FRACTURES
An AU One-shot ARCANE fanfiction story
A soft knock on the door woke the man sitting behind his computer, in the middle of his studies.
"Come in," the man called out.
With a soft creak, the door swung open.
"Dr. Vander," the second man greeted him, closing the door behind him.
"Ah, Dr. Silco. How may I help?" Vander asked.
"You know why I'm here." Silco replied shortly. Vander sighed.
"One more week," Silco reminded him. "After that, the board decides if she's worth saving."
Vander slowly nodded. "I understand."
Jean walked closely behind Violet, humming her favorite lullaby at the top of her lungs.
Violet shushed her. "You're being too loud!"
Jean ignored her and continued humming.
"Jean, quiet down!" Violet shushed her again.
"Ugh, fine!" Jean screamed, frustrated. "It's not like they can hear me either."
They stopped just before a door.
"Do we really have to do this every week?" Jean asked, annoyed. "And both of us at the same time? Together?"
"You know we have to, if we want to get out of here." Violet answered without looking at her.
Jean let out a loud groan. With that, Violet knocked on the door.
"Come in," a voice beckoned from the other side of the door.
"Good morning, Violet." Dr. Silco greeted her. Dr. Vander stood quietly behind him, watching them all.
"How are you feeling this week?" Silco asked, full of compassion.
"Yeah well, it's been alright." Violet answered flatly, like she's practiced it a thousand times before.
Silco glanced at Vander who slowly nodded back at him.
"Did Jean finally touch her blue paint she asked for yet?" Silco finally asked, hope brimming in his voice.
Violet paused, surprised. Silco never really cared for Jean. Violet glanced at Jean who shot a "Yeah well, go tell him" look.
"No," she finally said. "She won't touch her paint yet because Vander still hasn't apologised to her yet. She's still mad."
Silco glanced at Vander again, but now Vander's expression was unreadable.
Silco exhaled as he took off his eyeglasses slowly and placed it on his desk.
"Violet," he paused. "We've been through this for months."
"Oh here we go," Jean blurted out, frustrated.
"Jean isn't real, Violet." Silco's voice was low, but serious. "You know this."
Violet's heart skipped a beat. "No, she's my sister." But even she felt a glimpse of doubt in her tone.
"Violet. Your sister died in the fire. Two years ago. With your mother and father." The truth in Silco's tone cracked like thunder.
"No, no, no..." Violet muttered under her breath, her thoughts spinning, spiraling. A storm of voices erupted in her skull, each louder than the last, clashing and overlapping.
"She's real, she's real, she's real—"
She clutched her head, fists tangled in her hair, trying to drown them out.
"She's real, Silco! Vander sees her too!" she cried out, turning desperately toward the only lifeline she had left.
Violet's eyes locked with Vander's, searching for the comfort of his practiced lie. But this time…Vander didn't say a word.
His gaze dropped to the floor.
"Violet..." he whispered. "I'm sorry. I—I..." He couldn't finish.
Violet staggered back. "Vander, no...". Her voice crumbled like the walls in her mind.
Silco slammed down a stack of old newspapers. Then another. And another. Photos spilled like dead leaves. Headlines screamed in silence:
"TRAGEDY IN PILTOVER: YOUNG SURVIVOR FOUND UNCONSCIOUS AT SCENE"
"FIRE CLAIMS THREE; OLDER DAUGHTER THE SOLE SURVIVOR"
"Look at these, Violet!" Silco shouted, his voice cracking. "Look at them!"
The voices in Violet's head began pounding like war drums, a ringing so loud it drowned the world.
"Don't listen to him, Violet!" Jean snapped, her voice slicing through the noise. "He's lying! I'm right here. I've always been here!"
Silco grabbed something from the desk. A mirror. Cracked. Shattered. He shoved it in front of Violet's face.
"Is this Jean, your sister?" he growled.
Violet looked.
She expected to see herself—but it wasn't just her.
It was her. But not.
Her hair was bleached horribly blue. Blue paint smeared across her cheeks like war paint. Mascara bleeding down. Blue lipstick scrawled, not drawn. Wrong.
Jean.
Wait. Not Jean. But… a fractured version of Violet trying to become her.
Violet stumbled back, gasping.
"No... no, no..." she whispered, eyes fluttering shut, fists white in her tangled hair. "Please stop." She shook her head violently, yet the voice wouldn't stop raising.
"Stopstopstopstop—"
As if puzzle pieces finally fell into their rightful place, Violet realized the weight of truth.
Why no one ever responded to Jean's humming lullabies.
Why the paint cans in their room remained untouched.
Why Jean never spoke to anyone but her.
It all made sense now.
In a desperate spiral, Violet lunged forward and punched the mirror in Silco's hand. Glass exploded around them, clattering onto the floor in jagged pieces. Silco stumbled back, startled.
"Silco, that's enough," Vander said, stepping between them. His voice was calm, but firm—tired.
Silco steadied himself, his frustration softening into sorrow. He looked at Violet, who's breaking in real time.
"Violet," he said gently, "we just want to help you. We've tried everything. But your condition—it's worsening. We're running out of time."
Then, from behind her, a familiar voice cracked through the air like glass.
"Vi, they're trying to take me away from you." Jean's voice trembled. Desperate. Childlike. "I'm scared. I'm lonely. I'm family, remember?"
Her lips curled into a tear-streaked smile. "And you won't leave me behind this time, right?"
"Violet, please," Silco leaned closer, voice pleading. "You need to accept it. Your sister—Jean—is dead."
"Shut up!" Jean screamed, defending Violet. "Leave her alone!"
Then everything moved too fast.
In Violet's vision, Jean grabbed a shard of broken mirror from the floor, her face twisted in rage. She lunged forward.
Violet gasped. "Jean, what are you—?"
"Violet, no!" Vander shouted.
Too late.
The glass caught Silco's throat in a single, fatal slice. His eyes widened in shock. Blood spilled over his hands as he grabbed his own throat, choking and gurgling.
He looked at Jean, no—through Violet.
Silco staggered as Vander caught him before collapsing completely, dropping to the floor.
Violet stood frozen. Her breath ragged. Her hands trembled.
Jean was gone.
The shard fell from Violet's trembling hands, shattering against the floor into a million pieces.
"I—I swear to God..." Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "It was Jean. Jean did this. I didn't know what she was doing. God, I didn't know—"
Her breath caught in her throat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Each apology smaller, more broken than the last. She stumbled backwards, away from the spreading pool of red.
Silco's eyes flickered toward her—filled with something that wasn't anger. Just... understanding.
And then, they went still.
Gone.
Violet turned on her heel and ran.
She didn't think—she couldn't. She ran as fast as she could, as if trying to outrun the deafening roar in her head. Her breath came in frantic gasps, her chest rising and falling.
Images from the past flashed behind her eyes—Jean laughing, painting, humming lullabies. Blood. Fire. Screams. The promise.
Her legs carried her through corridors and stairwells until she stopped right before the rooftop doors—doors she and Jean once vowed to never open. They said it was locked. Forbidden. Dangerous. A place that felt final.
But something inside her had to know why.
Why they made that promise.
Why Jean feared this place.
Why Violet feared it more.
As Violet pushed the rooftop door open, the wind howled against her eardrums. Cold rain slashed across her face, soaking her entirely. But she didn't care. Out here, at least, the storm outside was louder than the one screaming inside her skull.
She stepped out into the open, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, each breath visible in the cold. She dropped to her knees, curling in on herself like a child, letting the rain wash over her.
Then—
That voice.
"Vioooleeeet," came the sing-song call, light and playful, almost mocking. "Oh Violeeeettttt."
Violet squeezed her eyes shut until stars appeared behind her eyelids.
"Go away," she whispered. "Please... not this time."
"Violettttt." The voice came again, closer. "Vi—"
"NO!" Violet screamed, springing to her feet. "STOP!"
She spun around.
There she was. Jean. Dry as bone. Not a drop of rain touched her. Her wild, blue-streaked hair framed her usual grin.
"What do you want from me?!" Violet cried, trembling.
Jean tilted her head. "What do I want from you?" Her voice twisted into something sharp. "No, no, Vi. The question is—what do you want from me?"
Violet's lip trembled. She bit down until she tasted iron.
"I want..." Her voice cracked. "I want the truth."
Jean smirked and let out a bitter laugh. "The truth?" she echoed. "Vi, the truth's been here all along. You just didn't want to see it."
She walked past Violet, toward the edge of the rooftop.
"Come," she said, her voice now almost gentle. "I wanna show you something."
Violet hesitated. But somehow, her legs moved on their own, drawn by something.
They stopped just over the ledge. The city sprawled before them as far as the eyes could see.
Jean didn't turn around.
"There," Jean said softly, pointing out. "Do you remember?"
The burnt remains of a building. Blackened beams. Collapsed walls. Charred and forgotten.
Violet's heart sank.
Violet was holding Jean's little hand. Jean had admitted to starting the fire accidentally, while Violet and their parents were asleep. But now the fire had surrounded them, the entire building trying to swallow them whole. Their parents were nowhere to be found.
"I'm scared, Vi." Jean sobbed, her once bright blue hair now covered in soot and ash.
"I know," Violet swallowed, her eyes teary from the smog. "But we need to get out of here."
Without warning, the floorboards under them creaked and gave in under their weight. Jean screamed as she fell through the floorboards.
At the last second, Jean was able to clung onto a piece of floorboard hanging loosely.
"Violet!" Jean pleaded, her voice laced with fear. Violet leaped towards Jean, grabbing her hand.
"I got you! I got you." Violet comforted her. Although deep down, she knew, she didn't.
Violet desperately tried to pull Jean up, but she couldn't. In the middle of the scorching heat, she didn't have the strength to do so.
"This is all her fault." A voice thundered inside Violet's mind, accusatory. Violet shook her head. "No, no, no."
Suddenly, the floorboards above them creaked, threatening to crush them both under it.
Violet bit her lips as her mind raced.
"Jean, I'm sorry," she sobbed as it dawned on her. "I'm sorry,"
Jean's eyes grew in horror. "Violet? What do you mean?" Jean begged. "Violet?"
Slowly, Violet let go of Jean's hand, backing away slowly from her. She took one last glance at Jean as she turned around, running for the door.
"VIOLET!"
Violet blinked—and the memory faded.
She was back on the rooftop.
Now Jean stood right in front of her, hovering beyond the ledge, aghast. The city below her turned silent, watching them.
But now… Jean was burnt.
Charred flesh clung to her bones. Every drop of rain that touched her skin hissed to steam, the smell of smoke and ash filling the air.
"Do you remember now?" Jean whispered, offering her hand to Violet. Her hand glowed eerily pale, like a spectre.
"I never left."
Violet reached out her bloodied, trembling hand. Blood. Was it hers? No. Silco's? Or Jean's? Or both of them? She couldn't remember.
Jean tilted her head.
"You will never leave me again… right?" Jean asked, smiling.
Violet said nothing. She closed her eyes, and stepped towards Jean as they embraced under the unforgiving rain.
Suddenly, the rain came to a complete halt. Did it? Or it didn't matter anymore?
No. It didn't matter.
After years, the voices in her head finally calmed down.
"I remember."
THE END