Chapter Text
Five practices the violin every day, just like Vanya recommends. His siblings, he knows, make their assumptions. They figure it’s because he’s trying to throw himself into a new obsession now that the apocalypse is over or because he’s in some sort of one-sided competition with the rest of Vanya’s students or because they think Vanya’s his favorite sibling and he wants to make her proud. And yeah, those are all pretty good assumptions, but the real reason?
Some of these songs fucking suck.
Twinkle Twinkle? Terrible.
Lightly Row? Disgusting.
Frere Jacques? Makes him want to hurl the goddamn instrument out of the window.
Luckily, Five is ridiculously stubborn. Vanya has him listening to playlists full of music that he’ll eventually get to learn (after a brief three-hour lesson on playlists, the smartphone he didn’t know had been purchased for him, and something called Spotify) so Five is counting down the time until he gets to learn some of his favorites. In order to get there, he first has to master all the boring-as-shit pieces.
Vanya thinks it’s hilarious.
She also says she’s actually glad he hates the songs, because apparently his practice face is a truly miserable glare, and his sister had been worried for a while that she was somehow the cause of that scowl. He assures her all the time that she’s a great teacher, and he likes playing violin—scales and etudes, not very surprisingly, are his bread and butter—he just wishes that whoever wrote all these songs for beginners would have written something less mind-numbingly terrible.
That’s just his very correct opinion. Mr. Pennycrumb, however, is perfectly happy to curl up at Five’s feet whenever he plays anything, and Vanya insists that all her other students prefer real songs to etudes, but they’re all wrong.
“So,” Vanya says as they settle into family dinner one evening, “I’ve been thinking…”
“Yeah?” Allison prompts.
“Some of the other private music teachers in the area will do this thing where, at the end of the year, all their students pick a piece and perform a little solo for friends and family. It’s a good way to show the parents their hard work and give the kids a chance to perform.”
“That’s great, Vanya!” Allison beams. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“Wait,” Klaus says, glancing sideways at Five, “does that mean we get to see Five in action?”
Vanya looks at him and shrugs. “If he wants. It’s not like I’m going to force him to be a part of the concert, but I think it would be a good experience.”
“No way,” Diego says, grinning wickedly. “He has to do it.”
Five stabs at his broccoli with his fork. “She just said that I don’t have to, dipshit.”
“Well, I’m telling you that you do.”
“You are in no way in charge of me, asshole. I am an adult and I can make my own decisions and you’re making me not want to do it!”
“Aww, teenage rebellion,” Klaus coos. “Doesn’t want to do what his parents tell him to.”
“I will gut you, Klaus.”
“Never refer to any of as Five’s parent ever again,” Diego grumbles. “It’s just weird.”
“ Thank you, ” Five agrees, nodding and waving his knife in Diego’s direction.
“Well, Five,” Vanya says, choosing to ignore all the bickering and general threats of violence, “I would love it if you would perform. You can pick whatever song you want.”
“Fine,” Five grumbles, using the spoon that he was going to hurl at Klaus’s dumb forehead to instead shovel mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Vanya beams at him, so it’s worth it. The things he does for this family.
Klaus slides into the booth next to Vanya. She yelps slightly, having to scoot over quickly to avoid getting accidentally jabbed by one of his very bony elbows. Five smirks from across the table, taking a sip of his coffee. They’ve made their way far enough down the menu to actually reach black coffee, so this time it’s Vanya wrinkling her nose with every sip. Multiple empty packets of sweetener sit in the center of the table.
“What did I miss?” Klaus asks.
“Hello, Klaus,” Vanya says. “Welcome. I didn’t know you would be joining us, but welcome.”
“Oh sorry. Am I crashing?”
“No, no,” Vanya reassures quickly.
“Did you bring Ben?” Five asks.
Klaus shoots him a look. “No. He’s at home. Ever since we figured out how to let him interact more with inanimate objects, I can barely get him out of the library. Am I not good enough for you, Five?”
Five raises his eyebrows and raises his mug again. “I was just asking.”
“We were talking about cooking classes,” Vanya says, catching Klaus up like the kind sister she is.
“Oh, are you taking cooking classes, old man?” Klaus asks. “I feel like you should know that Ben also refers to you as an old man.”
“That’s fine. I am an old man. And it’s way better than ‘kiddo.’ And Vanya’s the one taking cooking classes. I already tried enough new things for the foreseeable… ever.”
“Really?” Vanya frowns at him. “One thing outside of your comfort zone and you’re done for the rest of your life?”
“Yep. I’ve earned this.”
“You have not earned this. You take lessons with me. I’m your sister. That can’t possibly count!”
“Well it does.”
“I’ll take cooking classes with you, Van,” Klaus interjects. “Luther and I have been trying a lot of hobby classes recently so what’s one more?”
“So that’s why Luther’s room looks like a kindergarten classroom,” Five says, snapping his fingers. The last time he jumped in there to steal a jacket, the place had been covered in crafts, stuff that doesn’t quite look like it was made by a child but also doesn’t really look like it was made by a grown adult.
“How on earth would you know what a kindergarten classroom looks like?” Vanya asks around a laugh.
“I just know things. It’s a gift.”
“He’s a robot!” Klaus says, snapping his fingers enthusiastically. “This proves it! Stuff just gets downloaded onto his flash drive.”
Five pauses, then shakes his head. “No. One,” he holds up a single finger, “I’m not a robot—”
“—sounds like something a robot would say—”
“—and two, flash drive is certainly not the right word.”
“I think it’s two words, actually,” Vanya supplies.
“Shut the hell up, Vanya, you traitor.”
“Vanya,” Klaus says, turning to her all serious and dramatic. “I love you. How does it feel to be the only one who can make fun of Five without getting death threats?”
She grins. “It feels good. It feels nice.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Klaus sighs. “You know, the other day he threatened to shatter my kneecaps because I sneezed in the hallway outside of the library.”
“It was a loud sneeze!” Five defends. “Unnecessarily loud.”
“You’re just jumpy,” Vanya says.
“Hey!” Klaus beams and stares up at the sky like he’s made some miraculous revelation. “He’s jumpy! Get it? Because of his jumps.”
Both Vanya and Five stare at him, equally unimpressed. “That was weak,” Vanya says.
“You guys just hate fun,” Klaus grumbles.
Vanya laughs softly, taking another sip of her coffee. Immediately, her face scrunches up in disgust and she actually sticks her tongue out. Five has seen a very similar expression on Mr. Pennycrumb’s face when he first tried tomato. The puppy will eat virtually anything (Five is so proud) but he hates tomato.
(He seems to also really like peanut butter and marshmallows—if Five believed in any sort of higher power, he might say this is a match made in heaven.)
“Klaus, do you want this?” Vanya pushes her black coffee towards him.
“Oh hell no. Gross.”
Forget stopping the apocalypse, forget learning to travel through time, forget helping Vanya make a breakthrough in controlling her powers—Five’s greatest accomplishment is most definitely being Claire’s favorite uncle.
And he knows that it’s because he looks like a kid, and that makes him a mystery that a curious, inquisitive kid like Claire wants to figure out, but he can’t bring himself to care. He adores his niece and loves spending time with her, and unlike his siblings, she’s the only member of his family that he can spend actual time with and never contemplate why he didn’t just let the apocalypse happen.
This is the third time she’s visited them, but Five will never get over the warm feeling that spreads through his chest when Claire’s eyes light up and she races over to him. Allison must have had some talk with her daughter about how Five isn’t a huge fan of touch—and of course his niece got it right away, the little genius that she is. She always stops right in front of Five, beaming up at him and bouncing on her toes.
“Hi, Uncle Five!”
“Hi, Claire,” he says, smiling back. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Are you in the mood for a hug today?”
Five wants to say yes, because he loves his niece, and she gets all cute and excited when he lets her hug him, but today simply isn’t a hug day, and he doesn’t want another lecture from Allison about respecting his own boundaries and doing what’s best for him.
“Sorry, Claire. Not today.”
Claire takes it in stride, just like she always does. She doesn’t pout or look at him with sadness or pity, just nods and keeps on smiling. This visit she’s missing one of her front teeth.
“What about a fist bump?” She holds out a fist, like she’s going to punch him in the gut, although with terrible form.
Five frowns. “A what?”
“A fist bump! It’s like this—” She lifts her other hand, tapping her fists together lightly. “It’s like a cooler way to high five.”
“Oh, so I’m the only one in the family who’d be allowed to do it, then,” Five says, grinning. Hesitantly, he raises his own fist and taps it lightly against hers. Claire beams even wider.
“Definitely,” Claire says sagely. “You’re the coolest person in this family. After me, of course.”
“Of course,” Five agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I don’t know how much longer I could survive in the house with these weirdos.”
Claire laughs, loud and bright, just like Allison, but a little more cackling, and with absolutely no reservations. Five adds it to his mental list of favorite things in the world.
“Can I see your room?” she asks, suddenly changing the subject.
Five is bewildered by such a random request. Usually, Claire likes to see his powers in action—she claims they’re the coolest, which they certainly are—or ask him question after question about the things she’s learning in school.
This is a new one.
“Uh, why do you want that? Isn’t there something more exciting you’d rather do?”
Behind her, Allison huffs, appearing with the last of their bags in-hand and dropping them onto the floor with a loud thump.
“Claire has been very into seeing people’s rooms lately.” Five raises a questioning eyebrow at his sister over Claire’s head and Allison just shrugs. “Claire, remember what we talked about. Uncle Five likes to have his own space, and if he doesn’t want to show you his room, he doesn’t have to.”
“No, it’s fine,” Five says. “I don’t mind.” Claire’s hobbies might sometimes be strange, but they’re a lot more tame than anything the rest of them grew up with, so he’s willing to indulge them.
“Can we right now?” Claire begs. “Pleeeease?”
Five looks to Allison for permission before nodding. “Go ahead,” Allison says, waving them off. “I’ll just track down someone else to help me take these up.”
“Klaus is here and hiding from potential manual labor under the couch,” Five says, hurrying after Claire as she practically skips up the steps.
“Thank you! Although, I’m gonna tell him you ratted him out.”
“That’s cold, Allison, but luckily I don’t care. Maybe next time he won’t use peanut butter to bribe Mr. Pennycrumb into spending time with him when it isn’t designated snack time.”
Claire stops on the steps, turning to look at Five with wide, serious eyes. “After we look at your room, we will be visiting Mr. Pennycrumb.”
“Sure thing. He’ll be delighted to see you.”
He leads her up the stairs to his room, explaining to her once again that, yes, he theoretically could jump them both up there, but no, she would not actually enjoy that. His siblings hate when he carries them along on his jumps. Luther and Diego are pretty dramatic about it, but Allison is the one most likely to lose her lunch and then yell at Five for the next ten minutes, even in the middle of a mission. Claire has more manners than her mother did, so she probably won’t even be mad, but Five doesn’t want to be responsible for any nausea.
“Woah,” Claire says, looking around. “You have a weird room.”
Five raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
He supposes that’s true. It’s still very much a child’s bedroom on paper, but the scribbled probability maps detailing who he might possibly need to kill to stop the apocalypse (thank god that Claire doesn’t know about that) tell an entirely different story.
“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “What’s all this?” She points to the smudged equations that are still covering nearly every inch of his walls.
“Math I was doing for that big mission a while ago,” he answers.
Claire doesn’t know how close she came to almost dying. She doesn’t know that her Uncle Five spent decades in a world where she actually did die, and he read about her existence in a crumpled, dirty tabloid. She knows there was a big mission, one that her mom had to go back to New York for, one that her missing Uncle Five came home from somewhere far away to help with, but that’s the extent of it. Five has no idea if Allison intends on ever telling her the truth.
“I guess I never got around to taking it off.”
She nods. “It kind of makes sense.”
“It does?” For a split second, he’s both surprised and utterly terrified that she might be talking about the math itself.
“Yeah. Mommy says you’re actually an old man, even though you look like a kid. Your room is sort of like that. It’s got kid stuff and old man stuff.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Hey, what’s this?” She’s been wandering around his room, coming to a stop where his violin case is sitting in the armchair.
“A violin,” he says, jumping right over next to her and opening it up.
Claire gasps. “Just like Aunt Vanya!”
He chuckles. “Not quite yet. But she is giving me lessons.”
“Do you think she’d give me lessons?” Claire’s eyes are huge. Five is always baffled at what gets her excited like this. Sometimes it’s their powers or Mr. Pennycrumb or Luther taking her to get ice cream for the fifth time in a week, but usually it’s little mundane things, like going grocery shopping with Klaus and Diego or a snail in the courtyard or finding a rock in the park that looks just slightly like the state of California.
“I’m sure she would,” Five says. “She might be a little long-distance for you though. You have to go to lessons like every week.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
“Maybe you can do it over video chat or something though.” He wasn’t a fan of video chatting at first—why would you want anyone to be able to see you from anywhere at anytime. (And no, it’s not because he’s an old man who can’t use technology, shut the hell up, Diego.) But when Claire started calling, he’d decided to make an exception, just for her.
Claire springs right back into her good mood. “Yeah! Hey, can you show me, Uncle Five?”
“Oh, um, I don’t really think you want that, Claire. I’m not very good.”
“Pleeeeeeeease?” Goddamn. Does this kid have the largest eyes in the whole goddamn world? Frankly, he’s concerned. Is the world too bright for her with her giant puppy dog eyes? Does Allison need to take her to an eye doctor? Mom could probably look into it right here…
“Fine.” He tugs open the case and carefully removes the instrument. “Here,” he sits down in the armchair and motions for Claire to come sit near him. The chair is big enough for both of them to sit without touching, and for once Five doesn’t curse his thirteen-year-old body. “I’ll show you all the cool stuff Vanya taught me.”
She nods eagerly and hops up beside him, a tiny hand reaching out to pluck lightly at one of the strings. She grins at the noise it makes.
“That’s the E string,” he explains. “The others are A, D, and G.”
“Cool. What are these little pieces of tape?”
“That’s so I can play the other notes.”
“Auntie Vanya’s violin doesn’t have them though.”
“That’s because she doesn’t need them. I told you, I’m not very good.”
“Yet,” Claire corrects. “You’ll be good one day.” She strums at the strings again, grinning and enjoying the sound of the different notes together.
Claire doesn’t know about the apocalypse that Five lived through, just that he was trapped in the future for a long time. She has no idea what that future was like, and Five intends to keep it that way for the foreseeable… ever. She doesn’t need to know that.
It also means that she doesn’t know that Uncle Five is absolutely the last person she should ask for help making lunch.
“How do you feel about peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches?” he asks.
Claire wrinkles her nose. “I feel ew.”
“You’re ew,” Five says before he realizes the words are even leaving his mouth.
“ You’re ew,” Claire shoots back, sticking her tongue out at him.
“It’s fine,” he says. “We’ll just cook, I guess.”
“Do you know how to?”
No. He knows how to heat up a can of beans or roast a cockroach over an open flame. “What do you think, Claire? I’m fifty-eight years old. You think I went all that time without ever learning to cook?”
“Alright, sorry. What should we make?”
“Why don’t you choose. I’ll… supervise.”
“Cool! Mom never lets me make up my own recipes.”
“Oh, uh…” But Claire is already rummaging through the pantry, pulling out whatever foods catch her attention.
And that’s where Allison finds them, thirty minutes later, smoke pouring out of the oven as Five motions for Claire to stay back with one arm while pulling out the tray of burnt cookies with the other.
“What the—Five!” Allison tugs Claire out of the way and begins fanning at the smoke. “What did you do?”
“We made lunch!” Claire says, gesturing to the remains of their “salad.” Five isn’t quite sure what the definition of a salad is, but it probably doesn’t usually include gummy worms or peanuts. Whatever, he ate all of his anyway. Claire had then decided that, since they did such a good job on lunch, they should try cookies. With no recipe. Or knowledge of what actually goes into cookies.
“And cookies,” Five supplies. They’re actually not all that burnt. The smoke is deceptive.
“Those are not cookies,” Allison says, staring down at them.
“Sure they are,” Five says.
“They’re chocolate chip, marshmallow, peanut butter, and blueberry!” Claire grins. She reaches out to grab one, but Allison tugs her hand away.
“Why don’t you let Uncle Five try one first,” she says, staring pointedly at Five over Claire’s head, as if she expects Five to find them disgusting. Jokes on her—they’re not roaches, so… can’t be all bad.
Five shoves a whole cookie into his mouth while looking Allison dead in the eyes. He chews and chews—the blueberries are an odd texture, and they’re a little tougher than when Mom makes them, but the marshmallows are good, so he considers it a win.
“Delicious,” he says with his mouth still full, just before swallowing with only a little extra effort.
“Cool!” Claire reaches out to take one, but Allison once again tugs her away.
“No. Five, just admit this was a disaster, and then the three of us can make some actual cookies.”
“Never. I will never admit to anything.”
Allison sighs, closing her eyes and looking like she’s counting down from ten in her head to keep herself from initiating an impromptu sparring session in the middle of the kitchen. “Five… Please don’t make this difficult.”
“I will not admit anything. But…” He looks at Claire, her wide eyes bouncing back and forth between him and her mom as they argue and decides to take pity on his sister. Honestly, the last thing he needs is for her to stop him from spending time with Claire. “I suppose we can make some more cookies. To go along with these.”
“Yay!” Claire beams.
They make it about three minutes into the baking process before Klaus and Diego appear. Subsequently, the second batch actually turns out to be worse than the first.
Five eats them both anyways.
Stupid Allison has him roped into her stupid nighttime routine for Claire, which unfortunately involves Five in his academy-sanctioned pajamas, standing with the rest of his family in the foyer to wish Claire goodnight. The worst part is that the rest of his siblings seem to really enjoy cooing at him and ruffling his hair, even though there’s a literal child right there for them to coddle instead.
They only do it to annoy him. He'll exact his revenge once Claire goes home. Or to bed. Who knows if he can wait that long?
They always get together like this, every evening that Claire’s in town, and Claire goes down the line one by one to say her goodnights, which tend to include Diego scooping her up and twirling her around slightly and Luther promising to watch cartoons with her in the morning.
“I know it’s not a hug day,” Claire says when she reaches Five.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Sorry.” He raises his hand. “Fist bump instead?”
She wrinkles her nose. “You can’t goodnight fist bump.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know there were rules.”
“Well, there are. What about a goodnight kiss?”
“A what?”
She taps his shoulder and he leans down closer without really thinking about it. Claire presses a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling back, smiling. “A goodnight kiss. Was that okay?”
He nods, feeling shell shocked. It wasn’t overwhelming the same way hugs are, all tight and constraining and just way too much. It was overwhelming in some completely foreign way. It was innocence and love, expressed so simply.
“Alright,” Allison says, smiling down at them, her eyes shining. Five blinks at her, still having a hard time processing. “Say goodnight to Uncle Five.”
“Goodnight, Uncle Five!”
“Good…” He clears his throat. “Goodnight, Claire.”
His ears are ringing, and he can only distantly hear Klaus’s cooing and Diego’s teasing. For once, he couldn’t care less.
Since Dad died and Grace is no longer constrained by his cruelty, she’s taken up gardening out in the courtyard. What was dreary, barren, and grey for the past thirty years, is now a colorful, blossoming haven. Five finds himself drawn to it often, although he’s not sure why.
(Maybe it’s all the green. There was no green in the apocalypse. And it’s lively—a much more palatable type of lively than his bickering, childish siblings.)
“Hello, Five dear,” Mom says, smiling gently, although she doesn’t look up from the bed of flowers.
“Hi, Mom.” It’s gotten easier, calling her that. When he was little, Five readily called Grace his mother, back when he was young and innocent and naive. When he was around eleven, he began seeing her almost exclusively as Grace. She cared for them, sure, but there were still pieces of Reginald built into her programming, and it was hard to ignore the reality of her existence. Grace continued through the apocalypse and the Commission, but now that he’s back, and Dad is dead, and the apocalypse has been averted, he’s been conditioning himself to think of her as Mom again.
It’s clear that the love she has for them is stronger than Dad’s programming, and without his tampering, she’s finally free to be her own person. It’s hard, letting someone take care of him the way Grace does, but he knows it’s good for him. It’s one of many steps in his readjustment plan. Letting Mom care from him seems easier, more expected and normal than allowing his siblings to baby him.
Five sets down next to her, perched on the very edge of the bench.
“It’s a lovely day,” she says. “It’s good to see you out and enjoying this weather.” It is nice, perfectly warm with a slight breeze. It rustles through the plants, the floral scent swelling up in the air.
“I don’t like to be cooped up for too long.”
Mom hums and finishes patting down the soil around her most recent plants.
“They’re coming along nicely, Mom.” The courtyard is colorful and bright, all thanks to Grace’s tireless work.
“Thank you, dear. I find I quite enjoy it. I like to think of this garden as art that I helped to grow.”
“It’s beautiful.” More beautiful than any old painting Dad had hung up in the house, not that Five would ever say that to Grace. “You have a gift, Mom.”
She looks over at him, her smile beaming. “Why thank you, sweetheart,” she practically gushes. “In truth, I owe it all to you kids.” She turns back to the bed in front of her, brushing her fingers gently through the flowers with something akin to love. “You’re my inspiration.”
“Inspiration, huh?” Five glances around. There’s a lot of different plants, and a lot of different colors. Some of the combinations probably shouldn’t go well together, but Mom manages to make it work somehow. It’s a little chaotic, a little beautiful. “I can see it.”
“I have a bed,” Grace continues, “for each of you.”
“You do?”
“Mmhm. One of the wonderful things about flowers is that humans have given them all meanings. You can tell a story with them. I can see my wonderful children here, create portraits of each of you.”
“Tell me about them,” Five says, finding himself intrigued. He hadn’t known that flowers actually had different meanings. He’d always just thought of them as flowers.
Actually, for a long time he hadn’t thought of them at all. Trees for wood and shade, fruits and vegetables for food, greenery for fresher air—those were the plants he had wished for, dreamt of.
Flowers are delicate. Beautiful. Something he didn’t have time to think about in the apocalypse. But maybe he can slow down enough for them now.
He lets his fingers ghost over the petals. They’re soft in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, maybe ever, but they don’t break under his touch.
“This is Luther,” Grace begins, guiding him over to a bed of yellow and purple. “Lavender heather,” she says, “for admiration, and for solitude. And then daffodils, for chivalry, rebirth, and new beginnings.”
Five nods, needing no further explanation.
“And here is Diego.” Tall, multicolored flowers stand proud, interspersed with something yellow. “Gladiolus,” Grace explains, “symbolizes strength of character, while yellow iris is for passion.”
“I think he’ll like that all his flowers are tall,” Five says, chuckling. “He hates being shorter than Klaus.”
Mom brushes her fingers against the petals. “They’re so bold. Just like my Diego.”
“Yeah,” Five says softly, unable to do anything but agree. Mom, somehow, knows them better than anyone else in the world. She’s seen all their flaws.
And she still loves them.
“Here is Allison,” Grace says. It’s all pinks and purples and reds, vibrant and befitting for America’s sweetheart, even if he knows Mom’s explanation will be much deeper. “Amaryllis, for worth beyond beauty, irises for eloquence, and pink roses for admiration, elegance, and grace.” For a woman who lost herself in her powers and her fame, and then rebuilt herself in compassion and selflessness.
“Delphinium,” she continues, pointing to a tall purple thing. “For Klaus. It means fun, levity, kind- and open-heartedness. And then there’s the bouvardia.” Pink petals that she explains symbolize enthusiasm and zest for life. It’s vibrant and warm, like Klaus.
Vanya’s bed is mainly white, with some interspersed pink blossoms. The white chrysanthemum apparently means truth, loyalty, and love, while the white hyacinth is for loveliness. Mom says that Vanya sometimes needs that reassurance. The pink is something called peonies, and they apparently symbolize both bashfulness and compassion.
Ben’s are planted closest to his statue, and a bed of flowers might actually bear a closer resemblance to Ben than the literal statue made in his image. Freesia and white rose, for innocence, thoughtfulness, sympathy, spirituality, and new beginnings. Mom talks about them the most relevantly, her expression distant and her smile slightly sad.
“And this is yours.” Grace gently leads him to a bed right in the middle. A lot of it is blue, which feels rather apt given his powers although there’s also a soft pink. She sits down on a bench, motioning for him to join her. He does, running his hand through the flowers. “This is called blue hyacinth, and it is meant to symbolize playfulness and constancy. I found that very fitting for you. And then this pink one is known as king protea. Not only does it stand for resourcefulness and courage, it also means change. Your life has been marked by massive changes, and you’re going through perhaps the largest one now. I am so proud of you, Five, for how you’re adjusting to life again.”
His throat is impossibly tight, and his eyes have started stinging for some reason. “Th-thanks, Mom.”
He feels his cheeks flush and Mom must notice, because she meets his gaze and holds it, taking both of his hands in hers and squeezing gently.
“I know it’s been difficult. And you’re trying so hard. I can see it, and your brothers and sisters can see it too. We are all so proud of you. I just want you to know, you can always come to me. About anything.”
“I … I know, Mom. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Oh, I think your little friend has decided to join us. Hello!”
He turns, following her gaze to see Mr. Pennycrumb bounding over to them, ears and tongue flopping behind him and tail wagging as he sits down on Five’s foot.
Five reaches down, scooping the puppy up. He jumps off of Five’s lap and into the bed of flowers before Five can stop him.
“Mr. Pennycrumb, no.” He grabs for him, but the puppy has already laid down in the flowers with a huff. “Ugh. Sorry.”
Mom laughs. “Not to worry. He’s not hurting anything.” She reaches out, stroking the puppy’s coat.
“Are you sure? I can take him in.”
“Don’t be silly. Stay. It’s such a nice day.”
“I suppose it is.”
“I enjoy the sunshine,” Mom says, tilting her head up and smiling. “It’s very nice to get out of the house sometimes, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Five agrees. The sky is blue and the breeze is nice. It feels clean and peaceful, like a world worth saving. He loves his siblings, and everything he did to get back was to save them above everything else. But maybe, as the three of them bask happily in the sun together, there are some other perks too.
-------------
“This is stupid,” Five grumbles.
“It is not,” Allison tuts, holding up yet another button up shirt to Five’s chest. “You don’t want to look unprofessional in front of the rest of Vanya’s students, do you?”
“They’re third-graders, Allison. They don’t care what I look like.”
“You still have to look nice, Five.”
“What I wear will have absolutely no effect on how I play.”
“Oh, hush,” Klaus says. “You were a professional man, Five. You know it’s important to dress for the occasion.”
“Really? You want to compare playing in Vanya’s student recital to my work at the Commission? That’s really what you want to do?”
“Hmm. Maybe not. Ooh, what about this?”
“No,” Five and Allison say together. Allison doesn’t even have to turn around to see that Klaus has picked out yet another garish monstrosity. This one is a pink button down shirt covered with little colorful pineapples, and it’s giving Five a headache to look at.
“You’ve worn suits before, yeah?” Allison asks, alternating between two slightly different colored light blue shirts.
“Sure.” He nods. “But the Commission provided them. It’s not like I ever went shopping for myself.”
“Do you want another suit? Or are we going just button down and tie?”
Five thinks for a moment. “Just button down,” he decides. Five isn’t stupid. He knows he has some issues. He also knows that if he’s stressed or anxious—as being around crowds or dealing with his family tend to make him—the suit might just make him more tense and jumpy. Five is dangerous when he’s jumpy, and accidentally murdering a ten-year-old is so not on his to-do list. Actually, he’s pretty proud to say that murder of any kind is not on his to-do list. Progress.
“Alright,” Allison says, shoving the outfit she’d picked out into his arms. “Go try this on. Changing room’s over there.”
He looks up at her, agitated. “What was the point of all that poking and measuring then?”
“It’s—Just go try it on, Five!”
Allison picked out a light blue button down, a pair of black dress pants, and a blue and green striped tie that she and Klaus debated about for a solid fifteen minutes. Five took a power nap inside a rack of coats while they did it. All of Allison using him as a living paper doll worked, because everything fit him just fine.
“It fits,” Five calls through the door to his siblings, moving to start taking off the tie.
“You have to let us see!” Allison yells back.
He groans. Does everything have to be a whole endeavor with these people? “Fine.” He swings open the door and steps out to glare at his siblings.
“Aw,” Klaus coos, clapping his hands. “You look like an adorable baby republican.”
Allison snorts. “A little bit.”
“Great,” Five deadpans. “That’s exactly what I was going for. Thanks.”
“Sorry,” Allison says. “We don’t mean it. You look nice, Five.”
“And we know you’re not a republican,” Klaus says. “Actually, you can’t even vote, so—”
“Is this really helpful right now?” Allison asks him. “Think it through, Klaus.”
“Ally, you take the fun out of everything.”
“I do not. I’m very fun! And I’m the cool mom.”
“I’m pretty sure cool moms don’t refer to themselves as cool moms,” Five says, folding his arms over his chest.
“That’s rude,” she says. “And how would you even know?”
“Logic,” he says with a shrug. “Reason. I’m the only one in this family capable of those things anyway.”
“Ben does not agree with that,” Klaus puts in.
“Ha!” Allison pumps her fist in victory like the child she is.
“But he also says that referring to yourself as a cool mom is kinda lame.”
Now it’s Five’s turn to crow. “Ha!”
“He did not!” Allison protests.
“I would never lie about Ben,” Klaus says, clutching a hand to his chest and feigning offense.
“Just this morning you said that Ben forced you to play Toxic by Britney Spears seventeen times at 3:00 a.m.”
“Is that what that monstrosity is called?” Five asks.
Klaus gasps. “How dare you slander the greatest song ever written, Five. How. Dare. You.”
“Is that supposed to be intimidating?” he asks.
“It is not the greatest song ever written,” Allison argues.
“Yeah? Then what is?”
“Can I change out of this thing yet?” Five asks, waving his arms to get their attention back.
Allison waves him off. “Yeah, go for it. Look, Toxic is by no means a bad song, and it certainly is iconic, but—”
Five jumps back into the changing room and tunes them out before he has to hear any more.
He stares at his outfit in the mirror. Oh God, he’s actually going to get up in front of his stupid siblings and play some stupid song on his stupid violin. He actually agreed to do that. Vanya put him in the program.
Well, at least it’s not as ridiculous and childish as the full-blown argument that’s happening next to him.
Five throws the door open. “Shut up about it,” he snaps, “or I’m jumping home.”
Allison sighs. “If you’re gonna jump, at least give me the clothes first. I don’t want to be accessory to shoplifting.”
“Are you gonna keep arguing about it?”
“If she keeps being wrong, ” Klaus says.
“Yeah, that seems about right. Come on, let’s go pay for these horrid things.” He waves the clothes in their faces.
They grumble, but follow him towards the register. Children, both of them. All of them, really.
He picked some unfortunate people too love. Oh well. It’s far too late to turn back now.