Vide Noir | The Umbrella Academy

Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen:

Five paced back and fourth impatiently, unable to remain still.

Adella was laid out across the guest bed, unbelievably silent. He didn't know what to do, couldn't keep himself calm long enough before deciding to try to wake her up, which he kept failing miserably at. He didn't know if she was sleeping, or if she wasn't. He couldn't see the rise and fall of her chest, everything about her was too still, unnaturally so.

What the hell happened?

He wandered to the side of the bed, dragging a chair from the corner of the room to her bedside. He sat down, sitting on the edge, watching her carefully. It was nearly three a.m, and she still hadn't moved since he got her in here, with the help of Elliott and an injured Diego. Lila had left, nobody knew where.

Adella looked peaceful, despite the bruise forming on her cheek and the nasty scar she'd always had over her eyebrow, one she never remembered getting. Her white shirt was wet, with blood stains mixed with those of mud and grass. Her black hair was knotted atop her head, curls turned into clumps that plastered themselves onto her forehead. It looked like she had gotten into a fight, and lost.

He hated this. Never had he been around her in such silence. She was the one to break it, to ask stupid questions or tell a joke that made no sense. He hadn't seen her for half a day and he was already missing the sound of her voice— though he'd never tell her that. If he was, she'd have to wake up first.

And why wasn't she waking up? When he had found her, curled up on the ground, being trampled by police, she kept saying something hurt. She was in pain, but he knew by the look on her face and the fear in her eyes that it was something internal. If she was of right mind, Adella could've gotten all of those people to back off. She looked so defenceless. It was odd, seeing her like that.

Adella was always strong. She never showed any emotion, not really, not until they landed in 2019 in the middle of the Academy. She never broke, always did what needed to be done— what she believed needed to be done. She was kind, the most caring person he'd ever met.

He still had no idea why he ever spoke to her in the first place. If it was the jokes he'd overhear her tell others, or the way she just talked, maybe it was the sound of her voice—

A soft snore made him jump, he slumped back in his chair, eyes landing on her sleeping figure. Her chest rose and fell in a heavy motion, a wave of relief cascaded down. She was alright, just sleeping.

"Is she okay?"

Diego was at the door, knuckles knocking carefully on the wooden panel, a glass of water gripped in a hand.

"I thought you didn't care."

His brother rolled his eyes, "I heard her yelling when you flopped in. And then you, I've never heard you sound like that— what even happened?"

"I don't know." Five muttered, crossing his arms. "I just found her on the ground, curled up in ball, crying for help."

"How did you find her?"

"I don't know." He said again, "I just knew."

Diego leaned up against the door frame, eyes landing on Adella.

"I didn't know you guys were that close."

He sighed, shaking his head. "What do you want, Diego?"

The man shrugged, turning his attention to him. Five shifted, eyes still glued to the girl laying unconscious on the bed.

"She said she was looking for me." He muttered, "That she called for me."

"And now you blame yourself, don't you?"

"Well, it's kind of hard not too." He huffed, "She was on the ground, surrounded by angry protesters and I watched a cop pin her there— he wouldn't let go of her—"

"A cop? Where the hell was she?"

"I don't know!" He spat, "I got there, grabbed her and left. I didn't know what else to do—"

"Hey, dude, calm down." Diego looked to his brother, "She's fine now. She'll be alright."

"Yeah." He muttered.

Diego raised a brow, tiptoeing into the room. "Maybe I've gotta get to know her more when she wakes up, since she's making you all loopy. Didn't know that could happen to psychos."

He sent him a glare, voice quiet. "I've never seen her cry before."

"You need to sleep."

Five shook his head, "I'll be fine. Sleep is for the dead, anyways."

"It's now three in the morning and I haven't seen you rest at all since you brought me here." Diego slowly made his way forward, "I know you don't want to leave her, but go take a nap on the couch, I'll watch her."

"Diego—"

"If she wakes up, I'll get you, alright?" His brother nudged his chair, "Look, we need you ready to go later for that gala, remember? The Majestic Twelve and all that bullshit? Go and sleep."

Five looked to Adella, nothing had changed, she was still out cold. He nodded slowly, standing up.

"Here." Diego gave him the glass of water he had gripped in his hand, "Now get out."

He did, slowly moving towards the door. He turned back in the doorway, looking in just as his brother had minutes ago. Diego now took over his position, slouched in that uncomfortable chair.

"I said go." Diego said again, glaring until he took one last look at Adella before trudging to the living room.

The apartment was unnaturally silent, Elliott must've been sound asleep in his own room. Five took sip of water, swishing it around his dry mouth. On the way past the kitchen he dumped it in the sink, sliding the glass onto the counter. When he reached the couch, he flopped onto it, sprawling himself across the cushions.

He never slept, not peacefully at least. He was always on edge, had to be alert, ready for anything. So he laid there, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, dozing in and out of a hazy sleep, not getting any real rest at all.