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“Now, I forbid you to talk about this any more!”
Five has swallowed down a lot of the things he wanted to say over the years. The childish rage that burns inside him at the dismissal isn’t new.
Neither are the marks his nails leave when he clenches his fists. The restricting tie around his throat squeezes his airways with every deeper-than-usual breath he takes. It’s almost impossible to make room for his emotions whenever he’s wearing the uniform their father gave them.
Five is no stranger to burying the anger within him, and yet - maybe just this once he doesn’t have to bow down to their father’s iron fist rule.
Maybe just this once he can pretend the storm inside him matters; pretend his steps that are leading him down the stairs and out of the academy’s doors will be enough to get away from the helplessness that has him yanking at his tie.
He won’t manage to run far enough before the invisible string connecting him to his siblings will stop him in his tracks. He’s not leaving them behind, he knows. He couldn’t. They're all he has, and yet – maybe just this once he could run far enough for the leash to snap off his neck.
Maybe just this once he could give into the urge to never stop running. Let the power he can feel coursing through his veins and crushing his bones overtake.
His hands ache with a ferocity that fuels the indescribable rage that blocks out every sound around him, and he can feel the blood sliding down his wrists from where his nails cut into the skin of his palm.
Five breathes in, and the cold air stabs through his lungs like a knife. His jumps are always cold, like he’s passing through a realm he has no business knowing about. The ice severs something important in his chest, cuts through heart strings and leaves him hurting.
His vision swims. Reality splits. Rips at its edges, and Five sees the world vanish before his eyes.
The very fabric of space and time opens up, like it did so many times before, but now – now instead of jumping through, Five wills dimensions to move around him; lets time swirl and rush past and claws at space until it multiplies.
This time, Five creates. Timelines, Alternatives, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years; that haven’t been yet - and finally slows to a stop when he's burned through the anger inside his chest.
The warmth rushes back inside his bones and the nausea sets in like it always does. His head feels like it’s splitting in half and the hollow emptiness in his ribcage fills with something that should have never left.
Five swallows down the burn of his tears, like he swallows his tongue when he speaks with his father, and looks up from the ground.
The academy’s entry doors are as imposing as always. The exhaustion leaves no room for anything besides resignation and mild annoyance at having been brought back to where he started just minutes ago.
Shame burns hot on his face, as he pushes the doors open. Can he face his father at the breakfast table after failing to cut himself loose? Can he face his siblings knowing he’s tried?
He doesn’t want to see the expressions on his brothers’ and sisters’ faces.
Do they know he was prepared to run and leave them behind? Is there an apology good enough for them to forgive him for even entertaining the thought of abandoning them?
Five walks into their home terrified, only to find the breakfast table missing.
His siblings aren’t there. Neither is his father, or Grace.
What is there, however, is a painting of himself above the mantle. The panic creeps up on him like the owner of the voice that rings out from behind him. “Can we help you, kiddo?”
Five spins around and tries in vain to regulate his breathing. There are six teenagers in front of him, years older than he is, staring at his face like they’ve seen a ghost.
The room spins, his headache overtakes his field of vision with small black spots, and the last thing he hears before the darkness takes him, is a disbelieving, whispered, “Five?”.
———————
There are fingers gently moving through his hair. Five stays as still as he possibly could, while trying to find his bearings. Everything seems hazy, like the whole world is wrapped in cotton. The fingers slow for a moment, and without arousing suspicion from the person that is petting him, he nudges his head closer to their hand.
A soft chuckle has Five freezing, and the soft haze around him disappears entirely. He snaps his eyes open, and schools his features into a blank facade that gives nothing away.
The boy sitting at his bedside and staring down at him, is decidedly less talented in keeping his emotions in check. Or perhaps – his lessons on decorum weren’t beaten into his skin like Five’s were and therefore didn’t stick as well.
Five can read the boy like an open book, his wide, red-rimmed eyes doing nothing to hide the obvious concern that is bestowed upon him – bedbound as he appears to be.
If Five didn’t know better, he would have thought Klaus had somehow suddenly aged a few years, as a side effect of whatever it is he keeps smoking these days.
But if there’s anything that Five prides himself in, it’s high-level observations and a sharp mind to make sense of what he comes across.
So, instead of mindless stuttering, he raises his brow to hauntingly ask, “what’s the exact date, Klaus?”
His brother makes a small gasping noise, before the bed suddenly gets way too small, as Klaus tries to fuse their chests together in an awkward, leaning hug.
“Five,” his name gets breathed into his hair, then smacked against his cheek with a wet kiss. It’s a type of affection Five wouldn’t normally allow, but it’s Klaus. And with Klaus – no matter how old – it’s always better to just wait it out.
“It’s been three years, Five!” His brother has passed ‘on the verge of tears’ and is now fully and grossly sobbing into his shoulder.
Five’s mind reels to a stop. The level of upset Klaus exhibits is disproportionate to the fact that there must be an older version of himself living with his siblings. The way he behaves, it's almost as if there isn’t another Five.
Just him, apparently three years younger than the rest.
Emotions are a fickle thing. Five prefers to live rather celibate of them, because when he does feel them, they’re all consuming and uncontrollable.
Three years.
Had his siblings lived so long with the assumed knowledge that Five had left them? Seemingly to never come back?
Shame burns hot on his face, and the following guilt makes his stomach queasy.
Why hadn’t he come back? It is after all just a matter of concentrating enough and clenching his fists –
They flicker blue, and the cold that immediately sets in freezes Five’s blood in his veins. He can feel the icy winds whipping race-horse-fast through his hair, feels the tugging at his joints and the way his skin stretches over his bones.
Air already wobbling around his hands, his powers only need a millisecond to build up inside him. In the vast timelessness of his jumps, it feels like hours. Enough time for his siblings’ faces to haunt his subconsciousness.
It’s a familiar feeling, the space between time. A space that shouldn’t exist - and wouldn’t exist, if it weren’t for Five, forcing the universe to crumble under his will. It’s a power rush, the endless possibilities, when the only thing holding him back is that peculiar something in his chest; connecting his heart to a few numbers that go by different names now.
He’d never sever these ties – except he had, hadn’t he? He had felt the emptiness, the loneliness right after. And suddenly, Five’s scared, and everything is too much.
He had been so lucky this time: the warmth coming back to him, his siblings still being there. But he didn’t have any control over where ‘there’ was. His father had been right. He isn’t ready for time jumps.
Five raises his hands and clutches the fabric of Klaus’ shirt with all of his remaining strength. The cold still resides within him. He burrows closer, and when Klaus murmurs something about how he doesn't have to worry, how his powers will come back to him, he stays silent.
He doesn’t think he has the words to explain the irrational fear that makes him doubt everything he’s been taught about his powers and the control he should have over them. Explaining that losing his siblings would mean losing something that lives inside of him, seems like an impossible task.
Klaus’ shoulder beneath his face has a suspiciously wet spot, but Five doesn’t have the time to contemplate how it got there, or why his eyes are itchy. There’s a soft knock on the door, and Klaus rightens himself as the rest of his siblings walk in.
——————————
Ben can’t stop staring at his two brothers on the bed. Five looks so very small. Diego makes a sound between a gasp and a cough when he sees the tears on the young boy’s face that don't have any time to dry before being replaced by new ones.
He stumbles a bit, knocking Ben to the side on his way to the bed. He would love to be annoyed by that, but Five sees Diego approaching and reaches one hand out, not letting go of Klaus with the other one.
Ben's heart squeezes in his chest, as if the tentacles in his stomach had somehow managed to strangle his insides.
Diego falls onto the bed with little grace, reaches for their little brother’s tearstained face, and presses it into the space between his shoulder and neck. The sound the action pulls out of Five echoes off the walls of a room that hasn’t been used in three years.
Ben doesn’t know what happened to Five to reduce his most stubborn and headstrong brother to such a crying mess, and he’s not really sure he wants to know.
When the sobbing has calmed down to soft sniffles, neither Diego, Klaus or Five have let go of each other, and Vanya, Luther, Allison, and Ben himself have settled down on the floor surrounding the bed.
Allison's “What happened to him?” is timid, a tone Ben hadn’t even been aware she could produce.
Five doesn’t answer her, but it’s not like she addressed him with her question. He just lifts his head out of his hiding space and stares pale faced. His eyes flit over to Diego, then Klaus, before they turn downwards in a strange display of what Ben would oddly enough describe as shame.
Until a few seconds ago, Ben had been sure Five was incapable of feeling even remote embarrassment. At least when it came to himself. But then again, up until a few hours ago, Ben had lived in a world where he was almost certain his brother was dead.
In the face of the joyful discovery that he isn't, Ben supposes he can take a few more surprises. Like Klaus speaking up softly, as to not disturb the boy still halfway in his lap.
“He tried using his powers earlier,” his lips pull tight in a sad grimace. “I don’t think he can use them right now.”
Ben’s eyes snap back to Five, and he knows everyone is staring at their little brother now. Suddenly the eyes averted in shame make a lot more sense. His powers are everything to Five. To think something happened that restricts his access to them, or took them away entirely – the shame is such a Five-reaction, Ben thinks. Always shouldering the blame for something.
“Five-” Diego’s voice is rough. He clears it with a soft blush and tries again. “Five, it’s alright. We’ll manage.” He sounds like such a softie, Ben grins to himself, but then again, if he were to speak, he’d sound exactly the same.
“The most important thing is that you’re here now, safe with us.” Diego looks up at them for confirmation before continuing when he gets nothing but encouraging nods. “We will do everything to protect you – protect any of us,” he adds, when Five scrunches his nose.
Their smallest brother doesn’t look entirely convinced, but Klaus starts speaking before Five can. “I promise I will do everything in my power to protect all of you – no matter the threat.”
Ben sits up straighter at his words. They had made these promises before. Years ago, when it looked like Five wouldn’t ever come back. They had even paused when it would have been his turn, imagining their brother’s slightly upturned chin and unflinching voice.
With every sibling repeating Klaus’ phrase, Five gains a bit of colour in his face. He needs this, Ben muses. Having a purpose. When it’s Five’s turn at last, his voice sounds the exact same as Ben thought it would. His brother hasn’t aged, after all.
His gaze is steely, and it almost feels like something snuffed out that godawful arrogance that had clung to Five years ago, and replaced it with a devotion so fierce, Ben wonders what drawn lines his promise erases.
——————————
Five can feel the oath he just swore settle as a comforting pressure next to the weird strings in his chest. It feels a lot better than the burning guilt and shame that immobilized him, when Allison had unknowingly started prodding at an open wound. Five hadn’t corrected them or their pitying looks as they all assumed the loss of his powers. He doesn’t want to be a coward; it’s just rather difficult for him right now to be brave and offer up the truth – offer up his shortcomings, his fears, his love.
His siblings are talking in quiet tones about leaving – leaving as a whole, all seven of them, finally all complete. Five listens to their plans and knows he’ll make them come true no matter what it takes.
The mission alarm blares suddenly and as always annoyingly loud.
Five swallows around the rising nausea that has come with the sound for as long as he can remember, and stands up in time with his siblings.
Diego wraps an arm around his waist and hauls him back onto the bed. “Where do you think you're going?”
Five's face contorts with a grimace, but before he can answer, Diego continues on. “You can't use your powers right now, and we just got you back. We're not risking it.”
Five takes Diego’s hand and wills him to understand that, “I can’t let you leave, Diego.”
His brother doesn’t exactly look convinced, but Five remembers the cold of no Diego, no Klaus, no Ben, no Vanya, no Allison, no Luther. “I just got you back as well.”
——————————
The car ride to the warehouse is tense; A residue from earlier when they feared Reginald would find out about Five’s return – before his absence during their send-off was a strange looming presence. Or just the pre-mission jitters none of his siblings had apparently been able to shake.
And while the air in the vehicle is rigid, it crackles with electricity as they enter the rundown building.
Five can’t see very well in the half-darkness, dust covering every surface.
But it doesn’t seem to matter because it narrows down to this: Reginald stands opposite to their little group. He tears through their bravado and their worth with nothing but words just like he always does. He calls Five a failure and weak, and he talks about an incentive, a game to motivate Five enough to get over his little issues and use his powers.
Five doesn’t ask how Reginald knows, because of course he does. How silly of him to think otherwise. His father knows everything, and Five knows the game he’s talking about.
Ben steps forward and shields his body, because he’s the only one Five ever told what it means when he and dear old dad go play. Reginald pulls out his gun, and switches the safety off. “Brace yourself, Number Five.”
His siblings freeze when they see the weapon, but Five doesn’t because he’s bluffing, he can use his powers, all he needs is enough incentive, and Reginald knows everything.
His father swipes his hand through the air as if he were shooing away a fly. The gun fires just as casual, a terrible sound barrier breaking noise Five can feel vibrating through his bones.
His siblings are still frozen. Ben is still standing in front of him.
His father lowers the gun, and all Five can think about is how he has to keep his oath. They’re leaving – they're leaving, they’ll be together and safe and he’s promised.
He’ll do everything in his powers to protect them – no matter the threat.
Five reaches for the fabric of time and space, and for the first time since he’s landed here, yanks.
Ben's back is to him and in the slowing time Five sees the bullets just millimetres away from piercing his brother's skin; can almost hear Ben's screams. He knows it's too late.
Five bares his teeth. His claws feel sharp. He welcomes the icy winds of the universe into his heart, and rips the possibility of his brother’s death from every timeline his small frozen fingers can reach.
Time slows to a stop – then rushes backwards. Years. Months. Weeks. Days. Hours. Minutes. Seconds – That never were.
Bloodied, bruised, and filthy, he stumbles back into a reality that is.
His siblings blink back at him from the breakfast table.
Five snarls and advances forward; grabs the knife he stabbed into the table a felt-lifetime ago.
"You've tried to kill my brother." The words are out of his mouth a second before his father spasms as the knife breaches his chest. His head thumps to the table. The monocle is crushed to pieces under the weight.
His siblings stare. They don't remember the promise they haven't made yet. Five's grin is bloody.
"We're leaving," he tells them.