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It was one of those long nights - the never-ending nights that felt as though one aged years in the span of hours.
Diego was bruised somewhere. He was covered in blood - he didn't know who's exactly. He was pretty sure it wasn't his.
Pretty sure.
He was hurting, though. Not a stabbing pain, it was more dull - pulsing just beneath the skin, around the temples - the kind that serves nothing more than to inconvenience. To distract.
It had been a long night.
Two bank robberies, a dozen or so break-ins, one attempted mugging, and a ton of thrown knives.
He staggered back into the shared apartment at some point late in the night - or was it early morning now? The place itself was...not great. Passable, if only just. But it was the best Allison could do under the circumstances. They came back to 2019 as beings out of time - no money, no identities. Nothing to tie them to the lives they once lived. It has been a week now since they averted the apocalypse - the second time - and with a couple of well-placed rumors, Allison was able to nab a decent sized apartment with a couple of bedrooms to rest their heads as they tried to figure out their next move.
Or at least, most of them were trying. Diego left most of the planning to the girls, with Five scribbling away feverishly in his notebook before passing out from exhaustion or Klaus shoving some granola bars in his face in an attempt to get the stubborn old man to eat once in a while.
It was...going.
Maybe not going entirely well, but at least it was better than the alternative.
That didn't stop Diego from going back out on the streets at night. Allison was calling it regression. Diego called it stress relief. If Five could spend days at a time writing on walls and consuming nothing but caffeine and marshmallows, then he should be able to go out and beat up some thieving assholes while those much smarter than him figured out a way to fix the timeline.
He took another step through the door, fumbling around for the light switch. One quick look into the kitchen told him that it was much later than he initially anticipated - almost 5 a.m.
So much for getting any sleep.
Allison would be up soon, she always was up before dawn for some god forsaken reason. She was taking their situation hard - losing her daughter once again couldn't have been easy on her. But...still. Who needed to be up before the sun was?
"It's not a contest," he had told her one morning after being jolted awake by the sound of the coffee maker. She rolled her eyes, gave a half-baked apology, then proceeded to buy a new coffee maker the next day to compensate.
It was even louder than the last one.
Diego decided that maybe some arguments just weren't worth the trouble. This place was cramped with six people, and it would remain that way until Five or the commission or somebody - something - got them home.
He ambled slowly to the kitchen, trying to catalog every part of his body that hurt. The worst would be dealt with tonight, anything else would most likely be ignored. One of those teenage shitheads landed a firm kick to his femur that was currently throbbing, making the act of walking more difficult than it had to be. Diego didn't feel at all bad when he embedded a knife in that bastard's shoulder as payback. He tried not to kill people on the bequest of Vanya - especially not kids - but playing nice was giving him more grief than he felt was deserved given the situation.
Especially now as he limped to the fridge for some semblance of food to try and quell his protesting stomach. Diego grabbed some leftover grilled chicken that certainly did not belong to him before popping a couple of painkillers in his mouth. He knew the effects wouldn't be immediate, but that didn't stop his onset aggravation at the ever-prevalent pain radiating from his lower extremities.
Screw this.
He just wanted to go to bed. He'd eat in the morning. Turning back towards the hallway, he then noticed...light?
It was coming from the den, or at least what should have been the den, but instead was annexed by Five as an office of sorts for him to do...things.
Diego had only been in it once, finding stacks upon stacks of used notebooks and a beaten up assortment of pens strewn across the floor. The walls were covered in markings that vaguely resembled arithmetic. It was...messy, but then again, Five was never concerned with cleanliness. Almost as though it was beneath him.
He should ignore it. He should just go to bed like planned, wait for the pain meds to kick in and go about his day.
But...he couldn't.
Sure, Five being up at this hour wasn't too unusual - especially of late - but...the kid worried him. Diego would never admit it to any living soul, but Allison and Luther's concerns over Five weren't unfounded. It was made even worse by the fact that Five seemed to be actively avoiding him.
Which was...fine. Whatever. They had never been particularly close as kids, even less so as adults. But still. Diego racked his brain trying to think of something that he may have done or said, but came up short. Vanya assured him it was just stress, but Five didn't seem to have a problem with being around any of his other siblings.
He was one aggravating little shit.
So, of course, he entered.
And...it was still a mess, perhaps even worse than the last time Diego had visited. Five was there as well, hunched over in the corner. There was a couple of crumbled up papers beside him, with a half empty bottle lying between his fingers.
The entire room reeked of alcohol.
Great.
And he'd just managed wean Klaus off of the shit. Now there was another alcoholic sibling Diego would have to deal with, made even worse by the fact that this one was fucking thirteen. At the rate Five was going, his liver would be shot by the time he hit his twenties.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Five growled unceremoniously from the corner.
Oh, so that's how it was going to be.
Fine.
"What's with the alcohol?" Diego responded cautiously, taking another step inside the room.
"That's none of your concern."
He could hear the weariness in his voice. He could see the exhaustion in his face. Five looked decidedly unwell. Pale, sweaty, bags under his eyes that seemed to get darker by the minute.
Five tried standing, pressing down against the floor in an effort to stabilize himself. It didn't work. He collapsed in a heap, making little effort afterwards to right himself up again.
He's plastered.
Diego thought it funny the first time, stumbling across him passed out in the public library. Just the sight of a child - his little brother - going to town on a bottle of vodka like it was the last drink he would ever have.
But Five wasn't really little, was he?
He was old and worn and so clearly tired. His hands were covered in spilled ink and the papers were everywhere, covering every square inch of the place. Whatever he was trying to calculate clearly didn't result in something satisfactory.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? Most normal people can take the loss and move on. Live to see another day. But Five...Five wasn't normal. Never had been. Five tended to fixate on things, convince himself with just enough work that the solution was bound to appear.
It...scared him, looking at his brother now.
Diego grabbed Five's shoulders, trying to get him upright. His smaller brother squirmed in his grasp, batting feebly against the larger man's chest.
"Get your fucking paws off of me," he hissed.
"Teleport then, if you hate it so much," Diego challenged.
Five growled, blue sparks fizzling around his fists. And...nothing.
"Looks like your powers don't mesh well with alcohol."
Diego let of Five, who sank to the floor in defeat.
"Get out," he mumbled, head in his hands.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Then what's with the alcohol? That shit is terrible for you, moron."
"I am an adult. I'm allowed to drink."
"Oh, for..." Diego paused, running his hands through his hair. "Your mind may be, but your body isn't!"
Another growl. Five grabbed for his bottle on the floor before taking a swig.
"Get out. I have work to do."
"Not now you don't. Why don't you..."
"You're not my goddamn parent, Diego," Five cut in angrily. "I'm almost there...I'm...I just need a couple of more hours..."
Fuck this.
Time to stop playing nice. Diego bent down, yanking the bottle from Five's grasp.
"What the hell..."
"You can pollute your body on your own time," Diego interrupted, crossing his arms.
If looks could kill...
Five looked ready to kill, certainly. He looked...like a lot of things. Angry, tired, irritated, drunk off his ass.
Miserable.
Five made no comment, wrapping his arms around his stomach. The silence stretched to almost a minute, neither party willing to move.
Diego wanted to ask. He had to ask.
Why are you avoiding me? Why are you mad at me? What did I do?
He found the words stuck in his mouth.
It was Five that finally spoke first.
"You're bleeding."
Am I?
Diego looked down, running his fingers over his shirt.
Well, there was blood. A fair amount, actually. But that wasn't where the pain was.
"It's not mine," he responded flatly.
"Then whose?"
Diego shrugged. "Assholes."
"What kind of assholes..."
"It's not the commission, if that's what you're worried about. Just...assholes."
Another pause. Five was breathing heavily, knees against his chest.
"Are you…okay?"
"Did they have guns?" Five asked, ignoring his inquiry.
Diego frowned, eyebrows furrowing.
"Um...I think one of them did, but..."
"Then," Five hissed, struggling again to his feet. "Why did you engage with them?"
Diego found himself taking a step backwards. He had seen Five angry before, it was almost his default personality trait. But this...this was something else. This was pain.
"They were thieves, Five," Diego responded futilely.
"That's why the police force exists, you imbecile!"
Five's breaths came out in gasps. His smaller brother grabbed the top of the desk chair to steady himself on the ground.
"What if they shot you?" he continued angrily.
"...what?"
"What if..." Five took another step forward, trailing his bony finger across Diego's blood-stained shirt.
He paused, expression dropping. His voice lowered.
"What if they shot you?" he asked again quietly, mostly to himself.
No, there had to be something wrong with him. Five was never this outward, especially with him. This was the same kid who took satisfaction in Diego being shanked by their father.
But...his face. Diego couldn't look away - the pain was baked into every feature.
The suffering.
"They didn't, Five," he responded, eyes locking with his brother.
Another pause. Something passed through Five's eyes that Diego couldn't quite grasp. The moment, however, ended as quickly as it started. Five slowly shook his head, backing away.
"You could have died," he snarled. "You could be bleeding out on the ground right now and nobody would know..."
"Five..."
"...until it was too late..."
"...Five, seriously..."
"...again..."
What?
"Again? What do you mean again?" Diego questioned.
Five's eyes widened. He backed against the wall like a trapped animal.
"Nothing," he mumbled. "Misspoke."
"What the fuck, Five?"
The boy sunk to the floor, dry heaving into the waste bin.
Christ...
A soft moan emanated from Five's mouth as he steadied himself against the wall.
"What do mean…again?" Diego repeated, softer this time in the hopes that Five would give him something resembling a coherent answer.
"The barn," he finally mumbled through half lidded eyes. "Handler came...shot all of you."
Diego frowned, joining Five on the floor. "I don't remember any of us getting shot."
Five rolled his eyes, or at least attempted to. "I stopped her. Turned back time."
Diego wanted to say that was ridiculous, but something wasn't quite adding up in his memories.
Wait...
"When you blinked to disarm the Handler...how did you know she was going to be there?"
"I told you," Five slurred. "Time travel."
Shit.
"Did...you really see us die?"
Again?
Five gave a grunt of acknowledgement, trying to reposition himself in an upright position against the wall.
Diego took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. It was too early for this. For any of this. His leg was throbbing. His head hurt. But he supposed that didn't matter right now.
Because Five was doing worse.
"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" he asked gently.
Five turned to face him, face expressionless. He rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion permeated every feature.
"Do you remember what you said? In the barn?"
"I say a lot of shit, Five."
"...about dangerous people loving you?"
Oh. That.
"Well..." he let out a soft chuckle. "I meant it."
Five averted his gaze once more, focusing on his shoes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A sniffle.
"...do you really think I don't love you?" he finally asked. A sorrowful, strangled tone that grabbed at Diego's heart and squeezed.
"I know what it's like to love dangerous people. Difference is...they love me back."
He looked at Allison. He looked at Luther and Vanya and Klaus.
He didn't look at Five.
Because truthfully? He really didn't know if Five loved him. How could he? Again, they were never really close as kids, Five choosing to spend his time with Ben and Vanya. Though Luther would tell you otherwise, everyone knew that Five was father's favorite, resentment festering within a young Diego. Then...he ran away. He got out. Escaped. Just to come back seventeen years later with the same insufferable attitude.
No. Diego didn't look at him in the barn.
But...he was looking now. He had never known Five to take such things personally, but then again, he didn't really know Five at all. What he saw now was a tired old man who had lost himself in alcohol to escape from life's woes. Sorrow gripped at his heart even tighter.
Five was an obnoxious, arrogant little shit. He hurt people without meaning to and killed that many more.
And he was his brother - nothing would change that.
Of course I love him.
And Five? His stubborn smartass of a sibling walked through hell and back to save his family. Maybe Diego didn't realize it then, but he sure as hell realized it now.
"I...know you love me, Five," he said softly. "And I'm sorry for not recognizing that earlier."
He paused.
"And I love you too, in case that wasn't...you know...clear or anything. This type of shit isn't really in my wheelhouse but..."
God, he was rambling.
"What I'm trying to say is that we're a family and just because we fuck each other over sometimes and do stupid shit and say hurtful things, it...it doesn't mean I don't understand how you feel or how you want us to think you feel because I know you care. I know that you're an asshole because it's easier - I get it - but that doesn't mean you don't give a shit about us."
Where was he going with this again? Maybe if he kept talking then he would start making sense. Like…the law of large numbers or something.
"Point is, we see you Five. We know you're here, we know what you're doing is for us and...we love you, okay?"
He hesitated.
"And I didn't just say that as an obligation," Diego concluded weakly.
Okay, now he was done.
Of course, if he was expecting Five to say something back, he didn't get that.
He got nothing but silence.
Shit. Too much?
Maybe he should have waited to do the heart to heart when Five wasn't drunk. Then again, sober Five was mean.
Diego sat rigidly, afraid of what he might see if he looked down. Why hadn't Five answered him? It was anger, it had to be. He was angry and drunk and not having any of Diego's apologies.
More silence. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.
"Five?" he asked again, eying the door in case he needed to make a quick getaway.
Still, nothing.
Time to bite the bullet then.
Diego glanced down and...oh.
He was asleep.
Passed out, might be the more appropriate term. Diego's shoulder was so numb from the cold that he didn't even realize Five's head had been slumped against him for the past ten minutes.
Son of a bitch. I pour my heart out and you're not even awake to hear it?
He sighed, weighing his options. He wasn't going to leave him down here, unconscious on the hard flooring. And he certainly wasn't going to wake him up either, for fear of his own safety. Not that Five could do much to him in this state as it was, but sober Five was a completely different ballgame.
He was screwed either way, but at least he’d be dutiful in his brotherhood and get his littlest sibling to bed. With one arm against Five's back and another wrapped under his knees, he hauled him against his chest and made his way to his feet.
Fuck, his leg was still throbbing. What was the point of taking pain meds if it didn't do shit to help with the actual pain? Clenching his teeth, Diego made his way down the hallway with sibling in tow - Five's head lolling across his shoulders - completely dead to the world. Maybe an alcohol induced coma wasn't ideal when one wanted to get some shuteye, but with Five's track record, Diego would take what he could get.
There were things that needed discussing tomorrow - truths and emotions buried deep that might one day resurface - air that needed clearing.
I do love him, Diego thought, gently positioning Five on his bed.
Even if he is an emotionally stunted idiot.
He draped a small blanket over Five's bony shoulders before making his way towards a small armchair against the back wall. His brother made no movement, no indication of consciousness. He was really out.
And that was fine - at least for now. Of course, he would have to watch him for at least the next hour or two to make sure his idiot brother didn't choke on his own vomit or some other infirmity that comes with drinking too much alcohol.
It's not like he was going to sleep anyways, with Five's words running on repeat through his mind.
"Do you really think I don't love you?"
He should have looked at him. That day, in the barn. He should have known. But what was it they said? Hindsight is 20/20?
"Do you really think I don't love you?"
He would give Five his spiel gain tomorrow, as much as it may kill him. But it's what Five needed to hear. It's what Diego needed to hear.
It may not be much, but it was a start.
Time passed in a haze, his eyes drifting shut as pink and yellow streaks began to form in the sky. As he finally drifted off to sleep – a proper sleep – he swore, somewhere in the back of his conscious mind, that he could hear movement in the room. Small footsteps across the floorboard. The feel of something – a jacket? - covering his shoulders. Words being uttered, saying - "I love you too."
And Diego smiles.