Chapter Text
After the life that he’s had, Five likes to think that he knows a lot. It’s been a relatively eventful, satisfying life, he thinks, even after growing up alone in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where the only entertainment was his sister’s autobiography on how fucked up his family is, with an entire chapter specifically dedicated to telling the world what a know-it-all he is. Eh. He’s had forty-five years to get over it, and he doesn’t hold Vanya’s words against her anymore. No. He just misses her. Misses them all.
“Am I crazy, Dolores?” he asks the mannequin, who sits in her armchair in their little apartment, staring at him. His lips twitch upward in the mockery of a smile. “Don’t answer that.” He loosens his tie around his neck and undoes a couple of the buttons on his dress shirt as he sits across from her, rolling his left ankle to soothe the aching joint. He’s fifty-eight now. And he hates to admit it, but he’s getting far too old for this kind of shit. Really, he wasn’t looking for a fight, but the Commission wasn’t particularly interested in letting him leave with the file he wanted, so he did what he had to do.
Sighing, he takes the file he’s stolen out of his suit jacket and sets it down in his lap, flipping it open and starting to read. Because he knows what the future holds for his siblings, for Mom, for Pogo. He knows their fates. But he doesn’t know how the apocalypse happens. And this file—it contains all of the answers he needs before he can fix it.
He has to hurry, of course. He knows the Commission will send people after him, and although he isn’t all that concerned about himself—he does have family to think about.
So he speeds through the apocalypse file, eyes widening more and more with every word he reads. Quickly, he realizes what he has to do. “I’ll see you in the past, Dolores,” he says a soft, sad farewell, his heart aching in his chest. “You’ll be safer this way. I promise,” Five tells her, gently touching her arm. “I promise I’ll come for you,” he says, “and we’ll get to meet again. Well. You’ll meet me. I’ll already love you. And we’ll start over. And we’ll get another lifetime together. I promise.”
Taking a deep breath, Five tucks the file into his suit jacket, and he focuses.
Hopefully, he thinks, as he feels the space-time continuum tear open for him to jump, his calculations were correct.
***
He lands in the past, in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. His hands are scraped and dirty from where he’d fallen to the ground, but he wipes them off on the back of his pants and takes stock of his situation. Noting that he has all his limbs and everything there seems to be perfectly fine, he walks out of the alley and looks at the newspaper stand, where the man working there gives him an odd look, but says nothing. The date is February 4th, 1994, and his siblings should be four now. He’s about nine years earlier than he wanted to be, but this should still work out alright. Yeah, he thinks, reevaluating his situation. Vanya hasn’t been rumored yet, so this should actually work out fine. He pats his suit jacket, and finds that the file is still there. That’s good, he thinks, scrunching his nose up at the killer headache he currently has. The man at the newspaper stand furrows his eyes at Five, who glares back at him until he looks away.
Five sighs. He needs coffee.
So he walks and he walks, until he finds the little donut shop that he and his siblings used to sneak out to in the middle of the night, where they would eat donuts until they puked. He smiles at the memory, then frowns when he realizes that they certainly won’t remember now, and walks inside.
After sitting at the counter, the tow truck driver graciously offers to pay for his coffee. The woman working the counter is a nice old lady, and he does his best not to snap at her, waiting quietly for his coffee. Idly, he comments to the tow truck driver, “Don’t remember this place looking so nice.”
Later, after the tow truck driver has left, and the men with guns converge on him, he sighs again, and sets down his coffee, preparing for another fight. “I thought I’d have more time,” he says.
Ironically, he never has quite enough time.
***
In the aftermath, Five digs through the pockets of the hired guns and takes their wallets. Nothing interesting, but cash never hurts to have on hand.
He glances longingly at one of the bigger rifles, but he wouldn’t really need them for this task. Some of the other guys have a couple of handguns, light and well balanced. He doesn’t have gloves to hold them yet, but the diner has napkins printed with pink smiling donuts with sprinkles, so he makes do.
He leaves the premises quickly. After all, he has a mission, and he wouldn’t want to get caught before he can complete it.
***
Five, as much as he doesn’t like to admit it, can be a sentimental bastard sometimes.
After all, what else could explain him standing in a locked department store, in front of the mannequins?
“Hey, Dolores,” he says softly. “It’s good to see you again. How’s the twenty-first century treating you?” He chuckles. “Yeah. You might not know who I am now, but I know who you are. I’ve missed you, this past day.” Five shakes his head, hands in his pockets. “I made you a promise, in the future. And I’m here to tell you that I’m going to make good on that promise.” He sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, I’ve got just one more job left, and then I’ll explain everything. You won’t have to work anymore, we can retire quietly, no one will even question it. Just give me another month–”
The sound of bullets breaks through the stillness of the store, and Five shouts, “Dolores! It’s okay, I’ve got you,” and pulls her down from the display, cursing the Commission underneath his breath. “I would have appreciated at least another goddamn hour. Where’s a bureaucratic nightmare when you need one?”
He doesn’t want to take the gun out from where it’s tucked neatly into his waistband just yet—he only has so much ammunition. But if there was one thing the old man was good for, it was teaching him that he could be deadly even without it.
He knows how people like these two work—hell, he’d been one of them for long enough. The unexpected is expected; it’s just part of the job. So he does the expected.
He can teleport, after all. So he reaches out and steals a pair of gloves off the accessories rack, holds Dolores tight in his arms, and he just fucking leaves. He’s got things to do, terrible fathers to kill. No time to waste.
***
“Hello, old man,” Five greets as he teleports into Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ office, gloved hands wrapped around the gun he’s pointing at his father. He’s been in the past for a mere two days, and it astounds him how much has stayed the same since he left. “Did you miss me?”
“Number Five,” Dad breathes out, eyes wide. “Is that you?” The bastard schools his face into a flat expression, then says, “You’ve aged.”
Five laughs, a bit hysterically. “You know what’s funny, old man? I spent a lot of time in the future, and even more time working for this organization that works to keep the timeline intact, and you know what I realized? You were a shitty father in every single possible timeline. And trust me, I checked.”
“So what, Number Five?” Dad says, looking mildly disappointed. “You’ve come to kill me because I didn’t hug you enough as a child? How boring.”
The corner of Five’s lips twitch upward into a humorless smile. “You know the apocalypse that’s going to happen in the future? The one you’re trying so hard to stop?” Five revels in the way Dad’s eyes widen, even if it’s just a fraction. The last time he’d managed to surprise Dad like this was when he came out as trans, he thinks. “I crunched the numbers, and you know what I found? The reason the apocalypse happens? It’s you.”
Dad’s mouth opens, and the man swallows once, face carefully blank. “You know, Number Five,” he says, staring down the barrel of the gun, “if it’s any consolation, you always were my favorite.”
The gun doesn’t have a silencer, so they will hear the shot and find the body quickly. He dies instantly anyways—suffering might have been enjoyable, but the mission required there be no chance of him being caught.
So Five has to move fast. He takes Dad’s red notebook off his desk, and carefully places the gun in his father’s hand, making it look like a suicide.
“Master Hargreeves?” he hears Pogo call worriedly from outside the office. “Dad?” That must be Luther, Five realizes.
But he can’t stay. Swallowing hard, Five swiftly teleports out of the office. Mission complete.
***
The thing about the Commission is that they really don’t know when to give up. Hazel and Cha-Cha were decent, sure, but they knew he was better. After all his time, he would have thought they knew better.
The motel was dingy and somewhat of an eyesore. “The Commission’s really bad about remembering the inflation rate, aren’t they?” Five muses, the remaining gun in his hand trained almost lazily at Cha-Cha.
“Just like cutting corners where they can,” Hazel mumbles.
Five chuckles. “Yes, I remember. I’m glad I got out when I did.”
“You didn’t get out of shit, Five,” Cha-Cha grinds out, jaw clenched. But she knows better than to try anything.
“Ah, but I think I did. You know, your briefcase isn’t going to be very much help anymore. Who knew getting run over by a bus could do it so much damage?” He glances over to the open, clearly empty vent where they’d so sloppily hidden it. “Some professionals you guys turned out to be. Breaking protocol, left and right. Shame on you.”
Cha-Cha scoffs, and Hazel’s face pales.
“Goddamnit, Hazel, if you’d just held onto it—”
“I told you, my wrist—”
“Who gives a shit about your wrist, you big baby—”
“Why didn’t they make it a fucking backpack—”
“God, shut up,” Five cuts in smoothly. “I really don’t have the time to listen to you two idiots bicker like an old married couple.” Both agents immediately start to object, but Five holds up one hand, and they stop. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot. You know how old age addles the brain—Hazel, you’re actually seeing that woman at Griddy’s Donuts, aren’t you?” Five watches Hazel’s face pale again, and he grins.
“You’re doing what?” Cha-Cha hisses at him, and Hazel swallows nervously.
“I love her,” he defends.
Five smiles softly. “That’s sweet and all, but it’s not why I’m here. The thing is, you two,” he says, leaning forward and gesturing at them with the gun, “you failed your mission. I’ve already killed Sir Reginald Hargreeves.”
Hazel starts to sweat, and Cha-Cha scowls.
“But, in doing so, I’ve stopped the apocalypse. It was simple math. Dear old Dad was the biggest factor in this whole equation. And,” he continues, “I’ve destroyed your briefcase. What if the apocalypse had happened?”
He pauses to look the two of them in the eyes. “You really think the Commission would have saved you? You know it as well as I do, hell, you said it yourself—they’re cutting corners. They don’t care about you, they’ve got twenty more where you came from. You would’ve died along with the rest of humanity. And poor, sweet Agnes,” he says looking at Hazel, who looks like he’s having a heart attack. “She would have gone up into flames too. And for what? The timeline?” He scoffs. “We make our own destiny,” he says. “At least, I want to. What about you?”
Hazel and Cha-Cha look at each other, both breathing heavily. Cha-Cha turns back to Five. “What do you want?” she asks.
Five smiles. “I want to make a truce.”
“A truce?” Hazel repeats, incredulous.
“Yes. I have what I want. The two of you can make lives of your own, away from the Commission now that the briefcase is gone, and thanks to me, the apocalypse is now a non-issue. You don’t come after me or mine, and I won’t kill the two of you.”
“And what if the Commission decides to send people after us? What then?” Cha-Cha asks.
“As if you’re important enough,” Five scoffs. “But if they do, I’ll keep them off your backs. Pinky swear,” he tells them, smirking.
Hazel nods then, suddenly and decisively. “Alright. Truce. I just want Agnes to be safe.”
Cha-Cha rolls her eyes, and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Do we have any other choice?”
Five grins like that cat that caught the canary. “Pleasure doing business with you two.”
***
The compound is even weirder than he’d remembered, from the outside. The old man had this much property in the city just lying around? And why did no one protest the strange crumbling roof of the old fashioned observatory peeking about the walls into their shiny city? He really did have far too much money.
He sets Dolores down on the steps, ignoring the fresh wave of stares from passing pedestrians.
The thing is, whatever Five used to rationalize his choices, it all really boils down to one fact: he misses his family, dysfunctional as they might be. He hasn’t seen them in forty-five years. He’s waited long enough.
After taking in a deep breath, he raises one hand to knock at the door. And then he waits just a little bit longer for someone to answer. Who will it be? he wonders. Allison? Ben? He’s not even sure who he’s hoping for.
There’s a young voice, muffled through the door, and words sounding vaguely like, “I’ll get it!”
Then the door is open, and he sees her like he remembers her from that day so long ago—uniform on, hair long, bangs across her forehead. He hadn’t remembered her being so small, at this age. Dad’s words from the journal rise, unbidden, to the front of his mind, but he shuts them out and he smiles at her, a real smile.
“Hello. You must be Vanya.”