Umbrella Academy fic: Teenagers (2/2)

[faye_dartmouth]

PART ONE
PART TWO



-o-

Five had been badgered into agreeing with the others, and his participation had been nothing if not reluctant in all other cases. While he had no natural propensity for music, he still found himself looking forward to his time with Vanya. Mostly because it was time with Vanya. What they did, he decided, was mostly irrelevant, as long as they did it together.

To get started, they went through her stuff, which was surprisingly similar to their father’s collection. Vanya clearly had an interest in classical music, and she was incredibly well versed on the topic. Five found the process of listening to her records intellectually edifying. In his studies, he’d read a lot about the great composers of the various classical eras, and he found it fascinating to experience the music on an emotional level after understanding it in a technical fashion prior to this.

Still, Vanya insisted that they pursue the matter further.

“It has to be more than a technical appreciation,” she encouraged. “You have to see what really clicks with you, what speaks to you.”

With this, Five listened to Vanya’s small collection of classic rock afterward, giving Five limited exposure to greats like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. From there, they snuck up into Luther’s room and borrowed some of his records. While Five appreciated the nostalgia to some degree, he still found no affinity for 80s pop.

Given the nature of their musical venture, it wasn’t long until the others caught wind. Though they seemed keen to respect Vanya’s efforts, Diego and Klaus definitely gave them some suggestions. Diego’s insistence that 90s heavy metal was a must proved to be a lost cause; Five found Metallica distracting loud and grating. Klaus’ deference toward indie songs that never ended suggested that he’d discovered most of his music while high, though Five did like several of his disco suggestions. It was Allison who finally gave them an old iPod, and Vanya was beside herself when she discovered how much was available to download on iTunes.

Vanya was patient in this regard -- and giving. Though she was clearly interested in her own music, she diligently sample songs in a wide variety of genres to test Five’s interest. She pursue each song to each group, searching the vast catalog until they had a burgeoning playlist for him to call his own.

Five’s interests, as was probably not so surprising, were distinctive. What was surprising, however, was how diverse his selections were. Five was not particularly loyal to any given genre. He appreciated specific things about music, and sometimes the reasons a song drew him in were hard to qualify.

To that end, Five enjoyed a little of everything but all of nothing. Vanya was surprised that he gravitated toward country first, but he was adroitly against an excessive twang, and he did find the lyrics to be somewhat reductive, thus limiting its overall appeal. Pop ballads, from the 90s, 2000s and today, were overly sentimental and vacuous, but he liked their pacing for some reason. Also, if he was being honest, he thought the vocal range displayed by some of the performers to be impressive and thus worth his attention and admiration. It might be considered excessive in some cases, but listening to Whitney Houston was enough to make him go damn.

In terms of rap and R&B, Five found plenty to appreciate there as well, much to Vanya’s surprise. His sister, despite everything, was a purist in many regards. Actually, maybe it was the forced comparable normalcy of her childhood that made her crave classic things, but she had little affinity for a great deal of more modern music. The rhyme scheme in rap was often quite advanced, and he liked the beats. They were compelling, to say the least, and Five thought the technical prowess of such performers warranted his attention.

After several weeks, Five’s reclaimed iPod was at its capacity, hosting a strange assortment of songs that Five found to be tolerable when he was trying to relax. Vanya smiled and called it eclectic, but she still sat in his room while he let the music reverberate off the walls. One afternoon, Diego pounded on ceiling a floor below them.

“I’m trying to take a nap here!” he yelled. “Turn it down.”

Vanya winced. “I think he’s going to start throwing knives if we don’t.”

Five smirked. “Well, then I know just the thing.”

Promptly, he turned the volume up to a deafening blast.

Diego slammed against the ceiling again as Vanya dissolved into giggles. “You’re getting the hang of this teenager thing after all.”

Five, bobbing his head to the music while Diego stomped up the stairs, really had to agree.

-o-

Personal pursuits were an acceptable deviation from his previous schedule. Even in the apocalypse, he had had pastimes. He had acquired an affinity for wines with Delores. He had learned how to build structural monuments out of stone to symbolize his various accomplishments over the years. He had become quite skilled at his own makeshift version of basketball, which was just throwing anything round into anything with a hole in iot.

Needless to say, these pastimes were a lot more engaging.

Ben came to him with far more practical matters, however.

He brought Five to the library, nodding at the table. There was a book on it: GED For Dummies.

Five looked at the book.

He looked at Ben skeptically.

Ben shrugged. “The title is not a reflection on you,” he said. “It was just the copy that Klaus picked up for me. I can’t actually go into stores and buy things. I think he thought the title was funny.”

Five, allowing himself the vaguest sense of bemusement, sat down and pushed the book away, sitting back and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “The title is irrelevant,” he said. “The real question is why did you think I would be interested in it at all?”

“Well, technically we are homeschooling you,” Ben postured.

“Technically a stupid lie,” Five interjected.

“And one that requires you to eventually graduate from high school,” Ben said. He shrugged. “Or pursue the equivalent.”

Five crossed his arms over his chest. “You think I need to get my GED.”

“If you want to talk practicalities, the sooner you take the thing, the sooner we can end the farce of homeschooling,” Ben said, quite reasonably. Ben always was the reasonable sort. That was one of the main reasons he’s never fit in very well. “And it gives you possibilities.”

Five quirked his eyebrows. “Since you think I’m going to pursue a career?”

“Well, who knows?” Ben said. “I mean, the Umbrella Academy is great. We’re all on board. But who’s to say that’s all we ever do? What if Allison wants to go back to acting? What if Diego finally gets his act together and just becomes a cop? Luther could be an astronaut for real this, and Klaus--”

“Klaus will always be Klaus,” Five supplied for him as Ben fumbled for a polite thing to say about Klaus and his lack of apparent aspiration.

“And, for the record, even Klaus has his GED,” Ben said, seizing upon Five’s natural competitive instincts. “Do you really want to be the only Hargreeves sibling without one?”

Five narrowed his eyes, keenly aware of what Ben was doing. He was even more keenly aware of the fact that it was working. “Do you have one?”

“Fine, the only living Hargreeves sibling,” Ben said. “But for the record, I died just months before I was scheduled to take mine.”

Five nodded, not quite hardened enough to take his dead brother to task for dying without proof of his education. “Well, fine, a GED,” he said airily. He uncrossed his arms and pointed to the book. “I’m still not sure what that is for.”

“Well, you need a study plan,” Ben said, encouraged by Five’s apparent cooperation. “I thought we’d get it set up, review the core curriculum--”

“Whoa, whoa,” Five said, sitting up now. He shook his head. “I don’t need to study.”

Ben made a face. “These tests are looking for very specific knowledge.”

“Yeah, and I have more knowledge than most doctoral students,” Five said. “I’m incredibly well read on countless subjects.”

“But you haven’t gone to a day of traditional school,” Ben pointed out.

“And I’m better for it,” Five said. “While other kids are sitting around learning basic trigonometry, I mastered time travel.”

It was Ben’s turn to be skeptical. “I think mastered is a bit of an overstatement.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Still, I have an advanced grasp of theoretical physics and applied calculus.”

“I’m not disputing any of that, I’m not, really,” Ben said, moving around to position himself gingerly on the couch. Five had done several calculations but the mathematics still didn’t quite explain how non corporeal beings interacted with the corporeal plane, a subject that Five still found somewhat vexing. “But you have to learn to think inside the box for a little while.”

Five found the notion appalling. In fact, it was so off putting that he was quite confident he’d misheard. “What?”

Ben continued on, eager as ever. “You know how to break the rules, fit outside the lines,” he said. He jabbed his fingers toward the book. “But this, our life now, it’s inside the box. And it’s only natural that you’ll have to train yourself a bit for that.”

That was logical, really.

And reasonable.

Damn it, reasonable Ben.

Making his damn point.

Five could dispute it, but he’d subjected himself to much more than this.

Annoyed, he reached forward and picked up the book, flipping through it. “A study plan, huh?”

Ben looked positively heartened. “I’ve got it all mapped out.”

Five huffed, flipping demurely through American history to earth science and all the way to American literature. “I’m sure you do.”

-o-

In life -- or another, less short-lived life -- Ben would have made a great teacher. Truly, he would have. He was knowledgeable, sure, but he was also patient. He was calm and measured, and he was invested in the success of other people.

He made it compelling. He made it interesting. He made it not seem facile or reductive or demeaning.

Damn it, Ben made it fun.

Ben made it lots of fun.

He had to be cajoled into new clothing; he had to be forced to try new food and play video games. He had to be asked nicely to listen to music.

But this? Studying?

It was the best thing Five had ever experienced. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Part of him wished he’d taken their offer to enroll him in school more seriously. Studying was something he loved doing, and it occurred to him belatedly that he would have been awesome in a normal high school. None of those other small minded idiots would have stood a chance.

As it was, however, Ben managed to make the curriculum simple and compelling, and Five breezed through it with a vigor. Within three months, he’d conquered the entire study regime and passed the GED at age 14, thus giving him the legal freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted.

When it was over, Ben sat him down for a coffee to congratulate him.

“To a job well done,” Ben said, nodding as Five held up his coffee mug in conciliation. “You are officially the youngest -- and oldest -- Hargreeves to get your high school education.”

Five smiled, laughing gently as he took a sip. “At least it’s out of the way,” he said. “No more distractions.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ben said. “You’ve managed it all pretty well. Doing the Umbrella Academy. Living your life.”

Ben was right, of course. In the past three months, Five had done a lot more than study. He had also listened to music, played video games, bought a few more pieces of clothing and eaten at all the crappy restaurants he could find in a five mile radius. On top of that, he’d been actively training and participating on the growing number of missions employed by the Umbrella Academy. It had been busy, actually.

Busy, and fulfilling.

Busy, and happy?

Five had never been looking for happy, though. Face to face with it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. All he knew for sure was that he did, in fact, like it.

Moreover, he could stand with a little more.

Happiness, that was.

He took a breath and let it out. He took another breath, and looked up at his brother tentatively over his coffee mug. “Do you think we could do more?”

Ben looked genuinely confused. “More?”

“Studying,” Five said. “Maybe expand the curriculum. Take on a few more challenges.”

Ben blinked, taken aback but the request. He was surprised, but he handled it with the grade you’d expect from Ben. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I mean, I’d have to look into things, but we could even get you enrolled in a school. A college, university, whatever. I mean, you’d need to take the SATs or something--”

“So studying,” Five said.

Ben nodded slowly, a grin starting to spread over his face. “Yeah, studying,” he agreed. “And then, you know, lots of places have online degrees.”

“So it doesn’t have to end,” Five said, wishing that he didn’t sound as eager as he felt.

“Of course not,” Ben said. “There is so much more out there for you.”

What Ben didn’t say was: for us.

Five took a sip of coffee. He should have said it.

It was all the same. This was Five’s teenage years, but he really was living it for all of them. “Then, let’s do it,” he said, toasting Ben again. “Because I see no reason to stop now.”

“Hear, hear,” Ben agreed, and his hand on Five’s back felt as solid as ever. “Hear, hear.”

-o-

All things considered, Five’s recovered lost childhood was going better than everyone expected. It was, then, perhaps no surprise that it could not -- would not -- last.

Because there was still Luther.

And Luther had decided from the very start that Five needed to learn to drive.

The real way.

The legal way.

Now, Five was inclined to resist this suggestion on principle. However, the last several months of activities had proven more enjoyable than he expected. It might be said that such recreational pastimes had mellowed him somewhat. His kneejerk reaction to tell Luther to shove it up his ass was muted, and Five agreed, with some reluctance, to undergo driving lessons under Luther’s specific and careful tutelage.

“Okay,” Luther said, sitting in the passenger’s seat. He had opened the garage door and instructed Five to sit in the driver’s seat but he had failed to hand over the keys. “We should go over the interior of the car.”

Five sighed, trying to be patient. “I know everything inside the car better than you do,” he said.

“We need to be thorough,” Luther insisted.

“I already passed my permit test,” Five reminded him. “All you need to do is sign my supervised driving log, let me take the test and be done with it.”

Luther drew a breath; clearly this was not as he’d planned it. “Look, I just want to do this the right way.”

“Okay,” Five said. “So give me the keys and let me show you that I know how to drive.”

“But basic safety measures--”

“Luther, give me the damn keys--”

“Getting rid of distractions--”

“I swear to God--”

“Can you show me the ignition?”

“Luther--”

“Five--”

After a brief physical altercation that caused them both to tumble out of the car with enough force to attract the attention of passing pedestrians, Luther got up and dusted himself off. Pursed lips, he held out the keys to Five. “I think I’m going to regret this.”

Five took the keys, sulking. “Not more than I do.”

-o-

It would be nice if that as the worst of it.

But no, things got worse.

And quickly.

“No, Five, that’s a four way stop--”

Five scoffed, still driving down the road. He’d grown some in the last year; he could easily see over the wheel now. He would pass as 16, he thought, but his technical legal permit still said he was pushing 15. “And I stopped.”

“But you didn’t -- you have to yield--”

“I was there first,” Five protested.

“But you were turning and crossing their lane of traffic--”

“No one drives that way, Luther,” Five remanded him.

Luther let out a longsuffering and unnecessary sigh. “It’s the legal way.”

“If legal is now a synonym for idiotic,” Five muttered.

Luther sat back, looking increasingly annoyed. “Five.”

“Okay, okay!” Five said. “I will be an idiot from now on when I go to four way stops. Happy?”

Luther glared at him. “Ecstatic.”

-o-

Five was apparently even less conventional on four-lane roads. Luther was nearly apoplectic on the interstate.

“No, Five, signal!”

“But there’s no one here!”

“And what the hell are you speeding?”

“Again -- no one here.”

“The rules always apply, Five. Always.”

“Just like you’re always a moron.”

-o-

Things, in some capacity, still managed to get worse. After a week of driving lessons, Five had learned only two things: driving laws were unnecessary and Luther lived by far the worst teenaged life of any of them -- including Five himself, who had literally grown up starving in a radiated post-apocalyptic world as the sole survivor who fell in love with a mannequin.

Luther had never had freedom, and there was no indication that he’d ever allowed himself to have it. He’d spent all his time following rules, and even in the wake of the revelations about their father, Luther still hadn’t figured out how to rebel. He didn’t know how to, and this did have emotional and practical consequences.

In short, Luther had never grown up either.

And sometimes that helped them out.

Other times?

It really held them all back.

Such understanding made Five sympathetic to Luther’s position.

But that didn’t make his brother any less annoying.

“Can you tell me what you did wrong?”

Five grit his teeth. They had been at it for only five minutes. Already, Luther had criticized his driving a dozen times. “Let me guess,” Five said coyly. “I breathed too strong and you’re worried that it caused me to not look at the road for one second while I blinked.”

Luther was not impressed by the sarcasm. “No,” he said firmly. “You changed lanes while in the intersection.”

Five scoffed. “I absolutely did not,” he said. “I was definitely past the intersection when I changed lanes. And I used a blinker this time.”

Luther raised his finger tellingly. “No, you turned your signal on in the intersection, thus starting your merge,” he said. “That is absolutely, one hundred percent illegal.”

Five let out a huff of indignation. “At best, it’s a minor traffic offense.”

“For a minor?” Luther asked. “Pretty sure that’s serious.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re a moron,” Five shot back, still navigating down the road.

“A moron with a driver’s license,” Luther reminded him. “I’m trying to help you, Five.”

“By inundating me with minutia?” Five asked, using a turn signal before coming to a complete stop and yielding to every damn moving thing on the planet before hitting the gas.

“By giving you real world perspective, Five,” Luther coached. “You have all these instincts, these well trained instincts--”

“That save lives, by the way,” Five pointed out to him.

“But not in a car,” Luther said. “We need to be safe and by the book.”

“Which I am,” Five insisted. “Honestly, I think you’re just unwilling to admit that I’m actually pretty good at this and I don’t need these driving lessons--”

“What about you failure to yield in parkings?”

“One time--”

“And your speeding?”

“It’s down to five miles over,” Five protested.

“And watching you merge on the interstate -- I feel like I’m taking my life into my hands every time,” Luther said, sounding increasingly like a little old lady and not the strong, impenetrable Number One of the Umbrella Academy.

“Oh, please--”

“I’m serious!”

Five turned on his brother, pulling the car off to the side of the road and turning on his emergency flashers, just to be safe as he squared himself at his brother for the fight they’d been pining to have since this started. “You’re being ridiculous,” Five said. “You’re being petty and ridiculous and dumb because, let’s be honest, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Luther puffed up his chest, as if he thought it mattered. He was already huge, and Five wasn’t scared of him in the first place. “Maybe -- though I find that highly debatable given the ridiculous advice you’ve given me this week.”

“Then what?” Luther asked. All but demanded, really. “What?”

“You don’t know how to be a kid any more than I do!”

Luther looked aghast, but it was almost farcical in its application. “This isn’t about me, Five.”

“Are you sure?” Five asked, letting the accusation ride heavily in his voice. “Because you keep giving me advice, and I sure as hell don’t need it!”

Luther’s face suffused with red. “This whole thing started because I was able to see that you needed help!”

“And I accepted that help!” Five yelled back. “Which is why I know the problem isn’t me anymore. The problem is you!”

Luther’s mouth fell open. “There’s no way.”

“There is,” Five said, ignoring that traffic as it whizzed outside the car. He could have picked a less busy road, but if he’d waited any longer, he probably would have murdered Luther on principle. “Because I’ve gone through this lost childhood thing with all of them, every single one of them, jumping through the stupid hoops that you set up. And I’ve had an acceptable time with each and every one of them -- but with you? It’s torture.”

Luther scoffed. “Because this isn’t snacks or music,” he retorted. He pointed to the car. “This is the stuff that matters, Five.”

“What? A stupid license so you can feel like you’re doing it all right?” he asked. “This is stupid. I’m not doing it for some legal reason. I’m doing it for you, jackass. Only you’re being too much of an asshole to notice.”

“You’re doing this to make sure you don’t end up in jail,” Luther said.

“Don’t obfuscate the point--”

“You’re the one obfuscating things,” Luther insisted. “All this talk of lost childhoods. You may be learning how to be a teenager, but you sure as hell haven’t learned to grow up!”

The traffic was brimming now, cars passing quickly just next to them on the road. It did nothing to alleviate the tension that had been brewing all week. “That’s not what the others would tell you,” he said. “Ask them. Ask any of them.”

Luther looked ready to be done. “What exactly are you saying, Five?”

“I’m saying that you need these lessons as much as I do, maybe more,” he said.

Luther was fuming now, face going from red to deadly white. “Someday, you’re going to have to learn to play by the rules, Five. Even when you don’t like them.”

“And someday, you’re going to have to learn to stop being a dick, Luther.”

There they were; at a stalemate. Two lost children, suspended in their growth, not sure whether they wanted to go forward or back.

Sometimes, you lost things and you couldn’t find them again.

Sometimes, they were just gone.

Five was starting to think maybe this was one of those times but before he could form the thought, before he could conceptualize the words, the silence was shattered. Not by Luther, not by arguments, but by a loud crash that sent the car careening, as another car slammed into them from behind.

This time, the only thing Five lost was his consciousness as his head slammed forward, glass shattered, Luther yelled out and darkness fell.

-o-

There would come a time when Five ran out of chances. There would be a time when the darkness fell and morning did not come. There would be a time, someday and maybe someday soon, when Five would run out of quick fixes and when none of his equations added up. The universe, he had not fully decided, might be infinite, but people were finite things.

It was hard to explain that to people, at least on the scale Five understood it. It was hard to explain what it was like to be alive in a world where everyone else was dead. No one could grasp it, how it felt when your heart was the only one still beating on the whole face of the earth. Five lost his childhood; humanity lost everything.

Five had restored the one, and his family was in the process of restoring the other. And it wasn’t just clothes or food or music. It wasn’t even video games or GEDs. It sure as hell wasn’t legal paperwork and passing the driver’s test.

It was about being a part of something. It was about a world with billions of hearts, beating alongside his own. It was about taking something finite and giving it infinite worth.

It was about living, really.

Childhood, adolescence, adulthood: what did any of it mean? No matter what age you were, you had to live with people and you had to appreciate their company.

That was the hard wrought lesson of the apocalypse, the one burned into his psyche through years of isolation and trauma. It wasn’t that Five needed to grow up.

It was that Five needed to grow up with them.

Abruptly, Five opened his eyes. He inhaled sharply, pain exploding between his ears. The intensity of it blinded him for a moment, he had to take several, halting breaths before his vision cleared enough for him to see.

He was still in the car, face smashed against the steering wheel. His chest was on fire; this model of car, like all the cars in Dad’s garage, was antiquate. There was no airbag system. Five had been wearing a seatbelt at Luther’s insistence, but he had still careening hard into the steering wheel, his head and chest taking the brunt of the impact.

Luther.

With a muted groan, Five slowly tried to sit up. His body protested, but nothing felt horribly broken -- save maybe a rib or two, but that was incidental and manageable -- so he continued until he was reasonably upright in his seat. The car was still upright, at least, but the windshield was cracked. The engine was smoking, and Five could hear voices clamoring outside the vehicle. He recalled that he’d pulled over to the side of the road. A legal maneuver; he’d had his four-way flashers on. He had taken appropriate precautions to finish his argument with Luther.

Luther.

With more effort, Five craned his neck. When it proved too painful, he turned his entire body toward the passenger’s seat where his brother had been attempting to coach him into successful driving. Luther, ever the stickler for convention, was still wearing his seatbelt as well. However, in the impact, it was obvious that he had crashed his head in the side window, which was smashed. Broken glass littered the seat and glittered like diamonds across Luther’s thick upper body.

Bent forward awkwardly, Luther was plainly still unconscious. His body was slack, his eyes closed. His face was covered with a spectacularly macabre amount of blood.

Now, Five was a killer. He’d murdered people with his bare hands. While he often preferred cleaner methods, sometimes situations arose. He had seen blood; lots of blood. Moreover, during his time in the field, he knew the nature of head injuries. They bled -- a lot. They were the quintessential example of wounds that looked worse than they were Five.

Logically, as a grown adult and trained professional, Five knew that.

However, emotionally, as a teenager experiencing freedom and belonging for the first time, Five couldn’t quite believe it. His stomach clenched, and it felt like he was suffocating all over again.

“Luther!” he called out, struggling with his seatbelt as he tried to get closer to his brother. “Luther, wake up!”

The seatbelt snicked open and Five fumbled his way across the seat. With shaky fingers, he reached up to check for his brother’s pulse. He found it, but it was thrumming fast and light beneath his fingers. Indicative of shock.

Five blinked back the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He was no longer sure what elements were physical and which ones were emotional. Either way, it was close to choking him as he vainly labored for his next brother.

“Luther,” he said, using a commanding invective now. “You need to wake up.”

The engine was hissing; fire was a possibility. Worse, though, was the crowd gathering outside. Five was inherently reluctant to accept outside help, and he had no way of knowing what would happen if he accepted it. He didn’t understand systems of support in the normal way. He had barely learned to accept his family’s support, but strangers?

He wet his lips, swallowing back the doubt. He reached down, undoing Luther’s seatbelt and guiding it away from his brother’s torso safely. Beneath his touch, Luther still didn’t stir.

“I need you to wake up,” Five said, voice low and dangerous as the voices closed in around them. He was going to panic now; he was going to well and truly panic. Usually, they handled these situations in-house. Mom was trained as a doctor; the mansion was equipped for advanced medical support. Pogo had the nuances down, and they had gone over ample contingencies in the last few years.

But not this.

Not your everyday car accident.

Five’s breath was growing short; his vision was going dark around the edges. He looked down, trying to ground himself. There was blood dripping onto his stupid polo shirt. He could feel the churros he’d eaten with Klaus for snack, and Vanya’s favorite concerto was echoing in his ears. All he could think was that he hadn’t finished his college essay and that he still needed to help Diego finish off the latest round of aliens and shit.

He blinked his eyes, feeling wobbly.

Shit, shit, shit.

He looked up again, but the world was distorted now. His hearing had gone muffled and his body felt disconnected from his consciousness. Luther was still slumped against the frame of the window, unmoving.

“Please,” he said to Luther, imploring him now. “I need you.”

The lack of a response was the answer Five needed. With the last of his strength, he made the leap logically but the choice to act was entirely emotional. Turning in his seat, he unlocked the door, throwing it open to the small crowd that had gathered around.

“Help!” he said, sounding every bit as young as he looked. “Please, my brother needs help!”

Because Five knew, from all that he’d lost in life, which things were really worth holding onto.

That was the thing, though. The rub.

If you held onto one thing.

You had to let go of another.

That was Five’s last conscious thought before the darkness swept him away once more.

-o-

It was something of a blur after that. There were snatches, tidbits that Five recollected. He was vaguely aware of lying on the ground outside, someone with a worried face shining a light into his eyes. Then, he was moving, bouncing around with an oxygen mask strapped over his face. In another room, there were blinding lights and doctors in mask asking if he could tell them his name, tell them anything.

“Five Hargreeves,” he mumbled. “It’s on my driver’s permit.”

Then, without warning a monitor wailed and his chest seized up. He felt his body flail and he gasped for air that would come. There was something metallic in the back of his throat, and he just caught a sight of Luther in the next bed before something warm ran into the IV in his arm and he dissipated once more.

-o-

After that, Five dreamed.

That was how he knew he wasn’t dead yet: the dreams.

He was having a fashion show with Allison, strutting down the runway in an orange track shirt and a pair of cut off jean shorts, wearing metallic high top shoes. Vanya turned up the music so that a Lady Gaga song was playing, and Diego threw a controller at him, demanding that he help him stop the next wave in the attack. Klaus laughed gleefully, handing him a snowcone flavored with cherry and green apple. It tasted like sugar, and Five licked the syrup as it ran down his hand. Ben was holding a clipboard, and he nodded to a table of open books. Five leaned over to study, but he couldn’t quite separate the chemical equation from the philosophical treatise. Luther dangled a pair of keys in front of him.

“Five,” he said. “You ready to go, Five?”

With a gasp, Five opened his eyes.

And promptly came within seconds of passing out again. The pain was effusing and cloying all at the same time, and Five’s mouth was dry and his throat was scratchy. His chest felt like a void, and when he looked down, he could see that his still skinny teenage ribcage was padded with bandages.

He frowned.

“Shit,” he said, putting the facts together quickly. His chest had hurt in the car, but it hadn’t been bleeding, which suggested that this scar was a result of medical intervention. It could have been something as simple as a collapsed lung, but the dryness in his throat was indicative of intubation, albeit shortly lived. Thus, it was likely that he’d done internal damage to his chest and had endured some kind of operation from which he was currently recovering. He tried wetting his lips, mustering up just enough saliva to say again, “Shit.”

From nearby, Luther’s voice sounded again, only this time, it was far more corporeal. “Five? Can you hear me?”

Five looked up and over, but it required too much effort to tell Luther what kind of idiotic question that was. Besides, Luther’s head was still bandaged as well, and Five remembered the rest of the relevant facts.

In short, his injuries were inconvenient.

Luther’s injuries, however--

Five tried not to shudder at the image etched into his memory, of his brother slumped in the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t woken up; he’d been in shock.

“I’m fine,” he said, dismissively. His voice was no more than a croak, but he paid no heed. “What about you?”

Luther looked a tad incredulous, likely because Five was still barely conscious in a hospital bed. But he recovered himself quickly. “I’m fine, too. But you--”

“Yeah, yeah, internal bleeding, moderate concussion, so on and so far,” he recapped for Luther. “But you. You were unconscious back in the car. I couldn’t wake you up.”

The intensity of Five’s concern seemed to surprise Luther a bit. “Oh,” he said. “Um. Well, yeah. Moderate concussion here, too. I was out for nearly five hours, but I’ve got a thick skull. They kept me overnight but released me.”

Five should have deduced this immediately. Looking at Luther again, he could see plainly that all the evidence was there. Luther, while bandaged, had good color in his complexion and there was no other sign of injury. Plus, he was wearing his street clothes, clearly suggesting that he was not a patient in the hospital.

Five, as it turned out, had overreacted. He’d lost his cool. Instead of responding to the situation like a seasoned professional, he’d seen blood and responded like a teenager -- a younger brother, no less.

He felt his cheeks redden. “Oh,” he said back, his voice suddenly losing its vigor once more as his weakness prevailed upon his surge of adrenaline and persistence. “Of course.”

Now, the whole conversation was just damn uncomfortable. Shifting in his bed, he glanced around the room again. It was a private room, at least, but there was no sign of his other siblings. The sky outside was dark, and Five’s eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. It was 3 in the morning.

“The others will be back,” Luther said, assuring him as if he’d read his thoughts. “We’ve been taking turns at night.”

This managed to be both reassuring and disconcerting. Keeping his emotions in check, he looked at Luther again. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days now,” he said. “They kept you sedated for a while. Apparently, you were a little combative at first.”

Five legitimately didn’t remember that part, but it hardly surprised him. “Wait,” he said. “If it’s 3 AM, aren’t visiting hours over?”

“Well, yeah,” Luther said. Now he shifted, looking a little embarrassed for some reason. “But, you know. You’re legally a minor. We have legal custody of you. And I know you hate that and all, but it let us stay here with you.”

That was...interesting.

Convenient.

Relevant.

“Huh,” Five said. “So that paperwork thing actually worked, huh?”

“Like a charm,” Luther said. “No one asked any questions about you. Explaining my unique anatomy, on the other hand -- that was a trial. I’m not sure what strings Pogo pulled to get them to release me, but I think we dodged a bullet on that one.”

“That really is ironic, then,” Five mused.

Luther cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

“Just that you spent all that time worrying about my legal status, and it was you who almost got us all caught up,” he said thoughtfully.

Luther nodded at him, considering the thought. “It is ironic, isn’t it?”

Luther was right, then.

Luther was right.

“I’m sorry about the car,” Five said. “I shouldn’t have pulled over.”

“No, I’m sorry, Five,” Luther said, and it sounded like he’d been rehearsing this. “I shouldn’t have got on you about it. You’re actually a really good driver. I feel safer with you behind the wheel than anyone else.”

“But you were right. I do need to learn to follow the rules,” Five said. “I mean, the rules did save our lives this time.”

“Still, following the rules doesn’t mean I get to treat you like a kid,” Luther said.

“Maybe,” Five conceded. “But I still need to let you treat me like a brother.”

Luther smiled a little. “You really are more mature than any of us, aren’t you?”

Five huffed, trying to exhale heavily without eliciting too much pain. He had limited success, but he resolved not to show it. “Hard to say,” he said. “There are a lot of ways to grow up, Luther. A lot more than I realized.”

“For you and me both, I think,” Luther said.

“That’s good, actually,” Five said.

Luther knitted his brows together. “Why’s that?”

“Well, because,” Five said, weak but matter of fact. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed and settled himself back down with a smile. “We can do it together.”

There was no promise it would easy or fun or safe or without conflict, but that was true at any age. And after all, that was the privilege of being young: you had all the time in the world to learn from your mistakes.

Five didn’t crave youth, but he’d take that.

And, for now, he’d take his family’s protective nature and a forged birth certificate as well.

See, Five knew his family set out to help him, and he was helping them, too. Five didn’t care about clothing or music or turn signals -- not really. But he did care about them. That was all growing up was, after all. Learning to put others before yourself.

Of all the things they were still figuring out, Five took comfort in knowing they had that one down.