Chapter Text
“I think you could use a hobby.”
Diego shuts the door behind Five and motions for him to make himself comfortable in his dingy apartment—if it could really be called that, considering it was a boiler room with a bed. Still, he knows Diego likes it because it’s his own space, and Five can certainly respect that. After all, he’s fifty-eight and still living in his childhood bedroom.
Five plops down in a chair and peels off his rain-soaked hoodie.
“I’m thinking about getting my GED,” he says.
Diego turns to look at him, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I think that’s great—really, Five. But you know that’s not really a hobby, right?”
Five shrugs. “And what exactly are your hobbies, Diego?”
His brother purses his lips. “I have hobbies.”
“So you’d be willing to offer up some suggestions?” Five asks, blinking his eyes owlishly in mock interest.
“Maybe,” Diego grunts, but doesn’t add anything else. Five knows his brother’s list of hobbies pretty much includes knives, vigilantism, loving Mom, and knives again. “Did you leave a note?” he asks, changing the subject.
Five nods. There’s a bright orange sticky note right stuck on the fridge, letting the others know he was going out. It’s a practice they’ve all adopted to make sure no one ever goes missing again, although Five still tends to go off on his own the most. The house can get a little loud, and sometimes he just needs to get out and clear his head.
“Told them I was going for a walk.”
“Right,” Diego nods. “I’ll call the house and let them know you’re staying here tonight. Don’t want them to think you’ve been kidnapped overnight.”
Five wrinkles his nose and scoffs. “You guys don’t have to worry about me.”
“Just you try and tell Vanya that. Or Allison, for that matter. They’re going to worry, Five, whether you need it or not. Probably better to just appease them.”
Five hums in acknowledgement. They’ve had this conversation before; he’s resigned to it by now. His family is a big bunch of sappy worrywarts sometimes, and he’s mostly stopped trying to fight it—at least the small stuff, like letting Diego call home and confirm his whereabouts. It’s better than dealing with them all overreacting and trying to baby him every time he goes out to get a cup of coffee.
(Plus, there was the unfortunate incident with the Commission clean-up crew ambushing him, somehow managing to knock him out, and dragging him to some dirty motel. He’d fought back once he woke up and obviously a couple of Commission goons were no match for him, but he’d been a bit roughed up, so it wasn’t overly surprising when he stumbled back into the mansion and promptly passed the fuck out on the foyer floor. They’d all figured he’d just gone out for late-night coffee and didn’t manage to get back before they went to sleep. Luckily Klaus had been wandering around at 4:00 in the morning and happened to trip over him before he bled out, but after that they all decided that at least leaving notes was a must. Even Five had to admit that maybe it was a good call. If something similar had happened to any of his siblings and he hadn’t known where they were…)
Five simply sighs and lets his brother do his thing while he kicks off his damp shoes. He barely manages to look up in time to see Diego chuck something at his face. Snatching it out of the air right before it smacks him in the nose, he realizes it’s a balled-up pair of socks. Five stares at them long enough for Diego to start chuckling at him.
“They’re just socks, dude.” Thick, luxuriously soft socks, light blue with yellow toes. Five honestly has no idea why Diego even has them in the first place, since they don’t match his usual color scheme.
“I can see that. Why?” He glances over to watch his brother continue to rifle through his closet.
Diego shrugs, his back still to Five. “Yours are wet. And it’s cold on the floor—where you’ll be sleeping. Here. Take this too.” He hurls yet another article of clothing at him, this time a dark grey sweatshirt, soft and worn-in.
“I agree to sleep on the floor one time…” Five grumbles, tugging the sweatshirt over his head. It’s big, oversized probably even on Diego, but warm and comfortable.
“You could have slept in your own bed at home,” Diego counters. “You’re the one who just had to go for a walk in this disgusting weather and come crawling to me like a house cat someone left out in the rain.”
He doesn’t actually mind the floor, which is why he always offers to take it. Diego and Klaus are the only ones that don’t challenge him when he does stuff like that. The others look at him all pityingly and get insistent that Oh, Five, this isn’t the apocalypse anymore. You’ve already slept on the ground for forty years… He’s glad Diego just goes along with it without asking too many questions. Even after being home for months, Five still sometimes sleeps on the floor in his own room, when the bed is too soft and stifling and threatens to swallow him up.
“Your place was closer,” he says.
Diego grunts. “Yeah, whatever. I have to get up early tomorrow, so go ahead and find yourself a nice, comfy piece of floor.”
“What do you have to get up early for?” Five asks. “Listening obsessively to the police scanner can’t wait for the sun?”
Diego continues his childish trend of throwing things at Five, this time a pillow. Five catches it and hugs it tightly to his chest, jumping into the corner and tucking it under his head as a curls up. The floor is a bit cold, but Five finds he doesn’t mind. And Diego’s stupid sweatshirt and socks are actually quite cozy.
“Do you need a blanket?”
“No, I’m good.” They both know he’s slept in far worse places than Diego’s floor, and the cool ground is much better than waking up sweltering and suffocated. He’s glad Diego doesn’t argue because he doesn’t know how to explain his preference for the cold.
Diego flips off the lights and Five hears him fling himself down loudly on the bed. His stoic, Batman-wannabe, bondage-clad brother really is secretly a drama queen.
“Thanks,” Five says quietly.
“What was that?”
“I’m not saying it again, asshole.”
Diego huffs out a laugh. “‘Night, Five.”
It doesn’t take long for his brother to start snoring, but Five finds it oddly comforting. He isn’t particularly tired himself—overly used to going days without sleep—but he’d found himself on Diego’s doorstep after a couple hours of wandering the city, and he hadn’t been in the mood to try and get back to the mansion. Too far to walk and jumping was trickier in the rain, especially for long-distances.
He likes it when the air is cool and the rain soaks into his skin, and he takes nearly every available opportunity to go out and take it all in. His family has come to expect it, and none of them question it anymore.
He’s been a little lost recently. Not a bad lost, not confused and frantic—after all, the apocalypse has been stopped and he’s accomplished his mission. But it means he’s not quite sure where he stands anymore. He’s been slowly getting to know his brothers and sisters again, learning to be a part of a family again. But other than that, he’s just sort of been… wandering, bouncing from sibling to sibling and observing their mundane lives.
Maybe Diego was onto something about him finding a hobby. Huh.
“Why me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Do I need an excuse to want to spend time with you, Five?” Allison says, mock pouting.
“Humor me.”
His sister sighs deeply. “Fine. You’re the only one home, and I can’t get this done by myself.”
He peers closer, scrutinizing her features for any hint of falsehood. “You sure it’s not because I look like this? Because I’m not a child, Allison. I have no idea how your daughter would want her room decorated.”
She waves him off. “Of course not. I know what Claire likes. I just need extra hands and, well, you’re it. Vanya’s at rehearsal, Diego’s out, and Luther’s at the store with Klaus, and you know it’s going to take them forever to do even a simple task.”
“Was it really a good idea pairing them up?”
“Oh, they’ll be fine. Don’t change the subject. Are you in or not?”
He stands up, shrugging. “I guess I don’t really have anything better to do.”
“That’s the spirit,” Allison says with an eyeroll. She jangles her car keys impatiently. “C’mon.”
“Wait, where are we going? I thought I was just going to be moving furniture.” He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth.
She looks down at him with a raised eyebrow and he rolls back his shoulders, trying to appear as tall as possible. Damn Allison with her long legs and her stupid high heels.
“Five…”
“Don’t say it,” he snaps. He already knows where she’s going with this.
“If I wanted some extra muscle…”
“Allison, I’m warning you—”
“I don’t think you’d be my first choice.” He glares up at her dangerously. “Certainly not the last,” she tacks on quickly. “You’ve got Vanya and Klaus beat, but—”
“I feel like you should quit while you’re already behind.”
“Yeah, alright. No, you’re not moving furniture. There’s already a bed and a dresser set up in one of the spare rooms near mine. You’re just coming with me to pick up paint and decorations.”
“I already told you that I don’t know what your daughter would like.”
“And I already told you, you’re just a walking set of hands to me. Or teleporting? Whatever. Just come on.”
“I’ll drive,” he says.
“No.” He glowers at that, but at least she doesn’t protest him sitting shotgun like Luther always does.
As it turns out, his sister is a giant liar—throughout their entire shopping trip she was constantly asking Five for his opinions.
Allison points back and forth between two comforters, one yellow and covered in petite white and blue flowers and the other lavender with a smattering of teal butterflies. They both look equally colorful and childish to Five.
“I think she’d like either one of them,” Allison was saying. “But… I’m not sure. Which one do you like better?”
He opens his mouth to spit out that he has no opinion because he’s not a little girl and why does it even matter, a blanket is a blanket no matter what color, but something stops him.
The harsh bedrooms that they grew up in, filled with memories that belonged more to soldiers than to children—it’s not a place Claire deserves to ever be. His niece (and wow, he has a niece, isn’t that something) deserves a much better childhood than her mother and everyone else who grew up in that house.
Allison just wants her daughter to have a happy bedroom. And what the hell—Five wants Claire to have that too. It’s obvious that she’s going to be just fine with either one of the comforters, so it’s not like Five can possibly choose wrong. And here Allison is, giving Five his first chance to have even a tiny part in his niece’s life, and that’s something he really does want.
“The yellow one,” Five blurts out. Allison looks down at him, surprised that he actually answered. “I like the yellow one.”
“Okay,” Allison says, immediately setting the chosen comforter in the cart. There’s something satisfying about getting to make a decision and knowing that there would be no life-altering consequences. It was just a bedspread.
“What’s next?”
From the way Allison’s eyes go even wider, he thinks he might have accidentally sounded almost eager, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Let Allison go ahead and try and tell the rest of their siblings that he got excited about decorating a child’s bedroom, it’s not like they’d believe her. And even if they did, what are they really learning about Five? That he cares about his niece? Okay. He does. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“Um, just a few more things here,” she says. “A lamp, I think, and some pillows. I’d like to try and find a rug as well, and maybe a few other decorations. And then we’ll go pick out paint.”
“You haven’t even picked out paint yet?”
“I wanted to make sure the paint would match with whatever else we picked out. Based on the bedspread you chose, I’m thinking blue, or maybe a nice purple. I’ll have to see then we get there.”
It takes them three hours to even make it to the other store to buy paint. Five does indeed fulfill his promised duty, carting the yellow comforter along with a simple lamp, two incredibly soft creme pillows, a fuzzy blue rug, and a round hanging mirror. Allison had also picked up a small nightlight at Five’s suggestion. He knows how dark it can get in those rooms late at night, and he doesn’t want Claire to ever feel swallowed up.
The paint choices, however, are even more extensive—Five had no idea there could be so many different colors and styles and types. He watches as Allison stalks back and forth between the blues and the purples, grabbing swatches and shoving them in Five’s face for his opinion.
“That one’s nice,” Five says, resisting the urge to grit his teeth. They’ve been here for way too long. “They’re all fine, Allison. Just pick one.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ll just… I need to be right back. Almost done, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you,” he grumbles, but she’s already gone.
He paces up and down a wall of color paint cans, skimming his fingers across the swatches. All the rooms in the mansion are just painted the way they are as a result of whatever building they were a part of before their dad bought them all up. He’d still managed to use the rooms as manipulation tactics—which is why the room Vanya had been given was small and grey, while others, like Luther, Allison, and Five himself actually had colorful walls. There was no part of their lives that hadn’t been used by the old man to try and mold them into the complacent soldiers he’d so desperately wanted.
“Alright,” Allison says, hurrying back over to him. “I’m done. I’m sorry about that.”
“What color did you pick?” he asks.
She holds up a swatch of a pretty lavender color. He chokes back the complaint that it’s one of the first ones they looked at and nods.
“Can you help me carry the cans?” she asks.
“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”
Allison rolls her eyes and shoves the cans into his arms.
To be honest, Five doesn’t really know how he ended up here, in a semi-empty bedroom, rolling lavender paint onto the walls with his sister. Even without her rumors, his sister’s got some sort of power of persuasion. Either that or he’s just bored.
“When does she get here?” Five asks.
“Two weeks,” Allison says. She sounds practically giddy, and it makes Five smile. He’s proud of her for working so hard to turn her life around like this.
“What are you going to tell her?” he asks, continuing to carefully roll paint onto the wall.
“About what?”
“About this.” Five gestures to his teenage body, accidentally flicking paint onto his clothes.
“I suppose I’ll tell her the truth. Or at least, a PG version of it. It’s not like she doesn’t know about your powers.”
He blinks, surprised. “You told her about me?”
“Of course,” Allison says. “I told her about everyone.”
“But… I left.”
“You were still there, in the beginning, and you were an important part of my life. Besides, I missed you,” she says simply. “Seemed like a good way to at least honor your memory, and make sure my daughter knew you.”
“Oh.”
She glances over and seems to notice the way he’s frozen, trying to process what she’s saying. Her smile is soft and fond and Five is too overcome to squirm underneath it.
“She’ll be so excited to finally meet you.”
Five nods, his throat impossibly tight. “I… I can’t wait to meet her too.”
After awkwardly clearing his throat a few times and pointedly looking anywhere except at Allison, he crouches down to get an area on the wall near the floor. One good thing about this body is that his knees and back don’t ache constantly anymore. Allison stands on her toes, high above him, reaching up towards the ceiling. Paint drips down from her roller and into his hair, making him squawk in indignance.
“Hey!” Without thinking, he dips his fingers in the paint and flicks it in Allison’s direction.
She turns, deadly slow, to face him, her expression a stony mask. “Did you… just throw paint at me?”
Five grins his closed-mouth smile that Klaus is always saying is so terrifying. “Sure did.”
“You’re gonna regret that.” Allison seemingly can’t hold her neutral expression any longer, because she lunges at him with pure mischievous vengeance in her eyes.
Five jumps back, but not before Allison’s paint roller smacks his left arm, coating it in a thick layer of paint.
“This feels like a waste of paint,” he says slowly, watching Allison carefully as he waits for her to pounce again.
She grins wide, white teeth sparkling equal parts beautiful and terrifying. “Good thing I’m a rich movie star.”
And just like that, it’s an all-out battle. It’s the first time in a long, long time that Five has fought for fun and not for his life. Allison laughs the whole way through, reminding him that, no, this isn’t the Commission here to kill you, this is your sister and this is fun. Allison’s quick and smart, easily falling back into her childhood training, and it’s been a while since Five has sparred with any of his siblings so he might be a little rusty at predicting what she’s going to do. Still, Five’s got some tricks of his own and the ability to pop in and out of his sister’s reach in an instant.
Within five minutes, they’re both breathing hard and poised defensively in opposite corners of the room. Paint is everywhere—in Five’s hair, smeared across his cheek, rolled onto the front of his blazer, splattered across Allison’s chest, purple handprints littered up and down her arms and smacked right in the middle of her forehead.
“Have you calmed down yet?” Five asks.
“Me? You started this!” Allison says between trying to catch her breath.
“Uh, no,” Five counters. “You got paint on me first.”
“On accident! You’re the one who flicked it at me.”
Five shrugs. “It was warranted.”
“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Allison cocks her head to the side, stepping back into position for another round.
“Bring it on,” Five grins.
“Hey, Allison—” They both whirl towards the door and freeze when they see Vanya poking her head in. “Uh… Wha—”
“What’s up, Vanya?” Allison says quickly, straightening up and wiping her paint-covered hands on her pants.
“I was just… I was just going to make sure we were, uh, still on for dinner. Hey, what—”
“Absolutely,” Allison says. “Can’t wait. I’ll meet you downstairs at 6:00, yeah?”
Vanya stares just a little longer before nodding. “Just make sure you clean yourself up first,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
“Well…” Allison starts. “That was embarrassing.”
Five has to agree. Now that their paint fight is over, it retroactively feels incredibly childish, and that’s not really the appearance he wants to give off to his siblings. At least it was Vanya that interrupted and not any of the others. At least she might let him live it down.
Five spatial jumps, landing in the bathroom. He pauses for a moment to take in his appearance in the mirror. It’s still weird, seeing himself so small and young; it’s not the form he actively associates with himself. His hair is a ruffed-up, paint-filled mess and there are smears of color everywhere, but beneath it, he can see his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright. There’s an ache in his cheeks that makes him think that he might have been actually smiling.
Genuine happiness is… an odd look on him.
“Hey,” Allison says, sliding into the bathroom. She immediately gets to work, pulling out a washcloth and soaking it in warm water from the tap.
Allison reaches over, swiping gently at Five’s face with the washcloth. He flinches back instinctively and she stops, lowering her arm.
“Sorry,” she says, having the decency to look sheepish. Five huffs and snatches the washcloth from her, cleaning the paint off of his face himself. “Wasn’t thinking.”
He nods, dismissing it, and keeps scrubbing at his skin. Allison grabs another cloth and starts working on the handprint on her forehead. Five smiles inwardly, he’s proud of that one. She’d reeled back and gaped like a fish while he blinked out of reach smugly. That had gotten him a paint roller to the back in retaliation, but it had been worth it.
Once their skin is relatively clean, they both end up perched on the side of the bathtub in silence.
“We did such a great job painting your daughter’s room,” Five says dryly.
Allison snorts. “Yeah. It’s alright. I’ve still got time to finish it up. I might have to go get more paint, though.”
“You’re on your own this time.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll probably get more done alone anyways, without any little brats attacking me.”
Five glowers.
“Sorry,” she amends. “ Old brats. My bad.”
“It’s not better,” he huffs.
Allison laughs, clear and bright.
“Hey,” she says after a moment, shifting the air in the room to something more serious. “I’m sorry if it ever feels like I’m trying to mother you. I know you’re not a kid, and I want you to know that I really don’t mean to do it.”
“Well, soon it won’t matter. Claire will be back and you can mother her to your heart’s content.”
“That’s true.” Allison bites her lip and casts a sideways glance at her brother. “But… don’t think that’ll stop me from still caring about you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, Allison, I don’t actually want you to act like my mother.”
“I know,” she says. “I’m just… I know you’re fifty-eight, but you do still look thirteen, and… and it’s hard. I’m trying to find a happy medium between treating you the way you keep saying you want to be treated and wanting to look out for you, because you’re still my brother and I love you.”
He knows his siblings see him as a kid sometimes. A lot of the time. In a way, he can understand why. He was practically spat back into their lives after seventeen years looking exactly the same as he did when he disappeared.
But he’d thought that was the main reason: he looked like a kid. He’d never actually thought that maybe some of the stuff he saw as his family babying him was actually just them caring. He’s been alone for so long that he’s not sure if he remembers what affection really looks like.
He hadn’t realized that he needed someone to say it directly.
He needs to respond, right? That’s the appropriate thing to do here, let his sister know that he loves her too. He just… isn’t sure how to put it into words.
“For what it’s worth,” he starts softly, rolling his jaw as he gets a feel for the words. Allison glances in his direction. “I think Claire’s a really lucky kid. She could do a lot worse than having you for a mom.”
“Thank you, Five.” Allison’s voice is wobbly and watery and for a moment, Five thinks that he somehow said something wrong. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.
Damn. He’s screwed up hasn’t he. He really thought he was getting better, and here he goes and fucks it up again.
But then, he feels her fingers brush lightly over his, coming to rest just barely touching his hand. Oh. Happy tears then.
Five swallows hard and says what he knows is the proper response to those words. “You’re welcome.”
It speaks volumes for both of them.
Five is already at the coffeeshop when Vanya walks in. He’s been there for about half and hour, perched in what has become their booth, pouring over a new book on theoretical physics. It was published April 2nd, 2019—the day after the apocalypse would have happened. In a way, he feels partially responsible for it getting made. It’s tangible proof that the apocalypse has been averted. Plus, the author has some really interesting things to say about quantum gravity.
“Hey,” Vanya says, sliding into the seat across from him.
Immediately, he dog-ears his page and closes the book, shoving it to the side so he can give Vanya is full attention. She smiles, following the action with her eyes. She’s spent too much of her life taking the backseat to whatever the rest of her siblings were doing; Five wants to make sure that, now more than ever, Vanya knows that he will always do his best to make time for her.
That’s part of what sparked their bi-weekly coffeeshop meetings.
(The other part is that Five genuinely missed his sister, and this one-on-one interaction is the best way for him to reconnect with her.)
“Have you ordered yet?”
Five shakes his head. “No, I was waiting for you.”
“Right,” she says with a nod. “I’ll order for us. What number are we on?”
“Seven,” Five answers. They’ve been slowly and meticulously drinking their way through the café’s entire menu. Vanya, growing up in a strictly caffeine-free household, has never had the chance to really try anything other than some cheap, shitty stuff from the grocery store. Five had felt that it was his obligation to inform her that she was drinking garbage.
For Five, it was more like an experiment. When he was younger, he had a huge sweet tooth whenever he had the opportunity. But after years of surviving on scraps (and one horrible Twinkie), he has a harder time stomaching it. This is like a test, to see if he can ever find something that resembles more of his childhood tastes. So far, they’ve been fairly unsuccessful, but Five likes the routine and the opportunity to spend time with Vanya, so he never complains.
Vanya gets back up and goes to the counter to order, but Five doesn’t pick his book back up. Instead, he watches the window, looking out at the street.
It’s still a foreign feeling, being able to look around and see people everywhere he goes. A lot of the time, it starts to feel overwhelming—they’re too loud and make the world too crowded and busy. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach churn when he has to spend too long in a crowd.
But the café is quiet and cozy, part of the reason he and Vanya chose it. The seats are a hodgepodge of comfortable, warn-in armchairs and booths, and soft classical music drifts throughout the room. Here, he can people watch without it getting to be too much. He lets himself get lost watching mundane people go about their mundane lives.
“Here we go,” Vanya says, snapping him out of his trance. She sets down the mugs and slides one over to Five. In the center of the table on a little plate is a large blueberry muffin, which Five assumes must be the seventh pastry item on the menu. They’ll probably run out of those pretty soon and have to start circling through, which he thinks will probably create some interesting combinations.
Five brings the mug up to his nose and takes a careful sniff. “What is this?” he asks when he can’t place it.
“White chocolate mocha,” Vanya replies. “Hopefully it’s not too sweet for you, although I wouldn’t hold out hope. Sorry.”
Five just shrugs. The whole point is to maybe find something different that he might like. In a way, it’s like he’s trying to reclaim something else that the apocalypse stole from him, and if he’s good at anything, it’s fighting back against the apocalypse.
Plus, Vanya wanted to do it, and he wasn’t about to say no to her.
Thank you, Luther, for surprisingly not caring that they’re wasting the funds Dad left to keep the Umbrella Academy going on coffee. Maybe his brother is finally starting to get his priorities straight.
“How was your day with Allison?” Vanya asks, grinning knowingly.
Five shrugs. “Not as bad as I anticipated.”
Vanya nods, her smile softening. “I think she had a really good time. She seemed happy when we went to dinner.”
“I mean, she’s a step closer to seeing her daughter again. She’s bound to be happy about that.”
“Of course,” Vanya says, but the way she smiles, he feels as if he’s missing something. He doesn’t love that, but he also doesn’t want to ask for an explanation, so he lets it be, choosing instead to change the conversation.
“Diego thinks I need a hobby,” Five says, sipping his coffee. He wrinkles his nose—Vanya’s right, it is a bit sweet. He’ll order a black coffee in a few minutes and get the rest of this to-go. Klaus will drink it.
Vanya hums. “I mean, it probably would be good for you.”
“I was thinking…” he starts, picking at the hem of his sweater and avoiding his sister’s gaze.
“Yeah?” she prompts.
He takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “What about music?”
Vanya blinks, obviously surprised. “Like an instrument?”
“Yeah. It’s just… It’s something new to learn, a new challenge, and… and I wouldn’t have to find some random person to put up with me because I already have an amazingly talented sister who just so happens to give lessons.”
“You—you want to learn violin?”
Five shrugs. “Why not? Unless… Do you—do you think it’s a bad idea?” Or worse, does she not want to teach him? He has to admit, he’ll probably be a dreadful student, but he’d figured Vanya would be able to deal with him better than some stranger, and willing to put up with more because they’re family.
“No, no!” Vanya reaches across the table to rest her hand on top of his. He lets her. He’s getting better at that stuff, as long as it’s not a surprise or anything too overwhelming. “I think it’s a great idea, Five,” she continues. Something that he thinks might just be pride shines in her eyes. It makes him feel like preening. “I would be happy to teach you.”
“Really?” he asks, embarrassed to hear his voice sound so small. “You’re not just saying that? Because you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I mean, violin is your thing, and… I can find something else. You know what—”
“Five,” she smiles gently, cutting him off, “it’s a great idea. I would love to teach you.” His sister squeezes his hand once before retreating back to her side. She’s the best of all his siblings at knowing Five’s limits when it comes to contact. It takes him back to when they were kids and they knew each other well enough to have complete conversations without their words.
“Don’t tell the others,” Five says. If they find out, they’ll start teasing him, and he’s not sure if he can go through with this if his siblings are laughing at him behind his back. He remembers back when Vanya first started learning, scratching out what could only barely be considered music. He knows it’s the first step in the process. He knows everyone starts out that way—just look at Vanya and how far she’s come. If she started out sounding like a dying cat, he would surely be even worse. None of the rest of his siblings are allowed to hear him until he’s well past the early squeaky phase.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Five, I… I’m just really excited about this. This is great. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he whispers, the word sticking heavily in his throat.
“Of course. You’re about to get black coffee, aren’t you,” she says, watching the way Five scowls at the mocha upon taking a second sip. He’s glad for the change in subject.
“Yes,” he says, dropping the mug on the table with a thump and getting to his feet.
“Don’t forget to ask for a to-go cup,” she calls after him.
They better give him this damn black coffee, thirteen-year-old body or not. He’s earned it.
“Hey, shortstack,” Klaus says, flopping down on the couch beside Five. His head lands close to Five’s knee, so he shoves him away. Klaus flails around a bit before tumbling onto the floor with a grunt.
He pops up in an instant, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he fake-pouts.
“Is that any way to treat your favorite brother?”
Five scoffs. “When have I ever referred to you as my favorite?”
“It was implied,” Klaus says, slumping back down on the couch, this time upright and leaving adequate space for Five to breathe. “I could see it in your eyes.”
“Hm, well maybe I’m not the only one who needs to work on my people skills, since you obviously don’t know what disdain and minimal tolerance look like.”
“Ouch.” Klaus clutches dramatically at his chest. “You wound me.”
“You’ll get over it,” Five says, rolling his eyes. “Now, are we doing this, or what?”
Klaus grins. “You want drama or romcom?”
“Drama,” Five answers immediately.
Klaus tuts. “You should stop putting off all the rom coms, Fivey. We agreed to watch all of our talented sister’s wonderful films, so you’re just setting yourself up for a romcom marathon.”
“We’ll see if I even watch those,” Five grumbles.
Klaus gasps dramatically. “Five! You promised to watch all of them. Don’t let me down.”
“I think you’ll live if I miss a couple sappy films.”
“Don’t let Allison down, then.”
“Allison doesn’t care.”
“I don’t know about that. I think this would mean a lot to her.”
“Can you just play the damn movie, Klaus?”
“Yeah, yeah. So snippy.”
“What the hell are you two doing?” Five turns to see Diego standing in the doorway, decked out in his pajamas. “It’s 4:00 a.m.”
Five shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Neither could Klaus. We’re watching a movie.”
Diego narrows his eyes. “Do you two do this often?”
“Yep!” Klaus grins, answering before Five can respond. “Five loves to spend time with his favorite brother. Isn’t that right?”
Five nods this time. “I do enjoy spending time with Ben.”
Diego cracks a half smile as Klaus hisses in outrage.
“Still,” Diego says, “you guys should at least try and sleep.”
“Why are you up then?” Five snaps back.
“I could hear you from my room. You woke me up!”
“Sounds like a personal problem.” Five shrugs. In the background, the movie starts up.
“That’s—” Diego leans around Klaus to look at the TV. “Is this Allison’s movie? The one about the lawyer?”
“It sure is!” Klaus says. “Care to join us?”
“No. Just keep it down, will you?”
Five doesn’t move his gaze from Diego’s as he points the remote at the TV and cranks up the volume. Diego growls and lunges for the remote, but Five simply blinks to the other side of the couch.
“Damn—Five! You’re going to wake up the whole house.” He turns it up two more notches.
“Vanya’s not here,” Klaus says, “so he doesn’t care.” Five grins. He’s not wrong.
“Okay, how about this then,” Diego says. “You wake up Allison and she comes down to see you watching her movie, she’s going to realize you actually have feelings.”
“It’s just a movie,” Five grumbles. “It doesn’t mean anything. Just something to do.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Klaus says. “This was all his idea. The little guy secretly loves us.”
“Don’t call me little guy, ” Five snaps.
“Ah! But that’s the only part he denies. Five looooooves us! ” Klaus dances around singsong, narrowly avoiding the remote that Five hurls in his direction. Diego scoops it up and promptly turns the volume back down to an acceptable level.
“You’re missing the movie, idiots,” Diego says. Five turns back to the TV just in time to see Allison walk onto the screen.
“Shut up and get out, Diego,” he huffs, turning his back on his brother.
“You heard him,” Klaus agrees, slumping down next to Five. “Scram, bro. Allison movie marathons are for the insomnia club only.”
“That’s not healthy,” Diego says. “You need sleep.”
Klaus waves him off. “It’s fine. Five usually passes out halfway through anyway.”
Five scowls but doesn’t argue because unfortunately, he’s not wrong. The soft sounds of the movie and the steady presence of another person in the room make it a lot harder for his brain to scream you’re back in the apocalypse in his nightmares.
“What about you?” Diego asks Klaus.
“Don’t worry, he falls asleep too,” Five answers.
“Sometimes,” Klaus corrects.
Diego grunts. “Better than nothing. I’ll take it. I’m going back to bed. Keep it down, alright?”
“Every time you say that it makes me want to turn it up louder,” Five calls after Diego’s retreating back. His very mature brother flips him the bird.
With Diego out of the picture, he turns his full attention back to the movie. He’d read a bit about Allison’s career in Vanya’s book, always wishing he’d gotten a chance to see some of her work—he’d missed out on seeing all his siblings grow up. Now that he’s back and the apocalypse has been averted, he’s ready to see everything he missed out on. This is just one thing on a long list of aspects of his siblings’ lives that he finally gets to catch up on.
He’s not a huge fan of the movie itself, but he gets a flutter of something warm and comfortable in his stomach every time Allison appears onscreen. He’s barely even paying attention to the plot, focusing instead on the way Allison commands each scene, confidence radiating out of her with every line. He knows it was a rocky path that she took to get there, but he’s still proud of her. This was her dream growing up, and he’s glad she at least got to live it, even if she would eventually decide that she wanted something completely different.
He’s proud of her performance, and he’s even more proud of how much she’s grown.
He’s proud of how much they’ve all grown.
Klaus is watching the movie with rapt attention, which means he was probably having a particularly bad night and is trying to distract himself away. Five scooches a little closer to his brother, hoping to provide some comfort by proximity. He knows Klaus is pretty touchy-feely, knows it stems partially from his need to make sure that the people around him are actually alive. He’s not quite there yet, personally, but he thinks Klaus respects his boundaries.
Five lets his knee bump lightly against Klaus’s, staring straight ahead and pretending to ignore the dopey look on his brother’s face when he does.
“Watch the movie, dipshit,” he grumbles.
“You can’t fool me, Five,” Klaus whispers.
He's not exactly trying to, because yeah, he loves them. Whatever. It's not a big deal.