Chapter Text
Waking up was torture. He barely opened his eyes when a blinding light slashed through his vision. A sharp, ringing pain exploded in his skull, as if someone had slammed a cast-iron pan against his forehead. His body was clearly taking revenge for last night—though for what exactly, that was something Five still had to remember.
Propping himself up on his elbow and trying to ignore the throbbing in his ribs and the burning in his eyes, he took in his surroundings. A worn-out concrete floor, an old sleeping bag for a bed, a jacket reeking of smoke, an omnipresent draft, and a damn sea of grimy white tiles wherever he looked. In short, an inter-dimensional subway station.
Anyone else would have been at least somewhat distressed by these circumstances, but Five merely exhaled in relief. He’d seen worse, and at least there was no immediate danger—just business as usual. So, for a few seconds, he allowed himself to remain still, blankly staring at the bottle he’d thoughtfully left by his head. A few remnants of dark liquid sloshed miserably at the bottom.
At least yesterday’s Five had had the sense to do that. Though, for the brilliant idea of escaping judgmental stares by fleeing into this godforsaken subway, he deserved a punch in the face. To blink back to yesterday and land a proper hit. But he didn’t even have the strength to get to his feet, so he did the only logical thing left—he reached for the bottle, wrapped trembling fingers around its neck, and took a sip.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” said a familiar voice beside him, touched with a British accent, and Five nearly choked.
***
The firelight flickered in the glossy beads—red, like drops of blood. Woven into the thin braids framing her face, they swayed with her every movement, clicking softly against each other. Click-clack.
The fog in Five’s mind was beginning to clear, but the pounding in his skull made it difficult to focus. He tried to make sense of it—his escape from a world where the apocalypse had been frozen in time and family values had triumphed, to this one, where he was still drifting through desolate stations with Lila, who, for some reason had developed a liking for folklore-inspired attire. The proof? That ankle-length skirt, which looked like it had been sewn from a patchwork quilt, the colorful thread necklace, and those beads. Their shimmer was mesmerizing, almost enough to make him question reality itself.
“Right, picture this—snow everywhere, ruins, and a bloody great horde of savages. All of ’em singing and swaying like they’re at some mad festival.” Lila waved a half-eaten flatbread in front of his face for emphasis. “And then, out comes the shaman. Massive bloke, proper shaggy, eyes red as hell...”
It was hard to follow her story while also trying to stitch together the scattered memories of yesterday and make sense of whatever saga Lila had apparently gotten herself into.
She had, by her own proud admission, successfully copied the shamanic dance of the local tribe. According to her, that's how the wilderness dwellers of this timeline were either restoring something to full harmony or summoning something lost.
Five was pretty sure they were just using it as an excuse to get high on hallucinogenic mushrooms. But he was too tired to argue. Besides, according to Lila, it was thanks to this ritual that he had made it back to her alive and in one piece—though completely wasted.
Something in her story didn’t quite add up. She was definitely leaving something out, but he wasn’t in any state to figure out what. There was an important question he needed to ask, one that would make everything clear, but his head felt as heavy as an iron rail, his thoughts a tangled mess, and the words simply wouldn’t come together.
“Are you even listening to me?” Lila jabbed him playfully in the side, her braids clicking in agreement.
“Give me a second,” Five muttered. “Not fully functional yet.”
“Aspirin’s in the left pocket. Bit past its best-before, mind you,” she said matter-of-factly, shoving her backpack toward him. “Anyway, I swear, when you showed up, I damn near shat myself. You looked proper dead—blue lips, frozen stiff, eyes all glazed over.”
“It was freezing, and my suit coat got lost,” Five explained. Aspirin was worth saving for a real emergency, so instead, he took a sip from the metal mug of whatever Lila insisted on calling tea. It faintly smelled of apples.
“You should’ve seen the state of you!” Lila went on, grinning from ear to ear, eyes gleaming. “Like a bloody zombie, you were.”
She bulged her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and mimicked him.
“Am I supposed to be glad you didn’t just put me down on sight?”
“I’d have had you trained up in no time,” Lila smacked his shoulder. “Zombies are dead useful, y’know. Could’ve set you on my enemies and fed you their brains.”
“Can we not? I already feel like I’m going to puke.” Five groaned. He really did feel nauseous, but the black hole that had cracked open somewhere in his chest last night didn’t seem quite as vast anymore. The icy emptiness seeping from it no longer felt like it would swallow him whole.
Lila was grinning at him. The fire offered warmth. The worn-out station platform gave a sense of security. And sitting there, wrapped in an old sleeping bag, was almost… cozy.
Besides, bickering with Lila was a hundred times better than watching Lila in Diego’s arms.
Life had never been kind to Five, so he’d learned to find comfort in the small things.
***
He must have dozed off again because when he opened his eyes, the fire had already burned down. Lila sat nearby, focused on stitching up a hole in some grey rag, completely unsuited to the bright red thread she was using. A train thundered past.
Five lazily watched the cars disappear one by one into the mouth of the tunnel, and then it hit him—what had bothered him about her story earlier, or rather, how things were actually supposed to have played out. The realization snapped him out of his haze: this wasn’t his Lila.
She was from a different timeline.
It looked like she’d lost her Five somewhere along the way and had mistaken him for a double.
That worked in his favor—he could play along easily enough—but he was tired of half-truths, tired of feeling like an imposter. What did he have to lose? If she sent him packing, so be it. Even if she attacked him—well, maybe he’d just let her.
“Aren’t you even curious where I’ve been?” he asked.
“No.” She stabbed the needle into the fabric so hard she pricked herself and hissed in frustration.
“And why’s that?”
Lila pressed her lips together like she was holding something back, but then she finally spoke.
“Because I don’t want to know.” Her voice was steady, and for a second, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “What does it matter? It’s enough that you’re here.”
Five let out a small, humorless smirk.
“Afraid to break the spell?”
“Hardly.” She scoffed, shrugging one shoulder.
Then, suddenly, she grinned, squinting at him over her sewing.
“Wouldn’t even surprise me if you actually got buried in the snow and I’ve been chatting to a bloody piece of mannequin this whole time.”
Five felt the blood drain from his face, his hands curling into fists. Even on a good day, that was dangerous territory—definitely not something to joke about. The other Lila had made that mistake a few times, too, and back then, he’d gone days without speaking to her after. But that was a long time ago, in the early years of their journey, before their fights had faded into nothing.
“Lila,” he growled in warning, “don’t.”
“Then don’t push me!” she shot back, her voice sharp with anger, her lips trembling. And just like that, her fury crumbled into quiet sobs, the beads in her braids clicking softly as she shook.
Five hadn’t expected the tears. His own anger vanished as quickly as it had come. The other Lila rarely cried—only when she thought about her children.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he murmured, moving closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Lila buried her face against his collarbone.
“I was stuck on this miserable station for months,” she choked out, her words nearly lost between shaky breaths. “Completely alone. I nearly lost my mind, you’ve no idea…”
Five didn’t argue. None of it really mattered—nothing except the fact that she was here, leaning into him. She sniffled, clutching onto his jacket, and he ran a hand over her back, feeling his own tension begin to fade. No matter what he told himself, no matter how much he tried to prepare for the worst, deep down, he had desperately hoped she wouldn’t push him away.
“I’m so glad I waited for you. I’ve never been this glad to see anyone in my life,” Lila whispered.
Warmth spread through him, but he couldn’t shake the lingering doubt. He wanted so badly to believe her words were meant for him—not just a reaction to being alone in a strange world for too long.
“I just don’t want to lie to you,” he said quietly. “I’m not the one you lost.”
She pressed a hand over his mouth, sniffling again.
“Doesn’t matter,” she finally muttered, shaking her head slightly, as if arguing with herself. “Let’s just get off this bloody station first. Then, if you really want, we can sort it all out.”
“You already know.” He said it out loud, confirming what he’d suspected.
“I’m not an idiot,” Lila grumbled.