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He wasn't going to do it.
He wasn't going to fucking do it.
It didn't matter that it was the perfect day to do it, that no one would know any better if he did.
He wasn't going to do it.
It was a cheap way out. He had always been standing on that so-called line between life and death, but this would simply be stepping to one side of it.
It would be giving up. Losing. Showing weakness.
He wasn't going to do it.
Yet he wanted to. He wanted to just step off, watch the world blur around him and the sounds tunnel in his ears before dying on impact.
He wasn't going to do it, yet the thought alone brought him a sense of freedom and flying.
He had worked his ass off to get here. He had saved the world twice and was now going to save it again, most likely.
Everyone was blaming this on him. Everyone was being rude, everyone was ignoring him. His siblings weren't thankful for him. They weren't glad he was back.
They were annoyed by him. Tired of his bullshit and so-called obsession with the apocalypse.
Did they think he wanted this? Did they think he wanted to constantly save the world with no break? Did they think he wanted to fuck everything up?
Maybe he would do it. Maybe he would do it just to end the suffering he brought his family.
Maybe he should let the world end. Let everything turn to nothing.
So what if that's the very thing he tried to stop? He got time with his family.
That's all he wanted.
He had seen parts of Viktor's concerts, he had seen movies Allison was in, he had seen Klaus and Luther and Diego and heard from Ben… That's all he wanted.
He had done what he was supposed to do. He stopped the apocalypses. He saved his family twice. They never showed any thanks. Only anger. Maybe they didn't want to be alive.
Maybe they didn't understand.
All Five wanted was a normal life. He wanted to go on road trips, watch Viktor perform, see Allison raise her kid and find new acting jobs, see Luther find and see himself as more than someone who was sent to the moon, see Lila and Diego happy and married, and raise Stanley. He wanted to see and do so many things.
But he couldn't.
So he dangled his foot off the edge.
One step, one slip up, one movement, and he was gone.
The feeling of death was different than when he was shot or stabbed or fighting. This feeling felt hollow. He felt empty and it hurt. It hurt to breathe, to look down, to do anything.
Every part of him hurt and before he ever realized it was happening he was crying and being pulled backward despite his kicking and fighting and then everything just stopped.
Everything stopped.
The cars went silent, there were no planes flying by, his body was curled in on itself, his eyes shut tightly.
He didn't want to be here.
He didn't want to do it but he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be alive. He didn't want to constantly save the world. He didn't want to be in a thirteen-year-old body. He didn't want his siblings to hate him.
"Hey, Hey… Breathe Five-y, breathe… In and out…"
Klaus.
Klaus. Klaus was the one that pulled him back. The one that still hadn't let go. The one who seemed to actually want to help him.
Suddenly everything started up again at once.
People talking. Cars honking and speeding up. Planes flying overhead. Police sirens. The wind hitting the trees, the crumbling of buildings—
He had to breathe. He had to breathe.
In and out.
He could hear Klaus counting,he could distantly feel him tapping on his arm.
One, Two, Three. One… Two…
Three.
Everything calmed. Everything got quieter, less overwhelming, less painful, less… There.
One, two, three.
“There we go…”
One, two, three. Breathe.
Breathe.
A sob was caught in his throat. His breathing was shaky.
He didn't know what to do with himself.
He had almost died. He had almost killed himself. He almost ended all the progress he had made at anything.
What was he supposed to do now? Tell Klaus everything? Act like everything was fine?
He wasn't fine. He didn't think he would ever be fine. He buried his entire family at thirteen years old. He was trapped alone in a decaying world for over forty years. He had to teach himself things he should have been taught by another. He had to do things no thirteen-year-old should. He killed hundreds, hell maybe thousands of people all to get back to some fucked up fantasy of who and what he thought his family truly was.
He was fifty-eight years old.
But he didn't feel like it.
He had memories to go on for years and years and years. Hallucinations of his family, of the world he had known before it all went to shit. Memories of killing people, of making stupid deals with the Handler that he did only for the better of himself.
He was fifty-eight years old, but he acted like he was ten.
He acted like a selfish child. He acted on impulse, on emotion.
He had fifty-eight years of experience, yet did not learn from any of it. He made the same mistakes. He did the same things over and over again… And it always led to the end of the world.
Maybe he was the cause. The reason.
Maybe if he died, it would all go away. It would all stop.
Maybe the killing, the saving, the time traveling… Maybe it was all too much. Maybe he was meant to get stuck in the future, maybe he was meant to go missing.
“Why did you do that-” he didn't notice he had spoken aloud until Klaus hugged him tighter.
He hadn't even realized he was still holding him.
“I'm the reason all this keeps happening you guys can– can all– live peacefully–” He was crying now. That he knew. He could feel the tears on his face, the sobs that he was choking back with each word he spoke.
The last time he felt this weak was back when he was thirteen.
“Hey hey hey none of that stuff now. None of that's true.” Klaus seemed strangely serious.
Maybe Five had just made him up too. Maybe he never left the apocalypse, maybe he really had just hallucinated and made everything that had happened up. He made up Delores… Whos to say he didn't make up some sickening woman who was constantly perfect, asking him to kill people to “restore” and “fix” a timeline? Whos to say he didn't make up returning home, returning to his family?
Was any of this real? Was he really just staring off into space, surrounded by dust and nothingness? Were any of the people real, the buildings, the cars? Or had he finally lost his mind? Had he finally lost all hope?
He scoffed at himself. He was surprised he ever made the sound, seeing as everything else he had thought of was made up. Why wouldn't he be too?
He pushed away the empty mass that was Klaus, his eyes focusing back on the crumpled buildings and the endless valleys of nothing. He had to give it to his mind, it had done good this time around.
Really made the near-death experiences and power shit believable. Had him fooled for almost a month now!
He really must be going insane, imagining everything so vividly and perfectly, so detailed. He gave himself answers to all the questions he had. He answered his own questions with perfectly formulated lies, by perfectly formulated people.
He had outdone himself.
His mind pulled him backward again, and as much as he wanted to fight it, he found himself going with it. Going towards the false comfort, going to the made-up person, the made-up sense of hope.
But then he felt a heartbeat.
A steady, real heartbeat.
It was there. It was scattered and strange and had no pattern to it, but it was there. It was real. It was a living, breathing human.
The apocalypse was over. He stopped it. Sure, there was a whole different thing happening now, but he wasn't doing it alone.
He wasn't stuck, he wasn't trapped, he wasn't alone.
And that made the dam break. It made the walls crumble, the strength he thought he had completely go away, his legs giving out, Klaus’s real arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer.
Five wanted to yell. He wanted to say that he wasn't a kid, that he didn't need to be held– but the hug was warm. It was comforting. It was everything he had always wanted when he was alone and stranded in the apocalypse, everything he didn't realize he still needed and wanted until now.
He didn't want it to end. He didn't want to ever move, not ever again, despite knowing he would have to eventually.
Klaus seemed to understand. He seemed to see right through the little bit of mask that Five could still uphold, and continued to hug him, continued to run his hand through his hair. He didn't move, even after the sobs turned to small cries and the small cries turned to sniffles.
And for just a moment, everything was fine.
For just a moment, the world wasn't ending. The stress was bearable. For just a moment, Five could breathe normally.
That was all he needed.