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space-pot8o · 3 years

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Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

#good omens #good omens x marvel #fanfiction #feeding the ducks #I added a link to my wattpad on the off chance you’d like to see more of my writing

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fives-coffee · 5 years

Text

Coming Home

Summary: Vanya meets an old man one lonely night and offers him a sandwich. If only she knew how much it meant to him.

Warnings: Mild language and sad times

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I may have made this TUA sideblog just so I could post this, so yeah. I hope you like it!

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Five was rarely given assignments during this time period. The time between when he ran away and the day the world ends.

It was smart, he supposed.

He had never expressed any feelings of compassion or indicated that he missed his family in any way. But he never expressed anything but general contempt and, occasionally, specific hatred towards those at the Commission—the only people he had interacted with in over thirty years—so it wasn’t all that odd.

The Commission knew nothing about him other than his abilities and his long history of being the only man on the planet, but that only meant that they had to be extra cautious. Just because he had never mentioned his family or openly voiced any desire to see them, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t seize an opportunity to interfere with their timelines.

So he was kept away from them as much as possible. It was a rule that went unsaid but understood. And it was a good rule, one Five would enforce himself, were their roles reversed.

But Five was a smart man—a genius, if he wasn’t being humble (which he rarely was). And he had underestimated just how much he would risk to catch a glimpse of his family if ever given the opportunity.

That opportunity came on a mission in 2004. He was supposed to be in Bulgaria, thousands of miles away from his family and theoretically safe from interfering with the timeline.

But as previously noted, Five was a smart man. And, as it turns out, he was also a desperate one.

It was a quick trip—it wouldn’t take long for the Commission to notice his absence and that just wouldn’t do if he wanted to prevent the Apocalypse at some point in the future. So he teleported as much as he could, onto a plane or a bus or a train, just so long as it was headed in the right direction.

Home.

It took him fourteen hours to get there from Bulgaria. But it felt like a lot longer than that. Possibly because it had actually been forty-two years, three months, and seven days since he had laid eyes on the academy.

Since he had seen his family.

He didn’t know what he expected to find, but somehow the fully erect and functioning school that had been his home for thirteen years surprised him.

No decimated building. No rubble, no fire, no buried memories. No corpses belonging to his family.

In fact, he supposed they were all inside at this very moment, sleeping peacefully as night had fallen in the hours it had taken him to find his way here.

He supposed it was for the best, knowing that if he saw Vanya or Ben or the others, he would want to say something. To do something.

He was supposing a lot because he wasn’t sure what else to do other than stare up at the building and think about what he would do if he could. What he could do if only he would be willing to try.

Five had never been weak, but he had been alone. So he knew that was why tears spilled down his wrinkled and weathered cheeks as he took in everything he had lost and was so close to having back.

Weakness wasn’t acceptable, but loneliness was an old friend. Five thought that maybe he had never actually felt this alone before. When he was traveling around after the Apocalypse, he had had Delores and a few fond memories of his family. Then he had no hope of ever seeing them again, and he had made peace with that.

Now he was ten feet away from them and still unable to reach them. To warn them. To protect them. To save them.

The tears fell harder and Five just stood there, watching and wondering if his time with the Commission was worth it. Could he really prevent the Apocalypse? Could he really make a difference? Or was it all just a waste of time? The dreams of an old man who had too little and too much all at the same time?

Perhaps it would be easier if he gave up now. No more killing done for the sake of humanity. No more dreams of a future where he could walk through that door again. No more—

“Who are you?”

The question was soft, drifting quietly to him in the silence of the night, but it still surprised him.

Humiliating, really. When was the last time he had allowed himself to be caught off guard?

As his tired gaze moved down to the stoop in front of him, he felt his heart freeze in his chest before it began pounding in earnest.

Vanya.

She was still young, though two years older than the last time he had seen her. It was unsettling, to say the least. Seeing his sister who had always been growing along with him still so small. Still so young and— Jesus was that hope in her eyes?

“Who are you?” he mimicked, voice managing to come out clear despite his tears and more callous than he meant it to. But what else was he supposed to do?

He wasn’t sure what he had been hoping to do when he came here, but it wasn’t this. Talking to his fifteen-year-old sister who looked more than a little heartbroken as she stared up at him like he was just some strangerand not her favorite brother.

“I…” she hesitated, voice meek and unsure before she seemed to find her courage. She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes with a forced confidence that made his heart clinch painfully. She was so, so young and still so scarred. “My name is Vanya. This is my house.”

“Is it?” Five asked, discreetly wiping his eyes before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Then why are you out here so late, Vanya. It’s late. You should be in bed.”

Her name felt strange in his mouth—not because he wasn’t used to its sound anymore. He said all of his siblings names every night before he slept, an odd ritual that still stuck with him after all of these years. And he often talked about them to Delores when he still had her. It was the strangeness of speaking it to her that had his throat closing and the burning sensation returning to his eyes.

Still, he fought to maintain his cool demeanor even if all he wanted to do was pick up his sister and hold her to him and never leave her again.

He told himself it was necessary, but he wasn’t so sure if that was true or if he just couldn’t fathom a reality where it was possible anymore.

“I’m… waiting for someone,” she answered, eyes lowering to the ground as she shuffled from foot to foot. Always so guilty, always so afraid to take up more space than she was allowed. Five’s brow furrowed.

“Who? Is your family not inside?” He wasn’t sure why he asked—if he was mad that they had possibly left her behind or worried that she was waiting for someone else. Someone who could hurt her. The thought made him sick even though he knew for a fact that she would be dead along with the rest of humanity in fifteen years anyway.

“Well… they are. Just not all of them. One of my brothers is… missing,” she said the word like she knew she meant something else, and Five felt his blood run cold. “He’s been gone for a while now, but sometimes I feel like he’s still around. Just waiting for me to come find him. But… the others think it’s silly.”

Five opened and closed his mouth, watching his sister watching the ground with an ashamed look on her face as he fought to find an appropriate response. One that wasn’t I’m right here Vanya or I love you. I’m so sorry I kept you waiting. What he ended up saying was, “What’s his name?” Maybe because he wanted to confirm that it was him she was talking about and they hadn’t lost another sibling or maybe just because it had been so long since he had heard her—or anyone of importance—say his name.

“Five,” she said, his name catching in her throat in a way that made him think it had been a while since she had said it too. When he didn’t say anything, she sniffled and drew back, raising wide, apologetic eyes to his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, sir. I just—I thought maybe—I’m sorry. I’ll just… go.”

She turned to go, seeming embarrassed and heart broken and defeated, and Five’s frantically grasped at something else to say. Something to make her stay just a little longer. Something to dispel the sad expression on her face and thaw the ice that had settled around his heart, if only just for a second.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asked, just now noticing that she was holding something. She appeared to have forgotten about it as well based on the way she blinked down at it in surprise.

“It’s… it’s nothing. It’s just silly,” she said, turning back around to face him with a bashful expression.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Five reassured her. And for the first time in decadeshe smiled. A genuine, real smile that felt a bit like coming home. Vanya smiled back, and he thought that made it worth the ache in his chest that accompanied it.

“It’s a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich,” she explained, looking down at the plate with a fondness that took Five’s breath away. “It was his favorite,” she elaborated when he said nothing. As if he didn’t know. As if that’s not why he found himself suddenly incapable of speech.

“So… you made it for him? For your brother?”

Vanya nodded hesitantly, still hiding behind her bangs the way she always did. It seemed some things never changed. Or maybe it was just him that did. “I know it’s stupid—everyone tells me so. But I can’t stand the thought that maybe he’ll come back, and he’ll be hungry and alone and…”

“And?” Five urged when she stopped, crouching down so that he could meet her eyes.

“And then he’ll leave again,” she admitted in a whisper, as though if she said it too loudly, she would make it a reality.

Five cleared his suddenly dry throat, offering her a less genuine smile as he fought to suppress his tears. He had dreamed of meeting his family again, but he had never imagined it going like this. For it to be so painful and for him to feel so useless.

“I’m sure that your brother would love that,” he said, and he was because he did. “And I know that when he comes back to you, he will do everything he can to stay with you.”

“Do you really think so?” Vanya asked, hope and pain clear in her timid voice.

“Yes.” Five spoke firmly, reassuringly, hoping it was enough to convey what he couldn’t say. “I think that one day, your brother will find you and he will never let go.”

“Then why hasn’t he already?”

The question caught him off guard, though he supposed it shouldn’t have. Vanya was fifteen and upset and talking to a complete stranger about the brother that deserted them. It was natural that she would wonder why he hadn’t come back already.

It still stung though.

His immediate thought was to say that he couldn’t yet, that he wasn’t able to, but he knew that was a lie. He could now—he had the briefcase and the knowledge of how to use it. Hell, he was actually there right now. But not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that would last beyond the next fifteen years.

What good was coming back just to watch his family die in the Apocalypse?

All good excuses, he told himself. He just wasn’t sure how to explain that to a fifteen-year-old who was his sister and who was mourning him when he was unable to simply tell herthat.

“Sometimes… Sometimes we have to do unpleasant things before we can do what we really want. Maybe he has something important to do before he can come home.” He spoke earnestly, in a way that he never had even before he left this place. He just needed her to believe him, for her sake or his, he wasn’t sure.

Luckily, she seemed to understand.

She nodded, hesitant at first but then surer, punctuated with a small, relieved smile on her face. “Thank you. I… I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” Five assured her, smiling at her one last time before rising from his crouch. “Goodnight, Vanya. I hope you see your brother again soon.”

He was half way down the block, footsteps fast and sure as he rushed to put as much space between himself and his home before he did something stupid, when he heard her voice again.

“Wait! Please, wait!”

Briefly, he considered picking up his pace or just teleporting away, if only that wouldn’t give him away. But ultimately, it was the desperation in her voice that broke him.

He stopped walking and waited for her to catch up.

“You never told me your name,” she said, voice still quiet and unsure despite the edge of accusation she tried to display.

“I didn’t,” he agreed easily, hands still carefully stuffed in his pockets as he looked down at where his sister was standing in front of him.

She blinked up at him, seeming to accept that he wouldn’t be answering her without surprise. He thought that was to be the end of their conversation, so he offered her one last nod before moving to step around her—only to be met with a plate being thrust at his chest.

He blinked down at the plate and the sandwich that it held, surprised and uncomprehending. “What are you…?”

“Take it,” she said, voice firmer than it had been all night. Probably firmer than it had been in years. “If my brother isn’t going to eat it, well… you might as well.”

“I…” Five started, a refusal on his lips before he could think better of it. Before he could give in to the desire for this little slice of normalcy and nostalgia that was literally being offered to him on a silver platter.

How long had it been since someone had made food for him? How long had it been since he had eaten his favorite sandwich? How long had it been since he had seen Vanya—sweet, innocent, ordinary, Vanya—smile at him like they were sharing a secret?

Too long, he knew. So he reasoned that this small act of weakness could be excused.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to take the plate from her small hand. “This is actually my favorite.”

Vanya’s smile only grew at his confession, and she seemed immensely satisfied with herself. “Good. Consider it a thank you, for listening to me. For giving me hope.”

Guilt weighed on Five’s shoulders as he thought back on the book he still had tucked away with his things. A book that hadn’t been written yet but would bring to light years of slights and cold-shoulders and loneliness that he had never noticed before.

He saw it now, on her pale, hopeful face. How much this one kind conversation impacted her. Like his mere presence and willingness to listen was the best thing to happen to her in a long time.

It made him sick.

He took a large bite of the sandwich anyway, both to see her smile again and fill the sudden void in his stomach. “No need to thank me, Vanya. It was my pleasure.”

He handed her back the plate without another word, sandwich still in hand as he turned his back on her and left. It was easier this way—he couldn’t bear sticking around long enough to actually say goodbye.

Besides, he thought with a smile, I’ll see her again soon.

And he would. No more dragging his feet or fucking around for the Commission. He was going to find a way back to his family, one that would be permanent. He would find a way to stop the Apocalypse before it even began.

He would save them all, and one day he would be able to tell Vanya that he was right, as he always was.

There would be no time for sweet reunions or tearful confessions, of course. He was a soldier now, and he wouldn’t rest until the world—and his family—were saved. But he would savor this, at least. A peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich and a few words shared with his favorite sibling. A smile and a promise. Hope.

It would have to be enough. For now.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #tua #tua fanfic #sibling bonding #I just really wish they had a better childhood alright #they all deserved better #but especially Vanya and Five

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