( gone running, the trails gone cold, you've been acting quite strangely, since ten years old, and when you were eleven they said "you ought to pray to high heaven you don't get caught" )

chapter thirty !

KNIVES ARE A SPECIAL THING. They fit nicely in the palm of a hand. They have a handle most times, easy to wrap fingers around, easy to control. They kill and they hurt but they protect all the same. They're unpredictable in the hands of some, sometimes, oftentimes. They're poison in glinting metal, and they sting like a snake.

Vincent thought that he was a bit like a knife.

He was a special thing, depending on who you asked. He didn't have a handle and he didn't fit in a hand, but he too was easy to control. He killed and he hurt and he protected. He was unpredictable sometimes, oftentimes. He was poison in a teenage boy's body, and he stung like the sun after a long day.

Vincent was the bright knife. Vincent was the beaming sun. Vincent was going to do a bad thing.

Vincent was the sun, bright and sometimes painful and refreshing and loud. That beneath a frigid dawn, a boy with a smile that was slowly fading. A sun that was burning out. A knife that was dulling. A world that was ending.

Five was his Icarus, if he wanted to get gay about it.

Five was his Icarus, curious and a bad listener and an asshole more than anything. He had flown too close and now he was stuck. Stuck with a dying sun. A melting wing. A weeping ocean. A world ending.

Five was his Icarus, but he was also the moon.

He was cold and glowing and envious and reflective of the sun he loved so much. In the cold limelight of a flooding sea, a pretty thing with an aching need to protect everyone but himself. He was a lulling creator. A manifestation. An object of affection, for some.

The sun and his Icarus seemed more fitting though. The sun kills Icarus in the old tale, doesn't it? Or maybe Icarus killed the sun. Maybe they killed each other.

Vincent hated knives. He thought they were too obvious for an attack, too difficult to navigate, too dangerous.

Vincent hated himself, too. And wasn't that funny?

Knives and Vincent; the best of friends, birds of the same feather, fruit stolen from the same tree. Sharp and distinctive and illegal in some states- ha!- and definitely frowned upon when released into public. It was uncanny.

It made Vincent want to cry a little.

He had the butcher knife in his hand. It laid there and it didn't fit. It was too big, chunky and wonky and all wrong. It was achingly sharp. That made Vincent want to laugh. He looked up and flipped off the ceiling aggressively. He was angry. Angry at the Commission, at Five, at the Hargreeves, at himself.

The sun was burning. Soon, the sun would explode.

Vincent eyed the knife suspiciously, twirling it just barely before dropping it to the ground with a clatter.

You stupid son of a bitch.

He- fake him, he had to remind himself it wasn't really him- had twirled the same knife in the same way in the video the Handler had made him watch. He had done the same thing instinctively and that made him a bit sick. He was an idiot.

He shouldn't have thought of himself as any better than the him in the video. He was just as bad, if not worse. He was a fire, a burning angry impulsive force and surely he didn't have even nearly as much self-control as he was giving himself credit for.

He was the same and that meant he'd break. That meant he'd really stab Five in the neck and he'd really feel great about it and he really would just—

Vincent wanted to stab himself with the knife. Maybe then his head would shut up.

Without another morbid thought, Vincent picked up the knife again carefully. He watched it like you'd watch a car crash, precisely and disdainfully, depending on whether or not you're a psychopath. The metal was shiny and harshly bright. His own reflection, mangled and bruised from the last few days, made him laugh almost hysterically. It broke off with the remnants of a pathetic sob that Vincent stopped before it became something more.

He wondered briefly how it would feel to use the knife. He wanted to chop the Handler's head off first. He thought it would feel nice. He'd probably have to hack at it more than once. The blood would splatter on his face. That would be pretty gross. Worth it, though.

He took a very slow deep breath that tasted like the poison his every cell was made from and thought of whether he'd throw the thing out the window or not. It was a good knife. Useful. Easy. But it was a bad knife. The blood, the blood, the blood, the—

Vincent scrambled onto his feet and stuffed the knife into the pocket of his hoodie when he heard someone coming up the stairs. He whipped his head around and raised his eyebrow when he saw a slightly worried looking Five. He looked a bit like in the video, when fake Vincent jammed a knife into his neck.

"Vanya is here. Do you know anything about that?" Five questioned, seeming just slightly irritated.

Vincent grinned, nodding his head immediately. "About her having batshit crazy powers? Hell yeah! She killed Peabody perfectly. It was extremely sexy," He snorted. "But I didn't know she was here."

"Luther locked her up on the lowest floor," Five sighed, beginning to pace the room. "He thinks she's going to do something. I think so too."

"Woah, woah, woah, that's majorly fucked up," Vincent put one hand palm up. "That's just gonna make everything worse. Trust me."

Five chuckled, rolling his eyes. "We can't just trust you, Vincent. How would you know anyway?"

Vincent smiled uneasily. He didn't think about being locked in a closet as a kid as a punitive measure by his father. He didn't think about sitting there all alone for hours and hours until someone remembered he existed. He didn't think about how it took three days the very last time it happened before he really disappeared. He didn't think about any of that, because it would have been a waste of his time.

But the sun did burn, and his Icarus was too close. His Icarus came closer, and the sun wanted to push him back. He was already burning him. He could tell.

"I just know, you dickwad." Vincent laughed out way too cheerfully. "She's gonna do something crazy. Don't come crying to little old me when she does. I'll be sitting back and watching it all go down."

Five rolled his eyes again. "Don't be stupid," He muttered, though he smiled lightly and stepped closer once again, one hand moving to rest on Vincent's shoulder. His thumb pressed against Vincent's pulse, and he hated that the other boy could easily feel it quicken. "There's some place we need to go. You're not gonna like it. But it's something we need to do." He paused and used his other hand to straighten his own tie. "Since it's doomsday and everything." He added casually.

"Wait. Today is the fucking apocalypse? Why the actual fuck didn't you tell me?" Vincent complained loudly. He didn't actually care, but he was a little annoyed he couldn't have at least one last celebratory make out session with his—

What was Five to Vincent? Boyfriend? He thought Five would pass out if he heard that one.

Five sighed. "Yes. But we are going to stop it, aren't we?"

"I guess," Vincent shrugged. "Whatever. Bring me wherever you want. I'm all yours, baby." He grinned.

Five's face went red and his jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything more. Rather, he put both hands on Vincent's cheeks and leaned close to him, his thumbs pressing down lightly against his cheekbones. Five kissed him then, and Vincent beamed into it.

Five teleported then too, but Vincent didn't really feel it.

He kissed Five more, pulling him closer. Five kissed back for a few long seconds before pulling away, rolling his eyes at Vincent's doped out (whipped, yes, whipped) expression.

"That was gross, Five. It's like you have a crush on me or something. Nasty," Vincent joked with a heavy dramatic sigh, reaching a hand out to mess up the shorter boy's hair.

Five flipped Vincent off before he gestured to where they were with one hand. He stayed close to the other boy, one hand tentatively moving to intertwine with one of Vincent's hands. Vincent's hands had gone rigid.

"What the fuck are you trying to do, Five?" Vincent asked, intending to sound angry. It came out more weak than anything, soft and maybe a little scared.

In front of both of them was the house Vincent grew up in. The house in France. Vincent didn't know how the hell Five managed to blink right to it. He wanted to ask, but his mouth was dry.

He hated the house. He hated everything about it. He hated how grey it was. He hated how he could see the window to his old room still jammed open from when he'd broken in a year before. He hated that they'd never checked. He hated it. It made him want to cry.

"Your parents are still alive, you know," Five commented. "I know they were terrible to you, which is exactly why I brought you here."

Vincent turned to look at Five. "That sounds really fucking mean." He simply mumbled.

Five huffed, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to get you to make up with them!" He retorted.

"What are you trying to do then?!" Vincent frowned, his gaze flickering back to the house. He gripped Five's hand so tight his knuckles went white.

"I was thinking, as a little last doomsday hurrah, we could commit felony arson," Five grinned wide, baring his teeth. It made Vincent a bit giddy. He'd definitely save that image in his brain.

"Holy shit," Vincent breathed out, a smile of his own breaking out on his face. "I'm so in love with you it's not even funny anymore." He added.

Five's grin softened, and he squeezed Vincent's hand. "I figured you'd have a lighter and some vodka in there somewhere. Molotov cocktails are in season, did you know darling?" He chuckled.

Vincent laughed. "I definitely have that," He nodded along. "Are my parents in there?" He asked.

"Most likely," Five shrugged.

"Can I kill them?" Vincent asked, looking at Five again.

"The apocalypse will do it for you," Five said. "Unless the arson does it first, I guess."

"But I wanted first dibs." Vincent groaned. "Whatever. They'd be like, what, sixty? Maybe the arson will kill them." He thought about the butcher knife in his pocket. He could get a chance to test it. He hated old people anyway. (He absolutely wasn't an old person too. No slander allowed.)

Five dragged Vincent across the street to the house. "I found this house because I saved a newspaper with your missing poster on it," He spoke up. "I found it after you left to work for the Commission. It was a pretty shitty missing poster."

Vincent raised his eyebrow, but smiled widely. "Cute," He chided. "My parents didn't make the missing poster anyway. It was an old friend. I don't think my parents even realized I was missing."

Five's face dropped, and he glanced at the house again. He clenched his jaw a little. "I'm rethinking letting you kill them," He pointed out. "But anyway," He let out one long sigh, shoving his hand that wasn't holding onto Vincent into his pocket. "The poster had your old address on it. I tried to blink to it a few times once I was back before I went to my house. I thought maybe you'd be here," He chuckled, shaking his head. "The last time I did it, right before I went to the Academy to warn them about the apocalypse, I actually got here. I knocked on the door and met your mom. I asked about you and she slammed the door in my face."

"Sounds like her," Vincent nodded. "She's always been a bitch. Surprised she's still with my dad though. I was sure they'd kill each other after a while."

"How do we get up into that window? We have to go quickly. We don't have that much time," Five said, pointing to the open window that led to Vincent's room.

Vincent grinned wolfishly. "Blink us up there, bitch boy. Why the fuck are you asking me?"

"I can't. If I do I won't have enough energy to bring us back. You want to be stuck in France?" Five asked in amusement.

"Stuck with you? Anytime," Vincent grinned, delighted by Five's bright red face. He let go of Five's hand and grabbed a splint of wood coming from the house, hoisting himself up before grabbing an ugly overgrown vine that stuck to the side of the wall, dragging himself into the window easily. He'd done that too many times to fuck it up. "Come on up, Rapunzel!" He shouted down at Five.

"Fuck off! Wouldn't you be Rapunzel?" Five grumbled out before doing the same thing Vincent had done. Vincent was a little annoyed that he hadn't messed up even once.

"Show off," Vincent rolled his eyes after helping Five through the window. He turned to face his room, and swallowed hard.

Really, the room was the same as it had been Vincent's entire life. The walls were an ugly pale shade of beige, with the Anarchy sign painted sloppily on the white door. (That hadn't been there forever. Vincent had left it the year before in hopes of scaring his parents into an unfortunate heart attack. Clearly it hadn't worked.) His bed was in the same place, shoved against the far right wall. The comforter had the Reservoir Dogs movie poster plastered on it, which made Five snicker.

"Why does that not surprise me?" He joked.

Vincent sighed dramatically. "I miss movies. That one," He pointed to the Reservoir Dogs comforter. "That one was the gayest shit I've ever seen. Horrific yet tender death scene, just like mine will be," He joked, moving to sit on his bed heavily.

"Was it?" Five chuckled, shaking his head.

"Of course it was. Don't be a motherfucker," Vincent pointed at Five threatening before lying back, letting out a laugh. "On a job I tried doing the torture thing from the movie. You know, the one where Blonde cut off the cop's ear. Didn't go so well. It's a lot harder to cut off an ear than it looks. A lot grosser too, actually. I got the torture dance right though!" He rambled.

Five scrunched his nose up in disgust, shaking his head with a sigh. "Okay, okay. Let's not talk about torture right now. Don't need you getting ideas and getting us put into French jail," He said, putting his hands in the pockets of his schoolboy shorts. "Vodka and a lighter, Vince."

Vincent stood up at that, making his way to the nearby closet. He hated the sight of it. His hands shook almost violently when he went to open it, and he just hoped Five didn't notice. He didn't, because Five was too busy exploring his room and laughing at some of the things he had.

The inside of the closet most definitely didn't make Vincent feel any better. He stared at it for a very long moment, putting one hand into his pocket. He stood and he stared and he remembered things that he had never really wanted to remember before. He hated this goddamn house. His fingers ran along the thing in his pocket, the—

"Shit!"

Vincent's hand shot out of his pocket, bringing it up to his line of view. He'd slashed his palm on the butcher knife, right down the middle. It was almost reminiscent of the X scar Vincent had, also cut into him with a butcher knife while in his Commission days. Funny.

Five made his way over to Vincent, grabbing his wrist and dragging his hand over, eyeing it. "How did you manage to do that?" He asked with a furrowed brow. "What's in your pocket?"

"A knife," Vincent huffed.

Five gave him a look. "Don't bullshit me."

"I'm not bullshitting you!" Vincent retorted, using his uninjured hand to pull out the knife. Blood was dripping down the side of it. Fucking disgusting.

"Why do you have that?" Five asked slowly, too softly. It made Vincent stiffen.

"Why did you say it like that?" Vincent asked just as slow. At Five's silence, he continued. "Five, why the fuck did you say it like that?" He said firmer.

Five took a while to make eye contact with Five, but he looked more scared than anything. "I... the Handler... she... she showed me a replica video of the way she wanted me to kill you. It felt really real," He continued. "She wanted me to do it with that butcher knife. In the—"

"The neck, yeah. Fuck!" Vincent exclaimed, pulling his hand out of Five's grip. He brought it up to his hair, ignoring the excruciating stinging in his palm and the blood, the blood, the blood.

Five moved closer to Vincent, hand resting on his elbow to slowly coax his injured hand away from himself. It worked, but didn't slow how fast Vincent's breathing had gotten.

"Did she show you the same video?" Five asked, seeming way too calm and professional. Vincent wanted to punch him.

"Essentially," Vincent said quickly, letting out gasping breaths, his hand with the butcher knife in it tugging at the collar of his hoodie. Five's eyes widened just a fraction at how close the blade was to Vincent's neck without him realizing it, using his other hand to coax his taller counterpart's other hand away from himself too. "Except I— shit, man— I was killing you." He laughed out breathlessly, his face exceptionally pale. Five made him sit down on the edge of the bed.

Five nodded thoughtfully, still holding both of Vincent's wrists in a light grip. "Why do you have the knife?" He asked before pausing. "Were you... going to kill me?" He questioned, his voice the softest Vincent had ever heard. It made him want to cry.

"She wants me to kill you. I'm not gonna kill you. I fucking swear I would never kill you. I would never do that, you know that right? Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I wasn't. I'm not going to. It hadn't even crossed my fucking mind," Vincent rambled too fast, his words colliding together. He was panicking. He was panicking really bad. He hadn't panicked this bad in forever.

"Hey—" Five started, his hands moved up to rest on Vincent's shoulders, squeezing one gently. "I knew you weren't. I just had to make sure. It's okay."

Vincent shook his head wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's not. She's going to kill me if you don't. She's gonna send her fucking cronies after me, Five." He said, his voice quiet and desperate now. "I'm dying either way."

"Don't say that," Five scorned, like Vincent was a child. He sure felt like one. "You need to calm down. We're not here to talk about who's going to kill who. We're here to set this house on fire because I see how much it freaks you the fuck out," He paused. "Okay?" He added, softly.

Vincent took a moment before he nodded, opening his eyes and swallowing hard. His hand came up to grip onto Five's wrist tightly. It stained Five's cuff with blood and it burned, but that didn't matter right now. "Okay," He whispered back.

"Leave the knife in this house. Burn it with every other bad memory," Five advised, eyeing the thing. Vincent could tell he wanted it gone just as bad as he did.

Vincent nodded, stuffing the knife into his pillow case and leaving it there. Meanwhile, Five stood up and made his way to the door.

"I'm gonna find some bandages for your hand. And then we can light the place up." He said, opening the door quietly before leaving Vincent to his own devices.

It was a bad idea to leave the sun burning by itself. The sun grows duller in absence.

Even then, Vincent didn't move from his spot. He sat there, quietly, and stared at the closet until Five barreled back into the room with a thing of cloth bandaging in one hand. He shut the door behind him before making his way over to Vincent, who held his injured hand out silently.

Five didn't question Vincent's odd bout of silence, and instead very gently wrapped his hand with the bandaging. He finished quickly, too experienced with this kind of thing to waste any time. He made his way to the closet Vincent dreaded so much and asked, "Where do you keep the vodka?"

Vincent snorted from where he was sitting, his breathing fairly normal now. He didn't stand up or walk closer, instead staying where he was. "Behind the box labeled 'porn.'" He grinned.

Five furrowed his eyebrows, looking back over his shoulder at Vincent. "Does it actually?"

"Actually what? Have porn in it? Do you wanna find out?" Vincent joked, laughing at Five's disgusted expression.

Five moved the box in question out of the way, letting out a small "hmph" at the amount of alcohol in that closet. Vincent needed something to keep him company when he was stuffed in there for hours. "Weren't you like thirteen? Where did you get all of this?" Five asked, looking at the thirty or so bottles. Hey, it was a pretty big closet!

"Stole them," Vincent responded casually, no longer looking at Five, instead looking through his nightstand. "It's easy. Maybe I'll show you one day."

Five grabbed one bottle at random before Vincent heard him standing up, making his way over to where he was looking into a drawer filled with five boxes of cigarettes and at least ten different lighters.

"Take your pick." Vincent shrugged.

"You were a really bad kid," Five pointed out. "My father would have killed me if I had done any of these things."

"Oh, my father wanted to. He just didn't have the balls," Vincent laughed.

Five shook his head, rolling his eyes as he grabbed a lighter at random, one with a naked woman imprinted onto it.

Vincent raised his eyebrow. "Funny choice there, wonder boy."

"I thought I was a bitch boy."

"You can be both." Vincent shut the drawer to the nightstand and stood up. "Do you know how to make a Molotov cocktail?" He asked.

Five bit the inside of his cheek, smiling sheepishly. "Somewhat?"

"You idiot," Vincent sighed heavily, taking the vodka bottle from Five and uncapping it. He grabbed a large wad of the cloth bandaging, soaking it before stuffing it into the top, leaving some of it out to burn. He handed the thing to Five. "We light it and then throw it. Works like a charm."

Five shook his head, but was grinning lightly. He did enjoy the destruction part of the job. What a little bitch.

Vincent stood up, grabbing Five by his tie and kissing him very briefly before dragging him back out of the window. "This house is old as hell. It'll burn fast. If we're in there we'll be dead meat." He explained once they were back on the ground.

Five nodded like he understood arson at all, following Vincent to the front of the house.

Vincent looked around him before finding a large piece of plywood, picking it up and whacking the window leading to the living room hard with it, grinning when it shattered entirely.

Five cursed lightly, mumbling something about Vincent getting hurt again, but he was grinning when Vincent looked over at him. He grinned back.

"You wanna do the honors?" Five chuckled, holding the bottle out to Vincent.

Vincent took it with a laugh. "Was that you proposing?" He joked dramatically, grinning when Five flipped him off with both hands. They both walked further away from the house, standing on the sidewalk. Vincent put his hood over his head.

He took the lighter from Five and lit the end of the cloth. He didn't think about it- or maybe he thought about it too much- before he threw it as hard as he could through the window. Thank fuck he'd played baseball as a kid. He had a good arm.

The living room engulfed in flames in seconds. Vincent felt a giddy smile spread across his face.

Five threw an arm around Vincent's shoulders, tugging him into his side. "Like a bonfire," He joked as the house was eaten up by flames, faster and faster. "Your parents were in there, by the way. I checked. Both sleeping."

"How sad," Vincent said in a monotone voice, still grinning as he wound his own arm around Five's waist. "I'm glad you took me out here to commit arson and murder with you. You know me so well."

"I'm glad you didn't kill me with that butcher knife," Five joked back. Vincent gave him a look that said that wasn't fucking funny and Five grinned wider.

Vincent watched the house he hated, the house filled with things he would have rather forgotten. He watched it burn and burn and burn and burn.

The sun burning brighter wasn't always a good thing. Sometimes it got hotter, nearer. Sometimes the sun gets too bright, too hot, too near. Sometimes the sun starts the apocalypse before the moon does.

Vincent said, "Let's go back to your house. Better than this shithole," after the house was completely lit up and the sounds of sirens were nearing. Five agreed, pulling Vincent close to his side before teleporting them both back.

They'd both stiffened at the sight in front of them when they got back. Vincent felt Five's pulse jump. Five didn't show his panic. He never did.

"What the hell?" Five said gently instead.

The Academy, once large and somewhat nice looking if you didn't look at specific details, was demolished, turned to flakey debris.

Vincent knew. How could he not know?

"It was Vanya," Vincent muttered.

"I know," Five sighed out, kicking a piece of wall as far as he could.

The two of them, sun and Icarus, knife and moon, stood side by side.

The one of them with the crumbling facade, the dullness of a mirrored broken home, stood with his slit palm tingling, radiating with something. He didn't know it yet, but soon he would.

Five Hargreeves was not so much the moon as Vanya Hargreeves was.

Vincent Leblanc was just as much the sun as previously thought.

The sun and the moon destroy themselves. The sun and the moon help each other destroy.

It was a solar eclipse.

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A/N: ive had this chapter planned for a really long time lmao. my notes just said "vincent and five commit arson together bc why the fuck not" So Yeah. the murdering Vincent's parents part wasn't really planned but, hey, the heart wants what it wants. murder boyfriends!!!

only about 3 or 4 chapters left!!!!!!!! :0 sorry this chapter and the one before are basically sort of filler lmao but it's just Vincent's arc. a lot of stuff happens with him in these last few chapters and the Handler tormenting him and him burning down his old house are important to his story and what I have planned for him (mostly for book 2 ;)).

SO YEAH. Oh YEAH and sorry about the reservoir dogs stuff I watched it last night and was losing my shit over mr orange and the way he kind of reminded me of Vincent lmfao.

yeah anyway this note is way too long sorry. Hope you liked the chapter lmao! sorry it got crazy. but I mean they're literally murderers what do u expect