being in a place as populated as a motel is still strange.ย ย ย this oneโs half-full,ย ย ย the noย on the vacancyย sign out front dimmed to the point of invisibility,ย ย ย and thereโs tv static humming from nearly every room in their hallway,ย ย ย voices coming from a few.ย ย ย she might not be able to pick it up if it didnโt have such a stark contrast in the aftermathed world theyโd spent so long inย ย ย โย ย ย it wasnโt silent,ย ย ย wasnโt even quietย most of the time,ย ย ย howling wind and storms and the two of them talking to fill the void,ย ย ย but the background noise of other peopleย has taken getting used to.
theyโve been doing this for long enough,ย ย ย she should be well acclimated to that by now.ย ย ย itโs probably the only thing she hasnโtย taken to.ย ย ย it doesnโt matter.
five thinks the only thing that matters is getting home,ย ย ย saving the world.ย ย ย it is a lofty dream,ย ย ย but if anyone were to accomplish it,ย ย ย it would be him:ย ย ย she has more faith in her brother than anyone alive has ever had in anyone else.ย ย ย theyโve made it this far,ย ย ย havenโt they?ย ย ย five takes all that weight onto his shoulders,ย ย ย that doomed hope that he could keep the sky from falling and crushing every living thingย ย ย โ
and it isnโt that vanya doesnโt want the same.ย ย ย itโs just not as desperate.ย ย ย she doesnโt needย it in the same way.
sometimes she thinks she should feel guilty for how content she is here.ย ย ย here as in nowย and not as in place.ย ย ย here in the aftermath of the aftermath,ย ย ย here now that theyโve survivedย and come out on the other side victorious,ย ย ย here,ย ย ย where she is good at something,ย ย ย bloody as that somethingย is.ย ย ย the only version of herself that would not end up a killer is the one who remained numbed to the world forever,ย ย ย and she cannot stand to think of that possibility.ย ย ย that locked gray room of a pill bottle.
voices filter through the television speakers and come out silvered,ย ย ย staticky around the edges,ย ย ย eroding something at the edge of her focus as five speaks.ย ย ย itโs the old kind.ย ย ย the kind that sticks to your skin if you touch the screen,ย ย ย makes your hair fly around your head.ย ย ย she considers letting him change the subject as he wants.ย ย ย things could shift to their plans for today instead of hisย plans for the future,ย ย ย and they could move forward like that,ย ย ย butย ย ย โฆ
it isnโt as if they made some dramatic,ย ย ย cross-my-heart pact not to lie to each other once theyโd only had one another,ย ย ย but vanya knows when thereโs something on fiveโs mind.ย ย ย todayโs target will be easy.ย ย ย nothing gives them much challenge anymoreย ย ย โย ย ย it bothers her,ย ย ย sometimes,ย ย ย how goddamn anticlimactic itโs become now that they have killing down to such a science.ย ย ย kindly or not-so-kind truckers will always stop for a helpless woman by the side of the road,ย ย ย and between her and five,ย ย ย they have infinite ways to proceed,ย ย ย each one as efficient as the next.
โย ย ย we have a few hours,ย ย ย โย ย ย ย ย ย she says,ย ย ย reaches out to flick the television off,ย ย ย get rid of some of the background noise thatโs burrowing itself into her bonemarrow.ย ย ย meaning:ย ย ย we donโt need to talk about it now.ย ย ย meaning:ย ย ย time is irrelevant for us now. ย ย ย glass half empty,ย ย ย glass half full.ย ย ย nothing to do with optimism and everything to do with which subject theyโd rather discuss.ย ย ย sheโs not as interested in the howsย of their work;ย ย ย improvisation is enough,ย ย ย reaching out and hearing the frightened-rabbit heartbeat of whoever theyโve been sent to kill and using the hammering noise against them.ย ย ย adds,ย ย ย softly,ย ย ย as if an afterthought, ย ย ย ย ย ย โย ย ย the hitchhiker angle works,ย ย ย i think.ย ย ย it hasnโt steered us wrong yet,ย ย ย even if it is getting a bitย ย ย โฆย ย ย boring.ย ย ย ย โ
thatโs not what sheโs focused on.ย ย ย vanya reaches over him to grab her own glass,ย ย ย take the bottle and pour her own whiskey.ย ย ย it isnโt as much a habit for her,ย ย ย but itโs nice to have something in her hands. ย ย ย ย ย ย โย ย ย you do think too much,ย ย ย โย ย ย ย ย ย she says,ย ย ย and in other conversations there might be a fond undertone to it,ย ย ย a youโve always been that way,ย ย ย since we were kids,ย ย ย before all of this,ย ย ย and iโm sure your brainwaves will be going a thousand miles an hour until the day we die.ย ย ย here,ย ย ย concern carves a line between her brows.
he doesnโt like looping back like this,ย ย ย focusing on things vanya wonโt understand.ย ย ย she knows that.ย ย ย it doesnโt mean she can let it drop.
โย ย ย butย ย ย โฆย ย ย if you want to externalize any of those thoughts,ย ย ย you know iโm here.ย ย ย iโve been told iโm a good listener.ย ย ย โย ย ย ย ย ย a joke on two levels:ย ย ย that itโs half because of her powersย ย ย &ย ย ย half because heโs the only person whoโs been around to be ableย to tell her that in years.ย ย ย not the kind of joke you laugh at,ย ย ย but she aims a faint smile at him nonetheless.ย ย ย taps her fingers on the glass in a 1-2-3-4 synonymous with trust me,ย ย ย you can tell me anything,ย ย ย you know that.
a little bit more firm,ย ย ย a little less if youโd like to talk about it:ย ย ย ย ย ย โย ย ย tell me what youโre thinking,ย ย ย five.ย ย ย โ
sometimes number five thinks he needs better hobbies. funnily enough, vanya's at least slightly better than him in that regard with music. she has something she can do in spare moments. he's read so many books over their years walking around the end of things, half-burned volumes and singed bindings. sometimes he can't even bring himself to go back and look for the books that he couldn't finish. the ones that were too damaged. the ones that were impossible to discern. it feels like somehow betraying someone. his past self. a self that no longer exists. a self that he abandoned the second he could, even though it still lives inside of him somewhere, waiting to crawl out in his worst moments.
he wonders, sometimes. or all the time. or constantly. wonders and wanders, a single letter of difference that makes up his entire life. he goes from place to place with vanya, for the commission now and for them back before, and he thinks about what he might have done otherwise. what everyone else must have done. moved out. gotten normal jobs. the umbrella academy might have been formed to save the world, but both five and vanya can now vouch for the fact that it was a futile gesture. at least with the way things are currently unfolding, anyway.
as it turned out, they couldn't save anything. all the training and the way reginald hargreeves treated them for, seemingly, nothing at all. despite himself, five almost wants to scoff at nothing. instead, though, he takes a sip of his drink. his evasion of the topic was clumsy. none of the precision of how he plays chess, or even how he kills. just the bitter strangeness of honesty. makes everything taste sour, and he knows he's trying to wash it away with alcohol.
bad habits. everyone has them, even him.
then the television cuts, and the sourness of it is so much worse. without the distraction of unnecessary noise, it means vanya is listening. she has always been good at listening.
how can he make a conversation about the rote patterns of everyday interesting? he can't. all he can do is try to throw it aside and see if vanya latches onto it, which she won't. she knows him too well to fall for the little tricks like that. โ ย i don't even really think it's us. people are predictable, โ he points out. โ they can only react in so many ways. falls on us to make things interesting for ourselves, and that can get... tiring, every so often. โ
they'll find a new way to revive their interest in another job or two. it comes and goes.
five years for the commission. would they stop after those five years? he almost doesn't think so. where could they choose to settle? what kind of people could they even be?
there is only one purpose he has in getting out of the commission. they both know it. they both skirt around the edges of the topic because of what it might mean. because -- well, here's the thing about time. if he fixes the apocalypse, then he changes them. he stops their existence. their whole timeline unravels at his hands, which means that there isn't space for him.
sometimes that stops him from working on the equations for weeks at a time. does he have the right to do this? the willpower? can he even tell vanya about it?
โ you are, โ he says softly. a little melancholic. he goes through stages when he drinks too much. this is not too much, but it's enough to hit that early touch of misery. โ you're always a good listener, vanya. โ which is good. because usually he isn't.
he listens to the tap of her fingers on the glass. with that slight hint of stubbornness in her tone, his fingers drum back against the class, the rhythm equally sure. morse code but beyond that. a language that comes in movements, in how his fingers curl a little tighter around the glass. short-long, short-short-long. _i'm trying. give me a minute (or however much time it takes)._
the silence sits for a moment. he can hear someone else's voice through the wall behind them. one-sided conversation, probably into a phone. โ the usual, โ he says after a moment. the glass clinks against the table as he sets it back down. โ i'm just thinking about the commission again. yes, i know i've been doing that a lot lately. but there are... lingering questions. โ the commission's face is just the handler. beyond that there is little understanding. โ i'm thinking about how they'll fit into what i'm trying to do. when we get there. somehow i don't think they'll just let me hop around in the timeline. that seems to be reserved for the suitcases which they oversee. unknown variables are... naturally destabilizing. โ
they cause problems. they cause errors. they create cascading branches across time, forcing things into new and unknown shapes. isn't that exactly what he's always wanted to do? yes. five has loved nothing more than to defy the way things should be, or the way things are for everyone else. let them escape it. let them keep going.
lets the thought of vanya staying, of her not-going, stick in his throat.
washing it down with more whiskey. pretending itโs gone, circling down some drain in his mind and disappearing into the dark.
