CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
all die young

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FROM A YOUNG AGE, Nadine Vidal knew that the world was rough, callous. It chewed you up and spit you out, leaving you battered and broken and bloody and so full of rage. She knew that bright-eyed girls were stomped on, their lights shattered, that the only way to survive the cruelty was to fight back, to raise your fists and not let yourself get trampled. The world didn't mollycoddle you. It didn't stroke your hair, squeeze your hand, tell you everything was going to be fine; it spat on your gravestone and left you to rot. There was an evil, Nadine thought, that spread throughout Planet Earth, contaminating people and turning their eyes black. They saw the world through a funhouse mirror; warped, distorted, until innocent people became threats solely for the colour of their skin or who they loved or what God they prayed to. It was a disease, human hatred was, and it was a disease without a cure.

Nadine fought back anyway, teeth bared, hands bloody, determined to not let this disease drag her down with it. It seized her ankle; she pulled it away. It wrapped its hands around her throat; she clawed her way to freedom. She came home with an iron grin and her skin mottled black and blue, because she was a fighter. She didn't let herself crumble. And, though most didn't know it, all of that fight started with Louise Vidal.

Louise Vidal, who'd taken one look at her daughter and fallen to pieces. She had wanted a daughter, a child of her own, but she'd wanted a mimicry of herself, not some manic girl who could make the world her canvas. She'd wanted someone she could pretty up, not a girl whose knuckles were always split and her hands were calloused as sandpaper. In short, she'd wanted something unattainable. Wanted a girl who didn't exist.

On the days she quelled her illusions, Nadine thought Louise loved her, but that had never been true. Louise hadn't loved the person Nadine was, she'd loved the fact that she'd contorted her daughter into becoming a little more ordinary. A little more manageable.

Nadine was eighteen, and she was in the hospital, swept away by a nightmare. Her shoulder was freshly bandaged, and her face was contorted in sleep, sweat beading at her hairline, her blonde hair matted to her face. It had been a week since that bullet had pierced through her, and every night, she found herself reliving the event. It was like she was stuck in the same moment, frozen in time, and nobody had been able to pull her out.

Louise Vidal sat by her daughter's bedside, staring down at her dormant form. Nadine cried out in her sleep, a soft plea for help, shifting a little as she fought against her mind's demons. Louise found herself leaning forward at the noise, trailing a hand across her daughter's pale face, brushing her hair to the side. Under her fingers, Nadine was warm, and she was amendable. She wasn't her waking self; strong, stubborn, and a pain in Louise's ass. Looking down at Nadine, Louise could almost imagine another, easier version would wake up.

She cupped Nadine's cheek. "Je t'aime comme ça," she whispered, her voice light as the brush of a butterfly's wing. I love you like this.

"Je ne te comprends pas, Nadine," she continued, speaking to the sleeping girl like she could hear her. "Où est-ce que je me suis trompé?" I don't understand you, Nadine. Where did I go wrong?

Louise had tried to have another baby, but whatever phenomenon had overtaken her when she'd birthed Nadine in that restaurant seemed to have been a one-time thing. So far, she'd had no luck. And when so far becomes eighteen years, one begins to doubt if the end of so far will ever come.

"Je ne te comprends pas," she said again. "C'est si dur d'être ta mère. C'est si dur de traiter avec toi. Mais je t'aime comme ça."

I don't understand you. It's so hard to be your mother. It's so hard to deal with you.

But I love you like this.

She brushed another strand of Nadine's hair out of her face, unbeknownst to the fact that her daughter—her miracle girl, her angel, the one she'd never understood, the one she thought she might hate sometimes, the one she thought she might love—had woken between one touch and another. And she'd heard everything.

The world was rough, but Nadine had thought she'd made it difficult for it to be rough to her. She realized now, feeling her mother's feather-light caress on her cheeks, that she hadn't. She hadn't let her mind be infected, hadn't let people knock her down, but she'd opened her heart to a woman who only stomped on it. She'd been torturing herself, burning from the inside out, killing herself without even knowing she was. And the worst part? Nadine knew this was her own fault.

DIEGO, ALLISON, AND NADINE all carried the dying, not dead Five Hargreeves into the Academy, their hands smeared with blood and their minds awhirl with panic. "We should've taken him to the hospital," Allison muttered, her teeth gritted as they made their way through the front hallway.

"A kid with a shrapnel wound might raise some questions," murmured Five, his words tripping over one another. He was uncharacteristically quiet. Nadine hadn't even known he was awake, and almost wished that he could fall back into the bliss of unconsciousness. It probably wouldn't be healthy, but she remembered the relief she'd felt twelve years ago when she'd just let herself slip away, let herself fall into oblivion. Even though this new, grave situation wasn't happening to her, Nadine found her side almost aching regardless, as if Five's pain was her own. Out of the three of them—Allison, Diego, and herself—only she had an inkling of what Five was going through right now.

"Yeah, well, so does the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins' attic," said Allison, as they pulled Five into the living room, laying him down on the couch. She turned to the others, pulling off her jacket. "He's still losing a lot of blood. What do we do?"

"We gotta get the shrapnel out," said Diego. Nadine knelt by Five, wondering if it was possible to create a Sanctuary for him, something he could look at so he wasn't so focused on the pain, but that would've meant he'd have to keep his eyes open, and she could see that they were already drifting shut. She was drawn out of wondering if it was better for Five to stay awake or not when Allison's voice broke her out of her reverie.

"Diego, where are you going?"

Nadine looked up. She hadn't even noticed Diego had stepped away. He was heading back into the front hallway, almost in a trance, and Nadine's eyes widened when he called out, "Mom?"

They widened even more when, a minute later Grace Hargreeves, the robot who was supposed to have been murdered, came walking back towards the group beside Diego, her eyes narrowed in focus. She looked different, with her hair loose instead of confined in her previous tight updo, and even Nadine could see a newfound spark in her eyes. More... emotion. Like she wasn't a set of coding gone awry after all.

When she reached Five's prone form, Grace stiffened. And then, before Nadine could even wonder at the fact that she was alive, that she was back, Grace was giving them all directions, and they were following them, receiving bandages and tweezers and rubbing alcohol and a needle and thread at her demand.

The three of them carried them out robotically (and yes, Nadine was aware of the irony), moving as swiftly as was possible, knowing they had to help the old-man-turned-boy. Nadine's mouth was dry, her palms sweaty as she helped Grace remove the shrapnel embedded in Five's belly and passed her the materials needed to stitch him up, because this whole thing was so painfully reminiscent of her own old wound. She tried to keep her mind on other things, but when Grace finally bandaged Five up, brought him to his bedroom, and swept them all away so she could tend to him, everything came rushing back in one fell swoop, so violently Nadine was practically doubling over for air.

She found herself sliding to the floor in the hallway outside Five's bedroom, her head in her freshly-cleaned hands as she relived her shooting yet again. The moments before everything had gone south, where she'd been walking home alone and the hairs on the back of her neck had started to prickle, and she'd heard the faint click of a gun. The terror when she was cornered from both sides, forcing her into that fucking alleyway, where she was backing up frantically, nearly tripping over garbage bags and boxes, until she had nowhere to back up to. The sickness boiling up inside of her when she stared back at the grinning cartoon masks, the pink dog and blue bear she now knew belonged to Hazel and Cha-Cha. And the sudden determination that caused her to lunge for the former, thinking that she could wrestle the gun out of her hand.

Her head had buzzed, and she'd cloaked both of them, spreading blackness around them so thick it was as if she'd wrapped blindfolds around their heads. She remembered hearing a cry of shock from the pink dog as she groped around, blinded.

Nadine.

Nadine had grabbed the gun, but the pink dog—Cha-Cha—had wrestled it back with a strength Nadine didn't know anyone could possess. Then, still blind, Cha-Cha had raised it, and then there was pain tearing through Nadine, exploding, so agonizing it was impossible to describe, and she was falling, falling, falling, and there was blood everywhere, and she knew it was her blood, and she could hear nothing but the sound of footsteps as Hazel and Cha-Cha managed to stumble their way out of the alley, still shaken but believing that their job had been done. Then there was fuzziness, where sound dulled, and screams sounded like whispers.

Nadine.

Then, of course, darkness.

Nadine relived it all as she sat in the hallway outside Five Hargreeves' room, her eyes burning, but this time, unpredictably, impossibly, tears began slipping their way down her cheeks. And she was crying, which was absurd, because Nadine Vidal was a lot of things, but a weeper wasn't one of them. And she thought she was over this, because twelve fucking years had passed and God, wasn't that enough?

"Nadine!"

There was a hand on her shoulder, the gentlest of touches, but the sudden presence of it sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Tears were blurring her vision, and she couldn't even fucking see properly as she lashed out at her attacker, attempting to take the pain away. But a hand caught her wrist, and Nadine Vidal looked up and saw Diego staring down at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and the impossible softness in it was enough to snap Nadine back to reality. Except this couldn't be reality, because Diego Hargreeves was being nice to her, and he'd never been nice.

Nadine wiped the tears off her face, which was hot with embarrassment. Her heart was still racing, but it was calming now, and her breathing was getting a little more even, even if it did shudder after every second breath. But she was Nadine Vidal, and she was twenty-nine, and those two facts were enough to get her to her feet.

"I'm fine," she said eventually, long after Diego's question. She'd been caught in such an unexpected funk that it had taken her brain several moments to find the words in French, much less English. And she was so fucking humiliated, standing here in front of Diego, because she'd broken down in front of him, just like she had when the house had been attacked.

Diego raised a disbelieving brow. "You wanna talk about it?"

"With you? No way." Nadine tried to push past him, but he blocked her way.

"Does this have to do with what happened... you know, back when those masked lunatics broke in?"

Oh, great. So he was thinking about it, too.

Nadine took a deep breath, her hands instinctively balling into fists. By now, it was a form of comfort for her; those closed fists. A reminder that she wasn't as weak as she'd been. Just like her Sanctuaries, they were a method of amenity.

She really should have told Diego fucking Hargreeves to fuck off. Neither of them had any fondness for each other—constantly trading jabs and squalling like schoolchildren. But for some reason, when Nadine opened her mouth, it wasn't to tell Diego to go put his head down the toilet.

Instead, she said, "I try to act like it doesn't matter to me, but..." she squeezed her fists tighter, feeling her nails cut into her palms. "Twelve years later, I'm still as fucking scared as I was when I was eighteen."

She was supposed to be dead.

Diego's eyebrows knitted together. "The shooting," he pieced together eventually. "When those lunatics..." he gestured to her scarred shoulder, even though it was hidden behind fabric. When Nadine nodded, Diego continued, "That's why you froze up."

Nadine nodded again. "You see, Diego? I'm still so fucking weak. So go ahead, mock me all you want. After all the shit I've said about you, it's only fair."

Diego glanced into Five's room, his eyes on his mother, who was stroking the bedridden boy's hair. Then he looked back to Nadine. "I'm not going to do that. You're a pain in the ass, but even I don't stoop that low."

Nadine choked out a laugh that was half a sob. She didn't know what had made her so emotional. She was supposed to be the aggressive, stubborn brawler that didn't take anyone's shit. But the truth was, buried beneath the walls of steel was the same terrified eighteen-year-old she'd been twelve years ago. The girl that she still hadn't been able to let go of.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "For... for what I said about Klaus. I've been such an asshole to you, even if you've been one to me back."

"You don't need to be sorry," Diego said, after a minute. Which was another surprise. Nadine sure was being faced with plenty of surprises today. And a lot of apologies. "You were... you were right. I mean, I do care about Klaus—as much as I can, anyway—but when he was gone, I was so preoccupied with my own shit that I didn't really think about him all that much."

"I'm sure he'll forgive you, if he hasn't already," said Nadine. "He's... well, I can't say exactly what he's going through right now. But I bet you anything that he needs his family."

Diego breathed out a sigh, and then nodded. "Look," he began. "I think... I think we should start a truce. Like Five said. We can try to stop all of our fighting, all of our bickering, at least until we stop the apocalypse. Then, we can go right back to trying to kill each other."

Nadine laughed again, and she was pleased that this time, it sounded more like a laugh. "All right. Truce. I promise not to lop off your nuts until after we save the world."

"Who said anything about cutting off my nuts?"

"Just watch your back, Diego Hargreeves," said Nadine, feeling the taut pressure that had always been between them loosen a little. They weren't friends—not even close—but they were, at least, allies. Like she and Five were.

Just then, Allison—who'd wandered off to attempt to call Vanya again—returned. "Anything?" Diego asked, leaning against the doorframe to watch Grace modify Five's bandages, where a dark stain had bled through.

Allison shook her head. "There's no answer at Vanya's place. And the receptionist at her music school said she was a no-show for her lessons today."

Shit. Nadine didn't want to think about what Vanya might be going through right now. With fucking Leonard, who was actually fucking Harold Jenkins. Anxiety sparked in her chest as she thought about the man's easy smile, his teasing, the flowers... everything he'd done to make Vanya his.

Diego began to walk off, drawing his eyes away from his mother, and Allison followed. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." Diego's voice was soft. "I don't know, it's just surreal seeing her. I just wanna tell her that I'm s..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes darted to Grace again. Nadine realized now why he'd attempted to draw her out of her reverie, when normally, he'd either snipe at her or pretend she wasn't there. It was because he'd wanted a distraction from his emotional toil regarding his mother.

Now, he let out a sigh. "We don't have enough time. We gotta go."

"I don't know, Diego," said Allison, catching her brother's arm. "Five is laying there, unconscious. We need him."

"We can do this ourselves."

"You already did that," Nadine pointed out. "Remember? It didn't turn out very well."

"She's right," said Allison, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't know, I'm just... I'm thinking maybe I should go back and see Claire before—"

"You can't run away from this, Allison," said Diego, cutting her off. "That's what started this whole mess in the first place." He let out another sigh. "Luther was right."

Nadine blinked at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Diego Hargreeves?"

Allison just laughed. "I didn't think I would ever hear you say those words."

"Yeah, well..." Diego looked away, half of a grin on his face, "we gotta stick together." He looked to Nadine. "All of us."

Nadine put a hand on her heart. "I'm so touched."

(Despite the sarcasm, she really was.)

Diego rolled his eyes.

After a moment, Allison crossed her arms. "Where do we start?"

"There's no other addresses in the file," Diego began, "but there is another relation listed. Jenkins' grandmother. She lived near Jackpine road."

"You think he took her there?"

"It's a good enough place to start."

Diego and Allison headed down the stairs, and, after a moment, Nadine followed. Despite the fact that their little world-saving group continued to get smaller and smaller, despite the fact that it seemed irrational to attempt to stop the apocalypse with only three people, she knew she had to try. They couldn't just sit around, waiting for Five to wake up as the apocalypse drew nearer, as Harold potentially hurt Vanya. They had to do something, even if they died trying.

Nadine would die trying. As long as it meant a future for those she loved, for the little faces she'd seen at Argyle Library, for the candy-sweet waitress at Griddy's, for the Hargreeves, for Vanya, for everyone on Earth who deserved a chance to live. She'd do it for them. No matter what the cost was.

WHEN NADINE walked out of the Academy beside Diego and Allison, apprehension trickled through her, raising the hair on the back of her neck, but her determination to get to Vanya—to save her—overshadowed her dread. Along with that, she felt like she had to prove to herself that she could do this. She'd crumbled back in the Academy; now she had to stand on both feet. With her hands tightened into fists and her eyes narrowed, she raised her head high. She had to do this.

Allison was sifting through Harold's file when they got onto the street, heading towards the car. But they'd barely taken two steps before Diego was pulling them both back, turning away from their destination. "Nope. Come on, this way."

"Wait, but the car is back that way," Allison pointed out.

"Trust me, okay? Come on."

Nadine followed Diego, her eyebrows cinched together in confusion. Her eyes darted back, and she noticed a line of police cars parked on the road. Her eyebrows furrowed even more. What the hell was happening?

Allison vocalized this. "What's going on?"

"They're here for me," Diego explained nonchalantly, as if the topic wasn't about him getting arrested. "Uh... They think I did something."

"What do they think you did?" Allison asked, just as the police lights turned on, a siren cutting through the air. The glow bathed them in red and blue, and Nadine glanced at them again before looking back at Diego, wondering the same thing.

He took a second to answer. "Murder."

Nadine raised an eyebrow. "And did you?"

"No, no, no, of course not, okay?" Diego snapped. "Why would you ask that about me, anyway?"

"I mean, you do carry knives with you everywhere," said Allison.

"And you're always like, one step away from killing Luther," added Nadine. "I mean, can you blame us?"

"That's fair," said Diego. Then he added, "We're going to have to split, okay? I'm in charge. Remember? Vanya needs you. The both of you."

The wailing of sirens got louder, and the trio stopped, their hearts hammering in their chest, and looked back towards the flashing lights. Nadine turned to Diego. "Be careful, asshole."

"Yeah, don't do anything stupid, okay?" Allison added. She turned to Nadine. "Come on."

Then they were off, leaving Diego to face the police, and shrinking their group even more. Nadine looked back at him one more time, biting her lip. Strangely, she felt a tinge of worry go through her for him. She really did hope that he'd be okay.

"I guess it's just the two of us, now," said Allison breathlessly. "Are you ready for this, Nadine?"

"I'm ready as I'll ever be," Nadine responded. Her nails were cutting into her palms. Her breathing was even. Her focus had narrowed into a sharp point.

If Harold touches a hair on Vanya's head, I'll kill him. I swear, I will.

And with that comforting thought settling in Nadine's mind, she set off to save the world.

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