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“You’re completely wasted.”
It comes out with less confidence than he had wanted to. More like a croak, his voice sounds broken and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s been drinking down shots of tequila straight for the past fifteen minutes or because of something else.
“So are you,” Number Five answers without even looking up.
He cheers though, holding his glass of wine up for Ben to join him. Ben does, Five takes back his glass at the last second, leaving Ben’s hand holding out for nothing. Of course. Ben is offended, but he tries not to show it, tries to be in a playful mood because the alcohol helps and he’s not exactly sure of what he’s doing nor saying at this point of the night.
He slouches on the seat next to Five and takes a sip from his new drink that he poured God knows when. He can’t even tell what he is drinking because the tastes in his mouth are all so different in the end he can’t taste anything.
Five doesn’t say anything. He has closed his eyes and Ben wonders if he’s sleeping. He pushes his leg with the tip of his shoe and realizes that he lost it. Maybe when he was dancing earlier. He doesn’t remember.
“Hey,” he says, “ Hey , don’t sleep.”
Five frowns but keeps his eyes closed. He looks completely disheveled and at least as drunk as Ben does.
“Why don’t you have a name?” Ben asks after a little while just staring at his face.
It felt weird after only a few seconds but he couldn’t stop. There was something intriguing about the boy’s features that he was too drunk to point out but still tried to.
“Left too early to get one,” Five mumbles, his eyes closed still.
“Left where?”
“Over the rainbow, in a place with talking poneys and unicorns; why do you fucking care ?”
Five glares at him now, which is kind of funny to watch because the alcohol is making him look more dizzy than menacing, and Ben can’t help but snarl.
“You know, you’re pretty fucked up for a kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Five says, taking a sip from his drink.
“Wearing a suit doesn’t make you look less like a hormonal teenager desperately wanting to please his daddy.”
Before Ben can react - reflexes are way too low when you’re wasted, but Ben is not one to indulge often so he forgets easily - Five has grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his face a few inches from his. Five looks pissed, to say the least. That just makes Ben smirk, despite the threatening aura.
“Listen here, you little shit,” Five almost spits to his face, “I’ve lived a life you will never be able to fully grasp with your ridiculously small synapses; I’ve met myself in different dimensions and I stopped the apocalypse twice-”
“Oh yeah?” Ben cuts him, he can’t stop smirking even if Five tightens his hold on his shirt. “And where did that get you?” he asks.
Five frowns and Ben’s smile grows wider.
“You’re stuck here now, wasted over bad wine, celebrating the most ridiculous wedding in the middle of what? Another fucking apocalypse. Good job, mister teenage drama. Well done. I’m impressed. You fucked up everything again .”
Fives pushes him away and doesn’t answer. Ben loses his smile and pulls a little on his collar to ease the painful sensation that Five’s fingers left on his throat.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Five groans.
He looks even younger when he’s slouched in his seat, sipping his drink like a teenager enjoying his first alcoholic beverage and pretending that he can handle it. Ben shrugs and stands up. He doesn’t know why he ended up talking to the kid in the first place. He was walking around the room, avoiding others more than anything, trying to get his hand on some food maybe. His stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t found anything to eat, yet. He’d go with some shrimp right now.
“You Umbrella fuckers are so dramatic anyway,” Ben spits out before leaving because he can’t help it, “you crash our home and have the nerve to accuse us of being heartless when you’re the ones who killed our siblings in the first place. You keep saying you’re powerful and masters of your destiny but what I see is just a bunch of pathetic twats-”
“For God’s sake, do you ever get tired of listening to your own voice?” Five cuts him, “Because I sure do.”
Ben stays still for a few seconds. Five looks at him like he wants to kill him, and a part of Ben knows that he could - and maybe he would if he weren’t too drunk. Ben, too, is drunk, and he feels like shit, and he just wants to know why everything is falling apart around him and why no one seems to care the way he does. How did Sloane manage to get married in the middle of that fucking shitstorm? Why did dad even let that happen? They were supposed to save the world, not destroy it.
Who, ‘they’? Ben feels his fist tighten. Suddenly, he takes in the unfairness of the whole situation. Why the fuck are they celebrating a wedding? Why isn’t he mourning his brothers and sisters? Because it’s the end of the fucking universe and no one cares, but why should Ben not care?
“You’re zoning out,” Five’s voice comes from far away, very slow and very distant, distorted. Ben sees the way his mouth moves but the sounds don’t come out of it, they directly fall into his ear.
Ben hisses and takes a step back.
“Fuck,” he mutters, closing his eyes, “fuck, fuck, fuck .”
He feels like throwing up. He puts his hands on his head, shakes it, and tries to compose himself, but he can’t. There is this feeling, deep inside his stomach, the one that he always made sure to control at all times. The one he used to be so scared of; the one that Dad once told him could end the world and the whole family with it.
Well, look at me now Dad, the world is ending anyway, and our family is dead.
Ben feels the bile rising up his throat and he tries hard not to just let it go. He swallows everything back, the bile and the bitter feelings, the sheer panic and the anger, and he takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, Five is staring at him, brows furrowed. He doesn’t look like he wants to kill him anymore.
“You look like you need a drink,” Five eventually says, and to Ben’s surprise, he hands him a glass.
Ben looks at it. He doesn’t, actually, need a drink. Probably if he takes only a sip of it, he’ll throw up right away. But he knows what Five is trying to do. It’s a truce, somehow, some kind of awkward to tell him that they don’t have to fight tonight. Ben should take it, he really should.
But he can’t.
“I’m fine,” he answers, his tone dry and weak.
“Oh, old sport, you look anything but fine,” Five’s voice is full of sarcasm and contempt and Ben wants to push him in the face, “But sure. Up to you. If you want to keep being the asshole no one likes…”
And it’s Ben’s turn to snap this time. He walks to ward Five and takes his glass to throw him away. He’s furious, but more importantly, he’s hurt and he knows Five can see it on his face and he hates that.
“If you hate me so much, why did you save my life?!” he shouts, he doesn’t realize how his voice echoes in the big room.
The others are gone, outside maybe, or anywhere else, Ben doesn’t care because nothing matters anymore, and Five, as pragmatic as he is, should feel the same, and therefore why didn’t he kill him earlier if he annoys his family so much? Ben doesn’t know if he doesn’t understand because he’s mad and drunk, or if he’s mad and drunk because he doesn’t understand. Nothing makes sense.
But Five doesn’t shudder. He looks straight into his eyes and doesn’t budge, doesn’t even take a look at the shattered glass. Ben wants to shake him up and hear him scream, to see him lose his composure at least once. He takes a step forward, ready to yank Five out of his seat.
“Because,” Five says, and Ben stops immediately. His tone is mad cold. “I couldn’t save you the first time, and there was no bloody way I’d let that happen again.”
Before Ben can do anything, Five stands up and he’s the one coming closer. He doesn’t touch him, but Ben feels like he’s been pinned to a wall and forced to stay still. Five’s voice sounds like a hum, like a secret or a threat.
“Not here, not in any other timeline,” Five says, “not ever .”
For a second, Ben doesn’t know what to say. There is something in Five’s gaze, something behind the hazy veil of alcohol - something authentic and true and Ben isn’t sure what to make of it. This is not what he had expected, and this is not what he is used to; honesty and truth are not emotions he knows how to deal with, and the tension between him and Five is making him sick. He wants to get away from here right now, so he does what he always does best.
He shrugs and scoffs.
“How chivalrous of you,” he whispers, bitterness pouring in his throat like the bile he tries so hard to swallow down.
Five doesn’t even blink. For a second, they stare at each other, and say nothing, until Ben can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck you and your other perfect, perfect little Ben,” he wants to shout, but it comes off almost as a whisper. “I’m going to die anyway.”
Five doesn’t answer. Ben still wants to punch him in the face. Instead, he turns around, grabs the nearest bottle of champagne he can find, and leaves, and if he ends up throwing up in a flowerpot right after, so be it.
He really hates it here.