Five Hargreeves landed in Dallas, Texas, in the middle of the night calling out his siblings names - unaware that they were scattered in the 60s, like he was now.
When he gained no response, he span around and scanned the alleyway he had landed in, brushing the dust off of his clothes. To him, little to no time had passed.
He paused, attention turning to the white graffiti on the wall by the back door.
He straightened, then, scanning what looked like an address scrawled in chalk in what would have been a neat scrawl had it not been for the shaky lines that trailed away as though the artist was too weak to maintain the placement of the chalk to the bricks.
He would have glanced past it, assuming it was mindless graffiti, had it not been for the number '5' scrawled a hundred or so times around it in varying sizes and clarity.
•●•
When he found the door to the apartment, he was surprised to see it was unlocked - either the person within held no care for their own safety or they were expecting his arrival.
The lights inside were out and the place only had minimal furniture, no television or trinkets or framed pictures, just the barenecessities. The kitchen led off from the back of the living area while he assumed the bedroom was down the hall to the right.
Tense and not knowing what to expect, he felt for a lamp and found the remains of one shattered and broken on the floor. He instead switched on the light in the kitchen to use it to illuminate the rest of the living room.
He blinked in surprise, eyes trailing up from the lamp to the wall where tons of notes and newspaper sections were taped there, like a mural of chaos.
He caught the black and white eyes of his siblings in each of their respective photographs and stepped back in deep thought, scanning the newspaper clippings and handwritten notes in fast, slanted writing in another language that looked familiar.
He became aware of an inexpressible pang in his chest as he recognised it as Norwegian.
He had a feeling he knew who owned the apartment, but doubt still kept him in a clutch; he had considered the fact he'd never see her again, and certainly did not expect her to try and help him again.
He regarded the dozens of umbrella symbols and drawings around the edges of the wall, all in pen, pencil or scratched into the surface with an inkless ballpoint that tore chips of paint off. It was borderline mental.
His hand subconciously reached for an image of the umbrella academy symbol when he was cut off by a horrific scream so loud he jumped.
The sounds that followed the scream were similar to hyperventilating through sobs, and he crept towards the bedroom down the hall, still cautious but now curiouser. He rounded the corner and could just about make out the figure of a female, back to the beds side, knees drawn close to her chest.
His eyes adjusted and he spotted how her hands were linked around the back of her neck.
Platinum blonde hair. Long bony fingers clutching it like straw, nails raking the back of her neck, a familiar scar on the back of her right hand.
"Anneli..." he muttered without meaning to.
She was alive.
The hunched over shaking form didn't twitch at any indication of having heard his voice, or noticing his presence.
He couldn't put a name to what he was thinking, what he was feeling at seeing her in front of him. Terrified to the bone at the sound of her scream, crushed by relief at seeing her alive. In this timeline. Then came the confounding confusion that stuck him to the spot, unable to stop staring at her in wonder.
She lifted her head and he went cold.
He expected yelling, he expected some violence, at least a glare or some recognition but what he got was none of that and he wasn't quite sure if that was comforting or not; her closed eyes and tear stained cheeks were not.
"Anneli?" he called out lowly, cautiously approaching her like she was some wild animal that would snap at any sudden sound or movement; he wasn't far off with that judgement.
Her eyelids flickered rapidly as though she was seeing all manner of things in her dreamlike state, and he frowned deeply as he realised she might actually have still been asleep.
He called her name again.
This time, she shook her head slowly, eyebrows pinching together. As though she didn't want to believe she was hearing his voice.
"Anneli, wake up." He wasn't sure how to approach her without her lashing out at him.
When he heard her hushed voice barely louder than a whisper, it made his shoulders release all tension. His expression softened.
"You're not... here..." she murmured, eyes still closed. It was as though she was not physically awake, but her mind was. Or her subconcious mind was. "This isn't real."
Her words were faintly slurred and a fraction above a whisper. He had to strain to hear her clearly
"You're dreaming." He approached carefully, unsure what to do. What was happening.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she was still in a weird state inbetween conciousness. "I know I am but... it's real."
Her grasp tightened around the back of her neck and she drew her legs in closer, troubled by something he couldn't see nor imagine.
Five tilted his head and wasn't sure how to respond. She was talking near nonsense.
"But you just said it wasn't?" He questioned lightly.
Her eyelids fluttered and she slumped against the side of the bed, hands still braced at the back of her neck. He spotted dark bruises under her eyes and the shimmer of half dried tear tracks down her cheeks.
"I don't know anymore, I don't... you're not really here." She said quietly, accusatory.
The moonlight shining through the blinds made her hair glisten like a halo around her head and he swallowed thickly, clenching his fists at his side. He moved slowly so as not to disturb the crackling energy in her blood and crouched down in front of her.
"Open your eyes," he told her softly, placing a hand on her forearm.
Her head turned to the right as though to look away from him and she didn't react to the touch.
"I can't... I'm not awake. But... I am," she uttered barely audible, frowning, confused by her own words in her sleepy state as though talking to herself. "-mm I sleeping?"
"Anneli, wake up."
"Don't tell me what to do." She frowned to herself, shifting away from his hand.
She moved away from him and rested slowly on her side on the cold floor, curling in on herself and not aware of what she was actually doing. Her choppy hair fell across her pale face, arms latched to eachother in a mock embrace of herself.
She looked almost ethereal in the ghostly moonlight.
Her words were all slurred and indistinguishable and he struggled to understand what was going on with her. She looked like she was going to sleep again, this time her active mind shutting off with it.
"What?" He asked, leaning in closer to hear her words.
She let out a soft sigh and her eyelids stopped twitching, the line between her eyebrows smoothing over. "Late..."
He sat back on his heels and couldn't find any words as she seemingly fell into a much deeper state of sleep, muttering the same thing until all that he was left with was her soft breaths.
"You're late......"