WITCH. five hargreeves [1]

thirty four. research

EDITED AUGUST 22, 2021

Reginald always told Eight that she was too emotional. That she cried too much. That she was a baby who wouldn't "survive it in the real world."

Honestly, Eight thought that he was full of shit. She was a child, and Reginald would make these disastrous comments about her and her emotions when the only thing that fueled them in the first place was him.

There were three things that led her into the emotional mess that she apparently was: first of all, Reginald's "training" for her as a child was considered torture. At a young age, the girl had bullets shot at her, be forced to hurt Diego countless times, and wake up, body aching and mind disoriented since the man summoned the witch in her body without any of her consent.

Two, it was just... her. Eight couldn't help the fact that she felt overwhelmed very easily. Sure, growing up in the confines of the Apocalypse made her condition herself turn into this emotionless rock, but then the commission happened. Killing innocent people desperately tore down her defenses, and soon, it was like she was back to her thirteen-year-old self: easily overwhelmed.

Three, Five Hargreeves. There was no one in this world that she cared more about than Five, which was a blessing and a curse both at the same time. She would do anything for him: and the cherry on top to breaking her down was seeing the man hurt.

Which leads to now.

"Five, you absolute bitch." Eight sobbed as she held the love of her life in the backseat. Five was already unconscious, and Eight was starting to get worried more and more as time passed by. "Faster, Diego!" she exclaimed, cradling the boy in her lap. Most of the time, it was Eight who got injured since she always prioritized Five's safety first. Seeing Five like this was quite rare, and she despised seeing him in his current state. How did Five even get shot?

Allison watched her sobbing sister from the backseat, her eyes slowly not believing what she was seeing when she noticed that the color of her right eye was slowly starting to fade, and her hair that was originally a few shades lighter was now jet black. What the fuck?

"Diego, do you see her?" Allison asked, looking towards his brother who had his eyes in the road.

 "Not now, Allison," he replied, focusing on the task on hand. Diego pressed on the pedal harder, making them arrive at the Academy a few minutes before they were supposed to.

It was already dark when Eight had slammed her car door as she ran after Allison and Diego who carried Five towards safety. Eight closed the door behind her as she made her way to Allison and Diego who were muttering amongst themselves. 

"We should have taken him to the hospital," Allison claimed, walking Five towards the sofa. 

"A kid with a shrapnel would raise some questions." Five muttered, giving Eight a sense of relaxation when she noticed that he was still in fact, conscious. "

Yeah. And so would the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins' attic." she countered, putting Five down on the sofa gently.

"I'm going to check if the old man has some supplies in his room." Eight muttered, wiping the tears out of her eyes as she floated several feet into the air and into the second floor. Normally, she conditioned herself to be this cold robot who showed no emotion, but this was Allison. Diego. They've seen the worst of her.

As soon as her feet landed on the ground, she ran towards her old guardian's room. She knew Reginald had some weird instruments of his creation that would heal specific injuries.

She made her way towards his cabinet, avoiding all of the unopened moon packages she'd seen on the floor. Eight chuckled to herself when she noticed that Luther's packages weren't opened, he wasn't daddy's little boy after all.