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Five hasn’t bathed.
He hasn’t bathed in weeks, but it doesn’t matter how he smells or whatever bugs might be in his vest or in his pockets.
He has more important things to do. He has to save his family. He has to kill again to save his family. He doesn’t want to. But he has to.
He has to.
Of course, he has to. He loves his family, even if he doesn’t even know them anymore. But he would still do anything, anything , to get his family home safely. If time is all that the Commission has, then he has none. The time that is lost between him and his family will never be recovered, stolen perhaps by the Commission, but most probably himself. He stole the precious years he could have had with his family away. And for what? Over an argument with his father, over his abilities, over his pride.
But Five should be proud of himself. He should be. Powers that can bend through the fabric of space and time, skills that make him the deadliest assassin from the Commission, wit that burns a hole through people’s hearts, but for what .
All of this talent, but for what.
To be alone.
Yes, to be alone.
Because Five is always alone. And he had been for 45 years, so it doesn’t hurt to continue being alone, fighting alone, because that’s how he does his work best.
Alone.
The pang in his chest tells him it’s all his fault that he’s alone, but he silences it like every other doubt that arises within him. Doubt leads to hesitation and hesitation leads to death. His years in the Hargreeves household, then the Apocalypse, and then the Commission have drilled this firmly into his mind, until he no longer knows what it’s like to show his true feelings.
Every insecurity is hidden behind the snark of his grin and the jab of his words. He is hiding. He knows he is. Delores has always told him it's bad to run away. “One must face their troubles head on”, she says. But Delores isn’t here now. He left her back in the department store, where she truly belongs.
Because she doesn’t belong with him. No one deserves to belong with him.
He’s an emotionally constipated asshole who hurts the ones he loves.
.
.
.
.
He’s getting distracted. He should focus on the job, the job that will finally get his family home. So he walks into the inn, gets an axe, breaks a vending machine and wrestles with a worker. Not necessarily in that order.
The job is easy.
For such bigwigs in the Commission, they had virtually no security. Prideful assholes like him perhaps, who relied too much on their reputation of being powerful and untouchable.
Blood. There’s blood on his face now, and all over his clothes. His vest, his tie, his jacket, his shirt, his pants, his everything is covered in blood. And he is reminded why he hates killing.
He hates it. He truly does. Despite what his reputation as the best assassin the Commission has ever produced might lead other people to think.
As he holds the almighty head of the Temps Commission Board of Directors in a plastic bag of water, he thinks to himself: Today I quit. This will be the last time I kill. This will be the last time the Handler or some scumbag from the Commission tells me what to do. This will be the last time I am controlled.
After this he would be free, back in 2019, with his family. And maybe just maybe they will live happily together. All together in that rotten house they grew up in, filled with sweet memories tinged with the everlasting taste of bitterness.
Maybe he will finally be able to properly listen to Viktor play the violin, he’d just started learning when Five left, so he never got to hear how good he’d become.
Maybe he will finally understand what’s going on in that drug-addled mind of his brother’s, and maybe he and Klaus could just get along.
Maybe he will finally talk with Diego and Luther properly without insulting them at every turn of his word (or maybe not), maybe they can bond over their daddy issues and overinflated sense of purpose instilled in them by their father.
Maybe he will finally get new clothes with Allison’s help, she’d always been the best at fashion and styling, and maybe he’d let her do his hair for once, even though he would never have let her do that when they were children.
And maybe he will finally be able to visit Ben’s grave, and pay respects to his brother who died after he left, who’d always been the most timid one, second only to Viktor, in the family, who’d he wished he could have known as an adult.
Like it had been many times in his painfully long life, his hopes for a happily ever after with his family were dashed. His siblings, the ones he claims to love the most, couldn’t even keep to a simple deadline. A simple instruction to follow. Was it too much to ask? Has he not done enough to help them? Did he need to chain them all to a leash to get them to just listen to him? To just trust him?
He’s tired. He’s so so tired. And he’s angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his stupid siblings. Angry at his useless father. Angry at the universe for giving him so much power, yet be unable to do something as simple as saving his family.
Has he not done enough? Has he not given enough?
He’s fought for years and all he wishes for right now is to crash into the nearest pillow and never wake up.
But for now maybe he should bathe. Maybe that’s what’s important right now, a good fucking bath.