CHAPTER ONE
bon anniversaire

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TIME TRAVEL TASTED like metal. Iron, perhaps, or maybe copper, leaving a mineral taste in Nadine's mouth as she fell between timelines, seconds and minutes and months tangling around her like fragments of code. Static raised the hair on her arms and on the back of her neck, and an electric current ran through her, tensing up her muscles and sending spikes of pain through her injured head. Nadine Vidal, defiant, bold, and utterly terrified tumbled backwards in time, slamming past year after year as the world closed in around her. And as she fell, sweat shining on her brow and her heart thudding in her ears, all she could taste was that metal.

(After a while, she wondered if it was mineral she was tasting, or blood.)

It had only been a minute (or perhaps a hundred) since she'd been whisked away from the apocalypse—the very one she'd failed to stop—and she hadn't quite managed to catch her breath. Perhaps it had something to do with the life-sucking beam of energy she'd been suspended by, or maybe it was just the torrent of events that had stacked together, all of them pressed so close that there had been no time to look back on them, to pay attention to anything but the one of the present. The Academy, going up in flames. The shooting at the bowling alley, and then at the Icarus Theatre. Vanya's attack, and then her destruction, which had come alongside the destruction of the world. Gripping the hands of Five and Allison desperately right before she was flung away from them. And now, here. Falling through time, her head still pounding from Harold's assault, a faint ache throbbing at her side.

Then, she was thrust forward. Pulled out of this non-area, this space between time, Nadine went hurtling through an electric-blue wormhole. For a moment (or perhaps a million) the skin on her face was pulled back, her eyes sinking deep into her head. Her entire body curled, as if she'd just been shoved through a tight rubber tube, and then sweet, clean air filled her lungs, and she was falling again. This time, though, gravity took her down.

She landed hard, pain jolting up her side and into her shoulder. She'd almost forgotten she'd dislocated it, in all of the chaos. Yet, despite the discomfort, she was on her feet immediately, rebounding as quickly as if she'd bounced. Her eyes darted up to the wormhole, still swirling and cracking and sending bolts of electricity into the air, and watched the sky warp around it. Any minute now, she knew, someone else would topple out of it. After all, she hadn't been the only one sent back in time, before the collapse of the moon had ended the world. There had been six others with her, all of whom had linked hands and disappeared right before they'd been incinerated. So, predictably, she was expecting them to follow.

Ten seconds passed. Thirty. Not one person fell out. The wormhole just continued to swirl, a blight in the sky.

Nadine's eyebrows came together, and she took a step forward. "Vanya?" she called out hesitantly. When the only reply she was met with was the crackle of electricity, she took another step towards the vortex. "Allison? Klaus?"

Where was everyone? Why hadn't they made it out? As Nadine craned her neck up to the wormhole, the portal, the vortex—whatever it was that had taken her back in time—she thought she might even be happy if she saw Five, the arrogant and infuriating fifty-eight-year-old man trapped in the body of a thirteen-year-old, or Luther, the so-called "leader" of the Umbrella Academy who had locked Vanya in a soundproof cell when he'd discovered her powers. But, as she watched, bewildered, the vortex abruptly shut, melting back into the sky.

"Merde!" Nadine ran forward, waving her arms at the now-ordinary, gloomy, grey sky. It hurt her shoulder, but that was the least of her problems. "Vanya? Allison? Anybody?"

What the fuck was happening?

When she eventually deemed it illogical to continue flailing her arms like a maniac at a patch of now-empty sky—a sky none of the members of the Umbrella Academy had fallen out of—Nadine slumped, her heart beating madly in her chest. Then she realized she hadn't taken stock of her surroundings, and turned, expecting the familiar sight of the Icarus Theatre.

But... she wasn't anywhere near it. She was in an alleyway, which brought back uncomfortable memories from the time she'd gotten shot, but not any alleyway she recognized. And in front of her was an unfamiliar street, one that bustled with people who were decidedly not dead.

Well, at least Five had managed to rescue her from the destruction of planet Earth. That was a good sign. Unfortunately, there were multiple bad signs: a) she had no clue where (or when) she was, and b) she was completely and utterly alone. Without Vanya, the harbinger of the apocalypse Nadine had still tried to save, without Allison, the celebrity dealing with a (hopefully) temporary mutism after her throat had been slashed, without Klaus, the Séance who had struggled with addiction. Without Diego, or Five, or even Luther. Something had happened, splitting them apart—and Nadine now recalled being ripped out of Five's and Allison's grasps, before beginning her tumble through time—and she was on her own once more.

Nadine curled her hands into fists, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths. Although this certainly wasn't the ideal situation to find herself in, especially after nearly going up in flames a few minutes ago, she knew she couldn't stay here, couldn't lay down and wallow. She needed to get a sense of her surroundings, figure out where and when she was, and then, perhaps, find someone who could help her.

Fortunately, her brief descent into teenagerhood seemed to have faded, as when Nadine looked down at her arms, she found them at their usual bulk. Luckily, she was an adult again. She didn't know what she would do if she was a child again, dropped into a new era.

Her therapist's voice from ten years ago wafted in her mind. "That's right, Nadine. Find light in the dark. Look at situations in a new way." It may have actually been good advice, if not for the fact that Nadine had always been a pessimist by default. She'd always struggled to look at situations cloaked in shadow, find a pinprick of sun in them, and somehow manage to cheer herself up with just that. Especially after the week she'd just had—a week she could certainly and accurately refer to as The Week of Hell. She pursed her lips, waving away the memory. She could worry about optimism and pessimism and old therapy techniques later. Right now, she needed to move.

Raising her chin, Nadine marched out of the alleyway, oblivious to the flash and shudder of an old-fashioned camera as she did so. Her feet crunched on fallen leaves, and she looked down momentarily, brow creasing. This certainly wasn't April weather.

When she looked back up again, finally taking a good look at her surroundings, her brief stint of confidence drained away from her in an instant. She ground to a halt, mouth agape, as she took around a city that was completely foreign, both in location and in style.

A row of old-fashioned cars rumbled by her, engines spouting smoke into the air. The array of shop windows across the street looked similarly vintage, like the set of a film. The cinema across the street displayed movies such as The Hustler and Paris Blues, colourful yet slightly faded advertisements were plastered to walls, and the people that walked by Nadine were dressed to the nines, so different from the casual fashion of her own era. As Nadine watched, a woman pushed her baby in a trolley, hair done in immaculate curls, a man in a fedora smoked a cigarette on the street corner, and a gaggle of giggling schoolchildren hurried by, their hair tied back with ribbons and their skirts landing at their knees.

Apparently, asking herself when she was instead of where was an excellent decision. As Nadine continued to gape, a sinking suspicion settled into her belly. This wasn't anything she'd ever known. This wasn't even anything she'd seen in photo albums of her as a child. Which meant that whenever she was, it was likely she'd gone back to before she'd even been born.

Five, you bastard. He was supposed to have taken her back a week, a time before the apocalypse had ravaged the Earth but not so early that they'd have to wait years to see if they'd have to try again. But this... this was ridiculous. Not only had he managed to land her in an era before she was even an egg cell in her mother's womb (or... wherever she'd been before Louise had given birth to her), but he'd managed to separate her from the others, too. It was only the fact that he'd been slightly less of an asshole before she'd left that prevented her from believing he'd done it on purpose.

Breathe, Nadine. Although this situation was certainly getting direr and direr by the minute, and she was certain that one more wrench into her day would cause her to flip out completely, she couldn't afford to freak out now. Even if her mouth still tasted like blood, and her body ached, and she was still wearing those stupid bowling shoes. She had to breathe. She had to convince herself that Five would come for her, that everything wrong would be set right again.

Let's go one step at a time. The first, most obvious step to solving this dilemma was to figure out what year she'd landed in. To do that, she needed to find some way to blend it, to look one among the crowd. Her eyes flitted down to her outfit, then back to the other pedestrians. Her polka-dotted sundress could almost fit in (although there were a few bloodstains marring the fabric, she was fortunate enough that, among the red of the dress, they were barely noticeable), but her arms carried more muscle than she could see on most of the other ladies. Her bowling shoes definitely stuck out, clunky and awkward compared to the high-heels or flats all the other women were wearing. She'd need to change soon, and perhaps cut her hair into the bob-cut she could see on nearly everyone. But those two things would have to wait. She'd have to make do with what she had for now.

She walked forward purposefully, eyes scanning for a discreet way to discern the year (as it wasn't like she could just go around asking people—she'd look like an amnesiac). In moments, her eyes landed on a restaurant across the street. Stadtler's. She was starving, anyway, and the opportunity to sit down for a couple of minutes, refuel, and formulate a plan sounded heavenly after the roughest week she'd had in her life.

As she crossed the street, her eyes flitted back to the alleyway one last time. Despite everything, a small part of her still hoped that someone would emerge from it. Her heart twinged, thinking of Vanya and the others, who had either been lost in time or swallowed up by it. And then was when her eyes flitted over to a deli—boasting a barbeque and grill—with DALLAS, TEXAS written in capital letters on the front.

Dallas, Texas. So, she was still in America then. Unfortunately. But at least she had the 'where' portion of her question answered. Now, she just needed the 'when.'

Nadine pushed open the door to the restaurant, which was classically retro, with clusters of booths and two bars with stools. That was the first thing she noticed. The second was the complete lack of diversity in the restaurant's patrons. Although there were quite a few of them present, chatting animatedly over coffee or runny eggs, none of them had skin any tanner than fresh cream. It only took her a few moments to realize why, and when she did, her stomach roiled uncomfortably.

There, hanging from the ceiling above one of the bars, was a large sign that read, Whites Only.

Oh, you've got to be shitting me. Nadine clenched her fists, a shiver of disgust running up her spine. It took every bit of self-restraint she had to keep herself from leaping onto the bar and ripping the sign right off its perch. Infuriated, she ground her teeth together so hard she heard them creak.

Evidently, she was in an era where segregation was still a thing. Wasn't that just fucking perfect?

As she stared around the restaurant, attempting to regain the confidence to move without bashing someone's skull in, her eyes inadvertently met the gaze of a man wiping the bar. He smiled, the kind of leering smile men gave women they wanted to fuck, and the already disgusting sight was made worse with the sign hanging innocently over his head.

"What can I get you?" he asked politely.

I'm going to punch your throat in, racist motherfucker, thought Nadine, seething. She slid into one of the stools at the bar, giving the man a tight smile. It was all she could manage, with her gut still churning. "A coffee, please," she said, ducking her head slightly, trying to prevent him from noticing the bandage wrapped around her head. Her appetite had been completely diminished, but she needed some kind of pick-me-up. Even if she couldn't completely trust herself not to dump it on his head.

"Of course, ma'am," said the racist, turning away to begin preparing her beverage. Nadine traced her finger on the counter, her leg bouncing to a silent beat. She tucked in her feet, ensuring her bowling shoes weren't in view, and pressed her lips together. The wheels in her head were turning. Obviously she couldn't just ask what the year was, but maybe...

She cleared her throat, and, when the racist turned back to her, she adopted the high-pitched, dimwitted tone that men liked in women. "I'm sorry, I am so absent-minded," she giggled, twisting a strand of hair around one finger. "Could you tell me the date today?"

"Why, it's October 1st, ma'am," he replied, sliding her coffee towards her. Nadine still wanted to crush his toes into jelly, but the date made her pause. Especially when he added, "1961. Though I'd suppose you'd already know the year." He let out a laugh at that, and Nadine faked one to accompany him. But her mind had latched onto the answer to her question, an answer that had told her all she needed to know.

October 1st, 1961.

She was in 1961. Nineteen-fucking-sixty-one, in Dallas, Texas. A place she knew almost nothing about, an era she knew almost nothing about. And, well, the things she did know weren't very good, either. This was a time where she'd be expected to find a man, get married, and pop out his children like a goddamned machine. This was a time where she would have to hide a valuable part of her identity, for the risk of being beaten. This was a time where people of colour had to struggle for the right to drink from the same water fountain as white people. This was a time where transgender people could barely exist.

She closed her eyes. Why did she have to be dropped into such a decade? Where most people were casually pieces of shit? Why couldn't she have landed where she was supposed to?

Why did Five have to fuck everything up so badly?

She took a sip of her coffee, and it boiled in her throat. The racist looked over to her, that stupid smile still on his face. "Where are you from, ma'am?" he asked politely. "I don't think I've seen you around here before." And then—God forbid—his eyes dropped down to her chest, and lingered.

That's it. Nadine's hands clenched around her coffee, hard enough that it was a wonder the mug didn't crack. From there, she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, bringing an old, reliable illusion to life. With a buzz ticking at her forehead, she formed the image, and in mere moments, a large, fat spider was perched upon the racist's head, its spindly legs flailing slightly as it burrowed itself into his hair. Nadine had spent enough time around spiders as a child to know how to replicate one with astonishing accuracy, and she'd also learned how effective a tool they were at freaking people out.

"Sir?" the racist's eyes finally flickered up from her chest to her face, and Nadine adopted an expression of complete and utter horror. "There's a—there's a spider on your head. A big one."

"Shit!" the racist's elbow knocked into Nadine's coffee mug, sending its contents spilling across the counter as he batted at his head frantically. Nadine leaped to her feet, narrowly avoiding being scalded, and watched the racist fruitlessly attempt to rid his head of the arachnid. Of course, every time he slammed his hand down, it simply phased right through the spider, meaning he was slapping himself like a maniac while the other patrons at the restaurant watched, open-mouthed. Nadine couldn't help but laugh at his antics, especially when he managed to spill his entire pot of coffee on himself.

Once his pants were soaked through, to the point where it appeared that he'd pissed himself, Nadine splayed her hand, dissolving the illusion. As usual, a headache throbbed at her temples, made doubly painful by the remnants of Harold's assault, but even with the pain, she laughed, a hand over her mouth. "You got it," she said.

He turned to her, panting, face red with pain and exertion. Coffee dripped from the counter, leaving a brown puddle on the floor, the abandoned coffee pot lay cast away on the floor, and most of the patrons had risen to their feet, stepping closer so as to get a clear look at the spectacle. A few fled entirely, muttering about how this certainly couldn't be considered a respectable establishment as they pushed their way through the doors. As the racist met Nadine's eyes again, she realized that his face wasn't the colour of a ripe tomato solely because of the ordeal he'd gone through, but also because he'd gone and made himself a fool in front of her.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, miss," he said. His voice was shaking, but he had raised his chin, attempting to regain composure. It was an impressive attempt, especially given the fact that he was likely dealing with a burnt crotch. "I really hate spiders."

"You do? I couldn't tell," said Nadine, batting her eyelashes. A new fit of laughter was bubbling up in her throat, but she forced it to stay down for now.

The racist was blotting frantically at his pants with a napkin now, and Nadine smirked. Engaging in her favourite pastime of watching men make fools of themselves had calmed her down more than a cup of coffee or a hot meal ever could.

"I'm so sorry," the racist repeated. His gaze flicked to her mug, still leaking coffee, and cleared his throat. "I can—I can give you a refill, if you want."

Nadine gave him a tight smile. "No, thanks. Your coffee here is shit."

His eyebrows raised, and his mouth dropped open a smidge. "You—you shouldn't curse, madame," he said, still panting slightly. "It's quite unbecoming of a lady."

Nadine let out a low laugh, completely dissolving her ditzy, brainless persona. "Oh, is it?" she asked, and then, before anyone could react, surged forward, seizing the racist by the collar. She slammed him against the bar, hard, and the remaining patrons—who'd been bystanders this entire time—let out one, simultaneous gasp. "You know what else is unbecoming of a lady? My fist in your face."

Finally, one of the men in the crowd—likely one who considered himself the heroic sort—stepped forward, chin held high. "You ought not to do that, ma'am," he said. "If I were you, I'd get out of here right now. You don't want to find yourself in a fight with a man."

Nadine slowly let go of the racist's collar. "You might be right," she said. The racist breathed a sigh of relief, a fraction of a second before she was slamming her knee into his groin. The man doubled over, cupping his already injured crotch, and Nadine turned away. "Or you might be wrong."

Without another word, she turned, striding out of the restaurant, ignoring all of the wide-eyed looks, the whispered mutters. It was likely she would be permanently banned from returning, but that wasn't exactly an issue. It wasn't like she was going to set foot in there again, unless it was to burn the place to ashes.

Taking a deep breath, she found she felt at least a little better. Not perfect—there was plenty she still needed to deal with—but better. And, really, wasn't that all she could ask for?

They'll come back for me, she thought to herself, beginning to walk forward. She didn't exactly have a destination in mind, but she'd figure something out. She just hoped she wouldn't have to sleep outside tonight. They're not just going to leave me here. The Umbrella Academy will come, and we'll go back to 2019. Just like we were supposed to.

At least the apocalypse wasn't for another sixty years.

As she walked, the date the racist had given her came to her mind again. October 1st, 1961. Though instead of focusing on the year, her mind circled around the day. October 1st. Otherwise known as an important day for her, back at home.

Happy birthday, Nadine, she told herself, and then made her way into 1961. 

⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

HAVEN: and here we go!! here's the first official chapter of paramnesia, the fic that has literally become my baby during these past few months. this is some of the best writing i've done, though it is decidedly more mature than both the acatalepsy series and—surprisingly—ignis fatuus. i am so so excited for it, though, as it is, as i said before, a fic i've been trying to write for nearly a year (as a contrast, it took me around a month to write ignis fatuus). i've rewritten this first chapter countless times now, and i can officially say that i'm super proud of the result! i hope you enjoyed it, too :))

the first five chapters are going to deal with nadine's life from 1961-1963, including her job, the new relationships she forms, and how she handles living in the '60s! if that sounds boring to you, just you wait. a lot is going to happen even before she gets involved in the main plot.

again, before we start, i'd like to recommend you read over the warnings in the introductory chapter, just as a reminder of what we're going to be dealing with. i will, of course, have additional warnings on chapters that get particularly intense, but for milder chapters like this one, it's probably handy to know what you're going into. i don't want anyone to end up negatively affected by reading this book, so if anything i've put in my warnings bothers you, i really advise you to click off. your mental health definitely matters more than my fic!!

thanks for reading <333