tact from me is like blood from a stone

[opiate_visions]

Isaac's birthday had been registered as the 17th of September, two weeks to the day before those children were born from mothers who weren't pregnant, the miracle children who were forgotten again until the unveiling of the Umbrella Academy.

Isaac had never learned much about it all. He'd lived somewhat sheltered from that part of the world and by the time he was old enough to explore on his own, the Umbrella Academy had come and gone and he was more interested in his own life and future.

But the blackouts became more frequent and the medication didn't help. He stopped taking the medication and it got more out of control, but he had found other ways to control it and by the time he was thirty, he was out of rehab (again) and didn't know what to do or where to go to learn about what he was.

So he used the last of his money to make his way to the old address of the Umbrella Academy and hoped someone there might be able to help.

He was raising his hand to knock on the door when he saw the flicker, a momentary glimpse and he stepped back enough that whoever was coming to the door wouldn't barrel into him...

Comments

[opiate_visions]

"Your father? You mean the man who bought seven children and then pitted them against one another relentlessly until one vanished and he managed to drive another to his grave? That father? Why wouldn't he lie if he had a justification in his mind? What if your power was exploding? What if he just didn't think you could cope so he decided to take it away entirely?"

Isaac read about the Academy, not just Vanya's book. And Reginald Hargreeves might have been a great man, but he was a terrible father and not a particularly kind person."

He took hold of her hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not like, a hundred percent accurate or anything. And whatever you choose, it doesn't change that you survived your childhood with your mind intact, and that's pretty amazing in and of itself. Nothing can take that away from you."

[missnobody]

Vanya took a step back at the impact of his words. And then another. She reached for her bottle of pills and was already shaking her head as she dry-swallowed one. “Not everyone could control their powers, exactly.” She didn’t go into details, but she was thinking of Klaus. Klaus had never entirely been able to control his powers. It was more as if they controlled him.

But what, a small part of her whispered, if it was that he couldn’t control you?

She shivered and looked at where he was holding her hand. She didn’t know what to say because he was so very wrong. None of them had survived with their minds intact. They each just had varying degrees of being able to fake it.

[opiate_visions]

"I can't," he says honestly. Like a lot of drug addicts, he varies between wildly honestly and imperceptibly manipulative. "I have black outs, flashes of things that aren't where I am..." He shrugs slightly. It's not terrible, but it's not much fun either.

He keeps hold of her hand. Her violin calluses are almost familiar, like other musicians' he's held. "I'll leave it to you, Vanya. No matter what you decide, I would love to hear you play sometime. And maybe, you'll let me draw you?"

[missnobody]

The need to play almost overwhelmed her. There were other times she felt like this, but usually only in the middle of the night when nightmares she could never remember were clawing at her mind and making it impossible to sleep. Her fingers actually started to twitch in his grip.

“Sure,” she muttered. “Yeah, maybe.” And what would he see if he drew her? Could she even be sure he could do what he said? All she had to do was look at her work, but it was terrifying. She was at the center of whatever he saw. He thought she had powers. She tugged her hand away and looked behind him.

“My ride’s here. You can ask Pogo for my number.” She thrust the picture back at him and ran for the car. What he was saying had to be impossible. Maybe Pogo would just send him away.

[opiate_visions]

He lets go of her hand the moment her discomfort is apparent, which is a lot faster than some people pick up on it. "All right. Look after yourself, Miss Hargreeves."

He takes the polaroid and pockets it, watching as she gets into the cab.

He blinks and sees ash drifting across a wasteland of a city.

He turns and heads back up the stairs again.