[the commission–time unknown]
"SERIOUSLY? YOU didn't even kill one?" Park glared. The Handler was going to be pissed.
"Look, we tried! I didn't expect either of them to be so...strong," the red-eyed woman spat the word out like it was poison, burning in her mouth. Her hands where clutching the table, knuckles white.
"You killed thirteen innocents, got four of the Commission men killed, and it was absolutely worthless!" Park roared; they threw the file at the wall, papers exploding out like a flurry of photographs and typed words. "How am I supposed to get her back, if you don't stop fuckin' around and get serious! She's going to die, and it'll be all your fau—"
She moved like a viper, standing at the table one second and then ramming Park into the wall, hand squeezing his throat. They choked as her hand tightened, feet scraping the ground as she lifted them farther up. Papers slid out from under their sneakers.
"Don't you dare say I don't want Fiona back," she snarled, red eyes glinting like rubies. Her unusually sharp canine teeth, normally unnerving, now where downright frightening. "Don't you dare."
She released Park and they collapsed to the ground, rubbing their throat and gasping. The red-eyed woman retreated back to her spot at the table, petting the small butterfly calmly. Like she hadn't just tried to kill Park.
Park got to their feet, breathing hard; they took the butterfly away from the red-eyed woman and whispered to it in a language she didn't speak. After he finished, its eyes turned from orange to black and it fluttered out the window.
"What ones where there?" They said, voice hoarse.
"Five. And James—no, Jordan."
Park went to the pile of papers and picked through until they found those two profiles. Carefully, they laid them out side by side.
"What do we know about Jordan Reel?" Park tapped the picture and sat, waiting for the red-eyed woman to speak.
"At the moment, he is Jordan Arthur Reel: thirteen, black curly hair, brown eyes, freckles. He was born October first, 1989, and his mom's a druggie. Doesn't know his dad. Mom dies in 2007, when Jordan is eighteen, because she got into a bad shit with some dude; he let her overdose on cocaine. Jordan's got a younger brother—transgender, changed name from Veronica to Ron—who kills himself in 2010, when Jordan is twenty-one. They couldn't afford anti-depressants, and Ron insisted he'd be okay until the next paycheck; stepped in front of a car two nights later. Jordan became a habitual smoker, which he hated, and eventually moved across the country. He lived in an apartment building until 2019, where he died in the apocalypse. Had on-and-off boyfriends, some of which where abusive. Worked with LGBTQ+ kids that needed to be fostered or adopted." She threw the paper down and crossed her arms. "Why? Jordan's virtually unimportant. He never did anything before they time-traveled."
"You said one man drowned, right?" Park looked up at her, their eyes pitch black. Sometimes it unnerved her, how dark his eyes where. No pupil, no iris, just two pools of soulless black.
"Yeah. It was Duncan, though. He was an idiot anyways."
Park leaned forwards and tapped the snapshot of Jordan Arthur Reel. "Born October first, 1989."
The red-eyed woman frowned, puzzled; suddenly, her mouth dropped and her eyes widened.
"No..."
"Yes." Park said, sitting back. His eyes fluttered shut. "Now leave. I've got eyes on them."
She left, her hand already aching at the thought of the report she'd have to write.
[jordans house—late sunday evening, 2002]
Jordan took a deep breath as he climbed the stairs, Five following behind him. His heart ached like it never had, but the rest of him felt numb. His mind was encased in a drizzly fog, his veins filled with sand, bones collapsing onto one another. His limbs felt heavy, as if each leg was two thousand pounds to lift; the plate in his hands was warm, but he could barely register that.
Fucking hell, did he hate boys. He'd allowed himself to think Five liked him (the stares, the focus on him, the bathroom, the kitchen) but it turned out he didn't. And really, why would he? Jordan had nothing to offer.
He was nothing. Just a fat, sad little boy. He was going to end just like his mother; sad, drug-addicted, and lonely.
Jordan stepped aside at the door to the attic, and Five twisted the doorknob.
Five looked lost. Hurt. Confused.
Jordan didn't realize. He just walked up the stairs, lips swollen and eyes dry of tears, to meet the girl who ended the world.
~
Vanya, girl who ends humanity, appeared to be sick.
Luther was scowling, but concern was in his eyes as he leaned angrily against the wall. Diego stood next to Ben, clutching his knives and hugging himself respectively.
Vanya was over a trash can, very pale and vomit on the corner of her mouth; Allison was rubbing her back as she dry-heaved, while Klaus held back and bit his nails. Sometime over the weekend, he must've found nail polish and painted them green.
Jordan and Five stopped when everyone but the girls looked at them.
"What?" Five snarled; Klaus raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Not gonna say hi to our sister? Rude," he said, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity and confusion.
"I brought her some food, but..." Jordan was cut off when Vanya started vomiting into the can. He scrunched up his nose and Ben turned away.
"Should I go get her some medicine?" Jordan asked.
Allison glanced up at him and said, "Please do."
He handed the plate of food to Five and disappeared downstairs, escaping both the awkward air between him and Five and the terrible smell of Vanya's vomit.
Once Jordan was gone, Five started to speak. "Vanya," he said. "How much do you remember?"
"Just...just that there was a big secret and I didn't like it. I got angry. Really angry." She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth, vomit trailing onto the sleeve of her blazer.
"The secret was that you had powers," Klaus said. Vanya's eyes went wide as saucers.
"What? No I don't. I'm ordinary," her tone turned bitter. "I'm not special."
"You control sound waves," Diego said. "Something like that. You used your violin to, like, direct it."
Vanya didn't say anything. She was staring at Ben. "Wait," she said, getting to her feet; she swayed and Allison grabbed her shoulder. "You–you where dead, right?"
Ben paled. He looked like he wanted to cry. "Yeah, I was." He mumbled, hugging himself tighter; he blinked furiously.
Jordan interrupted their family discussion with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, slice of apple pie, and a glass water held in his hand. Five realized with a start that the butterfly clip was gone and his curls fell into his honey eyes.
"Here," he held them out to Vanya, but Klaus took them for her. "I'm assuming that you guys wanna be alone, so I'm gonna head to bed. I've got school tomorrow, and Tate to deal with."
Everyone but Vanya winced at the mention of Tate.
"Nice to meet you, Vanya. Good night," Jordan cast one last glance at Five before he was gone.
"You've gotta eat the apple pie, Vanya," Klaus said. "Jordan's a fucking chef worthy of Gordon Ramsey."
Vanya hesitantly took the pie and set it down, instead downing some Pepto-Bismal. She sat down on the air mattress.
"You ended the world," Luther said. "You tried to kill us all."
"To be fair, we tried to kill you," Allison added sharply at Vanya's horrified look. "And well tell you everything that happened."
She started again, just like she had for Jordan.
To Five, it was almost an exact repeat f when they told it to that boy; only, his heart hurt and he felt the missing person like a thorn in his side.
He made a mental note to talk to Klaus about what to do when the boy thinks it was an accident.
A/N:
this is a terrible I'm sorry it's trash again
i hope you have a lovely day