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Jumping through time was natural; the easiest thing Five had ever done. He was made for this, the feel of reality breaking before him and sealing shut behind. Dad was blind to hold him back. With every push through the dense fabric of time, the sharp angry voice of his father fell further behind him.
The first sign is the taste of ash hitting his tongue. It’s bitter and clogs his throat, bringing water to his eyes. He stumbles to a stop breathing heavily; already the previous feelings of success are leaving him, replaced by a growing stone of dread that sits heavy in his stomach.
The street is unrecognisable, what was once buildings now lie as broken bricks and lumps of twisted metal. Ash falls slowly from the smoke filled sky and the silence is deafening. There are no sounds present that Five had, up until now, unconsciously connected with civilisation. Not the rumble of a motor vehicle. Or the rustle of shopping bags from the high street. Not even the hum of an electrical appliance, something you don’t even realise was there until it was absent.
There is only the quiet, occasionally broken by the wind twisting through the shattered landscape.
Five’s breaths are shallow as he looks around, his heart still racing from his run. This can’t-this can’t be real. He needs to get back, find Dad, find his siblings. With little other thought he spins around, sprinting back the way he came. His feet catching against the uneven ground as he does his best to leap over the piles of brick and broken glass. It seems to take forever and no time at all before he skids to a halt outside the building he had called home for all 13 years of his life.
Its barely recognisable, the roof completely caved in, the once proud gate hanging askew on his hinges. Fire rages inside the shell of his home and his nose fills with the scent of it.
His brain can’t compute what is in front of him. They were just there! He only just left! His mind plays the scene over and over again, remembering every detail.
The tightening of the skin around Dad’s mouth that always spelled his displeasure. Allison’s head bent over her dinner, refusing to make eye contact with him. Klaus’ attention focused under the table on his hands, ignoring the latest distraction in favour of his new habit. Luther, sitting up straighter, turning his chair slighting in Dad’s direction, always the perfect son. Ben darting quick looks at Five over the cover of his book, eyes slightly widened. Diego’s jaw, clenching as he stabs his fork through his food and lifts it to his mouth more aggressively then usual. And Vanya. Vanya’s eyes wide and pleading. Vanya shaking her head, asking him to stop. Vanya, rising out of her chair as he runs past. But he doesn’t stop. He didn’t stop for her.
“Vanya!” The cry comes from deep inside of him, ripping through his throat. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
“Ben! Dad!” He takes a few halting steps forward, but the heat of the fires push him back. Five turns back to the street hopelessly.
“Anyone?!” The silence that answers him is enough. He knows, every part of him knows that they’re gone. He’s alone.
Wait. What is he doing? With new determination Five pulls his hands down to his side and pushes. The fabric of reality normally feels flimsy, easy to rip apart. But now it feels more solid then it ever has, he strains against it and can see it ripple around his hands, bunching and gathering but refusing to tear.
No. Nonononono. This can’t be happening. He pushes again, hands trembling with effort.
“COME ON.” He screams. But nothing is happening.
He releases his grip, staring in horror at his own hands.
“Shit.”
The panic that had been building suddenly turns in to despair and Five can feel tears start to slide down his face.
What has he done?
His lips tremble with the unspoken words. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dad, please come back! Vanya! Please! I promise I will be good. I’M SORRY!
He doesn’t even feel the sharp broken ground under his bare legs as he collapses to his knees.
……………….
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring glassy eyed at his destroyed home. There is no visible sun in the sky, only the burnt orange light of a thousand fires. He feels that it may have gotten slightly darker, but it’s so hard to tell. When Five really comes back to himself the fire inside the ruins in front of him has mostly died down. He can feel the pragmatic side of him already cataloguing and making plans. The training his father had given him and his siblings had been harsh; how to kill, how to survive, how to compartmentalise. Those lesson where going to save his life now. Five slowly got to his feet, ignoring the part of him that wanted to just lie down, lie down in the ash of his world and cry like the 13 year old he was. But he couldn’t. The lessons of survival rang like a mantra through his head.
Step one: Get up.
Step Two: Find water.
Step Three: Find shelter.
Step Four: Find food.
Step Five: Plan for tomorrow.
He dusted off his now slightly blooded knees, and dragged a sooty hand across his face, wiping away tears but leaving streaks of grime. Step one complete.
Five turns away from his broken home, but something stops him from walking away. The fire has died; it was safe enough for him to venture into the rubble, right? He turns back slowly; he can already feel a cold sweat gathering on his back. He knows, intellectually he knows that no one could survive the destruction he sees before him. But… but if there is even the slimmest chance….
Before he has even made a conscious decision he finds himself pushing the gate to the collapsed house aside and climbing over the first hill of rubble. Residual heat burns against his hands as he clambers on all fours, but he pushes it aside and concentrates on finding a path through the destruction that wont send thousands of pounds of rubble sliding over him. His shoulder catches on the twisted metal of something that bares a passing resemblance to the foyer chandelier, ripping his blazer and he makes a mental note to check out The Gimbel Brothers home store later on. If it still stands then it should contain just about anything he will need, as well as some better-suited clothes.
Five hops down through the rubble, sliding occasionally as a loose brick shifts beneath his feet. One such shift sends a small pile of debris tumbling loose. Five steadies himself before preparing to continue.
Something catches his eye in the stretch of rubble that was uncovered by his stumbling. A pale hand peaks out of the broken bricks stretching towards the burnt orange sky.
Five’s heart picks up pace beating painfully against his ribs, until all that he can hear is the sound of blood rushing in his eardrums. He scrambles forward and crouches down next to the hand. It’s large and gloved in black fingerless gloves, and gripped in its fingers is what looks to be a bloody eyeball. Five reaches out and pulls it from the grasp of the dead man, a chill passing over him as his fingers brush against the cold waxy texture of the hand.
A glass eyeball?
Five sweeps a finger over the object, his mind already taking note of its brown colouration and obvious gore. The colour did not match any of his siblings and the state signified that the eye had been removed with obvious violence. He stood slightly and caught sight of the rest of the dead man.
Blonde hair, darkened by ash and blood, a strong jaw and a handsome face. The pit inside Five grew wider as he picked out the similarities between this man and one of the 6 faces he knew better than his own. Luther. It was Luther.
Five pushed himself to his feet, feeling unsteady. Part of him wanted to walk away, to deny what both his brain and aching heart was telling him. Instead he began to search the surrounding area, already knowing what he was going to find.
He found Diego next, lying on his stomach, one arm resting next to his face. The position was so familiar. How many times had Five seen his brother fall asleep in such as way. Five found himself reaching out and shaking his brother, as if he could wake him. For a second his vision blurred and he saw Diego roll over, swatting at his hand, mumbling about a few more minutes. But it faded, instead all Five saw was a cold still body that would never move again.
He fell back, suddenly everything felt too real. Tears burned hot tracks down his face and he could feel a sob building in his chest. He scrambled once again to his feet, denial giving him the strength to push on. These broken, adult bodies, they can’t be his siblings. It wasn’t possible for them to die like this; they were strong! They were heroes!
A dark skinned women lay near Diego, she would have been beautiful. Allison his mind provided for him. He refused to acknowledge it.
Five stumbled through the rest of the rubble; he didn’t even know what he was really looking for anymore. His real siblings? Was he hoping that they would pop up from behind a pile of bricks, laughing and teasing him?
“You’re always so serious Five! Can’t you take a prank?”
The sound of their laughter echoed through his head painfully before cutting out suddenly.
In front of him lay another body. The man was painfully skinny, with wild brown curly hair that ruffled slightly in the wind bringing the painful stillness of the rest of his body in to sharp relief. The man’s arm lay palm up, clearly showing an umbrella tattoo with a distinct red handle.
An exact match to the one on Five’s own wrist.
Any hope of mistaken identity fled Five leaving him gasping. Klaus. That was Klaus.
As Five stood there gasping in the ash of this broken burnt world, he felt the pit in side of him crack open. Cold emptiness brushed up against his heart as the true reality of his situation fell on him.
The world has ended. His siblings had fought and died. He had abandoned them, left them to their deaths.
Who knows if him being there would have changed anything? The pride in him said it would have.
He still could make a difference.
Ice cold determination swept through his body. He was going to fix this. Somehow, he would get back to them. It didn’t matter what it took, this wasn’t allowed to happen.
Five turned his back on his siblings and began to walk away.
He’d better get started.