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The last time Vanya had a strong drink… hell, Five told her the apocalypse was coming.
She didn't really believe him. Not then. But after Mom is killed by the people who want the apocalypse to happen, Vanya doesn't know what to believe anymore. So… what else is there to do but drink?
They all get together for the night, hanging out in the parlor-room, as a smug Klaus frisks out the liquor bottles from Dad's 'forbidden' cabinet. They expect Luther to reprimand him but sit in shock as he downs a tall glass of 1945 Romanee-Conti wine instead. The scent of expensive, full-bodied whiskey and cognac fills Vanya's senses. With Pogo not bothering to interrupt, they fondly reminisce over their childhood memories with Mom. How she taught Diego to manage his stuttering as a kid, comforted Klaus through his nightmares, helped Allison to learn how to tie her shoelaces, encouraged Vanya to…
To find something inside herself that's worthy of love. To chase her dreams.
Vanya sniffles quietly, gazing at the bottom of her sherry glass. Diego, with reddened, wet eyes, offers a noticeable shoulder-slap, his mouth twitching up. She stares back, Vanya's own mouth curling into a faint, mournful smile, grasping tightly over Diego's leather-gloved fingers.
The rest of the night… it's a little less full of reminiscing. More gulps of shimmery, honey-flavored brandy pouring down Vanya's throat straining from the burn. Fuzzy-glow.
Her and Luther tangle their arms, chugging each other's shots messily and bursting out laughing.
Allison, with her long, magenta feather boa, dancing along with the record player. Vanya wraps the soft object around Allison's waist, swaying, dancing closer, their legs bumping together.
She finds herself nuzzled possessively in Five's arms, watching the others jump up and giggle and spill their alcohol, playing some kind of old-fashioned card game. Five murmurs her name, his warm, childishly-soft lips to her temple, and his fingers gently tracing over Vanya's wrist. Like a pattern. Equation.
Diego sings with Vanya during the midnight karaoke, both of their voices cracking from shouting the lyrics. He lifts her into the air bridal-style, whirling them and grinning, nearly throwing them over the couch.
Klaus, well, he sits with Vanya on the rug, babbling and then babbling at Ben. She wishes she could talk to Ben like he can. Wishes to see Ben again. Klaus plays with Vanya's hair ocassionally, loosely braiding it, stroking one of her hands in his and kissing it with a teasing, chaste manner.
Was that what Mom said Vanya always had inside her? Did they love her like she loved them?
It takes an excessive amount of tragedy to bring them together. For Vanya to realize what her feelings manifest as, shaking her to her core. That's not… right. It shouldn't be like this.
She cancels her dinner date with Leonard, still fairly hungover. Needs to clear her head.
He would only confuse Vanya some more with his overly sweet temperament. He's needy. Vanya didn't recognize it at first, too stunned by the fact someone cared so deeply for her. Without conditions, without asking for anything in return. But it's too soon for her. Vanya needs to think.
Her apartment lights rattle, flickering off and on, when the late high-rise train passes by. Vanya's burgundy-twill coat dangles off the edge of the sofa. Black coffee with sugar wafers sounds good.
Once it is piping hot, Vanya grabs a mug, walking towards her front room. She hesitates, noticing the broken, chunky glass strewn all over her wooden floorboards. Her apartment window jammed open, letting in the humidity. That's when a stranger's hand claps roughly over Vanya's lips.
Vanya lets out a muffled, high shriek, pinned by their arm.
"Whoa, hey! Vanya, Vanya, it's me," they exclaim. Hot gusts of air panting into Vanya's ear. "I'm sorry about freaking you out. I just, I needed to see you." Her heart slows from pounding at the familiar voice, and she relaxes. Leonard — it's only Leonard, she thinks — chuckles.
Dark, low and malicious.
His arm stiffens up when a bemused Vanya attempts to walk forward. To turn and look at him.
"It's all your fault, y'know…?" Leonard rumbles out. "God, you make me feel so…" He lets out a guttural, lust-whining noise, humping against her, his erection pushing to the curve of Vanya's ass.
Vanya shrieks again, her brown eyes widening. No.
Leonard thrashes her in place, snapping Vanya's head side-to-side painfully, as she wriggles to escape. A turquoise acrylic salt shaker on Vanya's kitchen table upends, rolling quickly in a half-circle. The hanging dishtowels jostling as if by an invisible wind. Their hair fluttering.
"Don't. Don't do that," he hisses, infuriated. "Don't be a bitch like your sister."
The helplessness feels like a stone dropped in Vanya's gut. As soon as his palm vanishes, Vanya screams for help, but only for that heart-stopping second. Leonard's hand returns, thrusting a heavy, damp cloth over her nose and mouth. The repulsive, bitter-pungent odor goes up Vanya's nostrils.
"Your family doesn't love you, Vanya. I do."
Terror grips her. She feels her hyperventilation easing, dying off, like the sensation in Vanya's limbs. And so does the presence of the wind, fluttering book pages and Vanya's plaid button-up.
"I'll show you," Leonard whispers, leering. He removes his hand from Vanya's mouth slacking open and releasing tiny, feeble whimpers. Vanya has enough consciousness to feel how Leonard's fingers grope down the front of her jeans, squeezing her mound and rubbing insistently through the denim.
A metallic-flash of blade touches against Leonard's neck.
"Step… away from her," Diego mutters, overwhelmed by his fury.
Klaus and Allison remain a good distance behind their other teammate, glaring and positioning themselves to block the exit. "We're not gonna say it again, Harold Jenkins," Five calls from the kitchen table, stoic-faced.
He's perched there, cross-legged, his arms folded.
But it's not enough to catch Leonard off-guard. He sends an elbow into Diego's nose, getting his attention diverted, and rips away the knife. Its tip prickles Vanya's back, her blood trickling out.
Leonard howls out in victory, throwing his head back, completely impaling a fainting Vanya with the knife.
Steel digs in, scraping bone and spinal cord. She can't make out who is screaming, screaming her name, screaming, Vanya is choke-screaming while standing on her own, her strength returning for the moment. White-silver crawls over Vanya's irises. Her face iridescent-glow.
Wind — raw, untapped power — blows up, knocking everyone flat onto the ground, ears ringing.
Everyone but her.
Vanya glances over her shoulder, white-eyed and expressionless, as Leonard dies, looking confused, his skull exploding into gory mash. She collapses onto her stomach, moaning, blood darkening her green plaid button-up. Five and Klaus reach Vanya first, carefully pressing Diego's jacket onto the wound.
Panic.
They're all panicking.
(For her?)
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She can only assume Luther drove them back while Five jumped ahead to inform Pogo of an emergency.
But Vanya knows nothing of Allison's hysterics during the car ride, Diego's silence formed of guilt, or Klaus mumbling a prayer under his breath, clasping his fingers sternly together drying with Vanya's blood.
Waking in the middle of impromptu spinal-surgery pushes nausea and fear through Vanya. Her exposed skin on her back and arms feel icy where the heat of the bright white lamps miss. She's stripped down to her underwear and mostly covered with sterile, powder blue sheets. Vanya gags a little, twitching in place, unable to do anything but stare down through a rounded head-support cushion.
"Miss Vanya, you must not move…" Pogo announces, tutting. Her pulse escalating on the charts.
"Vanya…"
A soft, masculine voice. One that she has missed hearing.
"Ben?" Vanya whispers.
"Hey, Van."
Only him and Five ever used that nickname. It was theirs. Ben changed after Five's sudden disappearance, prone to irregular moods and night terrors, emotionally distancing himself from Vanya. But, she… …
"How…?"
"Klaus is over here. He's helping me talk to you guys."
"Make it quick, kiddos," Klaus grunts out. Vanya can't be sure but Klaus sounds like he's exhausting himself, probably summoning Ben into existence, profusely sweating through his black, fluffy jacket. Allison says Klaus's name sharply, warningly, and he groans, "Hey, this isn't as easy as it looks!"
A throbbing agony shoots from the top innermost part of Vanya's head and down her entire neck. She's lightheaded, disorientated. "Focus on me, Vanya. You're gonna be alright."
"I c-can't…"
Ben goes silent. "Do you remember the day you picked all of our favorite snacks and rang the dinner bell?" he asks, laughing. "You really thought hiding behind the corner was gonna work…?"
"Yeah, we all thought Mom did it," Allison points out.
"What did you get Luther?"
Tears slide down Vanya's flushed-red cheeks. "Rice…cakes," she breathes.
"Mmhm. He's a plain kind of guy."
"You got that right," Diego murmurs, getting his arm punched by Luther and staring venomously.
"Extra fudge brownies or Diego. You said it was because…"
"Ssh-sweet…" Vanya breathes out again, swallowing down the urge to cry. Her vision spins so drastically that she needs to shut her eyes. Focus on her blood thudding in her ears. "Diego was sweet. Dee-eep…down." Her words slur out. They hear Diego make a gruff, appreciative noise.
Allison remains stubbornly by the head of the surgery table. "I ended up with ghost pepper chips on my plate," she says. "I had no idea how you knew they were my favorite, Vanya."
"It's all of that Big Dick Energy you got," Klaus chimes in, beaming. "S'kinda hard to miss."
She gives Klaus a half-devilish glance.
"Sour candies for Klaus."
"I liked the tingly burning sensation inside my mouth," he admits, groaning louder. Vanya misses the view of Klaus's hands illuminating a pulsing, living blue. "Aah, the early innocent signs of masochism."
For some reason, they all laugh over one of Klaus's jokes. Vanya feels the laughter warm in her belly, and it hurts. When she cries quietly, Allison shushes her, kindly massaging Vanya's perspiration-moist hair and her scalp with her long, indigo-hued fingernails. Vanya feels someone else who has been holding her hand this whole time. Five doesn't complain when she grips hard enough to bruise him.
"You said you hated how the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches tasted. You hated how they smelled," he says conversationally. As if everything is fine. "But you still made them for me."
Vanya releases a low, sobbing noise. "Fffahive…"
"I am never going to leave you again, understand?" His tone softer than normal. "Not like that. Not ever." Five rearranges their hands when Pogo moves around him, continuing the grueling surgery.
"Uhh, I don't remember what Ben had," Luther mumbles.
Ben sighs.
"Nobody ever does…"
They start discussing it amongst themselves, and Vanya hears a dramatic 'ewww!' from Klaus, but nothing more. She sinks into the pure darkness behind her eyelids, watching in anticipation as it morphs, transforms, deviating and radiating to fragile, irresistible white.
.
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Vanya accepts her pills, for the pain recovery and the ones given to her since she was four. As long as Pogo and the rest of the Academy doesn't treat her like she's any different confined to the wheelchair.
Recovering from surgery means lingering around in Sir Reginald's mansion. Five and Pogo work on an expert pull-lever system for getting up the many winding staircases, and hidden, automated floor-panels or the corridors. Vanya doesn't bother overthinking the ability to walk again. That'll come later.
Allison visits often, like they all do. She lies down with Vanya upstairs, embracing her, combing her long, silvery hair. The other woman doesn't flinch when Vanya gazes at her with those pearl-white eyes.
Her violin helps clear a crowded, frantic mind.
She plays for hours, recalling about how warm and safe Vanya felt around the others as they drank. How gentle. It may not last… but she will gladly savor it. And it had been easy to turn the violence on Leonard, to crush him alive, to make him suffer.
Vanya's bow plucks a single, taut string.
Invisible power ripples in the air, slowly stretching out, vibrating the emptied glasses and bottles of liquor abandoned on the parlor's bar-end deafeningly.
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TUA isn't mine. I have been so excited to share this fic. It definitely screws with canon and adds a smudge of comic-canon. VANYA NEEDS MORE LOVE. You can take this as shippy or not shippy,,, it doesn't matter to me. THEY'RE JUST REALLY CLOSE AND LOVE EACH OTHER. I hope you enjoy this and please tell me your thoughts! I would love to hear them! My pal Spaghetti helped me with snack choices for people and I am indebted to you forever omg. The prompt for this fic has been "Vanya, Vanya/Any, sexual assault, hurt/comfort" and not super focused on the sexual assault bits. But it does happen.