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ariaachillesaphrodisia · 11 months

Text

Did Somebody Say Just Eat?

Character: Five Hargreeves

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Food Issues, Food Trauma, Past Trauma, PTSD, Eating Disorder, Starvation, Eating Urine/Excrement, Discussion of Murder, Discussion of Corpses, Rotting Food, Bugs and Insects, Discussion of Death, and Loss of Loved Ones

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His breathing is unsteady. Heartbeat racing to match. His mouth is so dry that he doesn’t have any saliva to wash down the already-rising bile. He tries to hide his rage, but the shaking of his hands and burning anger within his eyes betray him. He curses his body for this. Curses himself for this. He asks himself how he got here. How he let himself get here.

But he knows exactly how he got here.

Given the nature of his job and of the place he worked, one would likely have assumed that Five’s life was filled with chaos and uncertainty. This would not be an unreasonable assumption by any means; however, it would be an incorrect one, nevertheless. Partly incorrect, at least. When Five had started at The Commission, things had indeed been rather hectic. He did not know where anything was; where the various departments were located; or how The Commission functioned. In truth, he did not know anything about this new place he found himself in and employed at. But the man had always been a quick study (after all, it was not as though Reginald would have accepted anything less) and so within a month of working there, he had already become one of the most effective “employees” at The Commission.

It perhaps should have been alarming to Five how quickly he mastered the “skills of the trade”. Things such as how to track someone, or how to kill someone and utilize his powers to do it. How to manipulate a target, or how to terrify them. Which weapons were best to use in which circumstances, depending on if you were hoping to end it quickly and without drawing attention to yourself, or whether the goal was to draw out the target’s suffering.

Death wasn’t something that was unknown to Five before his time at The Commission. Death was something he knew very well thanks to the apocalypse, but his relationship with it had begun before even that. During his time as part of the Umbrella Academy, there have been instances where missions would go south, or where the team would require some “extra force” AKA Ben’s powers. But those instances were the exception and not the norm. This was the rule set in place by Reginald, who surely understood that people were more likely to support a group of Batman-esque teenage vigilantes who occasionally had to get their hands dirty than a group of murderous teenage vigilantes whose missions always ended with some sort of bloodshed and death toll. So, Reginald’s general rule had been “no killing unless it was absolutely necessary… or would be accepted by the news outlets and the general public”.

Therefore, it was The Commission where Five was actually able to take full advantage not only of the lethal training that he and his siblings had received but also of the many ways his powers could be useful for his new line of work. And yes, sometimes Five did wonder whether he should be more concerned about the fact that he took to killing like a duck to water, but like he did with many things in his life, Five chose to archive this as something he would process at a later time. When things were less… well… something.

The important thing was that since Five did take to killing and to his new job terrifyingly well, it meant that he was very quickly able to adjust to his new life. He settled into his new routine and got used to the ins and outs of The Commission. His days were pretty much the same repetition of only a handful of activities: drink coffee; eat; do his job; drink coffee; read the case briefs for the new cases; drink coffee; complete his new “orders”; file reports; drink coffee; practice using his powers to try and get home; sleep (or try to); repeat. And while this might have caused some people to grow restless or agitated, or while some might hate the repetition and the seemingly endless nature of such a life, Five found it oddly comforting. It gave him a sense of control over things, and this was not at all unwelcomed for reasons that Five would (just like with his fast adjustment to becoming a professional assassin), certainly visit at a later date.

Yes, this sense of control was something that Five valued quite highly, and so too did he value and admire anything which added to it. And fittingly so, conversely did he dislike that which deviated from it. that which was outside of his predictable and malleable world. That which was out of his control… or worst of all… that which exerted control over him. Yes, he disliked the former very much, and frankly, he despised the latter.

Thus the reason (well, one of the many reasons, actually) The Handler was the bane of Five’s existence.

There were some days when Five thought he might actually hate The Handler more than he hated the apocalypse itself. At least with the apocalypse, you knew where you stood: either you were alive, or you weren’t. At least with the apocalypse, you didn’t have to deal with it veiling its dangers underneath smiles, false promises, and threats laced with sugar-sweet tones. At least the apocalypse didn’t drop in on you sporadically and expect you to drop everything you are doing and humor it with whatever new plan it had concocted for no other reason than being bored and getting a kick out of the torment of others. The apocalypse hit you suddenly and ended it all there and then, and if you did survive, then you had to deal with the end of the world. And that sucked. Five knew this all too well, but at least you go used to the dangers you were facing. With The Handler though, there was no such certainty. The only thing predictable about the dangers surrounding her was that they were most certainly there, that they were unpredictable in the way she would carry them out, and that she took unspeakable delight in the dread and terror she instilled in others.

Five wasn’t quite sure what exactly it had been that had sparked the power struggle between himself and The Handler. When she’d first approached him, he sensed none of that, although admittedly, his mind had been elsewhere, focused on assessing the new arrival’s threat level and then later, considering her offer. And for the first little while during his time at The Commission, this had remained the same. He had either not sensed it, or, he supposed, he’d been trying to learn the ropes. But after that point, when he began to get the hang of things… then it had begun. Had it been because she had felt threatened by him? Because he was excelling at his job? Had she feared that he would take her position? Was that it? Or perhaps it had been that she had simply enjoyed holding power over the new recruit, and then, when he was starting to learn to walk on his own two feet, she’d decided to take a new approach to holding her power over him – through subtle threats, isolation, and emotional manipulation. Either, Five thought, was possible. It was also possible that this was just something she did with everyone. That she just got a rise out of doing little things to show other people who was in charge. Perhaps it was simply a part of her nature even – she fancied herself a scorpion, and everyone else a frog.

Whatever the reason was, and whenever specifically it had begun, the thing which mattered was that the power struggle existed, and it caused Five an endless amount of grief. At best, The Handler was a nuisance, and at worst, an enemy. And there was no telling which it would be on any given day. whether he’d be subjected to simply some passive-aggressive comments regarding his work, or whether she would decide to do something to really cross a line. He did his best to prepare for either but there was only so much he could do. As much as he despised her, at the end of the day, she was one of the higher-ups. And he… he was just another cog in the machine. He had to do as she said, lest he be branded as a traitor to The Commission and either be executed or suffer a fate worse than death – and when it came to traitors against The Commission, it was normally the latter. And if he was dead, then who would be there to save his family?

So, as much as Five dreaded any sort of interaction with The Handler, he forced himself through it. Forced himself to play along so that one day, he might be able to go back and stop the apocalypse from ever happening. That is what he told himself every time and though it never really made things easier, it was at least a nice thought, so he kept up this habit.

It was what he’d told himself today too, when The Handler had approached him with her latest “offer”.

The day had started off so well. He had completed a number of jobs, had filed all his paperwork, and had made it to 10 minutes to lunch without any sign of The Handler. This was a new record, he believed. He had chalked it up to her being off base – likely hunting down new recruits or something – and was prepared to steal away to his usual lunch spot (an abandoned corner of one of the less frequently used rooms) when he heard a familiar clacking of heels on the file floor. He let out a groan when the footsteps stopped outside the tiny space he called an office, and the imposing outline of The Handler filled the glass of the door.

“Knock knock,” she practically sang, and Five fought the urge to gag. Without even waiting for his response, The Handler flung the door open. She was dressed in a 50’s style teal dress and donned red heels that Five could not imagine were any sort of comfortable when one was on their feet as much as a job – even a management one – at The Commission required them to be. Her hair was poofy and curled, and resting atop it was an extravagantly large hat which matched in color to her dress. Five always did wonder how it was she got away with her wardrobe, considering how blatantly it went against company policy, but he supposed the other higher-ups likely thought it was not worth the effort to attempt to force her to adhere to the dress code. Personally, Five thought it set a bad example, and an even worse precedent.

“Ah, Handler, pleasure to see you,” he greeted, his voice laced with obvious sarcasm, “what can I do for you?”

“Well, a little birdie told me that you were just flying through your cases today. Said you nearly finished your entire to-do list before mid-day! Impressive as always, Five!” she grinned, and Five faked a smile, mentally promising to find out who this “little birdie” was and avoid them as much as possible.

“Yes, it’s been a considerably productive day today,” responded Five.

“And I would like it to stay that way, so if you could just exit right back the way you came from, that’d be great. Oh, and don’t forget the door,” he wanted to add but didn’t.

“That’s what we like to see here!” exclaimed The Handler with a clap of her hands. “Anywho, I was just about to have lunch when that tidbit of information crossed my way, and I thought to myself ‘Look at him – working hard, putting in the hours and the effort. Going above and beyond. A real go-getter, that one!’ and then I had a grand idea, if I do say so myself. See, I know you normally like to take your lunch breaks on your own. Well, spend all your time on your own, really. Regular old Batman over here with your Mr. Dark, Brooding, ‘I don’t need anyone’ thing you have going there,” she teased. Five couldn’t help but grimace at this. Batman?! Him?! If anyone in his family was Batman, he thought, it’d be Diego. Diego is always… was… always…

“…sometimes we all do, but I just thought that, after all the consistent hard work you’ve been doing, and the determination, well, I thought that it was hardly right to let that all go unrecognized!” she said, and Five blinked a few times. He had missed part of what she had said, and supposed he must have tuned her out for a moment. Not that he was too bothered by this. If Five had had his way, he’d tune her out every single time she spoke to him. “So, I arranged a special little lunch for you!” she told him, and then came the bit he knew was going to follow, yet hoped it wouldn’t all the same, “well, us, technically, but don’t get it mixed up, Five! This is really all for you! I’m just sitting in for company! Little wine and dine between colleagues!

“No! Absolutely not! In no way. If I need something to kill my appetite, then sure, I’d agree to have you watch me like a hawk as I eat, but I’m not really feeling it today. So, thanks, but hard pass,” a less calculated or a more emotionally driven person might have cried out. But Five was nothing if not calculated and composed, and so instead he gave the biggest fake smile he could muster.

“Sounds great. I’ll just go grab my lunch and…” he began, but she swiftly cut him off.

“No, no, no! You don’t have to bring anything but yourself! I’ve got the rest covered, so all you need to do is follow me,” she informed him, though despite the airiness of her voice, he already knew it was a command, not an invitation.

The Handler left the room without another word, only pausing until she heard Five’s footsteps following after her, then continuing on. It occurred to Five while they walked that he had no idea where their little “celebratory” lunch was being held. He also did not know what was being served. He hoped it was something simple like sandwiches or pizza. Something he could quickly scoff down, chase with a coffee or something stronger, and then excuse himself back to work. He voiced his aloud to The Handler – the question as to the lunch, not his exit strategy – and she merely turned her head to face back at him – down at him – and smiled.

“All in good time, Five. All in good time,” was all the response he got before she began humming away to herself.

It was only when they turned the final corner before their destination that Five realized their lunch spot was The Handler’s very own office. He was thankful that his training with The Commission, along with at The Umbrella Academy, had taught him how to mask his feelings, because he was sure his disgust otherwise would have been very evident. However, a chuckle from The Handler indicated that he still hadn’t quite mastered the art of fooling her. She opened the door and stepped to the side, holding it for him.

“Make yourself at home,” she invited, and Five was reminded of that childhood story about the spider inviting the fly into his parlor. And like the doomed fly in that tale… Five found himself walking right in, aware of the danger facing him, yet entering that damned place all the same.

The Handler’s office was an expectedly grand place. There was a huge gold and burgundy desk and chairs which matched perfectly. The walls were a shade of red that reminded Five of blood. There were pillars of silver and fold that sparkled when the light from the oval window on the far side of the room struck them. The room, like its owner, stood out in stark contrast to the bland grey of the rest of The Commission.

“It is quite an office, isn’t it?” The Handler whispered into Five’s ear, and despite himself, he shuddered. She stepped back, and though her expression was one of nothing other than pride for her workspace, he could feel the smirk boring into him. “It has served me well for a long time. Lots of great memories in this room,” she continued on, “but, management is moving me to a new office space soon. Something about turning this into another storage room or something. Politics, you know? Anyhow, they promised me the other office will be even better, and I’m holding them to it,” she said with a wink, and he was certain that she would. Was certain that she wouldn’t hesitate to resort to some of the same tactics he used while interrogating Commission marks in order to get that office.

“Fascinating,” murmured Five, and if The Handler realized the sarcasm lacing his voice, she gave no indication. He watched as she took a seat behind the lavish desk, and when she motioned for him to take a seat across from her, he did so.

An awkward silence filled the room then, and Five shifted impatiently in his seat. He’d been hoping the food would already be in the room so that they could just get it over with quick as possible, but either the food was late, or The Handler had purposely ordered for it to come after they’d arrived at the office. Judging by the look of satisfaction on her face, Five suspected it was the latter. The silence filling the room was making Five more and more restless – and frankly quite frustrated – and he was very sure she was finding that absolutely delightful. This silence, he knew, was a crafted and calculated one. Five wasn’t one for small talk, and this was a fact that was well-known throughout The Commission. But something else that was equally well known was The Handler’s great adoration for the sound of her own voice. She’d fill a room with it whenever she got the chance, directing as many eyes toward herself as possible in the process. The exception to this, of course, was when she had some scheme in mind which required silence.

Normally she did it when she wanted to see if anyone in the room dared speak with her present before being addressed to do so. She’d stand or sit in a room for the better part of an hour sometimes, just to see if anyone broke this unspoken rule. She wouldn’t do anything, per se, if they did, but that look she’d give… well… that did the trick all on its own. She didn’t do it to test obedience or loyalty, Five knew. No… the only reasons she did it was to show everyone the power she demanded just with her presence alone and to revel in their fear. And though the tactic she was using now was slightly different, Five suspected its intentions were very much the same.

“So, busy week so far?” Five questioned loudly, his voice a harsh sound in comparison to the rested silence. For a moment, which lasted no more than half a second, Five saw a look of surprise cross The Handler’s face. It looked to Five how a child’s face might look when their favorite toy had failed to function as it should. As though this look had vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, Five delighted in that glorious half-second.

“Oh Five! You know The Commission. When isn’t it a busy week?” she laughed, the mask now perfectly back on. “But that’s what keeps it exciting, isn’t it?” she added, and just as Five was about to speak, the doors of the office were flung open.

If Five had had any remaining hopes that this meal would go by quickly, or that he would be lucky enough to have the lunch be just a sandwich or some other type of finger food, those hopes were crushed upon viewing the sight which greeted him when those magnificent doors opened.

There were four individuals wheeling in carts filled with fancy serving containers. Thankfully for Five, each cart only held what looked to be four dishes on the toy lawyer of the cart, with the second being empty save for the final cart. On this one, the second lawyer contained a vast assortment of drinks: juices, smoothies, lemonade, and other extremely sweet drinks. Five noticed after a quick inspection that both coffee and any sort of alcoholic beverages were suspiciously absent from this bevy of beverages.

The figures who had delivered these carts did not look familiar to Five. He thought that they must be Commission personnel – after all, they didn’t usually allow people from within the normal timeline to just wander about the building – yet they did not don the usual Commission outfits. They were all dressed in the same deep purple suits, with hats of a matching color that reminded Five of something you’d see in an old ice cream parlor. Their movements were… too in-sync, Five thought. Too robotic. Their eyes were empty and hollow. Were they under some sort of mind control? Or hypnosis perhaps?

“I wasn’t aware The Commission had its own catering company,” Five spoke, hoping to glean some information about the situation. The Handler grinned.

“Oh, they certainly do,” she said, and Five raised an eyebrow at this.

“But they aren’t it?” he questioned, and she nodded.

“Sharp as ever, Five. No, these darling folks here are not from The Commission’s usual catering group. They are some not-so-clever people who had been traitors to The Commission. They were given to me so that I could… decide on a fitting punishment. And after a long time of working with each individual, I decided to keep them around for a bit. Have them help out a bit with some odd things here and there… at least until I feel they’ve paid off their debts to The Commission. Then, well, I can terminate their contracts,” she explained, and Five blinked a few times. She was just… keeping them around as her errand people or toys, ready to dispose of them the minute they either cease to be useful, or she finds another pet project that she wished to devote her attention to.

He thought back to the looks and movements of the figures and suddenly understood the vacant expressions and robotic movements. It wasn’t mind control, hypnosis, or any other mental persuasion. It wasn’t “magic” or powers.

It was hopelessness.

It was a look he was familiar with. The look that his targets sometimes gave right before he… finished a job. Five was the kind of man who took pride in a job well done, and in accomplishing his goals. The sort of man who didn’t give 50% or 75%, but 200% when it came to the things he did. And he was, he knew, good at his job. But when that job was over… and the rush of it gone too… he saw that look when he closed his eyes, and it stuck with him. There was no hope in that look that he might let them live. No pleading for mercy. Not even the last little blip of desperation for a miracle. It was just complete and utter despair. And even after he’d walked away from a job… that look wasn’t something he could just walk away from. Yet…

Yet he knew just from the proudness in her voice and that Cheshire cat grin she’d given him that she felt none of that. She’d see that downhearted look on their faces… and he knew she’d feel nothing but pride at how effectively she’d broken them.

The loud echoing of shutting doors snapped Five back to the present moment. He turned and noticed that all of the figures had left the room. Not only this, but all of the carts that they had wheeled in had been pushed to the left of the desk he and The Handler were sitting at. He hadn’t noticed them moving the carts so close, nor had he noticed them all moving to leave – it only being brought to his attention when the doors had shut. He gritted his teeth, cursing The Handler in his mind. He was more vigilant than this. he knew he was. Any other time it would have been second nature for him to notice such things but her… her trouble presence and existence (not to mention the disturbing information he had just learned about her… latest project) was throwing him off his guard, and he hated her for it.

“Well, feel free to dig in! I’m not sure about you, but I am absolutely famished!” The Handler exclaimed, yet despite this statement, she made no effort to remove any of the lids from the serving dishes. Already knowing where this game would lead, and not wanting to spend any more time humoring her than was necessary, Five reached for the dish closest to him and pulled off the lid. Upon seeing what was inside, Five froze.

Tuna Salad.

Five’s stomach immediately flipped when he saw the dish, and when the smell of the fish hit his nostrils, he had to fight back the urge to vomit. He tried to hide this from his face and swiftly moved to open the next dish…

Spam and potato soup.

He placed the lid of this one down, the same horrid feelings washing over him. He moved on to the next dish.

A stew with baked beans and corned beef.

The lid went back on, and off came the lid of the next dish…

Vegetable soup with corn, green beans, carrots, and tomato broth.

On and on the cycle went, with Five ripping off a lid, seeing the dish, feeling as though he was about to pass out or be violently sick or kill someone, putting the lid on the ground, and moving to the next dish. By the time he’d moved onto the third cart, he felt as though he wanted to throw the tray lids as hard as he could right at The Handler’s face.

Because this… what lay in front of him on those carts… it was Hell. It was torture. It was a special kind of cruelty that only she was capable of…

Sixteen dishes.

Sixteen different dishes.

Some breakfast. Some lunch. Some dinner, and a few dessert ones. All with one thing in common…

Each and every dish in front of him contained some ingredient he had eaten while trapped in the apocalypse…

Canned items such as tuna, spam, potatoes, baked beans, corned beef, tomato broth, an assortment of canned vegetables, etc.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it… no… no, the worst part was…

That every single dish contained something which, during Five’s time in the apocalypse, had made Five greatly ill.

Five remember each incident as though it happened yesterday… or, as the feeling of nausea grew within him, as though it were happening now.

At the start of the apocalypse, the incidents happened out of naivety. He had thought that surely if something was in a can, it must still be good. After all, it had only been a few months since he had run out of the packaged goods that he had managed to find – well, those that weren’t destroyed or damaged, and those that hadn’t had any clear signs of rot or mold – and so surely the canned items he was stumbling across here and there should still be good. And most were, in his defense… but not all. Canned fish had been the first which Five had learned the hard way did not survive well in high temperatures or regular exposure to sunlight and the elements. No matter what the expiry date was.

Canned meats had lasted him a little while longer, but not much. He had tried to gather and consume as much of the canned fish and meats he’d come across, mixing them with the canned vegetables as much as he could. At the early part of his first year, this only resulted in him feeling ill or nauseous, with some instances of him actually vomiting a little bit. However, by the end of his first year in the apocalypse, any canned seafood or meats were deemed practically inedible… after much trial and much, much, much more error. Still, he found himself collecting any undamaged canned fish or meat items… just in case there came a time when he was desperate enough to need to eat them.

Five stock-piled the canned goods which he would come across in the wreckage of houses or buildings, and occasionally he hit the jackpot by coming across a grocery store or bunker that had a bountiful supply of canned goods. He brought as many as he could carry with him, and if he was somewhere that had a decent supply, he’d eat his fill there so there was less to carry. However, as the years went on, it became rare to find canned goods. Five tried to ration his supplies, only eating a little each day. This lack of nutrients along with the heat he often trekked in made him feel weak and light-headed, but it was that or starve to death, and so Five pushed through the pain.

In regular situations, low-acid canned foods have a shelf life of two to five years. Some have a shelf life of two to three years after the expiry date, and others can last a bit longer. Which meant that, in a normal situation, the canned goods that Five had saved up should have lasted him two years on the lower end, and five years on the higher. But those guidelines were for normal circumstances… and the apocalypse was the furthest thing Five could think of from normal.

Firstly, there was the issue of damage. Any damaged canned, even if they were just a little dented, were immediately riskier because they were more likely to be impacted by the elements and the heat. Not to mention bacteria that got in through small holes or cracks. In pre-apocalypse days, if you grabbed a dented or damaged can, you could just put it back on the shelf and grab a new, undamaged one. But when your food supply was rapidly dwindling, that wasn’t an option – you had to grab whatever you had access to, no matter how risky that food was to eat. And because of… well, the end of the world, most of the canned Five came across were damaged, meaning that most of the time, especially during his fourth and fifth year in the apocalypse, the food was very risky. He tried to only eat from the undamaged ones, telling himself that he was only taking the damaged ones in case of emergency. In hindsight, it would likely have been smarter for Five to have eaten from the damaged ones first, so that any bacteria in there didn’t proceed to grow and he could limit the amount he ingested… but after the first few times that Five had become so ill that he had thrown up everything in his stomach… he didn’t exactly love the idea of re-living that unless he absolutely had to.

The second issue was that the longer the items sat in the heat, the higher the likelihood that they would make Five sick. And… again, because of the apocalypse, most items were left to the mercy of the sun. Five found very few bunkers that were intact enough to provide shade for the food, and any grocery stores he stumbled upon were so destroyed there was nothing at all to protect the canned goods. Sometimes, when he popped open a can, he could already smell the rot or mold. A lot of times he would open a can to see green or white spots on it, and as time went on, this became a more and more common occurrence. During the early days, Five would have discarded these items immediately, but by his second and third year… he hardly had the resources to afford to do that. So, he would eat around those parts, leaving the molding bits for whatever crawling creatures would follow him.

Then… by year four… he began eating these parts too.

Rots and mold became regular parts of Five’s diet because it became increasingly rare not only to find canned items, but to find anything that wasn’t decaying. Five was honestly surprised that it had taken up to that point, having suspected at the start that this would happen within the first year. But any gratefulness of how long things had managed to last was quickly diminished by the reality of his situation. What began as a slow, constant hunger due to only eating a little bit every day became an unbearable, devasting sinking feeling that nagged at him as he would go several days in a row without eating. Years four and five were when Five began to realize that he likely wasn’t going to be able to find more canned items – at least not on a regular basis. It felt like a miracle any time he saw the shimmer of a tin can, and by years seven to ten, Five honestly did not care about the state of the food within it, just grateful that it was something to eat.

Illness became a routine part of Five’s life. He would eat something, whether it was a little bit of food from a can he had managed to find or one of the ones he had been saving, either of which would be covered in fuzzy white mold that tickled his tongue when he ate it. He swore he could feel things squirming around when he ate it too, though whether this was actually happening or whether it was a trick of his mind he did not know. After eating it, he would try to keep the food down as long as he could, only to vomit the majority of it up later on. He raided pharmacies when he could find them, looking for anti-nausea pills or anything else which would help him keep the substance down so his body could at least retain some nutrients, but pharmacies were even rarer than grocery stores, and most people who had built bunkers had stored food, not medical supplies. This made matters even worse when Five caught an infection because this meant that keeping food down was even more difficult. During these times, Five took to hibernating. He wouldn’t eat for nearly a week, drinking what little liquids he had. He pushed food from his mind during these bouts, knowing that an empty stomach didn’t help matter but feeling too tired and weak to deal with the vomiting he knew would come if he ate the spoiled foods he had gathered. He’d build himself a little shelter and stay there until he felt better, or until he decided that he wasn’t going to feel better unless he managed to find either more food or medication. Then he’d push forward, stomach complaining all the way through.

Somewhere along the line (time stopped mattering as much to Five after the tenth year), Five had pretty much all but given up on finding anything that resembled food. He’d take it where he would find it, but he stopped looking for it. Before when he walked, he would be doing it in search of new stores or bunkers that had managed to survive the end of the world. He’d allowed himself a glimmer of hope that as he went into new territory, he’d be able to find things that had survived. But that was before he’d left the major cities… and after that… well, there really was nothing out there. Farmlands didn’t have much in the way of food. Most animal corpses were non-existent, and the few that were there were reduced to skeletons. Five figured that they must have decayed pretty quickly after the initial event. He wondered at times if he should have headed straight for the farmlands and country areas, eating the corpses first before going for the canned goods. He had seen quite a few corpses along his travels, and while the states of them were questionable, they weren’t much more questionable than the canned goods. Still… what was done was done, and there was no point dwelling on what could have been.

Now when Five walked… it was only because he could think of nothing else to do. He was thankful when he did manage to find something that he could consume, but the gnawing hunger was just something he’d gotten so used to at this point. His diet now consisted of pretty much only the occasional scraps he had left in his cans (though Five wondered how much of what he ate he was hallucinating, and how much was real), as well as the occasional cockroach. When he returned to the cityscapes, he began finding more and more roaches, and these became his primary food source. They made him sick as they squirmed in his mouth, wriggling about on his tongue. He felt their little legs as they kicked around the sides of his mouth, and because he hated how they burst when he bit into them, he often swallowed them whole, leaving them to struggle about as they passed through his throat. He tried not to think about what it was those roaches had been feasting upon, especially those that were plumper and juicier. Still… they were preferable to the maggots that he had occasionally eaten. The ones he sometimes found within the canned goods… yellowish or silver things which crunched when he would bite them… and which he swore he could still feel wriggling about his stomach after he had finished eating.

He wished the maggots and roaches had been the worst things he had been subjected to eating. Someday he even wishes it had been something such as corpses. But no… no, because when Five reached areas where the roaches had become scarce or undiscoverable… Five did something he never thought he would have to do in his life… he sustained himself on his own urine and excrement.

He had a pot. He had found it during the early days and used to use it to make soups or stews when he still had the resources to do so. At times he used it to cook the roaches when he wasn’t so starved that he would just eat them raw. But during those dark times… he would use it to make meals out of his own waste. Often his meals consisted of the few roaches he could find mixed with his excrement and urine. He told himself at first that he was heating it so that he could try and make it any sort of less likely to make him ill… but he soon abandoned his line. He was doing it, in reality, to try and trick himself into thinking it was anything other than what it really was.

Five had tried to eat his own vomit. He was sick enough that he thought that it was a waste not to try it. When he knew he was going to be sick, he would bring out the pot and vomit into it, cooking it later when he had the resources to make a fire. He would add water to it from whatever water source was closest (something he did with all his “meals” when he had water nearby that was drinkable), and he tried to eat it. He quickly learned that he could not sustain himself on this. Acids, he would learn later. That was what did it. The high acid content would cause his mouth to decay, the teeth slowly eroding and the gums becoming so diseased that he was sure his teeth would drop out one by one… or that he would look to find those horrible writhing maggots worming their way between his teeth. So… whatever he vomited was lost, he reasoned. And with this in mind… he began forcing the sick back down his throat whenever he felt it coming up.

When the vegetation began to grow back, he started eating this and slowly, bit by bit, he began to regain some of his strength. The more vegetation there was, the more bugs there were, and he moved steadily from his lowest dietary point to one that consisted of bugs and plants. He never thought that he would cherish a diet of beetles, roaches, and crickets, but after surviving off his own waste for so long, he was just grateful to eat something that hadn’t come from inside himself.

But even as he pushed forward… even as he began to return to a steadier diet, and later, even something that resembled a healthy one… even as the meat returned to his bones, the strength to his muscles, life to his body… he’d find himself having nightmares of the dark days. He never quite got the scent of the “meals” he had to eat out of his mind. The image of those concoctions in that pot… and taste of it… it had never left. Every time he put food into his mouth after that… for just a second… he swore that that was what he tasted. No matter what it was… no matter how flavoury or distinct the taste of the meal was… he still tasted for just a second the flavor of his urine and excrement.

Five’s body was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. His lips were quivering and his vision blurring, and despite himself, he wanted so badly to cry. He could feel himself swaying back and forth. He could feel a stabbing pain in his mouth as his teeth cut into his tongue. Could taste the metallic tang of his own blood. But despite all this, he felt miles away from his own body. Felt miles away from the room he was standing in. Miles away from everything. He just stared at the trays of food in front of him, unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to stop himself from shaking. Unable to do anything.

“Oh dear!” broke The Handler’s voice through the stillness. Five made no effort to turn to face her – he couldn’t even if he had wanted to. “You know what? I just remembered I have a pressing engagement today! I really am sorry, Five, but unfortunately, I am going to have to cut out little lunch short. And we didn’t even get to eat!” she continued on. He heard her stand up and then a few seconds later, felt it as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Still, he made no effort to move. “But don’t let my leaving early ruin your lunch, alright? Feel free to stay here and eat, or you can take some of it to go. Whatever strikes your fancy,” she purred into his ear. She then patted his head like he was a puppy and walked off. “Bon appetite~” she called before shutting the door and leaving Five alone in the office, surrounded by the antagonizing food trays.

The realization struck Five as he watched her leave that this had been her plan all along. She’d never intended to make him eat the food. He thought that was her plan… was dreading that that was her plan… but this was almost worse… because it showed that she knew the depth of the impact the food’s simple existence had on Five… and knew the power she held over him with that and that alone. She didn’t need to force him to eat it. Just by having it there… just by having him see it… she not only told him that she’d been keeping a very close, personal eye on him throughout his entire time in the apocalypse but also cemented quite clearly who was in charge in this situation.

The second Five heard the door shut, his legs gave way and he crashed to the floor. He hugged his knees close to himself and began rocking forwards and backward uncontrollably. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the smells and images of the food in the office, but then the images of those dark days in the apocalypse… the images he had tried for so, so long to block from his mind… they came back to him as they so often did during his sleeping hours, and his eyes flew open. He stared at the carpet instead. He could hear his own breathing, but like before, it sounded so far away. He felt so far away from himself. He tried to will himself back into control over his body, but it was no use. He tried to force himself to be rid of those pesky memories that were pushing their way back into his mind, but it was no use. The smell of the food in the room was so pungent and overwhelming that it was inescapable. Five abandoned the notion of trying to force the horrid memories away and instead tried to focus on thinking of something else. Something pleasant. Something that could take away the horrible things.

He tried to think of The Umbrella Academy… but then thought that there really weren’t many memories of that place that he could think fondly of.

He tried to think of his family… but then saw their mangled corpses and felt unspeakable grief consume him.

Then it came to him…

Dolores.

Dolores was someone who had good memories associated with her. Not only that, but she understood. She’d been there during those dark days, and she understood. How many times he had spoken with her about those times? How many times had he confided in her about them? Even during those times… she’d been his rock. She’d gotten him through it. When he screamed that he couldn’t do it anymore, she’d sat him down and told him he was strong enough to do it. That he not only had to do it to survive, but that he could do it.

“You have survived so much, Five. Been so strong in the face of things that others would have immediately caved at. You know you can pull through this. I know you can pull through this. We just have to be strong, as we’ve been throughout all this time,” she would tell him. Five could almost hear her voice now, speaking to him in the present. “You just have to be strong and fight through this. It is going to be alright. We just have to fight through for tomorrow. Just keep thinking about tomorrow, and we will get through this.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. It won’t… it doesn’t go away…” he whispered.

“You are strong, Five. You can survive those memories. You’ve gotten through so much. Beaten the odds more times than you can count. Survived so much more than anyone could have expected one man to survive. You can get through this too,” she replied, and this time, when Five shut his eyes, he could see only her. She was sitting across from him on the other side of the room, donning the camo shirt and lace undershirt that she’d been wearing when he last saw her. A smile appeared on Five’s face, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“You always know just what to say,” he told her, and he heard her chuckle.

“Well, I’ve known you for a very long time, so that does help,” she responded, and this time it was Five’s turn to chuckle.

“Just as spirited as always, Dolores,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“Could you really see us being partners for so long if I couldn’t at least match you in wit and spirit?” she retorted, and he gave a shrug of agreeance. Then there was silence between them as neither was sure what to say or do. Finally, Five spoke.

“It won’t go away,” he repeated, and she gave him a sympathetic expression.

“I know. But you have to believe me when I tell you that you are strong, Five. I know it is hard. Especially in moments like this. I know it can feel like there is no coming out of this. Like you are right back in those dark days, and you can’t escape them. Like you are drowning in tar and no matter how hard you fight to get out, it only seems to drag you further down. But you are a fighter, Five. You always have been. You fought to make a name for yourself during your time with The Umbrella Academy. You fought against the expectations of your father and of the world. And when things went… well, really south, you fought your way through the apocalypse. You survived the end of the world, Five. Then, when you got a ticket out of there, you fought your way to the top of your new workplace. Despite starting out with no clue how things worked there, you fought to show them that you weren’t someone who just rolled over or played nice. No, you were a force to be reckoned with, and you fought like mad to show them that. And even though that… that witch tries to break you down, you fight against her. She takes shots at you, and she hits hard, but you stand your ground. You get through it. And you can get through this too. I know you can, Five. Because I know you. I do. Perhaps even better than you know yourself,” she softly spoke.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves there,” he replied, but there was a thankful smile on his face, and he knew Dolores would understand his unspoken gratitude.

“The point is… you will get through this. We will get through this. We’ve gotten through so much, Five. Faced bigger threats than her, and we won. Just like we will win here. As long as we are together, we can get through anything. It’s like we’ve always said. Together…” she began.

“Forever,” he finished like clockwork, and a few more tears fell. Tears of relief and hope and appreciation and emotions Five could not even begin to put a name to. The panic and horror that had been surging within him had begun to fade at her words. No… not only that. Her presence alone. She was just like that though, he knew. She needn’t say anything, and already he would feel as though things might just look up. All she had to do was look at him with that beautiful expression that he adored, and all which plagued his heart and mind would begin to dissipate. She really did always know what to say. What to do. How to make him feel as though it might be alright. He took a few deep breaths and then smiled over at her.

“I… you are right. We can get through this. I… I think we will be ok,” he told her in a hushed voice, and she nodded in agreement. “Together… yes… we can get through this together. Just like all those times in the apocalypse. You and me against the world. Together forever,” he rambled, “we can do it, can’t we? As long as we stick together, we can get through anything. I know we can, as long as we have each other,” he reiterated, and he saw her smile grow at this. She said nothing, and he knew it was because she knew she needn’t say anything more than what she’d already said. She was there for him, and he knew she knew he needed nothing more than that.

His heart rate was much lower now. The shaking of his hands had nearly stopped. He felt himself returning to himself. He focused on keeping his breathing slow and steady, and bit by bit, he regained control of his body. Was back in that moment. The tears had stopped flowing, but he knew that even if they hadn’t… it was ok. He could let them fall if it was with her because she would understand. Because she knew him. Because she wanted to know him.

It would be ok. She’d be his rock, and he’d be hers. They’d help each other through it as they had helped each other through so many other things. He didn’t have to do it alone. He’d thought… he’d thought he’d have to do it alone. But now she was here, and he had someone he could confide in. Someone he could turn to. It would be alright. Even in the darkness… when he had times when he struggled to find his way back to the light… she would be his guide, and she’d helped him find the way. She’d help him find his inner strength until the times when he saw it again, and it would be ok. As long as they had each other… they would find a way to be ok.

It would be ok.

“Dolores… thank you. For… everything. I’m so happy that you are here…” he had started to say, moving towards her so that he could hold her and she him. But then his hand bumped into something hard and relatively sharp, and he jumped. As he did so, his eyes flew open…

He had been huddled by The Handler’s desk, the corner of which was what his hand had made contact with. He saw the food trays and the carts. Saw the extravagant décor. And…

Saw that he was alone.

Dolores wasn’t there. She’d never been there. He’d had to leave her behind when he joined The Commission, he remembered now. She was gone…

She was gone and he was alone…

The reality of this hit Five like a freight truck and he sunk back down. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t trembling. He wasn’t rocking or swaying like before. He just sat there as loneliness filled him and as he felt the hope which had previously built within him being torn out of him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of one of the tray lids that he had flung to the floor and could have let out a sad laugh if he had had the strength to.

That look… the same one he had seen on those figures who had delivered those damned carts and trays… the same one he had seen on the faces of those whose lives he had ended… it was now reflected back at him.

He wasn’t scared.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t upset.

What he was…

Was completely, utterly, and entirely in all-consuming despair.

He was lost…

He was empty…

He was tired…

He was hopeless…

He was alone…

And it would not be ok.

#fanfiction #fanfic #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #ao3 fanfic #the handler #Dolores and Number Five #Pre-Series/Season One #Hurt No Comfort #Adult Number Five #Number Five/The Boy-centric

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