Five was really starting to feel all of the years this body had yet to experience. To be honest, he was surprised he hadn’t aged them in the two weeks he’d been running —literally and figuratively— nonstop. It wasn’t a suicide wish like some of his siblings seemed to assume, if their judgemental gazes were anything to go by.
To be honest, Five just didn’t really expect to make it this far.
They were back, in the academy. They were home, as messed up and dysfunctional as it had been.
“Home sweet fucking home!” Klaus declared from somewhere behind him, spinning in a circle with his arms flung wide.
Diego smacked him while Allison collapsed in a nearby chair. Luther tried the same thing, nearly breaking the damn thing, but after an ominous squeal, it supported his weight.
Vanya took a settling breath, looking around, before settling beside them. She hadn’t exactly left on the best of terms.
Five physically restrained himself for running over to check for injuries, but he settled for a mental catalogue. Everyone seemed fine, aside from Klaus, who was holding his cheek and glaring balefully at Diego.
Fine. Fine.
The realization should’ve been reassuring but Five found himself wrestling with it, examining it from every angle in his head, like a Rubix Cube he could solve.
Five could do emergency. He could fight and claw and generally fuck up anyone who tried to mess with his family.
But fine? What was he supposed to do with that. He couldn’t solve a problem that didn’t exist.
When evil Ben showed up, Five almost sighed in relief.
While the rest of his siblings scrambled back to their feet, Five settled into a familiar fighting stance.
He was the only one who hadn’t sat down.
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You ever think about how five doesn’t think his siblings care much for him. Like they’ll say “we love you” and “we’ll be here” but five doesn’t believe them for a number of reasons but the main one was that—if they did care, if they did, they would have helped him. They would have listened. No one bothered until it was too late. They found him annoying, delusional, etc, and after seventeen years of being gone, no one hugs him, no one cries, no one does anything. They say they care, but Five isn’t too sure they do, so he thinks it’s fine to hurt himself, to not care about his well being, because it’s not like they cared that he was gone for years.
What he doesn’t know is that they came to his room every day for seventeen years. That Diego snuck in through the fire escape and made sure to leave whatever trinkets he found. That Allison fixed up his wardrobe, that Luther would sleep in his room and pretend he was talking to him. That Klaus would sit on his rug and try to summon him, sober and crying because there’s so much fucking ghosts but he has to see Five. That Ben gives over his old books, that Grace often said good night, dear to an empty room that never responded back.
Anyways, how are ya’ll.
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"Why Don't You Hate Me?"
Summary: Five and Klaus have a short conversation sometime toward the end of season 3
Klaus wandered over to where he saw Five sitting on the edge of what remained of the world, bottle in hand.
"Heyyy! Mi hermano! Numero Cinco! How are you doing on this fine apocalyptic day?" Klaus said as he moved to sit beside Five.
"Don't save the world", that's what he said to me, "don't save the world"," Five muttered more to himself than to Klaus, who decided to change tactics.
"So what's todays poison of choice" he asked, gesturing to the bottle Five had by his side.
"Just something I nicked from the kitchen while I was in there," Five picked up the bottle and handed it to Klaus, who took a sip. It was shit.
"God,"
"Yep,"
A silence befell the two of them, gazing at the void that surrounded them, the void that would soon consume them if they did nothing. Klaus opened his mouth to speak but Five spoke first,
"Why don't you hate me?" The question threw Klaus off-guard, who turned toward Five. Five was staring at him intently, his face lined with desperation, his hands gripping the edge of the ground as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling.
"Hate you? Why would I hate you?"
"Everyone's lost something and I'm always the center of blame,"
As Klaus stayed silent Five continued, "Allison blames me for Ray and Claire, Viktor blames me for Sissy, Ben hates everyone, Luther is still upset about the years I put him through in the 60's, as is Diego. So, why don't you hate me? You went through the same shit as everyone else, you lost someone in Vietnam, you lost Ben for a second time. How can you not hate me?"
"None of that is your fault! You saved our life, Five! I mean, yeah, you left us in the 1960s which wasn't great but hey! I got to see the world, met a lot of people-"
"-Who you don't remember"
"Who I don't remember, yeah, but still! You couldn't have know about any of that. And I think Ben's warming up to me, I can put in a good word," Klaus nudged Five as he spoke about putting in a good word for him, hoping for some kind of smile, anything that suggested Five truly believed him. Instead, Five stared ahead into the void.
"Thank you, Klaus"
"No problemo, mi hermano, anything for a brother,"
"You really need to stop speaking spanish, you're shit at it," Five took a swig of his bottle, but a tinge of a smile played at his lips.
"But, really, it's not over Five,"
"How do you mean?"
"Dad! He's got a plan!"
"Alright, this is my cue to leave, nice speaking with you, Klaus," Five stood up and began walking back to the hotel.
"Five! Fiiive!" Klaus called after him, but he was already gone. He sighed dramatically, muttered something about having just sat down, and got up to follow Five back into the hotel.
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~Stay~ ☂️
{After the final apocalypse is averted, Five and Viktor bond about feeling like outsiders in their family}
===================
The apocalypse is over.
The apocalypse is over, and the city, sans a few blocks, is still standing. The world is still here. So are his siblings. So is Five.
He doesn’t know what to do with this, so he settles for making coffee.
You don’t need it anymore. There’s nothing to stay awake for. Rest. A voice in the back of his head says. It sounds suspiciously like Viktor… or Dolores.
Five reminds himself that she’s gone and he doesn’t have to listen to her anymore. Not everything survived the saving of the world
She is right though, Five no longer needs to be alert, or functional. Five puts away his mug and reaches for something stronger.
Half a bottle of whiskey later, voice of reason sufficiently silenced, Five is feeling lethargically pensive.
The drink is enough to dull, but not distract. Alone on the stairs, Five returns to his previous train of thought, the closed track looping over and over but reaching no destination. Where does he go from here?
Currently, he is in the mansion, restored to its stuffy glory.
Below him, his siblings chatter, probably celebrating not dying. They’d searched for him briefly, but quickly moved on without him.
Some things never change.
Five understands, really. He’s from a different time, figuratively and literally. Too young to be taken seriously, too old to relate to his sibling’s follies and fantasies (or maybe he’s always been like that, it’s hard to remember now).
Five was gone for years, and only back for a few weeks, most of which were spent not dying, or trying to keep his siblings from doing so. Those few weeks didn’t outweigh his years away, he gets that.
Five looks over the staircase railing, catching a glimpse of a bottle being thrust triumphantly into the air. Alcohol flows freely, and Five realizes he’s forgotten how to drink it for pleasure instead of pain.
He understands the distance, he does. Welcomes it even.
He watches his siblings as if they’re a different species, with morbid fascination and something like scientific interest. How can they experience not one, but four apocalypses and remain this carefree?
Perhaps he is the exotic animal. A cornered creature that doesn’t know anything but how to fight.
Five knows the real reason he distances himself—not to watch from afar, but to avoid being looked at up close.
He isn’t part of this family, this species. He’s an alley cat they’ve taken in, but Five is incapable of being a house cat. Even if he wishes he could be.
He’s afraid, knows that once they see him up close, they’ll realize what monster they’ve let in.
He should leave before that happens, his work is done, but again he doesn’t know where to go. Still, Five stands. Now is his chance while everyone is distracted downstairs.
Before he can go very far, however, a soft touch stops him.
“Five?”
Viktor stands on the staircase. The whiskey really has made him slow. Apparently Five’s assessment was false. One person is still looking for him.
Viktor’s knowing gaze pins him now. Five fights not to escape its suffocating warmth, like a nostalgic, itchy sweater.
“Five?” Viktor asks again. “Have you been here this whole time?”
Five shrugs noncommittally, the movement loose and uncoordinated, an effect of the bottle in his hand.
Viktor notices, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna talk about it?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Five answers, rote. And that’s usually enough to shut any of his siblings up.
How will you get us home, Five?
Where did the blood come from, Five?
Instead, Viktor sits.
Five blames his surprise for what he says next. He could never resist opening up to Seven.
“I don’t belong here, you know.”
The confession comes out a bit rawer than expected. Five grits his teeth.
Viktor’s brow creases, but quickly smooths.
Five’s upset him like he knew he would, like he always does.
But Viktor surprises him again.
“You’re wrong,” Viktor says. The statement has an edge of steel that he rarely shows.
“I do understand, Five. God, I understand more than you know,” he continues. “I was always the outsider in this family. And a stranger in my own skin. Don’t you think I felt left out when you all went away and left me behind?” Viktor takes a breath.
“I’m sorry-“ Five starts.
“Don’t-“ Viktor heaves another breath, “Don’t do that, Five. That’s what I’m trying to say. Don’t be sorry, don’t push us away.”
Five is silent.
“This isn’t about me,” Viktor continues, softer. “But I want you to know that I do understand what it’s like. To feel out of place.”
“…I’m trying to work past all that. And I damn well think I’m succeeding. You can too, Five.”
Five clenches his hand around the neck of the bottle. “How?” he asks, a silent surrender.
Viktor smiles a bit. “It’s not the same for everyone. I’m still figuring it out.” He runs a hand along the carpet of the staircase, inching it towards Five, an olive branch. He continues. “But you stopped four apocalypses, four, in like five weeks? If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”
Five plays with the bottle, wanting to walk away, wanting Viktor to walk away.
Wanting to stay and listen.
“I’m not asking you to figure it out today, Five,” says Viktor. “No one’s asking you to be alright all the time.” He slowly eases the bottle from Five’s hand and takes it in his own. The fight fades from Five’s body with its loss. He won’t run today.
“Stay, Five. That’s all I ask,” Viktor says.
And Five does.
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