Chapter Text
Five fell to the ground, attempting to land on his feet but instead grimacing with pain and falling to the floor. He cradled his head as he fell, making sure not to hit it on the hard floor beneath him. He looked up, seeing the vortex still open.
''Luther!'' He screamed, attempting to get his brothers attention and begging the universe that he was the first to fall.
''Vanya!'' He bellowed once more, with still no reply, he tried again, ''Allison! Klaus!''
The vortex closed as suddenly as it opened, he climbed to his feet, rubbing the back of his head to check for injury.
Staggering out of the ally, he immediately heard gunshots. Loud and close. He stepped out into the street, hoping it was parade or a festival only to be met with screams of pain, thuds as people got tackled to the floor out of the path of the bullets and screams of ''Medic! Medic!''
The trapped man fell to his knees, staring down at a newspaper, his pupils dilating as he read the headlines.
''The Soviets attack the US. No! That can't be right.'' He screamed in anger as in the distance a solider told him to 'get down' though for once the nickname he so despised, 'kid' left his mind, as a man was shot in front of his very eyes, he turned to face the back end of the street with a mutter of ''What did we do now..?''
He caught glance of his brother, fighting for his life against what seemed to be another ongoing apocalypse. Allison was next to catch his attention, though she had clearly changed quite a bit in appearance, he was more focused on the blood dripping down her face.
Only then did he hear a yell and feel himself get grabbed by a large, firm hand. He turned only to see Hazel, though the man had clearly grown older. He felt the familiar sensation of time travel wash over himself as the brief case in Hazel's hand began to glow.
Before he could blink, they were now on that same street, only it was clear. Everday people walked around, doing everyday tasks. There was no screaming, no blood, no tanks and no stench of death filling the air. Only the sound of polite chatter and the giggling of some high school kids across the street.
He sat down on a bench with the silver bearded man, having a million questions but only managing to get out one,
''What happened?''
Hazel sighed, explaining the sudden and clearly much newer apocalypse that had clearly followed them from 2019. Hazel's love came to find, he asked the fate of the man's dear wife only to be met with sadness as he muttered the word, ''cancer''. An illness that had taken so many had now taken Hazel's dear love, Agnes.
Five looked across the street and immediately rose. ''Hold on...'' he muttered, squinting.
Across the road was someone he swore he would never see again. They were walking away from him, accompanied by two friends. A red-letter jacket laid over their shoulders, a white button up shirt under it, light blue belted shorts and white tennis shoes adorned them.
HIs attempts to call out to the person were rudely interrupted by a brief case being pushed into his arms with a call of 'duck!' Five fell to the floor, narrowly avoiding the gunshots. Covering himself with the briefcase, he crawled behind the bench. When he looked down at the briefcase, he saw many bullet holes.
''How many times did I say bulletproof briefcases!'' He exclaimed in anger before teleporting himself back into the ally to get away from the gun fire. He huffed and looked up, seeing a camera. Five squinted before running up the stairs that were attached to the building. Knocking on the first door he saw, he smiled at the man who answered before poking his head through the doorway, claiming to be selling encyclopedias for his youth group.
When the man slammed the door in his face, he teleported in the room, ignoring the man's confusion and questions about if he came from an organization like the CIA. Five's eyes were only on the freshly brewed coffee pot as he poured himself a cup. Once the mans confused and seemingly threatened rant was over, they both introduced themselves, then his questions regarding his siblings came, Elliott showing him the pictures of his fallen siblings, each falling at different times over a few years. Scattered.
The moment a photo of his brother, Diego, was shown from a local paper he immediately prepared himself to head to the mental hospital.
''Who is Diego?'' Elliott asked, staring down at the picture, the picture of the same man who fell in his back ally and was now in a mental hospital.
''Imagine Batman. Then aim lower.'' Five said, snarkily.
''To the nut house we go...'' he muttered to himself before disappearing back into the ally.