𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 || 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐚 ||

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

❝ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵈᵃᵐⁿ 'ᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵐʸ ʳᵉᵖᵘᵗᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ❞ ⁻ ᴮᵃᵈ ᴿᵉᵖᵘᵗᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵇʸ ᴶᵒᵃⁿ ᴶᵉᵗᵗ & ᵗʰᵉ ᴮˡᵃᶜᵏʰᵉᵃʳᵗˢ

S2 EP1 : Right Back Where We Started

˗ˏˋ꒰☂️꒱

Dallas, Texas

1963

Milo groaned as she pushed herself off the ground, brushing dirt off her black jeans with an annoyed huff. "Fucking Five and his stupid time travel," she muttered, glancing around the alleyway. The walls were grimy, the air heavy with the smell of damp concrete, and nothing looked remotely familiar.

The last thing she remembered was standing in the chaos, Vanya playing her violin, the first apocalypse unfolding before her eyes. And now... this. Wherever this  was.

She stepped out of the alley, her boots crunching on the gravel as she looked around the eerily quiet street. "Where the fuck is everyone?" she grumbled under her breath, her gaze darting to the empty sidewalks and deserted storefronts. Her frustration mounted as she began walking, scanning her surroundings for a familiar face. Diego. Where's Diego?

Milo squinted at the flyers plastered on the street pole, her eyes scanning the bold text and faded images. One particular poster caught her attention, the blocky print standing out against the worn paper: "Check out 1963's best! The Lord of the Flies only at the Dallas, Texas Theater!"

She froze, her brain struggling to process what she was seeing. The year leaped out at her, mocking her with its impossibility. "1963?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Slowly, the realization hit like a punch to the gut—she wasn't in 2019 anymore. Somehow, Five's time travel had dumped her decades in the past.

Milo stumbled back from the pole, her mind racing. "No, no, no, this can't be right," she muttered, the weight of her predicament sinking in. The streets around her suddenly felt more foreign, the distant hum of old cars and the vintage style of passersby making her surroundings feel all the more surreal.

"Five, you bastard," she hissed under her breath, clenching her fists as she tried to figure out what to do next.

˗ˏˋ꒰☂️꒱

As Milo walked through downtown Dallas, Texas, she could feel the weight of countless stares following her every move. People glanced at her from behind newspapers, through shop windows, and as they passed by on the sidewalk.

Their expressions ranged from confused to outright judgmental, and she couldn't blame them—she looked wildly out of place in her black jeans, boots, and modern leather jacket.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not supposed to be here," she muttered under her breath, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to avoid drawing even more attention. Every glance felt like a spotlight on her, amplifying the growing knot of unease in her stomach.

She ducked her head, quickening her pace as she scanned the streets for anything—or anyone—familiar. The quiet murmurs of passersby and the occasional sound of a honking car only heightened her sense of being completely and utterly out of place.

"Diego," she whispered to herself, her voice almost a plea

Milo kept walking, her boots scuffing against the uneven pavement as she tried to focus on finding her bearings. The stares, the murmurs—it all faded into the background noise as frustration and confusion bubbled inside her.