▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ɪᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ
ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ꒱


❝ IN THE MOMENT WE'RE LOST
AND FOUND / I JUST WANNA
BE BY YOUR SIDE / IF THESE
WINGS COULD FLY / FOR THE
REST OF OUR LIVES ❞

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

[ VOICEOVER ]

"It's happening again, isn't it?"

"No! I refuse to let us meet the same fate in this world as we did in the previous one." There was a loud smack— the sound of a hand hitting a desk out of frustration.

"It will be alright, my love. If this is what destiny has in store for us, then so be it. What right do we have to fight it?"

"We are GODS Abigail! We can create matter from nothing! Why should we bend to the whims of time like mere mortals?"

"Perhaps a we need a lesson in humility," the woman— Abigail— commented, her voice tinged with amusement. It sobered, becoming serious once more. "There are some forces stronger than us, Reggie. You know that. We can only have so many foolproof plans before one becomes flawed. You have done your best to monitor the group you call the Umbrella Academy but even with all of your painstaking circumvention, the Durango has managed to follow us here. It can never be far from its creator."

[ PICTURE ]

The blackness fades slowly into image, the focus on a large, mahogany desk, so cluttered that one could not see the wood underneath. Some of the papers' words were clearly legible while others were obscured by yet more documents. The reports that could be read included:

- A bar license with the letters V-I-K visible.

- A rent bill for an apartment in a seedy part of town that had overdue stamped in big, red letters, only for a black marker to have crossed it out with the word paid written beside it.

- A housing deed under the name [...]-PITTS for a modest three-bedroom house in the suburbs with the hefty down payment already made.

- A jar of bright, golden particles that acted as a paperweight to the aforementioned papers.

- The phone number for the local fire department scrawled in messy handwriting with a memo of 'references' next to it.

- A book decorated with a honeycomb cover that had the title 'The Book of Satoshi' with a train ticket for Seoul, South Korea sticking out between the pages like a bookmark.

Reginald Hargreeves straightened from his desk and glared angrily into the middle distance, a scowl drawing deep lines on his face. "We have already tried bringing the Marigold fragments together— it's one of the reasons why I created the Academy in the first place— to fight against the reign of evil that the Durango represents, to nearly disastrous results. I'd hoped that by dispersing them, it would prevent the Durango from forming altogether."

Abigail remained even-tempered in the face of her husband's frustration. She reached out a hand to place it comfortingly on his arm. "Dispersing them was never the answer," she countered, her voice soft but unyielding. "You should know by now that destiny isn't something you can run from. The Durango has found us, despite your best efforts. It always does."

Reginald shook his head, his scowl deepening as he turned to face her. "Then we will make it forget. If it has attached itself to this girl, we will sever the connection by any means necessary. The mind can be wiped, reprogrammed. It doesn't have to end like this."

"And what of the girl?" Abigail asked, her eyes narrowing. "She's an innocent in this. You'd condemn her to a life in hiding, stripped of everything she knows, simply to escape this monster?"

"If it means saving us— yes," Reginald replied sharply. "What is one life in the face of universal destruction?"

Abigail's hand slipped from his arm, her expression hardening. "It's not just the Durango you're running from. It's your failures. Every time you try to control things, they spiral further out of your grasp. You lost control of the Umbrella Academy. You lost control of this. . . world."

His scowl deepened. "The others failed. The Sparrows failed. But this? No, Abigail. I will not lose. I refuse to let this universe meet the same fate as the last one."

Abigail shook her head. "If you push too hard, Reggie, you may just bring about the very destruction you seek to prevent. We cannot fight fate."

Reginald's eyes flashed with defiance. "I will rewrite fate itself if I must."

The gray-haired woman let out a defeated sigh. "You always did think you could. But fate has a funny way of humbling even the most powerful of us."

--

"'Good evening, everyone. I'm Jessica Holmes.'"

"'And I'm Dan Tenenbaum.'"

"'We begin tonight with a larger-than-life story down on Kensington Wharf. Action 9's very own Bailey Stone is live with the story.'"

Reginald watched the proceedings at Kensington Wharf with cold, gray eyes. He personally made it a habit to avoid being in the same company as people with such low-life occupations, but he had to stand their presence for the time being. His gaze was apathetic as they made fools of themselves while they exclaimed over the 'big-ass squid.' (Their words— he would never use such distasteful language.) He straightened his tie, barely paying attention to the inane chatter.

"Dan, Jessica, I don't know what is happening right now. Something is moving inside the squid. I don't know if you guys are getting this in the studio, but there seems like there's a. . . I-I mean, this is incredible, but I think I see a. . . face," Bailey Stone broke off from her professional reporting as something. . . pulsed against the flesh of the squid.

One of the fishermen had a knife, which he used to cut away the skin of the creature. A young girl burst free in a gush of internal fluids, her clothes stained with black ink. The newswoman shrieked in surprise but soon recovered her polished demeanor. "As you can see, many questions remain. What is the Cleanse? Who is this little girl? Where did she come from, and where will she go from here?"

Reginald seized the moment. Without a word to anyone, he stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. He spoke with an authority that came naturally to him, one that kept people from asking too many questions. "Our world is changing. Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary. And with such gifts come. . . responsibilities. This girl is one such individual. I understand your concerns, but rest assured, I will take full responsibility for her welfare."

"Sir Hargreeves, it is an honor to have you here. This is truly an unexpected turn of events. Could you shed some light on what we just witnessed?" Bailey Stone asked as she extended her microphone in Reginald's direction.

"The public will be told what is necessary," he told her indifferently. He held out an arm towards the shaken girl under the guise of a parental gesture, but it was really to forcefully maneuver her towards the exit.

Bailey, sensing that he was shutting the operation down, pressed with one last question. "Are you concerned for the welfare of the child? Will she be okay?"

Reginald turned toward her, his gaze icy and inscrutable. "Of course. Just as I am for the fate of the world."

--

"Tell me, what do you remember, girl?"

Jennifer stared up at the imposing older man with a hint of fear in her eyes. After everything she'd just been through, she craved the comfort of a reassuring touch— even though she knew she would no longer experience familial affection. Reginald had seemed for all the world a concerned fatherly figure until they were out of the public eye and in his mansion. She hadn't gotten to see much of the grandeur of his house as she'd been hastily ushered to a lower basement that had laboratory-like sterileness. She now sat on a metal examination table with the thermal blanket still wrapped around her.

Reginald quickly grew impatient with her silence, his steely eyes sharpening further with displeasure. "I don't have time for your childish games, girl! You will tell me how you came to find us or—"

"Reggie!" A woman's voice cut off his threat. Jennifer couldn't help but relax slightly at the sight of her; her long, curly silvering hair, elegantly wrinkled face and plate of cookies she was carrying gave her the appearance of a caring grandmother. She scolded him sternly as she came closer: "don't pester the girl; she's just been through a traumatizing ordeal! Why don't you go get everything set up and let me take care of her?"

He seemed to want to argue with the woman and even opened his mouth to do so, but at her firm look, he closed it and turned sharply on his heel, heading toward the door on the far side of the room. Once he'd disappeared behind it, the older woman sat on the table next to her, jumping up as spritely as if she were twenty. "Would you like a cookie?" Jennifer took one hesitantly and nibbled at the edge. She continued, "don't mind him, dear. He can be a bit of an old stodge, but it won't be long until he's warmed up to you." She smiled at the girl's mistrustful look. "Yes, I know it seems impossible, but he is an old softy underneath all of. . . that. And don't worry about Reggie's questions, you don't have to talk about anything until you're ready, understand? You just sit here and stay comfortable while we sort things out."

Now that the heartless man was gone and replaced by this nice lady,— who'd introduced herself as Abigail— Jennifer found herself wanting to share what had happened to her. But she knew from past experience that telling the truth would only get her in trouble, so she wanted to make something exceptionally clear first: "I don't want to go back to them."

Abigail's eyes lit up as if she were genuinely happy that Jennifer had spoken. She patted the girl's hand reassuringly. "I'm assuming you mean your parents?" At her nod, she gave one of her own. "That's not a problem, dear. We'll take good care of you."

Feeling a little reassured— though she still didn't entirely trust the couple— Jennifer mumbled in a small voice, "it was supposed to be a vacation."

Since her gaze was now focused on her cookie, she didn't see the look in Abigail's eyes sharpen. "What was, my dear girl?"

"Our family trip," Jennifer explained, her voice even growing softer. She picked at a loose chocolate chip. "We had been fighting a lot so my mom thought we should go on vacation to work things out. But. . . once we were far enough from shore, they—" Her throat worked and she stopped talking.

The older woman gasped sympathetically, putting the pieces together. "That's horrible! Why would they do such a thing?"

Jennifer met her gaze, her own, dark eyes suddenly serious. "How did Sir Hargreeves know that I was special?"

"We created your powers, darling," Abigail explained. She saw no reason to lie when the girl would soon forget. "We are. . . scientists, of a sort— hence the lab— and we made the particles that give you your powers. We wanted to meet the special person they attached to, so we created a device to track them, which lead us to you. Would you be comfortable in telling me what you can do?"

"Don't you know?" the brunette asked, genuinely confused.

Abigail shook her head ruefully. "No; they adapt to the person they find— your powers are customized to your DNA so the person who gets them has exactly what they need. Do you understand?"

"I. . . think so," the girl said. Then, she offered: "I can see the future, kind of. I get. . . visions. My parents didn't like it when I talked about them, so I tried not to. But sometimes they were really scary and I had to tell someone. That's when the arguing started."

"I'm sorry they didn't appreciate your gifts," Abigail apologized gently, squeezing the girl's hand. "But I can assure you, my husband and I are quite used to being around super-powered people. We can help you interpret your visions and even control them."

Jennifer's expression lit up with hope. "Really? 'Cause when I tried to talk to my parents, they. . . they called me bad names." Her voice softened with sadness again. "That's. . . why they threw me into the ocean. I can't swim, so I sank pretty fast but. . . this thing came out of the darkness and saved me. And then the fishermen cut me out of it and Sir Hargreeves found me."

"Oh, honey," the older woman crooned sympathetically. She pulled the girl into a comforting hug. "You're safe with us now. If you want, we have a way for you to forget your painful memories. It might even make controlling your visions easier. Would you like that?"

Still fresh from her shock and grief, Jennifer didn't think very long before she nodded eagerly. Perhaps, if she'd had more time to think about it— or thought to ask more questions— she might have had a different answer.

✧ ✧ ✧

Rosie— no, Jennifer— woke in a strange room wearing unfamiliar pajamas. Her head still throbbed, though the pain was less stabbing and more just a dull ache. Her memories were all jumbled, ones from the past, present and the future all mixing together. She lay still in the bed, staring up at the wallpapered ceiling as she tried to make sense of things.

That town— if it could even be called that— had been a farce. Her whole life was turning out to be just one big lie. Gary, the sheriff, had probably never cared about her. Stan, one of the regulars in the diner, had probably only come in so often so he could make sure she still didn't have her memories. Even wheelchair-bound Patricia, with her friendly smiles and interesting facts about her antiques, had probably been a fake! Had she even owned her diner at all? Or had it just been a front— something to keep her busy and out of the Hargreeves' hair?

And all those things Abigail had told her, about how they would take care of her, this was what they'd meant? She would just be shoved someplace out of sight, forgotten about like an old pair of shoes that no longer fit? She felt a fresh wave of anger wash through her at the thought of that couple. Then, the name Hargreeves made her think of Ben.

That asshole! Who did he think he was, coming in and tearing up her life like this? He could take his stupid, cocky smirk and damn connection and get swallowed by his own giant squid! She decided that she hated him.

But. . . she couldn't commit to the feeling, which only made her angrier. With her proper memories coming back, she realized why he'd felt so familiar: she'd had visions of him all her life. She'd seen his face in every dream and every nightmare. They weren't always the same; sometimes, they didn't have powers and nothing terrible happened to them. Other times, one of them died while saving the other. In the worst instances, both of them met their ends tragically. She couldn't hate him, not when their lives were so intertwined.

With a groan of frustration, she kicked her covers off and slowly got out of bed. Her skin burned. Not in the feverish sense, but as if it was literally on fire. She shoved the sleeves of her old-lady nightgown up to her elbows and stood to cross the room and open the windows. As she did, the door opened to reveal a woman, who was carrying a pitcher and a mug, and a man just behind her. "Knock, knock!"

"How about some fresh clothes hot from the dryer?" the man offered, said clothes folded neatly in one hand.

She stared at them, still trying to process their sudden existence. "Who. . .who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Jean, with a J," the woman introduced herself.

"And I'm Dr. Gene, with a G," her husband added.

"We'll let you decide which is the dominant Jean. . ."

"And which is recessive," he finished with a smile.

When Jennifer (she had to get used to thinking of herself with that name again) did nothing but stare at them, they became serious once more. "What the hell is going on? Am I a prisoner?"'

They were quick to reassure her, "no! No, of course not. You're our guest. We have been looking for you for a very long time. We have so many questions about the Cleanse."

Jean and Gene set their offerings down, looking at her with eager anticipation. Unfortunately, she had no answers for them except: "what are you talking about?"

"The Cle. . . Uh. . . Oh," Jean paused, her expression softening with sympathy. "I get it, I get it. It's okay. You have just been through a very traumatic experience."

Gene scoffed in agreement. "That gang of miscreants, they were trying to kidnap you."

Although they were the reason why her life had gotten so messed up in a matter of hours, Jennifer still felt the need to defend them. "No, no. They. . . They were. . . Uh. . ." It was hard to remember exactly what they had been doing with the sudden influx of memories she was still experiencing, the occasional flashes of another life or a possible outcome getting in the way of her words.

Jean frowned at her difficulty. "They were what, hon?" When she had nothing else to offer, the dark-haired woman put her hands on her hips. "Well, thank goodness we got you when we did. Who knows what might've happened to you."

As the older woman went over to the pitcher to pour something out of it, Gene gave her a concerned look. "Is there anyone we can call for you? Mom? Dad? Maybe a friend?"

Her breathing grew shakier at the reminder of what she had lost. "They're all gone. My whole life. It was all a lie. Am I just part of someone's sick joke?"

"It's okay, hon," Jean told her gently, "you're safe now."

Fear pushed away the anger that had been steadily growing inside of her. The last time someone had promised that she was safe, they'd wiped her memories and hid her away from the world. These people would turn out to be just like them. "No, uh, I gotta go."

But, as she made her way to the door, her head gave a particularly painful throb. Past, present, future. Future, present, past. Past, past— She buried her fingers in her hair, clutching at her head. Jean stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the exit under the guise of care. "Hush now, darling. You just let Jean and Gene take care of you, hmm?"

✧ ✧ ✧

The Umbrella Academy-plus-Ben were slowly recovering from their potentially fatal accident. Remnants of timeline paraphernalia littered the road while Wanda itself looked worse for wear. The windows had all been blown out and the paint job was scraped up, much to Diego's dismay. It didn't take long for Ben to lose his patience with their so-called brainlessness. "Leave it to this clown car of a family to botch a simple search and rescue."

Luther stood by the side of the road with his thumb out, as if he were expecting a car to drive by and offer them a ride. "For a second there, we had her."

"Who were those weirdos with the fanny packs?" Viktor asked. The doors to the car were thrown open and he sitting sideways on one of its benches.

"Was it me, or did they smell like wet sheep?" Lila wondered, though she knew exactly who it had been.

"Goats, I thought," Luther offered. Then he shook his head when that didn't seem right. "Maybe llamas."

Diego finished checking Wanda for damages (result: they were everywhere.) "Who cares? And why did they call you Nancy?"

Lila didn't answer for a moment as she tried to come up with a suitable lie but when she found none, she went with distraction instead: "their names are Gene and Jean. They run an underground organization called the Keepers."

"Sex cult?" Diego guessed.

She made a face at him. "No, not a sex cult. . ."

He brushed off her protest. "Once you get to the top, it's always a sex cult."

"Yeah. The man's got a point," Luther agreed, as if he had some idea of what he was talking about.

While Five didn't know as much about the Keepers as Lila did, he'd gotten the gist of their MO. "They're an extremist group who believe they have memories and. . . artefacts from alternate timelines."

"Some of their memories are bang on," Lila said.

"They're calling this phenomenon the Umbrella Effect," Five explained.

Viktor stood with a groan of frustrated confusion. "How is this even possible?"

"Well, you know, we're still working on that," the brunette replied.

"What do they want with Rosie? Jennifer? Whatever she goes by?" Ben asked. At the Umbrella's silence, he sighed. "Great. You don't know that either."

Klaus sat at the back of the van inside of the open trunk. His gaze was glassy as he stared off into space, still coming to terms with his near-death experience and the return of his powers. Allison sat next to him and gently rubbed her hand on his arm. "Hey, hey, hey. Are you okay?"

"I'm absolutely fine, thanks to you."

She scoffed at his tone. "Look, are you mad at me because I saved your life?"

He finally turned to face her. "I was very clear, was I not? No Marigold."

"I know, Klaus. What was I supposed to do? Let you die?" she demanded.

"I know. It's just three whole years down the drain," Klaus whimpered, his voice catching. "Three years clean and sober."

Allison softened, the weight of her brother's words hitting her. "Klaus, I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"No," Klaus cut her off, raising a hand. "You did think. You thought about me, and that's. . . that's the problem." He shifted in his seat, his eyes flickering with anger and hurt, though he was too exhausted to let either fully take over. "I asked you not to interfere with the Marigold for a reason. You made a choice for me and I have to live with that."

Allison's expression wavered, her hand still resting on his arm. "I couldn't lose you."

Klaus looked down at her hand, then back at her face, his gaze heavy. "But I needed to lose that part of me. For good. You don't get it, Allison. . ."

"But having your powers back doesn't necessarily mean—" she started to argue.

"No, no it does mean that," he disagreed. "The ghosts, the screaming, the nightmares. That all comes with my powers, as cool as being nearly immortal is, and that's why I resorted to the drugs and alcohol. I just wanted one goddamn moment of peace, and the peace felt so good that. . . that's what I grew addicted to." Klaus's voice cracked as he spoke, the pain that had been simmering beneath the surface finally bubbling to the top. "You of all people understand how much it took for me to crawl out of that hole. And now, I'm right back where I started."

Allison's face filled with guilt, her eyes searching his, desperate to find the right thing to say. But for the first time in a long time, she found herself speechless. "Klaus. . . I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know. But that's the thing, isn't it? You didn't listen to what I wanted, you listened to what you needed." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and stood up slowly from the back of the van, stepping away from her. "It's just. . . I need some space, okay? I need to figure this out. Alone."

Allison blinked, her throat tightening as she fought to speak. "Klaus, you don't have to be alone in this."

He gave her a small, sad smile. "But I do. I always have."

He turned and walked away, his steps slow and heavy, leaving Allison sitting in the open trunk, her hand falling into her lap. Nearby, Diego tossed a broken piece of Wanda to the side, watching Klaus walk off as he crossed his arms. "Should we be worried?"

Luther still held his thumb out, though now he was watching Klaus too. "He'll come back. He always does."

✧ ✧ ✧

After getting the car repaired as much as they could, the group decided to split up. Ben went after Jennifer. Luther, Allison and Viktor left to confront their father. This left Five, Lila and Diego to dig up more about Gene and Jean. They let the latter group take off in Wanda to find Reginald while they returned to the building that the Keeper's meeting had taken place. Five pushed open the doors with the other two following close behind him.

"Welcome to the Keepers HQ, courtesy of Jean and Gene."

Diego looked around the formal room with distaste. "Jean and Gene didn't give us much to go on."

"Stay focused for once, darling," Lila scolded her husband. But it didn't matter how focused they were; even a cursory search showed that anything useful had already been taken. "All the files are gone."

"Yeah, it certainly looks that way."

The brunet wasn't willing to give up so easily. "While you two stand around twiddling your dinks, I got recon to do."

"There's nothing here, Diego," Lila insisted.

He merely glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Our targets left in a hurry, correct?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So. . . haste makes waste, mami," he replied, leaving the room moments later.

Deciding that there was nothing to do but wait, Lila took advantage of the opportunity to poke fun at her favorite target: Five. She walked a few steps closer to him with a smirk on her face. "Out with it. Why can't you blink?"

"I can blink," he snapped, doing his best to ignore her as he leafed through a few books that had been left behind. Unfortunately they held nothing out of the ordinary. "You know, I just. . ."

"Won't," she finished for him skeptically. "You gotta get back on that horse, kemosabe."

He could almost sense what she was going to do the second before her hand latched onto his arm. "Don't—"

His warning came too late and they disappeared in a zap of purple energy. They reappeared in the same subway he'd arrived in twice before. Lila looked around at it in surprise. "Whoa! Where are we?"

"A subway station," he responded dryly.

"I can see that, numbnuts, but why did you blink us here?"

He sighed and walked towards the turnstiles. "Believe me, Lila, it was not on purpose. Ever since Ben spiked us with that janky marigold, when I blink, this is where I end up."

They made it down to the waiting platform. Lila was still looking around in awe as she tried to figure out how the system worked. "Okay, not the MTA. Not the Tube."

"Trust me, this is unlike any subway you've been to."

"Well, where do the trains go?" the brunette asked.

"That's the weird part. I took a westbound train. I went one station over. When I came up, it was the exact same day, exact same time, but a completely different timeline," Five explained.

Lila's mouth dropped open with shock. "Now that's interesting."

"Yeah."

She let out a laugh as her eyes fell on a nearby navigation chart that was illuminated with the same neon orange glow as the lights that hung from the ceiling. "A map. That's helpful, innit?"

As she ran over to it, Five followed her more slowly as he knew it wouldn't be much help— just a mess of lines and stops, an unsolvable puzzle. She could probably solve it; she had always been able to see things differently than he did, he thought almost instantly, his mind flicking back, unbidden, to one of their earlier discussions to the riddle his father had given him about acorns and time travel. He pushed the memory firmly from his mind and returned to the task at hand; he knew what going down that road would do, and there was no alcohol here to numb the pain. So, he replied shortly, "if I could understand it."

Lila rolled her eyes. "I once navigated the Tokyo subway with a bullet wound in my thigh and on my period, so how hard can it be?" She traced one of the glowing lines with her finger. "Okay, so. . . North to South. This connects around here. Fuck me, this is confusing."

As she continued to study the map, the warped voice came on the PA system again at the same time a train rolled into the station. "Eastbound. Shall we?"

Five glanced behind them towards the stairs, reluctant to tempt fate. "We should get back to Diego."

Lila booed at his suggestion. "Boring! Come on. Let's take a ride."

"I don't wanna be hopping on trains until we understand this," he tried to protest, but to no avail.

The brunette grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him onto the train. "You need to move your ass!"

They emerged at a more run-down station then he'd seen before; the lights flickered ominously and grime covered nearly every surface. Lila grimaced at the sight. "Come on. Yucko."

Since he always liked to be prepared, Five easily located the small notebook he carried around on him in his front suit pocket. Hearing his pen click, the brunette came closer to peer invasively over his shoulder to see what he was writing. She paid no mind to the actual words and instead mocked him, "dear diary, why do I always wear suits?" When he didn't find her comment as amusing as she thought it was, she asked a more serious question: "what are you doing?"

This one, he was willing to entertain and answered: "leaving bread crumbs. It's a broken vending machine. Stain on the floor in the shape of Australia. Three burnt-out light bulbs."

"Mmm. Poetic." Growing bored again, she wandered off to continue looking around. "Where do you reckon we end up?"

"My guess is back in Gene and Jean's apartment. Same day, same time, different timeline."

"—different timeline. I knew it," she finished with him, grinning triumphantly. 

However, her smile soon fell away as they reached the surface. The sight that greeted them was not pleasant: broken buildings, burning fires, ash so thick it clogged lungs, the putrid smell of both the aforementioned things and decaying bodies. Five froze at the sight of it, the scent alone bringing back his worst (and some of his best) memories.

Lila, of course, was unaffected except for the small amount of confusion at the unexpected scene. "Shows what you know. You must have jumped forward, ahead of time, to the end of the world."

He shook his head, feeling his mouth getting drier by the second— and not just from the panic that was threatening to run rampant through him. He struggled to maintain control, fisting his shaking hands to hide his trembling fingers from the woman next to him. "No, no, no. We haven't jumped anywhere. We're not moving forwards or backwards through time. We're just going to alternate versions of now. This is Gene and Jean's apartment. I've been here before. This is our apocalypse."

"Our apocalypse?" Lila echoed, picking up on the plural he'd used.

But Five's mind was already racing ahead, moving too fast to bother explaining the rest to her. This is our apocalypse. Our. O-U-R. That meant she would be here. For a moment, the building panic abated into a calm wash of pure, unbridled hope. He'd get to see her again! Even if she wasn't his Dolores— the one he'd lost, the one he'd failed— she was still his Dolores, just an earlier version that he had yet to disappoint.

He plunged his hand back into the pocket of his suit jacket and rooted around with increasing franticness. Finally, he pulled out a pair of binoculars. His breath caught in his throat as his heart picked up speed; it would be a few moments before he'd realize that he was forgetting to breathe altogether. He swept the binoculars across the burning landscape, the anticipation of seeing his wife again the only barrier between his current sanity and spiraling into a PTSD-filled flashback.

Five's pulse roared in his ears as he focused the binoculars, scanning the devastation for any sign of her— Dolores, his Dolores. He swore that she had to be out there, waiting for him just like before. The last thread of control he had was hanging by a fraying string, but the hope of seeing her again kept him from unraveling completely. His hands shook, the binoculars wobbling in his grip.

"Come on, where are you?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes desperately combing through the ash-covered debris.

Lila, oblivious to his inner turmoil, kicked at a half-burnt newspaper on the ground. More aware of their surroundings than he was, she wrinkled her nose as another, equally unpleasant smell met her nose. She glanced at the man beside her. "Did you just fart?"

The brunet didn't respond. His focus remained on the wasteland, searching, hoping. And then, his breath hitched. His heart leapt.

Dolores.

He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. "She's there," he whispered.

Five strained harder to see past the swirling ash and thick clouds of smoke. There was certainly a figure— two figures, actually— hidden behind the broken wall of cement. One of the figures was him, that much he knew; that was where the Paradox Psychosis he was experiencing was coming into play. The second figure. . . his stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong. 

It was hard to see in the less-than-stellar visibility, but the second figure wasn't moving. Compared to his other self's motions, the stillness of the second person was starkly noticeable. It was supposed to be her. It had to be her. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the growing fog of dread from his mind. His vision blurred, a wave of nausea crashing into him as his knees almost gave way beneath him. His pulse, which had been roaring in his ears, now felt deafening— each beat a hammer of reality pounding into his skull.

"No. . ." The word barely formed on his lips, a broken whisper as he staggered back. His entire world seemed to collapse inward, the weight of his realization crushing him. "No, no, no!"

Lila's brow furrowed as she moved closer, concerned now. "What the hell are you seeing?" She tried to follow his line of sight but could see nothing remarkable. "Five?"

Before he could even begin to process— let alone explain— the second wave of crushing grief he was experiencing, an explosion split the air. Seconds later, a bullet came pelting towards them and bounced off the crumbled wall behind them. Despite the danger, Five couldn't move. He could only stare in numb horror at the mannequin that was currently occupying Dolores' place.

"Okay, we really have to get out of here!" Lila exclaimed over the sound of more bullets trying to find their targets. Her encouragement reached deaf ears as Five remained in place, his eyes fixed on something she couldn't see in the distance. Grunting with annoyance— as she didn't understand what was going through his mind— she grasped his arm and blinked them back into the train station. "God! It's like you were trying to get us killed!"

The moment they reappeared in the subway station, Five's legs gave out from under him. He curled into a tight ball, tucking his trembling hands against his chest, which heaved with erratic, shallow breaths. His vision swam with flashes of that burned wasteland, the mannequin— that damn mannequin— replacing everything he'd ever believed about Dolores.

All he could see was that mannequin— the thing that had taken the place of Dolores. It shouldn't have been like that. She should've been there. Dolores, his Dolores. But instead. . .

Had she ever been real?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he doubted every memory he had of her. The real Dolores he'd known wavered between that mannequin she was now, the images overlapping as his brain tried to decide which was true.

Lila's naturally caustic demeanor faltered the instant Five dropped to the ground beside her. She was so used to his arrogance, his self-righteousness and him just being an uptight prick in general— which was why she loved to give him a hard time and take him down a peg— that seeing him with any sort of human reaction to anything threw her for a loop. Now this— this, was something she had never experienced from him, or any of the Hargreeves for that matter.

She watched, dumbfoundedly, as he rocked back and forth slightly, his arms folded across his chest so that each hand gripped the opposing shoulder. His face was turned towards the ground but the glimpse she saw of it was twisted with something that was even deeper than grief, his mouth open in a soundless scream. She had no idea what he'd seen out there that would cause such an agonized reaction, but she suspected that it had something to do with Dolores. Our apocalypse. Had he been hoping to see her?

The brunette crouched on the ground next to him and reached out a hand to place it on his arm. Even she knew that was a paltry gesture in the face of such sorrow, so she tried to think of what she would do if this was her son in his place instead. Although she knew she would feel awkward about it later, she pulled the younger man into a hug, holding him tight against her chest to ease his rocking motion.

"Okay, okay," Lila muttered to herself, unsure of how to help him but knowing she had to say something. "Five, it's okay. We're safe now. You're back in the subway. No one's shooting at us, alright?"

"She was never real," he choked out, his hands fisting at the fabric of his suit. "She was. . . never. . ."

"What?" Lila's brow furrowed as she sat back on her heels.

But Five wasn't listening. He couldn't listen. He was trapped in his own mind, replaying every moment he'd shared with her— each laugh, each touch, each quiet evening spent they'd had together, alone, just the two of them. Except now, that world had cracked, revealing a sickening possibility: had he invented all of it? Had Dolores just been some figment of his imagination? A coping mechanism for the horrors he endured during the apocalypse?

She continued to hold on to him, not knowing what else to do. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale a struggle, and the look in his eyes— wild, shattered— made her feel something she wasn't used to: helpless. He wasn't responding to her questions, but maybe if she insisted firmly enough he would give her an answer that she could work with. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Dolores," he whispered, the name barely audible. His lips twitched, a grimace forming as the word left him. "She-she was a mannequin. I saw it. She was never real."

Lila blinked, thrown off guard. "A mannequin? No. No, Dolores was real. She was alive. I remember her—" She paused, trying to piece together what could have triggered this breakdown.

Five shook his head violently, refusing to listen. "No, no," he murmured, his voice quaking. "It was all a lie. It wasn't her— I was never with her. Not really. That's why I couldn't find her. Because she never existed."

"Of course she existed! What, you think you made it all up in your head?" she demanded. "If that's the case, why do I have memories of her, too? You were with her; what about those dinky rings you're always playing with?"

The rings. That's right— he had proof that his wife had existed; he wouldn't have worn a wedding band otherwise. He scrabbled at his collar for the chain he wore and he pulled it out, clutching at the golden rings as if they were a lifeline. For the first time since he'd set foot in the apocalypse, he managed a normal breath. The weight of the cool metal in his palm was grounding, an anchor amidst the tumult. He knew he'd be embarrassed about his reaction once he'd fully recovered, but for now he allowed himself to give into the weakness. He looked up at Lila, his green eyes still holding that wild, intense look as he all but begged her, "tell me something real."

She started, surprised by the request, and then frowned thoughtfully. "Something real. . . something real." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, I know! Do you remember the night of Luther and Sloane's wedding? It was creative black tie, so everyone had to scrounge around for their clothes. Dolores and I ended up in the same part of the hotel, so we got to talking. I wanted to know what your guys' wedding was like— 'cause it really must be the end of the world if you're willing to be romantic— but you'd gone and pissed her off, so she wasn't too keen on talking about it. But I kept pressing her and asked if, had you two stayed together and had a normal life, would she want to have kids with you. She. . . said that she would've liked that."

Five's breath hitched, caught somewhere between disbelief and sorrow as he clutched the rings tighter in his hand. He could almost hear Dolores' voice, imagine her face as Lila spoke. The memories, the ones he thought had fractured, slowly began to stitch themselves together again, but they still felt fragile, like they could shatter with the wrong word.

"She. . . said that?" His voice was a raw whisper, barely audible.

Lila nodded, her tone softer now. "Yeah, she did. I have to give her credit for admitting something like that with how much of an asshole you were being— I can't blame her; you can really piss a woman off, Five. But she talked about it like it was something she genuinely thought about, like you guys could've had a life, a real life together."

Five lowered his head, his chest tight with a different kind of ache now. He tried to reconcile the fact that Lila remembered her, that she had memories of talking to Dolores, with the horrible image of the mannequin still fresh in his mind. He'd never thought about the future in the way Dolores had, never allowed himself to dream of things like a family, kids— they'd lived in a world on the brink of collapse and he could barely keep them alive, let alone think of anything like that.

But Dolores had. She had dreamed about a life that could've been. And now, she was gone. Not just gone— erased. He couldn't shake the nagging thought, even with Lila's reassurances. His was voice hollow but steadier than before when he spoke again: "but how can she be real if I can't even find her? This apocalypse, I should've seen her, but it was a damn mannequin. She was a mannequin."

Lila shrugged, her lips twisting in a frown. "She didn't get erased, if that's what you're thinking; she just got. . . misplaced. She's only somewhere else. But she was real, Five. I know that for a fact."

Five nodded slowly, still unsure but willing to believe, at least for now. (He didn't know what he'd do with himself otherwise.) He ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion weighing down on him. "I just. . . I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, Lila. I'm so tired. I've lost her so many times and every time I think I'm getting closer, I just. . ."

Lila could tell that he was getting to the end of his bandwidth for emotional meltdowns. While there was a lot she would happily lambast him about, she did admire (deep, deep down, where she would never ever admit it) his ability to bounce back. Maybe one day she could hold this particular incident over his head and embarrass him about it, but she knew it was too raw, too current to tease him about right now. The best way to move forward as to act as if this had never happened, to allow him the best chance of coming back to himself. She rose to her feet and reached out a hand to help him up. "Come on, old man. Let's get out of here before you fall apart again. I'm sure Diego's looking for us back at HQ."

He ignored her hand and stood on his own, straightening his suit jacket and smoothing out the wrinkles as he did so. She noticed that one of his hands still clutched at the rings, but she pretended not to notice. As Five followed her back onto the train, he half-heartedly threatened her: "you tell anyone about what happened back there, I'll kill you myself."

She gave him a sarcastic smile as the train's doors slid closed in front of them. "Maybe I will tell someone just to have such an esteemed honor."

--

When they reappeared in Gene and Jean's office in their proper timeline, Diego had just reentered the room and he gave them a suspicious look. "The hell are you doing?" Then, he noticed his brother's wretched expression and made a face. "God, man, you look awful. What happened to you?"

Five brushed off his concern by pretending like he hadn't heard the question and came over to stand beside him to peer at the papers the brunet was holding. "What did you find?"

Diego tried to have a silent conversation with Lila to find out what was wrong, but either she didn't understand what his wiggling eyebrows meant or she was being purposefully oblivious to his inquiry.

✧ ✧ ✧

Jennifer tried to go back to sleep after Gene and Jean left. It was the only solution she could think of to ease the pain in her head but there was a down side to it, too. Her dreams were all about Ben. She saw him walking along an empty road in the middle of a forest, his hands buried in his pockets to ward off the chill. He was alone now; she didn't know where his siblings where. Honestly, he looked pretty miserable— maybe his head felt like it were being split open just like hers was. She tried to call out to him, to guide him to where she was being held captive, but she had never learned how to properly use her powers. The most she was able to get him to do was turn around and ask, "Rosie?" in a voice laced with confusion.

But then the couple returned and roused her, drawing her from her attempts to contact Ben. "We wanna show you something."

They arrived at a large barn that was located close to the house. Jennifer glanced warily at the guard who stood by the door holding a gun. If she wasn't being held prisoner like they'd said (which she didn't believe for a second), why did they have armed forces on their property? Her attention soon shifted to the contents inside the room when the gunman posed no threat. She gazed around at the different artifacts and— wait, was that a statue of Ben? Annoyed with herself for the cycle her thoughts seemed to be having lately, she forced anything related to the Asian man out of her head and asked, "what is all this stuff?"

Jean seemed unusually giddy at their presentation. She beamed at the brunette and held her hands out wide, stating triumphantly: "proof."

"Proof of what?"

"Proof that the world we live in is one big, phony-baloney lie," Gene replied.

His wife picked up their explanation again, "at first, it was. . . it was like a dream. One of those dreams where you don't know whether you're dreaming or not. But then, along came the artefacts. Little tokens of proof, slipping through time and space. Proof of the many-worlds theory of quantum mechanics and such."

"Better believe they called us every name under the sun. Didn't they, Jean?"

She nodded, frowning as if she were recalling an unpleasant memory. "Frauds, tricksters, charlatans."

"They accused us of intellectual dishonesty," Gene grumbled.

The couple explained how their theory of multiple timelines destroyed their reputations. Jennifer could see why people would call them lunatics; they certainly had that feverish, impassioned light in their eyes. If they were any more violent, she might have felt unsafe around them.

"Okay," the brunette said slowly. "But, uh, what does all of this have to do with me?"

Gene glanced away from his wife to look at the other woman. Jean laughed with excitement as the pair approached her slowly. "Jennifer. You're the key. The way to destroy all the false timelines and restore the real one."

Jean grabbed her hands imploringly. "We're ready, sugar. What do we need to do, huh? How can we help you bring about the Cleanse?"

Jennifer stared at the couple, her eyes wide with unease and distrust. "You people are. . . You people are fucking crazy."

The older woman tsked with disapproval. "Language, darling."

She lunged for a nearby knife and waved it in their direction. But she had no prior fighting knowledge and thus didn't present a threat. They seemed to know that, too, and remained calm. Gene even brought out a small pistol that she knew he would use to keep her under control. Jennifer wished she could close her eyes and try contacting Ben again, but she didn't want to be that vulnerable around these people. While she didn't think she'd be remotely successful if she tried it with her eyes open, she still attempted to reach out to him.

Jean sighed in disappointment as she continued to be uncooperative. She turned away from Jennifer and walked towards a tall object on the far side of the barn, which was draped in a sheet. "I was really hoping to hear a prophecy, darling. Maybe seeing an old friend will help jog your memory. I believe you two are already acquainted."

Jennifer's heart raced as she stared at the decaying giant squid before her, its leathery, decomposing skin still gleaming faintly under the barn's dim lighting. The smell hit her first— an overwhelming stench of saltwater and rot, like the ocean itself had died. She felt more than remembered flashes of that time, being surrounded by endless darkness and oppressing aloneness. Searching for a source of comfort, she sought Ben out once more, only to come up with a mere whisper. He was out there, she knew, but whether he would find her. . .

"No, no, no," she gasped, stumbling over her feet in her haste to get away from the monster. For as much as it had saved her, there was a reason why she could never be in a dark room by herself.

Jean and Gene remained unaffected by her increased panic and walked past her toward the doors. "Think about it, kiddo."

She threw herself towards the entrance just as the doors clanged shut, her voice cracking in terror as she banged on the wood to get their attention. "Wait! Wait! Don't leave me in here with it!"

✧ ✧ ✧

To Luther, Viktor and Allison's surprise, they were met with no resistance when they tried to enter Reginald's mansion. In fact, the guards were one step away from greeting them with hugs and cookies as they led the group into the pristine foyer. Everything in the house was decorated in white, even the woman who was playing the violin. She stopped playing upon their entrance and turned around to give them a welcoming smile.

When she spoke, her voice held a posh accent: "what a pleasure to finally put faces to names. I'm Abigail, Reggie's wife." She set her violin down to better pay attention to them, her gaze falling on the third Hargreeves first. "You must be Allison. I've heard so much about you."

Surprised, the trio exchanged confused looks. "You have?"

"Yes." She turned to the larger man on her left and took his hands in hers. "And Luther. . . my little space boy. I finally get a chance to properly thank you for watching over me on the moon."

Luther didn't know what she was on about— all those years up there he'd never seen anyone— but it seemed rude to point that out, so he just smiled awkwardly. "Oh. Uh, you're welcome."

"Dear Viktor," she said to the final Hargreeves, "I understand we share a passion for the violin."

He gave her a thin-lipped smile in response. "It's more of a love-hate thing for me, but. . ."

Abigail gave the trio a fond look, as if she had known them for a very long time (which only puzzled them further) and gestured to the nearby couches. "Come. Come sit."

They did so, haltingly, as she put away her violin. With his impending confrontation with his father at the forefront of his mind, Viktor broke the tense silence by asking, "is, uh, Reggie home?"

"I'm sure he's puttering around somewhere," Abigail answered breezily as she sat with them. "Let us get to know each other a bit first." Noticing Luther glancing at the tea cakes that had been set up on the table, she offered, "go ahead. Don't be shy. The chef will be cross if you don't. Tea?"

--

For once in their lives, they were relieved to see their father as it put an end to the uncomfortable small talk with Abigail. She seemed perfectly nice but while she apparently knew them very well, they'd had no idea she'd even existed.

"You've all done so well for yourselves," the older woman congratulated them, "no thanks to your father, I might add."

"I heard that!" Reginald's voice sounded moments before he appeared, his usual scowl of disapproval on his face. "My chief of security informs me that the tiny hamlet of New Grumpson, Maine, is still smoldering in the wake of your colossal ineptitude."

"Reggie, darling, please," Abigail tried to calm him, but to no avail.

He carried on, undeterred: "tell me everything I want to know now or suffer the consequences."

Viktor shot to his feet and orange energy swirled around him. "You first."

"Ah! So it's true," he commented, looking only mildly perturbed. "I suspected you couldn't have done all that damage au naturel. But how?"

"Reggie, enough," his wife insisted more sharply. "Is this really how you treat your guests? Threats and interrogations? Now, sit down and we'll have a conversation like a civilized species."

Allison gave the other woman an approving smirk. "Guess we know who wears the monocle in this relationship."

"Tea, darling?"

"No, thank you, darling," Reginald replied with forced politeness as he sat stiffly in his chair. He wasted no time in attempting to rephrase his question to be marginally more friendly: "if I may be so bold as to ask, how did you regain your powers? Why did you destroy the town of New Grumpson? And what have you done with the girl?"

Luther glanced at his siblings, then started hesitantly: "well, it's kind of a long story but it all started when we were approached by Sy Grossman."

"I'm unfamiliar with the name," their father remarked. Abigail's eyes flicked around knowingly but she otherwise remained silent, which went unnoticed by the others.

"You know what, Reg?" Allison spoke up, her tone short. "I think the real question is why you'd build an entire town to hold a girl prisoner?"

"Her name is Jennifer," he corrected her with equal coolness. "And I wasn't holding her prisoner. I was protecting her."

"Protecting her from what?"

He let out a mirthless chuckle. "From you, naturally."

Allison scoffed. "So she is one of us."

"I'm afraid not," Reginald retorted. "She's nothing like you. In fact, she's your complete opposite in every way imaginable."

Before he could give more of an explanation, there was a shout as the doors banged open, revealing Diego, Five and Lila. They stopped just in front of the group with the second Hargreeves in the lead, who was holding an official-looking file. "We need to talk about Ben."

--

"From what I can tell, this document is from our original timeline," Five was telling them a short while later after they'd settled down again. It felt good to focus on someone else's problem for once— something that could be solved rather than looking inward at his own troubles. "It explains how Ben died. It refers to it as the 'Jennifer incident.'"

Luther frowned as Allison looked over the file. "We already know how Ben died."

"Okay, then. Tell us."

He looked uncertainly at the expectant faces who watched him in return. "Well, it was a tragic accident. Ben, our Ben, died because we failed as a team. Nobody was responsible, and. . ."

"And what?" Five prompted him, then he turned to his sister, his tone becoming a little colder as he repeated: "Allison, how did Ben die?"

She rolled her eyes at his continued hostility but answered his question. "It was a tragic accident. Ben died because we failed as a team."

"—Failed as a team," Luther joined in, speaking in unison with her. Diego added his own voice, echoing their words: "nobody was responsible, yet we were all responsible. Ben Hargreeves represented the best of us. Ben was the Umbrella Academy."

Lila arched a brow at the older man. "What kind of sick party trick is this?"

"Okay, can any one of you remember how Ben actually died?" Five wondered. When no one spoke, he insisted, "anything?"

"I. . . I wasn't there," Viktor reminded them.

"Well, neither was I, but the rest of you were. You think you'd remember something about the death of your beloved brother, but you don't."

Luther let out a frustrated breath. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Someone's been playing putty with your hippocampus," Five replied, looking pointedly at Reginald.

He, of course, was not so easily forthcoming with his reasoning. He was even less inclined to be helpful due to the man questioning him as Reginald distinctly remembered their rather unpleasant encounter several years ago when the boy had been half out of his mind with desperation. While he was more put together now (though not by much; his weary expression spoke of prolonged grief), the older man was never one to readily forgive. "As fascinating as this may be, I assure you I haven't the foggiest notion of what this is about."

Diego took a few paces towards him in a vaguely threatening manner. "You know something, old man."

Their father remained unphased and even relaxed in his chair, leaning comfortably against the back of it. "You are speculating about the actions of a completely different version of myself from a completely different timeline. That said, it does sound like something I might do. I have already done it once before in this timeline in the hopes of protecting the world, though I am quickly seeing that it was for naught."

"I should have known," Five stated snidely.

Luther leaned forward, his brows furrowed in concentration as he did his best to follow what was going on. "So you can erase memories?"

"With the human mind, anything is possible, young man."

"If you can erase them, you can restore them, right?" Lila inquired.

"With the proper technology."

"Which you have?"

He waved off her concern. "Naturally. It's in this building on one of the lower floors."

Five took immense pleasure in his next words. He wasn't sure if there had ever been a time when he had the chance of telling his father what to do. "Alright, old man, you're gonna put 'em back, each and every memory to do with Ben's death. Because if you erased the Jennifer incident, that means there was something important enough that you'd take the time to get rid of it."

As expected, Reginald's first reaction was to be obstinate. "I will do no such thing! We need to track down the girl before it's too late."

Abigail— the Hargreeves were beginning to like her more and more as she eased her husband's temper— put her hand on his arm and implored, "Reggie, please."

Even her soft tone didn't sway him at first and he turned her down, albeit gently: "darling, this is messy work. It could take hours, days."

But she insisted, "whatever chain of events has been set in motion is ultimately your handiwork. Whatever timeline it happened in, help them, please."

--

Blue light tinged their faces an eerie shade, perfectly fitting in with the sci-fi horror theme that the memory wiping machines inspired. Allison, Luther and Diego were the first to be strapped in. After a moment, Viktor stepped forward and offered to join them.

"I wanna be connected too," he insisted.

His siblings gave him 'are you crazy' looks, with Luther pointing out: "but you weren't on the mission."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "I wasn't on the team then, but I am now, and I wanna know the truth as much as you do."

Reginald took this in stride and gestured to an empty machine. "Excellent. Please take a seat." He turned to the remaining two, focusing first on Five. "How about you? You came to me once demanding answers. I can see that you are no closer to finding a solution to your problem than you were then. I can take away those memories that are causing you pain."

Five's jaw clenched, his mind racing at the sheer audacity of Reginald's offer. He'd always oscillated between an apathetic disliking of the man and hating him, but now he knew his true feelings: he loathed his father. For Reginald to just so carelessly offer to take away the only thing that still mattered, it was beyond infuriating—it was horrifying. The idea of losing even a fragment of the little connection that remained made his chest tighten with panic.

"No." His voice was hard, final. He stepped back, distancing himself from the machines, their blue light flickering across his face. "I'm not interested. I'm not letting you anywhere near my gray matter."

He glared at his father with a fury that burned hotter than anything he'd felt in years. His memories of his wife were all he had left of her. They were painful, yes, but they were his. Her laughter, the way her hand had felt in his, the way her eyes sparked with defiance whenever someone had told her she couldn't. He could think back on those moments at any given time for both a source of comfort and determination, just as he did now. There was still a way, he promised himself. Even if something had happened to their apocalypse timeline, he still hadn't exhausted every possibility. There were other stations, other trains he could take to search for her— after their Ben/Jennifer was solved, of course, because his family always came first— and. . . there was Klaus. Now that his brother had his powers back, he could even. . .

Five forced his train of thought to halt in its tracks. It wasn't smart to let himself jump ahead; he had to focus on the situation at hand. One thing at a time.

And if Lila— who had also decided to not participate— noticed that his hand had returned to playing with the rings on his necklace, well, she didn't say anything about it.

✧ ✧ ✧

Ben couldn't say how he was able to find the place where Rosie was being held captive. There had been a tug on his mind— stronger than instinct but not something so wishy-washy as just knowing— that guided him in the right direction. There were a few times where he'd swear he could hear her voice, stronger than just an echo in his head, and he'd turned around, half-expecting her to be behind him. She never was and the road remained as empty as it always had.

Eventually, though, he came to a barn and farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It smelled distinctly of wet goat thanks to the furry creatures that were penned up outside. Guards milled about the area, clueing him in on the fact he'd found the right location. He'd been planning on going in subtly; even with his powers, he didn't think he could take on so many guards by himself, certainly not without risking Rosie's safety.

But it seemed as if the Eldritch tentacles that now resided in his back had taken on a mind of their own. They sprang out from underneath his shirt without his permission and wouldn't go back in, just like when they'd first reappeared. They'd always had a symbiotic relationship— as long as he respected them, they wouldn't tear him apart from inside out— but now they ignored his wishes entirely. They propelled him forward, two of them acting like feet while the others lashed out at the armed men.

He seemed untouchable in those moments, the bullets sailing past him with laughable inaccuracy. Later, he would have better described it as an outer-body experience; he was there, present, but he had no control over anything. He hardly even registered the screams of the soldiers as his tentacles ripped them apart or the flames that raged as one of the buildings caught on fire. The only thought on his mind was getting to her.

It was an easy task to wrench the barn doors open, the extra strength from his tentacles peeling them apart without difficulty. Then, she was standing there, her face appearing only slightly unsettled— no doubt she had heard the screams outside. Ben didn't think his tentacles were helping the situation so he tried to put them away, but just like before they refused to listen. Instead, it seemed as if they wanted to be closer to her.

Rosie— Jennifer— stood frozen, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear as the tentacles inched toward her. They moved with a slow, deliberate grace, reaching out as if drawn to her. Ben could feel her hesitation, the uncertainty radiating from her, and he understood why. These tentacles, an extension of him, had always had a violent edge, but now they seemed gentler, more purposeful, almost curious in the way they reached for her.

"Hey," Ben said his voice so uncharacteristically soft that it surprised even him. "They won't hurt you. I promise. They're just. . . drawn to you," he added, though he didn't entirely understand why. "Like I am."

She flinched at first as one of the tentacles brushed against her arm, but Ben's voice— steady and calm— seemed to ground her. Their touch was light, almost hesitant, a startling juxtaposition to the violence they'd just induced. It was strange— they were unsettling, alien, yet there was a familiarity in the way they moved, as if they'd done this before, somewhere, in a time beyond her memory.

Her breathing grew shallow as the tendrils wrapped gently around her waist, drawing her closer to Ben, the warmth of his body contrasting with their cold, slick touch. Their eyes locked, and as they stood so near to each other, something deep within Jennifer stirred, awakening a power she'd only ever felt in fragments— visions, whispers, echoes of things that had not yet come to pass. The world around them seemed to shift and a sharp pulse of energy surged through them both.

Jennifer's eyes glazed over and her body stilled. Before Ben could register what was happening, he felt his own mind being pulled in tandem, as if it were tethered to hers. It was as though they were no longer in the barn, no longer in the present at all. Then, their voices— hers soft, his rough— spoke in unison, though neither knew how the words formed:

"Two souls entwined by fate; one to wield the Cleanse, the other to guide it. Yet both bound to the past they cannot escape. The Cleanse will purge the false timelines, bringing an end to all that was never meant to be. But the Wild Card has entered the game. She bargains with powers beyond time. Her choices can unmake everything. In her hands lies the fate of all; tread carefully, for the path to salvation is fraught with uncertainty."

A/n: first, I'd like to apologize for the shoddy prophecy. As it turns out, I'm not the best at cryptic speech; I'd have liked it to be a little more metaphorical/vague but this was the best I could do. Also, the "weird" start to the chapter is how I imagined it would be if it this book were actually the show. I wanted to represent it as every version of Reginald/Abigail having that conversation, which was why there was no "picture;" even if their appearance varied between timelines, their voices would be the same.

 As for some of the other things I wanted to comment on, I'll address the Klaus stuff next. I absolutely HATED his sex trafficking arc (it literally had no relevance to the plot whatsoever), so once again I will say that it will not be happening. While it was still important for him to leave his siblings and go off on his own, we'll explore that in a few chapters. I wanted to give him back his important side quest that is vital to the plot but no one finds out until the last episode.

I know a lot of you are wondering when there will be a Five/Dolores reunion and maybe you were thinking it would happen in this chapter. . . I will admit that I did think about it but in the end I went with the route for the most angst (because of course I did. 🤣) After all, I also disagreed with how they handled Five being back in the apocalypse. Like where was my mental breakdown?? Where was my trauma response that was only shown one (1) time in s1? And I want to be VERY clear: the hug that Lila gave him was COMPLETELY platonic with absolutely no romantic intentions whatsoever. Like I said in that scene, she was imagining him as her SON. Anyway, the reunion (of sorts) IS coming, but I do enjoy stringing you guys along *evil laughter.*

Along those same lines, I hope I'm portraying Five's emotions in a way that makes sense. He's been grieving these past six years with a lot of emotional distress, but he's also a very resilient character. I think he would bounce back and be able to focus on the mission at hand since that's how his brain works. It's not that he's suddenly happy/all better/etc. again, he's just compartmentalizing because breaking down in front of his siblings is something he definitely doesn't want to do. I hope you guys would be honest with me and tell me if I wrote something that wasn't believable for his character (like him getting together with Lila 🤣.)

Finally, I'm excited to share with you guys my version of the Marigold/Durango mess. I actually don't fully understand it myself— which is how much the show messed up— but I'll attempt to explain it in the next chapter!