Archive of Our Own

Hands shaking, he stared down at the letter. He already knew, he knew the seal, he knew the look, he’d seen countless of these letters. He’d seen hundreds, thousands. It was never good. Ever.

The signature was different. It was Herb. He knew Herb, Herb was safe . He gave them the suitcase, he let them go home, he promised the apocalypse wouldn’t happen. He promised.

So why was he contacting him?

His letter didn’t say. It was inviting him back, they wanted a meeting with him. Another contract? A request? There wasn’t anything good they could ever offer him. It was over. It was supposed to be over.

A light hand on his shoulder, comforting, soft, gentle.

“You don’t have to go. You’re not going.” Allison’s voice was stern. She was a mother, after all. She sounded like it. She always mothered everyone. Always mothered him , even if he didn’t want it. Didn’t need it.

Okay, maybe he needed it.

“Yeah, no fucking way am I letting you go back there.” He was thankful for Diego. Diego knew, he told Diego. He didn’t mean to, but he did. The way the Handler always touched him, always spoke to him in such manners. He told Diego and Klaus.

Since then they were always hovering near him, making sure no one got close. He didn’t want that, he didn’t need that. He could protect himself. Defend himself.

But he never did before, not when it was the Handler.

Allison’s hand left him. They always did that. No one touched him for long. He didn’t mean to drive them away. Did Diego and Klaus tell her? Everyone treated him like a child. Like he was fragile, like he needed coddling.

He didn’t.

He takes a shaky breath in and holds it. It was okay, he could do this. He had to. He had to go back, he had to make sure Herb was keeping his end of his promise. He said his family would be safe. If he ignored this letter, Herb might break his promise.

The hand that left him lingered. It wasn’t on his shoulder anymore, it was on his face. Caressing his cheek. The way she always did. He held the breath. It hurt his lungs, but he held it. He didn’t want to let go, he might not manage to take another breath in.

Herb. Even if he promised, he was still there. Everyone watched him, for 45 years . Alone. It was their own personal reality show. Watched him, survive, cry, clothed, unclothed. Did they? Did they see him? During any emotionally intimate moment with Dolores?

Did the Handler watch him when he was naked? He didn’t do it often. When his skin was so dirty, mud caked to him, cracking and sore skin. He’d use precious water to finally clean his body.

He coughed and choked on his breath, shit. He wanted that breath. The air in his lungs was heavy.

He had to go back, to those people who watched him and never help. To the people who let the Handler touch him, to the people who let his family die again and again. He had to make sure they wouldn’t let it happen again.

He was so powerless against them. Time and time again, no matter how skilled he was, they proved he couldn’t do anything. Tears leaking from his eyes again, he hated it. The note was crumpled on the ground, and no one was touching him.

So why did it feel like it?

The Handler was gone. Herb promised they were safe. Going there, it wouldn’t happen again. The Handler wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t touch him. So why did it feel just as bad as when she was there?

He turned and saw his family. They’re afraid to touch him, they always are. He hated it. Why can’t they look at him like they do each other? Was he gone too long? Was it because he was dirty? He never stopped her. He let her touch him. Is that why?

He could see them though, the ash wasn’t heavy yet. He could see them through it. He wanted to reach out, grab them before they get buried by it again. Would they let him?

He steps closer, and Diego was already meeting him half way. He was good like that. He must know Five likes the contact in those moments. The strong arms around him, it’s never like the gentle touches she gave him. He dug his hands into Diego’s sides and hid his face in his chest.

He was sturdy, he was strong, he smelled gross, it was always just Diego. Undeniably, Diego.

He wished they understood. It’s hard to meet the requirements for a hug- but it was so real. It was the only real thing at times. Dolores couldn’t hug back, the Handler didn’t hug him like that.

They were the only ones to feel like this.

Diego was easiest. Diego was too understanding. When it came to Five, he always was easy. Everyone else could hide their emotions easier. Well, maybe not Luther. Where was Luther?

He pulled his head out and looked around, trying to see through the ash.

“ Luther? ” Where was he, where were the rest of his siblings? Where was everyone? His hands hold onto Diego like a lifeline, the ash was too thick he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, where were they?

More arms joined, they were all around him. Who was hugging him?

“I’m here, right here.” Awkward voice, awkwardly big and strong hug. Luther.

He sobbed and his head fell back into Luther. He couldn’t let go of Diego to hug him, maybe his head making contact was enough. He hoped it was.

There were more voices. More people. He couldn’t exactly feel them, wrapping around Diego or attempting to wrap around Luther. But he knew they were there. A hand on his hand, someone ruffling his hair roughly.

Safe. It was safe. Even if the ash was thick, he knew his family was there. He could feel them. He wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t have to go back, he could stay here with his family again. He was home.