"maybe we can head to the apocalypse again as a little vacation. you know what they say... paradise!"
"i cannot express to you how little i would like to do that."
"stingy fucker."
IN WHICH vincent leblanc, resident french asshole and externally...
( we're on the borderline, dangerously far and forgiven )
chapter fifteen !
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VINCENT DIDN'T THINK HE HAD EVER HAD A DREAM AS WEIRD AS THE ONE HE'D JUST HAD. A dream that left him gasping awake just to find Luther and Five- Diego missing- staring at him with furrowed eyebrows. His hangover was horrible, but it was immeasurable to the way that dream had made him feel.
It was vivid, horrifying and intriguing all at the same time. There had been flashes of him dead yet again, this time due to his throat being slit, lying inside of an odd house he didn't recall ever being inside of. All he had seen was himself gripping his bleeding throat, dying slowly and painfully.
And Jesus- he swore he could feel it as it happened. Feel the lack of air he could breath and the terrible pain that came with it. It had hurt more than anything he'd ever felt. The other time he'd seen himself dead, body mangled and unbreathing, it hadn't hurt at all. He'd felt nothing but panic. He didn't have any idea why the hell it would hurt this time.
Then, just as quick as the images flashed, they dissolved into something different. Vincent dead with a gunshot to the chest, images flashing between his own dead body and another person's dead body. A woman Vincent didn't recognize, lying on the ground bleeding out. Flash back to Vincent in the same position. This time didn't hurt nearly as bad, but it still felt restricting and terrible.
Vincent forced himself awake after that. He couldn't handle the sight, didn't really know what to do about the situation. He didn't know what any of it meant. He was sure that if he told Five all he would do was worry.
He hadn't realized everyone in the room had been staring at him until he looked up slowly swallowing thickly. Didn't realize when his hand came up to his chest and then his throat with furrowed eyebrows, feeling for injury until Five moved closer, grabbing Vincent's hand. "Are you okay?"
Vincent blinked quickly, snapping out of his daze of sorts and nodding slowly. "Yeah- fuck. Just had a dream or whatever," He murmured, letting out a forced chuckle, biting the inside of his cheek when he looked down at his and Five's hands. Five's words from the night before couldn't help but flash through his mind.
"I probably won't remember anything in the morning."
"I probably won't either."
Vincent definitely remembered every little thing that had happened the night before.
Vincent pulled his hand away to run through his own hair, moving to stand up quickly. "What were you guys talking about?" He asked, not daring to look at Five. He didn't want to see the reaction. He probably shouldn't overreact about it. It was natural not to remember a night of being blackout drunk. He should have expected this.
Five had gotten progressively nicer to Vincent as he stayed around him, softer and gentler but still just as passively angry for how he'd left him all those years ago. He heard Five sigh, the movement of the sheets as Five sat up before he finally spoke. "The Apocalypse. Luther doesn't know much about it at all." He mumbled.
