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The painting in front of him had a label ; Abstract. But he could see the equations beneath. Every stroke, every color, every change of medium an indication of complex, unadultered genius. He was contemplating pure science, and he was in awe.
“Hey ! You're the missing Umbrella guy ! The boy !” Five jumped out of his skin and struggled very hard to suppress his murdering instincts. A garggle of kids greeted him, massed around him with unnerving enthusiasm. He raised an eyebrow and took a step back, for safety.
“How do you know about me ? I disappeared before you were even born.” They looked like litteral babies.
“So it is you !” It's not the point he'd tried to make, but well, he wasn't hiding either. The commission had seemed to let them be, those days. He let out a sight.
“Yeah, kids.” He wasn't heartless, as some colleagues had sometimes called him. They had simply known him fresh out of forty five years of solitude ; It wasn't something to brush off so easily. And maybe his grandpa instincts kicked in at long last, because he felt a genuine smile bloom on his face. “It's me.”
“How ! Why ! When !...” Their frantic questions muddled together, incomprehensible babbling of over excited puppies. He blinked a few times ; it was a lot to take in. Then one of the kids silenced the others. His confidence reminded Five of Luther. He decided to shrug off the feeling.
“Where were you all this time ?”
“I was...” He considered telling the truth for a second. Why not after all ? But then again did he want to try and explain all the subtleties of quantum physics and time travel to those kids. “Holed up somewhere... Timeless,” he said as vaguely as he could, waving a hand around to the thin air. “So how do you know about me ?” His distraction was crude but it worked.
“We're fans of the Umbrella academy, of course !”
“Our parents' comics collections...”
“You're so cool !”
“Can we see you power ?”
“What's your favorite mission from back then ?”
“What happened to the others ?” Five raised his hands in front of him for protection.
“Alright, alright.” He said, and they almost calmed down.
“My favorite mission,' he started, because he didn't want to talk about the other questions, “Our first one, obviously, before...” Before the disillusion ; before the murders and the PTSD, and the haunting nightmares. All that he kept for himself of course. “It was a fun mission.” His smile soft for those innocent souls, unnaware of the torture and neglect his sibling and he had faced. A voice from behind the group made everyone groan.
“Come on kids, the visit's this way.” The young man looked a bit flushed, like he had just ran here. “And voices down, this is a museum, not recess.” Three other adults had popped up around the group, flanking each side and herding the group away. A large hand dropped on Five's shoulder. He turned his head slowly, shaking in an effort to not rip the offending limb off of him.
“Come on kiddo, get a move on.” Before he could open his mouth, a hand nudged Five forward with quite a bit of strenght. For a second he was back under Sir Reginald's grip and on his way for personal training. The Boy crouched down and stepped away from the guy. He was a big, bald man with worn glasses and a satchel hanging from one shoulder and dangling over his protuding belly. Five straightened his suit and cleared his throat along with the panic rising its old and familiar head.
“I'm not...” but before he could finish, the boy that had reminded him of Luther appeared behind him and grabbed his arm.
“Hey, do you want to come with us on the tour ?”
“No.” It was too much for him now. First, it had felt good to speak to thoses kids, he had almost forgotten the terror of being surrounded by so many people. By people. Baby steps, he rationnalised as he made great efforts to control his breathing. He ran a hand in his hair to slick them back.
“Well tough luck, you don't have a choice,” The big guy said, his tone suffering no reply, his huge hand on Five's back and knocking him forward. Well, with that, he was gone in a flash a blue. He ended up behind a dumpster in the back alley of the museum. He puked his breakfast and craddled himself as he slumped down the wall. Cold sweat ran down his shirt and tears down his face.
“Fuck !” He cried out.