Chapter Text
When the briefcase whirred, the blue light enveloping each member of the Umbrella Academy altogether, the only thing Five wished for was to return his family alive and apocalypse-less. He hadn't expected the house to still be standing, nor to spot Grace to be up and functional, or hear a tap-tap of Pogo’s cane against the wooden floors. It was a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.
Usually, damage dealt by the Umbrellas remained even if they did not.
The moment was ruined the second Five’s feet hit the floor. He took stock of his siblings: 1, 2, 3, 4, 7 – all present, all breathing. Seeing his world intact, the burden on Five’s shoulders lessened ever so slightly, and in the split second he stood still after landing Five found his own weight too heavy to carry.
Fuzzy little black spots, like static or falling ash, swam across his eyes. His head throbbed, a bruise blossoming on his face from his one on one with a cast iron fry pan. His shoes were untied. The burning sensation on his torso indicated his stitches had come undone. Again.
“It worked,” Allison whispered. “I can’t believe that actually worked!”
Klaus slung an arm around her, pulled Viktor along with his other, and smushed them all into a hug. A loud group cheer resounded off the walls. Luther winced. His complexion a pale green.
“I’m going to throw up.”
Diego smiled. “Briefcase travel is a hard skill to master Number One,” he said, a hand patting Luther’s shoulder, “It’ll pass.”
Was Five going to puke? Is that why his blood had turned to lead? His limbs were heavy and his body, still infuriating thirteen, started to sway.
Klaus tossed his head back. “Wait until the itch comes mon frere,” he added, “Imagine you’re a rotisserie chicken, under a really shitty fire. Not even a fire really. Imagine God was holding a lighter and dropped it near–”
“Please stop talking. Please.” Luther held his head in his hands.
Grace said something. Then Diego. Then Viktor. Then everyone’s voices started to blend, and their backs started to blur and Five caught himself just before he careened into the table. Reginald’s ugly vase teetering in tandem with Five before it settled.
It really did feel like God was holding a lighter to Five’s skin. Sweat beaded on his brow, the air that passed through his lungs, dry and cracked. Some tangled bit of nerves that nestled within his ribcage sent bolts of panic up his spine. Things were slipping from his grasp. He needed coffee. Maybe this was the timeline in which Reginald Hargreeves kept some goddamn coffee in the pantry.
Eyes open . Five thought to himself, dragging his feet forward; one hand still resting on the table for balance.
Another voice, like Five’s, but smaller and quieter, echoed inside his head as well. Stay awake it urged. If we close our eyes, it will all go away.
“Oh, shut up Diego.” Luther pointed towards the boy hunched at the edge of the table. “Look Five’s sick too. It’s a normal reaction.”
“That’s just how elderly people stand.”
“Diego has a slight point.”
Luther pouted. “You too Allison?”
She gestured at Five harder. “I mean he is 58.”
Diego was painfully smug.
“His body is thirteen!”
Five grit his teeth. Thanks for the reminder! He straightened his back, managing to lift his head. His legs wobbled too much for Five to keep his gait steady. All he needed was to get a little closer to the kitchen then he could blink away from the imbecile brigade.
“Wait. wait. Wait,” Klaus said seriously, stepping away from his group hug to stand between Diego and Luther. “Luther aren’t you like, a monkey. Shouldn’t you have, y’know, a monkey stomach?”
Blood was pooling in Five’s vest. He winced as he stepped forward, for once grateful for the small attention spans his siblings wielded – their gazes gone from his side.
“Having super-strength doesn’t mean his gut is as strong as he is.” Diego was practically glowing.
Klaus nodded. “Makes sense.”
Luther gagged. Viktor turned away, his eyes catching Five’s paper white as Five attempted another step forward.
Allison jumped back along with Diego and Klaus. “Luther are you actually going to be sick?”
He shook his head.
“Please don’t,” Klaus added.
Viktor was moving closer to Five. “Hey,” he said. “Five?”
Luther swallowed.
Five heard the whisper of his name getting closer.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” Diego said. “I’d rather he pukes his guts.”
“Shut up Diego.”
Surviving death had only served to make his siblings louder. Their voices thundering above Five, muffled as if he had been plunged underwater, and even though he couldn’t make out their words he felt the rumble that rolled off them in his bones.
“Five?”
Viktor was in front of him.
“Fine.” It was more of a wheeze than a word. It wasn’t Viktor, but a chorus of voices that said his name in response. He squeezed his trembling fingers into a fist, a hazy shade of blue encircling Five’s hands, he leaned into it. The chorus swelled.
Five couldn’t see them, all he saw was the ceiling. The living room ceiling.
Damn it .
He braced for the floor. Eyes clenching shut on instinct. His head smacked leather, rather than tile. The buckle of one of Diego’s cross-body knife holsters dug into Five’s shoulder.
Allison scanned Five’s face for all three seconds. “He has a fever. He definitely has a fever.”
He couldn’t get his eyes to open back up. Five’s heart quickened, and with every beat his chest seemed to grow tighter. Fever? He was practically shivering. A warm hand laid across his forehead, a brief respite from the frost that coated his skin.
“Allison’s right.” That was Viktor.
“Diego where did Mom go?” Allison.
“Kitchen. She wanted to make dinner.”
“I’ll get her.”
Five jerked in Diego’s grasp, pushing off his brother to scramble to his knees. A high-pitched sound snuck between Five’s teeth. The pain in his torso was sharp, a red blur that wrenched his eyes open.
“I am fine.” Five swatted Diego’s hand as it reached for him. “Do not.”
“Five.”
“Allison.” He glared at her until she dropped the look of motherly concern, she’d been eyeing him with. He wobbled to his feet. “Stop clucking around me like hens. I’m fine.”
“Five-” Luther began.
Allison quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You’re fine?”
Five plastered on a smile. “Completely.”
“Diego.”
Number Two rose to his feet behind Five, who attempted to move away, but Diego was faster. Diego simply poked him. Not too hard, right between the shoulder blades. Five toppled immediately; Luther’s arms catching him and locking him in place.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Five snarled. “Luther. Let go of me.”
“Blink away from him Five. Since you’re completely fine.”
Five twisted. He could practically feel the final stitch loosen out of his skin. His fists faltered as both hands went to clutch his side. Five’s snarl melted into a grimace and a sharp intake of breath.
“Five!” Viktor called out.
Diego seethed. “Are you bleeding?”
Of course, he was! However, Five’s blood was his business. All he needed was some caffeine, a needle, and he could fix himself up. This commotion only served to give Five a headache and piss him off.
“Why should that matter?”
Allison threw up her hands. “I can’t.”
“-what do you mean ‘why’--,” said Luther.
“--Five when did you even get injured–,” overlapped Viktor.
“--You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me–,” Diego chimed in.
The headache upgraded to a migraine. He pushed away from Luther, whose hold had loosened.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Two Diegos blocked his path. Five continued forward, ignoring the dull ache that was spreading across his torso. Diego pulled him back by his collar. Five coughed, a hacking sound that was more than air alone. Something warm bubbled out from Five’s throat and onto the floor.
“Shit.”
The last thing he remembered was the yelling. His migraine upgraded to agony, and Five was pulled into unconsciousness before he could confirm whether or not he’d thrown up on the floor.
—
On the backs of his eyelids, all Five saw was rubble and ash.
The small voice was back, no longer whispering.
“No matter where you go, it’s going to follow you,” it said.
Bodies piled at his feet.
First were the corpses Five remembered burying. The version of his siblings that he’d spent days excavating from the ruins of the world. Five had memorized every inch of his adult siblings' faces before he’d covered them in dirt.
“They’re alive.” Five turned away. He faced the barrel of a tank. Stumbling backwards, he fell into a pit. Burning flesh was not a scent that one could ever forget. Chunky, molten globs of ash clung to his hands. He sunk into the pit, grasping for something solid. All there was for him to hold were charred bones.
“It follows,” the voice chirped above him. “You will always carry it.”
Five sunk further, the rot going up to his shoulders. “They’re alive!” he screamed before he had been taken under completely.
He opened his eyes to find himself on his back. The barn’s roof above him.
“No.”
The Handler was above him. Her heels clicking, the hay around them muffling nothing; the sound pierced Five harder than any bullet. She gave him a red smile.
“Death is in your blood Five. I would know, I helped put it there.” She waved to the bodies around him, the blood from his bullet wounds was soaking into the empty faces of his siblings.
He smiled back her. “You’re dead.”
“Silly boy,” she replied, “I’m not dead. I’m a part of you.”
Holes tore through her chest, and the Handler fell beside him.
The small voice came from her open throat.
“You will always carry this.”
Five screamed until he was awake.
______________
Recovery was a tumultuous and mortifying ordeal. Five had been in infirmities before. Had professionals tend to his injuries or fixed his own while Dolores stood by.
Neither professional nor Delores watched over him now. Even in the moments Grace came to check him, there was always a second pair of eyes peering over her shoulder.
Five blamed Diego. His brother had been visiting when Five had woken up after two days, and not only witnessed Five have a nightmare, but heard it too. For the rest of that evening Diego refused to leave. The idiot even tried to feed Five until Five tried to bite him.
However, that wasn’t enough for Diego. He went and told the others something . Considering that Luther mainly spent his visits by the door, Five assumed Diego had told them that he’d witnessed Five trying to escape.
This went on for a week until Klaus left Five to use the bathroom, and Five managed to get Grace’s approval to leave the infirmary. The others had protested but he was already out of bed, and no longer mildly sedated, so what could they really do?
The answer was to hover outside Five’s door until he slammed it in their faces or threw something at them. Of course, throwing things had backfired, as whomever he aimed for would usually burst back in to make sure Five hadn’t hurt himself in picking up a lamp.
“Careful old man. Wouldn’t wanna throw your hip out,” Diego said as he dodged the lamp and slid into the room before the door shut. “Angrier than usual today. Throwing lamps at people–”
“Not people,” Five interrupted, he moved toward his door, glaring when Diego moved to block him, “Just you.”
“Allison said you didn’t sleep last night.” Diego pointed to the now lamp less desk. “She said the light was on the whole time.”
“Diego. Move.”
“I will. Once you’ve had a nap. You’ll be less fussy if you nap.”
Five punched Diego in the stomach and blinked from his own room. Allison had gone to get groceries, Klaus and Luther occupied the courtyard, and Viktor had resumed his violin lessons. Five checked the windows and made sure everything was locked.
Anytime Diego’s voice echoed even remotely close he’d blink away and continue his inspection. All that he’d found were cobwebs, a broken light bulb, and an old diary he was sure Allison forgot to burn.
The smell of coffee beans, freshly ground in the machine Viktor had purchased at Five’s behest, floated up from the kitchen. Groceries shopping hadn’t taken Allison very long. As Five was never silent about his desire for a decent cup of coffee, Grace had probably begun brewing some and who was Five to make his poor robot mother climb all those stairs to his room.
Five blinked into the kitchen and Diego ran at him. Five may have avoided capture, but Diego still grabbed Five’s ankle when he fell. Five groaned. The coffee pot was missing from the machine.
“Where is it?”
“Good question.” Diego got up from the floor, dusting off his knees. “I’ll tell you if you promise to sleep tonight. Grace has some kind of sleep drugs, well not drugs, actual medicines – you get it. All you gotta do is take em’ and the whole pot is yours.”
Five ignored him and began opening the cupboards.
“You’re not gonna find it.”
“If all it took was someone like you to thwart me from getting the things I want, Diego, I’d be dead.”
The coffee pot was on top of the fridge. Directly out of Five’s eye line.
“Search all you want Five, like you keep searching the house.”
Five rifled through the drawers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Coffee.”
Diego sighed. “Is this another thing you’re not gonna talk about?”
“No, it’s another thing that you have nothing to do with.” Five slammed the silverware door shut and ripped open the fridge. “If you needed to know I would tell you.”
“And you don’t think something like, oh I don’t know, you patrolling the house like a bomb squad, is something we don’t need to know about.”
“Precisely. Maybe there’s hope for your brain after all.”
“Come on Five. You won’t talk about the nightmares–”
“I’m not having nightmares, Diego,” Five said through gritted teeth, “Whatever you thought you saw, was just the effects of a fever.”
“You won’t let anyone look at your injuries but Mom.”
“Grace is a professional, and I am not a child.”
Diego didn’t care. Five could be a thousand years old and Diego wouldn’t care. They were all trained for fighting, Diego knew his siblings would take a couple of punches now and again. More often than not nowadays they seem to earn those punches. However, Diego knew they’d get back up, and if something came at them that they couldn’t handle, Diego knew when to be there.
It was different with Five. He was strong, almost eerily skilled, and at the same time, he had a kid’s body. Five didn’t know his limits and Diego didn’t know Five’s either. That was the problem. Diego wasn’t sure what Five wouldn’t get back up from.
“Really? Adults usually tell other adults the origins of their injuries so that they can get better treated.”
Five scowled. “The origin of a bullet is a gun, Diego.”
“And you got shot when…?”
“Irrelevant.”
Five began to scale the fridge. Diego waited below to take Five to the infirmary if he fell and re-opened all his wounds again. Only half of which could be accounted for, like the bruises from pushing Luther out of the way of some bricks, or the frying pan, or the shrapnel wound that Five hadn't bothered to mention he still had .
“You should sleep Five.”
Five blinked from the room, coffee pot in hand, no mug necessary, and left Diego alone in the kitchen.
____________________
Diego resumed his nightly patrols for the rest of the week. As long as one Umbrella was at the Academy to keep Five inside that was enough.
The trash bin to his left spilled into the street.
“Don’t say it,” Luther began, he leaned down to scoop up some of the trash.
“You do get what ‘stealth’ is Luther? Right?”
“I can’t control the size of my arms Diego.”
He sighed. “See anything out here recently?”
“A possum.”
“Like a big one?”
“Huge.”
“Nice.”
Luther put the trash can lid back on. Diego had taken them further than Luther had ventured on his own, closer to the docks. The last of the dingy streetlamps were behind them, leaving just the dark and the endless alleyways and warehouses.
“It’s good to see you get out of the house,” Luther said.
“I could say the same to you big boy. How’s it feel to actually get to enjoy earth for once?” Diego snapped his head side to side, scanning the shadows for any movement. Or the possum.
“Well, I’m still working, I guess. Although I did go to the park the other day, jogged a bit, it was nice. It's a little weird not knowing what to do with hands,” Luther said gazing down at his knuckles. “Fighting pits aren’t really a thing here.”
“Nah, there’s like pro wrestling. It’s similar.”
“That’s scripted, isn’t it?”
“It is?”
The wind swirled around them, a breeze passed by Diego’s ear, he whipped around; a knife is already drawn in his hands ready to go.
“Uh, Diego?”
“Yeah man?”
“You alright there?”
“Yeah man.” His voice was higher than he’d meant it to be.
Diego kept moving, marching ahead of Luther to get a better survey of the land without the hulking frame of his brother. “Little tense. It’s been a while.”
“Don’t stay in the Academy too long. You can go crazy in there; trust me I would know.” Luther could still feel the bruises on his shins from the time he’d driven a bike down the stairs.
Diego laughed. “I don’t think that place can make me any crazier than it already has,” he replied. “Besides not even Dad can beat staying in the nuthouse. I swear, being alone in there, I nearly started talking to the walls until Lila.”
Diego stopped himself, like a child on the verge of cursing in front of their parents.
“It’s good to be on patrol again,” is all he said.
Luther nodded. “She’s out there somewhere. She’ll find you.”
“I know.” Diego said it as clearly as he called Grace ‘Mom’, without hesitation or doubt. A promise. “Gotta keep busy until then, right?”
“Right-” Diego held up a hand to Luther’s face and crept forward.
There were two men outside an abandoned alleyway, smoking. One shoved the other playfully, the other took a drag and blew the smoke.
Diego crouched to the ground. Luther walked a step in front of him and crouched himself. A third man approached. He was all limbs, gangly and overgrown, he was quick, but his movements were those of a drunkard who’d had too much.
“Jesus Danny took you long enough,” one said.
The other peeled from the wall, blew some smoke in Danny’s face, and dropped his cigarette on the ground. “Who takes twenty minutes to pee,” he joked, “You shit in the alleyways?”
Diego hoped not. If he stepped in human shit trying to make an escape, he might just get himself arrested again.
“Danny?” He reached for his friend.
Danny dropped to his knees, avoiding the touch before he tacked the smoking man into the wall. When the other one charged at him, Danny, without letting go of the smoking man, swept the other’s feet out from under him with a swift kick. He began to choke the smoking man in a headlock and crushed the other man’s throat under his boots.
“Fuck.”
“Diego let’s go.”
“Luther let’s go.”
They exchanged a look. Luther pushed past and Diego hurled a knife as he followed behind. The knife landed in Danny’s palm, he released the smoking man and slashed at Luther as he tackled Danny to the ground.
“What the hell’s gotten into you Danny? You doing drugs man?”
Diego shoved the man back, “Get out of here for now.” He’d follow them later, making sure they weren’t smoking at the docks for nefarious purposes.
Luther had Danny pinned, his arms at his sides. Diego scooped up his knife.
“Huh,” he said, looking at the man’s distorted face. Danny wore a smile and a pair of bright, crazed eyes taht looked right at Diego.
“Maybe he is on drugs.”
“No, I’ve seen Klaus do plenty. None of em’ made him go into a murder frenzy.”
Luther turned Danny’s arm. “Needle marks.”
“They’re too low.” The marks covered the back of the man’s hands, like an IV. “Like he’s been put under.”
Luther opens his mouth to ask the man some questions, but Danny began to seize. Luther turned his head to the head to keep the man from choking on his own vomit, a fun habit Klaus had taught them years ago, but it did nothing. The man’s body jolted like it was on fire, he laughed between garbled noises.
“The hell…”
Diego raised his head and scanned the roof of the warehouse. He could feel someone gazing back down at him. “Someone’s up there,” Diego pointed his knife, positioned his hand, and let it fly. He was met with silence, not even the clatter of metal on the tin roof.
“Since when can you hit shots that far?”
“I told y’all I got all kinds of stuff going on.”
“Give me a knife,” Luther asked, palm outstretched. Begrudgingly Diego obliged him. Luther cut into Danny’s skin allowing a decent amount of blood to drip onto the knife.
“Luther. What the fuck.”
He handed the blood-soaked knife back to Diego. “We can test it for drugs back at the Academy.”
“Or I can have my friends at the station look it over.”
“We can do both as long as you don’t spill it.”
Diego walked holding the knife flat in his palm. “As long as we don’t run back, it should be fine.”
_______________
“You can stop hiding Five. Diego and Luther left to be a crime-fighting duo twenty minutes ago.”
Five moved out from behind the bar, a whiskey bottle in hand.
Klaus flopped onto the couch. “That’s a good one. Vintage. Doesn’t really burn when it goes down.”
“So, you’re the reason it’s half empty.”
“ Was the reason,” Klaus said, twirling his hair a bit, “you know now I’ve got my sobriety and all.”
“Good for you,” Five said, he began to exit the room and Klaus sat up from the couch.
“You’re going?”
“To my room...”
Klaus stood up. “We can have a sleepover.”
“I’m not in the mood for a babysitter Klaus.”
“Oh, come on! It’s not babysitting! I don’t even care, well okay I care a bit about your health, but this isn’t about that.” Klaus fidgeted with his thumbs. “It’s lonely here you know?”
Five rolled his eyes. “Read a book then.” He started to walk away again until Delores’ disappointed face flashed in his mind. Ugh. “I guess I can drink out here.”
He blinked to the couch across Klaus, who gave a flurry of tiny little claps.
It wasn’t that Five hadn’t noticed the way Klaus’ gaze flicked around every room. How he paused after every remark as if he were waiting for someone else to respond. Klaus liked to talk and Five liked to pretend he was sleeping, and the whole Ben situation had been lamented to him while Five laid in his feverish haze. Besides, Five could use some advice about being haunted.
“Soo,” Klaus began, “What you been up to?”
“Nothing. Literally nothing Klaus. You people won’t let me leave the damn house.”
“Hmm, yeah, that is tough,” Klaus replied. “I’ve been getting into knitting lately. I think I might make like a sweater for the briefcase. It’s so dull.”
“You know where the briefcase is?”
Klaus stared at him blankly. “What’s a briefcase?”
Five decided to take a swig.
“Oh! I could make you something. Maybe some better socks.”
“My socks are fine Klaus.”
“Sure they are.”
Allison leaned in the doorframe. “Should he be drinking?”
“Well, he is of age.”
She sighed. “Klaus that doesn’t matter he’s recovering from,” she paused, “some injuries , and you know maybe drinking isn’t good for that.”
“Good point Allison,” Five said. Then he blinked from the living room and into Klaus’. Sure, enough, the vent under Klaus’ bed that used to hold a secret stash of pills had been converted into a briefcase hidey hole.
When Five saw Diego again he was going to punch him. They lived in the home of a wild old man obsessed with self-defense. Dad had over a million safes, dozens of secret passages, and a literal bunker built for Viktor, and they decided Klaus’ bedroom was the best place for the briefcase?
“Idiots,” he muttered to himself.
Five blinked past the door into Reginald’s office. Pogo startled at the desk, a duster in hand.
“Master Five.”
“Pogo.”
“As happy as I am that you are mobile Master Five, this room is still rather off-limits for the time being.”
Five motioned to the briefcase. “I need something secure to keep this in.”
Pogo studied it. “I bring it down to one of the safes.”
“Is there a portable one big enough to fit it?” Five asked. “I was going to keep it with me.”
“Of course, Master Five.”
Pogo turned away to retrieve the safe and Five blinked back to his room. Only when Pogo had locked the safe successfully, and Five had entered his code, did he finally calm some of the nerves in his chest. All that searching and it was with Klaus of all people. His brother was more responsible now than Five ever imagined he could be, but that didn’t mean he trusted Klaus to guard the briefcase.
Five shoved the safe under the floorboards in a hole he’d carved out when he was only ten. Should anything else go wrong, this would be their only means to escape, to reset. Five needed to know where it was at all times. Just in case.
“Just in case,” he repeated. Pogo had left without a word, only a nod and the butler slipped away to finish his duties. Whatever those were with Reginald gone.
A crash came from down the stairs.
Five was on his feet.
He blinked next to the couch, which had been kicked over, only for Allison to shove him down. A spray of bullets fired the moment his head went down. Klaus was hiding behind the bar and his hands covering his ears.
Over the bullets, Five could hear her. The click of shells against the wooden floor was like that of her heels.
“Death follows you,” she said.
She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.
Allison held his face in her hands. “Five? Five? You’re shaking.”
He shook her off, gently as he could.
“I’m fine.”
Five blinked behind the gunman, a low sound of surprise emerging from the gas mask he donned. He turned, ready to shoot, only to fire into the air as Five appeared behind him. Five tugged the gun’s strap, which went across the man’s back, and using his entire body weight and caught the man off balance.
He swiped some strange trinket of Reginald's off one of the intact tables. It’s not as if his father was going to miss any of it. Though Pogo was bound to be annoyed at the blood splatter that came with bludgeoning someone to death. Five would handle it.
Klaus shouted something and when Five looked up Allison was at his side. Her fuzzy slippers passed by his ear and made contact with the nose of another intruder. Five was a little proud of the sharp crack that bounced between the walls from the force of his sister’s blow.
Below Five was a man too hard-headed for his own good. He pushed Allison to the side and yanked Five down in order to bring himself upright.
Allison raised her hand to strike and Five went for the gun. His fingers locked around the strap’s clasp as Allison’s fist made contact. The gun clattered against the floor and slid to the bookshelves.
“Five!”
He blinked to the gun as Allison continued to weave through the gunman's punches and deliver some of her own. The gas mask slid from the man’s head after Allison performed one of Diego’s favorite jump-kicks, and Five saw the marks.
At the nape of the man’s, just below his hair, was a fresh jagged cut in the shape of a twelve-pointed star. It mimicked the face of a clock, something aeternal, when it wasn’t so crudely done. Five saw the same scar in the mirror, even now, white and faded, but the mind never quite forgot.
Footsteps thudded from the stairs. Viktor? Five swore his brother had left for his apartment, but he couldn’t be sure. He hesitated to raise the gun.
Just how many people could’ve gotten into his house?
This new arrival’s gas mask was a bright yellow, big smiling eyes painted over the holes. Klaus threw a wine bottle at them. In turn they fired at the bar and Five jumped at the man, using the machine gun as if it were a bat to knock in yellow’s head.
The blow glanced off yellow-mask as if Five had tickled him. Allison turned to shout, but her opponent continued to aim for her, pulling her back towards the fireplace. Five narrowly blinked in time to miss getting pistol-whipped across the head.
When he reappeared, ready to jump on yellow-mask’s back, he found the assailant supposedly waiting for him. A hand snaked around Five’s throat, holding him in the air as hands clawed out and his feet kicked.
Klaus’ head was ringing, alarm sirens blaring and with every breath, he could feel the floor beneath his feet shift to become the bloodied dirt of Vietnam. Still, he heard more yelling, louder than the helicopter blades and the bombs, someone was yelling for him. They sounded an awful lot like him.
In the leaves of the jungle was a person in a bright yellow mask, a little number Five dangling in their grasp. Klaus tried to move but the screech of a grenade had him cowering once more.
Five had never been more upset by his thirteen-year-old body than this moment. His arms were too short to reach his assailant’s eyes, no matter how much his fingers yearned to dig their eyes from their head. A low chuckle came from under the yellow mask, with a hand still around Five’s throat, they slammed him into the bookshelf.
Allison dispatched her attacker to the floor once more, panic overtaking caution as she turned towards the yellow-mask. “I heard a rumor–”
“Behind!” Five barely managed to squeak the words out.
A small strip of fabric looped over her head and between her teeth before it pulled backward. Allison’s words stopped in their track as she was tossed into the pillar. A gag around her mouth she had no time to remove as she avoided getting hit.
Yellow-mask pulled something from the belt at their hip. They twirled it between their fingers like a coin before sticking a thin needle in the spot between Five’s jaw and his neck.
“Shit, Five!” Allison was running, so was her attacker. He grabbed her wrist, then her hair, and slammed her head into the nearest table. She slumped, but her chest rose and fell.
For a moment everything burned, and then there was nothing. Five was awake, he could move his eyes, even his mouth, but his hands and feet disobeyed him. Five was screaming but no sound came out. Behind his eyes came the flashes. A scalpel at his neck. Bubbles in a tank. Restraints holding him down. The woman who’d brought him from the apocalypse into her office now smiled down at him.
Nothing more than a marionette whose strings had been cut, Five was dropped to the ground, unable to move a single muscle to soften the blow. Air spasmed in his chest. Had he been able to move five would’ve surely curled in on himself or tore the yellow-masked person’s throat out with his teeth.
There was another one in the foyer.
“The briefcase?” Yellow-mask called.
The other lackey shook his head. Yellow-mask turned to Five and hauled him up by his tie just to carry him towards the foyer.
Klaus crawled out from the bar; hands raised in retreat to anyone who didn’t look close enough. The yellow-mask whistled and the man in the foyer raised their gun.
Five used all the strength he could muster to bite into the hand across his shoulders. He dropped to the floor again, a kick landing on his stomach. Around them the dead started to rise, a few were familiar faces to Five.
The gun had indeed gone off, but not at Klaus. Instead, it was tossed to the yellow-mask who fired one bullet close to Five’s ear. His face recoiled as the shit rang out, and Klaus’ eyes seemed to glaze over for a split second.
“Don’t be hasty Number Four,” said the yellow-mask. Five couldn’t feel it but the barrel of the gun was digging into his shoulder. “There is a lot that can be done to a person without them dying. I’d suggest backing away.”
The front door was ajar. No one had opened it from the inside. Klaus took a step back, the ghosts around him falling. Allison mumbled across the room.
“We’ll be leaving then.” They handed Five off to the lackey in the foyer.
Two knives shot from the crack in the door. One struck Allison’s attacker right between the eyes, the other headed for the yellow-mask – they were adept enough to keep from receiving a mortal wound, but it still lodged in their chest.
Luther kicked open the door and charged the yellow-mask while Diego rushed the man holding his brother. Five felt a hand tighten in his hair and he shivered. Diego had seen Five look fearful, but never in a way that could make Diego forget Five’s age and his assholish manner. Now, all he saw was the boy who disappeared from the dining room.
Five hated sedatives and paralytics for many reasons. By the time he could correct his expression Diego had launched at least three knives into the lackey’s head. He caught Five as the man went down. Five needed to check him for a scar.
Luther had suplexed the yellow-mask, who fired a bullet into the living room as Allison sprinted out from it. Luther jumped to shield her, unable to see what Five saw: a bullet whose trajectory was so off it could never hit.
The yellow-mask sprinted out the door.
There was a pause so everyone could catch their breath.
Viktor was at the bottom of the front doorstep. Violin case at their shoulder, mouth agape. “What the hell happened?”
It appeared no one was quite sure.
“Attack,” was all Allison got out as Luther said “Kidnapping.”
Diego looked down at Five who scowled at him.
“Guess the old man’s paranoia wasn’t so off after all.”
Five whispered under his breath. Diego leaned in to hear, and Five repeated himself. Still nothing. “Speak up Five,” he said, leaning even further. Viktor made a noise.
Five headbutted Diego so hard he was dropped to the floor again. He smiled even as the soft crack of his wrist against tile rang out through the halls.