"Breathe... Vanya, in and out, okay? It's okay. We-- we're safe. All of us." He can only imagine the way she feels if she even gets a fleeting stray thought of that theater and everything that was literally crashing around them in flames. But--
"A house in-- like-- 80's New Orleans." Which sounds ridiculous, unless a person knows their lives, and the things all of them are capable of. "Five got us out, and this is where it kicked us. Have you- have you been out solid for the last two days?" He almost wants to touch her face, just to prove that this, she is solid and real. Whether to himself or to her, he's not sure. But he doesn't. He just keep his hand on her arm, hoping she can remember how to breathe.
"Two days?" Her voice catches and cracks on the word, but she can barely hear it: her heart pounds a rhythm in her chest that is both comforting and terrifying, a promise of safety and power still a threat of so much worse at the same time. "What do you mean, got us out--"
Except it's there, on the fringe of everything, no, she doesn't want to remember, don't make her remember. Vanya grabs his arm on hers, holding tight, probably enough to bruise, terrified of letting go. She squeezes her eyes shut, hard enough that shapes burst across the inside of her eyelids.
"Something's - wrong - with me." The words are separated by gasps, and she just wants it to stop, the quiet is worse than the noise.
She's still panicking, it's rolling off her in waves and has practically become tangible-- or is it literally, Klaus isn't sure. But he remembers something from some distant second in the past from a weird girl he used to party with that had witnessed a way-too-sober-to-deal-with-this panic attack he'd had once.
"Open your eyes... Tell me three things you can see in the room, V. Right now." His voice is soft but firm, and as calm as he can manage, his own tenancies toward less than stable emotions seeming to try and feed off of her own.
In her mind, they will be in the Academy when she opens her eyes. The idea
makes her skin crawl, turns her hands clammy with a fear and anger that
she's struggling to wrap her head around. There are half a dozen thoughts
roiling just beyond her sense of consciousness, not quite acknowledged and
desperate to be; you did this, they repeat, you did this you did
this you did this--
Vanya forces her eyes open, takes in the very 80s New Orleans decor around
them. Three things. She'd rather focus on that than the things behind her
eyes - or on Klaus' face, now that her gaze skims past him. Her mind is so
helpfully superimposing something over his face, sunken eyes, drained -
what, energy? Life force? What did she do?
"Chair," she chokes out, attention fixing on some old paisley thing.
"Painting," an old oil creation, a bayou and an old rickety boat on it. Her
eyes drop on the next item and stay there, and her breathing slows a
little. "Piano."
"Okay. Yeah, good." Klaus nods, hoping this might do anything even close to helping her right now. "Now- um- shit... uh- uhh-- touch two things, and name them." Was that right? He doesn't know, it was awhile and a lot of drugs ago. He's missing steps, he thinks, but... it's something else for her to focus on and that's the important part, right? Get her out of her head, away from whatever spiraling thoughts she's having right now.
She opens her mouth, trying to do what he says because what else is there to do? But words don't come, nothing comes, and she thinks, what the fuck is the point?
She can't hear, at least not like she used to. Not even like she could before she found out, before - Leonard, and Allison.
I killed him, she thinks, and closes her eyes again. Her face feels like fire, her head aches, and she wants to curl up and scream. Instead she stumbles toward the piano, fumbling the bench out so she can sit. It's an old stage thing, and she can tell before she touches it that the sound will be okay, nothing special. It's no concert piano. But what does it matter if she can barely hear it?
The piano isn't her instrument, but she learned a little when she dove head first into music. Not enough to perform, or really teach, but her hands hit the keys and she plays. Just a small piece from The Blue Danube, one of the easier sections. It's a series of bars she learned and never forgot; her hands are shaking, and clammy, but she plays it. And soon it gets easier to breathe, and she shakes a little less. She finds a refrain in the piece, trailing off without the last few notes. When she turns to look at Klaus again, she's - well, there are still tears on her cheeks, she doesn't know when those happened, but she's not panicked.
"Something's wrong with my ear." She can hear enough to tell that her voice is scratchy and tired.
When she pulls away and disappears from his immediate view, Klaus spins to watch her, worried about Vanya being alone right now, especially if she's spiraling like this and out of it and--
Oh.
Piano.
Music.
Duh.
He wanders over to lean against one edge of the piano, never really out of her view, and not anything like aggressive in any way. Just there, and listening as she played. Vanya may have chosen the violin, but Klaus is pretty sure music runs in her veins.
When she's done, he moves to sit on the bench next to her. "You can't hear?" He asks, taking a second to reach over, carefully telegraphing what he was planning to do so he wouldn't startle her, and thumbs her cheeks to whisk the tears away. "Both ears, or just one?" he asks, settling his hands back in his own lap.
Hey eyes follow his hand as he reaches toward her: the look in her eyes is a little more the mousy sister that never quite fit than...well, everything she's trying hard not to remember. He wipes her cheeks and she follows the gesture with her own, scrubbing at her face for a moment before lingering on her right ear.
"This one." Thank God, she thinks, because if it was both - she doesn't know what she would do with that panic.
Vanya swallows hard, tempted to use the lump in her throat as an excuse to not ask her next question.
She suddenly looks so young. And even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows it's stupid, because they're all the same age. But Vanya had always been kind of the baby of the family anyway, and she just is the picture of it right now, looking up at him like that.
He considers that for a second, tries to put the scene at the theater in his mind-- and instantly regrets it, because that is not something he wants to relive-- and tries to remember why that would make sense. Everything happened so fast, but. Right. The gun.
But all that fades from his mind at that question coming tumbling out of her mouth. It's like a punch to the gut that she has to ask at all, that she wouldn't... remember. The anger. The destruction. The literal end of all ends. Being the catalyst to the whole world going up in flames.
First, it's panic that sets in-- he has to tell her. Does he have to? He should, right? He should tell her. But a swift decisiveness sets in on its heels. There's no question to it. He has to, no matter how much a part of him would really like to protect her, to save her from herself the way no one had really ever been able to do for him, he has to. Or else he risks perpetuating the very thing that got them where they are now in the first place.
Gently, he reaches to wrap his fingers around Vanya's, everything about his features soft and subdued, not at all like the usual flamboyantly carefree brother she might be more used to seeing. This is serious, and there is no room for jokes.
"V..." He pauses, breath hitching and he takes a moment to swallow. "it was you..." His voice is small and quiet, and this is not something he wants to have to tell her. But he refuses to continue the same path they'd been traveling for too long. Something has to give, somewhere. Someone has to do better. Be better. For Vanya.
It was you. How does she process that? She doesn't want to, that much she can tell immediately thanks to the lurch in her gut. Is she going to be sick? No - but the whole world goes off kilter, twists and rolls under her like they're on a boat instead of land. It was you. That doesn't make sense: it's never her. Nothing is ever her.
Bent lamp posts and shrieking car alarms flash across her thoughts, and Leonard, where was - no, no, she knows where he is.
It was you.
There's a pounding in her head, resonating out from her ear. It feels like her heartbeat. Can she hear it?
Pressing her lips together, rolling them in, Vanya bites the inside of her lower lip: she can feel her heartbeat through her teeth, a dull ache that resonates inside her ear. I can't breathe in here - stop cowering - be something--
It was you.
She drops her head into both hands, and there's a horribly discordant sound as she folds forward, face and hands pressed down on the piano keys.
"I'm sorry," she chokes out, muffled into her palms. "I don't want to, please Klaus--" Just make it go away. Make it all go away again.
She tries very hard not to acknowledge the rage that surges in her at the thought.
Even without a lot of extrapolation and explanation, which if her reactions are anything to judge by, Vanya doesn't seem to actually need, those three little words had such a big impact. Klaus hates it, being the one to cause this, to sit here and watch this story of confusion, denial, realization play across her face. This anguish trying to swallow her whole.
"Vanya..." He reaches carefully to place his hand on her back between her shoulders, pressing gentle circles there. "It's okay... we made it. And we're nowhere near that part of the timeline... you'd have to have Five explain that stuff, but-- we're safe." He doesn't consider the implication those last two words might have, especially so close behind his first ones to her question. Safe from what? Her? It isn't what he meant, but how easily things get lost in translation if they aren't spelled out very clearly.
Klaus has a good heart. He wants to do the right thing, even if he struggles with it on a daily basis. There is a part of Vanya, probably, that knows he means well, he's trying, he wants to help.
There is also a part of Vanya that wants to throw him across the room without lifting a finger because intentions don't matter, actions do. He was there the whole time, with the others, never seeing what it was like on the outside. Never locked away, not really. To go on a mission, Vanya, you have to have a power. He just stood there when Ben said it, didn't argue. Just rushed off to leave her behind again.
"Safe," she croaks out, lifting her head slowly. She doesn't look at him, not yet: there are too many things circling her head. Who she was, who she is, who she could have been: three Vanyas, that's what it feels like.
They would have been better company, growing up.
"Safe from what?" Her heart beat, she can feel it in her ear, throbbing away. There's a ringing there that won't stop, and she's afraid for a moment that it's going to build and explode out of her, like--
No. No, no, no, she doesn't want to remember that.
Embrace us.
Pushing away from the piano, Vanya sucks in a sharp breath. "From the end of the world? From me?"
The way that one, single word rips out of her, like the worst kind of swear, like it burned her throat on its way out of her mouth, is whip-crack sharp and makes Klaus jump. Not out of fear so much as surprise. She's still so... angry. And who could blame her, after everything she's been through?
But it's that question that follows that makes it feel like she just reached into his chest and put pressure fractures in his heart. "What? No. Nonono, V," he shakes his head, everything about his demeanor crumbling, not in fear but desperation and pain. That she would think that's how he meant it. That he would still do that to her after all of this. After he stood there, begging the rest of his siblings to just talk to her as she stood in that stupid fucking chamber, silent screams and banging on the glass, begging for her siblings to, just once, really hear her.
His words trip out of his mouth almost faster than he can process them because he just wants her to understand. "That's not what I meant. That's not what I meant at all," he's on his knees on the piano bench, reaching to cradle her face between both of his hands. If she throws him across the room, if she lances him open, if she does whatever she wants to, to him, he doesn't care. She just needs to hear him, to understand what he's really saying.
"I'm not scared of you," he shakes his head. "I'm not. You're my sister. And I know I have sucked royally at being your brother, but I swear, I swear, Vanya," He's still holding her face, but now his forehead is against hers, tears rolling free down his cheeks as his voice drops quiet as a whisper. "I'm gonna do it better this time."
His words tumble out, and something in the back of her head hisses: he's covering his tracks, he's just trying to save himself, keep her calm because she is so very dangerous now. More than he could ever be, more than any of them, she proved that, she showed all of them that they could never hope to--
Her hands are fists at her sides, and anger is making her turn pale. Vanya watches his hands extend, knowing that if he touches her she will shove him off that piano bench one way or another, as hard as she can.
He cups her face, and she doesn't attack him.
Why is beyond her: it's not as though she could hear anything inside of that sound-proof room Dad made for her, she could see her brothers arguing, but reading lips isn't something she got to learn. All she knew was that they all left her there. But she still lets him explain, because - because if he's guilty, he should at least have the courage to say it.
But that's not what he admits at all. Tears slip from the corners of her eyes, getting trapped between his hands and her cheeks. Something in her wants him to be scared, but it's a very small part in comparison to how badly she just wants to hear that she is still one of them, despite their childhood, despite the book, despite everything she's done. When he presses his forehead to hers she reaches up, grabbing at his upper arms to keep herself steady.
He'll let you down again.
It's like someone else whispering to her, in her own voice. It's like feeling crazy, and she doesn't know how to make it stop, so she buries her face in his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with the force of her cries. She never understood how some people could look put together while they sobbed: it's not a talent she has, and it's easier to just cling to him, trying to ride down the anger.
This silence may be the longest one Klaus has ever experienced in his entire life. This moment where he had no idea what might come, what Vanya might choose to do. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter because some part of him knew that, no matter what her choice may turn out to be, he deserved it. He deserved it for pushing her away and shutting her out; for letting Dad turn all of them against her, pushing them to ignore her. He deserved it for stopping including her in things, for so many things which all really just boil down to being a really shitty brother.
But Klaus doesn't say another word. He just waits. He watches emotions spill over and under her, anger wrapping around her like a protective shield. He can see it in her eyes, this close it's impossible not to see every otherwise imperceptible flicker of something in them.
Then she's crying right along with him, her tears soaking the pads of his thumbs, her hands gripping at him to not completely lose herself to gravity and it only makes a soft, wretched sob escape him as she curls in against him, sobs wracking her frame.
"I'm sorry," he whispers in a broken, emotion-laden tone, his hands moving away from her face so he can wrap his arms around her instead. He can feel his feet going numb under the weight of him sitting on his knees on the piano bench, but he doesn't care. He just pulls his sister into a tight hug, probably also pulling her half into his lap as a result. "I'm so sorry, V..." he whispers it into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands of it as he tries to comfort her, unsure that having his own breakdown at the same time is at all helpful.
Breakdowns in and of themselves aren't helpful, but sometimes, maybe, if you're very lucky - what comes from them can be. Vanya doesn't know if this will be like that, or if it will be like the second time she saw her therapist, when all she could do was sit in the corner of a sofa and sob so thickly she could barely speak. Nothing came of that, no real course of action, no exit strategy: back then, she'd been too miserable to accept being ousted from her family.
She's had a lot more years with that feeling, but this, now - after the events of the last week, it feels unbearable again. This is unbearable too, but at least this has some promise of change.
At least this makes her think that her family isn't shut off from her forever.
"I could've--" No, please, no, she doesn't want to remember that, she doesn't want to see it any more clearly than the fog in her head, please-- "Klaus, I'm - I'm sorry, I'm - I didn't mean to - I don't--"
Later, maybe, hopefully, there will be time to examine responsibility, and who - what, she owes, but right now, all Vanya wants to do is hide in his arms and the fact that he sees it. He finally sees it, how they all just followed what Dad said, no matter how much they all struggled with him. How they all excluded her, how they never let her in. He sees how nightmarish that life was, needing them and not having it. He sees her, and God, maybe it makes her weak, but she doesn't want to give that up. So she keeps her arms tight around his shoulders, probably soaking the shoulder of his shirt in the process.
"No," He's shaking his head, even if she can't see it for being pressed against his chest. "No-- shh. It's okay. It's okay, you didn't and it wasn't and it's okay. It's gon-na be okay, okay?" His words are rapid-fire with shuddered breaths and a stray hiccup somewhere halfway through it, his fingers still threading through her hair in what feels like the weakest fucking attempt at comfort known to man, but he is just at such a loss and he doesn't know what else to do.
When she starts again, apologizing and saying she never meant to, he shakes his head again and pushes, gently, on her shoulder so he can move one hand to her face again. "Don't, okay? Don't. I pr-promise, it's gonna...be...different." He's barely holding himself together enough to even give her this awful attempt at a pep talk, so he tugs her back against his chest and resumes petting her hair, insistently whisper, "It's okay... it's gonna be okay..." until he can make both of them believe it.
She leans into his hand, clutching at him and feeling like she needs him more than she ever has in their lives. It might not be true, exactly: she needed them, badly, when they were kids, but didn't know how to express it. Vanya's always felt things strongly - when they weren't muted under the medicine her father gave her - but this comes with the fear that any minute she'll lose control and bring a building down on them.
So while part of her just wants to lean into him, and listen to him, and believe him, Vanya doesn't know how to believe anything anyone tells her anymore.
"I'm--" Another sob stops her from voicing the rest in a single string. The effort it takes to pull her face from his shoulder is Herculean, but she pushes back so she can sit on the piano bench, rather than half sitting on him.
"I'm not - I'm not safe." She drags her arm across her face, struggling to get the tears under control.
Every sob that escapes Vanya is like glass shards in his chest. He hates this, he hates all of this, because all he can see in this moment now is just how fucked up everything about what led them here really is. How badly, how deeply, their treatment of her had cut. This isn't a child lashing out because their siblings were rude to them-- it's three decades worth of being ignored and shut out and told to shut up and that she didn't count, didn't matter, was totally boring and normal in the family of extraordinaries built up in the slowest burning bomb that exploded with just the right pushes on just the right buttons from just the wrong kind of guy.
But it all started back then. When they were the tiniest of kids, being taught to push their sister to the side. It doesn't matter that it was a taught and learned behavior; Klaus was never great at rules, he pushed boundaries and broke rules with the best of them. Why hadn't he broken that one? Why had he ever stopped including her?
He doesn't even have an answer, and that may be worse than having a shitty one in the first place.
Klaus doesn't try to keep her when she pulls away from him, even though he really wants to, because contact is the best way he knows how to comfort. But he'll give her what she wants, what she needs, because that's the least he could do at this point. So he lets her go and he folds his hands in his lap, eyes on her to listen to whatever it is she has to say.
"No," he counters, shaking his head as she finally manages to get the words out. Three tiny words that hold so much more impact than he wants them to. "V... you- i-i-it's not...you that's not safe, okay? It's...your powers. Because you- you never got to--" No, no, idiot, not that.
"Powers can be-- it's hard, but... y- we can fix that. I dunno how, Alli and Five would probably...be better for that, but we can all...help you figure it out. Powers can be trained, Vanya, we can do it. We can do this. You can do this. All of us. Together, okay?" He's not sure when he had grabbed her hand between both of his again, but there it is, and he's threading their fingers together, squeezing gently.
She never got to train. Never got to be part of it with them, and God, why? Why did Dad do that to her, why did he make Allison take it all away? Part of her just wants to rage at his memory, but part of her, whatever's left of her logical side, knows there had to be a reason. He wouldn't do that on a whim, not when her abilities could have been so useful to the Academy.
Vanya always knew she didn't make the cut, but she doesn't understand why. Only now, she has different guesses, and they're not making it any easier to have faith in herself.
"Then why - why didn't Dad?"
The question comes out raw, and she drops her arm to her lap. The tears won't stop, what's the point of pretending like she can hide it? "What if - what if knew what I would do?" The last thing she wants to do is prove him posthumously right, but what is she supposed to think? "I'm dangerous, Klaus!"
Klaus doesn't understand it, either. Everything else out of the shadows and on the table now, he doesn't get why Dad would have hidden her powers, suppressed it away like it had never existed at all. But he's not as generous in believing in the best laid plans of that man, either.
"I don't know, V... why did Dad ever do anything? He was never exactly the bastion of patience or reason."
His face screws up with confusion at that last question, not quite following her at first and there's an awkward teeter of silence as he tries to sort it out and--
Then it clicks. And incredulity takes over.
"Knew, what, Vanya, that the Apocalypse was coming in like twenty years? I seriously doubt that," there's a scoff, more of disbelief than anything else, and certain directed more at the idea of Dad being that proactive about the sake of the entire world than at Vanya herself. "He created this, Vanya. He didn't predict it, he made it!" His hands are moving animatedly now with the vehemence of his words. "If he hadn't done this- suppressed your powers and taught us all to push you aside and shoved you behind a curtain-- none of this would have ever happened!"
Whether it's true or not is debatable, and is genuinely something they will probably never truly be able to know the answer to. But whether it is or not, it's obvious it's what Klaus believes, at any rate. There is too much conviction there for it to be anything less than his own truth of the situation.
It wasn't exactly a hard lesson to learn, was it? It's not cruelty that tinges the thought, but the frankness of childhood: Dad may have taught them to push her aside, but they all followed his example, every one of them.
Even her.
Her face is hot, uncomfortably so, and she swipes her arm over her face, using the sleeve of her too-big sweater to clean it at least a little. "No," she finally chokes out, shaking her head and closing her eyes. She tilts her head back, looking for a breeze that isn't there. "Not - the apocalypse."
She thinks of Dad's monocle, briefly, and can't figure out why: one of her foggy memories, unfogging? It's too hard to focus.
"He had to have known - or, or suspected - what I could do."
Because Vanya knows, knows that she is powerful. Not just special, but strong. Stronger than all of them, put together even. And for a man like Reginald Hargreeves to set aside an advantage in his goals, there had to be a reason.
She couldn't be trusted with her powers. Not then, and probably not now.
Oh. The idea and feeling and realization of that one word is practically tangible in the air between them as it clicks that everything he'd just ranted about was not... really what she meant, at all. He doesn't really care, though, because he'd still stand by it. Dad had as good as forced Vanya's hand-- the tell-all book, latching onto the first guy to show her ten seconds of attention and ignoring any sign that he wasn't quite right, the massive explosion of emotions that led to...everything else in the end. It was as good as orchestrated by their father's hand, and it makes Klaus sick to think about it.
"He didn't like he couldn't control you the way he could the rest of us, maybe? I-I dunno, Vanya... none of us can answer tha--" The words die on his tongue as he realizes how stupidly ironic it is that he, of all people, is even daring to try and say that. Sure, he, personally, could not answer that, but-- "I mean, I- maybe I could try... but--" He runs a hand down his face. "It took nearly dying to talk to him last time, so I don't know if..." He mouth moves wordlessly for the shortest of seconds, "I mean- I could try to ask him..." He doesn't want to, exactly, but if it's the kind of answer that might help her, it might be worth it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2019-03-12 03:16 am (UTC)"A house in-- like-- 80's New Orleans." Which sounds ridiculous, unless a person knows their lives, and the things all of them are capable of. "Five got us out, and this is where it kicked us. Have you- have you been out solid for the last two days?" He almost wants to touch her face, just to prove that this, she is solid and real. Whether to himself or to her, he's not sure. But he doesn't. He just keep his hand on her arm, hoping she can remember how to breathe.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-12 03:34 am (UTC)Except it's there, on the fringe of everything, no, she doesn't want to remember, don't make her remember. Vanya grabs his arm on hers, holding tight, probably enough to bruise, terrified of letting go. She squeezes her eyes shut, hard enough that shapes burst across the inside of her eyelids.
"Something's - wrong - with me." The words are separated by gasps, and she just wants it to stop, the quiet is worse than the noise.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-12 03:48 am (UTC)"Open your eyes... Tell me three things you can see in the room, V. Right now." His voice is soft but firm, and as calm as he can manage, his own tenancies toward less than stable emotions seeming to try and feed off of her own.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-12 02:33 pm (UTC)In her mind, they will be in the Academy when she opens her eyes. The idea makes her skin crawl, turns her hands clammy with a fear and anger that she's struggling to wrap her head around. There are half a dozen thoughts roiling just beyond her sense of consciousness, not quite acknowledged and desperate to be; you did this, they repeat, you did this you did this you did this--
Vanya forces her eyes open, takes in the very 80s New Orleans decor around them. Three things. She'd rather focus on that than the things behind her eyes - or on Klaus' face, now that her gaze skims past him. Her mind is so helpfully superimposing something over his face, sunken eyes, drained - what, energy? Life force? What did she do?
"Chair," she chokes out, attention fixing on some old paisley thing. "Painting," an old oil creation, a bayou and an old rickety boat on it. Her eyes drop on the next item and stay there, and her breathing slows a little. "Piano."
no subject
Date: 2019-03-12 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-13 12:05 am (UTC)She can't hear, at least not like she used to. Not even like she could before she found out, before - Leonard, and Allison.
I killed him, she thinks, and closes her eyes again. Her face feels like fire, her head aches, and she wants to curl up and scream. Instead she stumbles toward the piano, fumbling the bench out so she can sit. It's an old stage thing, and she can tell before she touches it that the sound will be okay, nothing special. It's no concert piano. But what does it matter if she can barely hear it?
The piano isn't her instrument, but she learned a little when she dove head first into music. Not enough to perform, or really teach, but her hands hit the keys and she plays. Just a small piece from The Blue Danube, one of the easier sections. It's a series of bars she learned and never forgot; her hands are shaking, and clammy, but she plays it. And soon it gets easier to breathe, and she shakes a little less. She finds a refrain in the piece, trailing off without the last few notes. When she turns to look at Klaus again, she's - well, there are still tears on her cheeks, she doesn't know when those happened, but she's not panicked.
"Something's wrong with my ear." She can hear enough to tell that her voice is scratchy and tired.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-13 04:46 am (UTC)Oh.
Piano.
Music.
Duh.
He wanders over to lean against one edge of the piano, never really out of her view, and not anything like aggressive in any way. Just there, and listening as she played. Vanya may have chosen the violin, but Klaus is pretty sure music runs in her veins.
When she's done, he moves to sit on the bench next to her. "You can't hear?" He asks, taking a second to reach over, carefully telegraphing what he was planning to do so he wouldn't startle her, and thumbs her cheeks to whisk the tears away. "Both ears, or just one?" he asks, settling his hands back in his own lap.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-13 12:14 pm (UTC)"This one." Thank God, she thinks, because if it was both - she doesn't know what she would do with that panic.
Vanya swallows hard, tempted to use the lump in her throat as an excuse to not ask her next question.
"What did I do?"
no subject
Date: 2019-03-14 02:27 am (UTC)He considers that for a second, tries to put the scene at the theater in his mind-- and instantly regrets it, because that is not something he wants to relive-- and tries to remember why that would make sense. Everything happened so fast, but. Right. The gun.
But all that fades from his mind at that question coming tumbling out of her mouth. It's like a punch to the gut that she has to ask at all, that she wouldn't... remember. The anger. The destruction. The literal end of all ends. Being the catalyst to the whole world going up in flames.
First, it's panic that sets in-- he has to tell her. Does he have to? He should, right? He should tell her. But a swift decisiveness sets in on its heels. There's no question to it. He has to, no matter how much a part of him would really like to protect her, to save her from herself the way no one had really ever been able to do for him, he has to. Or else he risks perpetuating the very thing that got them where they are now in the first place.
Gently, he reaches to wrap his fingers around Vanya's, everything about his features soft and subdued, not at all like the usual flamboyantly carefree brother she might be more used to seeing. This is serious, and there is no room for jokes.
"V..." He pauses, breath hitching and he takes a moment to swallow. "it was you..." His voice is small and quiet, and this is not something he wants to have to tell her. But he refuses to continue the same path they'd been traveling for too long. Something has to give, somewhere. Someone has to do better. Be better. For Vanya.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-14 03:41 am (UTC)Bent lamp posts and shrieking car alarms flash across her thoughts, and Leonard, where was - no, no, she knows where he is.
It was you.
There's a pounding in her head, resonating out from her ear. It feels like her heartbeat. Can she hear it?
Pressing her lips together, rolling them in, Vanya bites the inside of her lower lip: she can feel her heartbeat through her teeth, a dull ache that resonates inside her ear. I can't breathe in here - stop cowering - be something--
It was you.
She drops her head into both hands, and there's a horribly discordant sound as she folds forward, face and hands pressed down on the piano keys.
"I'm sorry," she chokes out, muffled into her palms. "I don't want to, please Klaus--" Just make it go away. Make it all go away again.
She tries very hard not to acknowledge the rage that surges in her at the thought.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-14 04:05 am (UTC)"Vanya..." He reaches carefully to place his hand on her back between her shoulders, pressing gentle circles there. "It's okay... we made it. And we're nowhere near that part of the timeline... you'd have to have Five explain that stuff, but-- we're safe." He doesn't consider the implication those last two words might have, especially so close behind his first ones to her question. Safe from what? Her? It isn't what he meant, but how easily things get lost in translation if they aren't spelled out very clearly.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-15 12:36 am (UTC)There is also a part of Vanya that wants to throw him across the room without lifting a finger because intentions don't matter, actions do. He was there the whole time, with the others, never seeing what it was like on the outside. Never locked away, not really. To go on a mission, Vanya, you have to have a power. He just stood there when Ben said it, didn't argue. Just rushed off to leave her behind again.
"Safe," she croaks out, lifting her head slowly. She doesn't look at him, not yet: there are too many things circling her head. Who she was, who she is, who she could have been: three Vanyas, that's what it feels like.
They would have been better company, growing up.
"Safe from what?" Her heart beat, she can feel it in her ear, throbbing away. There's a ringing there that won't stop, and she's afraid for a moment that it's going to build and explode out of her, like--
No. No, no, no, she doesn't want to remember that.
Embrace us.
Pushing away from the piano, Vanya sucks in a sharp breath. "From the end of the world? From me?"
no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 04:24 am (UTC)But it's that question that follows that makes it feel like she just reached into his chest and put pressure fractures in his heart. "What? No. Nonono, V," he shakes his head, everything about his demeanor crumbling, not in fear but desperation and pain. That she would think that's how he meant it. That he would still do that to her after all of this. After he stood there, begging the rest of his siblings to just talk to her as she stood in that stupid fucking chamber, silent screams and banging on the glass, begging for her siblings to, just once, really hear her.
His words trip out of his mouth almost faster than he can process them because he just wants her to understand. "That's not what I meant. That's not what I meant at all," he's on his knees on the piano bench, reaching to cradle her face between both of his hands. If she throws him across the room, if she lances him open, if she does whatever she wants to, to him, he doesn't care. She just needs to hear him, to understand what he's really saying.
"I'm not scared of you," he shakes his head. "I'm not. You're my sister. And I know I have sucked royally at being your brother, but I swear, I swear, Vanya," He's still holding her face, but now his forehead is against hers, tears rolling free down his cheeks as his voice drops quiet as a whisper. "I'm gonna do it better this time."
no subject
Date: 2019-03-21 02:47 am (UTC)Her hands are fists at her sides, and anger is making her turn pale. Vanya watches his hands extend, knowing that if he touches her she will shove him off that piano bench one way or another, as hard as she can.
He cups her face, and she doesn't attack him.
Why is beyond her: it's not as though she could hear anything inside of that sound-proof room Dad made for her, she could see her brothers arguing, but reading lips isn't something she got to learn. All she knew was that they all left her there. But she still lets him explain, because - because if he's guilty, he should at least have the courage to say it.
But that's not what he admits at all. Tears slip from the corners of her eyes, getting trapped between his hands and her cheeks. Something in her wants him to be scared, but it's a very small part in comparison to how badly she just wants to hear that she is still one of them, despite their childhood, despite the book, despite everything she's done. When he presses his forehead to hers she reaches up, grabbing at his upper arms to keep herself steady.
He'll let you down again.
It's like someone else whispering to her, in her own voice. It's like feeling crazy, and she doesn't know how to make it stop, so she buries her face in his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving with the force of her cries. She never understood how some people could look put together while they sobbed: it's not a talent she has, and it's easier to just cling to him, trying to ride down the anger.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-21 03:09 am (UTC)But Klaus doesn't say another word. He just waits. He watches emotions spill over and under her, anger wrapping around her like a protective shield. He can see it in her eyes, this close it's impossible not to see every otherwise imperceptible flicker of something in them.
Then she's crying right along with him, her tears soaking the pads of his thumbs, her hands gripping at him to not completely lose herself to gravity and it only makes a soft, wretched sob escape him as she curls in against him, sobs wracking her frame.
"I'm sorry," he whispers in a broken, emotion-laden tone, his hands moving away from her face so he can wrap his arms around her instead. He can feel his feet going numb under the weight of him sitting on his knees on the piano bench, but he doesn't care. He just pulls his sister into a tight hug, probably also pulling her half into his lap as a result. "I'm so sorry, V..." he whispers it into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands of it as he tries to comfort her, unsure that having his own breakdown at the same time is at all helpful.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-26 01:59 am (UTC)She's had a lot more years with that feeling, but this, now - after the events of the last week, it feels unbearable again. This is unbearable too, but at least this has some promise of change.
At least this makes her think that her family isn't shut off from her forever.
"I could've--" No, please, no, she doesn't want to remember that, she doesn't want to see it any more clearly than the fog in her head, please-- "Klaus, I'm - I'm sorry, I'm - I didn't mean to - I don't--"
Later, maybe, hopefully, there will be time to examine responsibility, and who - what, she owes, but right now, all Vanya wants to do is hide in his arms and the fact that he sees it. He finally sees it, how they all just followed what Dad said, no matter how much they all struggled with him. How they all excluded her, how they never let her in. He sees how nightmarish that life was, needing them and not having it. He sees her, and God, maybe it makes her weak, but she doesn't want to give that up. So she keeps her arms tight around his shoulders, probably soaking the shoulder of his shirt in the process.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-26 03:40 am (UTC)When she starts again, apologizing and saying she never meant to, he shakes his head again and pushes, gently, on her shoulder so he can move one hand to her face again. "Don't, okay? Don't. I pr-promise, it's gonna...be...different." He's barely holding himself together enough to even give her this awful attempt at a pep talk, so he tugs her back against his chest and resumes petting her hair, insistently whisper, "It's okay... it's gonna be okay..." until he can make both of them believe it.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 02:23 am (UTC)So while part of her just wants to lean into him, and listen to him, and believe him, Vanya doesn't know how to believe anything anyone tells her anymore.
"I'm--" Another sob stops her from voicing the rest in a single string. The effort it takes to pull her face from his shoulder is Herculean, but she pushes back so she can sit on the piano bench, rather than half sitting on him.
"I'm not - I'm not safe." She drags her arm across her face, struggling to get the tears under control.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-01 04:00 am (UTC)But it all started back then. When they were the tiniest of kids, being taught to push their sister to the side. It doesn't matter that it was a taught and learned behavior; Klaus was never great at rules, he pushed boundaries and broke rules with the best of them. Why hadn't he broken that one? Why had he ever stopped including her?
He doesn't even have an answer, and that may be worse than having a shitty one in the first place.
Klaus doesn't try to keep her when she pulls away from him, even though he really wants to, because contact is the best way he knows how to comfort. But he'll give her what she wants, what she needs, because that's the least he could do at this point. So he lets her go and he folds his hands in his lap, eyes on her to listen to whatever it is she has to say.
"No," he counters, shaking his head as she finally manages to get the words out. Three tiny words that hold so much more impact than he wants them to. "V... you- i-i-it's not...you that's not safe, okay? It's...your powers. Because you- you never got to--" No, no, idiot, not that.
"Powers can be-- it's hard, but... y- we can fix that. I dunno how, Alli and Five would probably...be better for that, but we can all...help you figure it out. Powers can be trained, Vanya, we can do it. We can do this. You can do this. All of us. Together, okay?" He's not sure when he had grabbed her hand between both of his again, but there it is, and he's threading their fingers together, squeezing gently.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-02 02:50 am (UTC)Vanya always knew she didn't make the cut, but she doesn't understand why. Only now, she has different guesses, and they're not making it any easier to have faith in herself.
"Then why - why didn't Dad?"
The question comes out raw, and she drops her arm to her lap. The tears won't stop, what's the point of pretending like she can hide it? "What if - what if knew what I would do?" The last thing she wants to do is prove him posthumously right, but what is she supposed to think? "I'm dangerous, Klaus!"
no subject
Date: 2019-04-02 03:33 am (UTC)"I don't know, V... why did Dad ever do anything? He was never exactly the bastion of patience or reason."
His face screws up with confusion at that last question, not quite following her at first and there's an awkward teeter of silence as he tries to sort it out and--
Then it clicks.
And incredulity takes over.
"Knew, what, Vanya, that the Apocalypse was coming in like twenty years? I seriously doubt that," there's a scoff, more of disbelief than anything else, and certain directed more at the idea of Dad being that proactive about the sake of the entire world than at Vanya herself. "He created this, Vanya. He didn't predict it, he made it!" His hands are moving animatedly now with the vehemence of his words. "If he hadn't done this- suppressed your powers and taught us all to push you aside and shoved you behind a curtain-- none of this would have ever happened!"
Whether it's true or not is debatable, and is genuinely something they will probably never truly be able to know the answer to. But whether it is or not, it's obvious it's what Klaus believes, at any rate. There is too much conviction there for it to be anything less than his own truth of the situation.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-14 03:27 am (UTC)Even her.
Her face is hot, uncomfortably so, and she swipes her arm over her face, using the sleeve of her too-big sweater to clean it at least a little. "No," she finally chokes out, shaking her head and closing her eyes. She tilts her head back, looking for a breeze that isn't there. "Not - the apocalypse."
She thinks of Dad's monocle, briefly, and can't figure out why: one of her foggy memories, unfogging? It's too hard to focus.
"He had to have known - or, or suspected - what I could do."
Because Vanya knows, knows that she is powerful. Not just special, but strong. Stronger than all of them, put together even. And for a man like Reginald Hargreeves to set aside an advantage in his goals, there had to be a reason.
She couldn't be trusted with her powers. Not then, and probably not now.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-16 05:14 am (UTC)The idea and feeling and realization of that one word is practically tangible in the air between them as it clicks that everything he'd just ranted about was not... really what she meant, at all. He doesn't really care, though, because he'd still stand by it. Dad had as good as forced Vanya's hand-- the tell-all book, latching onto the first guy to show her ten seconds of attention and ignoring any sign that he wasn't quite right, the massive explosion of emotions that led to...everything else in the end. It was as good as orchestrated by their father's hand, and it makes Klaus sick to think about it.
"He didn't like he couldn't control you the way he could the rest of us, maybe? I-I dunno, Vanya... none of us can answer tha--" The words die on his tongue as he realizes how stupidly ironic it is that he, of all people, is even daring to try and say that. Sure, he, personally, could not answer that, but-- "I mean, I- maybe I could try... but--" He runs a hand down his face. "It took nearly dying to talk to him last time, so I don't know if..." He mouth moves wordlessly for the shortest of seconds, "I mean- I could try to ask him..." He doesn't want to, exactly, but if it's the kind of answer that might help her, it might be worth it.