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CHAPTER TWO a walk in the park
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
JUST A FEW HOURS ago, Nadine had been at home—or, at least, the place she'd made her home in 1960s Texas. Just a few hours ago, she'd been kissing Molly goodbye, looking into her girlfriend's eyes for what would likely be the last time. Just a few hours ago, she'd taken Vanya's hand, giving herself a little bit of strength that was necessary to bring along to 2019. Just a few hours ago—or perhaps not even that—she'd watched the sunset on 1963, the final sunset from that era she'd ever see.
Nadine didn't know what she expected upon return to 2019. Certainly not to see her family straight away—after all, her Papa was still on another continent—nor for things to immediately be all right. After all, she'd just left behind the girlfriend she'd spent two years falling so deeply for. She'd just been confronted with a horrifying truth—that The Handler had wanted to take her. She'd just fought against what appeared to be the full might of the Commission, barely managing to make it out alive. She'd just been betrayed by the woman she thought might have been her friend.
Still, Nadine had expected a chance to sit down, to rest her weary bones. To hold the people that had become her family—which was strange to think about, given the technically (time travel aside) short amount of time she'd known them for. At the very least, she'd thought she might have a drink.
But, no. Instead, minutes after blinking back into what was meant to be the Umbrella Academy, Nadine found herself face-to-face with eight imposters and a very alive Reginald Hargreeves. And if that didn't prove that things were fucked up enough, the text messages Nadine had gotten on her phone solidified it. Everything was wrong, once again.
And she honestly didn't know how to make things right.
Especially when she actually went toe-to-toe with the so-called Sparrow Academy, a team that, after a five-minute confrontation, she was now fearing to be better than the Umbrella Academy.
Blood—too much blood, uncomfortably reminding her of bullet wounds to the shoulder and shrapnel in Five's stomach and Allison reaching up to clutch her sliced throat—spilled down her face, sliding over her skin like warm syrup. There were several sources of this: multiple puncture wounds from particularly sharp raven beaks. It hurt so bad that all of the individual aches had coalesced into one sharp pain, one that throbbed with every shuddering breath she took. And that wasn't even mentioning the state of her side.
Still, she got back up. Because if there was one thing Nadine Vidal wasn't, it was a quitter. She could lose a limb and still raise her fists for another round. She could die—and she had, apparently—and still come back, just to spite you.
It was almost satisfying to see the surprise on the fucking Sparrows' faces, especially the two assholes who had just tag-teamed her. But that satisfaction was immediately overshadowed by horror, because there, on the ground, was Luther—who was quite literally spitting up blood—and on the balcony was Vanya.
