GHOST - Five Hargreeves X Umbrella Academy

1:13

REWRITTEN.

Diego found himself frozen in the doorway of the hotel room, staring down at Patch who was starting to wake up, clutching her bleeding head.

A choked crying sound alerted him to another part of the room.

He froze.

A small girl, coated in blood and paler than a sheet lay on her back, eyes glassy and hands clutching the bloody mess spilling from the centre of her chest.

"Violet?" He knelt quickly by her side as she silently cried, struggling to catch the short breaths escaping her lungs.

Her eyes flickered to his in panic.

His hands went to her own and a strangled whimper left her throat as she tried to pull hers away.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleaded with her, pressing down on her wound as tears fell harder and she closed her eyes in pain. "I have to-"

She weakly attempted getting his hands off of her and tears welled in his own eyes.

"Violet, you have to let me help you," he pleaded. "Let me help!"

Her hands were like ice.

And still, she fought against touch.

"No-" she whimpered through a choked breath, her breaths quickening as he put pressure on her bullet wound. The shock wave of pain cut her words off voice her.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Thinking quickly, he scooped his arm under her knees and back and she made a noise of protest, despite it all. "I know. I'm sorry."

Violet was unable to feel much but panic. Numbing, overwhelming panic.

The warmth left her quickly as she laid in the back seat of his car, bleeding out, as he raced back to the academy.

He couldn't think straight. He couldn't comprehend the sight of his sister lying practically lifeless in the back seat, the only indication she was even alive still being the faint twitching of her hands or the catch in her breathing.

And all he could think was the only time he had held his sister in his arms and it was because she was dying.

He knew it was bad when he picked her up again and she didn't make a sound or move to stop him.

Diego stormed inside with her on a rampage, trying to find Grace or Pogo or someone to help.

The second Five saw Violet curled up against Diego's chest, her matted hair covering half of her bloody face, unmoving, he knew.

Because Violet would have never allowed anyone to carry her or touch her, not like that-

He was unable to think clearly as she was whisked away by Grace, taken so gently and carefully from his arms as though she were a doll.

The robot appeared unbothered by the fact one of her children was bleeding out and lifeless in her arms.

Five, in turn, could not think through the fear swallowing him whole.

The sight of her covered in blood and paler as a sheet being held by someone.

Five Hargreeves had experienced fear. He'd experienced loss, desperation, pain. But seeing Violet placed in front of him, lifeless on the medical bed... He'd go back and relive all the worst moments of his life leading up to that if it meant she would open her eyes and wake up.

Everything then on was a earth shattering whirlwind of a blur.

He watched motionless, unable to tear his eyes away from her body as Grace checked her over and placed the sticky patches around her torso, connecting it to a heart monitor.

The faint, slow beeping kept him from shattering.

He felt sick.

Grace was humming to herself as she worked, in no real hurry.

He wanted to scream at Grace to move faster.

To do something.

To fix it. To make it better. To nurse her back to health like she did when they were kids and would come back from missions roughed up. Stab wounds, bullet wounds, head injuries... Grace had seen it all. She had fixed it all.

He couldn't breathe.

His siblings were talking in the background, a muffled cacophony of noise beyond the doorway.

"She'll wake up. She'll be okay."

Denial.

"Are you crazy?"

"She's come back from it before..."

"I thought you said she only attempted."

The voices grew harsher, angrier.

Vanya's voice was so small.

Attempted?

The scars over her umbrella tattoo. Warped ink.

Sixteen years and forteen months he hadn't been there.

Forty years.

Same difference.

"...gone... three hours... alive..."

"She can heal."

Everyone has a limit.

Five felt sick.

"... not a head injury this time-"

What head injury?

"-her heart-"

"... shot..."

Kidnapped.

"...those psychopaths after Five-"

His fault.

"Tortured-"

His fault.

"...give it time, please! You have to-"

Denial.

"Grace knows what she's doing. Just wait-"

Bargaining.

"Are you fucking blind? Did you see-"

Anger.

"...bleeding out..."

His fault.

There was a deafening ringing in his ears.

Someone was crying. A voice broke.

"I can't..."

Depression.

Everything was wrong.

Grace's gloved hands were stained crimson.

Ringing in his ears.

There was a horrific weight on his chest. All consuming. A wave struck him, threatening to knock him down. How was he supposed to get back up?

All he had worked for, to come back, to save the world, to save everyone, to save. everyone.

The ringing stopped.

Was he crying? He hadn't cried in years.

The voice of his father rang in his ears.

Boys don't cry.

It makes you weak.

He couldn't breathe past the weight of the world on his shoulders and the weight of grief crushing him.

The flowers in his lungs had caught ablaze. He was suffocating. Breathing hurt. Burnt.

There was a static in his head.

He was back in the apocalypse, just a kid, lost, alone, scared, crying - and there was no one there to make it better because the one person who could...

"She's... she's gone."

Everything went dead silent.

Acceptance.

Violet was dead and it was all his fault.