Prophet - Five Hargreeves X oc UMBRELLA ACADEMY

2:3

Five Hargreeves landed in Dallas, Texas, in the middle of the night calling out his siblings names - unaware that they were scattered in the 60s, like he was now.

When he gained no response, he span around and scanned the alleyway he had landed in, brushing the dust off of his clothes. To him, little to no time had passed.

He paused, attention turning to the white graffiti on the wall by the back door.

He straightened, then, scanning what looked like an address scrawled in chalk in what would have been a neat scrawl had it not been for the shaky lines that trailed away as though the artist was too weak to maintain the placement of the chalk to the bricks.

He would have glanced past it, assuming it was mindless graffiti, had it not been for the number '5' scrawled a hundred or so times around it in varying sizes and clarity.

•●•

When he found the door to the apartment, he was surprised to see it was unlocked - either the person within held no care for their own safety or they were expecting his arrival.

The lights inside were out and the place only had minimal furniture, no television or trinkets or framed pictures, just the barenecessities. The kitchen led off from the back of the living area while he assumed the bedroom was down the hall to the right.

Tense and not knowing what to expect, he felt for a lamp and found the remains of one shattered and broken on the floor. He instead switched on the light in the kitchen to use it to illuminate the rest of the living room.

He blinked in surprise, eyes trailing up from the lamp to the wall where tons of notes and newspaper sections were taped there, like a mural of chaos.

He caught the black and white eyes of his siblings in each of their respective photographs and stepped back in deep thought, scanning the newspaper clippings and handwritten notes in fast, slanted writing in another language that looked familiar.

He became aware of an inexpressible pang in his chest as he recognised it as Norwegian.

He had a feeling he knew who owned the apartment, but doubt still kept him in a clutch; he had considered the fact he'd never see her again, and certainly did not expect her to try and help him again.

He regarded the dozens of umbrella symbols and drawings around the edges of the wall, all in pen, pencil or scratched into the surface with an inkless ballpoint that tore chips of paint off. It was borderline mental.

His hand subconciously reached for an image of the umbrella academy symbol when he was cut off by a horrific scream so loud he jumped.

The sounds that followed the scream were similar to hyperventilating through sobs, and he crept towards the bedroom down the hall, still cautious but now curiouser. He rounded the corner and could just about make out the figure of a female, back to the beds side, knees drawn close to her chest.

His eyes adjusted and he spotted how her hands were linked around the back of her neck.

Platinum blonde hair. Long bony fingers clutching it like straw, nails raking the back of her neck, a familiar scar on the back of her right hand.

"Anneli..." he muttered without meaning to.

She was alive.