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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ sɪɢʜᴛ,
ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ ꒱


❝ YOU ALSO HATE FUN? ❞

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"What, so all the people on the street just disappeared?" Allison asked as she poured herself another glass of Vodka. Dolores held out her own and the brunette filled it for her.

Stan had finally lost control of his own pool stick and had broken a vase, which prompted Diego to pull him aside to reprimand him. Now that she didn't have a distraction, Dolores was reluctantly listening to the Hargreeves. Luther— who had just returned from being kidnapped— was explaining what had happened on his way home. "Well, no. Not all of them. Just. . . half of them."

"So. . . like Thanos' snap?" When she received blank looks, Dolores elaborated: "like in the Marvel comics?" Still nothing.

"What are you talking about?" Viktor asked.

She sighed. "He's a mad Titan from the Infinity Saga. He wants to bring balance to the universe by wiping out half the population."

"I don't know about the balance part but that definitely sounds like what happened just now," Luther admitted. "Do your comics include more than just people? Like, everything that lived in the universe?"

"Five did say that animals were disappearing."

"It's definitely the people," Dolores replied. "I'd imagine that it included all life."

Viktor glanced at his sister. "Marcus was supposed to meet up with us earlier but he never showed."

"What, you think this grandfather thing ate Marcus?"

Dolores' eyes widened. Her mind immediately recalled her conversation with her uncle: your family doesn't belong here. Nor do you, for that matter. When things are in places that they don't belong, consequences happen. In this instance, it's the grandfather of all repercussions.

"Wait," the teen interrupted them. "Grandfather? What are you talking about?"

"Well, if you hadn't been goofing off with a twelve-year-old you might know what we're talking about," Allison retorted.

Her own tone was sharp as she replied: "sorry that I'm actually trying to enjoy my retirement. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a superhero like the rest of you lot."

"Oh, we've noticed. I'm surprised you weren't the one that got kidnapped."

She remained unaffected by the third Hargreeves' response. "If I had, then maybe I would've had the wherewithal to tell the Sparrow psychopaths that we didn't take their Number One."

The other woman's expression fell at that realization. "We'll never get the briefcase back."

In an effort to prevent the pair from arguing further, Viktor-the-peacemaker stepped forward with his hands raised placatingly. "Okay. What if we just told the truth? Marcus is gone and maybe we're partially responsible."

"That'll go well," his sister scoffed. "They'll throw us a party."

Luther— whose impression of the Sparrows had drastically changed— looked into the distance with a dreamy expression. "I bet they throw fantastic parties."

"Listen," Viktor began in an effort to return to his point. "Marcus was ready to give us back the briefcase. If the rest of his family are even half as open-minded, you know, maybe we can come to some kind of agreement and get it back."

"Oh!" Dolores piped up. She raised a finger as made her suggestion: "I could go talk to myself! While you all were fighting each other, I was making pretty good headway in mediation. If she's anything like me— which she is, genetically speaking— I bet she'll love you guys as much as I do."

Luther stood from where he'd been leaning against the pool table. "Yeah, well, if you're planning on doing that, I should probably join you. You know, incase the Paradigm Hypnosis starts acting up."

The brunette set down her glass (which she'd been periodically taking sips from) and made her way over to the larger man. She patted his arm in an appreciative— if not condescending— manner. "Thanks, Stockholm, but I think I'm good. I didn't even remotely feel like killing myself yesterday." Almost to herself, she mumbled: "but maybe that urge is a little stronger now. . ."

Allison gave her brother a displeased look. "Your ass is staying here. If Benjamin Button wants to risk herself then she should do it on her own. None of us are getting involved." With that, she walked away from the group's meeting.

The man's mouth dropped open in protest. "Wha—"

"She's right," Viktor agreed. "Not about the Dolores-going-on-her-own part but that you're staying here." His expression was stern as he glanced over at the teen. "That goes for you too, Dolores. You've already promised me that you'd stay in the hotel and then you left with Diego and his son. Look where that got you."

Even though he was right, the brunette didn't appreciate being confined to a single building. Though she was annoyed, her tone lacked heat when she huffed: "well, fuck you." She left to get a drink refill without another word.

✧✧✧

Diego stood outside Hotel Obsidian with Stanly. The sun was warm as it beat down against the pavement and he was glad that he'd changed into lighter clothing. With keen eyes, he turned his head back and forth as he studied the street in front of them to observe the scene. After a moment, he shifted his hands from his waist to cross them against his chest. Casually, the boy next to him copied his stance.

He glanced over at the movement. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?"

"Security assessment. Our enemies can attack us from anywhere."

The boy had the audacity to let out a light chuckle at his statement. "That's cool."

He sighed, suddenly reminded of Dolores' lightheartedness from earlier that day. Diego pointed at him sternly. "No, that is not cool. But lucky for everyone, I'm on it." He left the steps and made his way across the sidewalk. Unsurprisingly, Stanly followed him. "The trick is to be prepared. Now, I need you to stay away from the hotel for a few hours, alright? It's not safe. Go buy some doughnuts."

"I'm allergic to doughnuts."

He reached into his pocket to take out some folded bills. "What do you mean, you're allergic to doughnuts? You also hate fun?"

"It's the gluten, asshat."

"Hey, watch your mouth."

Stanly ignored his warning. "Stop trying to get rid of me. Everyone tries to do that."

Diego bent down to his level. "Maybe just try being less annoying."

"Oh my God, you're bad at this," he laughed.

The older man lost his patience and slapped the money in the palm of his hand. "Just go somewhere for a few hours, alright? It's a big city. Have fun."

"Mom would never let me walk around a strange city all on my own."

"That's why you'll be taking your Aunt Dolores with you." He came up with his answer on the spot, thoroughly improvising with his new fatherhood. "Take this eight bucks that I was going to pay her and make sure she has fun. Got it? I know she's got some of your Uncle Five's brusqueness but I'm sure you two will have a great time."

Stan made a face. "Gross! Are you trying to set me up on a date? She's old enough to be my grandmother!"

Diego pointed at him sternly. "No, that's not what I'm doing. Ugh, why would you even think that? She's the only person remotely your age and maybe she could teach you a thing or two about proper social behavior. Which is ironic since she's probably spent more years in isolation than with people— that just shows how much practice you need." He cuffed the boy lightly on the shoulder. "Stop making excuses and go find her. She could probably use some cheering up."

✧✧✧

Stan found Dolores leaning against one of the lobby's pillars with her now-always-present glass in her hand. She gave him a bored look as he approached. "What's up, kid? Lookin' for your dad?"

"Very funny," he replied dryly. "Diego actually told me to come find you. He keeps trying to get rid of me like everyone else does."

"Welcome to the club, kid. Now we're official 'cause we've got two members."

From all the time he'd spent with his mom— his real mom, not Lila— he was pretty good at gauging how drunk someone was. While Dolores wasn't slurring her words and her balance wasn't impaired (yet), she was definitely on her way there. Instead of commenting on his observation, Stan nodded to the doors. "He wants me to leave the hotel but he only gave me eight bucks. What can I do with eight bucks?"

The brunette's expression became almost exaggeratedly thoughtful. After a moment, she came up with: "we could get pop-tarts."

"Yeah, okay. Have you seen a vending machine around here?" She pushed off the pillar and began to walk towards the elevator without answering him. He jogged to catch up with her. As they waited for it to arrive, he smirked slightly. "I just told Diego that I'm allergic to doughnuts."

She glanced at him. "You're not, are you?"

"'Course not. I just wanted to see how he'd react. It was pretty funny."

The bell let out a chime as the doors slid open. The pair stepped inside and Dolores pressed the button for the top floor. "I did a little investigation between all the hoopla and I found the vending machine on the seventh floor next to the ice maker. Pretty weird place for something like that."

"This whole place is weird."

"Fair point, but it's about to get a whole lot weirder." She paused to take a sip from her drink before she continued: "listen to this: before you got here— when we first landed in this bullshit timeline— I went to go visit my uncle since my alternate self exists here. My uncle's—that smug bastard— always known, like, everything so I was pretty sure that he knew about our arrival, too. I was right, of course. He was even more of a shithead than my original-original uncle but he still predicted what was going to happen. . ."

Stan listened to her slightly-drunken rambling as the elevator slowly rose through the floors. The brunette leaned her shoulder against the wall of the lift as she talked and her gaze was glassy as she stared off into the distance. Her musings didn't stop even as they reached their destination.

"He even knew that I was going to meet Five— another smug bastard— in the apocalypse. I never understood how he could always 'see the future'—"

"Five's your husband, right?" the boy interjected. Even if Diego wasn't his real father, he had so many siblings that it was hard to keep track of them all.

She let out a derisive snort as the vending machine came into view. "Not anymore. He was going to leave me but I left him first."

They came to a stop and Stan fed the bills Diego had given him into the machine. As they waited for the payment to complete, he gave her a baleful look. "I can see why. You're ridiculous."

Dolores didn't even have the heart to snap back no, you are childishly. Five had always called her ridiculous for preoccupation with what he deemed 'unimportant' things. He'd called her ridiculous exactly eight-hundred fifty-seven times. Her gaze fell to her glass. "Damn, I'm out. I'll meet you back downstairs, yeah?"

✧✧✧

Diego rounded the corner of the bar and nearly dropped the box of alcohol he was carrying. Dolores and Stan were eavesdropping on the other side; they both had shiny foil wrappers in their hands but the brunette's other one was occupied by her recently refilled drink.

"The hell are you two doing? I thought I told you to spend the day with your aunt."

"Why do you think she's here?" he retorted as he gestured to the girl. "What's a Molotov cocktail?"

The girl's eyes shifted from where they'd been staring into the contents of her glass to give the second Hargreeves and interested look. "Is it a drink?"

"No," he answered. He resumed his path— or tried to, because as the pair made to follow him, the teen stumbled slightly into his arm.

"Oops." The brunette attempted to give him an apologetic smile but it came out sloppy as her younger body had a harder time handling alcohol than her adult one did.

"Jesus," Diego grunted. He put the box down to steady the girl. As he stared at her straight-on, he frowned. "How much have you had to drink?"

Dolores tried to meet his eyes but went cross-eyed instead. "I've been prac-practicing modelation. No, that's not right. Mediation. Uh—"

"Dolores," the brunet spoke her name in an authoritative voice. "Answer the question." She shifted her pop-tart to her right hand and almost sheepishly, she held up two fingers. He gave her stern look. "Tell the truth."

The girl bent to put her snack on the ground. When she straightened, she lifted both hands so that eight more fingers went up. Then two went down. She frowned as she realized that that had been a count she hadn't kept track of. One more finger went up before she shrugged. "I dunno."

Diego took advantage of her glass's vulnerability and scooped it up from the floor. "Right. That's enough for you. Since you've been babysitting my son I'll teach you how to make a Molotov cocktail."

"What's my job? I can help!" Stan offered.

He handed the box to the teen (mostly so her hands would be occupied and therefore couldn't drink.) They resumed walking and made their way back to the lift. Diego pressed the call button and the doors slid open immediately. "Your job is to study the inside of the elevator until we get back." He pressed the buttons for every floor.

His son seemed thrilled with the prospect until he realized the trap. "Wait. Hey! Come back—" The doors closed before he could escape.

✧✧✧

Dolores trailed after Diego with the milk crate box filled with (now-ruined, in her opinion) alcohol. They paused at 'strategic' corners of the hotel lobby so that the dark-haired man could unload one of their weapons and hide it in a secure spot. Luther caught up to them after they'd emptied most of the box. "Hey."

"Yeah?" The second Hargreeves took a bottle out of the crate and placed it between a pillar and a potted plant.

"This whole, uh, Viktor thing. . ."

They moved to another pillar and he placed the last one down. "Yeah?"

"Well, it's a pretty big deal, right?"

Dolores— despite her still-slightly-impaired state— picked up on his question. Almost aggressively, she asked, "what's it to you?"

Luther raised his hands placatingly. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I just wanted to know if we should say something." He addressed Diego: "you know? I mean, make a formal gesture? Welcome him as brothers."

As the trio made their way to the stairs, the brunette gave him a decently apologetic look. "Sorry, Popeye. Definitely jumped to conclusions there."

"It's okay," he said. Now that she'd spoken more, he picked up the oddness of her voice and turned to her with concern. "Are you alright?"

She blinked owlishly up at him. "Just great. Why?"

"Uh, just making sure," Luther answered, completely convinced despite her extremely falsely-bright tone.

Diego answered his original question: "God, no. Just roll with it, man. Don't say anything and don't be weird."

"Okay. But not saying something feels weird, right? I mean. . . shouldn't we, I don't know. . . mark the occasion somehow?"

They made it to the bottom of the stairs and the brunet turned to his brother. "You just wanna throw a party."

"Why do you hate tiny sandwiches?"

Viktor approached them before he could answer. He took in the members of the trio and his expression became relieved when he caught sight of Dolores. "Oh, good. You stayed in the hotel."

"Against my will," she grumbled petulantly. If her hands hadn't been occupied with her box she would've crossed her arms. "I'm bored."

"But you're safe," he countered swiftly. "And you won't have to stay here much longer, hopefully." Noticing the crate that she was holding, he nodded to the container. "What's up?"

Diego answered for her, misinterpreting his brother's question: "Luther wants to throw a big, stupid party so you feel loved."

Luther chuckled awkwardly but Viktor smiled with appreciation at the sentiment. "Oh."

"Do you feel loved?"

"Yeah, I. . . I do."

"Good. You are."

Dolores' gaze dropped to the empty crate as her shoulders slumped. In a voice too quiet to be heard— because unlike Allison, she wouldn't take her grief out on other people— she mumbled: "well, that makes one of us."