Don’t try to talk to her on your own,” Five had clearly warned them. “We don’t know what she’s up to, and we don’t know where she sent Luther or Allison, so don’t try to pull anything.”

It was reasonable, so simple that even a grade schooler would be able to listen to such a straightforward command, but the Hargreeves were never one to be underestimated.

Had this been a horror film they’d be dead by now, because as it was, Diego never follows his brother’s (or any siblings’, in particular) instructions.

He tails Eight later that afternoon despite all those precautions and ends up getting beaten to a pulp by a rather crazy lady, commonly known as the lunatic who tried to murder their family with a goddamn army not too long ago. 

“Are you stalking your sister?” the woman scrunches her face in disgust, her foot pressed against his throat after being caught off guard. “Ew, get a hobby, you git.”

“It’s not stalking, it’s an intervention,” Diego manages to cough out. “Besides, Eight and I are tight. We’re like Batman and Robin.”

It was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn’t exactly a lie. If Diego had to choose which of them was his favorite sister, he’d say it was the twins, no doubt. They came as a package though, and that would have earned him a smack from Eight, but moving on…

Had this been the real Lila Pitts, he would have had his neck slit with a knife. But instead, this was Eight’s idea of Lila, the girl she deemed to be her best friend.

Instead, Lila scoffs, “You were Batman and Robin? Bollocks.”

“You never had Eight’s back. She was always too busy protecting your dumb arse,” she hissed, and it was only then that Diego realized what this person meant to his sister.

The fifth key is friendship— the first few people she opened up to.

The irony in it was almost laughable; how one found it easier to be with their friends than their family. It was easier to admit things to them compared to their own kin, their own blood. It was easier to fight alongside them than the team she grew up with.

They constitute the few people Eight counted on. The few people her family wouldn’t be able to live up to because so long as they existed, Eight played the role of their protector, and that meant the Hargreeves were stuck being protected.

 

            “You don’t know squat. You don’t know what it’s like to see her breaking down on the bathroom floor. You don’t know how hard it was to pick her up and remind her that we don’t need her protection like you do,” Lila snarled. “Because that’s what comrades are for.”

“So sit tight, Spandex,” she gives him a feral grin. “No one’s leaving as long as she says so.”

 

---

 

            When Vanya Hargreeves had decided to visit her brother because she had been rather worried about his relationship with his wife and how he was coping with all this, the last thing she expected was to be babysitting their children. Having been nearly the last to enter the world, she hadn’t exactly spent as much time with her niece and nephew. 

Although she had her fair share of dealing with her younger students back in the day, she wasn’t exactly adept at interacting with kids, even back when she was one herself.

Even more so when they began to tackle complicated family matters.

For example…

“Mommy and Daddy fought,” Eli had mentioned. 

To make matters worse, Gracie consequently asked, “Is that why Mommy’s gone today?”

And then, just when their words couldn’t get any harder to respond to, they looked at her with those big doe eyes, whispering in unison, “Will Mommy leave us?”

 

            Vanya did her best to muster a smile and assure them that things were absolutely fine, but even she herself couldn’t be sure of anything. What truly worried her, however, was her brother’s current demeanor. 

So when the kids were finally on their afternoon nap, she was inevitably forced to jump the gun and ask, “Are you… okay?”

“Just fine,” Five grunts in response, barely even sparing her a glance. He’s been immersed in flipping through pages of books while writing on his bedroom walls, attempting to comprehend the events happening around them.

Vanya frowns, but nevertheless, she tries for a second time, 

“Okay… I’m not as adept as El or Ben at this sort of thing, but let me ask again, Five,” she remained persistent. “Are you really fine with everything happening?”

Silence.

And then, a beat later, she adds, “It’s okay if you aren’t.”

“How could any of this be okay, Vanya?” he suddenly snaps, shutting the book he held rather loudly.

The man was unable to hold back any sarcastic quips are sharp jabs.

“We finally got the chance to prevent the apocalypse but instead, our idiot siblings got themselves wasted and opened a can of worms. I find out just then —despite decades of being together— that my wife tried to kill herself. And god knows how many times that happened because it’s not like I can get a decent conversation out of her right now.” 

“Not to mention, instead of doing what we came here for, we’re stuck in this alternate dimension and two of our siblings are missing. The rest are too preoccupied with their goddamn issues to even consider a solution. And everyone is out of their fucking minds—” The words finally rushed out of his mouth as he fumed, chest heaving violently and veins becoming more prominent with how tight he held the book in his hand.

Grinding his teeth, he spat, “So you tell me, how can any of this be okay?”

 

 

            Naturally, Vanya wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise. Unable to know what to even say amidst such a situation. During her adult years, she had constantly brooded over just how estranged she had been from her siblings, and yet, she had attempted to constantly decipher them as proven by the book she had written. Her heart breaks from the thought that, out of all the times, it all seemed futile right then.

It was unlike Five to admit that he was uncertain of anything. It was even more unlike him to throw a hissy fit and let all his emotions spill out unfiltered, always priding himself as the intellectual, the rational one who knew better than to let his feelings get the best of him.

When Five catches the reluctance in his sister’s eyes, however, he was reminded of timid little Vanya— their Number Seven whom they never believed was capable of causing an apocalypse. His jaw loosens as he heaves a deep breath to calm himself down.

“Do you know why I wanted this jump to work so badly, Vanya?” the man asked solemnly, voice frigid and eyes gazing distantly, yet beneath such a stoic facade something about it reminds her of a lifetime’s worth of exhaustion.

“Because you’re trying to save the world from the apocalypse,” she answers naturally, almost as if it were a fact. It had been something the couple continued to remind them of continuously. That there were bigger things than their petty little issues; that the world was at stake.

“Because we sold our lives to the Commission just to get back to you,” Five corrected her. 

If that hadn’t been enough to bother her, then surely his next words did.

“Even that job aside, I had to slaughter a boardroom of people to buy our way back here.”

The room feels cold. The hair on her skin stands upright as she lets out a breath, “Shit.”

“And Eight…” he trailed on, recalling the names engraved on the oak tree, “Who never forgot the name of each casualty we failed to save as children, who always saw their lives flashing past their eyes… She had to do it since we were seventeen.” 

Vanya forcefully swallows the lodge in her throat as her chest constricts from the thought.

“Maybe this is some sort of divine retribution,” he chuckles dryly. “People like us, we will never save enough lives to make up for the ones that we take.”

 

            His sister grimaced before asking, yearning to acknowledge each of their sacrifices rather than sweeping them under the rug, “What else was there?” 

Five knows better than to reveal the truth they’ve been trying to protect the others from, but finally, he confessed, “She had to save Klaus because he overdosed and half-dead on the street, only to find out that our entire family was wiped out from the apocalypse anyway.”

“We couldn’t have any of this—” the man motions to his surroundings. “Our own family.” 

“The Commission had to alter our bodies. And she— She was stripped of everything from that age and I couldn’t stop it because I was stupid enough to run away from home and get stuck in the goddamned apocalypse,” he lets out a hollow laugh. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve already messed up thrice. I can’t put her through that same shit again.”

“Well, that’s where you're wrong,” Vanya finally speaks, confident despite her usual soft-spoken demeanor. “Even if it turns out that we all don’t know Eightie as well as we thought, I know for a fact that she’ll tell you that you can mess up a couple more times as long as you come back to her.” 

And even with all that, his sister doesn’t fail to add, “So, you can stop punishing yourself, Five.”

 

---

 

            When Klaus Hargreeves had confided in the love of his life, the last thing he expected was to be chastised and eventually sent to his sister’s place. 

Dave was, for a lack of a better term, incredibly kind. Unlike Eliza though, he doesn’t take it to an overbearing level, allowing Klaus some space to breathe, to be himself. 

Dave believed in him and managed to see the good in him before he even saw it. For someone who was constantly drowning in his sorrows, to Klaus, the man had been a breath of air. For someone who had rarely known the taste of relief and comfort, Klaus will never be able to give all of that up. 

Dave pulls him out from the chaos of the underlying shipwreck of the seas. 

 

             Thus, when he had just got into their car, ready to head back home, he couldn’t help but go on a tirade because goddammit—

“Why do I have to be the one to give all of this up?”

What’s so wrong with staying? What more could they want?

They don’t know what it’s like to lose someone, and it’s not fair.

They all had someone. Allison had her daughter. Ben and Eliza had each other, and what about him?

It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

Despite everything Five and Eight may have gone through, ‘at least they had each other,’ Klaus thought spitefully.

“It’s not fucking fair.”

For the first time in his life, he had found someone made just for him, and yet the universe was cruel enough to take that away from him with a snap of a finger. Or perhaps, in this case, with a pull of a trigger. 

“What would they know?”

“A lot.” 

He’s taken aback by Dave’s answer, but the man merely turns to him to look him in the eye, “Because they lost you, remember?” 

The next thing he knew, they were already parked in front of Five and Eight’s driveway.

Just when was about to ask what they were doing back there, Dave tells him simply, “You’re family. You should talk it out.”

 

            Klaus knows he’s right. It was rather difficult to pick an argument with Dave because the man was both reasonable and compassionate in regard to such things. 

Perhaps it was due to his time; the way he had grown up amongst all those bigots, the people who told them of what an honor it’d be to participate in a war —to fucking die for one’s country— and that uncle whom he’d never dreamed would acknowledge his sexuality. 

David Joseph Katz was too good for his time.

David Joseph Katz was too good for him.

So even if it was unlike him to go out of his way to make amends, Klaus begrudgingly walks out of the car to ring the doorbell. 

Then again, after a minute or two of waiting at their porch, he decides to just screw it and crash inside anyway.

As he trespasses their house, he comes across the pair of young twins sleeping in the living rooms and decides against shouting for Eight or Five. Sneaking around had always been a forte of his after all. Instead of being able to find his sister, however, he arrives at Five's outburst.

He realizes the other person the man had griped to had apparently been their seventh, and to that, he thinks, ‘Damn, Vanya’s got guts.’

Almost immediately, he knew better against joining them. His efforts turned futile, however, because just as he was about to leave with such an excuse, he ended up eavesdropping on their conversation.

“She had to save Klaus because he overdosed and was half-dead on the street, only to find out that our entire family was wiped out from the apocalypse anyway.”

The sixth key is adversity— Eight’s sacrifices; all the loss and all the lives she took.

Number Eight had a knack for losing the things that mattered to her the most. She had been plagued by such since her youth. Not to mention, she often finds herself flirting with death, even cheating it in fact. And yet, no matter how much she yearned for death, she is forced to do anything but relinquish herself to such.

 

            Klaus feels the guilt well up in his stomach as the words continue to escape Five’s lips. The rest of their conversation almost seemed muted with the many thoughts that were running through his head. He’s too fucking sober for this shit, but honestly—

Who was he kidding?

Of course,  Eight would understand. It was her best aspect.

But, instead of making his presence known, the man turns his heel to walk away from the pair, heading back to where he came from.

Dave, who had been waiting in the car, looks at him in anticipation as soon as the door opens, and yet Klaus doesn’t answer any of his nonverbal questions regarding what had happened.

“I need to talk to Eightie,” he said so quietly that it was almost unlike him.

The man gives him a small smile that he always adored, always so sweet and understanding, and simply so Dave— Dave, whom he loved so damn much. Dave, whom he knows he’s bound to give up.

And somewhere along the drive, the man speaks out of the blue, interrupting the heavy silence shared between them as if he were in need of the reminder. 

“I love you, you know that?”

He spoke as if he knew, and it takes almost everything in Klaus not to break apart right then.

 

---

 

            As already mentioned in the past, even from a young age, Number Eight was infamous for her game of hide-and-seek. No one other than Five Hargreeves had managed to win such, but for once in her life —after all these years— it is Eliza who manages to track her down.

“Are you sure about this?” Ben asks, fully aware that they were going against Five’s orders. 

The woman nods in response, sparing him a sheepish smile as if she was able to read his mind, “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“No, we're a package, remember?” he assures her, pursing his lips to give her a grim smile. "It's bad enough that we don't have Klaus, I'm not letting you waltz around on your own."

"Five is going to kill us," Eliza says knowingly.

They owed their brother an apology, and Ben makes a mental note to do so as soon as they meet again. Nevertheless, he kids in an attempt to offer his support, "Eh, we've already died once, what's one more time?"

 

            Klaus and Diego were gone. They had no concrete proof and no way to tell how the fuck it happened, but the empath had said so, and Ben would be damned if he didn’t believe her.

Eliza was… Well, Eliza.

A tad bit naive and ironically dense, but she had always worn her heart on her sleeve. She wasn’t the type to lie about such things, especially something as serious as this.

The disappearance of their other two members, however, proved that Eight could reach them rather easily. She had in fact managed to push them out of the world despite being unable to meet them.

It was a quick passing moment that had stolen her breath rather quickly. Eliza had heard the sound of glass breaking, akin to the same noise she dealt with amidst Luther and Allison’s disappearance. This time however, she was overwhelmed for a mere heartbeat. The next second she blinked, she's back to reality, all out of breath as if she had finally been released after being held underwater, but all that aside, still "fine" in her terms.

The younger twin, much like her brothers, took it as an opportunity to face their eighth member. And in her attempts, she was able to narrow down her sister’s location to their parent’s home.

Unsurprisingly...

The seventh key was her past— her origin, her first family and everything Eight lost in that wretched crash.

Eliza Hargreeves may not be the brightest, but she wasn’t that daft. She isn’t blind to her sister’s sacrifices, her worries— the way the girl had the obligation of protecting her to almost an obsessive degree.

Eight cherished her —the one last blood relative she had— but beyond that, the one and only ally she was blessed with from their birth, her beginning. 

Eliza was her other half. The better one, she would still insist, no matter how many years had passed.

Spending all those years without each other had been tough on them both.

 

            So despite arriving to an eerily empty home, their parents nowhere in sight, Eliza and Ben don’t take a move to leave the premises. 

The ninth member of the academy calls out to the darkness, “I can hear you, you know.”

Ben remains silent during their whole endeavor, knowing perfectly where he stood; that this was between the two sisters.

The interior of the house shifts and changes like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Reflections break and shapes morph into others, transforming the world over and over again like building blocks made of mirror fragments.

The empath is blind to it as the familiar dark hues began to engulf her vision. The colors of each emotion held by her sister mix like paint on a palette. 

“You’re running away like you always do, Sis,” Eliza remained willful as she continued to speak. To others, it would have seemed like she was having a conversation with nothing, but she wasn’t going to be deceived. 

“Eightie,” she purses her lips together to give her sister a smile, ignoring the lump in her throat or the tears that welled up in her eyes. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“I can’t,” a hoarse voice responds. 

Eight steps into the light, stuck in a teenage body.

She’s seventeen all over again. Young, juvenile, hands stained with blood.

The crimson liquid drips against the ground, yet it disappears just as quickly as their surroundings continue to transform.

The other twin remains persistent, “I know you can.”

Eight laughs mirthlessly, “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

“I know that you’re at war with yourself right now… That you’re doing everything you can, even from where you’re at, to pull the others out of these waters," Eliza began. "Even if they think you’ve taken them to someplace awful, I know you’re not like that, Eightie.”

When her sister doesn’t dare to respond, she continued, “I know that you love us more than you’ve ever loved yourself. That you would give up the whole world for us if you could. That you carry the weight on our shoulders apart from your own—”

“I know… That the blood on your hands is our parents',” Eliza swallows hard before she trailed on. “That you were the cause of the car crash. That you shot our father. That you’re the reason why we got into the academy.”

“I know that you blame yourself for everything all the fucking time and yet, you never fail to protect us. Even now, with the way that some parts of this world aren’t just what you —what we— desire. Beneath them are the memories we’re trying to escape from.”

“I know that I might just be going crazy, and I probably don’t know much because you think it's your job to protect us from the truth, from the world, from ourselves, but I’m willing to know more if you let me.”

She knows that they’re two halves of a whole, and they never felt complete because they both lost each other.

She knows her sister had always been the hero.

She always worried, if Eight had been the one saving them, who was going to save her? 

But this time, the ninth Hargreeves is determined to finally be the one to take on that role.

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 11: the girl on the other side of the mirror

Summary:

"there's always a reason to stay inside your head, but you'll never make it out."
— pretender; the maine

            “WHO ARE YOU?” WAS the first thing the ninth Hargreeves had asked when she had come across the ghost of her father. There was a hole straight through his head caused by a bullet, as one would easily assume. The way the blood gushed from the grotesque wound and dripped on his face to leave a crimson trail in its wake made her all the more queasy. 

For once, the other two ghosts had been relieved to know that Klaus wasn’t sober enough to see all this. Not to mention, with only seven days until the apocalypse, Eight would do better without this knowledge. Thus, both Ben and Eliza had decided that this would be something they’d settle by themselves.

The ninth child didn’t have even a smidgen of a clue as to who the man was, but it was incredibly concerning to see the way he had been following her twin sister since their return from the academy. Unlike their first reunion, when she had witnessed the mission Eight had accomplished with Lila and Nahshon, she found it relieving to see that there were fewer phantoms following her sister around. She wondered if Five had a hand in it, but catching sight of the lonesome ghost, she realized otherwise.

The woman, alongside Ben, had observed the anonymous ghost for quite a while in an attempt to decipher the strange man’s intention, but to no avail, he barely pays anyone else attention, merely scaring any other spirit from approaching the living maiden.

It was only when Eliza decided to bite the bullet and ask, that she finally caught the man’s eyes. Affection quickly washed over his features when he took notice of the fellow ghost.

She wonders what the hell that was about until he says, “You look just like your mother.”

 

            Eliza stiffens, and Ben immediately comes to the conclusion, treading gently as if they’d be traveling dangerous waters, “You’re their… father?”

To the empath, the word seemed rather unfamiliar with the way that their adoptive ‘father’ had treated them their whole lives. But she had indeed felt a twinge in her chest at the thought that she and her twin could have had better.

And ‘better’ seemed to be standing in front of her right now.

 

            “Yes,” he confirmed Ben’s hypothesis. “I suppose I don’t deserve to be called such, considering I barely lived long enough to act like one, haven’t I?” 

Unable to wrap her head around all of this, she only manages to let out, “But you and Mom… How?”

“I could say the same for you, young lady,” the man smiled ruefully. “You died?”

Ben tenses from the guilt that still seemed to follow him like a plague, but the woman never blamed him even once.

“On a mission,” Eliza answered, leaving out the gory details.

“I see… No wonder she was desperate enough to sign a deal with the Commission.”

Ben furrows his eyebrows at the unknown organization, “The Commission?”

“Horrid place, that one,” the ghost sighed. “Your sister and her husband took many lives in exchange for this opportunity to be with you…”

Eliza remained silent as she attempted to digest all of the sudden information. The sixth Hargreeves is the one who talks for her, “That means those ghosts following them around before. Their other victims—”

“I’ve warded them off,” the man assured them before granting an explanation. “You see, at first I followed my killer to haunt whoever it was that harmed my precious family. I would never have imagined it’d be your sister from the future. Funny twist of fate, innit?”

The woman swallows the lodge in her throat as a pool of dread swirled in her gut.

And then he adds, “Don’t blame her, dear.”

“I would never,” is all she mustered to say, but if the look in her eyes were anything to go by, their father is convinced by those few words. 

There’s a fire in them akin to the other twin’s, akin to his wife’s. Thanks to that, he manages to let go of the last fragment it took to hold on.

 

            “I must say, even if I didn’t have a hand in your birth, I’m proud to call you my daughters—”

The empath catches on rather quickly for once, watching the soft colors of relief swirl around her.

“Are you…” she chokes out, unable to finish her sentence. 

Once again, her father beats her to it. “I suppose.” 

Eliza bites her lip. She never had a knack for words, unlike her sister. She didn’t know where to start. There was so much to ask— so much to say. But she knows he has to go.

If the living struggled in death, then the dead struggled to live. It was a natural order. Even she couldn’t exactly tell how long she had left in the land of the living.

Goodbyes were always the hardest part.

 

            “I’ve got nothing else to stay for, knowing you’re here. I think it would be best for me to watch over you two with your mother, wouldn’t you say?” the man smiles, spirit dispersing in tiny lights of azure, reminiscent of fireflies in the night. They flicker and dance around her enchantingly and yet, it was difficult to feel in awe considering the reason behind them.

“Okay…” she at least nods, imitating the expression on his face to grant him one last thing.

“Thanks…” She doesn’t like the word ‘Dad.’ It was too reminiscent of Reginald —tainted by the monster who raised them— so instead she calls him, “…Pa.”

“Tell Ma we love you,” Eliza doesn’t fail to add just as his soul disperses.

“I’ll pass on the word,” he whispers ever so gently, and it takes everything in her not to cry.

But, even so, she supposes she’s one of the lucky ones.

Through it, Ben holds her hand to remind her, “You’re not on your own.”

And she smiles, correcting him the same way she usually does as her eyes lay upon the rest of the Hargreeves from across the room. Despite how they were ignorant of their presence, she musters a smile and says resolutely, “We’re not on our own.”

 

---

 

            LIKE ELIZA HARGREEVES HAD DETERMINED, Number Eight was at war with herself. Even if the maiden was aware of what she had been doing within the realms of the psyche, it has always been difficult to combat desire with mere reason. The girl was fighting tooth and nail, slipping away and giving into herself day by day. All the things she had stuffed in the box in her mind had finally been set free, and they inevitably eat at her will. 

When Eight Hargreeves returned home after both Ben and Eliza’s escape from their unconscious mind, the other version of herself had once again resurfaced. She is, much like the others, once again in her late twenties, determined to keep what remains of the fantasy intact.

Vanya and Five don’t question her about the other’s whereabouts, nor about what she had been up to. They merely go about their day as if nothing had occurred, choosing blissful ignorance over confrontation. (At least temporarily.)

After their fight, Number Five decides to play along with her fantasy, fulfilling the role of the perfect husband, while Vanya opted to remain by their side even if that meant being the third wheel in their family life. 

The seventh Hargreeves was used to being the outsider, and that being said, she wasn’t planning to say anything. 

Really, she wasn’t.

But when Eight tucked the children to bed that night, and she overhears their conversation from the hall, she couldn’t exactly help herself.

 

            One of the twins, Eli, had asked out of the blue as they lay beside each other, refusing to use separate beds, “Mom, do you love us?”

Naturally, she responds with a “Yes,” barely even wasting a second. It grants her to receive a toothy grin from the five-year-olds who were too young to comprehend the events occurring around them.

And when the other one, Gracie, queried in addition to her brother, “What about Dad?”— Eight answered, “Honey, I would do anything for your father.”

Vanya takes it as a cue to look at Number Five, who had been leaning against the wall of the hall, adamant not to show his presence. Instead of revealing any semblance of emotion on his face, he decides to walk away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he leaves Vanya to continue with her own endeavors. 

But that’s when Eight sings.

She soothes them with her nightly lullaby, reminding the seventh Hargreeves of the numerous times she had snuck around the academy to listen to the girl sing to her twin sister. The memory she wrote in her book. The moment she could never seem to intrude on.

The eighth key is Eight’s song.

Despite her beautiful voice, it was a rare occurrence to catch the girl singing, like witnessing a siren call out to sailors and living to tell the tale. 

It was an act done only for the people she held dear, the ones she held closest to her heart— an undoubtedly special case. Before there were Eli and Gracie, she had sung to Five. And before there was Five, she had sung to her other half, to lull her twin to sleep. 

It was a special luxury neither of the others could ever compete for, much less attain. But Vanya thinks of herself as lucky to have witnessed such an opportunity, even if she had to eavesdrop her way for a chance to listen.

And perhaps it was just a subset of her ability; the way she can perceive the sound of everyone around her, but—

But the way Eight’s heart sang —the melancholy seeped deep in each musical note— never seemed to lie. 

Each vibration is filled with emotion, and she almost feels a gust of wind whispering softly in her ear. 

You’re okay. 

I’m here. 

I’ll protect you for as long as I live. 

We’ll rise after the fall.

Similar to the violent timbres of Vanya’s violin, it was a scream threatening to escape her, the feelings she suppressed the hell out of, the words caught in her throat, and the thoughts she was never able to put into words. 

Yet, unlike that performance that was loud enough to end the world, Eight’s came off as gentle and almost soothing. As if the music within her was a contrast to the fearsome warrior who always held her ground. 

And within that melody, one can easily catch a glimpse of the truth behind Number Eight. 

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            “Eightie, can we talk?” was how their conversation had begun. Vanya Hargreeves had taken advantage of the way that her sister was decent enough to value a good conversation instead of sweeping things under the rug.

“Alright,” the other woman had indulged her once they were finally out of the room and on the way to the dining room.

Eight pours them both a cup of tea, which Vanya held tightly in her hands. 

“What you said to the twins…” the seventh member trailed on, mustering the courage to ask despite knowing the answer to her own question. “Does that count for us too?”

“Don’t be silly, Sis. Of course, it does,” she smiles gently. “I’d do anything for my precious people. That’s a given.”

Vanya uses her words as ammunition, “Then why are you trying to keep us in here?”

It was the question they all had yet to ask; a question with a rather obvious answer.

“To protect you,” Eight says simply before gazing out the window as if stuck in a trance. 

Her eyes seemed so dreamlike and yet the way she spoke felt robotic, “The others will come around. I’ll get them back, and I’m going to keep you all safe here. It might take a little fixing, but in this world, no one can hurt us and you won’t have to put up with any of their shit again—”

“Protect us?” Vanya almost scoffs at the sound of that, reminded of the dark cell beneath the academy, the one especially built for her. “You mean like how Dad tried to imprison me in that basement?”

“Don’t lump me with that asshole,” Eight narrowed her eyes for a moment, before her features softened up, opting to persuade her sister. “You can have everything you want in here, Vee. Just say the word, and I’ll give it to you—”

It was like making a deal with the devil, and yet, instead of taking it, the seventh Hargreeves was firm on choosing otherwise, “What if I want to escape?”

The other woman refused to respond. The silence is so deafening that one could hear a pin drop.

It only goads Vanya to go on, “No mind games and stupid tricks, Eightie. What if that’s what I want—”

 

            “Stop,” she suddenly hears Eight whimper. The woman covers her ears, fingers clenching unto her scalp as if there was an untamable pressure in her head, and she cries out, chanting constantly, “Please. Please. Please— I can’t lose you again. Stop!”

Vanya doesn’t heed her warnings despite the way the pang in her chest grows from the broken voice of her sister, “You don’t have to go about it this way. We’re family. Through thick and thin, we’re going to fight our way together. And I know it’s been hard, but just count on us—”

“You can't just keep throwing around the word family like it's magically going to fix things! You can’t do shit. All of you are always in danger, and if I don’t do something —anything— I’m going to lose you again. So just be a good girl and—” Eight spat venomously, eyes flickering dangerously crimson until—

She cuts herself off with a gasp.

Like a fish thrown back into the water, the woman catches her breath and takes a glimpse of Vanya who was still looking at her as if she was acting out of her mind.

 

            The tension in the room dissipates to almost nothing at the abrupt change of her demeanor. And to Vanya, it was almost as if she was facing a completely different person. She takes note of the way Eight’s eyes retained a familiar glow of azure, but other than that she couldn’t be too sure, so she treads cautiously, “Eight?”

“It’s me. Don’t worry,” the other woman assures her sister, saying such as if she refused to acknowledge the other persona as a part of herself. 

This is their Eight. Calm and insightful. Always has her shit together. Never one to act irrationally.

Eight, their Looking Glass. The one who knows every single aspect that makes up a picture. The one that allows them to see beyond what they’re blind to.

Vanya is left gaping, “How?”

“Telepath, remember?” her lips quirk sheepishly. “I can transgress minds, but I can’t stay here too long—”

“Why?”

“Look, we don’t have time. I need to talk to you and Five. You’re the only ones left in here, and I can’t keep holding my other self off,” Eight spoke rashly.

“What about—”

“Eliza and Ben left. I got them out,” she cuts her sister off like she already knew the words that were about to escape.

With one last look at the woman’s face, she catches the seriousness in her eyes and runs off to call for her brother.

 

---

 

            Ignorance is bliss, Eight had often reminded them to an obnoxious degree and yet, none of them would have ever imagined how it can be taken in a literal sense. The reality they so happened to be trapped in was created according to their deepest desires but also of their worst memories; the aspect they were never been granted in the first place, or one that had been stripped away from them.

To Five, it had been the family he’s been desperate to protect. To Eight, the safety of her loved ones. To Vanya, the acknowledgment of her prowess. And the list goes on and on, it’s almost endless.

Thus why it was the closest thing to their idea of perfect.

Considering that it was the effect of the resonance of their minds, Eight admits having no control over it. They’re too far deep within the unconscious, and it was never easy to sink into the deepest trenches of the ocean with the waves pushing you back to shore.

Likewise, the way that they were questioning the reality in front of them meant breaking free of the shackles that bound them in the first place. And that could only connotate to the destruction of their perfect little fantasy. 

But in those ends are new beginnings.

In each gap between the fragments laid the possibilities that paved the way to an escape.

All they had to do was to run towards the light without looking back, the same way Perseus had been conditioned by the gods of the Underworld.

And if that was anything to go by, perhaps history was truly something we ought to learn from. (Then again, they were the Hargreeves. If anything, they will continuously fail to do so. But that was a problem for another time.)

 

            Despite how Eight Hargeeves had explained the conditions of the realm, Number Five was oddly silent throughout the whole ordeal, almost as if he hadn’t been scavenging answers just a few days ago. 

When he finally spoke, he simply asked, “What about you?”— As if it was the most natural thing that came to mind.

“I’m stuck…” Eight admits. Although she is not certain of what he was after, she is wary to inform him of the truth, “I… I can’t leave—”

It’s always been hard to fight against herself the most. Like paradoxes, Number Eight was a living embodiment of contradictions.

“—But I’m going to open a gate and I want you to slip through the moment you see the world break, okay?” She cuts to the chase, refusing to spare them time to dwell on the thought of her wellbeing.

Vanya nods, knowing better than to question the telepath. She was the most knowledgeable in this dimension, after all. There was no time for second-guessing.

And the moment Eight finishes saying her piece, the world shifts once again. Fragments break and ends meet, revealing the smallest gaps between the fractures.

Vanya attempts to power through with sheer will.

“I think I got it.”

“Keep at it, Vanya.”

“Okay—”

She can feel the nothingness calling out to her, like invisible tendrils she could reach out for. She holds unto it rather tightly, or better yet, relinquishes herself to the current.

And just like that, Vanya jumps through.

But.

But there was a particular figure that remained unmoved.

Standing right behind Eight was Number Five, who merely watched things unravel.

Despite how it was unlike him to do so, he doesn’t move an inch, refusing to act according to her will.

 

            “Five, what are you doing? Go!”  Eight panicked, screaming hurriedly as the gaps shrunk. 

The pieces began to force themselves back together like perfect puzzles, repairing themselves by bridging spaces.

“Five!” Eight calls for him the second time, but he remained firm on his decision.

He stays wordlessly, regardless of the way the gate was closing. He doesn’t grant her an explanation or much less a look of derision.

“Shit,” Eight cursed under her breath as she reached out for him, hoping it would be enough to knock sense into him. The woman grips onto his chest tightly, causing his clothes to bundle under her fists. “You have to go—”

The color of her eyes reverts to their usual hue as the exit fades to nothing.

The moment has passed.

 

            The other Eight returns. And she’s every bit as much as his Eight like the other, he’d say.

Fragile and vulnerable. The Number Eight who hides behind the reflections of the mirror. The one she’s been desperate to conceal.

Her grip on him loosens. The fear is evident in her eyes as tears well up within them.

“Five?” She breathes out as if she doesn’t know what had gotten into her.

Five pulls her close, fingers buried in her hair as he assures her,  “I’m here.” 

“I… You…” She hesitantly returns the embrace, unable to calm her breathing. She holds onto him so tightly as if their lives were at stake.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers softly in her ears, and momentarily lifts her from the invisible waters she drowns in.  

“Breathe with me?” Five says and it’s only then that Eight manages to muster a sharp intake of air.

 

---

 

            THE HARGREEVES’ attempts of escaping the depths of their minds connotated the destruction of their perfect reality. With only the fifth child left, the world that was initially created with their knowledge and memory continued to break down like another apocalypse had been set in stone. 

Looking out the window and catching that view reminiscent of the wasteland he spent decades in, Number Five wonders how many times he had to witness the apocalypse for enough to be enough.

He’s a wrinkled old man once again, reliving those days in the post-apocalyptic world. Despite how the time they spent in this alternate reality, they were back to their initial bodies. 

They’re old— So damn old that they have gone through almost a lifetime together. 

But he’d be damned if he left Eight on her own here.

The woman had been distorted into multiple personas. The two versions of her clash in an attempt to overpower the other. He spends his remaining time with her, no matter which version it would be.

None of which would have been possible had he jumped alongside Vanya during that opportunity other Eight granted to him a few days ago.

It was thanks to that epiphany he had gained that he had chosen otherwise, throwing both reason and logic out of the window.

 

Number Five had all the keys.

 

            He always had the aspect of the maiden required to open the doors in her mind, the same way he gave her his. He just never had the chance to use them, he realized, because whether or not Eight attempts to keep things from him, she caves before he figures them out.

Although she withholds information, she can’t lie to him. He can read her like a book no matter how damn stubborn she could be— And that meant all that was left to do was to ask.

Eight beats him to it.

Her hands were clenched into fists as she grumbled in frustration, “Why didn’t you go?” 

The other her easily resurfaces compared to before, proving he was indeed given access all this while. She wasn’t trying to push him out, wasn’t trying to hide the deepest crevices of her mind despite her attempts of evasion.

They can play this game over and over again, and he still won’t let her win. After all, Number Five was a rather sore loser.

So instead, he averts the subject, “Why didn't you tell me?”

Perhaps it was crass, and he could have gone about it a lot more delicately, but as much as Eight was Eight, Five was Five and the woman wouldn’t have him any other way.

 

            At first, she goes about it stubbornly, trying to find a way to keep his mind off it—

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

—But her attempts to avoid their overdue discussion are short-lived.

She heaves a deep breath before retorting with a question instead of granting a quick response, “You were doing everything to get them back and if you knew all that while that I was trying to take my life, then what would you have thought?”

He looks at her with a grim expression on his face, lips pursed together as if to say that wasn’t a good enough reason.

So she continued, still as stubborn and hardheaded as he had known her, “It was up to me to pick up my own pieces, Five. Not you, not my twin sister, not the rest of our family. I'm not just some impossible problem you can solve. I didn’t need you to fix me.”

 

            Contrary to what Ben Hargreeves had made it to be, Five doesn’t think of her that way— Wouldn’t dream of it. 

Eight may be his impossible (at times, utterly ridiculous and incredibly mind-boggling) problem, but she doesn't need solving, he’d claim. 

Instead, he fills in those jagged sharp edges, glues her fragments together, and fits himself within the vacancies. He makes her feel whole and he appreciates her for what’s left of herself.

Even if the mirror will never be as good as it was before— She can see herself reflected in all those little fragments he desperately held together.

And that was exactly why instead of refuting her words and reminding her of what she lacked, he goes about it in wiser ways; he reminds her of what he’s been capable of— what he could do to amend for the time lost and wasted— because Number Five was nothing if not capable. 

 

            “I know that whatever I say, you’ll still be stubborn and insufferable as fuck, and I get that you want to do this on your own, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold your hand through it like you've always done for me,” Five scowled. Had it not been for the kindness seeped into the meaning of his words, one would have thought he was lashing out at her.

“Our vows aren’t squat, Eight. In the same way you own up to my problems, I’ll own up to yours,” he rambled on harshly. “I didn’t marry you because I didn’t want to be alone. In fact, if I’m being honest, I thought it was unnecessary. We were occupied with the apocalypse, then the Commission. It’s not like we can have a chance to live a normal life. It’s not like we needed it because either way, we wouldn’t have left each other’s side. Who cares about social constructs, vows, and stupid rings—”

“Jesus Christ, I get it!”

“—But even so… I went through with it. You know why?”

“…”

She’s unable to get in a word edgewise, overwhelmed by the entirety of his being; as if she couldn’t believe that there was one good thing that came out of the misfortune that was her life, and here he was professing his love for her in roundabout ways.

And even if she does try to get the words out, he cuts her off before she can anyway.

“Because it's you,” Five huffed, heaving deep breaths to recover from that continuous tirade. “And if you can’t understand that, you’re stupider than I thought.”

Her wrinkled hand brushes away the tears brimming in her eyes before they get to fall. And she mumbles as he collected her with his hands, holding her despite their aged frail bodies, “‘M not that stupid.”

 

            When she pulls away from him to meet those blue orbs she’d grown to love, she admits, “It always comes and goes, but I decided not to act on it because I wanted to be with you.”

“It’s funny, really,” the old woman chuckled mirthlessly. “Every time I lose my will to live, I find you. And I'm torn between eternal peace and a lifetime beside you. But I chose you. I'll always choose you no matter how shitty this life could be. I was stupid enough to follow you all the way to the apocalypse, wasn't I?”

“You've always been better at conveying the right words, but hear me out,” Five cups her cheeks. And as if she wasn’t done getting lucky that night, he tells her, “I want you to know that I cherish every single minute I ever shared with you, all 25 and a half-million of them. A lifetime. Now, look at us. We're lucky enough we get a second one.”

She smiles in his arms, mulling his words over until she suddenly jolts up.

“You have to go…” Eight reminds him, breath shaky. “The world is going to keep changing, and you might lose your chance to go back.” 

“But—”

She interrupts him with a knowing smile, “You can’t save me if you’re stuck back here again.”

Five rolls his eyes, and muttered gruffly, “At least tell me where to find you.”

“You’ll find me where you always do.” She gives him a cheeky grin.

Anyone who hears such would normally be perplexed, unable to find the meaning behind that sentence. Why couldn’t you just say it outright? Why couldn’t you just give the damn answer?

Number Eight had always been cryptic that way. 

But if anything, Number Five smirks as he passes through the gate confident in his ability to locate her. 

After all, even if Eight was an enigma, he always had a knack for solving puzzles anyway.

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 12: the fate of heroes as told by greek tragedies

Summary:

"see how the most dangerous thing is to love. how you will heal and you’ll rise above."
— achilles come down; gang of youths

            NUMBER EIGHT DIDN'T WANT TO BE A HERO.  She wholly rejected the mission Reginald Hargreeves proclaimed for them; not because she had different morals, not because she feared becoming a child soldier, but simply because it was a guarantee that there would never be anyone who would protect them. 

All doubts start with a single question, and the question that haunts her was simple enough and yet irrefutable until this day:

If they were expected to save the world, who would be left to save them?

Because alongside the curse of being extraordinary, the 43 Children did not have the luxury and comfort of what it was like to be a normal person. Because alongside being part of the Umbrella Academy, the renowned superheroes were expected to save everyone but themselves. 

A hero is many things, and Eight Hargreeves knows that being self-serving isn’t one of them. They’re stripped of their desires and driven by sheer duty.

It’s why, even in fiction, heroes were never destined for a true happy ending. 

The hero is always bound to pay the price; the one forced to live with the consequences the world has to offer.

These thoughts are the same thoughts that gnawed on 12-year-old Eight Hargreeves as she grew up; the same thoughts that even Number Five had been incapable of disputing.

It is the same question that eventually prompts Eight to become that person. She takes it upon herself to protect her family from the world, even if it means waging a war and having it go up in flames.

Even if it means having to play the villain.

 

            The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan War, and along with it, the tale of Achilles and Patroclus. It was a piece of literature written by Homer that the nine members of the academy were all required to learn, in the original Greek no less. Number Five was the only one capable of reciting it word per word, but that didn’t mean Eight didn’t try to understand it. 

She always sought meaning in the simple little things that questioning the content in a book was second nature at this point.

And in the end, she couldn’t help but question the same teachings of the epic; can’t help but notice the futility in its tale.

“Wasn’t Achilles the antithesis of strength?”

            In the haven of their secret fort, that dusty old closet no one but Five had ever bothered to venture, Number Eight hugged her knees as she stared at the thick book laying on the floor and the notes scattered about.

Five looked up from the copy of his book, only to hear her ramble absentmindedly. 

“For coining the title of the strongest warrior that ever lived, it was one thing to die by an arrow to his heel, but to fail to save his beloved… It means he was never as strong as he was made out to be.”

“Are you talking about Briseis?” He asked with furrowed eyebrows. And yet, he knows this was typical Number Eight behavior, to obsess about the irrelevant details.

“Not her,” Eight smiled when she noticed that they weren’t on the same page, “You didn’t miss it did you?”

“Sorry, I was busy memorizing it in Greek and transcribing it for a certain someone,” he snapped back, as sarcastic as ever, and yet she knew there was a lack of edge to his tone. He had gone through painstaking efforts to help her study after all. 

And besides, it was only ever Five who had never given up trying to comprehend the complexity of her thoughts.

“Patroclus was the only one he loved more than life itself. The only one he considered an equal,” Eight pointed out like it were a fact, as if she were speaking beyond the characters of a book. “Achilles went mad when he died... No amount of vengeance will bring back the dead, and everything he did postmortem proved just how futile it was. And yet, he did it anyway and died doing so.”

“He’s a fool,” Five agreed. Nevertheless, he always had a counterargument in store for her. “But he wasn’t entirely weak.”

Eight frowned, raising an eyebrow and daring him to continue.

“Strength and weakness are two sides of the same coin. No one is invincible. It just so happened that strength was his defining characteristic,” he told her simply. “But there are different kinds of strength. What he had in physicality, he lacked elsewhere. Wasn’t that the entire point of his story?”

“Then, what does that make us?” Eight muttered under her breath, and his eyes were drawn to her in realization.

She was alluding to herself, it dawned on him.

“You're far from Achilles,” Number Five snorted. “You’re smarter than him, for one.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased, attempting to mask her emotions with their usual banter.

“I think you wouldn’t be stupid enough to wage a war that would only get you killed,” he scoffed.

The maiden shrugged, feigning innocence with a warm smile, “You never know, I might prove you wrong.”

“Have you ever?” Five sassed back.

After years of experience, she’d have had plenty of evidence to be able to say that 'Yes, Five. It's why you should listen to me more often,' for she had done so in more than a couple occasions. But back then, they were just twelve. Five was still ruled by his hubris, and Eight was still prone to that self-deprecation. And he had yet to leave.

 

            With a roll of her eyes, the twelve-year-old girl resumed to look through the notes the boy had scribbled along her book. For a moment, she thought that their debate was over. She continued to mull over her thoughts, but she doesn’t say more, knowing better than to start an argument over hypotheticals.

But just as she dwelled on such, Five broke the silence, always knowing what to say to make her feel better before she was even driven down that spiral.

“Achilles' mistake was letting Patroclus go off on his own and shirking off on his duty to fight in the war. You wouldn’t let that happen. You’re too much of a busybody to let the world fend for themselves. You’d fight with us, and you’d give your all to protect us,” the boy said. “You wouldn’t die a meaningless death.”

“Five, you wouldn’t know what it’s like because you’ve always been strong enough to—” she wanted to retort, but he cut her off, blatantly admitting and catching her off guard.

“You don’t have to be Achilles. You have your own strengths…” Five let out an exasperated sigh. “And besides, you really shouldn’t be comparing yourself to fictional characters.”

‘If I were Patroclus,’ he didn’t say out loud, and didn't mean for her to hear. ‘I won't let myself get killed just to have you go insane. In the first place, I’d find a way to stop it.’

“Fine, you’re right,” she smiled wryly, finally conceding, but it was only due to what she overheard from the voice of his mind.

‘Figures,’ Eight thought to herself in return. ‘You’ve always been the braver one between the two of us.’

The real hero.

            It was Number Five who never gave up, who found ways— and paved them, if there weren’t any. He did the impossible and managed to do so with sheer will and brilliance. Who would ever dream to catch up to that?

At one point during their early adulthood, Number Eight didn’t really have any hope left to hold onto. She had given up long before she had even left the academy, the moment that Number Six and Number Nine died in vain. Through every twist and turn, she had always found comfort in the fact that death was the end. Number Eight was so damn tired, and at that point she had grown to question whether all this was even worth it.

But she, however, always had faith in him.

That much, she can assure, was true.

After all, although the Umbrella Academy gave Five a lot of grief for running off on his own that day, the real runaway had always been her.

Or so Number Eight believed.

Because while Five was off looking for solutions, Eight had been the one in search of an exit, whether it be an alternate point in time, or the gates of the mortal world itself.

But seeing him in the apocalypse, a few years since then, she knows now that she can’t afford to give up her life, especially when he’s trying twice as hard to ensure they both survive.

 

---

 

            THE MOMENT THEY ESCAPE the utopia that they built in their unconscious minds, they break through glass and find themselves in a hall of mirrors adjacent to each other, built of what were once picture frames hanging from familiar walls. 

Number Five thinks that perhaps it was a good thing that time worked different in the mind. For one, he was glad he didn’t spend as long as they had in the fantasy realm, otherwise he’d probably lose his mind in the process. It was hard enough leaving as it was.

On another note, although they left at different times, they arrive in this new realm in unison, stuck in their childhood bodies. 

It saved him some time, not having to try to look for them all over again.

 

            His siblings were staring at each other as if they hadn't recovered from the aftermath of their last conversation with the Eight from that realm. They had, what he could only assume to be, the same expressions plastered from their faces as he had when he had last spoken to the maiden.

Diego and Allison were still a tad enraged, as evident in the way they both exclaimed in unison. Klaus and Luther looked dumbfounded. Ben and Eliza were silent; brooding. While Vanya, who had left with more fortunate means like he did, only seemed to be relieved to realize that Eight had let them out.

“Eight!” the second and third Hargreeves screamed in both fury and defeat.

Only, everyone simply looked at each other at the realization that the said Hargreeves was not present to hear their voice.

“Where is she?” Diego hissed, frustration evident from the way his eye twitched. 

“Eight!” Allison continued to shout until her throat had gone hoarse.

“We were just talking,” Luther muttered dumbly.

“Christ,” Five cursed under his breath. In the first place, he wouldn’t have been racking his brain trying to figure out Eight’s location if he already knew the answer. So he says, with as much patience he can muster, albeit the usual scowl on his face, “Calm down, you idiots. If she weren’t stuck, we wouldn’t be looking in the first place.”

 

            “But…” Klaus pointed out as they looked around in the all familiar place they landed. They’re greeted by familiar blue walls and wooden floors in the room their robot mother usually admired at paintings. “Aren’t we back already?”

“We’re at the academy,” Vanya stated the obvious, turning to Five as if he had the answers, having known that he stayed behind just as she left.

Eliza blinked twice, looking around, before Ben beat her into saying. He runs his hand along one of the mirrors they came from, watching it revert to an old painting. “It’s an illusion… or, is it a memory this time?”

“Right…” Five agrees absentmindedly as the cogs in his mind turned. He put two and two together, recalling Eight’s ominous words, and that cheeky knowing grin.

“You’ll find me where you always do.”

“I…” the boy trailed on, facing the younger twin as he recalled a story of the past, the words of a conversation they shared by Eight’s bedside a handful of decades ago. “I know where she is.”

Eliza’s expression brightens when she realizes what he meant, and puts in words that everyone else would understand, reminding them of their childhood shenanigans.

“Scavenger hunt?”

 

---

 

            SHE’S EIGHTEEN WHEN Lila Pitts reminded her of the stakes, of the gamble she took and the price she had to pay. She’s eighteen, when they laid awake in her room at the Temps Commission dormitory, wide awake from the whiplash that was their most recently finished mission.

Number Eight was staring at the ceiling, unable to comprehend how Lila used to wait for the day when she’d officially go on jobs as a member of the Commission. 

The Handler had raised the girl into believing that this was her calling, no different from how the children in the Umbrella Academy were carved into the shape of a hero by none other than Reginald Hargreeves.

Witnessing Eight’s recent breakdown, however, sent Lila’s mind reeling. Witnessing Eight get that shrapnel wound and watching her in a hospital bed not so long ago, made Lila Pitts realize that for once she’s terrified for someone else; terrified to lose the one friend she gained in a span of years. 

But Eight could be so damn stupid, unable to recognize the value she held for those around her.

And she knows, more than anyone else, what was probably running in her mind right then.

 

            “You…” Lila broke the silence from the other end of the room, lying on the empty bed adjacent to Eight’s. “You don’t actually think you’re going to get out of here, do you? Your contract is pretty intensive, and you’re only racking up more debt by offering to do my mother’s bidding.”

Sometimes, Lila liked to believe that maybe questioning Eight’s life decisions was bound to knock some sense into her. 

But then again, it wasn’t like Eight wasn’t self-aware. If anything, the fact that she knew what she was getting into only made it all the more infuriating.

Case in point:

“You’re right,” Eight agreed, nonplussed. She acts as if she hadn’t been bleeding out earlier that day, and it irks Lila to her core. “Now that I think of it, you actually do know me pretty well, huh?”

“Because I’m the only one capable of reading your mind, genius,” Lila scoffed in derision.

“Touché.”

“I can also tell when you’re changing the subject,” Lila huffed irritably, earning a soft laugh from Eight.

The maiden responded, voice soft and solemn, “To be fair, I did say you were right.”

“My point is, if you knew, then why are you doing this to yourself?” Lila hurled a pillow across the room in an attempt to hit her in the face.

Eight dodged in time, capturing the pillow before it landed, though she can’t really blame Lila for her frustration. 

It’s unlike Lila, she thought, to be acting so serious, to not have that shit-eating grin on her face, to lose that glint of mischief always present in her eyes. If anything, it only prompts Eight to be honest. 

And so she admitted, thinking of the academy as she spoke. “Because I’d rather die trying than die in vain.” 

It takes a beat before she adds, shutting her eyes at the memory as she heaved a pained sigh, “Even Five is out there doing everything he can to survive and come back to us… I can’t fail them, Lī.”

“Or you’re just trying to justify your death by saying it's for their sake,” Lila sat up and looked her in the eye with a scowl plastered on her face. “If you weren’t his only way out of that apocalypse, you wouldn’t have any intention to actually come back to them alive, would you?”

“Ah,” Eight murmured. Caught red-handed, she could only smile sheepishly against the accusation. “Can’t they both be true?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“That I am…” Eight conceded. Her voice sounded hollow despite the sincerity in her words, as if she had long decided to throw it all away, and she was simply seeing that decision through. “But if I die for my family, at least I could trick myself into thinking that maybe I’m not that selfish after all.”

“Humans are inherently selfish. It’s how you’re supposed to ensure your survival. You’re just... I don't know, weird!” Lila said as if it was a fact. It’s no wonder her mother always believed there was something she lacked, her voice betrayed her too easily, heavy with emotion when she spoke harshly. 

Eight didn’t bother pointing it out, allowing Lila to rant as she wished. After all, there was no point in lying if she could easily be proven wrong the moment the maiden mimicked her telepathic abilities.

“And the fact that you’re still trying to play pretend hero, after all this time?” She seethed. “Fucking infuriating.”

And with her words, Eight is reminded of the days when she was just a kid running around with a mask, masquerading as a hero.

“What can I say?” the eighth Hargreeves laughed mirthlessly at the ironic thought of how she probably took as many lives as she saved.  “I was raised to be a hero, not to be a good one.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Lila repeated, grumbling in annoyance. It was like arguing with a brick wall.

Eight knew it only proves how concerned she truly was. How much Lila actually cared.

But they’re friends.

She didn’t need to state the obvious, so instead she simply countered back, “That’s the second time you’ve said that. You should come up with better insults, Lī.”

Lila grabbed the pillow from her hands and hit her with the it, for sure this time. But even so, it did manage to elicit something out of her.

 

            “Someday…” Eight broke the silence, as she turned to Lila, because in truth, Number Five aside, there was no one else she trusted more than the maiden. “If I finally find a reason to live for myself, would you help me?”

“Obviously, dumbass!” Lila spat, with full conviction. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Even if it's crazy or stupid?”

“Even then, Eejit.”

“You know, we always did manage to pull off some of the best schemes,” Eight laughs at the thought, reminded of the chaos they unleashed whenever they’re together, and the resulting headache they were always glad to give to Nahshon. She could only wonder about what insane thing they can do next. 

Lila hums in agreement, “We should do something big next time.”

“And how big is that exactly?”

‘Enough to leave our mark in this world,’ Lila doesn’t say. Instead, she grins, “Something monumental.”

“More like monumentally stupid,” Eight snorts.

“What can I say? That has you written all over.”

 

---

 

            NUMBER EIGHT never thought there would come a day, she’d want to escape the haven she made for herself amidst her childhood, but then, here she was, in a realm manifested by her mind, slamming her fists against the closet door that showed no signs of budging.

The door remains shut, reminiscent of some of the many minds she had transgressed in this lifetime. No matter how much twisted the knob or pounded on the wood, it stood there like a wall made concrete.

Funny how she can't even even breach the doors of her own mind.

Number Eight felt many things, more than she can carry anyway. Often, she suppressed them in the back of her mind. Other times, when she can’t bear to, she runs away and waits it out on her own. 

The members of the Umbrella Academy were no different.

Their father had fucked them up so much that they turned into a group of emotionally stunted adults, incapable of processing through such in normal means. They’re so fucked up that even their empath can’t help them.

But that’s fine, or so she thought. Because they weren’t any different from each other.

And yet, they managed to take a glimpse of the skeletons she’d been hiding in her closet anyway.

 

            Having the rest of the Umbrella Academy witness some of her demons, felt as if she were stripped of her will. She feels bare more than she had ever felt before. And she remembers why the others had always been wary of her powers since they were children.

Well, she didn’t like it any more than they did.

She doesn’t understand how they got here in the first place. And she’s not quite certain of the reason why she’s trapped in her mind. In truth, there are a lot of things she’s not aware of, having never tapped on her potential as much as Five had, but she knows for a fact that as the telepath, who was partly responsible for this realm, they wouldn’t be able to leave this realm without her.

It would have been better if she remained stuck in the perfect reality she dreamed of.

Instead, here she was, the person who had always sought freedom, and yet never obtained such, trapped once again.

Just as she felt when Six and Nine died. Just as she felt when she was slaving away at the Temps Commission. Just as she felt in the apocalypse.

Whether it be the misfortune she came across in her life, or the duty and obligation she bore for their so called ‘family,’ Number Eight will forever be trapped.

It was one thing to drag them out of the depths of their shared mind, but it was another to do the same for herself, for it was a matter of belief. And Number Eight never truly believed that she was capable of being saved (most especially, from herself.)

Nonetheless, the other eight members of the Umbrella Academy had tried to do so anyway.

(Unbeknownst to them, The Oracle can only hope they’ll continue to do so in the future.)

 

            Time passes like this, until a familiar voice breaks through the silence, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Eight?”

She knows that voice better than she knows herself, and so, a flicker of hope flutters in her chest, as she called back.

“Five?”

“Stand back.”

His words were but a whisper from the other side of the door. She feels like she’s underwater, unable to tell whether the muffled voices coming from the surface were real or a mere manifestation created by her imagination.

But it was waters like these that Number Five had always dragged her out of.

And just as she thinks so, she watches light envelop the room as the wooden door in front of her was hacked into pieces.

The boy stood at the other side of the door frame, the rest of their family behind him, as he held a Pulaski in his hands, relieved to catch sight of her.

She looks at him, bewildered.

Eight blinks dumbly, but speaks as if it was a normal day out of their extraordinary lives, “Where did you even get an ax?”

“Imagination, or shit... Our powers couldn’t break through the door, but apparently if you think hard enough you can conjure things,” he explained himself rather simply, waving the tool around and ultimately dropping it on the floor in favor of approaching her with free arms. 

“I know that… That’s how I opened the gates, but…” Eight muttered. It takes a beat before the notion registers.

Five’s eyes soften as they meet hers, fully aware that in spite of the likely futility, the maiden probably never even tried.

“Huh…” she releases a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, gazing towards the ground. “You’re right… I didn’t even think of that—” Because she’s only ever desperate to protect them. Who cares about what happens to her?

The line between the shit the universe had to offer and the self-inflicted misery she brought on herself was beginning to blur, and…

It’s scary sometimes —Five refused to admit out loud— how easily she loses sight of herself so long as they were around.

Because the more the mirror breaks, the more fragments there are to reflect every single one of them, and yet there are not enough to help her see herself.

And right at that moment, as the seconds passed with them standing in front of each other, acting as if nothing was amiss, Five wants nothing else but to take Eight in his arms… 

But Eliza manages to beat him to it.

“Eightie!”

“Oomph—”

 

            “For fuck’s sake,” he cursed under his breath as the younger twin slipped past him to tackle her sister in a tight embrace.

Eight let out a genuine laugh, choked up and yet full of affection, as she hugged her sister back and looked fondly at everyone else present in the room.

She reaches an arm out for him, and he decides to screw it anyway, allowing her to drag him into their embrace. He holds unto her just as tightly, despite the menace that attached herself to the maiden before he even had the chance too. 

To make matters worse, all of their siblings join in eventually, and it takes everything in Five not to groan in exasperation.

He can feel her chest reverberate from soft chuckles as they all squeeze together, to the point it becomes suffocating. Feeling them around him —their family finally complete— makes his chest constrict; makes him think it’s all worth it. Forty-five years stuck in that wasteland be damned, he’d do it all again for his wife, for their family.

But Five can only take so much sap, so in the next few seconds, he takes her hand in his to blink them away. He jumps a good amount of distance away from the others with Eight in tow, earning complaints and whines from the others.

“Booo!”

“Fiiive!”

“Don’t hog her!”

“So much for a group hug.”

“You always know how to ruin the moment.”

“Stop running away from your feelings and let us hug you, you big baby!”

Their groans interspersed with bouts of laughter, for it was during moments like these that despite their respective issues, despite how fucked up their family tended to become, they were all still equally precious to each other. They care, no matter how bad they were at showing it.

 

            “Let’s go home,” the corners of Eight's lips quirk up to form a smile as she squeezed his hand in assurance. And Five thinks that maybe for once, everything is alright.

But there's an intrusive thought blaring at the back of his mind, reminding him of the chilling sensation of the apocalypse.

Bad habits are hard to break.

She tells him she’s living for him nowadays —to be with them— but there’s a lingering doubt weighing on his mind, telling him it's only a matter of time.

He wonders if this was how she felt when she had once called him an Icarus. Wonders if this was what it was like for something not to go according to his plans.

With the way Number Eight fought even herself, with the way he had just caught a glimpse of the deeper truths behind her, there’s an unsettling feeling brewing in his gut as he fears the lengths she would go through for them.

Five knows that at this point, it's beyond obligation. 

 

            Number Five lives because it’s natural. It's only human to yearn for survival. He lives because he finds purpose and things to keep his life going. An impossible problem to keep solving. He lives because there was no reason not to, but also because if he doesn’t do what he’s capable of, no one else will.

Number Five lives for their family, that one constant that allowed him to make it through the apocalypse.

But Eight, he knows for sure, only knew how to die for them, because it’s the only thing she believes that she’s capable of doing.

She lives like a dead man walking, as if she would follow them to the depths of hell if something were to happen to them, as if she would die because they did. She holds onto them like a lifeline; so much so that it borderlines on obsession.

She lives only because they live.

So what then when they don’t?

⊹⊱ A HYPOTHESIS ⊰⊹
Number Eight doesn’t have what it takes to be a hero.

            She is, undoubtedly, a martyr; the girl will never fail to sacrifice herself for the people she loves. It has been proven time and time again, that Number Eight will not hesitate to throw her life no matter how many times it takes, no matter what the consequences. Even when she is constantly forced to play the role of survivor.

That same loss, however, is all it takes to shatter a person’s world. 

In the same way Achilles went mad after the demise of Patroclus, the girl will undoubtedly befall the same fate if such were to happen to her. The moment she loses her beloved, she is bound to lose her way. After all… 

It is oh-so-easy to cross the line between reckless and desperate.

A person who has nothing left to lose makes one that will do whatever it takes to get what they want. While some play god, others aren’t far from monsters; for there is no creature more desperate than one on the verge of loss.

(Then again, perhaps the same can be said for him.)

This is why Number Eight does not have what it takes to be a hero.

But that’s fine...

Because the tales of heroes always end in tragedies.

Number Eight will be damned if she let it end the same way for them.

 

Notes:

due to unfortunate circumstances (fuck you season four), i have roused from the dead and am continuing to write this fic again. ultimately, because of the disaster of a season we were given, i will not stand for how they ruined two of my favorite characters, and was motivated to write out of pure spite. i hope i can redeem five and lila in your eyes, because i genuinely do love them as individual characters, as evident in their relevance in this fic.

in case it isn't obvious, i also assure you that in this fic, five has eight, and lila will have diego. but i'd also like to emphasize the importance of familial and platonic relationships in this because romance isn't everything and i refuse to destroy characters just to slip a romantic interest in (fuck you fuck you fuck you season four). thus why, eight and lila's friendship will focus on their individual character growth (eight doing something for herself and lila finding her own family).

the terrible plot points of the season aside (it's dead to me smh), season 4 will be completely scrapped from my series because there are a lot of conflicts in the pre-existing world building i've done for my fanfics (ben's death for one). so sit back, relax, enjoy and feel free to delete that season from your minds.

that said, thank you so much for all those who waited, i know it's a long time coming, but i do hope you enjoyed the new chapter. welcome back, dear readers, and let me know what you think!

 

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 13: the treasure buried under the oak tree

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"we are still kids, but we're so in love, fighting against all odds. i know we'll be alright this time."
— perfect; ed sheeran

B-SIDE:

"picture book of people with each other to prove they love each other a long time ago."
— picture book; the kinks

2002-11-16
DAY 06 | 23:07

 

            THE HARGREEVES’ RETURN to reality was surprisingly (considering all the unfortunate events they somehow manifest and usually attract) uneventful. And yet, Number Eight dreaded it regardless.

Her siblings didn’t hold it against her just yet, nor did they bring it up. Which, considering the Umbrella Academy’s emotional constipation, was something Eight had appreciated for a change.

Only… they did eventually dig it up. 

And it just so happened to be the one time she caved in and decided to sit in during their (godawful) family “meetings.”

Number Five saw it coming.

It’s precisely why he knew better than to attend this one, even if it meant letting Eight fend for herself.

 

            Three hours and twenty-two minutes later, Number Eight marched into his room and threw herself on his bed while he continued his readings. The collection of books related to psychology and neuroscience that were piled beside the single-seater couch across the room nearly fell over as the girl slumped over his sheets.

“That was stupid.”

In a voice dripping with his usual brand of sarcasm, Five doesn’t bother looking up from the book he was reading as he spoke, “Oh? Support group didn’t work out for you? What a surprise.”

She’s tempted to wipe that smirk off his face by throwing the nearest object at her disposal.

As a good wife, she refrained.

 

            “Support group, my ass,” she snarled. “I came in there expecting they were going to argue about something stupid—”

Five continued skimming through the book as she ranted.

“—Like they usually do,” Eight doesn’t fail to add.

“And they didn’t?” He couldn’t resist the way the corners of his lips quirked up to form a sarcastic smile. “Miracles do happen.”

“No! For once in their lives, they actually came together and ganged up—”

“Hm?”

“—Against me!”

Five snorted, finally looking up to see her face, and finding amusement in her frustration, to which she’s not oblivious to.

“It was an intervention,” Eight groaned, voice a tad bit muffled by his pillows. “A completely unnecessary stupid intervention that you didn’t even attend!”

“In my defense,” Five dog-eared a page and put the book down, if only to give his full attention and bask in her misery. “I thought we unanimously agreed never to attend those family meetings. If anything, you brought this upon yourself.”

“Hey, don’t turn this around on me. You know that a combination of Vanya, Ben and Eliza is impossible to say no to,” the girl complained. “You could have come with me, but instead, you left me alone with the rest of the family. You definitely saw it coming, didn’t you, you traitor?”

He rolled his eyes at her dramatics.

“Ugh, the betrayal— And from my own husband too!”

“You see, they begged me not to attend,” the boy shrugged, feigning innocence and remaining insensitive to her woes. 

“Like that would stop you,” Eight countered, sitting up and crossing her arms. “You could have blinked your way in and teleported us out, but nooo—”

“I think you had it coming,” He smirked, completely unapologetic. “Serves you right for never listening to me.”

Eight actually chucked a pillow at him this time.

Unfortunately for her, Five catches it without sparing a beat.

 

            “Can you believe what they told me?” The eighth Hargreeves hissed, punching the mattress as she mimicked their voices. “I’m too stubborn, they said. Communication is your thing, how are you this bad at it? You should learn when to ask for help, Eightie. You haven’t changed since we were kids, have you learned nothing?” 

Five snorts again, trying his best to stifle a laugh as he spoke, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but our brain-dead siblings are absolutely right. You are stubborn.”

The girl gasped indignantly, narrowing her eyes at him, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He gave her a smug grin. “Yeah, but only when your side is right.”

“I am not stubborn!” She protested, despite knowing full well it’s a lie. “I’m observant, insightful, adaptable—”

“And stubborn, and reckless— And to top it all off, you know what you’re getting into, but you rush into it anyway,” Five finished for her, blinking towards her side, if only to emphasize his point. “If that’s not the epitome of stupidity, I don’t know what is.”

Eight rolled her eyes in spite of the intensity of his gaze, “I prefer calling it bravery.”

“Being brave isn’t synonymous to being stupid,” Five retorted snidely. “The word you're looking for is bullheaded, and by the way, it’s what gets you killed.”

She gasped accusingly, “I’m not bullheaded, I’m just headstrong!”

He stops just right in front of her, face close enough for her to watch the way the corners of his lips curled up to form a condescending grin. “It’s cute that you’re still trying to argue even when you know I’m always right.”

And damn it, she really wants to wipe that smug look off his face.

 

            “Always right?” Eight scowled, “Well, I know what to call you, mister. You are an insufferable smug little bastard.”

“Oh please, you love me even when I’m insufferable and smug,” Five pointed out, absolutely nonplussed by her insults.

The telepath exclaimed in exasperation, “Because you’re never not smug and insufferable. It’s your default setting!”

“And yet you married me anyway, what does that say about you?”

“It proves that I have terrible taste in men,” she gave him a dry look, sticking her tongue out childishly.

“And yet, you’ve been stuck with me for four decades and counting, so clearly, I must be doing something right,” Five taunts, pinning her down on the bed.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stubborn.”

She pulls the pillow from under her head to press it over his face. And he ends up wrestling it out of her hands, leading to the compromising position they find themselves in a moment later.

 

            Eventually, Number Eight ends up pressed on top of Five, whose arms were wrapped around her back in an attempt to restrain her, pulling her weight down with him as their legs dangled at the edge of the bed. Despite initially struggling and writhing in his grasp, she stops resisting, embracing the boy without making a peep.

Somehow, while wrapped in his arms, she settles.

But when the girl hugs him in silence for a couple seconds too long, Five eventually breaks the silence, suspicious of the sudden change in her demeanor.

“You did something, or you want something,” he states knowingly. It’s not even a question.

Eight doesn’t bother looking up, her face buried against his chest as she mumbled, “…Eliza told the others that you talked to her about how I died during our fight with the Commission.”

Five scowls at the breach of secrecy, cursing under his breath, “That nosy little—”

But then, she cuts him off by saying, “Klaus scolded me for dying in front of you.”

Ah.

Five took a sharp intake of breath as he tried to lighten the mood, despite how it was rather unlike him. “That’s new. Are we sure that’s Klaus you’re talking about?”

Klaus, the notorious little shit, scolding Eight, of all people? It was almost unthinkable.

“He remembered Dave…” Eight pauses, her voice trembles amidst her short intervals. “He reminded me of Ben and El… Said something about how it was easy to die, harder to be the one left behind… And how I should know that best.”

“He really needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut,” Five sighed, unconsciously holding her tighter. 

He can’t really blame his brother. Klaus had a pretty good point, for a change. And if the only way to stop her from being reckless was to remind her of how much they cared —how much they’ll suffer with her gone— then so be it.

“He’s right though. I know that much,” the girl murmured, sighing resignedly. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his; could notice the tremors in her breath. “I’m sorry, Five.”

The sincerity in her voice is undeniable, but it doesn't quell the doubt in his mind.

‘You better be,’ he wants to say. ‘One day, I might not be there to save you. One day, I might not even be able to… And what then, Eight?’

—But the words are stuck in his throat, in fear that voicing them out loud will bring them to life and that there will truly come a time when it happens.

He won’t jinx it. Even if he doesn’t believe in jinxes, he won’t dare take that risk.

 

            Five held her tighter, as if she’d disappear the moment he lets go. In a futile display of bravado, his voice was even as he spoke whilst gently carding a hand through her hair, “You already apologized before, remember?” 

“I know, but—”

It’s not the first time she apologized for pulling a stunt that almost got her killed. Unfortunately, he knows it also won’t be the last. 

Given the same choice in a similar circumstance, Number Eight wouldn’t hesitate at all. And Five isn’t stupid to deny the obvious.

It’s as inevitable as the way the sun rises each day, and that’s exactly why he chooses to propose a distraction instead, “Help me with my research, and we’ll call it even.”

The girl lifts her head to take a peek at his expression, as if doubting how serious he truly was. 

When Five doesn’t give any indication of uncertainty, she caves.

Eight frowns and heaves a deep breath, but eventually goes along with his whims, “I don’t know how that’s fair, but I guess it’s your call.”

He wonders if she realized that he never really cared whether it was fair, so long as it was her.

 

            “I finished another book, while you were getting scolded by our siblings,” Five tells her, relishing in the feeling of the weight of her head against his chest.

“You’re still reading those?” the girl raised an eyebrow, amused by the thought. “You hate them.”

“It’s not pragmatic enough, you said,” She mimicked the words he used to tell her when they were children, “Psychology is just a glorified discipline of philosophy. You don’t need to learn them to come up with bullshit theories.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her mockery though, in truth, he can’t exactly deny her words. He still thinks all those things because that’s exactly what it was; a pain in the ass.

“I still stand by what I said. It's a pseudoscience. It’s easy to refute, and there is rarely any concrete evidence to prove their claims. They’re just stupid journals written by hacks.”

“You always think you’re right, dear,” Eight said dryly, always one to refute his claims for the hell of it. “What if people are just inherently different from each other, and that’s why there’s always bound to be inconsistencies in psychological research? What if there were just minor mistakes in their methodologies that rendered their whole experiment wrong? No experience is ever the same, so I doubt people can truly quantify intangible concepts.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I still think their research is stupid,” Five flicks her forehead, but there’s no heat to his tone. “And also, I think you’re forgetting that I’m only doing this to understand your powers, you ungrateful shit.”

“Now, now, that’s no way to call your wife,” she tuts, snickering as she does so.

 

            The boy gently pats her back, and she gets off him to grab the book he was reading before he does. Without any prompting, she hands it to him and sits beside him by the edge of his bed, reminded of all the times he read to her when they were younger. This time, she lets herself lean against him, crossing the short distance that used to remain back when they were thirteen.

Eight leaned against his shoulder, lazily flipping through the pages of the book, and genuinely surprised he bothered to read it until the end, considering his stand on it. “Did you learn anything useful, at least?”

“I’ve come up with my own hypothesis, I guess,” Five turns to her.

“Okay,” she prompts him, because there was never a time when the boy stopped thinking, and there was never a time when she didn’t love hearing about his thoughts. “Hit me.”

“We already know that our powers mature in age and practice. But your ability is that of the mind, and therefore, your consciousness may have a greater influence on it than we both initially believed…” the fifth child trailed on. “You have the consciousness of a 58-year-old. Your power has been growing as we speak, but we keep getting stuck in our younger bodies, so your brain activity isn’t regressing."

Eight recognizes what he’s trying to say, “That means…”

Five nods. “Time travel must have messed with your mind when we jumped to 2019, but you finally adjusted the second time we time-travelled through my wormholes, and it’s safe to say that… Your power is at its prime.”

The girl turns to face him, listening attentively. She can already tell that there are a hundred things running through his mind. Number Five had always been a quick-thinker. And she knows he’ll stop at nothing; from time travel to averting the apocalypse, the boy had always exhausted all means he could to understand, to learn, and to solve.

As much as she hated the fact that he had the tendency to get lost in his ambition, it’s the impossible problems that always kept him going. And a part of her can’t help but find amusement that he’s thought this much just trying to understand how her powers worked.

 

            “Dostoyevsky said something about how to know more one must feel less, and vice versa. It makes sense; emotions are things we can’t rationalize by mere thought, and thoughts trigger emotions,” Five continued. “Thus, it can be said that telepathy and empathy are almost correlated. Together, you get the ability to understand the entire essence of a person and share their sensations… And in the old man’s eyes, that means Numbers Eight and Nine are a package deal.”

“I get it,” she hums, recalling the numerous readings Reginald Hargreeves used to give her. “In philosophy, they also talked about how four core things make up a person; Mind, Heart, Body and Soul. The old man drilled it into us when El and I were kids. The Heart and the Body is Eliza’s domain, and therefore…”

“The Mind and the Soul are yours,” the boy finished for her. “The consciousness and the subconscious.”

He remembers the metaphor she used to explain her powers, and went on, “You talked about how you use keys to unlock different areas of the mind, but have you considered that you yourself could be one? Your ability to transgress minds and connect them means that, in essence, you also have the power to open doors of your own—”

Eight stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you calling me a key?”

“I think you’re as capable as locking those metaphorical doors as you are with unlocking them,” Five says, grimacing at his own words because he’s never been fond of using metaphors. “The mind is your domain, and it’s almost impossible to quantify. We don’t know the extent of your powers. Pain inducement happens when you get a hold of their mind and exert pressure, leading to paralysis—”

“But it doesn’t work the same way with how Eliza induces pain,” she hums in agreement. “I kinda get what you’re trying to say.”

“Anyways, the point is… They’re all interconnected,” the boy continued. “Dad talked about it in his journals, but they were all just theories. I don’t think he ever anticipated that alternate reality you two manage to conjure when you managed to synchronize with each other.”

“He used to look into something he calls a telepathic bond,” she informs him. “It’s a phenomenon where complete access to the mind is achieved. He told me something like, ‘One must be just as willing to reveal themselves when one strives to understand the other. A mirror is but a reflection, and what is there to see if one will not face it?’”

“He’s just as cryptic as fucking usual. You already communicate mind to mind,” Five deadpanned. “What else is there?”

She shrugged. “The difference is complete access, I think. Like how our unconscious minds got meld together.”

“Like I said, cryptic,” The boy makes a sound of recognition, tucking her head under his chin. “He could’ve given us an easier time if he just told us what he knew, rather than spouting some bullshit about going into the ice and reappearing as an acorn.”

Eight chuckled mirthlessly, “Still holding that against him, huh?”

“You do too.”

“Oh, I hold a lot of things against him,” she pointed out as if it were better. “His words were just the tip of the iceberg.”

He takes her hand in his as they bask in their trauma, intertwining their fingers as if she would ground him before his thoughts wander to the time he landed in the apocalypse.

 

            “That reminds me,” Eight chimed in, squeezing his hand for a moment. “I’ve been going through the old man’s notes. I don’t think it’s all there is to it…”

“It’s incomplete?” Five asked, only partially interested in what their father had to offer.

“Mhm… This one is just about exploring our powers, but there’s a list of weaknesses he’s been taking note of for when we go berserk. I think he’s also been trying to contain it, just in case we somehow end the world.”

“And look at where that got him,” Five sneered. After a beat, he considers the idea, “Next time, we really should explore more of our powers. There's a lot of untapped potential if we use it right.”

“Next time,” she echoed his words in agreement, only to realize that she had tried doing that since they arrived.

“Actually, Five… Before it happened, I’ve also been taking the stimulants he used to ad—” Eight tried to confess, having forgotten to tell him that minor detail. But unfortunately, a knock on the door interrupts them. 

 

            From across Five’s room, Klaus grins widely at the sight of the two sitting on the edge of the bed beside each other. “Aw, you two are adorable,” he gushed, “Your feet can’t even touch the ground.” 

Five gives Klaus a scathing glare. 

Eight rolls her eyes and turns to the boy beside her, “Five, would you be a dear and—”

Before she even finishes his sentence, he swings a pillow at his brother’s direction, effectively hitting him square in the face. 

Klaus protests, but Five said callously, “Next time, it’ll be a rock.”

“Thank you,” Eight singsongs.

“I didn’t even do anything!” the fourth child sputters.

Five retorts, looking at him dubiously, “You were going to.”

Eight tried to hold back a laugh for Klaus’ sake.

 

            “We were just going to invite Eight for a sleepover in my room,” Allison rolls her eyes, snorting at her brothers’ antics. No matter how old they were, Klaus was still a little shit and Five was still an absolute prick.

“A sleepover?” Eight chimed in with a lilt in her tone. She remembers the way Eliza or Allison often invited her to such things, Klaus being their usual party crasher (or special guest, as he often claimed).

“Yeah, like we used to do when we were younger,” Allison reminds her.

Five interrupts, “You do realize you’re full-grown adults.”

“Stuck in our teenage bodies,” Eliza smiles beside the girl. “Plus, Klaus is demanding I paint his nails.”

“So long as Allison doesn’t do yours, I think you’ll have a good time. It's our typical dress up extravaganza,” the Seance snickered.

“Hey!”

 

            “What about the others?” Eight can’t help but ask, turning to Five with mischief in her eyes as if telling him to bond with their siblings too.

The boy in question ignores her, but Klaus makes himself comfortable on the couch as he went on, “Benerino, Luther and Diego are watching some boring nerdy space movie. Roped Vanya into it too. They’re having a marathon, so we’re doing something fun of our own.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll join your sleepover,” Eight grins, leaving his side to walk towards her twin sister.

Five groans, mourning the loss of contact, “You’re not actually thinking of going, are you?”

“Oh my god, we’re just downstairs, Five,” Eliza groaned exasperatedly. “You have got to learn how to share.”

“Yeah, right. Five has always been bad at sharing. Remember when he threatened us with a fork that time when Luther ate his marshmallows?” Klaus smirked, eliciting laughter from the girls.

“Oh, shut up,” the boy in question scowled at the two, irritation evident in the crease between his eyebrows. “I’m perfectly acquainted with the art of sharing.”

Eight coughs. “Yeah, right.”

“They have a good point,” Allison chided him before he had the chance to make a quip. She links her arms with Eight to prevent her from escaping, and it irks Five a little more if not for her next words. “You guys have a lifetime to spend together, give us this one night, will you?”

Five looks like he was about to protest, but Eight escapes Allison’s grasp to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll sneak out when they’re asleep.”

“This is because I let you go to their intervention on your own, isn’t it?” he murmured surly when her face was only an inch away.

“Hmm, maybe… You know me, I tend to hold grudges,” Eight gives him another cheeky grin, and he was almost certain then that it was because of that. “You could watch their dorky movie if you’re too lonely by yourself.”

“Hell no,” Five huffed, holding onto her wrist. “And you’re not actually thinking of sleeping in Allison’s room, are you? We have a perfectly functional bed right here.”

The telepath chuckles, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. I’ll still sleep here tonight.”

“Fine,” the boy released her begrudgingly, rolling his eyes as a sign of protest. “Go on. Tuck the children in, why don't you?”

---

2002-11-17
DAY 07 | 10:29

 

            THE OAK TREE IN THE COURTYARD still has the same old set of names she had once carved on them, each victim she still remembered, each death she witnessed and each citizen they failed to save as heroes. And yet, all of them, with the exception of Ben and Eliza, she had finally grown numb to; grown to accept that being a hero was something she could never truly achieve. Even more so, having stained her hands with red and having led almost as many people to their deaths.

‘It’s fine,’ she tells herself at this point, running a hand across the trunk of the tree, basking in the fact that the sixth nor ninth child’s name has yet to be engraved on the bark. 

So long as she would never have to write their family’s names on this tree, she could live with the weight of the sin of sacrificing anyone in the world for them.

 

            “Eight?” The second Hargreeves snaps her out of her thoughts, eyebrows furrowed as if he could read her thoughts. It was his knife, after all, that she used to inscribe the names on the oak tree.

The girl smiles wryly, knowing that despite Diego’s crassness, he had always been a softie underneath. He’s a good brother. No matter how much grief they gave him.

She looks at him and plays oblivious, and he huffs, and motions for her to take a step back. 

“You’re in the way,” the boy says, but the worry in his eyes betrays him. 

Even Five wasn’t this overprotective, Eight wants to say, but Luther clears his throat to chide him, “Saying ‘excuse me’ is a thing, you know.”

Diego flipped him off and stabbed the shovel on the ground, as he and Luther began to dig near the ground she had been standing in.

 

            “Are you sure you’re digging at the right spot?” Allison says for the nth time in those thirty minutes they had spent outside in search of a mundane metal box that contained more than what meets the eye. 

Klaus snickers beside Ben and Eliza, “Imagine if they’re not. We’ll be digging holes around the courtyard for days.”

“We?” Diego grumbles, pointing to him and Luther. “Last I’ve heard, I only see two shovels in use.”

Five scoffs in derision, “We might as well put your lack of a brain into good use.”

“Oi!”

“Hey!”

"Behave," Eight chided him as she made her way back beside him. He snakes an arm around her waist, despite rolling his eyes at her admonishment.

“I’m surprised someone even remembered we even hid a time capsule in the courtyard,” Ben brought up. 

“Yeah!” Eliza grinned, turning to their sister. “Good thinking, Vee.”

Vanya returned the smile with a sheepish one. “From what I recall we were supposed to open it ten years from now.”

But we didn’t, goes unsaid. 

Too many grievances, too many reasons why they turned estranged and chose never to return to this stupid house. And yet here they were, thirteen and lingering in their courtyard all over again.

 

            “Man,” Eight sighed, watching as Diego and Luther started digging a sizable enough hole, throwing dirt over their shoulders and wiping the sweat off their foreheads. “If I remembered that we had a time capsule, I would have dug it up when we were stuck in the apocalypse.”

“And collected us even more useless trinkets?” Five huffed, thinking back to all the stuff she used to scavenge and the things she created with what he would’ve considered junk.

“You say that, but everyone placed something inside the capsule,” Eliza mused, as if to argue that despite calling them 'useless,' Five still participated nonetheless.

“Does anyone even remember what they placed, though?” Ben turned to the others.

“Nope.”

“Not a clue.”

“Same.”

“Gotta see it to remember, you know?”

“I know what I put, but I never actually saw it, so it’ll be as much of a surprise to me,” Eight muttered. Despite being known as the memory-keeper of their family, the telepath always found unorthodox ways to keep herself at a disadvantage. She was always inclusive like that.

Five always thought it was ridiculous. All the more reason why he looked at her incredulously. “Only you could make that possible.”

She smiled cheekily at him as if to say, ‘You’ll see.’

Klaus snickered, “If I put one of Dad’s expensive liquors, I’m officially a genius.”

“There’d be no point in safe-keeping, though, since we’re digging it out after just, what, one year?” Allison deadpanned.

“I’m more surprised someone as cynical as you took part in something sentimental like this,” Eight turned to Five with a smirk. “What did you put in?”

“The hell would I know,” he scoffed. “It’s been four decades. I, for one, can’t believe you managed to rope me into this stupid thing.”

Eliza says knowingly, “Like you could say no to Eightie.”

“Shut up, you.”

Ben chuckled, aware that Five couldn’t refute that.

“I should’ve made you dig with those two if I knew you were going to be this grumpy,” Eight teased.

“And I would’ve blinked out of here the moment I stepped foot in the courtyard,” Five retorted.

 

            “This better be worth it… Making me dig for a pile of junk… Waste of my time,” Diego complained, sticking the shovel into the soil with a lot more force than necessary, glaring at the way the other seven were simply chatting behind them.

“I think it could be worth it,” Luther smiled at the thought of the contents in that metal box. No matter how simple or impractical their so-called ‘treasures’ were, what he’d give for them to be twelve and do this all over again. It was kind of nice, everyone together, doing something as stupid and simple as a time capsule.

“I think you should dig faster,” the other boy snarked back, earning a smack in the back of the head from Allison before he shoveled another pile of dirt out of the hole.

“Shut up and keep digging. You're just wasting your energy yapping,” Allison huffed, placing her hands on her hips as she observed how far there is left.

Diego grumbled irritably but continued regardless.

Vanya looked at them with a dry expression, “Less than an hour, and we’re already fighting.”

Ben shrugged, “For what it’s worth, one hour is a new track record.”

Five turns to Eight as if to prove a point, as if to tell her about how insufferable their siblings were and how absolutely pointless this whole ordeal was.

She shoves his shoulder.

At the same time, Klaus and Eliza cheered, interrupting them before they started bickering.

“Eyyy!”

“We got something!”

 

            The sound of the shovel coming into contact with the hollow tin, makes Allison snarl at her brothers, “Well, don’t break it, you idiots.”

Luther smiled wryly, and Diego just let out another groan as he crouched down to reach out for the tin container buried underground.

He pulls it out as they all gathered under the gazebo, sitting on the ground as they watched him dust the lid off.

“Okay, okay, what junk do we have here?” 

“I hope someone added something stupid and embarrassing,” Klaus grinned, leaning against the balls of his feet in excitement.

The third child shook her head in both fondness and exasperation. “Of course, you’d say that.”

“Open it, open it, open it,” Eliza chanted from beside him, moving closer to get a better view of the box’s contents.

 

            As their leader, Luther did the honors, opening the large tin box and reaching out for the first object he could reach.

“Okay, okay, let’s see… I have what seems to be a book,” Luther trailed on, weighing the item in his hand before tearing off the old newspaper wrapping, and revealing a leather-bound notebook. “It’s a journal.”

“Who owns it?” Vanya asks.

Luther checks the writing on the wrapper, though his statement sounded more like a question, “Ben, this one’s yours?”

The sixth child furrows his eyebrows, trying to recall whether it truly was his. “I don’t remember putting anything like this in the time capsule.”

Number Eight, seems to have beaten him to it.

“Oh my god,” the girl gasped and turned to Klaus excitedly as if he would know what she was thinking.

Five raised an eyebrow, “You recognize it?”

Seeing the glint of mischief in Eight’s eyes and the growing smile on Klaus’ face, Ben pales in realization. “Shit, I forgot I put that in there.”

There’s a mix of confusion and curiosity among the rest of the members, but the fourth child easily brings them up to speed.

“It’s the journal you wrote poems in! The ones for Elizzie!” Klaus cheered, cackling like a madman.

“No way,” Diego laughed incredulously.

Allison gushed, “That’s adorable, Ben.”

“No, not adorable—” the sixth child protested, absolutely mortified that the entire family was no longer privy to the embarrassing things his teenage self did.

Klaus himself was having the time of his life, chanting, “Read one. Read one.”

Ben was about to make him sorry for that one, “Klaus, I'm going to kill you—”

But Eliza cuts him off, when it finally sunk in, gasping in awe of the revelation, “You wrote me poems?”

It wasn’t like they were still oblivious to their feelings. They’ve already confessed back when they were ghosts, and have accepted that nothing can come out of it. This time around, while stuck in that alternate reality, they have finally gotten together.

But it was one thing knowing, and it was a whole other thing having tangible proof from when they were just children.

“I- uh—” Ben stammers, face set aflame by sheer mortification.

“Yes!” Klaus answers for him in a way that was entirely too ecstatic as if he had won the lottery. The boy even goes as far as to snatch the notebook from Luther as he snickered, “And they were so bad—”

“I was twelve!” the alleged poet defended.

Five, who snuck a peek from Klaus' shoulder, teased as he quoted his brother’s work, “Sun of my sky? What’s next, light of my world?”

“It’s somewhat endearing,” Vanya remarked in an attempt to comfort Ben.

Nevertheless, the boy groaned, grabbing it from Klaus and snapping it shut. “They were never supposed to see the light of day! They belong where we got them. Six feet under the ground.”

“Three feet,” Eight corrected, biting her lip as she tried to stifle her laugh. “And c’mon. It’s been way too long. Share it with the class, Number Six.”

Ben seethed, “No way. I am going to burn this—”

“Nooo!” 

To his surprise, Eliza protested and took the journal from him, holding it close to her chest. “You wrote them for me. Therefore, they’re mine and I deserve to see them.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to read them, Liz—” he says, though it almost sounds like a plea.

The empath ignored him completely, and evaded every attempt he made to take the notebook back, even if it meant having to chase her around the courtyard.

“Alright, fine,” Ben heaved an exasperated sigh, fully aware that he will always be weak against Eliza. Knowing better than to take it from her, he turns to everyone else and almost desperately asks, “Can we just move on, please?”

 

            “Okay, okay,” Vanya snorts, pulling the time capsule near her to draw another item. “Next up, we have what seems to be a doll.”

The moment their seventh member unwraps it, she drops it on the pavement, and all of them stare at the monstrosity with surprise and disbelief.

“Holy shit,” Allison gasps just as Diego cursed under his breath, “What the fuck?”

Five turns to everyone else, “Who the hell put a voodoo doll inside the time capsule?”

Though Eight is the one who asks the question worth asking, “Better yet, which one of us is it for?”

Silence engulfs them all.

“There’s no name on the wrapper,” Vanya mumbled, turning it inside out to serve as evidence.

It’s only after she speaks, that Klaus chimed in, gasping in revelation and laughing in amusement, “Oh yeah! That one’s mine.”

Luther turns to him, “What the hell, Klaus?”

“What?” Klaus defended, chirping as he declared, “It was for dear old Dad.”

The other six were shaking their heads in a mix of amusement and exasperation.

But the other two was more than immune to their brother’s shenanigans.

Eliza looks up from Ben’s journal and shrugs nonchalantly, “I mean… It’s Klaus? Can’t say I expected less.”

Ben snorts in agreement, “This shit doesn’t surprise me anymore.”

“It was the best place to keep it! If it actually worked, he’d never be able to get rid of it,” Klaus explained himself to the rest of them.

Eight sighs, “Sweetie, that’s not…”

Five agreed, “I will never be able to comprehend that mind of yours."

“I even stuck nine pins to represent each one of us! Obviously, mine is the one with the pink head.”

And so they continued to rifle through —as Diego so kindly put it— their time capsule full of junk.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Unlike every other Hargreeves reunion, their chaos doesn’t evolve into some kind of havoc, and they’ve actually managed to get along with each other (minus a couple snide remarks and a shit ton of teasing here and there). They continued rummaging their little time capsule, making a game out of each item and unwrapping them like some kind of guessing game.

Ben and Klaus’ trinkets aside, they got to see the rest of the things they put.

There was Luther’s old VHS tape which contained a recording of their first mission that they promised to watch tonight. There was the cross-stitch Mom made for Diego that everyone else teased him about because it was indisputable proof that their brother was truly a Momma’s boy. There was Vanya’s old sheet music of the song Klaus had asked her to learn, the same song the twins deemed as their favorite. And finally, there was Allison’s old locket, and the first magazine that featured three of the Umbrella Academy girls, inclusive of a quiz that Eliza and Eight loathed with passion and had Diego and Klaus laughing their asses off.

By the time there were only three items left, and most of them were all sentimental and basking in their nostalgia, to the point in which, Five would gladly declare that this was the most amiable he’s seen his siblings yet.

(Maybe in a perfect world, this actually would have been the norm.)

 

            “Okay, I got it…” Ben picks an item from the box, and unwraps the smallest one yet. “Next, we have a… A key?”

The rest of the members look skeptical, debating on whether it was Five’s, Eight’s or Eliza’s. The first two just so happened to be silent; Eight, not for a lack of trying.

The girl stares at the object in her brother’s hand, surprised to have even seen it in there. She knows there was only one person who could have put it in there, and knows that he was thoroughly amused by her reaction.

“That’s mine.” Five spoke up the moment he met her eyes, and before the other’s got to share their guesses.

Luther looked at him dubiously, “You put a key?”

“What’s it for?” Vanya inquired, knowing Five’s tendency to be cryptic.

Eight just so happened to answer it for him, “...It’s the spare key to my secret hideout.”

Five snorted in amusement as Eight buried her head against his shoulder, hugging him from behind.

She lifts her head to take a peek and glare at him, “No wonder you never used the damn door, you prick.”

“To be fair, you never explicitly asked me to use the door,” he smirked, unrepentant. 

“I shouldn’t have had to. It’s common sense.”

“My point still stands.”

Eight shook her head, but the fondness is still evident in the way her eyes softened as she took the key into her hand. “I can’t believe you kept it all this time.”

The boy shrugged nonchalantly, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around him. “I didn’t need a key, what better place to put it for safekeeping?”

“See!” Klaus interrupted the old couple, trying to prove his point.

Luther spoke dryly, “A voodoo doll is different from a key.”

“Well, knowing Five, he’d just blink in and out. He doesn’t need a key…” Vanya said, turning to her brother. “Though I thought you would’ve put something practical like money.”

“Right?” Eight nodded her head. “Or something that would increase in value over the years.”

“And yet he kept a key to a closet,” Eliza grinned.

Ben rubbed it in, “Can’t believe Five was sentimental enough to have kept it.”

“Must be pretty important, huh?” Allison mused.

“And they call me the dork,” Diego grinned.

“You are a dork.” Five retorted and shot them all a glare, “And the rest of you, shut it and let’s get this over with.”

 

            Allison chuckled, picking one of the two remaining items in the box. “Fine. Next we have this envelope.”

“Whose is left?” Luther queried. “Eight and Eliza’s right?”

The twins nodded in unison.

“I’m going to say it's Eight’s,” Ben decides. “Mostly because it’s the more inconspicuous object between the last two things we have left.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes playfully, “How sure are you?”

“90% certain,” Ben huffed. “You’re always so extra.”

“Klaus is more extra than I am,” she gasped, affronted.

Their brother grinned, taking it as a compliment. “Why thank you.”

“It could be El’s drawings or something,” Diego shrugged. “Just open it up.”

“No, he’s right,” Eight raised her hand. “That one’s mine.”

Allison hands the envelope to Five to pass it on to Eight. 

Though, he does no such thing and opens it himself.

“Did you write yourself a letter?” Vanya wondered out loud as Five pulled out the contents of the envelope.

“No—” Eight began to explain, only to be interrupted by him. “She would’ve only beaten herself up if she dared to.”

The girl rolls her eyes at him, nudging his side as she explains to the group. “They’re pictures of our first mission. Remember when we ate at Griddy’s afterward?”

“Pictures!” Allison gushed, trying to scooch closer to see them.

“I stuffed them in there as soon as I got the photos in my disposable camera developed, so I don’t know what they look like either,” Eight smiled, watching as they took the photographs and passed it around among their circle.

 

            The photos Eight kept were a curated collection of 27 candid images, mostly of individual moments and a couple of group shots. There was one of them eating donuts while they puked, some of them taken while they were dancing. There was one of Luther’s weird moves; one with Diego feeling the music when he thought no one was looking; one of Allison and Klaus’ showdown; Ben choking on his donut; Vanya laughing as she ate; Eliza messing with the jukebox; and Eight’s personal favorite: a grumpy Number Five stuck in their booth, grimacing as he sipped his black coffee.

A smile graces Eight’s face as she holds the last one in her hand, reminded of all the moments Five stubbornly insisted to act ahead of his age, in a rush to grow up. 

And yet here they were now, stuck in their teenage bodies again and again.

 

            “What are you smiling at?” Five returned to his place beside her, having seen the rest of the photographs. 

Eight being Eight, she waited for them to go through it before looking at them herself. As the one who took them the girl was also barely in any of them, all the more reason why he wasn’t as invested as the rest.

Seeing her, smiling to herself and sitting on the other end of the gazebo, while the rest were huddled and fighting over their turn to look through the photos, reminds Five of the past. Of little Number Eight, purposely driving people away, keeping to herself despite how much she actually loved them.

“You look adorable in this picture. It’s my favorite,” Eight snickered, leaning against the boy as she showed him the one photo she salvaged from the clutches of their siblings.

He scoffs in derision, but doesn’t dare push her off his shoulder.

 

            “Eightie, I love this picture of you!” Eliza interrupts the tranquility shared between the couple, as she beamed, holding the photograph of Eight candidly smiling among the rest of their family. “Who took it?”

“I thought I only took pictures of everyone else,” Eight furrows her eyebrows in confusion and reaches out for the photo her twin sister was waving around. “Let me see that—”

It's a photograph taken with afternoon sun slipping past the windows of the diner, highlighting her features as she laughed at something stupid their brothers did.

When she holds it in her hand, she blinks twice, declaring with absolute certainty. “I didn’t take this photo.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t have taken it myself,” Eight flipped it around, as if there’d be answers on the back of the image. “I shouldn’t even have pictures of myself in any of those.”

But aside from that there’s another picture of her with their family, which Allison passed to her to prove Eliza’s point.

Five stiffens from beside her, and Eight gives him a knowing glance— A gesture which didn’t go unnoticed by Klaus.

“Aha!” the fourth child exclaims, like he caught his brother red-headed.

Five tries to play it off nonchalantly by stating bluntly, “It’s just a photo.”

“A very telling photo,” Ben argued with a cheeky grin, as if making up for the way he was teased not too long ago.

“I wasn’t the one who wrote cringey poetry or gave some sappy locket that had their initials engraved,” Five spat back, earning protests from two of his brothers.

“I forget how mean you could get,” the sixth child sighed.

Five only smirked while Luther also attempted to defend himself. 

“And some people at that age would think jewelry is actually pretty sophisticated.”

“It’s really not.”

“Wouldn’t expect less from the guy who refused to wear wedding rings. It’s a wonder Eight said yes,” Allison slipped in a snarky retort, smiling smugly as she spoke.

Eight chuckled as she linked her arms with Five’s, mocking him along with the others, “Now that I think about it, she has a good point about the rings—”

“Don’t you start.” Five glared at her, though she knew him well enough to know it lacked any malice.

“The point is… It’s definitely not just a photo,” Klaus cleared his throat to catch everyone else’s attention. “It’s irrefutable proof that a cold-hearted bastard like you actually has a heart.”

"Exactly," Diego agreed, refusing to miss the rare opportunity to mess with Number Five, “Whoever took it must be incredibly focused on someone to have been able to take it. Did someone have a little crush?”

Eliza snorts, trying to hold back a laugh, because no one knows just how much Five cared about Eight more than the empath herself.

“You’re all impossible to deal with,” Five snarled in response to their teasing.

 

            “Okay, okay,” Eight squeezed his arm, trying to avert the subject before the boy blew a fuse. She took the last item in the large box, and announced, “Last but not least, we have Eliza’s.”

The girl unwrapped it to reveal a plush of a fox made of scrap uniform fabrics, much like the one she kept in her own room.

“A stuffed animal?” Vanya noted turning to Eliza to await her explanation.

Allison recognizes the object not long after, “I remember that.”

“It’s the one Mom made us when El and I started at the academy," Eight nods, smiling wryly as she looked at her twin, "I’ve always wondered where yours went."

“Wait. I think I also put something inside,” the ninth child crawled over to her sister, to take her stuffed toy back. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she pulls at the seams, and takes out a bundle of folded papers from the torn hem of the old plush.

“Those are…” Luther trailed on.

“Letters,” Eliza finished his sentence and beams. “I wrote one for everyone!”

Her announcent causes everyone to stare at her in awe, because this was just so typical of their Number Nine. And sometimes, they forget how big of a heart the girl always had.

Leave it to the empath to drown them in affection, declare how much she loves them without a hint of regret or embarrassment.

Klaus groans, shaking his head fondly as the girl distributes it to each and every one of them. “You’re going to make me cry, aren’t you?”

The ninth child just grins in response, always so bright and blinding. “Go on. Read it.”

 

            Eight took the piece of paper and held it with trembling fingers. Despite knowing better, that her twin sister would never speak ill of her, there was the weight of dread building up in her gut. 

The eighth Hargreeves was never attuned to being vulnerable in front of them. She glances at the others, who were immersed in their own letters, biding time before she read her own.

Without a glance or a word, Five squeezes her hand in assurance, as if he knew how likely she was already being consumed by her mind.

She takes a deep breath and gives him a wry smile, grateful for the simple gesture.

And finally, she unfolds the letter written by her dear sister.

Dear Future Eightie,

            I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to tell you… But once, you told me about how unfair it is that we were tasked to save the world when there’s no one there to save us.

Well, it made me think. 

You’ve always been my hero, Sis. 

Knowing you, you’d probably think I’m just saying that. But really, I’ve never been so glad that we're twins. That I was blessed with a sister like you, and that I had someone like you from the get-go.

I don’t think I’ll ever be who I am now without you and I hope someday I can save you the same way you saved me. 

Ten years from now, by the time you’re reading this, I hope you’re well aware that I love you so so much! (Seriously. If you don’t know, then I’m doing a terrible job showing you how much I love you.)

Your other half,

El

P.S. It’s okay to cry sometimes, okay? I’ll always be here if you need a shoulder to lean on.

 

            Eight’s breath hitched as she went through the letter, reading each and every word. The letters were faded, and it was written in a large cursive script that reminiscent of her sister’s penmanship when they were children. But even from that young age, her twin sister —who lost her life when they were just seventeen; who they never would have thought wouldn't live to see the light of day ten years from now— wrote something so endearing and yet so very much like her; that Eight finds herself grateful that she wasn't able to read this until now. It would be double the heartache to read such six years after her sister's death, on the supposed day they were scheduled to dig out the old time capsule. And just maybe, she thinks, the universe had funny ways of showing mercy sometimes.

Her lips quivered as she stared at the paper, but she was snapped out of her thoughts when Klaus made an incoherent noise.

“I told you, you were going to make me cry,” He grumbled, trying to make light of the situation as he joked despite the tears he was brushing away. “You’re a terrible sister.” 

Eight looked up to see the rest of their siblings, trying to hold their tears back. Five aside, not everyone was able to hold back how they felt upon reading their respective letters.

“Damn it, Eliza,” Diego cursed under his breath, feigning anger to deflect the vulnerability.

“God, I wish I heard this years ago…” Vanya chuckled mirthlessly, giving the younger twin a small smile. “The whole apocalypse dilemma could have been averted.”

Luther was hiding his face in a futile attempt to hide the fact he was crying. “Eliza, you…”

Allison was wiping away the tears that formed from the corner of her eyes.

Five was shaking his head fondly.

But it was Ben, who was at a complete loss for words. The boy was trembling as he cried, shielding his eyes as he took a sharp intake of breath.

“You- You told me you love me…” he manages to say. His voice was hoarse and full of emotion.

Eliza smiled warmly, wrapping her arms around him as she let out a soft chuckle. “You already knew that.”

“Yeah… Yeah, but…” Ben protested, struggling with words. “You wrote this when we were twelve. And— Damn it, Liz.”

 

            “You okay?” Five nudged Eight, pulling her back to reality and squeezing her hand tighter as if to prove how well he knew her— how well he knew that she was feeling incredibly fragile.

Her eyes burn from unshed tears, but she won’t cry. She can’t, so long as there were people around her. Though, later that night, the chances of her re-reading her sister’s letter and silently weeping were almost guaranteed.

Eight nods in response to his question, not daring to speak because she knows her composure would break, and everything she was trying to contain would inevitably unravel.

Five snorts knowingly, releasing her from his grasp.

And the moment he does so, Eight slowly moved closer to the other two, pulling Ben away to steal the place in her sister’s arms.

Eliza, though surprised, laughed as she hugged her twin back.

“I love you so much,” Eight whispers, because it’s been so long since she told her other half, and maybe— just maybe, her sister doesn’t know how much she genuinely cared for her. Sometimes, it's easy to forget to put it into words.

But Eliza smiles, feeling the warmth radiating in her sister’s chest and the way she mirrored it in her own. 

“I know," she pats the older twin's back. "I love you too, Sis."

Notes:

happy umbrella day!

this kinda wrote itself and spiraled out of control, and thus the word count. on the bright side, we're nearing the end of act 1 (two more chapters i swear), i just wanted to wrap some more loose ends. for now, i present to you a lot of fluff for the road hehe.

 

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 14: the promise of a lifetime

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"could i have this dance for the rest of my life?"
— could i have this dance; anne murray (frankie mcbride)

B-SIDE:

"you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life"
— dancing queen; abba

            NUMBER EIGHT LOVES like it’s a matter of life and death. In exchange for his life, she will always risk her own in spite of the latter; and he knows that for a fact. Knows that in the same way he knows that the sky is blue, that grass is green, and that time travel is a crapshoot.

She loves like she has nothing left to lose because that’s precisely what it was— They’re all she had left; all she has to live for. And thus, when their safety is being threatened, she will always be driven to the point of desperation.

When Number Five woke up, narrowly escaping death’s door at the age of 54, it was no different.

 

            He laid almost unmoving in the infirmary of the Temps Commission, slightly lucid under the effects of analgesics, but was able to make out the sound of the people in the room.

“He’s fine,” said the familiar voice of a man.

“Fine?” Another person hissed in a tone both weary and furious that he recognized as Eight’s. “He almost died, Shon. So help me, if you’re lying to my face, I am going to have you look into the barrel of a loaded gun and pull the trigger—”

“And I’m telling you, E,” the Oracle cut her off. Five almost commends him for having the guts to even talk back to the woman, but maybe the seer was only able to because he can ensure a future in which she doesn’t try to kill him. “He’ll live. Gunshot wounds have a 70% chance of survival. You heard the doctor.”

“And what about the other 30%?” she spat. “I am not going to just sit here while the love of my life is on his deathbed. You can shove all that medical statistics nonsense up your ass and give me actual answers—”

On any other day, Five would barely react to her words with anything other than a smirk, but hearing the way she referred to him as ‘the love of her life,’ stirred something inside him. 

He knows it, of course. They’ve been together for decades, and he’s not a dense fool. But hearing it from her lips —the intimacy of their relationship put into words— it almost sends him reeling.

(Or maybe it’s just the drugs, he’d like to argue.)

“You two are the same, you know that?” Nahshon let out a sigh of exasperation, counting the minutes as he glanced at his watch, “Number Five is supposed to wake up in a couple seconds, give or take. I’ve already used my powers, but I’m not omniscient. Read my mind if you need to.”

 

            Just when he believes that the woman has already snapped, ready to throttle this man, Five opened his eyes.

(It’s a shame, really. Nahshon could really use being knocked down by a peg or two— is what Five would like to believe.)

But the analyst wasn’t lying this time, at least.

“E-Eight,” he managed to croak out, throat hoarse and voice raspy.

“See?” the Oracle smiles knowingly. 

And once Eight finally released him from the tight grip she had on his collar, he left the old couple to their own devices.

 

            “Five,” she breathed out and immediately ran to his side to hold his hand and sit by the edge of the bed.

Maybe it was due to old age; like the way the roots of her hair had turned silver, or the way her bones ached and her skin sagged. Maybe losing control over one’s emotions was a side effect of aging too; or a sign that her mental state was finally declining. But for whatever reason, the moment Five squeezes her hand back in assurance, the tears just suddenly spill from her eyes, and she has to resist the urge to sob.

“You’re awake,” Eight spoke with evident tremors in her breath.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Five rasped, giving her a tight-lipped smile, not as smug as he would’ve liked to appear.

‘He’s alive,’ she has to convince herself, resting a hand on his chest to feel for his heartbeat, to feel the gentle rise of his chest as he breathed. ‘He’s alive. He’s alive. It’s okay now.’

“Don’t do that—” The woman cursed, squeezing her eyes shut as she took in a sharp breath. “Fuck, don’t do that again, Five. Or else, I’ll bring you back, and I'll be the one to kill you myself.”

With his free hand, he mustered all his strength to reach  out to wipe away the tears that stained her cheeks, chuckling wryly. See, he knew her better than she knew herself. “You’re too soft. You don’t actually mean that.”

Eight glared at him with red-rimmed bloodshot eyes, and almost growled, “Is that a challenge?”

‘She can be such a hypocrite,’ he thought, shaking his head fondly.

Though he had to admit, Eight should never be underestimated; especially since he’s never seen her so mad. And that was saying something, because he can still remember the look on her face on the day he left the academy. It haunts him even though they’ve spent decades to amend for that stupid mistake.

 

            “I told you not to overdo it… I told you. God, I thought I was going to lose you. You almost died this time, and on a mission we weren’t together, of all things? I wouldn’t have even known if it weren’t for Nahshon, that prick—”

He knew it'd only get worse the moment she began to rant, and so, Five attempted to interrupt her by calling her name. 

“Eight.”

It fell on deaf ears.

“—I mean, how did you even get shot? You, of all people. Did your ego finally catch up to you? For fuck’s sake, Five—” 

Futilely, he tries again, “Eight.”

“—I was going to raise hell if you died. Did you not think of that? I was going to steal a briefcase to save your stupid reckless ass even if it's going to be the death of me. You’re so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid —”

“Eight!”

“What?!” She snapped back, scowling from the way he interrupted her heated rant, just when she thought she was relieving a bit of tension.

Though, his next words were certainly enough to make her forget the last few minutes, for he says…

“Marry me.”

It was more of a demand than a question. 

If she had a sound mind of a woman who had not spent hours on end on the side of her partner’s hospital bed, watching him die, then perhaps she would have given a better response. But at that moment, all that managed to slip out of her lips was a confused squeak.

“H-huh?”

“Marry me,” Five echoed. And because he wouldn’t be himself without a bit of snark, he adds for good measure, “What, do you need me to repeat myself again? Maybe it’s about time we get you those hearing aids, love.”

 

            They never did conventional. No matter how much Eight sought to be normal, she had grown to accept the fact that it was just one of those things she would never be able to attain in this lifetime or the next.

Especially since… Marriage —Five used to stand by— was a stupid social construct. 

Knowing how pragmatic the time traveler tended to be, she understood his reasons perfectly. There was no need for a sheet of paper to prove their commitment to one another; no point in legalizing their relationship when they were stuck in a dystopian wasteland as the last two people on earth. After all, a social construct would mean nothing without the society that enforces it.

Yet, having been nearly greeted by death not too long ago, the man was struck by a thought: There was something melancholic about dying without ever being able to call her his wife.

And really, as complex as his way of thinking tended to be, there was nothing more simple than the solution he came up with, born from a whim.

 

            “Marry me,” Five rolls his eyes, the third time he said it, impatiently waiting for a response. 

But Eight remained dumbfounded, blinking at him as if she were still waiting for his words to sink in. 

“Did the bullet get you in the head too?” She narrowed her eyes at him, wary and suspicious, as if she doesn’t believe he was only in here for a gunshot wound.

His jaw tightened in slight annoyance when he noticed the way her hand was gravitating towards the nurse call button. He stops her just before she presses it.

“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly sane,” he scoffed, squeezing her hand. The man’s expression, however, eventually softens at the look of disbelief on Eight’s face.

And really, how could he have allowed her to doubt just how far he’d go for her? 

 

            Five opened his mouth before the telepath got another chance to speak, looking back at her with eyes reminiscent of the ocean she’d witnessed whenever she transgressed his mind.

“You always wanted something normal in our lives, didn’t you?” he reckoned. “Well, it’s a few years late, but since the old man didn’t bother with legalities, and since you don’t want to use your birth name anyway, how about you officially become a Hargreeves?”

“Though, I can’t say it’s much of a thrill,” he adds a moment later with a hint of a smirk.

Eight broke away from her stunned stupor and murmured. “That’s sly.”

“I don’t think that answers the question, sweetheart.”

“You’re insufferable,” the woman murmured, but even so, she pulled him in an embrace, burying her head against his shoulder. He can tell he made her cry again, albeit for a different reason, considering the lack of venom in her tone. “You’re the single most infuriating person I've ever had the misfortune to deal with.”

“And yet, you’re the one still dodging the question,” Five retorted.

“I thought you said marriage was stupid?” Eight countered, refusing to look at him and let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, the tears that have resurfaced.

“So was being stuck in the apocalypse for decades,” he snorted, not bothering to explain himself. “Are you trying to keep a record of all the mistakes I’ve made, or something?”

“Not marrying me was a mistake, huh?” She chuckled in amusement.

“Mhmm,” he hummed back, though it sounded sarcastic instead of sincere.

And she would have been tempted to smack him then, had it not been for the look he was giving her.

 

            “Eight, I want to marry you. It's that simple,” the man spoke, like it was basic math, a one-plus-one equation.

“And I’ll have you know, I mean it with the whole ‘in sickness and in health, for better or worse, ‘till death do us part’ spiel. I’m not having any of the divorce bullshit. You marry me, and you’re stuck with me forever,” Number Five doesn’t fail to add, if only to tease her further.

“Are you actually threatening me with a life-binding contract? You sound like a devil. Seems to me that you still need to learn how to treat a lady right,” the woman mumbled sarcastically, but the way her voice quivered gave away the underlying softness in her words.

“We’re not even married, and you’re already nagging. Seems to me like you’ll make a good wife,” Five tsked. “So, are you going to give me an answer, now?”

Eight let out a not so subtle sniff, pulling away to glare at him despite her glassy eyes, “My answer is obvious. Don’t start playing dumb now, Einstein.”

“Humor me,” Five smiles wryly, brushing away stray tears as he caressed her cheeks with his thumb.

“Of course, I’ll marry you,” Eight muttered begrudgingly, rubbing her own tears away because that’s just typical of her— His Eight; stubborn, tenacious and lovely even when she’s angry. “But if you die on me and make me a widow, I will seriously punch you. I can throw a mean knuckle sandwich.”

“After all these years, believe me, I know,” he laughs, unable to help the way the corners of his lips formed a smile. 

 

            Their ceremony was as simple as it could get. There’s no wedding. There were no rings. Their family isn’t with them when they actually tie the knot.

But at that moment, Five thinks he’s never been happier to be by her side.

It’s a shame that for all his prowess in numbers and logic —in spite of his prowess in the domain of space and time— he has no way to prove that time stopped for a moment when she finally said “I do.”

 

---

 

2002-11-18
DAY 08 | 07:05

 

            NUMBER FIVE IS FUCKING BRILLIANT; there’s no doubt about it at this point. He learned how to travel through time at the mere age of 13, invented the math for time travel in his 30s, and managed to bring their whole family back to the past at 58. 

But it’s moments like these, when he’s pacing around his room, scribbling on his walls like a mad man starved of answers, that Eight finds herself in awe of just how brilliant he could be.

Five’s search for solutions and attempts to fix impossible problems borders on obsessive, but somehow, if it’s him, she’s certain it will always work out.

She wonders if this was what Icarus looked like among onlookers from the ground, mesmerized by the sight of a man soaring the skies, and wonders if maybe this was why Daedalus could only watch as his son plummeted to the sea.

Watching the familiar sight of Five, pacing in his room and writing on her walls, makes her chest churn. An unsettling feeling brews in her gut from the familiarity of it. Because she can tell, based on the tempo of his footsteps, or the sound of the chalk against the walls, that he’s in the middle of a breakthrough.

There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes, a light that can rival the sun’s.

 

            “Eight, I've got it…” Number Five turns to the girl who had been watching him quietly. He finds her first because she’s always the first one to hear of his crazy ideas. The only one who could understand the rapid pace of the gears in his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, she’s watching precisely because she’s scared, because she doesn’t want to lose him the same way she had; because she doesn’t think she can bear the thought of history repeating itself twice. She watches over him, already anticipating the fall, refusing to let him drown at sea.

“I’ve been looking at this all wrong,” the boy began. “Chaos theory suggests that even in the deterministic system, if the equations describing its behavior are non-linear, the smallest alterations in the aforementioned conditions can result in cataclysmic and unpredictable events. That’s why we’ve always been avoiding it. It’s the whole point of the Commission, but what if we take advantage of that?”

Most of his words are jargon; the notions he presents are contradictory at best. But this was Eight’s specialty, to find the deeper meaning of things, think too much of every little thing.

Maybe she was rubbing on him more than she ever expected.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no definitive proof of whether time is linear or branching. The Commission insists on preserving a singular timeline, but what if, somehow, temporal anomalies could exist without interfering with the timeline?” He rambled.

“Like a web?” Eight furrows her eyebrows skeptically. “Wouldn’t that create a paradox? Or worse, destroy the universe as we know it?” 

She knew at least that much. The Temps Commission ingrained it in her mind. It was precisely how the Handler kept her under their thumb.

“A new grandfather paradox, to be exact,” Five agreed. “But hear me out… What if the timeline we live in is a mere deviation? A multiverse of sorts.”

Eight stared at him, gauging the extent of his knowledge and the accuracy of this theory.

“It’s all in the terms of quantum mechanics, the many-worlds interpretation. It’s tricky business, but as field agents, we were able to guarantee that some things that didn’t happen have happened. That’s all because the timeline does diverge into multiple branches. Only, the Commission makes them merge back into one,” he illustrated his point by drawing the figure on his wall.

The girl looked wary the moment she realized he was introducing a subject that was beyond just the two of them. “I don’t know about this, Five… Paradoxes and temporal anomalies are always bad news. You said it yourself—”

“Unlike a grandfather paradox, no one’s existence is being eliminated,” Five cuts her off in an attempt to assure her. “Thus, the universe won’t necessarily implode because the pawns are all on the board, just placed in different boxes.”

“And the apocalypse? What if it’s—”

“Locked in a Predestined Paradox?” Five snorted mirthlessly, finishing her sentence. “It’s a Hail Mary, I get it.”

Eight averted her eyes as she mulled the thought over, but the boy lifted her chin to force her to look at him.

“But, on the small chance this is true, we can change the future, even if just slightly,” he tells her, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Small enough to have the present we know of, but impactful enough to negate the end of the world. If the multiverse is anything to go by, there would be a basis in time that will allow us to determine an exact point in time that will avert the apocalypse.”

“…How?”

“I’ll leave notes around the house, little clues for everyone’s younger selves. Tell the family I’m lost in time or something, and have them do a series of irrelevant things that are actually consequential to the timeline… Something as trivial as befriending a stranger or stepping on a different side of the road.”

“Like a treasure hunt,” Eight nodded. “You want to embrace the butterfly effect…”

“Exactly,” Five tells her. “And I’ll need your help with the clues. You know them better than they know themselves, and it’ll be helpful knowing how to make sure they do all those things.”

 

            The girl nodded absentmindedly, quietly observing as he continued to speak. But after a minute or two of her silence, the boy finally shot her a look, suspicious of her demeanor. “Eight, you still with me?”

“Mhmm…” she hums in response, her eyes meeting his as she silently admired him.

Five huffed, worried about her the odd look in her eyes and not bothering to stop himself from calling her out on it. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” The corners of her lips twitched to form a smile, half-teasing but full of affection.

“You know what,” he narrows his eyes at her.

Eight let out a chuckle as she blatantly admitted, “I love the way your mind works.”

And as far as their ‘I love you’ s go, that’s always been his favorite one.

Five paused what he was doing, staring back at her as if gauging what the hell she was thinking. “You…”

“You never cease to amaze me,” she tells him honestly and sincerely. “It’s scary sometimes.”

And right then, he thinks, ‘Oh.’

He knows where this is coming from. Which is exactly why he walks back to her side to hold her hand and squeeze it in assurance.

 

            See, Number Five’s philosophy is simple: if you care about someone, enough to think that they could do so much better without you, then be better.

The boy, if ever, rarely makes the same mistake twice. The moment he held her freezing body next to him that one day when they were 18, he makes a resolve to do whatever it takes to be worthy of the place next to her.

He liked to think, he’s doing a pretty good job, even if it meant having to repeat this hell twice.

“We’re not thirteen anymore,” the boy reminds her. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not running off without you. We’re not going to lose each other.”

(It’s not a lie, but that doesn’t necessarily make it true.)

In the end, it doesn’t really assure her as much as he hoped. But for now, it’s more than enough to satiate them both.

 

---

 

2002-11-18
DAY 08 | 14:46

 

            Later that day, when Five’s too busy finishing his equations, and the rest of the family is meandering in their living room, bored out of their minds, the twins decided to play a game for old time’s sake.

Diego groaned the moment he caught sight of the two sisters, “You’re onto that again?”

“Why not? It’s the perk of being identical twins,” Eight and Eliza spoke in unison, both dressed identically as they beamed at their brother. Their hair, their clothes, everything was copied to a tee. Even the smallest gestures were done synchronously.

“I think it’s cute,” Vanya chuckled, recalling the days Eight and Eliza played this trick during their lectures, or the amount of times they tried to swap places to mess with the others.

Some things never changed, and among them, were the smug grins they gave Diego as they chorused, “Thank you, Vanya.”

Luther crossed his arms and eyed them from head to toe, already trying to figure out the distinction, under the belief that he’s older and wiser than he used to be. “So, what’s the prize this time?”

One of them answered with a shrug, “The usual. Whoever loses treats the winner to donuts.”

“Though, it’s not like any of you ever won anyway,” the other twin singsongs.

“Hah, piece of cake. Try me,” Diego taunted their sisters, never one to back down from a challenge.

 

            “Oh, oh, wait, screw donuts,” Klaus declared, while Diego and Luther were too busy guessing. “Let’s bring out the big guns. I wanna see if the husband can figure this out. Someone call Five!”

Excitement lit up in Allison’s eyes. “That would be an even more interesting bet, actually. How many zeroes are we talking about?”

“Gambling is an awful vice, Al,” Klaus chided with a mocking gasp.

She rolled her eyes at him, “Oh, stop feigning innocence. We all know your true colors.”

“I don’t want to play with you. You're a pretty sore loser,” he snorted.

“And you're a cheat—” the girl retorted.

“I’d bet Five can tell,” Vanya mused.

Ben nodded in agreement, “Definitely.”

“We can’t all be betting on the same thing,” Klaus complained, before turning to the third Hargreeves. “Unless… Are you betting against us three, Al?”

“You wish,” Allison scoffed.

“For what it’s worth, we could bet on how fast he could tell or how many attempts it would take, since we’re all convinced he’ll tell them apart somehow,” Ben suggested.

The other three gave each other knowing glances.

“Deal.” 

“Five! Come over here!” Allison called out, shouting at the top of her lungs to make sure he could hear them all the way from the living room.

 

            After a moment, Five’s feet landed on the ground from a wormhole he created. And he shot his siblings an unamused scowl, “What do you morons want this time?”

“They want to see if you can tell Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum apart,” Ben grinned, pointing towards the twins.

The two girls turned their attention to the others, frowning.

“That’s not fair. Five’s always been able to tell us apart.” One of them let out an exasperated sigh.

The other, tilted her head, playing dumb. “He does?”

“Aha! That’s Eight right there,” Diego pointed to the former, to which Five snorted in derision.

“Eight can read minds, you idiot,” He deduced and stated simply. “It’s reverse psychology.”

Eight and Eliza spoke in unison again, narrowing their eyes at him, “Is it really, though?”

Allison grinned. “Eight, El, you better put on your best performance, I’ve got a lot riding here.”

 

            Unfortunately for her, Five beats them to it, just when they were about to speak, leaning awfully close to one of the twins. “No need. She’s this one.”

Luther raised a confused eyebrow, staring at the two sisters intently, “How are you sure?”

“Well, it would be stupid to give herself away. She knows how to manipulate you into thinking otherwise. They went as far as to copy each other’s height. Everyone knows Eliza’s the taller twin,” Five tells them, knowing just what to say to push her buttons.

“Is not!” One of them protested.

“Is too,” the other snickered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Five narrows his eyes at the twin he was closest to. “You can’t trick me. Drop the act.”

The two girls glanced at each other, frowning, “You see, I really don’t think that’s concrete evidence. You could be bluffing.”

 

            “I quit. Why do we even bother?” Diego for one, threw his hands up in surrender. And walked over to his other siblings, “Klaus, Al, let me in on that. How much is the pot?”

Five stares at the older twin a second longer than he should. He remains unmoved, insistent on his claim.

But the younger twin speaks up in an attempt to distract him, “You’re wrong, I’m Eight. Now, for the love of God, leave Eliza alone, and—”

And it's no use.

He can tell them apart from the smallest things like the way they spoke or the way they blinked. Even the way she said his name sounded wrong, because she's not Eight.

“Oh, please,” Five rolled his eyes at Eliza and leaned even closer to the older twin, if only to prove a point, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

Eight leans against him like it’s natural. Because it was. And this was something the twins would never be able to fake, the muscle memory engraved from the years they experienced together. 

The difference is telling enough for them to know they lost this one.

And so, the twins break character, groaning in unison.

“This isn’t fun when Five’s playing! He’s had 45 years to observe Eight!” the younger twin exclaimed petulantly.

“She’s right. That’s cheating. Five should be banned from this game,” Eight scowled as if she were the one being tricked.

The boy scoffed at them both, drawling on sarcastically, “Yes, you’re right. How dare I use the time I spent observing my own wife to my advantage. Shame on me.”

Eight glares at him, but she doesn't dare pull away from his touch, and that’s a better indicator than any. “Oh, shut up, you.”

 

            Luther knitted his eyebrows together, still trying to figure out their tells, “What gave them away? When they pretend to be each other, it’s almost impossible—”

The others look at Five curiously, and Eight gazes back at him, daring him to prove it.

He heaves a deep exasperated breeath, but continued to explain regardless. He begins to point out their differences point by point, in a tone that was matter-of-factly.

“Eight never tucks her hair behind her ear, she usually runs a hand through it—” It’s how he gained the habit of tucking her hair for her.

“She has a preference for her right—” Which turns out to be a good thing because he’s left-handed, and reaching out for each other had long become a habit; their hands fit each other like puzzle pieces, slotting together perfectly.

“She bites her lips when she laughs—” All the more reason why he’s so tempted to kiss her when she’s happy.

Off the top of his head, he doesn’t say it out loud, but he also thinks: She prefers tea to coffee because she’s sensitive to caffeine. She can’t sleep when she’s on the wrong side of the bed. She loved collecting trinkets, even in the apocalypse. She hates folding pages on her books but loves writing on their margins. She’s sensitive to noise, but she hums songs when she’s lost in thought.

He can name a million habits he’s picked up over the years. So much so that he doesn’t have enough time to name them all, but…

“Even with all that,” Five finished, turning to face Eight with a smirk that was cocky as fuck. “I’ve memorized the pattern of all of your freckles and moles, down to the last spot. I could connect the dots on your skin and tell who you are by shape alone.”

Blood inevitably rushes to her face, flaming her cheeks crimson as she gapes at him, mortified like hell.

Everyone else was rendered just as speechless. Even Eliza chokes on air from his frankness.

Meanwhile, Klaus was the only one who managed to break out of their stupor, letting out whistles and cackling loudly from his brother’s declaration. “Hard to beat that.”

“Okay, okay, stop rubbing your married life in our faces,” Diego groaned irritably.

“You asked for evidence,” Five shrugged nonchalantly, if only to continue mocking them. “I could list about a hundred, but it’d take an hour or two.”

“This is cheating!” Eliza protested, still aggravated by the fact that they lost despite their good record. “Five shouldn’t count.”

“It’s called being resourceful,” he shot back.

 

            Eight rolls her eyes, taking the ribbon out of her hair and unraveling the braid that was made to mimic her sister’s. And the boy takes it as an opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist.

“So, I take it I win?”

Eight gave him a look, tone dry, as she pointed out, “You hate sweets.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t trade the money for coffee,” Five shrugged nonchalantly.

“We wagered donuts, not money, sweetheart,” The girl gives him a mocking smile in return, “And you’ve already had coffee today. I refuse to enable your caffeine addiction while we’re stuck in our developing pre-pubescent bodies.”

Five gives her an exasperated sigh, turning to the others and releasing her from his hold. “Who won the pot?”

Ben raised his hand with a grin. “I did.”

Perfect. There was a reason why Ben was his favorite brother.

“Split the profit?”

“I’ll treat you to a cup of coffee instead,” Ben offered, playing hardball, because even though their siblings were shit at gambling, it was money well earned.

And because he was only doing it to make a point of winning, Five acquiesces easily as if to say it was good enough.

“Eh, I’ll take it.”

 

---

 

2002-11-18
DAY 08 | 17:36

 

            Being back at Griddy’s Donuts (the old one, Five and Eight would argue, not the shithole it’ll become 17 years from now) was both fun and nostalgic. The establishment was filled with vivid colors and bright lights. And the place was never without music, especially with the jukebox playing in the corner, which the Hargreeves had often abused in their attempts to choose tracks they can dance to.

It’s boisterous and lively, like the diner they used to sneak off to after particularly taxing missions or the one they always visited for the hell of it.

 

            “So, Eightie, dear sister of mine,” Klaus had trailed on, the moment they all squished back into their booth to eat and grab some refreshments. 

He said it in a voice that clearly means that he’s up to something, all the more reason why the girl turned to him warily, “What do you want?”

“I want a compensation for my loss,” her brother sniffed haughtily. 

Ben snorts from beside him, “I don’t think that’s how it works. And might I remind you that you initiated the bet.”

“And you weren’t even playing their game,” Allison quipped, rolling her eyes at Klaus’ dramatics.

“It’s not money,” Klaus defended as if it would make his request a little more appealing.

Eight raised an eyebrow, “Then what do you want? Donuts? A milkshake?”

Her brother gave her a smirk, “What is up with grandmothers always offering food?”

“Hey! We’re not that old.”

Luther snorts pointing his chin towards Five, “Speak for yourself. Have you seen Five?”

Despite sitting beside him, it’s only then that Eight notices his hunched back posture. She places a hand on his back and nags him for it. “Five, sit properly. Your back’s going to be sore again—”

Five shot Luther a glare, sighing to himself as he continued to drink his coffee.

 

            “Well, Nana,” Klaus cleared his throat to avert her attention back to him. “I just have one question. It’s for my own peace of mind, really.”

Eight knows her brother well enough to know that his questions are always for his entertainment, but even so, she allows him to speak it out loud. “Fine. Shoot.”

“I was just thinking. How’d you two get together?” the fourth Hargreeves motioned towards the old married couple. “We all know Five is too emotionally constipated to admit he was smitten—”

Five scoffed, refusing to admit it, “I was not smitten, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Shut up, sweetie,” Eight brushed him off, not refuting Klaus’ claims. “The man has a good point.”

“So how’d you win the heart of the hollow tin man?” Klaus grinned. “Was it at that moment when you looked into his green eyes or—”

“Green?” Eight frowned as she noticed that particular detail. “Five’s eyes are not green.”

The others turned to her in confusion. Though, Diego and Luther clearly couldn’t care less, as evident by the way they were stuffing their faces with donuts.

“What? They’re clearly green,” Klaus stated, even going as far to turn to the boy in question to make sure he wasn’t making things up. He gasps upon realization, “Are you color-blind?”

“I am not!” Eight huffed. “Try me.”

“Okay,” the Seance pulled his eyes open, making a point to keep them wide.

“Green.”

He points to Luther’s eyes.

“Blue.”

“And now?” he points to Five, who turns to his wife only when she’s staring at him intently for too long.

“Well, they’re green right now, but—” Eight defended, only to watch them shift in color once his green orbs met hers. “No, it’s blue. See, it’s blue!”

“Don’t look at me, I might as well be colorblind,” Eliza raised her arms up in surrender when her twin sister shook her shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s a twin thing,” Klaus concluded.

“I can’t see emotions,” Eight reminded him. “It’s different.”

“Yeah, but don’t your powers intersect in certain areas?” Vanya mused. “Five talked about it yesterday.”

“Wait,” Eliza chimed in, upon realization that whenever Five turned to his wife, the color of his irises do change in hue. “It does turn blue when he’s facing Eightie.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Diego scoffed, talking with his still mouth full, earning an eyeroll from Allison and a scolding from Eight.

“Blue is the color of trust,” Eliza recalled, gushing in awe and earning a similar chorus of amusement from the others.

Five ignores their teasing.

But at that moment, Eight thinks of telepathic bonds.

Of the way, the eyes were believed to be windows to the soul. Of the fact that Five had long bared his mind to her. Of she had given him complete access to her mind…

Sometimes, she forgets how much affection she held for this man. The weight of it always sends her reeling.

 

⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹

 

            Later that day, when ABBA started playing in the background, and all the Hargreeves, aside from Five, were jamming to it on the dance floor, Eight made a point to approach her husband and ask him for a dance.

“You’re so damn annoying,” is what he tells her, and yet he agrees regardless, even if he does so begrudgingly.

“You love me anyway,” Eight gives him a cheeky grin in return, rather certain of the fact.

He doesn’t refute her, but he huffed irritably as he swayed along with her, “Doesn't make you any less annoying.”

It was never really a question. 

As rare as it was, there was only one woman he wanted to have the rest of his dances with.

Notes:

we'll meet again (playlist)

Chapter 15: the leap of faith (a leap across time)

Summary:

A-SIDE:

"wherever you're going, i'm going your way"
— moon river; audrey hepburn (jj heller)

B-SIDE:

"we'll meet beyond the shore"
— beyond the sea; bobby darin (kina grannis)

2002-11-19
DAY 09 | 01:00

 

             THE SOUND OF HER VOICE was music in the purest sense, or so he’d claim. It was a sound he looked for in the old days when she used to sing to her twin. It was one of the few things that kept him grounded during their time in the apocalypse, her attempts to fill the silence and ignore the voices in their heads; a habit they both gained in hopes of assuring themselves that there was another person with them in that dystopian wasteland. It was one of the sounds he secretly adored, second only to the sound of her laugh.

Waking up, late in the evening, to an empty bed with no sign of Eight was usually a quick and guaranteed way to send him spiraling into a state of panic. 

For a moment, Number Five nearly bristles at the thought, reminded of their life in the apocalypse. The fear of losing her had long been ingrained in his mind, and his body was set to react to any possible threat.

It’s why the boy immediately ripped the blanket off of his bed in an attempt to look for his wife, and how he notices the draft of wind lightly blowing past the curtains.

“Eight?” he called out groggily to the open window. His mind was still addled with sleep, and yet he was awake enough to tell that something was off.

A voice broke the silence, and it only confirmed his suspicions.

“Out here!” 

 

            In typical Number Eight fashion, Five found her sitting on the platform of the fire escape, hugging her knees and singing to herself, soft enough that it sounded like a hum.

The boy sat behind her, placing one leg on each side of her figure before pulling her close, enveloping her in an embrace. She smiles due to the small intimate gesture. It prompts her to turn and face him, tangling their limbs, and leaning against him while she continues humming to herself. 

She was looking at the stars, Five realized, and that was hardly ever a good thing, considering Eight’s tendency to get lost in her head. Instinctively, he pulled her closer, arms squeezing her tighter as if to assure himself that she wouldn’t vanish into thin air. The girl had no qualms resting a hand on his arm as she made herself comfortable in his embrace.

Eight was reminded of the apocalypse, of how often they huddled for warmth, or held each other for comfort. They balanced each other, because in the same way she often grounded him to reality, Five had always been the one to pick her up when she fell.

And thus, he tells her at that moment, more so to keep her mind distracted than to keep his at peace, “Sing for me.”

Eight shook her head fondly, but nonetheless, she sang for her husband. Loud enough for him to hear the lyrics, though not so much that she’d be disturbing the others who were likely sleeping at this hour.

They had a long day ahead of them after all. 

Or a short one, she corrects in her mind. But it’s equally as (or perhaps, even more) monumental.

 

            What Number Five never mentioned—what he never told a single soul, in a futile attempt to monopolize the girl, all the while, protecting his ego—was then when Number Eight sings, Five feels like a sailor out at sea being called on by a siren. Even if he knows it’s a trap, he’ll gladly drown at sea if it means hearing her song. 

She sings to others so rarely that sometimes he forgets that when she belts out those high notes, the sound leaves goosebumps in their wake and steals the air right from his lungs. 

It used to be a treasure of sorts, the silver lining he found in that dystopian hellhole—

As if she read his mind, Eight cleared her throat and Five had to remind himself that they weren’t even in the apocalypse anymore.

She smiles at him knowingly before she began to hum the slow melody of a song he’s heard her play on Luther’s record player before; one of the many songs the twins used to ask Vanya to learn on the violin.

The words come out of her mouth like the gentle glow of the light that glossed over their features, painting them with moonlight.

“Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style someday.”

Five doesn’t move, his head still buried against the crook of her neck, but their proximity allows him to feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she continued to sing.

“Oh, dream maker, you heartbreaker,
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way.”

Eight was resting her head on his chest, listening for his heartbeat, arms snaking around his waist. 

With the way she was holding him, it almost sounds like she was singing this song to him, and knowing her, he wouldn’t put it past his wife to do so.

“Two drifters off to see the world,
There's such a lot of world to see.”

And then, he thinks—

Oh.

He knows what’s wrong, what kept her up tonight. 

Five thinks about the time jump. How they’re leaving in the morning. How they plan to change the future set out for them, despite how often they were taught about the repercussions of messing with the timeline.

And she’s terrified as fuck—because she’s Eight. Because while he focused on the big picture, she’s always contemplating the little things.

God, he should’ve known.

“We're all after the same rainbow's end,
Waiting 'round the bend.”

Five holds her tighter, kissing the side of her head. A silent assurance of sorts because the only thing that can be worse than the apocalypse would be a future without her, and he’d be damned if he let that happen.

Eight squeezes his hand, a wordless response to the routine she’s more than accustomed to by now.

“My huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.”

 

            As the song came to an end, Eight sat straight and looked him in the eye. For a moment, he almost believed they were going to settle into a comfortable silence, had the girl not taken the opportunity to pinch his cheek.

He grimaced, pulling her wrist to tug her away.

But Eight just nagged him, with a glint of mischief present in her eyes. 

“Happy now?” she tutted, “Song’s done. You should be in bed now, mister. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“So should you,” Five countered dryly, pinching her side in retaliation.

“Hey, you’re going to be bringing us forward later. And I’m not keen on finding out what happens when you jump in time without sufficient rest—”

“I’m in perfect condition,” Five scoffed, but for all his I’ll-show-you attitude, the yawn he let out made him less convincing. “Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“I was stargazing,” Eight defended, batting her eyelashes in a display of feigned innocence.

“Yeah, right. Try again,” the boy rolled his eyes at her, knowing how to handle her best.

It’s going to take bit of prodding, but in a minute or two, he’d get her talking because Eight hated keeping secrets and he’s the only person she never had to do that with.

 

            As if on cue, she caved, and with a deep breath, finally admitted. “I was just thinking—”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he quipped in return, tapping the crease between her eyebrows and urging her to continue. “Tell me.”

“The multiverse theory you've been rambling on about this morning…” Eight trailed on, and the distant tone of her voice prompted him to lift her chin to force her to look at him.

“What about it?”

“I was just thinking,” Eight repeated. Her voice was soft as a whisper. She spoke like being heard would somehow allow her fears to manifest itself into existence. “What if… What if, somewhere out there, there's a me who doesn't get to be with you? What if, in that next jump, that's the future we end up in? What if it's something we can't change, a destiny written in the stars—”

“That’s a load of bull,” Five cuts her off abruptly. He talked like it were an absolute fact. “Fate doesn’t exist.”

Eight chuckled wryly, noticing the rage in his eyes, that hint of frustration that he never allowed himself to succumb to. She tries to assure him, “It’s just a supposition, honey.”

He tightens his grip around her. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” the girl answers without sparing a beat, like the question alone was ridiculous.

Five lets out a sigh, whether it was out of relief or frustration, for once, Eight can’t seem to tell.

“Of course, I trust you… ” She repeats, assuring him of at least that. And yet, as always, like the devil’s advocate she was, the girl always knows just what to say that would push his buttons. “But it doesn’t change the very real fact that this is the first time we’re jumping this far in the future after interfering with our past.”

 

            “So, humor me, Five…” Eight tells him, looking him dead in the eye because this was something she has to see for herself. She needs that conviction only an Icarus like him can give. She needs someone who could teach her to fly instead of letting her drown. 

“If fate were real, and we’re bound for a life full of tragedy, what would you do then?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer her. 

He doesn’t know how to answer her.

How do you tell your wife, the only person you trust, the one you love and care about the most, the only person you would even consider giving your life for, that there is a very real possibility, however small, that everything they’ve done and everything he had come to believe in could be all for naught? 

That he can fail them? That he can fail her?

But see… Number Five still likes playing god. Despite how much he’s grown, no matter what they’ve been through, it’s an inherent nature that he can’t escape.

So, he doesn’t admit any of that.

“That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen,” Five spoke sternly as if he was trying to drill his words into her head.

“But what if—”

“Well then, fuck it,” he hissed, with a kind of venom that was usually reserved for his enemies, but a temper he’s only ever shown to the people he cared about. “I want you to remember that I'll be with you. In each and every lifetime, in whichever timeline, in whatever universe. In this reality, in another reality, I’d tear the world inside out to find you.”

“Five—”

Haunted by the same words Nahshon used to tell him, he continued to rant, “And I will find you every single time, even if I have to change the entire course of time and reality. I won’t let something stupid like fate get in the way of that.”

The girl wonders how he could speak with such conviction, such confidence…

And yet, she would have been a fool not to believe in his words.

Despite the gravity of their situation and the anger in his voice, Eight can’t help but smile at how he wasn’t speaking like his usual practical self. “You’ll ruin the timeline? After everything, really?” 

“For you? Absolutely,” Five countered incredulously, like he couldn’t understand why she even had the gall to ask. “I’ve done it for our family, what makes you think I won’t do it for you?”

“And what about the apocalypse we’ve been trying to prevent? What if you cause it then?” She challenged, unable to help the swell of affection that felt like a vice around her heart.

“Then the world can burn again,” Five grumbled because he meant it. “We’ll find another way to protect our family and save the world, one where I won’t risk losing you.”

He would scour universes if it meant that they could be together. Because Number Eight is his constant. Without her, this whole equation would be moot.

 

            Eight looks at him with the kind of mirth in her eyes that always managed to stir something inside him. “Big words, considering that I was the one who found you in the apocalypse.”

“Once is a fluke,” Five scoffed.

“Want me to beat you to it a second time. Is that it?” The girl teased. “If I find you first again, I want a reward this time.”

He scowls, and before she gets the chance to speak another word, he leans in to steal a kiss.

It’s always been his favorite way to shut her up.

 

 

 

---

 

⊹⊱ THE MULTIVERSE ⊰⊹
or a mere glimpse of it, as observed 
by two integral cogs—hereby known 
as The Founder and The Oracle—of the 
organization known as the Temps Aeternalis

 

━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━

 

            IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, Number Eight and Number Nine never even gained their numbers, never grew up together with the rest of the Umbrella Academy. She goes by the name ██████, and her twin sister goes by █████, names coined from their mother’s favorite Greek tales. The woman named them like so, in hopes that they’ll grow up to be loved unconditionally; loved like the man who had ventured the underworld in search of his dead wife; loved like the woman whom they had waged a war for.

They were just extraordinary kids raised by somewhat ordinary parents, living an ordinary life—or as ordinary as it can be with a father who used to be a field agent of the Commission, living life on the run from the Handler.

They survived long enough to move into The City in 2001, and that’s an opportunity as good enough as any…

Until, one day, she gets into trouble. 

 

            ██████ was twelve when she accompanied her mother while the woman was running errands at the bank. They were among the people held hostage by the group of armed robbers on the Umbrella Academy’s first debut as heroes. They get saved by none other than a group of six superhero children, and it’s the first time she crosses paths with Number Five. 

Consequently, they bump into each other more often than they should have because of her knack for getting into trouble—was what her future Five tended to say.

The twelve-year-old him, however, finds her odd, surprised there was a kid their age who wasn’t at all fazed by the danger she found herself in—like it was a norm for an ordinary civilian like her. 

Overhearing his thoughts back then, she had half a mind to tell him that he’s right about that, and wrong about the other. That she was just like him, gifted with an ability and living a life in a world full of less fortunate circumstances. 

But the younger her doesn’t like speaking to strangers. And the younger Five doesn’t like the eerie look in her eyes that made it seem like she was capable of peering into his soul.

There were bigger things to brood on. The debut of the academy, training, missions, Dad, and the very real possibility that he may be able to leap through time.

He doesn’t have the luxury to memorize the face of every civilian they save.

 

            After the incident, the maiden doesn’t think too much of them—of him. She couldn’t care less about the subject of the teenage magazines her friends and her sister gushed over; couldn’t care less about the way a bunch of prepubescent children technically saved her life (multiple times and counting).

But what she does find odd, was the way her mother tells her and her twin sister to avoid the Umbrella Academy at all costs. 

The mere mention of Reginald Hargreeves, makes the woman’s blood go cold, recalling all those years ago when he dared to ask how much she’d be willing to sell her children for. Seeing the ones the billionaire had managed to collect, makes her seethe in anger because while the world saw heroes, Elizabeth saw child soldiers. She’d be damned if she let that man meet her girls.

And yet, all the more reason why ██████ had grown curious.

It goes as one would expect.

 

            ██████, the curious girl she was (urged by a little teenage rebellion), takes a detour one day, and passes by the sidewalk of the Hargreeves’ mansion. The boy, who had been sneaking out of his home for too many times to count, suddenly appears out of nowhere.

And well, everything thereafter fits their quintessential equation. 

They meet. They fall in love—but not at first, of course, because she’d think he’s an incredible pain in the ass, and he feels the same way. He has the ego of a bull, and she can be as cunning as a fox. But there’s something so cerebral about his conversations with her that manages to win him over. 

They grow up and their rivalry of sorts turns into a friendship. Not long after, it turns into something he can’t quite name—and it frustrates the hell out of him because he was supposed to be a genius. Somehow, he had a tendency to make a fool of himself when he’s around her.

Over the years, time travel seems to take less room in his head. Instead, Five finds himself wondering about what she does in her day, when they’ll be meeting again, what her lips would feel like against his.

By sixteen, he had them all answered.

At seventeen, he thinks about a future that includes her. 

They meet again in secret, over and over again.

And so, when he finally manages to run away at the age of 18, it’s not a dystopian wasteland he lands in. 

Instead, he elopes with her.

 

            Her mother goes ballistic, and her father is absolutely at a loss for words, but they welcome him into the family with open arms.

When ██████ introduces him to her twin sister, he treats her like she’s one of his siblings; he’s a little crass and very snarky, but it’s easy to tell how much he cares. 

Her family loves him like he’s one of their own—

And Number Five finally learns about what it’s like to have a family; remembers the one he left behind.

 

            In a few years time, he begins to reach out to his own siblings in his own emotionally constipated way. He’s there when Luther gets shipped off to the moon, when Diego needed to be bailed out from the precinct, when Allison got married, when Klaus was sent to rehab, when Ben got his MD, when Vanya wrote that book.

They continued to keep in touch, until that destined day.

The Hargreeves reunite in 2019 for their father’s funeral, and he introduces her as his wife.

They’re surprised to know what their brother has been up to; because although Five had always managed to stay on top of things, to be there for them when they needed him, they knew nothing about his life.

It was the first time their reunions turned out to be a little less dysfunctional than usual. Five finds out Ben has the hots for his sister-in-law. And his wife tells him about how her twin sister used to have an embarrassing celebrity crush on their sixth member.

Their family feels like it grew a little bigger, even if all it really was was an overdue meet-the-family affair.

They made a whole day of it—a gathering in which the end of the world, carefully orchestrated by their late father, still comes into existence.

The apocalypse almost happens. 

Almost. But not quite.

 

            The Umbrella Academy tried their best to stop it, even when the Temps Commission, under the Handler’s jurisdiction, got in their way.

But when held at gunpoint, they aimed for him—the only person capable of changing the course of time—and she won’t let them happen.

They strike, but she moves first, and takes that bullet in his place.

In the end, the Umbrella Academy does manage to avert the coming of the apocalypse. But he can’t tell which is worse—if the love of his life is worth the cost of the world.

The only thing for certain in the end was that Number Five forgets what it’s like to live in a world without her in it.

 

━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━

 

            IN ANOTHER WORLD, neither Five nor Eight were themselves. The Umbrella Academy doesn’t exist. They’re just superpowered people trying to live ordinary lives, until one day they meet. And maybe things weren’t so mundane after all.

The first collision is set in an art museum. 

She’s there to look at her sister’s exhibit, and he’s there for a change of pace. A simple decision for a life-altering meeting. 

He thinks she's pretty… And a little familiar, if he were being honest. Like they met lifetimes ago, and something within him is drawn to her being. 

But they don’t talk.

They stare at a painting in silence, and eventually separate paths.

 

            Unbeknownst to them, their lives have always been set on a collision course. They bump into each other when they least expect it, in places they rarely frequent. Two unlikely bubbles in space and time, merged through serendipitous meetings. In an airport, in a street, in a town they’ve never been to.

They meet time and time again, and split ways as often as they crossed.

At one point, she thinks, just one more moment, one more accidental meeting, and maybe she’ll ensure that they could meet again on purpose.

It was raining in the street that one afternoon. 

He didn’t have an umbrella. 

When she sees him, she offers to share her own.

He wants to ask her out for coffee next time. But wouldn't that seem a little desperate?

And while he's off debating on that, the woman beats him to it.

He says yes. He'll gladly say yes a thousand times over. 

 

            They meet again and again and again. This time, they take measures to do so.

She keeps plaguing his thoughts. And somehow she’s still able to tell. He wants to wipe the smug smirk on her lips so bad, so he kisses her. 

At some point, they fall in love. 

She meets his family, the elderly couple who took him in when his birth mother put him up for adoption all those years ago. They’re nothing like the family he has in all the other timelines, but they love her nonetheless.

It almost seemed like the universe allowed them to meet on purpose, a rom-com in the works. Fated meetings and happy endings. The kind of love people only write about. 

There's a box in his pocket, he wishes she'll say yes. 

But as fated as it all was from here… Their end was just as destined.

By some sick twist of fate, she dies from an accident that night, just before he gets to pop the question.

 

━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━

 

            IN ANOTHER LIFE, they don’t cross paths until much later in life. ██████ grew up in a loving family, and she was happy, so much happier than she'll ever be with him (is what Number Five believed, except, she would claim that's wrong because Five had always been one of the greatest factors for her happiness).

██████ lives an ordinary life. Meets people. Breaks hearts. Gets her own heart broken. Grows up. Moves on. Takes after her mother’s business. Runs a café.

And then suddenly, a man whom she just met, asks for black coffee, tells her he fell in love with her a long time ago. 

 

            That version of him, was not supposed to meet her. He had already willed himself to let her go when they didn’t end up together the first time around. But grief always does wonders to the heart.

Five tells himself that just this once, he wants to see her alive and well. Wants to see her living the life he set for her.

So he enters her café five days before the apocalypse, in a moment of weakness.

He orders his usual coffee, knowing that no one can make it as good as she does, even if it’s just plain black coffee.

And she asks him if he knows her.

He lies and says he mistook her for someone else.

She calls him out on it.

The man thinks he should’ve known better.

 

            It’s almost impossible to lie to a telepath. Of all people, he knows that best, and so, no matter how mental it sounded, Five admits the truth of the life they lived before. 

Of how he got stuck in the apocalypse as a child. Of how the Temps Commission had taken him in, raised him to be a weapon, the same way they took her from her time to turn her into the perfect instrument for the extraction of information to be used by case managers. Of how they met.

They used to be partners, in more ways than one. And they were only biding their time until they could betray the organization to stop the end of the world and save his family while they were at it.

Until he loses her in a mission gone wrong.

 

            “You don’t remember,” Five tells her. “You wouldn’t, because I made sure they won’t take you from this timeline… I made sure that you—or at least, this other version of you—would be able to live the normal life you always sought.”

██████ looks at him skeptically. And he can’t blame her because half the things he said sounded ridiculous, and she probably thinks he’s insane.

What made him think it was a good idea to come here anyway?

He’s usually not this… He wants to say ‘reckless,’ but perhaps ‘stupid’ would get his point across better.

Then again, she knows he’s not lying this time around. There’s something about the way he was looking at her like she was someone he lost. Someone important.

Well, that, and she can read minds.

His words echo in her mind. There’s that jaded look in his eyes, that she cannot, for the life of her, bear to leave him alone.

So she doesn’t.

The next thing she says, comes as a surprise to him.

“A life without you in it?”

Number Five, despite his eloquence and wit, finds himself at a loss for words.

 

            “This was a mistake,” he says, realizing he should’ve kept his distance like he intended, but she doesn’t let him off that easily.

“If I loved you enough to die for you…” ██████ trailed on. “It’d be dumb to believe I’d rather live a life without you in it, don’t you think?”

He tries to swallow the lump in his throat as she continued to speak.

“I won’t lie to you, stranger I’ve never met," she chuckled, her tone a tad teasing. "This whole thing sounds like some kind of cheap scam…”

“It’s—” It’s not. Five wants to tell her—wants to argue. But what’s the point of defending himself, when she’s not the woman he fell in love with in the first place?

He’s only talking to an iteration of her—a version who doesn’t love him, who doesn’t even know him.

So instead, he tries to tell her, ‘It’s okay. I know I’m a fool for telling you.’

But he doesn’t get the chance.

 

            “It’s crazy… And yet, I believe you,” the woman cuts him off with a smile that makes him want to tear his heart out of his chest. 

“You… You do?”

“I do,” she nods, flipping the sign on the door of her store. “Now, how about I get off work early, and you tell me more about this other life we lived?”

And well, he can never resist her, can he?

 

            And so, he tells her about all that. About the apocalypse. About his family. 

She introduces him to her sister, and they help him try to reconnect with his family.

The Hargreeves, with two new honorary additions, tried to stop the end of the world.

And yet…

She dies first, like she’s supposed to.

The world still ends, like it’s supposed to.

And everything is all for naught, because that's the damning truth of the universe.

Everything is as it should, is as it always was. 

(The Founder wonders if it truly is some sick sort of karmic cycle.)

 

━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━

 

            IN ANOTHER TIMELINE, they’re Five and Eight. Everything is the same, but not quite—because despite their argument, despite his stupid stupid decision, Number Eight doesn’t let him run out of the house alone. 

She caught up to him, grabbed him when he jumped, joined him when he got stuck in the post-apocalyptic world for decades.

She’s with him through every step of the way. When they were taken in by the Commission. When they failed to stop the apocalypse the first time. When he gets them stranded in Dallas. When the Sparrow Academy replaces them. And when they were tricked into entering Hotel Oblivion.

She dies along with the rest of their family. 

Ten people. Seven bells. Eight left standing. And only he lives.

He resets the universe on his own, only to get lost in a subway for decades.

Another version of The Founder comes into existence.

 

━━━━━ ⊹⊱☂︎⊰⊹ ━━━━━

 

            THIS WORLD is not easy on them. Far from it, in fact. But it's the only one where they could be together. 

With a series of trial and error, The Founder was certain of at least that much.

After all, he had made it his life’s mission to find a way to alter the course of time and defy reality as he knew it.

This way, Number Eight will not meet her tragic fate and the universe will remain intact. 

He refuses to sacrifice one for the other. (Believe me, The Oracle had tried to convince him.)

 

            The Hargreeves’ recent stunt will now lead to the 666th attempt that the Founder and the Oracle of the Temps Commission have orchestrated to accomplish this mission.

This is the furthest Number Five had gotten in saving his family and his wife. Ironically, it is the devil’s number, and also the amount of times this world has already ended despite the Oracle’s intervention. 

The other 664 have failed. The 665th will soon take its course.

The current Temps Commission, that has recently relieved itself of the Handler’s corruption, is already on its tail trying to prevent that with the Oracle’s covert plotting. 

And yet, as always, much to his aggravation, Number Eight can never seem to follow The Founder’s will, paving her own way to her destined ill-fate. 

At this point, her self-destruction has been quite an immeasurable feat. She had been the only existence capable of defying the time traveler, the one who set him off course, the one who served to be his impossible problem. (Proving to be, quite literally, the bane of his existence.)

This is why, for Number Five, the future always remains unpredictable. A million branches of time wait in a slumber, undiscovered and unknown.

(In the light of this futility, The Oracle had once suggested that perhaps they should just let fate take its course if the universe was so intent on getting rid of a certain anomaly. The Founder had made sure to make his displeasure known for that one.)

As fate would have it, the world is never kind to the extraordinary.

But one thing is for certain, in another universe, in alternate timelines, again and again, Number Five and Number Eight will find their way back to each other.

---

 

2002-11-19
DAY 09 | 08:59

 

            THE TIME HAS FINALLY COME for them to jump back into the future—their present. Everything has been set in stone on the ninth day they've returned to the past. They’ve cleared the surveillance tapes, destroyed any evidence that they possessed their teenage bodies, aside from the little notes Number Five had scattered around the house.

The boy went as far as to turn to their sixth and ninth member, warning them this time around, “Try not to die again, hm?”

They gave him sheepish smiles but, something about the way things are changing, assured him that perhaps they stood a chance.

 

            Once all nine members of the academy had gathered in the courtyard of their old home, Eight cleared her throat while the time traveler took one last chance to go over his equations. “Alright. Settle down, children.” 

“Get into formation,” she instructed them to huddle up and motioned for them to stand in a circle.

Luther raised an eyebrow, daring to ask his sister, “Since when were you the boss?”

“Would you rather listen to Five?” Eight quipped, the corners of her lips twitching to form a smug smirk.

Diego snorts, muttering gruffly, “Good point.”

Klaus, however, had nothing better to do than to whine about it, “Do we have to go back? Every time we jump, I feel like puking my guts out—”

“Yes we do,” Five narrows his eyes at him, trying to concentrate as he clenched his fists to prepare a wormhole. “Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

“You’re grumpy,” Allison scoffs. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

Eliza teased from beside her, “He’s always grumpy.”

Vanya chuckled, “Keep distracting him, and we might end up stuck in the apocalypse for decades.”

“That’s a risk you’re all taking either way,” Five snapped at them.

“Great. I’m shaking with excitement,” Ben sighed.

At this, the time traveler looks at them all exasperatedly, “Does everyone have to complain every single time?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

“When have we not?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Eight tries to hold back a laugh, as she interrupted their family’s chorus of agreement. “For real this time, guys. Don’t jinx us. You know how it’s in poor taste talking about crashing when you’re on an airplane?”

“Great analogy,” the boy deadpanned, though his words lacked any bite to them.

She shot him a look, “I’m trying to help you.”

Five doesn’t respond, but he does successfully manage to create a wormhole from above them. His fists emitted an azure wisp that she was more than familiar with.

And she’ll never admit it, but a small pit of dread pooled in her gut.

 

            Without sparing a beat, Five grabs her hand, and Eight in return, intertwines their fingers. The rest of their family, take their places, linking their hands altogether as they all collectively took in a deep breath of anticipation.

“Guess this is it,” someone chimed in.

Another person responded, holding on tight, “See you on the other side.”

Number Five doesn’t bother turning to face them, his gaze locked on Eight, as if trying to engrave her image in his mind.

In all honesty, they’ve been through so much and lived long enough that the thought of everything going sideways had never left his mind but… Well, screw it.

They’ll get through it, so long as they’re together.

 

            Eight looks fondly at their family, the wind blowing through her hair, while she meets her husband's eyes as one last grasp for assurance. His eyes are just as blue as the portal above them, and from that, she believes it’s all going to be okay. 

“I trust you,” she promised.

“Good,” he presses his lips together to form a thin-lipped-smile, bracing himself for the fall.

The world splits through the middle as the boy wrinkled time.

And finally, the bright light engulfs them.

 

A LITTLE SOMETHING
TO TAKE NOTE OF:

 

            Number Five is used to playing god. Make a mistake? Look for solutions, plan alternatives. Lose a briefcase? Take it from your other self. The apocalypse killed your family? Go back in time to save them, even if it means they’re the cause of the end of the world.

He doesn’t believe in fate. Refuses to believe in absolute inevitability, because that’s the kind of shit that would have driven him insane back in the apocalypse.

But unbeknownst to them, the other 145,412 times the Hargreeves had tried to stop the apocalypse were quite telling.

That was the shitshow of fate at its finest.

Just once, The Founder insists. At least one time, they ought to get lucky.

But deep down, even he knows, that it would be a journey far from easy.

After all, in the words of the man, himself:

“Unimaginable power is attainable, but harnessing that power in a way that works as intended every single time… Well, that may be impossible.”

 

 

 

Notes:

END OF ACT ONE

 

we made it! i have waited two years to write this chapter sdkfhksh. here are a couple of notes before we continue on to the next act:

1. this chapter includes important lore which will be the main focus of the third installment of this series, entitled "we'll love again." specifically, the multiverse. i have mentioned that i won't be following season 4 (because that season was absolute shit), but i am keeping one thing, and it's going to be the subway.

2. i would like to address that the temps aeternalis is different from the temps commission (although it can be considered as the commission in another world). once again, more of that on the aforementioned sequel. lastly;

3. if you're reading this, i want to thank you so much for reaching this part of the fic. i know it's a very lengthy story, which is why i want to acknowledge everyone (especially the ones who stuck around) for still reading. i also want to thank those who left comments or a kudos, because (although i rarely respond to them) your words have kept me going, and it's always nice to hear what you think.

feel free to rant in the comment section and see you again in the next act ♡

 

we'll meet again (playlist)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of may death never stop you