you were everything

I 45 I

☂ the white violin ☂ 

The silence stretches on, suffocating, until it feels like the very air is pressing down on me. Every second that ticks by makes it harder to hold onto the idea that they might come back and free us. Maybe this is their version of stopping the apocalypse. If it is, it's certainly not what I imagined.

"I have an idea," I say, breaking the stillness. Vanya looks up at me, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

"Grab my hand." I stand, extending my palm to her. She hesitates but takes it, her fingers cold against mine. "Close your eyes."

For a moment, nothing happens. The air is thick, oppressive, and all I can hear is the quiet rhythm of our breathing, the pulse of our hearts matching in an odd, synchronized beat. And then, a strange hum. A low, almost imperceptible vibration that starts in the palm of my hand and spreads up my arm. My chest tightens, but when I open my eyes, the blue light is blazing in my fist, brighter than I expected. It flickers like electricity, alive with power.

Vanya's eyes glaze over, and suddenly, it's like I'm watching us from somewhere far away, as if my body isn't mine anymore. As if I've become a bystander to this chaos, powerless to stop what's coming.

The walls around us crack, and then they break apart, collapsing in a deafening, bone-rattling crash. I can hear the sound of brick and wood splintering in the air, the ground beneath our feet trembling with the force of it. We walk, side by side, out of the ruins, still holding hands. There's a pressure building between us, the raw intensity of our powers merging, creating a force that could level everything.

If we wanted to, we could destroy it all.

I glance at Vanya. Her pupils have faded, replaced by a cold, ghostly white, glowing faintly in the dim light. I look down at my hands—they're not mine anymore. They're both wrapped in the eerie blue glow, as though they belong to something else, something dangerous.

We move through the house, our footsteps leaving cracks in the floor, rooms disintegrating as we pass. The walls echo with distant screams—real or imagined, I can't tell. My head feels full of noise, like static on a broken radio, too much to process.

I hear Five's voice in the back of my mind. I see his face, betrayed and shattered. He's gone now, isn't he? He—he betrayed me. Everyone did.

Who cares if the world ends?

Honestly, I wouldn't mind either way.

A soft voice breaks through my haze. "Miss Vanya... and Y/n," the voice calls gently. "I understand how upset you both are."

Pogo shuffles toward us, leaning heavily on his cane, his steps slow and deliberate. He looks at us, sadness etched into every line of his face. "But I can assure you... that none of your siblings bear responsibility for what happened to you as a child." He sighs, a deep, mournful sound.

"Did you know?" Vanya's voice trembles, tight with unspoken rage.

"Your father discovered... that you were capable of great things," Pogo says, his gaze softening. "Much like your brothers and sisters. But your powers were... too great. He only wanted to protect you from yourself. And protect your siblings from you." His voice falters.

Vanya's eyes narrow, the anger in them now tangible. "Did you know?"

Pogo nods, his shoulders sagging. "Yes, Miss Vanya. I knew."

The wind picks up around us, and it's as though the very air is charged, swirling with tension. A dark sense of dread settles into my stomach. I realize, too late, what's about to happen. She's not just angry anymore. She's going to kill him. We're going to kill him.

"Vanya, wait," I try to say, my voice barely a whisper. "Don't—"

But the words choke in my throat. I can't speak anymore. I can't move. My powers, our powers, are no longer mine to control. They belong to her. She's the one pulling the strings now.

A screech rips through the air, and Pogo is thrown backward with unimaginable force. He slams against the wall, his body hanging there, suspended by the jagged antlers protruding from his chest. My vision blurs as the horror unfolds before me.

The house cracks and crumbles, the walls disintegrating like dust. We stand in the wreckage, the air thick with destruction.

"Let go," I mutter, struggling to pull my hand away from Vanya's, but it's no use. The force between us is too strong. "Let go."

I try again, but nothing happens. The power swells, pressing in on me, suffocating me.

"Let go!" I shout, the words breaking free in a surge of desperation. I close my eyes, focusing everything I have on pulling away, and then, with a force that almost knocks me off my feet, I yank my hand back. A blue shield bursts into existence, encasing us in a protective barrier.

For one fleeting moment, I see Vanya, the real Vanya. Her face is full of sorrow, regret—guilt. But before I can reach for her, she vanishes, leaving only the overwhelming power in her wake.

"Vanya..." I whisper, feeling a tug on my shoulder, a pull I can't fight. Someone is dragging me away, pulling me from this reality.

The world shifts. The wreckage vanishes, and suddenly, we're back at the bowling alley I always hated.

"Y/n," Five's voice cuts through the fog. His hands are on my shoulders, shaking me. "Are you okay?"

I blink, disoriented, the dizziness overwhelming. "Why didn't you let me out?" I murmur, my voice thick with confusion. "Why didn't you let me go?"

Five's eyes close, and he turns away, his shoulders tense. His voice drops, quieter than usual. "I thought... I thought if you and Vanya were there, the apocalypse wouldn't happen. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. And I'm sorry."

I look at him, the words hanging in the air. "Did you just... admit you were wrong?"

He nods, almost sheepishly. "Yeah."

"Say it again," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips, despite everything.

"I was wrong," Five mutters, rolling his eyes.

"Again."

"Alright, alright," Five grumbles, a smile breaking through his annoyance. "You've made your point."

"Thank you," I sigh, feeling the weight of everything settling on me. "But the others will never forgive me."

"Luther won't," Five says, his voice bitter. "That asshole."

"Five," I say softly, a warning in my tone.

"Hm?"

"I love you."