#fix her

2 days after (5989)

At first, he’d thought that his powers just needed to recharge, that if he could just calm himself down, he would be able to concentrate hard enough to go backwards through time to when he left off. He got tired from spacial jumping all the time - too many in quick succession set the mind reeling, ears ringing, body wracked and quivering over aching muscles. He didn’t feel like that now. If jumping through time really was such a step up from what he was used to, maybe those three, quick, restless bursts had drained him completely. He tried by the hour, on the hour as best as he could tell. Every time, he felt the pull begin, twisted his grip under the fabric of reality and grasped for it as it slipped away from him again, and again. The energy was there, it still existed within him, but no matter how hard he concentrated he couldn’t bring it forth. It was if here was some invisible force holding him back, like the whole world had been drained of that blue light that threaded in between every moment. It was desolate, in more ways than one. Though the buildings burned and the bodies charred, there was something greater missing, it had been hollowed out and scraped away, leaving nothing. In short, his powers didn’t work here. Even the simplest spatial jumps were impossible for him now. He was powerless - and perhaps worst of all - he was alone.

He kept on with the idea that this was some elaborate lesson from his father to show him the consequences of disobedience. It wouldn’t be the cruelest thing he’d ever done. It was a delusion, but it kept him wondering for those first hours, first days.

If this really was the future, then getting back wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d have sixteen years to change the course of time, if such things really were set in flux. Their father had always told them that they were destined to save the world, but five had always assumed that the notion was just an incentive to keep them loyal and invested in their training, willing to throw everything unique about themselves away in the name of the world and their duty to it. The fact that he may have been right, perhaps that the reason they’d failed was that five wasn’t with them, it cast all his earlier actions like those of a spoilt, stupid child. He couldn’t bare it.

It had been sixteen years for the rest of the world since he disappeared, going by the newspaper he found. It couldn’t have been much longer than that - the bodies that hadn’t been burnt were still fresh and yet to rot, and the fires were still raging like they’d only recently been lit. The thought that he’d arrived only moments later than whatever cataclysmic it had been had torn through the population - it was almost absurdly lucky, if the situation at hand could be called such.

Even though the Vanya of the present was likely dead, in his mind Five imagined her back at the academy, thirteen years old, waiting for him to come home. He had to get back to her. None of the others understood her, nor did they understand him - they needed each other. He couldn’t just leave her alone in that place. He had to keep trying.

14 days after (6001)

He found them, and the sight of every one of them lying there brought a unique strain of grief and uncanny misery that cut itself into his heart like a tally mark. He kept preparing himself for how it would feel to see her lying there - Vanya - all grown up and lifeless beneath the rubble. She wasn’t with the others, but that was no surprise, she was never included by the rest of them, even when the world was ending, it seemed. She could be anywhere. She could be any one of the blackened, unrecognisable husks that littered the streets, or buried completely in some unreachable place, or perhaps she was lying dead in another city, another country even. She’d always wanted to escape and live far away from the academy, only thing was, they were meant to have escaped together.

He remembered the time they’d spent pent up in the attic or the library, running through the streets at night or sitting at the diner - he’d assured her that he’d escape to the future, somewhere he’d so naively assumed would be better than the times in which he’d been raised. He’d conjured up images of towering skyscrapers and cosmos-conquering spaceships - thousands of robots just like mom, a world that had progressed to heal the suffering that existed in the early 21st century. Here he was, sixteen years on in the ruins. He’d gotten his wish.

He saw her face in a smashed shop window, a discount price tag slapped across her cheek - Vanya. He ran over to the ruins of the bookshop, reaching for the cover instinctively, pushing his hands through the jagged shards of glass that pulled his skin ragged. She was there on the back as well, he could recognise those dark, sullen eyes, the nervous smile. She’d gotten rid of her bangs - something that had been an intrinsic part of her identity since as long as Five could remember. Growing it out must have been somewhat therapeutic - cutting away the pain of the past, finally escaping her father’s machinations - but alone. Everything would be there - in that book - all the secret worries she’d confided in him when they were young - and all the secrets she had to keep locked away after he wasn’t there to listen. His heart skipped a beat when he skimmed the table of contents and came upon a chapter titled - ‘the disappearance of Number Five.” It was there, in print, as if it was set in stone. Perhaps it was.

Out of everyone at the academy - Number Five was the only one that I would call a friend. Sure, some of them were more tolerant of me than the others - maybe even exchanged a laugh or a kind word - but by the time we were nine, Five and I were inseparable - that was, until, he disappeared. We’d often fantasised about running away together, somewhere far away where our father couldn’t find us. Although Sir Reginald took a particular liking to Five’s insatiable curiosity to pursue knowledge and power, he could not abide his more impulsive, self-righteous tendencies. In short, he couldn’t keep Five under control, couldn’t reel in his need to grow and test his limits beyond our fathers ideal pace. Five realised, far earlier than the rest of them, that our father wasn’t concerned with our true potential as people, but with how he could use our power to meet his own ends. One day, I guess he just couldn’t take it. I tried to dissuade him, but not hard enough. He was out the door before I could say a word - and he never came back. To this day I wonder if he really got lost in time, or if he simply ran away without me - the way we always planned. I kept up hope longer than you might expect - I didn’t have much else to be hopeful for - but over the years that hope dwindled away to nothing. Sometimes I still think about him - whether he’s dead or lost or living the dream. I hope it’s the latter - despite my sorrow at the thought of him leaving me behind. There was already so much tragedy in our young lives, it would be a small mercy to learn that he had escaped all that - but I fear that I, and the rest of the world, will die not knowing. For me, back at the academy, I was alone again - and Five’s disappearance was only the first in a line of tragedies, that set the fabric of the umbrella academy unravelling.

The passage brought tears to his eyes. Even after all the time they spent together, Vanya had still been unable to shake the idea that Five would grow tired of her, find her boring, ordinary, and leave her alone again. He wished he could tell her the truth.

There was more, in the book, more horrible revelations. Ben, dead, at seventeen. The book didn’t go into detail - it didn’t need to - just the idea of it happening was too much to bare. Of all of them – it was Ben, Five’s self-confessed second-favourite of the bunch – that had to die so young. He was smart – smarter than the others, and the two of them would often read together or listen to Vanya play. Ben was kind, but he was quiet too, and he liked to put on a brave face in front of the favourite three. He and Klaus, however, got along best of all. Both of them had a power that did them far more harm than good, something the others didn’t understand, and the raw, chaotic energy of Klaus was complimented by Ben’s more intelligent and reserved demeanour. He had been a voice of reason, to tell Klaus when to stop running up and down the stairs, drawing on the walls, and setting things on fire. It seemed to have been Klaus that suffered the most after Ben was gone, and he had been the first to leave.

Five read as Vanya recounted how she had watched as every single one of their siblings torn up and discarded by their father, and by the very powers that made them special. Luther - ever loyal, still taking orders from his father. Diego - desperate to relive his time at the academy, now as number one, the hero. Allison - manipulating her way into the public spotlight and living a life of lies. Klaus - driven to addiction and squalor just to keep the terrors at bay. And Ben... well, their father had always pushed them too hard. He’d forced Five to teleport in quick succession, over increasing distances - until he could barely breathe, until his face was pale and cold with sweat and he passed out on the carpet. He’d lock Klaus in the mausoleum for hours on end - where the most twisted and terrifying spirits lurked, desperate to use him, until the boy was screaming and clawing at his eyes and ears. He always had Luther and Diego at each others throats, whispering praise or criticism into the ears of one or the other - never good enough, never strong enough. And Allison, he told her that her power was a gift - an advantage over the world to be used in self service - and look at what she’d become. And, of course, Vanya. Without Five there to remind her of the truth, she’d spent her teenage years locked away in that house, a shameful secret, the greatest disappointment of them all. Their power - or lack thereof - may have been what destroyed them in essence, but it was their father that was the catalyst. He was the one who always insisted that they were special, that their power was who they were, it was everything, and straying from their destiny, wanting more, was simply a failure to be strong.

And thats why, when he found a newspaper dated just over a week before the end of the world, he was delighted. Their father had died, and his siblings had enjoyed eight glorious days with that horrible burden lifted.

He stowed the book and the magazine into the wagon he’d been trailing behind him these past few days – stocked up with whatever supplies he could scrounge up from the ruins. That, and a mannequin he’d found that hadn’t been melted or crushed into dust. It gave him a strange sort of relief to see a human face – even a painted one – that wasn’t lifeless and covered in blood. While the rest of them rotted to bones or charred to ash – this face would remain, smiling forever. So he’d take her with him, a reminder of all the company he’d lost.

By this time, the initial shock and misery of the situation had all but worn off – and he was formulating a plan. He would search the world for survivors, for some clue as to what killed the human race, and, as he went, learn as much as he could about his powers and how to manipulate them. His father’s journal would be a good place to start – but he had been unable to find it among the ruins. He remembered his father mentioning a more theoretical approach to manipulating his powers. When he was young, Reginald would give him sets of coordinates as a marker when traversing long distances – only trouble was – they had been three-dimensional directions – now he was working with four. He wished he had his old maths and physics textbooks from the academy – but the ruins of the world’s libraries would have to do. He’d always fancied himself a bit of a genius – much to his sibling’s annoyance. This was to be his greatest challenge yet.