[at the commission–time unknown]
"YOU ARE not serious?" The Handler sighed and rubbed her temples. Park and the red-eyed woman stood in front of her, angry.
"Of course we're serious. They all got out. Except for one." Park said this in a voice much too calm.
"Which one, then? There are eight candidates and you aren't being very clear," said The Handler, her eyes flashing with quiet rage.
The two young adults moved aside and Number Two—Diego—fell to the ground. His lip was busted, a black eye and multiple cuts decorating his face. Blood dripped from everywhere—face, legs, arms, head, neck.
"Dear lord, what did you do to him?"
"The troops got...a little out of hand," the red-eyed woman said with a shrug. Park rolled their eyes.
"We figure we'll take him to the prison and have someone come help clean the wounds. We don't want him dying of an infection." Park gently wrapped their arm around Diego and lifted him to his feet. Diego groaned and muttered something along the lines of I'll kill you, but Park ignored it.
"We are sorry we didn't get them all. We're currently finding their location as quickly as possible, but it's doubtful they'll be staying there for long," said Park. Then, without speaking another word, the three of them left. Park practically carried Diego, and the red-eyed woman skipped merrily beside them.
Dot peeked out from behind the door. "Uh, Handler?"
"Yes, Dot, what?" The Handler gritted her teeth. Those two damned teenagers. All these ducking teenagers. When had she started working with teenagers?
"We...we have some news," said Dot as she stepped into the room. Her fingers where anxiously tapping the folder she held, and she smelled like cigarette smoke.
"What kind of news, Dot?"
Dot simply handed her the folder. As The Handler read over it, her eyes flashed. Her teeth clenched the papers tighter, and she eventually threw them down. "Get. Out."
Dot scampered from the room, closing the door behind her. Once she was gone, The Handler screamed and dragged her hands across the desk, tossing everything down. Papers fluttered like snow. She picked up the pistol and fired it repeatedly at the poster of Five. Over and over and over.
When she ran out of bullets, she collapsed against the desk. The bastards little know-it-all smirk had been destroyed, torn by bullet wounds; his forehead was littered with them and he had one in the pupil of each eye. She blinked away the angry tears and picked up her cigarette.
Calmly, she lit it. "Fuck those Hargreeves," she said.
[hargreeves home, five's bedroom–tuesday night, 2002]
Allison wanted to cry. She probably would if even one more thing went wrong.
Jordan had fainted almost immediately, and he now lay on the floor on a blanket. He was sweating—or he was just wet. It didn't smell like sweat, more like rain, but it was all over his face, in his hair. Next to him was Five, band-aids everywhere and a piece of torn shirt was used as a tourniquet on his leg. Both where unconscious, breathing unevenly and warm.
On the bed was Vanya. Vanya, white as a ghost and sweating buckets while Ben and Luther tried again to stop the bleeding. Klaus was attending to Five and Jordan, trying to wake them up; Allison felt useless, but she couldn't move. She couldn't breath. Couldn't think.
Just a few days ago, Vanya had been like this. Less bleeding, but unconscious on a bed and sick. It happened again, but now Five and Jordan where in on it too. Diego was missing, they where back home, and it was a miracle their parents or Pogo hadn't heard. For once, Allison was grateful they'd absorbed their Past-Selves.
But Vanya was dying. Allison couldn't do anything, and her sister was dying.
Allison wished her powers where better. Anything else. Anything to help Vanya.
"Allison," Klaus reached up and touched her wrist gently, his eyes filled with concern. "Allison, we have to find Mom."
"No," Luther said, whirling around. Ben slapped his hand and Luther turned back to Vanya. "We can't bring anyone else into this."
"They're dying!" Klaus hissed.
"No one is dying," Ben said through gritted teeth. Allison realized with a jolt that tears where making their way down Ben's cheeks. Blood had spattered onto his face and clothes; the tears turned the thick red paler. It made her want to vomit.
"No one is dying," Ben repeated, sounding almost hysterical. He looked up from Vanya, his brown eyes wide and frantic, tears clouding them. "No one is dying, right? Right?!"
"No, Ben," said Klaus as he stood up, crossing the room in two quick strides and grasping Ben shoulders firmly. "No one is dying, okay?"
Ben nodded, more tears falling.
"Okay?" Klaus repeated.
"Okay," Ben said quietly. "Okay."
Klaus smiled softly and rubbed his brothers shoulders. "Vanya isn't going to die. Neither will Jordie or Five; they haven't even had a baby yet, they can't die. And we'll get Diego back. He can hold his own until we find him, okay?"
Ben nodded. He took a shuddering breath and shrugged Klaus's hands off. He returned to stopping the blood flowing out of Vanya's side.
Klaus went back to Jordan and Five. The room was quiet.
Allison wondered just how bad dying had been for Ben. How terrible that must've been, to he dead. To only be able to speak with Klaus.
She wondered if she would've been able to handle it.
Five sat up, gasping for breath.
"Diego," he said, voice raspy. "I left Diego."
A/N:
hey look another short chapter sorry sorry
i hope you guys enjoyed it anyways lol
(also, you guys responded so greatly to the stranger things thing i mentioned that i decided to start seriously considering it; i've spent the last two hours listening to music that was popular in the 80s and i've been having a lot more fun than expected lmao
anyways, be on the lookout for that if you're interested; i plan on having at least five chapters pre-written, but I already have two 1,000+ word chapters made, so...)
any who sorry i started rambling i hope you liked this update and that you have a very incredibly lovely day!!