After the dinner finally ended, the tension that had been simmering all night seemed to lift, but only slightly. We all piled into the elevator—Allison, Luther, Diego, Klaus, Vanya, and me. The small space was thick with the aftermath of the evening's drama, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

"Well, that went as well as any Hargreeves family function," Allison commented dryly, breaking the silence. I looked at her, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"There have been other times?" I asked, genuinely baffled at the idea that this kind of chaos was normal for them.

They all responded with a chorus of affirmations, each in their own way. I was shocked. How could anyone be used to this?

"Ugh, I feel so violated," Klaus groaned from his spot on the floor of the elevator. He looked thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. "I need a herbal bath. You had no right to possess me," he grumbled, clearly still shaken by whatever had happened back there.

Allison turned to me, a small smile on her face. "Congratulations," she said, her tone almost proud.

"For what?" I asked, surprised. I hadn't done anything worth congratulating, as far as I was concerned.

"You're probably the first person who wasn't a Hargreeves to actually stand up to him," she explained, nodding in approval. Then she turned to Luther. "And you're the first kid to ever stand up to Dad."

I felt a small smile tug at my lips, her words catching me off guard. It felt good to know that I'd done something right, even if it was terrifying in the moment. I looked at Luther, who seemed less than thrilled.

"Are you okay?" Vanya asked Diego, her voice soft and concerned.

Diego scoffed, not even trying to hide his bitterness. "So much for having my back in there. Team Zero, my ass," he muttered, clearly still upset about how everything had gone down.

The elevator finally came to a stop at the main floor, the doors sliding open with a quiet ding. We all stepped out, each of us lost in our thoughts. The cool air of the lobby hit me as we left the elevator, and I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. Tonight had been more intense than I'd ever imagined, and I wasn't sure how to process everything that had happened.

———

As we left Reginald's dinner meet-up Luther, Diego, and I began the walk back to my place. The night air was cool, providing some relief from the intensity of the dinner we had just endured. They mentioned that Reginald had requested to speak with Five alone, so we didn't wait for him, knowing he'd likely blink in later once everyone was asleep. My feet were beginning to throb from the small heels I'd worn all night, and as we walked, it was becoming more and more difficult to hide my discomfort.

Luther noticed and, with that gentle, caring nature of his, offered me a piggyback ride. I hesitated for a moment, but the offer was too tempting to refuse, so I nodded gratefully. It felt nice to be around Five's brothers. They felt like the older siblings I'd never had.

The streets were quiet as we made our way through the city, the sound of our footsteps echoing against the buildings. I rested my head on Luther's broad back, allowing myself to relax for a moment. It was rare to feel this kind of peace these days, and I wanted to savor it, even if only for a short while. As we approached the stairs leading up to my apartment door, I could feel the weariness in my legs.

"Why wear heels if your feet are gonna get sore?" Luther asked, his voice rumbling through his chest as he carried me up the stairs.

"I'm used to them," I replied with a soft laugh, though there was a tired edge to it. "But I didn't think I'd be wearing them for this long."

When we reached the top, I fumbled for my keys, my hands a little shaky from exhaustion. I held them out as we reached the door, and Diego, always quick to take action, grabbed them for me and started unlocking the door. We stepped inside, and Luther gently set me down. The relief of being off my feet was immediate, and I sighed contentedly.

"I could get used to having you as my personal back carrier," I teased, smoothing out my shirt as I spoke.

"Don't even think about it," Luther shot back with a grin, heading into the kitchen to grab a cup.

But that fleeting sense of normalcy shattered when Diego's voice cut through the air, sharp and tense. "Guys..."

I turned to see him pointing at the ground, his face drained of color. My eyes followed his gaze, and what I saw made my blood run cold. There was blood on the floor, fresh and vivid against the dull surface. My body froze, a wave of dread crashing over me, paralyzing me in place.

Luther was the first to react. He knelt beside the blood, touching it to confirm my worst fear. His jaw clenched, and he turned to me, his expression grim. But I didn't need to see his face to know what it meant.

"Dad!" I cried out, my voice trembling as panic surged through me. I pushed past Luther and Diego, my heart pounding as I searched the apartment frantically. No response.

"Dad!" I called again, louder this time, desperation creeping into my voice. The silence that followed was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity. Then, faintly, I heard it—a small, barely audible noise coming from his room. Without thinking, I sprinted toward it, every instinct in my body screaming at me to move faster.

I threw open the door to his room, and what I saw made my heart stop. My father was there, tied up on his bed, his hands and feet bound together with rough rope, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. A towel was tightly wrapped around his mouth, muffling his cries for help.

"Oh my God, Dad!" I gasped, rushing to his side. My hands shook as I tore the towel from his mouth, my fingers fumbling with the knots in my haste. "Dad, can you hear me?" I pleaded, my voice breaking with fear.

His eyes fluttered open, barely focusing on me, and I could see the pain etched across his face. It was like a knife to my heart. I quickly worked to untie his hands and feet, the rope digging into my palms as I struggled to free him. "Dad! Dad!" I called again, trying to keep him conscious, to keep him with me.

He let out a weak cough, and I felt a rush of relief so intense that my knees nearly gave out. I collapsed onto his chest, wrapping my arms around him as tears streamed down my face. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so, so sorry," I whispered, my voice muffled against his shirt.

He didn't have the strength to hug me back, and that only made the pain in my chest tighten further, the guilt gnawing at me like a relentless beast. Whoever had done this to him had done it to hurt me too, and it was working. I clung to him, as if holding on tight enough could somehow make everything better, could somehow take away his pain and fear.

I could feel Luther and Diego behind me, their presence a silent comfort. Luther placed a hand on my shoulder, a gentle reminder that I wasn't alone in this. But it did little to ease the storm of emotions raging inside me—anger, fear, guilt, and an overwhelming need to protect my dad, to make sure nothing like this ever happened to him again.

"Who did this to you, Dad?" I whispered, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and sorrow. But he was too weak to answer, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to stay conscious. I could see the pain in his eyes, the fear and confusion, and it broke something inside me.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I cried, my voice breaking as I buried my face in his chest. "I'm so sorry this happened. I should have been here. I should have protected you." The words tumbled out of me in a torrent, each one laced with the guilt that had been building up inside me.

Luther and Diego exchanged a look, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They knew, just as I did, that this wasn't random. This was a message, a threat aimed directly at me, at us. And whoever had done this wasn't going to stop.

———

That night, I didn't leave my dad's side. Luther and Diego helped as much as they could, fixing him up, but the extent of his injuries was hard to look at. His nose was broken, one of his fingers was twisted at an odd angle, and his whole body bore the marks of a savage beating. It was almost too much to bear, seeing my dad like that. A man who had always been so strong, so unbreakable in my eyes, reduced to this.

They tried to be gentle as they worked, but every wince and groan from my dad made my heart clench with guilt. I wasn't here. I wasn't here to stop this from happening. The thought of what could have happened—what almost did—haunted me as I watched them tend to him. My dad could've died, and I would never have forgiven myself.

When they finished, I could tell that Luther and Diego wanted to stay, to keep watch with me, but I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else being here. I needed to be alone with my dad. So, I told them. I asked to be alone, and to my surprise, they respected my wishes. Maybe they saw the desperation in my eyes, the way I clung to my dad's hand as if it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

They left quietly, with soft reassurances that they were just a call away if I needed anything. But after they were gone, the apartment felt empty, the silence thick and oppressive. The weight of what had happened settled on my chest, making it hard to breathe. But I pushed it down, focusing on my dad, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I stayed up all night, waiting for him to wake up, hoping that any moment he'd open his eyes and tell me everything would be okay. But he didn't. He needed his rest, I knew that. His body had been through hell, and he needed time to heal. But that didn't make the waiting any easier. I couldn't shake the image of him tied up and beaten, the fear and pain etched into his face.

The night stretched on, the minutes dragging into hours. I sat by his bed, refusing to leave, my hand resting on his, needing to feel the warmth of his skin. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but I fought it off, determined to stay awake, to be there the moment he opened his eyes. But as the hours passed, my eyelids grew heavier, and despite my best efforts, I found myself drifting off.

I leaned my head against the chair, too tired to fight it anymore. The room was dark, and the only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of my dad. It was almost soothing, lulling me into a state of half-sleep. But even in that hazy state, I couldn't stop the thoughts racing through my mind. What if they came back? What if this wasn't over?

I was on the edge of sleep when I heard the door creak open. It was a faint sound, just enough to pull me back from the brink of unconsciousness. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was too tired to react, too drained to even open my eyes. A part of me wanted to get up, to see who it was, but the exhaustion was too heavy, pinning me down.

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THRID PERSON POV

Luther knocked softly on the door before slowly pushing it open, careful not to make too much noise. The room was dimly lit, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the curtains. He peered inside and saw Elliot still asleep, his breathing slow and steady. Y/n was slumped in the chair next to the bed, her head resting on her arm, deep in sleep. Sushi, her loyal cat, was curled up on her lap, purring softly.

Luther crept into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. The scent of the brew filled the air, but it did nothing to stir Y/n from her exhausted sleep. He set the cup down on the small table next to her, the ceramic making a soft clink as it touched the surface. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her. The dark circles under her eyes and the way her face was etched with worry even in sleep made his chest tighten with sympathy.

He reached out and gently patted Sushi, who lifted her head briefly before settling back down, seemingly content with the small comfort. Leaning closer to Y/n, Luther whispered, "Made you some coffee, Y/n." But she didn't stir, too deep in her sleep to hear him. He wasn't surprised; she'd stayed up all night, refusing to leave her father's side.

Luther hesitated, unsure if he should try to wake her. "If you want, you can get some rest, and Diego and I can watch Elliot for you," he whispered again, his voice barely above a murmur. But she remained unresponsive, completely out like a light. He sighed softly, understanding how drained she must be.

"Okay, get some rest," he said quietly, more to himself than to her, as he gently patted her head. He was careful not to wake her, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face before straightening up.

With one last glance at the pair—Y/n sleeping soundly next to her father, her hand still clutching his—Luther quietly walked out of the room. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, leaving them to their rest.

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