Umbrella Academy fic: The Start of the Story (5/16)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
PART FIFTEEN
PART SIXTEEN
-o-
When Ben is gone, it takes Five a minute to acclimate himself. He can’t help it. As much as he wants to be alone, he hates being alone. He always has a split second of panic, when he thinks they’re gone, he’s gone, it’s all gone, and he doesn’t think he can do it again.
But he breathes and reminds himself he doesn’t have to.
Ben is lurking, probably just outside the door. Klaus is probably knitting on the couch, and Diego could be folding laundry with Mom. Luther and Allison will be alone in the attic because it’s romantic like that, and Vanya could be reading a book while Pogo tidies up the lab.
It’s just Five, locking himself in his room.
It’s just Five, going over his equations.
It’s just Five, closing them out.
It’s just Five, trying to make a plan that never comes together.
You get the gist.
It’s just Five.
-o-
Five maps out what happened, and he comes to several important conclusions from the lunch’s events. First, he’s still on edge. It is getting harder and harder to control. Second, the odds of an agent showing up in a location where Five is not frequently situated would be quite a feat. He wonders fleetingly if the technology at the Commission has continued to improve dramatically in his absence. Is it possible for their agents to change shape and form? That would certainly explain his varied responses to so many different impulses. If an agent can be a cat, a delivery man, a barista, a child at a restaurant -- then it would substantiate his growing doubts and clarify the disparate branches of his equations.
Third, it’s possible that he should consider possible communication from the Commission. If it’s not directed at him, then it has to be directed at someone. The Commission is a broad organization, and it requires constant communication in order to ensure that operatives are performing as needed. Moreover, if this is a long term observational assignment, regular updates would be needed to go back and forth.
In short, of course there is ongoing communication happening on a regular basis from the Commission. Five’s been remiss for not thinking of this sooner. Because if there is regular communication, then he should be able to determine its likely location. If he can discern that, then he can possibly intercept a message. Once he intercepts a message, he can get the evidence he needs to build a plan.
Of course, there are some concerns. Namely, if he attempts to intercept a message, it’s likely his attempted interference will be noted. If his interference is noted, an interaction will inevitable, and that interaction may be escalated to violence. He knows how the Commission operates. If an operation is in jeopardy, there are no limits. It could put Five at risk -- it could put his whole family at risk.
This is a possibility for which he should be prepared. And not just mentally. But physically. He is confident in his hand to hand skills, but he’s still a 13 year old boy. He’s going to need to create a more substantial presence for himself.
There is no shortage of resources in their home, but their father had never trained them for firearm usage. Moreover, Luther seems quite resistant to gun, especially after he caught Five toting their father’s rifle in another timeline. Five has no doubt that he could find where the guns are stored, and he is not worried about any locking mechanism that Luther may have attempted to use.
The problem is that he’s a 13 year old boy who lives in close proximity with his family. If he starts carrying any substantial weaponry, they’re going to notice. If they notice, they’re going to assume that Five’s mental status is continuing to deteriorate.
There are two simple solutions that Five can conclude.
One, he could leave. Get his own place, invest in all the weapons he wants, and fortify himself to kingdom come. This could protect his family, on the one hand. But it can also leave them vulnerable, and that’s not a possibility Five feels comfortable with.
Therefore, two: he can stay. If he wants to ramp up his ability to defend himself, he’s going to have to do it like any other 13 year old in the world. He’ll just have to ask.
-o-
Luther is the most logical person to broach this topic with. After all, Luther is Number One. While he is not the sole decision maker in the house, he is the significant head of the household because they all have implicitly agreed that there needs to be someone who plays that role in times of duress. Field work in a team context without a hierarchy is nothing short of chaos, and while they all have certain objections to Luther’s leadership choices, the old man was right about this much: Luther was born to lead.
Therefore, any executive decision Five wishes to make will necessarily be cleared by Luther. If Luther agrees, the others are more than likely to fall in line.
Also, Luther’s probably the one who has bothered to hide the guns. Diego may know, but guns don’t interest him. The others probably haven’t given it a second thought.
There’s also this detail: Five thinks he may have a chance of getting Luther to say yes. It’s a question of simple psychology. Five wants to protect the family. Luther wants to protect the family. It’s common ground. If Five can establish this common ground, then getting Luther to agree before he realizes what he’s agreed to shouldn’t be all that hard.
Of course, a lot of things shouldn’t be in Five’s life. His habit of underestimating things does tend to come back to bite him in the ass.
Still, he approaches the discussion with confidence. “I think it’s great what you do,” Five says while Luther is still going through files in the old man’s office. “Protecting the family.”
Subtle, it is not. But with Luther, subtlety is not appreciated.
As it is, Luther cannot see that this is clearly a set up. Instead, he seems to be flattered. “Oh,” he says, almost pleased with himself. “Well, thank you. I mean, I always think of it is as an honor, not an obligation. The family is everything.”
Five nods along like he completely doesn’t think that the response is sentimental drivel. “You’re ready to make the hard choices. The necessary sacrifices.”
Luther draws his brows together quite seriously. It’s a bit tempting to laugh at him for it, but it’s the depth of his obvious sincerity that makes it almost endearing. “I always understood that, even from a young age. Say what you will about Dad, but he was right to teach us that some things are worth the sacrifice.”
“I am curious, though,” Five ventures, hoping he has sufficiently eased Luther into this conversation. “What that means to you?”
Luther blinks, as if taken by surprise. “Well, I mean, it’s about putting yourself second--”
Five shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear about the moralistic stance Luther takes on this. “No, no,” he says. “I was talking more practically. Not theory, but, you know, application.”
Five says this with a hopeful note, leaving it open ended enough for Luther to fill in the rest.
Luther, however, appears at a loss. “I don’t follow.”
Five tries not to show his annoyance. “I mean, what practical measures do you deem necessary for the job of protecting the family even when they may seem extreme to the normal person,” he explains. “What societal expectations are you willing to defy to make sure that the people you care about are safe.”
This is far more clear and to the point.
Luther still manages to misunderstand him. He looks truly concerned. “Five,” he says. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Five balks. “I’m just asking what lines you’re willing to cross for the family.”
“Because if you feel vulnerable or unprotected in some way--”
Five’s face screws up and he immediately backtracks. “I am more than capable of defending myself,” he says, his defensiveness taking over. “I am hardly in need of protection, especially from you or anyone else in this family.”
Luther looks vexed by Five’s response. “Then what’s the problem?”
Closing his mouth, Five is forced to acknowledge that he has badly played his hand. His pride is easily wounded, sometimes, and it makes him prone to emotional outbursts that he often regrets. Case in point, being 13 and desperate to prove his dad wrong. In a huff, he’d left the table and went out into the street. His pride had led him to prove his father right.
It had also left him trapped in the future by himself for decades.
So, calling it a character flaw is probably not unwarranted.
The consequences are not quite as grave this time, but Five still tries to mitigate them anyway. He forces the tension in his shoulders to ease, and he plasters the best semblance of a smile across his face as possible. It feels like a poor approximation, but he has to hope that his boyish features help him pull it off. “It’s just a hypothetical,” he says. “You know. A what-if.”
Luther is not truly as dumb as the others make him out to be. Not that Five’s calling him a genius, but his brother does have good people instincts. He knows bullshit when he sees it -- as long as it’s not coming from their old man, anyway. “No, it’s based on something,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
At this point, Five is ready to concede defeat. He can find other means to obtain a weapon without his brother blessing or assistance. “Nothing.”
“No, Five, there’s something--”
Five rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing, Luther.”
Five is ready to concede defeat, but Luther concedes nothing. He earned the status Number One if for nothing else than his impenetrable commitment to the most inane positions. This is the dedication that kept Luther loyal for four years on the moon.
It is unfortunate to have it directed at him at the moment. “If you’re worried about something--”
Five groans. “Stop talking now.”
“We can help, Five,” Luther continues. “We can protect you--”
“Oh for the love of--” Five starts and stops himself. He grits his teeth and glares at his brother. “I just wanted to ask if I could carry protection around the house, okay? That’s all.”
It sounds even more reasonable than it had in his head. Five half wishes he’d been this direct to start with. There aren’t a lot of perks to being a time traveling assassin, but the lack of small talk required had been nice.
Luther continues to stare at him. “Protection?” he repeats.
“Yes, protection.”
For some reason, Luther becomes increasingly vexed by this request. “Have you met a girl, or…?”
Five frowns, not sure what that has to do with anything.
“Because if you need to talk about urges--”
“Whoa,” Five says, and he’s beyond indignant now. This is veering close to outright humiliation since he’s 58 and nearly twice Luther’s age and how the hell is this something that Luther thinks is possibly on Five’s mind. “I’m a 58 year old man living in a 13 year old body,” Five tells him. “There’s no romantic relationship I could actually pursue that doesn’t raise severe ethical concerns -- assuming I even want a romantic relationship, which I decidedly do not.”
Shit, the Commission is after him and Luther wants to talk about the birds and the bees. At this point, Five wishes he’d never bothered with this conversation at all.
All of these points are frustratingly unconsidered by Luther. Instead, he sits there, stumped. “Oh.”
Gritting his teeth, Five wills himself for some semblance of patience. You know, just so he doesn’t attempt to murder his own brother.
Again.
It shouldn’t be all that hard. The only hard part was the untenable thickness of Luther’s seemingly impenetrable skull.
“Guns, Luther,” Five spits it out. “I want guns.”
Diplomatic, it is not. But Five is way past the point of caring.
Like 45 years past the point.
Luther is almost comically slow on the uptake. “Wait. What?”
Five now refuses to dance around the issue. “Guns are effective for protection.”
“But we’re a family of superheroes,” Luther reminds him, gawping pathetically.
“And the only one with any sense to carry a weapon is Diego, and those are just knives,” he says. “Let’s be realistic, we can best people who don’t know what they’re doing and don’t know what to expect, but if we go head to head with someone who has mapped out our abilities and knows how to read us? We’ll be badly outmatched.”
“But that’s never been a problem before,” Luther argues.
Five rolls his eyes. “Are you forgetting about the shootout at the theater?”
“Sure, but that was the Commission,” Luther continues.
Five waits, thinking the next conclusion should be self evident.
This is Luther, however.
He continues to gawp.
Scraping that tactic, Five huffs. Logic isn’t going to do it in this context. He’ll settle for this instead: “My point is just that if you need to protect your family, really needed to, you’d put guns on the table.”
It’s a question that Luther takes seriously because he’s Luther. “Well, if I really had to…”
“If you really had to,” Five presses. “You’d do it, right? To protect us?”
That’s a question that Luther doesn’t have to think about. That’s a question that Luther’s known how to answer all his life, and the answer has always, always been the same. “I would,” he says. “I would do anything.”
It’s earnest, as most things are with Luther. It’s true.
Five knows that’s not exactly permission.
But Five’s learned not to be picky about such things.
-o-
Luther says anything.
Five interprets that as everything.
He finds the guns in the house and slowly stockpiles them in his bedroom. He has a handgun in his bedside table. He starts a collection of rifles in the closet. For good measure, he picks up a few of the knives that Diego leaves around and finds a slingshot, a few ninja stars and what appears to be a mace.
This isn’t about Five doing anything or everything, really.
It’s just about whether or not Five is doing enough.
-o-
Five watches the cat a little more. It has a friend now, a gray and white cat that eats mice in the alley. Once, the twins with the jump ropes pet the cat and this is highly suspicious to Five. He starts checking all the walls, doors and mailslots. He closes his eyes and listen while making a plan of intervention when the time arises.
The plan is simple so far.
All he’s got is: fight like hell.
And, of course: win.
It’s a good start, at least.
-o-
The problem isn’t starting something.
It’s finishing it.
You can get up from the table, you can make your case, you can make a scene, you can storm out, and it’s all well and good, but you have to finish it. You have to walk back in, you have to prove them wrong.
Five still remembers thinking he’d do that. He remembers being 13 and being so sure that his old man was an idiot. He remembers being 13 and being so sure that he was right.
So he started something.
Three jumps into the future, he couldn’t end it.
Because three jumps later, the world ended before he had the chance.
Ironically, he’s still 13.
That doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t mean anything.
-o-
At night, Five works on his equations. In the morning, he drinks coffee. He eats lunch so his siblings won’t bother him, and once a week, they sit down to dinner, like everything is fine and dandy.
Luther and Allison talk about Claire, and Diego confides in Klaus about how surprisingly comfortable leather pants are. Vanya whispers jokes with Allison about a guy in her orchestra, and Luther and Diego get into a heated debate about the best place for a security camera in the foyer. Klaus and Ben sing a duet that Five’s never heard before and never wants to hear again.
They’re so happy and they’re so noisy, but Five can still hear the clink of silverware against the plates. They’re the same plates. It’s the same silverware. They’ve all changed so much, but Five’s still 13.
He blinks.
He’s still 13.
His fingers start to tingle. His throat constricts. He can hear his father’s voice telling him to sit down. No one dares to look at him but Vanya, who just shakes her head. But Five can’t sit down, Five doesn’t know how to sit down.
Luther asks Ben for his advice on garden hoses. Allison tells Diego that Claire may want to be a cop when she grows up. Vanya and Klaus confer about the color trends this coming spring.
So alive, but Five still sees their corpses. He can feel Diego’s blood, slick on his fingers. He can smell the rotting of Allison’s body as it decomposes in the sun. Klaus’ weight is still in his arms when he finally buries them, and he sees how small Luther looks when the life is gone from his body.
Allison laughs. Klaus asks for more potatoes. Diego finishes his drink.
Even when they’re dead, Five can’t let go. He spends the first six months, living in the rubble. He picks through the debris for anything he can salvage, but none of the scraps are enough to bring them back. Five cries himself to sleep, screaming out into the night just to remind himself that he’s not dead, too.
Ben does a small dance in his seat. Luther asks if anyone wants to play Scrabble. Vanya says she’ll make the coffee.
He has to save them. He’s suppose to save them. This has always been about saving them. Because Five’s seen the end of the world. And it’s a bleakness you can’t forget. It’s an oppressive silence you can never break through. It’s encompassing, and you’ll always taste the ash in your mouth and you are never sure if you’ve gone and died too and you’re just unable to tell.
Five has to close his eyes. His ears are ringing. He can hear his own voice saying, “Not ready, my ass” and he hears the crackling of the flames as the world turns to embers. Somewhere, Vanya asks, “Are you okay? Five?”
Delores shakes her head.
The Handler smiles and says she’s come to offer him a job.
Five starts things he doesn’t know how to finish.
So maybe it’s his fault that everyone dies.
Maybe it’s his fault.
Maybe they’re still dead.
Maybe.
Five can’t breathe. His chest hurts and his eyes burn.
“Five?”
“Five!”
He doesn’t want to open his eyes; he doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t think he can bear it, not again. He doesn’t want any of this.
“Five!”
A hand latches around him, and the touch galvanizes him. He shudders violently, sucking in air desperately as his eyes fly open. His chair has tipped back and he’s on his back. His fists are balled tightly, energy burning through them, and the others are poised over him, looking down in worry. It’s Vanya who’s next to him, a hand on his arm.
He exhales.
“Are you okay?” Vanya asks.
Five inhales. His cheeks are wet, and his heart is still pounding.
“Five?”
He exhales again, and presses his lips together. He sits up shakily and doesn’t bother to wipe his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he says shortly. “I’m fine.”
No one believes him.
That’s okay.
Five doesn’t need them to believe him.
All he needs is a little more time to figure this out.
Before he actually loses his mind.
-o-
It’s indicative of just how messed up they are that Five’s breakdown at dinner does not prompt immediate and drastic action. To be sure, his family certainly increases their eye on him. He’s no longer granted any time alone, and his siblings seem to be looking for new and interest ways to engage his attention. Thus, he is forced to go mini golfing. He has to shop for weekend clothes. Klaus takes him volunteering at a soup kitchen and leaves him to do all the work while he plays games on his phone. He Skypes on a daily basis with Claire.
Clearly, these activities are designed to distract him and to stimulate his would-be better nature. They want him to act normal, as if that’s somehow going to fix things. The whole exercise is tedious, but Five indulges it because he can’t have them interfering. Not when he needs more time. Data collection, calculations, analysis: these things take a lot of time.
Which is the problem.
Time is not on Five’s side.
Time is the Commission’s domain. The Handler had said it best: time is the one thing the Commission has in absolute abundance. For every day that Five spends planning, the Commission has centuries to figure it out before he’s even done with the mental math. Five struggles with every day, every week, every month being back. It’s all the same to the Commission. They can pop in and out as they please, waiting for precisely the right moment. They’ll pinpoint your weakness and exploit it so hard, so fast that you don’t know what hits you.
It’s the Commission’s MO. Five only has to look at his own history for evidence. After spending decades alone, the Handler showed up and offered him a job. Why wait so long? Why wait until his body was nearly past its prime and until his mind was not quite this side of sane?
Because they wanted Five not quite this side of sane. They wanted him to be in love with a mannequin and so unused to human interaction that he thinks he’s hallucinating when someone shows up. They wanted him on the very edge of his sanity so they could guarantee that no matter what deal they offered, he’d say yes.
There’s some shame in him that it worked so well. But when you get stuck in the apocalypse, what else are you going to do. He hadn’t had a lot of options.
And his shame is hardly the point right now.
The point is that the Commission has time and they know how to leverage time to their perfect advantage.
Which begs the question, then. What timing are they waiting for now?
Are they waiting for Five to let his guard down? Is the plan to wait until Five is crazy with paranoia? Five calculates the odds, maps the probabilities.
And all he keeps coming back to is this: he doesn’t know.
He doesn’t have any idea.
-o-
The answer is, of course, that the Commission is waiting for Five to completely withdraw from his family. They are waiting for him to isolate himself satisfactorily in a vain attempt to protect them. They will use this obsessive protective impulse and exploit it, attacking the family when Five is trying to protect them. After all, by withdrawing his suspicions, Five has left them vulnerable.
As far as plans go, Five has to admit, this one is pretty clever.
He’d like to say he saw it coming.
History, however, is not on his side.
-o-
Five, you see, goes to the library.
Sure, he knows, logically, that there isn’t anything at the library that he can’t find from the well-enabled smart phone his siblings have given to him for his personal use. He knows he could sit in his room and hack into any database he needs to find the information he needs. But all the same, he prefers the library. He likes physical books; he likes physical anything. He likes things that are concrete, solid, unmovable, like fixtures that time can’t erase.
Also, he needs to get out of the house.
Like, he really needs to get out of the house.
He comes to this conclusion after another near-panic attack in the shower, and he finds Klaus intrusive questioning at breakfast more than he can bear. Sure, he knows that Klaus simply asks how he slept, but it’s too much. Allison asks what his plans are, and Five recklessly throws his hands up and tells them that he’s going to go to the library to read.
He does end up at the library, so it’s not a total lie, but when he tries to read, the words are blur together and he has the nagging sense that he’s missing something.
After lunch, he comes home and finds the front door blown off his hinges.
His heart plummets to his feet.
That’s what, then.
-o-
For several seconds, Five forgets how to move. He’s standing on the stoop, staring at the broken door, his breathing tight in his throat. His stomach is in knots, and he thinks he may be sick. He remembers standing here during the apocalypse, calling for his family when they were long gone.
The house is still standing this time, but the feeling is very much the same.
The sense that he’s not sure what happened.
But he knows it isn’t good.
There’s that split second of hope, that microcosm of doubt. He teeters on the brink of possibility that maybe everything’s okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as he thinks it is.
Or maybe everything’s not okay.
Maybe everything much, much worse.
He can’t muster his voice to call out to him.
He can’t even find the will to let his knees buckle.
His mind flashes, to the cat, to the barista, to the twin girls, to the delivery man.
His mind flashes again, to Vanya and Klaus and Allison and Diego and Luther.
His mind flashes and he’s 13 again.
He’s 13 still.
He’ll always be 13.
That probably should be where this story begins.
Five is gutted to think that this is where it ends.
-o-
It doesn’t end, though. Endings are not permitted for Five. They’re a luxury he’s never been afforded, and after he stands in panic, he’s struck with the conviction that he has to face this. It’s not going anywhere; he’s not going anywhere. If he’s left his family vulnerable, then it’s his responsibility to pick up the pieces of whatever’s left.
That’s a cold resolve, then, that propels him up the steps. He forces himself to stop shaking as he steps over the ruin threshold into the foyer.
The walls are still standing, but the damage is everywhere. In the melee, the chandelier has fallen again, but the impact is more extensive this time. There are pieces of the ceiling littering the floor, and the tile floor as been scraped beyond recognition by the staircase. An entire portion of the bannister is gone, and several steps are smashed. The air reeks of gunpowder and blood. The lingering dust is still swirling in the air.
Five’s legs are numb as he traces a path inside toward the sitting room. The furniture has been overturned; a few of the tables are all but shattered. A line of knives are embedded in the doorframe, abandoned. There’s a large indentation nearby, a nearly perfect match to Luther’s hulking form.
Vanya’s violin is half put away in its case, her sheet music spread out on the ground. Klaus’ knitting needles are tangled in a runaway ball of thread, and Allison’s phone is behind the bar, the screen cracked.
These are disparate pieces to a macabre puzzle, one Five is pretty sure he’s built before. The how’s and why’s elude him, but he’s pretty sure he knows the what.
They’re dead.
Five walked out, didn’t know how to get back and now they’re dead.
He’s the last one.
How is he still the last one?
The realization is washing over him, and he feels the numbness rise up his legs and paralyze his chest. It’s turning his neck to lead and his cheeks feel like rubber as everything starts to rise to a pitch within him. It’s panic, in its purest, most raw form, and the awful plaintive sense of deja vu threatens to undo him.
He survived once.
He buried them, scrounged through the vestiges of civilization, and sacrificed everything inside himself to come back and save them. He doesn’t think he can do it again.
God help him, he doesn’t want to do it again.
Maybe this is what the Handler meant. Maybe this is the reason the Commission exists. Maybe some things are meant to be and maybe free will just means you can change the circumstances but you can’t change the outcome.
Maybe this is a time loop.
Maybe this is destiny.
Maybe this is the lesson his father is still trying to teach him: you’ll never be good enough.
He staggers.
Existence staggers.
The whole damn universe staggers.
Five is at the precipice, and he thinks about the guns in his room, the small one strapped around his waist, and he thinks about the way the story could end with a bullet to his brain. He knows what it would look like. He knows the way his brains would splatter. He knows his face would probably be blown off. He knows it’s not a pretty way to go.
But he knows how final it is.
The finality is what he needs. He’ll join them; one way or another, he’ll join them.
His fingers are too numb to move as his mind fumbles over this conclusion.
He turns, tottering badly now. In the doorway, he can almost see them. He can almost see Luther with the sleeve of his shirt torn away. He can almost see Diego, limping badly on one leg. And if he blinks, there’s Allison, hair disheveled and pants rumpled. Klaus is there, too, a wad of Kleenex up his nose to stop a river of blood. Vanya looks unscathed, but her skin is glowing a little white.
When Five blinks again, Ben is next to him. “Where have you been?”
It occurs to Five how transparent Ben looks.
This is only funny because none of the others look transparent. He would have thought that ghosts would all have the same opacity. Unless they’ve transcended this temporal plane and passed to some version of an afterlife wherein they can create their own world by their own variable terms.
Vanya steps forward, looking concerned. “Are you okay? Did they get you, too?”
Five wants to scoff, to laugh. The answer is no, but it might as well be yes.
Allison follows behind her, frowning. “Five?”
Klaus shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s called shock, people.”
Diego steps around Allison, in front of Vanya. “Did you know they were coming?”
Luther circumvents him. “There’s no time for that now.”
“Um, there is only time for that now,” Diego says. “They could be back.”
Five stares at them, confused. It’s like they’re trying to make plans. It’s like they’re not aware they’re dead.
“Guys, we can talk about this later--” Allison starts.
Vanya has crossed closer to him, and she reaches her hand out. “Five?”
It’s like they don’t know they’re--
Vanya’s hand touches him.
It’s solid.
He can feel her fingers, their pressure on his arm.
He looks at them.
It’s like they don’t know they’re dead.
He looks at Ben, who still float ethereally next to him.
Oh, he thinks dumbly.
It’s like they don’t know they’re dead.
Because they’re not.
-o-
Five is not known to be an emotional person, at least not in a traditional sense of sentimentality. He isn’t openly affectionate, and the only emotion he’s ever been known to indulge is annoyance. He knows how to have fun, but he’s not prone to pointless laughter. He doesn’t like to talk about how he feels because he doesn’t like to feel, period. In this regard, emotions have always seemed like a waste of time.
Getting stuck in the future only solidified this. After all, he spent his time crying and feeling sorry for himself in the apocalypse. It never helped. No one ever listened to him. It changed nothing.
The only thing that helped was shoving this feelings aside and getting down to business.
That’s how he’s approached things ever since.
Until today.
Until he stands in their ruined living room and is struck by the wonderful realization that his siblings are, in fact, not dead. It’s such a surreal, wonderful and overwhelming sensation that he doesn’t know what to do with it. In fact, it overpowers him -- completely.
When he inhales, the emotion all but chokes him, and when he exhales, it’s drowned out in a sob.
He can’t help himself.
He flings himself forward, recklessly unrestrained, pulling Vanya into a hug. It’s not just Vanya, it’s that she’s the closest and Five’s arms are small and his emotions are too wrenching to explain that to anyone else. Instead, he catches on a sob, aware that the keening noise that fills the room is coming from his own throat as he buries his head in her shoulder and cries.
This is embarrassing and it’s ridiculous and it’s weak and he’s finally lost his mind well and truly, but he’s so damn relieved to see them alive that he can’t even stop himself.
You’re not dead, Five tells himself as he puts the images of their corpses, the scent of the apocalypse, the feeling of suffocating isolation out of his mind. You’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead.
“No, we’re not,” Vanya says softly as she wraps her arm around his small, quivering back. “We’re okay.”
The fact that he can no longer tell when he’s speaking or not is another sign of a serious mental instability.
But Five tightens his grips, fists his fingers and refuses to let go. He can feel Vanya’s heart beating, and the warmth from the others surrounds him as they hover close.
“We’re okay,” Vanya says again, the words in his ear. “But you’re not.”
That is, Five decides, one of the most profound understatements he’s heard in his entire, long, miserable life.
-o-
It takes Five several minutes to detach himself from Vanya. By the time he’s emotionally able to do this, he’s aware of how this probably appears to his siblings. He’s quite confident that they will see this overt display of emotion as a problem, indicative of underlying unresolved issues that Five has been harboring since his return. In fact, they’ll probably conclude that Five’s extensive time alone and his training as a killer for hire has led to severe emotional repression that he has refused to deal with, thus leading to a reckless instability that can no longer be ignore.
They have come to this conclusion, much to Five’s dismay.
He would not tolerate it except that he’s come to the same conclusion.
And he has no means to pretend like it’s not a problem.
They sit him down on the couch, stand around him like before, but this time, Five accepts that the intervention is both inevitable and necessary.
“I’m sure you have some questions,” Five starts, because they all look too nervous to break the silence. Five fidgets, spreading his fingers on his knees and the balling them up again. “About who attacked the house.”
Most of them look like they can’t believe what he’s saying. Allison scoffs, and Luther knits his brows together disconcertedly. “That’s one question,” he says. Diego clears his throat and Klaus scratches the back of his head while Vanya winces. “Among others.”
Five gathers a breath and lets it out. “I have reason to believe the Commission is behind the attack,” he says, and then he shrugs because he’s out of his emotional reserves. This is something that’s going to be said at some point, and he’d prefer to avoid drawing this out. “When I got here and saw the damaged, I didn’t see you. It was a premature response, but the emotional reflex got the better of me. I thought you were dead. When I realized that you weren’t, well, I couldn’t quite control myself.”
That’s the simple way of saying he had a massive panic attack triggered by PTSD.
“You’re still crying, you know,” Diego points out, a little gruff.
Five lifts his hand to his face, wiping it. He’s not exactly surprised to see that Diego is right.
“This is what denial and repression does,” Klaus says. “You can only hold it in so long before you just explode. Not literally I hope. That’s Vanya’s thing.”
Five shrugs for the lack of something better to do. “I was trying to keep you safe,” he says. “Everyone seemed so happy, so ready to move on.”
“We can’t be happy if you’re not happy, Five,” Allison says. “We’re a team, a family. We aren’t in this alone.”
This is a viable argument.
So is this: “And we weren’t safe,” Luther says. “We had no idea this attack was coming.”
“And neither did I,” Five interjects. “If I did, don’t you think I would have been here?”
“But you knew the Commission was here,” Ben says softly.
With a scoff, Five shakes his head. “I told you that weeks ago,” he says. “But you all thought I was crazy. You wanted me to go to school, make friends, get a hobby. None of you wanted to talk about the Commission.”
“Whoa,” Luther says. “You said you had suspicions.”
Five makes a wide, frustrated gesture. “It wasn’t idle speculation,” he says. “But you were more interested in my emotional state than my facts.”
“Because you’re our brother!” Allison says. “And it’s pretty clear that you haven’t been okay, not since you got back.”
“And, to be fair,” Klaus adds with a face of apology. “You didn’t have facts.”
Diego nods in agreement. “You said yourself you weren’t sure,” he says. “If you’ve collected evidence since then, you should have told us.”
Five’s chest feels tight. He’s annoyed, yes. He feels guilty, too. It’s a shitty combination of things that Five doesn’t know how to make parse. “You were all working with your own bias,” he reasons. “I knew that you wouldn’t see more than speculation. You’d see evidence that I was obsessed, and that would only slow me down.”
“So this was the better route?” Luther asks, gesturing to the mangled room around them. “Leaving us in the dark to be ambushed?”
That point stands, and it hits harder than Luther probably intends. Five feels his gut twist, and he presses his lips together as thinly as he can. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was a miscalculation.”
He’s got experience with those, at least.
Not that the experience makes them any easier.
It’s not an answer they like, some more than others. Diego seems to remember the miscalculation that got Patch killed. Klaus is remembering the lack of forethought that got him trapped in Vietnam. They have to remember the times he’s talked down to them, ordered them around and generally acted like they were useless.
Five’s made a lot of miscalculations in his life.
Underestimating how much he needs his family, however, is still the biggest one.
For all his sincerity, his family simply looks angry.
“No more calculations, Five,” Luther says gravely. “I don’t want you to do any more.”
Five shakes his head. For all that he can logically understand the sentiment, the logic still escapes him. “But then what am I supposed to do? The Commission is here because of me. We’re all in danger because of the choices I made. I’m the only one who knows what to look for, and I’m the one they want. What else am I supposed to do?”
Luther, for all that he’s trying to look angry and stern, seems pleased to give his answer. “You do nothing,” he says. He draws himself up, glancing at the others for support before fixing his gaze back on Five. “It’s about what we do next.”
Five blinks a few times as he thinks about that.
For all that he’s embarrassed and frustrated and emotionally spent, he has to admit, that’s a pretty good plan.
The only plan that’s been worth anything in the last few months, at any rate.
-o-
If they’re going to do this together, then Five has to get them up to speed. He has to tell them the whole truth. They, in turn, have to listen. Five has to accept that this may make him sound crazy. The others have to accept that not everything he’s saying is completely out of left field.
It’s unclear who has the tougher job.
“I’ve charted as many episodes as I can,” Five says, laying out his notebooks with his equations. “I’ve grouped as many appearances that seemed to be linked and further analyzed said appearances to graph the similarities. From this data, I ranked the probability of every episode, delineating the chance of it being random versus the chance of it being an intentional act of observation set forth by the Commission.”
It’s a lot of data. Vanya and Luther make valid attempts to read it. Allison eyes the rest of his notebooks with trepidation while Klaus whistles. It’s Diego who gives up and shakes his head. “So you just wrote down all the weird shit you’ve noticed?”
That’s utterly reductive, and Five braces himself. Getting angry and derogatory won’t help now. “More or less, yes.”
“Well, did you get the one about the chick at the boxing gym?” Diego asks.
Five is still bracing himself to be annoyed that he’s not prepared for a genuine question. “What?”
“There’s this weird chick, down at my gym,” Diego says. “Every time I go there, she shows up within five minutes.”
Allison makes a face. “You didn’t think to tell us?”
“What? Five has notebooks he didn’t tell us about,” Diego says. “I just thought she was into me.”
Five is seriously considering this now. “Are your visits regular? Are you just happening to coincide with her?”
“No,” Diego says. “I go whenever I have a few minutes. Sometimes early. Sometimes over lunch. Sometimes late. But she’s always there, five minutes in. Always.”
That is validly weird. Luther looks up with a frown. “Well, maybe she’s related to the girl I see walking her dog.”
“Lots of people walk their dogs,” Diego shoots back, more argumentatively than the situation warrants.
Luther rolls his eyes. “No, she walks her dog constantly. Like, I’ve seen her walk the dog, like, ten times a day.”
“How do you know that?” Allison asks.
“Surveillance footage,” Luther says. “I watch it, just like Dad used to. She seems innocent enough, never does anything, but 10 walks a day? Down the same street? It is weird.”
“Oh, please, weird,” Klaus interjects. “Don’t get me started on weird.”
They all look at him. It’s one of the more notable changes in their dynamic after saving the world. They take Klaus more seriously than they used to. This only pays off approximately half the time. Klaus is still Klaus, after all, and sober or not, he is flighty and prone to fits of malaise that counter an inherent restlessness that drives them all a little to the edge of sanity. It just so happens that Klaus is correct sometimes now.
Of course, he probably always was.
It’s just now that he’s correct in a way that’s useful.
Also, they respect and love each other or some other such nonsense.
At any rate, when Klaus continues, they’re actually listening. “Like, there’s this guy in the alley three blocks down, this homeless guy who deals drugs--”
Five manages to not groan. Luther and Allison do not manage that much. It only figures that Klaus would continually strain his own credibility in such obvious and overt ways.
It’s some consolation that he realizes it. “No, it’s not what you think, really,” he says quickly, gesturing plaintively.
Luther rolls his eyes and Diego crosses his arms over his chest. Ben is just wincing.
“I’m not buying, I’m not,” Klaus assures them, and his nervous giggle does little to reassure them. “And that’s what makes it weird, okay?”
Vanya shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Like, it’s a homeless drug dealer,” Klaus says emphatically. “He sells the shit so he can buy the shit, but if he’s sitting in the alley three blocks away every time I walk by, then he’s not making any money, okay? He always has the same supply. So what’s he doing? That can’t possibly be real. It can’t be.”
The fact that Klaus is actively maintaining his sobriety is worth noting.
His description of a nonsensical and well placed drug dealer is perhaps more telling than the rest of the examples cited so far. That would be something the Commission does, especially since Klaus’ substance abuse would be on the record in more detail than most of the family’s other known weaknesses.
But that’s not the end of it. Allison seems to have recovered from her skepticism, and now she looks concerned. “You know, now that we’re talking about it, there’s this stylist at my hair salon,” she says. “He’s there every time I go in to get a little touch up, and the weird part is that I’ve literally never seen him with a client. He looks busy enough, but I’m there a lot. If he never has clients, there’s no way he could afford to rent a chair in a place that nice.”
Well, shit, Five thinks. This keeps getting better.
“And for the record,” Ben interjects. He points a translucent finger at Five’s notebook. “This thing about the cats. I’ve noticed it, too. I used to have a lot of time for things like that, you know. Watching the alley cats. And these two. They’re not normal. I thought it was just weird, but when you see it all together like this...”
Five’s not sure if he feels sick or validated. Both, probably. It’s a nice thing to know you’re not insane. It’s not so nice to realize that you are being hunted by one of the most pervasive, lawless agencies in all of time and space.
Vanya lets out a breath, like she really can’t believe it. “I haven’t notice anything, any of it,” she says, staring in awe at Five’s notes. “But is this real? Is the Commission really here?”
The answer is obvious. Five nods his head, saying it with more confidence than he has before. “This very real, and the Commission is definitely here,” he says, and they don’t think he’s crazy anymore. They’re listening to him now, really listening, and their sudden belief is overwhelming. Five thinks he might be trembling as adrenaline washes over him like a cold sweat. “We’ll have to chart all these new occurrences, try to create something more comprehensive. If we can put it on paper, we should be able to create a visual map, which can help us pinpoint possible locations of targets and number the number of players.”
It’s moments like this when Five is thankful for the fact that their father raised them with a military discipline and an eye toward combat operations. Of course, it’s probably the way that their father raised them that put them in this position, but Five’s traveled through time too much to worry himself with the what-ifs. There’s the here and now to be considered, and if he wants to guarantee the next moment, then he needs to get this done. His family’s cooperation and support will be an imperative difference.
He reaches for a pencil and starts to scrawl a few notes. It’s funny how comprehensive his notes had seemed a few hours ago. They’re sorely lacking now. He had been trying to keep them safe by excluding them, but that lapse has limited his ability to actually keep them safe. It’s a mistake he has to rectify now.
“If your reports are accurate, then it seems likely that the Commission is casing us out as a unit,” he says, charting Luther’s dog walker and Allison’s unbooked stylist. “It’s a more comprehensive approach than they normally take, but if we have succeeded in changing the timeline, then this is new to them as well. They want all hands on deck so to speak.”
At this point, no one is disagreeing with him, but that doesn’t mean they’re on the same page. Luther shakes his head, frowning. “But why?”
Diego nods, backing him up. “The big guy’s right,” he says and there’s no time to appreciate the irony of that statement right now. “This seems like an awful lot of trouble. What’s the endgame?”
Five adds a note of corroboration about the cat and tries to chart Klaus’ junkie. “I don’t know for sure,” he says. “Like I said, this is new ground. Anything I may have learned from the Commission is going to have limited viability now. Too many variables have changed.”
“But there has to be a reason,” Vanya says.
“They’re weirdos, the Commission. Freaks,” Klaus informs them seriously. He tips his head toward Five. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Five replies honestly. “And the why doesn’t matter. We just have to know how to stop them.”
“It’s not that simple, though,” Allison argues. “I mean, if we don’t know why they’re after us, then how do we know what to expect? We have to know why they hit the house today if we want to know how to stop it again?”
Five inclines his head, conceding the point. “Well, logically, think of the timing,” he says, and he’s still sketching out Diego’s female boxer. “With all this surveillance, when do they strike? The second I’m out of the house for an extended period of time. They knew I was here, and that’s when they struck.”
“Okay,” Luther says, following his train of thought as best he can from his limited point of view. “So maybe you’re not the target this time.”
Five can’t stop himself from scoffing. Loudly. “Of course I’m the target.”
This has been a basic assumption since the start. All of his equations are predicated on this. Five has always been the target; his family was just collateral damage.
But the others are not without their logic. Diego narrows his eyes, the way he does when he’s trying to think. “But then why not go after you? You were alone and exposed.”
“I’ve already shown what I’m capable of in combat,” Five says, and he’s not trying to sound prideful, but he feels his chest puffing out in something like indignation. “It’s not a choice that any operative would make lightly. Hazel and Cha-Cha were the best of the best, and they couldn’t take me down.”
“But that still begs the question,” Allison says, quite reasonably. “Why come here? Why attack us?”
Five looks at them as he considers this. He looks at the cuts and bruises. He looks at their disheveled hair and torn clothing. Diego is missing a few knives. Even Ben looks unusually grave, and Five feels the emotions churn almost painfully in his gut.
“They would have to target my weaknesses,” Five says, the words sounding clean and crisp as they tumble out over his numb lips. “All six of them.”
The implications are not hard to track, but Diego shakes his head. “But before, last time,” he says. “You said they didn’t go after people unless they interfered.”
Five shrugs, the notion leaves him weary. “That was before. It’s quite possible that the rule book has changed. Or, at the very least, been amended for special cases.”
It’s not a logic they’re all willing to follow, however. “But we’ve all messed with the timeline now, haven’t we?” Allison asks.
“We have,” Luther agrees. “We all went back in time. We all came back here. We stopped the apocalypse.”
Five draws his brows together. This is seems to be veering off point for him, but he has to admit that he is struggling to find exactly what the point should be. “You’re not catalysts, however. You lack a complex understanding of the timeline. Trust me, I know. Just because you travel through time doesn’t make you an expert. It’s taken me years -- decades--”
“But maybe it’s not just you anymore,” Vanya interjects, a bit more gently than the others. She smiles as if the reassure Five while she contradicts him. “You have the understanding, but think about why. Why did you come back? Why did you change the timeline? It was for us.”
She knows him better than the rest. She knows him better than Five wants sometimes. He swallows hard.
“It’s not about any one of us,” Ben adds softly.
“Because we’re all so special,” Klaus singsongs.
“It’s about all of us,” Ben concludes, both ignoring Klaus and building on his comment. “And maybe we’re thinking about it wrong. Maybe we’re not targets.”
Now that’s a consideration Five can work with. “That’s a fair point,” he says. “If they really wanted you all dead, you’d probably be dead.”
“Hey!” Luther objects, and Allison looks indignant.
“We’re not amateurs!” Diego protests.
Klaus puts a hand over his heart in feigned mortification.
Vanya proceeds more diplomatically. “They were fighting to kill,” she says. “You’ll have to take our word.”
Five hears her implicit plea for him to understand, but he can’t afford to answer it. He shakes his head, more adamant than ever. “You don’t expend your resources like this, put multiple people on the ground, spend months in observation, just to botch it when you make the move,” he says. “No, they’re playing at something else.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Diego says, and he’s playing with one of his knives, moving it front to back in his hands. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
Five narrows his eyes suspicious at the concession.
Diego shrugs. “I mean, we don’t need to know why or even how they’re coming after us,” he says. “The mistake is letting them make all the moves. We’re letting them control the situation, and we’re stuck playing defense.”
Diego is clearly vying for a more direct approach. It’s a sentiment Five can appreciate, but it’s woefully naive. “They have infinite resources,” he says plainly. “All we can do is play defense.”
He’s not trying to be melodramatic.
Okay, he is trying to be melodramatic.
He has a thing for grand statements and bold proclamations, even when they are overstated.
Unfortunately, his siblings know this about it.
Their response, therefore, is to roll their eyes. Klaus makes a gesture of futility and says, “Well, that’s great, then. Maybe we should just find them and turn ourselves in now. You know, throw ourselves on the mercy of the system. I’m really good at sounding contrite in front of a judge. Really good.”
Klaus’ ability to lie notwithstanding, Five thinks he may be on to something there.
The rest of them miss it.
Naturally.
“No,” Luther says, and he shakes his head like it’s a decided thing. Of them all, Luther is the best trained to convinced himself of things that he’s not certain of at all. Five has always suspected that, more than his innate strength, are what earned him the classification of Number One. “They’re just underestimating us.”
It’s Five’s turn to roll his eyes. “I sincerely doubt that,” he says. “They have access to all our history, all history -- period. Not to mention the future. They know what we’re going to do, and that’s even more of a problem than what we’ve already done.”
“And we have each other,” Luther all but insists now. He implores the others to agree with him. “That’s got to be worth more than hit squads and all of history. What happened proves it. We’re stronger than they know how deal with.”
Five thinks this is still a romanticized version of the truth, but he allows himself this logic: “Well, then maybe this attack was a test. Maybe they’re trying to feel us out, see what kind of resistance we show as a way to improve future attacks”
He hadn’t been convinced of it until he said it, but as it rolls around in his head, it certainly seems feasible. That would make his absence noteworthy. They want to see what his family is capable of on their own. The targeted nature of the strike would still support Five’s previous theories.
As he’s coming to these conclusions, the others are coming to conclusions of their own.
“But that means they’re coming back,” Allison says, as if this is somehow a revelation.
“They’re regrouping,” Diego says.
“Wait, so we have to fight them again?” Klaus asks, whining a bit while his eyes go wide. “Again again?”
“I think that’s an oversimplification,” Five tells them. “They’re probably working on a much more defined platform, one that we have only begun to imagine.”
“But none of this is simple,” Luther says. “If what you’re saying is true--”
“Which I think we all know it is,” Five reminds them.
Luther closes his mouth looking grave.
Diego scoffs on his behalf. “Then we can’t sit around,” he says. “I mean, we have to stop letting them define the playing field.”
“Did you not hear what I said about defense?” Five asks pointedly.
“The best defense is a good offense,” Klaus says sagely. “That’s a thing, right? Did I get that right?”
Diego nods his approval. “Exactly,” he says. “We have to confront them, catch them off their guard. Then we can define the terms.”
There’s something to that. For all that Five likes to plan, he’s still an impulsive teenager at heart. And, well, literally. You don’t end up stuck in the apocalypse if you’re great at thinking things through.
“If we can force their position somehow, we would have some leverage,” Five allows himself to venture. “Verbal agreements are steadfastly regarded as binding within the system.”
“But isn’t that a real risk?” Vanya asks, sounding worried at the prospect. She hasn’t grasped the fact that she can literally destroy the world and therefore has nothing to worry about except herself. “I mean, these instances, sightings -- the Commission could have dozens of agents on the ground here. We’re outnumbered.”
The fact that Five agrees with her in principle can’t stop him from being an asshole. “A dozen? Not likely,” he says as contrary as ever. “I’ll have to map it out, but I’d guess we’re seeing the same five to ten agents cycling through different covers.”
“Oh, only five to ten,” Klaus says, throwing his hands up.
“That’s still a lot of agents, Five,” Luther says.
“And what if they bring backup?” Diego asks. He points to the damaged house. “Hit squads like at the theater before? What do we do then?”
Well, there’s only one response to that. The same response Five has had since the beginning. “We need a plan,” he tells them, because there’s the crux of the issue, the only thing that matters. His pride aside, that’s the failure he has to own to, now more than ever. He nods, resolute, because his brothers and sisters are thinking a lot of things, but there’s no longer any doubt among them. Five thinks they can work with that. “We need a real plan.”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
PART FOURTEEN
PART FIFTEEN
PART SIXTEEN
-o-
When Ben is gone, it takes Five a minute to acclimate himself. He can’t help it. As much as he wants to be alone, he hates being alone. He always has a split second of panic, when he thinks they’re gone, he’s gone, it’s all gone, and he doesn’t think he can do it again.
But he breathes and reminds himself he doesn’t have to.
Ben is lurking, probably just outside the door. Klaus is probably knitting on the couch, and Diego could be folding laundry with Mom. Luther and Allison will be alone in the attic because it’s romantic like that, and Vanya could be reading a book while Pogo tidies up the lab.
It’s just Five, locking himself in his room.
It’s just Five, going over his equations.
It’s just Five, closing them out.
It’s just Five, trying to make a plan that never comes together.
You get the gist.
It’s just Five.
-o-
Five maps out what happened, and he comes to several important conclusions from the lunch’s events. First, he’s still on edge. It is getting harder and harder to control. Second, the odds of an agent showing up in a location where Five is not frequently situated would be quite a feat. He wonders fleetingly if the technology at the Commission has continued to improve dramatically in his absence. Is it possible for their agents to change shape and form? That would certainly explain his varied responses to so many different impulses. If an agent can be a cat, a delivery man, a barista, a child at a restaurant -- then it would substantiate his growing doubts and clarify the disparate branches of his equations.
Third, it’s possible that he should consider possible communication from the Commission. If it’s not directed at him, then it has to be directed at someone. The Commission is a broad organization, and it requires constant communication in order to ensure that operatives are performing as needed. Moreover, if this is a long term observational assignment, regular updates would be needed to go back and forth.
In short, of course there is ongoing communication happening on a regular basis from the Commission. Five’s been remiss for not thinking of this sooner. Because if there is regular communication, then he should be able to determine its likely location. If he can discern that, then he can possibly intercept a message. Once he intercepts a message, he can get the evidence he needs to build a plan.
Of course, there are some concerns. Namely, if he attempts to intercept a message, it’s likely his attempted interference will be noted. If his interference is noted, an interaction will inevitable, and that interaction may be escalated to violence. He knows how the Commission operates. If an operation is in jeopardy, there are no limits. It could put Five at risk -- it could put his whole family at risk.
This is a possibility for which he should be prepared. And not just mentally. But physically. He is confident in his hand to hand skills, but he’s still a 13 year old boy. He’s going to need to create a more substantial presence for himself.
There is no shortage of resources in their home, but their father had never trained them for firearm usage. Moreover, Luther seems quite resistant to gun, especially after he caught Five toting their father’s rifle in another timeline. Five has no doubt that he could find where the guns are stored, and he is not worried about any locking mechanism that Luther may have attempted to use.
The problem is that he’s a 13 year old boy who lives in close proximity with his family. If he starts carrying any substantial weaponry, they’re going to notice. If they notice, they’re going to assume that Five’s mental status is continuing to deteriorate.
There are two simple solutions that Five can conclude.
One, he could leave. Get his own place, invest in all the weapons he wants, and fortify himself to kingdom come. This could protect his family, on the one hand. But it can also leave them vulnerable, and that’s not a possibility Five feels comfortable with.
Therefore, two: he can stay. If he wants to ramp up his ability to defend himself, he’s going to have to do it like any other 13 year old in the world. He’ll just have to ask.
-o-
Luther is the most logical person to broach this topic with. After all, Luther is Number One. While he is not the sole decision maker in the house, he is the significant head of the household because they all have implicitly agreed that there needs to be someone who plays that role in times of duress. Field work in a team context without a hierarchy is nothing short of chaos, and while they all have certain objections to Luther’s leadership choices, the old man was right about this much: Luther was born to lead.
Therefore, any executive decision Five wishes to make will necessarily be cleared by Luther. If Luther agrees, the others are more than likely to fall in line.
Also, Luther’s probably the one who has bothered to hide the guns. Diego may know, but guns don’t interest him. The others probably haven’t given it a second thought.
There’s also this detail: Five thinks he may have a chance of getting Luther to say yes. It’s a question of simple psychology. Five wants to protect the family. Luther wants to protect the family. It’s common ground. If Five can establish this common ground, then getting Luther to agree before he realizes what he’s agreed to shouldn’t be all that hard.
Of course, a lot of things shouldn’t be in Five’s life. His habit of underestimating things does tend to come back to bite him in the ass.
Still, he approaches the discussion with confidence. “I think it’s great what you do,” Five says while Luther is still going through files in the old man’s office. “Protecting the family.”
Subtle, it is not. But with Luther, subtlety is not appreciated.
As it is, Luther cannot see that this is clearly a set up. Instead, he seems to be flattered. “Oh,” he says, almost pleased with himself. “Well, thank you. I mean, I always think of it is as an honor, not an obligation. The family is everything.”
Five nods along like he completely doesn’t think that the response is sentimental drivel. “You’re ready to make the hard choices. The necessary sacrifices.”
Luther draws his brows together quite seriously. It’s a bit tempting to laugh at him for it, but it’s the depth of his obvious sincerity that makes it almost endearing. “I always understood that, even from a young age. Say what you will about Dad, but he was right to teach us that some things are worth the sacrifice.”
“I am curious, though,” Five ventures, hoping he has sufficiently eased Luther into this conversation. “What that means to you?”
Luther blinks, as if taken by surprise. “Well, I mean, it’s about putting yourself second--”
Five shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear about the moralistic stance Luther takes on this. “No, no,” he says. “I was talking more practically. Not theory, but, you know, application.”
Five says this with a hopeful note, leaving it open ended enough for Luther to fill in the rest.
Luther, however, appears at a loss. “I don’t follow.”
Five tries not to show his annoyance. “I mean, what practical measures do you deem necessary for the job of protecting the family even when they may seem extreme to the normal person,” he explains. “What societal expectations are you willing to defy to make sure that the people you care about are safe.”
This is far more clear and to the point.
Luther still manages to misunderstand him. He looks truly concerned. “Five,” he says. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Five balks. “I’m just asking what lines you’re willing to cross for the family.”
“Because if you feel vulnerable or unprotected in some way--”
Five’s face screws up and he immediately backtracks. “I am more than capable of defending myself,” he says, his defensiveness taking over. “I am hardly in need of protection, especially from you or anyone else in this family.”
Luther looks vexed by Five’s response. “Then what’s the problem?”
Closing his mouth, Five is forced to acknowledge that he has badly played his hand. His pride is easily wounded, sometimes, and it makes him prone to emotional outbursts that he often regrets. Case in point, being 13 and desperate to prove his dad wrong. In a huff, he’d left the table and went out into the street. His pride had led him to prove his father right.
It had also left him trapped in the future by himself for decades.
So, calling it a character flaw is probably not unwarranted.
The consequences are not quite as grave this time, but Five still tries to mitigate them anyway. He forces the tension in his shoulders to ease, and he plasters the best semblance of a smile across his face as possible. It feels like a poor approximation, but he has to hope that his boyish features help him pull it off. “It’s just a hypothetical,” he says. “You know. A what-if.”
Luther is not truly as dumb as the others make him out to be. Not that Five’s calling him a genius, but his brother does have good people instincts. He knows bullshit when he sees it -- as long as it’s not coming from their old man, anyway. “No, it’s based on something,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
At this point, Five is ready to concede defeat. He can find other means to obtain a weapon without his brother blessing or assistance. “Nothing.”
“No, Five, there’s something--”
Five rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing, Luther.”
Five is ready to concede defeat, but Luther concedes nothing. He earned the status Number One if for nothing else than his impenetrable commitment to the most inane positions. This is the dedication that kept Luther loyal for four years on the moon.
It is unfortunate to have it directed at him at the moment. “If you’re worried about something--”
Five groans. “Stop talking now.”
“We can help, Five,” Luther continues. “We can protect you--”
“Oh for the love of--” Five starts and stops himself. He grits his teeth and glares at his brother. “I just wanted to ask if I could carry protection around the house, okay? That’s all.”
It sounds even more reasonable than it had in his head. Five half wishes he’d been this direct to start with. There aren’t a lot of perks to being a time traveling assassin, but the lack of small talk required had been nice.
Luther continues to stare at him. “Protection?” he repeats.
“Yes, protection.”
For some reason, Luther becomes increasingly vexed by this request. “Have you met a girl, or…?”
Five frowns, not sure what that has to do with anything.
“Because if you need to talk about urges--”
“Whoa,” Five says, and he’s beyond indignant now. This is veering close to outright humiliation since he’s 58 and nearly twice Luther’s age and how the hell is this something that Luther thinks is possibly on Five’s mind. “I’m a 58 year old man living in a 13 year old body,” Five tells him. “There’s no romantic relationship I could actually pursue that doesn’t raise severe ethical concerns -- assuming I even want a romantic relationship, which I decidedly do not.”
Shit, the Commission is after him and Luther wants to talk about the birds and the bees. At this point, Five wishes he’d never bothered with this conversation at all.
All of these points are frustratingly unconsidered by Luther. Instead, he sits there, stumped. “Oh.”
Gritting his teeth, Five wills himself for some semblance of patience. You know, just so he doesn’t attempt to murder his own brother.
Again.
It shouldn’t be all that hard. The only hard part was the untenable thickness of Luther’s seemingly impenetrable skull.
“Guns, Luther,” Five spits it out. “I want guns.”
Diplomatic, it is not. But Five is way past the point of caring.
Like 45 years past the point.
Luther is almost comically slow on the uptake. “Wait. What?”
Five now refuses to dance around the issue. “Guns are effective for protection.”
“But we’re a family of superheroes,” Luther reminds him, gawping pathetically.
“And the only one with any sense to carry a weapon is Diego, and those are just knives,” he says. “Let’s be realistic, we can best people who don’t know what they’re doing and don’t know what to expect, but if we go head to head with someone who has mapped out our abilities and knows how to read us? We’ll be badly outmatched.”
“But that’s never been a problem before,” Luther argues.
Five rolls his eyes. “Are you forgetting about the shootout at the theater?”
“Sure, but that was the Commission,” Luther continues.
Five waits, thinking the next conclusion should be self evident.
This is Luther, however.
He continues to gawp.
Scraping that tactic, Five huffs. Logic isn’t going to do it in this context. He’ll settle for this instead: “My point is just that if you need to protect your family, really needed to, you’d put guns on the table.”
It’s a question that Luther takes seriously because he’s Luther. “Well, if I really had to…”
“If you really had to,” Five presses. “You’d do it, right? To protect us?”
That’s a question that Luther doesn’t have to think about. That’s a question that Luther’s known how to answer all his life, and the answer has always, always been the same. “I would,” he says. “I would do anything.”
It’s earnest, as most things are with Luther. It’s true.
Five knows that’s not exactly permission.
But Five’s learned not to be picky about such things.
-o-
Luther says anything.
Five interprets that as everything.
He finds the guns in the house and slowly stockpiles them in his bedroom. He has a handgun in his bedside table. He starts a collection of rifles in the closet. For good measure, he picks up a few of the knives that Diego leaves around and finds a slingshot, a few ninja stars and what appears to be a mace.
This isn’t about Five doing anything or everything, really.
It’s just about whether or not Five is doing enough.
-o-
Five watches the cat a little more. It has a friend now, a gray and white cat that eats mice in the alley. Once, the twins with the jump ropes pet the cat and this is highly suspicious to Five. He starts checking all the walls, doors and mailslots. He closes his eyes and listen while making a plan of intervention when the time arises.
The plan is simple so far.
All he’s got is: fight like hell.
And, of course: win.
It’s a good start, at least.
-o-
The problem isn’t starting something.
It’s finishing it.
You can get up from the table, you can make your case, you can make a scene, you can storm out, and it’s all well and good, but you have to finish it. You have to walk back in, you have to prove them wrong.
Five still remembers thinking he’d do that. He remembers being 13 and being so sure that his old man was an idiot. He remembers being 13 and being so sure that he was right.
So he started something.
Three jumps into the future, he couldn’t end it.
Because three jumps later, the world ended before he had the chance.
Ironically, he’s still 13.
That doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t mean anything.
-o-
At night, Five works on his equations. In the morning, he drinks coffee. He eats lunch so his siblings won’t bother him, and once a week, they sit down to dinner, like everything is fine and dandy.
Luther and Allison talk about Claire, and Diego confides in Klaus about how surprisingly comfortable leather pants are. Vanya whispers jokes with Allison about a guy in her orchestra, and Luther and Diego get into a heated debate about the best place for a security camera in the foyer. Klaus and Ben sing a duet that Five’s never heard before and never wants to hear again.
They’re so happy and they’re so noisy, but Five can still hear the clink of silverware against the plates. They’re the same plates. It’s the same silverware. They’ve all changed so much, but Five’s still 13.
He blinks.
He’s still 13.
His fingers start to tingle. His throat constricts. He can hear his father’s voice telling him to sit down. No one dares to look at him but Vanya, who just shakes her head. But Five can’t sit down, Five doesn’t know how to sit down.
Luther asks Ben for his advice on garden hoses. Allison tells Diego that Claire may want to be a cop when she grows up. Vanya and Klaus confer about the color trends this coming spring.
So alive, but Five still sees their corpses. He can feel Diego’s blood, slick on his fingers. He can smell the rotting of Allison’s body as it decomposes in the sun. Klaus’ weight is still in his arms when he finally buries them, and he sees how small Luther looks when the life is gone from his body.
Allison laughs. Klaus asks for more potatoes. Diego finishes his drink.
Even when they’re dead, Five can’t let go. He spends the first six months, living in the rubble. He picks through the debris for anything he can salvage, but none of the scraps are enough to bring them back. Five cries himself to sleep, screaming out into the night just to remind himself that he’s not dead, too.
Ben does a small dance in his seat. Luther asks if anyone wants to play Scrabble. Vanya says she’ll make the coffee.
He has to save them. He’s suppose to save them. This has always been about saving them. Because Five’s seen the end of the world. And it’s a bleakness you can’t forget. It’s an oppressive silence you can never break through. It’s encompassing, and you’ll always taste the ash in your mouth and you are never sure if you’ve gone and died too and you’re just unable to tell.
Five has to close his eyes. His ears are ringing. He can hear his own voice saying, “Not ready, my ass” and he hears the crackling of the flames as the world turns to embers. Somewhere, Vanya asks, “Are you okay? Five?”
Delores shakes her head.
The Handler smiles and says she’s come to offer him a job.
Five starts things he doesn’t know how to finish.
So maybe it’s his fault that everyone dies.
Maybe it’s his fault.
Maybe they’re still dead.
Maybe.
Five can’t breathe. His chest hurts and his eyes burn.
“Five?”
“Five!”
He doesn’t want to open his eyes; he doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t think he can bear it, not again. He doesn’t want any of this.
“Five!”
A hand latches around him, and the touch galvanizes him. He shudders violently, sucking in air desperately as his eyes fly open. His chair has tipped back and he’s on his back. His fists are balled tightly, energy burning through them, and the others are poised over him, looking down in worry. It’s Vanya who’s next to him, a hand on his arm.
He exhales.
“Are you okay?” Vanya asks.
Five inhales. His cheeks are wet, and his heart is still pounding.
“Five?”
He exhales again, and presses his lips together. He sits up shakily and doesn’t bother to wipe his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he says shortly. “I’m fine.”
No one believes him.
That’s okay.
Five doesn’t need them to believe him.
All he needs is a little more time to figure this out.
Before he actually loses his mind.
-o-
It’s indicative of just how messed up they are that Five’s breakdown at dinner does not prompt immediate and drastic action. To be sure, his family certainly increases their eye on him. He’s no longer granted any time alone, and his siblings seem to be looking for new and interest ways to engage his attention. Thus, he is forced to go mini golfing. He has to shop for weekend clothes. Klaus takes him volunteering at a soup kitchen and leaves him to do all the work while he plays games on his phone. He Skypes on a daily basis with Claire.
Clearly, these activities are designed to distract him and to stimulate his would-be better nature. They want him to act normal, as if that’s somehow going to fix things. The whole exercise is tedious, but Five indulges it because he can’t have them interfering. Not when he needs more time. Data collection, calculations, analysis: these things take a lot of time.
Which is the problem.
Time is not on Five’s side.
Time is the Commission’s domain. The Handler had said it best: time is the one thing the Commission has in absolute abundance. For every day that Five spends planning, the Commission has centuries to figure it out before he’s even done with the mental math. Five struggles with every day, every week, every month being back. It’s all the same to the Commission. They can pop in and out as they please, waiting for precisely the right moment. They’ll pinpoint your weakness and exploit it so hard, so fast that you don’t know what hits you.
It’s the Commission’s MO. Five only has to look at his own history for evidence. After spending decades alone, the Handler showed up and offered him a job. Why wait so long? Why wait until his body was nearly past its prime and until his mind was not quite this side of sane?
Because they wanted Five not quite this side of sane. They wanted him to be in love with a mannequin and so unused to human interaction that he thinks he’s hallucinating when someone shows up. They wanted him on the very edge of his sanity so they could guarantee that no matter what deal they offered, he’d say yes.
There’s some shame in him that it worked so well. But when you get stuck in the apocalypse, what else are you going to do. He hadn’t had a lot of options.
And his shame is hardly the point right now.
The point is that the Commission has time and they know how to leverage time to their perfect advantage.
Which begs the question, then. What timing are they waiting for now?
Are they waiting for Five to let his guard down? Is the plan to wait until Five is crazy with paranoia? Five calculates the odds, maps the probabilities.
And all he keeps coming back to is this: he doesn’t know.
He doesn’t have any idea.
-o-
The answer is, of course, that the Commission is waiting for Five to completely withdraw from his family. They are waiting for him to isolate himself satisfactorily in a vain attempt to protect them. They will use this obsessive protective impulse and exploit it, attacking the family when Five is trying to protect them. After all, by withdrawing his suspicions, Five has left them vulnerable.
As far as plans go, Five has to admit, this one is pretty clever.
He’d like to say he saw it coming.
History, however, is not on his side.
-o-
Five, you see, goes to the library.
Sure, he knows, logically, that there isn’t anything at the library that he can’t find from the well-enabled smart phone his siblings have given to him for his personal use. He knows he could sit in his room and hack into any database he needs to find the information he needs. But all the same, he prefers the library. He likes physical books; he likes physical anything. He likes things that are concrete, solid, unmovable, like fixtures that time can’t erase.
Also, he needs to get out of the house.
Like, he really needs to get out of the house.
He comes to this conclusion after another near-panic attack in the shower, and he finds Klaus intrusive questioning at breakfast more than he can bear. Sure, he knows that Klaus simply asks how he slept, but it’s too much. Allison asks what his plans are, and Five recklessly throws his hands up and tells them that he’s going to go to the library to read.
He does end up at the library, so it’s not a total lie, but when he tries to read, the words are blur together and he has the nagging sense that he’s missing something.
After lunch, he comes home and finds the front door blown off his hinges.
His heart plummets to his feet.
That’s what, then.
-o-
For several seconds, Five forgets how to move. He’s standing on the stoop, staring at the broken door, his breathing tight in his throat. His stomach is in knots, and he thinks he may be sick. He remembers standing here during the apocalypse, calling for his family when they were long gone.
The house is still standing this time, but the feeling is very much the same.
The sense that he’s not sure what happened.
But he knows it isn’t good.
There’s that split second of hope, that microcosm of doubt. He teeters on the brink of possibility that maybe everything’s okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as he thinks it is.
Or maybe everything’s not okay.
Maybe everything much, much worse.
He can’t muster his voice to call out to him.
He can’t even find the will to let his knees buckle.
His mind flashes, to the cat, to the barista, to the twin girls, to the delivery man.
His mind flashes again, to Vanya and Klaus and Allison and Diego and Luther.
His mind flashes and he’s 13 again.
He’s 13 still.
He’ll always be 13.
That probably should be where this story begins.
Five is gutted to think that this is where it ends.
-o-
It doesn’t end, though. Endings are not permitted for Five. They’re a luxury he’s never been afforded, and after he stands in panic, he’s struck with the conviction that he has to face this. It’s not going anywhere; he’s not going anywhere. If he’s left his family vulnerable, then it’s his responsibility to pick up the pieces of whatever’s left.
That’s a cold resolve, then, that propels him up the steps. He forces himself to stop shaking as he steps over the ruin threshold into the foyer.
The walls are still standing, but the damage is everywhere. In the melee, the chandelier has fallen again, but the impact is more extensive this time. There are pieces of the ceiling littering the floor, and the tile floor as been scraped beyond recognition by the staircase. An entire portion of the bannister is gone, and several steps are smashed. The air reeks of gunpowder and blood. The lingering dust is still swirling in the air.
Five’s legs are numb as he traces a path inside toward the sitting room. The furniture has been overturned; a few of the tables are all but shattered. A line of knives are embedded in the doorframe, abandoned. There’s a large indentation nearby, a nearly perfect match to Luther’s hulking form.
Vanya’s violin is half put away in its case, her sheet music spread out on the ground. Klaus’ knitting needles are tangled in a runaway ball of thread, and Allison’s phone is behind the bar, the screen cracked.
These are disparate pieces to a macabre puzzle, one Five is pretty sure he’s built before. The how’s and why’s elude him, but he’s pretty sure he knows the what.
They’re dead.
Five walked out, didn’t know how to get back and now they’re dead.
He’s the last one.
How is he still the last one?
The realization is washing over him, and he feels the numbness rise up his legs and paralyze his chest. It’s turning his neck to lead and his cheeks feel like rubber as everything starts to rise to a pitch within him. It’s panic, in its purest, most raw form, and the awful plaintive sense of deja vu threatens to undo him.
He survived once.
He buried them, scrounged through the vestiges of civilization, and sacrificed everything inside himself to come back and save them. He doesn’t think he can do it again.
God help him, he doesn’t want to do it again.
Maybe this is what the Handler meant. Maybe this is the reason the Commission exists. Maybe some things are meant to be and maybe free will just means you can change the circumstances but you can’t change the outcome.
Maybe this is a time loop.
Maybe this is destiny.
Maybe this is the lesson his father is still trying to teach him: you’ll never be good enough.
He staggers.
Existence staggers.
The whole damn universe staggers.
Five is at the precipice, and he thinks about the guns in his room, the small one strapped around his waist, and he thinks about the way the story could end with a bullet to his brain. He knows what it would look like. He knows the way his brains would splatter. He knows his face would probably be blown off. He knows it’s not a pretty way to go.
But he knows how final it is.
The finality is what he needs. He’ll join them; one way or another, he’ll join them.
His fingers are too numb to move as his mind fumbles over this conclusion.
He turns, tottering badly now. In the doorway, he can almost see them. He can almost see Luther with the sleeve of his shirt torn away. He can almost see Diego, limping badly on one leg. And if he blinks, there’s Allison, hair disheveled and pants rumpled. Klaus is there, too, a wad of Kleenex up his nose to stop a river of blood. Vanya looks unscathed, but her skin is glowing a little white.
When Five blinks again, Ben is next to him. “Where have you been?”
It occurs to Five how transparent Ben looks.
This is only funny because none of the others look transparent. He would have thought that ghosts would all have the same opacity. Unless they’ve transcended this temporal plane and passed to some version of an afterlife wherein they can create their own world by their own variable terms.
Vanya steps forward, looking concerned. “Are you okay? Did they get you, too?”
Five wants to scoff, to laugh. The answer is no, but it might as well be yes.
Allison follows behind her, frowning. “Five?”
Klaus shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s called shock, people.”
Diego steps around Allison, in front of Vanya. “Did you know they were coming?”
Luther circumvents him. “There’s no time for that now.”
“Um, there is only time for that now,” Diego says. “They could be back.”
Five stares at them, confused. It’s like they’re trying to make plans. It’s like they’re not aware they’re dead.
“Guys, we can talk about this later--” Allison starts.
Vanya has crossed closer to him, and she reaches her hand out. “Five?”
It’s like they don’t know they’re--
Vanya’s hand touches him.
It’s solid.
He can feel her fingers, their pressure on his arm.
He looks at them.
It’s like they don’t know they’re dead.
He looks at Ben, who still float ethereally next to him.
Oh, he thinks dumbly.
It’s like they don’t know they’re dead.
Because they’re not.
-o-
Five is not known to be an emotional person, at least not in a traditional sense of sentimentality. He isn’t openly affectionate, and the only emotion he’s ever been known to indulge is annoyance. He knows how to have fun, but he’s not prone to pointless laughter. He doesn’t like to talk about how he feels because he doesn’t like to feel, period. In this regard, emotions have always seemed like a waste of time.
Getting stuck in the future only solidified this. After all, he spent his time crying and feeling sorry for himself in the apocalypse. It never helped. No one ever listened to him. It changed nothing.
The only thing that helped was shoving this feelings aside and getting down to business.
That’s how he’s approached things ever since.
Until today.
Until he stands in their ruined living room and is struck by the wonderful realization that his siblings are, in fact, not dead. It’s such a surreal, wonderful and overwhelming sensation that he doesn’t know what to do with it. In fact, it overpowers him -- completely.
When he inhales, the emotion all but chokes him, and when he exhales, it’s drowned out in a sob.
He can’t help himself.
He flings himself forward, recklessly unrestrained, pulling Vanya into a hug. It’s not just Vanya, it’s that she’s the closest and Five’s arms are small and his emotions are too wrenching to explain that to anyone else. Instead, he catches on a sob, aware that the keening noise that fills the room is coming from his own throat as he buries his head in her shoulder and cries.
This is embarrassing and it’s ridiculous and it’s weak and he’s finally lost his mind well and truly, but he’s so damn relieved to see them alive that he can’t even stop himself.
You’re not dead, Five tells himself as he puts the images of their corpses, the scent of the apocalypse, the feeling of suffocating isolation out of his mind. You’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead.
“No, we’re not,” Vanya says softly as she wraps her arm around his small, quivering back. “We’re okay.”
The fact that he can no longer tell when he’s speaking or not is another sign of a serious mental instability.
But Five tightens his grips, fists his fingers and refuses to let go. He can feel Vanya’s heart beating, and the warmth from the others surrounds him as they hover close.
“We’re okay,” Vanya says again, the words in his ear. “But you’re not.”
That is, Five decides, one of the most profound understatements he’s heard in his entire, long, miserable life.
-o-
It takes Five several minutes to detach himself from Vanya. By the time he’s emotionally able to do this, he’s aware of how this probably appears to his siblings. He’s quite confident that they will see this overt display of emotion as a problem, indicative of underlying unresolved issues that Five has been harboring since his return. In fact, they’ll probably conclude that Five’s extensive time alone and his training as a killer for hire has led to severe emotional repression that he has refused to deal with, thus leading to a reckless instability that can no longer be ignore.
They have come to this conclusion, much to Five’s dismay.
He would not tolerate it except that he’s come to the same conclusion.
And he has no means to pretend like it’s not a problem.
They sit him down on the couch, stand around him like before, but this time, Five accepts that the intervention is both inevitable and necessary.
“I’m sure you have some questions,” Five starts, because they all look too nervous to break the silence. Five fidgets, spreading his fingers on his knees and the balling them up again. “About who attacked the house.”
Most of them look like they can’t believe what he’s saying. Allison scoffs, and Luther knits his brows together disconcertedly. “That’s one question,” he says. Diego clears his throat and Klaus scratches the back of his head while Vanya winces. “Among others.”
Five gathers a breath and lets it out. “I have reason to believe the Commission is behind the attack,” he says, and then he shrugs because he’s out of his emotional reserves. This is something that’s going to be said at some point, and he’d prefer to avoid drawing this out. “When I got here and saw the damaged, I didn’t see you. It was a premature response, but the emotional reflex got the better of me. I thought you were dead. When I realized that you weren’t, well, I couldn’t quite control myself.”
That’s the simple way of saying he had a massive panic attack triggered by PTSD.
“You’re still crying, you know,” Diego points out, a little gruff.
Five lifts his hand to his face, wiping it. He’s not exactly surprised to see that Diego is right.
“This is what denial and repression does,” Klaus says. “You can only hold it in so long before you just explode. Not literally I hope. That’s Vanya’s thing.”
Five shrugs for the lack of something better to do. “I was trying to keep you safe,” he says. “Everyone seemed so happy, so ready to move on.”
“We can’t be happy if you’re not happy, Five,” Allison says. “We’re a team, a family. We aren’t in this alone.”
This is a viable argument.
So is this: “And we weren’t safe,” Luther says. “We had no idea this attack was coming.”
“And neither did I,” Five interjects. “If I did, don’t you think I would have been here?”
“But you knew the Commission was here,” Ben says softly.
With a scoff, Five shakes his head. “I told you that weeks ago,” he says. “But you all thought I was crazy. You wanted me to go to school, make friends, get a hobby. None of you wanted to talk about the Commission.”
“Whoa,” Luther says. “You said you had suspicions.”
Five makes a wide, frustrated gesture. “It wasn’t idle speculation,” he says. “But you were more interested in my emotional state than my facts.”
“Because you’re our brother!” Allison says. “And it’s pretty clear that you haven’t been okay, not since you got back.”
“And, to be fair,” Klaus adds with a face of apology. “You didn’t have facts.”
Diego nods in agreement. “You said yourself you weren’t sure,” he says. “If you’ve collected evidence since then, you should have told us.”
Five’s chest feels tight. He’s annoyed, yes. He feels guilty, too. It’s a shitty combination of things that Five doesn’t know how to make parse. “You were all working with your own bias,” he reasons. “I knew that you wouldn’t see more than speculation. You’d see evidence that I was obsessed, and that would only slow me down.”
“So this was the better route?” Luther asks, gesturing to the mangled room around them. “Leaving us in the dark to be ambushed?”
That point stands, and it hits harder than Luther probably intends. Five feels his gut twist, and he presses his lips together as thinly as he can. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was a miscalculation.”
He’s got experience with those, at least.
Not that the experience makes them any easier.
It’s not an answer they like, some more than others. Diego seems to remember the miscalculation that got Patch killed. Klaus is remembering the lack of forethought that got him trapped in Vietnam. They have to remember the times he’s talked down to them, ordered them around and generally acted like they were useless.
Five’s made a lot of miscalculations in his life.
Underestimating how much he needs his family, however, is still the biggest one.
For all his sincerity, his family simply looks angry.
“No more calculations, Five,” Luther says gravely. “I don’t want you to do any more.”
Five shakes his head. For all that he can logically understand the sentiment, the logic still escapes him. “But then what am I supposed to do? The Commission is here because of me. We’re all in danger because of the choices I made. I’m the only one who knows what to look for, and I’m the one they want. What else am I supposed to do?”
Luther, for all that he’s trying to look angry and stern, seems pleased to give his answer. “You do nothing,” he says. He draws himself up, glancing at the others for support before fixing his gaze back on Five. “It’s about what we do next.”
Five blinks a few times as he thinks about that.
For all that he’s embarrassed and frustrated and emotionally spent, he has to admit, that’s a pretty good plan.
The only plan that’s been worth anything in the last few months, at any rate.
-o-
If they’re going to do this together, then Five has to get them up to speed. He has to tell them the whole truth. They, in turn, have to listen. Five has to accept that this may make him sound crazy. The others have to accept that not everything he’s saying is completely out of left field.
It’s unclear who has the tougher job.
“I’ve charted as many episodes as I can,” Five says, laying out his notebooks with his equations. “I’ve grouped as many appearances that seemed to be linked and further analyzed said appearances to graph the similarities. From this data, I ranked the probability of every episode, delineating the chance of it being random versus the chance of it being an intentional act of observation set forth by the Commission.”
It’s a lot of data. Vanya and Luther make valid attempts to read it. Allison eyes the rest of his notebooks with trepidation while Klaus whistles. It’s Diego who gives up and shakes his head. “So you just wrote down all the weird shit you’ve noticed?”
That’s utterly reductive, and Five braces himself. Getting angry and derogatory won’t help now. “More or less, yes.”
“Well, did you get the one about the chick at the boxing gym?” Diego asks.
Five is still bracing himself to be annoyed that he’s not prepared for a genuine question. “What?”
“There’s this weird chick, down at my gym,” Diego says. “Every time I go there, she shows up within five minutes.”
Allison makes a face. “You didn’t think to tell us?”
“What? Five has notebooks he didn’t tell us about,” Diego says. “I just thought she was into me.”
Five is seriously considering this now. “Are your visits regular? Are you just happening to coincide with her?”
“No,” Diego says. “I go whenever I have a few minutes. Sometimes early. Sometimes over lunch. Sometimes late. But she’s always there, five minutes in. Always.”
That is validly weird. Luther looks up with a frown. “Well, maybe she’s related to the girl I see walking her dog.”
“Lots of people walk their dogs,” Diego shoots back, more argumentatively than the situation warrants.
Luther rolls his eyes. “No, she walks her dog constantly. Like, I’ve seen her walk the dog, like, ten times a day.”
“How do you know that?” Allison asks.
“Surveillance footage,” Luther says. “I watch it, just like Dad used to. She seems innocent enough, never does anything, but 10 walks a day? Down the same street? It is weird.”
“Oh, please, weird,” Klaus interjects. “Don’t get me started on weird.”
They all look at him. It’s one of the more notable changes in their dynamic after saving the world. They take Klaus more seriously than they used to. This only pays off approximately half the time. Klaus is still Klaus, after all, and sober or not, he is flighty and prone to fits of malaise that counter an inherent restlessness that drives them all a little to the edge of sanity. It just so happens that Klaus is correct sometimes now.
Of course, he probably always was.
It’s just now that he’s correct in a way that’s useful.
Also, they respect and love each other or some other such nonsense.
At any rate, when Klaus continues, they’re actually listening. “Like, there’s this guy in the alley three blocks down, this homeless guy who deals drugs--”
Five manages to not groan. Luther and Allison do not manage that much. It only figures that Klaus would continually strain his own credibility in such obvious and overt ways.
It’s some consolation that he realizes it. “No, it’s not what you think, really,” he says quickly, gesturing plaintively.
Luther rolls his eyes and Diego crosses his arms over his chest. Ben is just wincing.
“I’m not buying, I’m not,” Klaus assures them, and his nervous giggle does little to reassure them. “And that’s what makes it weird, okay?”
Vanya shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Like, it’s a homeless drug dealer,” Klaus says emphatically. “He sells the shit so he can buy the shit, but if he’s sitting in the alley three blocks away every time I walk by, then he’s not making any money, okay? He always has the same supply. So what’s he doing? That can’t possibly be real. It can’t be.”
The fact that Klaus is actively maintaining his sobriety is worth noting.
His description of a nonsensical and well placed drug dealer is perhaps more telling than the rest of the examples cited so far. That would be something the Commission does, especially since Klaus’ substance abuse would be on the record in more detail than most of the family’s other known weaknesses.
But that’s not the end of it. Allison seems to have recovered from her skepticism, and now she looks concerned. “You know, now that we’re talking about it, there’s this stylist at my hair salon,” she says. “He’s there every time I go in to get a little touch up, and the weird part is that I’ve literally never seen him with a client. He looks busy enough, but I’m there a lot. If he never has clients, there’s no way he could afford to rent a chair in a place that nice.”
Well, shit, Five thinks. This keeps getting better.
“And for the record,” Ben interjects. He points a translucent finger at Five’s notebook. “This thing about the cats. I’ve noticed it, too. I used to have a lot of time for things like that, you know. Watching the alley cats. And these two. They’re not normal. I thought it was just weird, but when you see it all together like this...”
Five’s not sure if he feels sick or validated. Both, probably. It’s a nice thing to know you’re not insane. It’s not so nice to realize that you are being hunted by one of the most pervasive, lawless agencies in all of time and space.
Vanya lets out a breath, like she really can’t believe it. “I haven’t notice anything, any of it,” she says, staring in awe at Five’s notes. “But is this real? Is the Commission really here?”
The answer is obvious. Five nods his head, saying it with more confidence than he has before. “This very real, and the Commission is definitely here,” he says, and they don’t think he’s crazy anymore. They’re listening to him now, really listening, and their sudden belief is overwhelming. Five thinks he might be trembling as adrenaline washes over him like a cold sweat. “We’ll have to chart all these new occurrences, try to create something more comprehensive. If we can put it on paper, we should be able to create a visual map, which can help us pinpoint possible locations of targets and number the number of players.”
It’s moments like this when Five is thankful for the fact that their father raised them with a military discipline and an eye toward combat operations. Of course, it’s probably the way that their father raised them that put them in this position, but Five’s traveled through time too much to worry himself with the what-ifs. There’s the here and now to be considered, and if he wants to guarantee the next moment, then he needs to get this done. His family’s cooperation and support will be an imperative difference.
He reaches for a pencil and starts to scrawl a few notes. It’s funny how comprehensive his notes had seemed a few hours ago. They’re sorely lacking now. He had been trying to keep them safe by excluding them, but that lapse has limited his ability to actually keep them safe. It’s a mistake he has to rectify now.
“If your reports are accurate, then it seems likely that the Commission is casing us out as a unit,” he says, charting Luther’s dog walker and Allison’s unbooked stylist. “It’s a more comprehensive approach than they normally take, but if we have succeeded in changing the timeline, then this is new to them as well. They want all hands on deck so to speak.”
At this point, no one is disagreeing with him, but that doesn’t mean they’re on the same page. Luther shakes his head, frowning. “But why?”
Diego nods, backing him up. “The big guy’s right,” he says and there’s no time to appreciate the irony of that statement right now. “This seems like an awful lot of trouble. What’s the endgame?”
Five adds a note of corroboration about the cat and tries to chart Klaus’ junkie. “I don’t know for sure,” he says. “Like I said, this is new ground. Anything I may have learned from the Commission is going to have limited viability now. Too many variables have changed.”
“But there has to be a reason,” Vanya says.
“They’re weirdos, the Commission. Freaks,” Klaus informs them seriously. He tips his head toward Five. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Five replies honestly. “And the why doesn’t matter. We just have to know how to stop them.”
“It’s not that simple, though,” Allison argues. “I mean, if we don’t know why they’re after us, then how do we know what to expect? We have to know why they hit the house today if we want to know how to stop it again?”
Five inclines his head, conceding the point. “Well, logically, think of the timing,” he says, and he’s still sketching out Diego’s female boxer. “With all this surveillance, when do they strike? The second I’m out of the house for an extended period of time. They knew I was here, and that’s when they struck.”
“Okay,” Luther says, following his train of thought as best he can from his limited point of view. “So maybe you’re not the target this time.”
Five can’t stop himself from scoffing. Loudly. “Of course I’m the target.”
This has been a basic assumption since the start. All of his equations are predicated on this. Five has always been the target; his family was just collateral damage.
But the others are not without their logic. Diego narrows his eyes, the way he does when he’s trying to think. “But then why not go after you? You were alone and exposed.”
“I’ve already shown what I’m capable of in combat,” Five says, and he’s not trying to sound prideful, but he feels his chest puffing out in something like indignation. “It’s not a choice that any operative would make lightly. Hazel and Cha-Cha were the best of the best, and they couldn’t take me down.”
“But that still begs the question,” Allison says, quite reasonably. “Why come here? Why attack us?”
Five looks at them as he considers this. He looks at the cuts and bruises. He looks at their disheveled hair and torn clothing. Diego is missing a few knives. Even Ben looks unusually grave, and Five feels the emotions churn almost painfully in his gut.
“They would have to target my weaknesses,” Five says, the words sounding clean and crisp as they tumble out over his numb lips. “All six of them.”
The implications are not hard to track, but Diego shakes his head. “But before, last time,” he says. “You said they didn’t go after people unless they interfered.”
Five shrugs, the notion leaves him weary. “That was before. It’s quite possible that the rule book has changed. Or, at the very least, been amended for special cases.”
It’s not a logic they’re all willing to follow, however. “But we’ve all messed with the timeline now, haven’t we?” Allison asks.
“We have,” Luther agrees. “We all went back in time. We all came back here. We stopped the apocalypse.”
Five draws his brows together. This is seems to be veering off point for him, but he has to admit that he is struggling to find exactly what the point should be. “You’re not catalysts, however. You lack a complex understanding of the timeline. Trust me, I know. Just because you travel through time doesn’t make you an expert. It’s taken me years -- decades--”
“But maybe it’s not just you anymore,” Vanya interjects, a bit more gently than the others. She smiles as if the reassure Five while she contradicts him. “You have the understanding, but think about why. Why did you come back? Why did you change the timeline? It was for us.”
She knows him better than the rest. She knows him better than Five wants sometimes. He swallows hard.
“It’s not about any one of us,” Ben adds softly.
“Because we’re all so special,” Klaus singsongs.
“It’s about all of us,” Ben concludes, both ignoring Klaus and building on his comment. “And maybe we’re thinking about it wrong. Maybe we’re not targets.”
Now that’s a consideration Five can work with. “That’s a fair point,” he says. “If they really wanted you all dead, you’d probably be dead.”
“Hey!” Luther objects, and Allison looks indignant.
“We’re not amateurs!” Diego protests.
Klaus puts a hand over his heart in feigned mortification.
Vanya proceeds more diplomatically. “They were fighting to kill,” she says. “You’ll have to take our word.”
Five hears her implicit plea for him to understand, but he can’t afford to answer it. He shakes his head, more adamant than ever. “You don’t expend your resources like this, put multiple people on the ground, spend months in observation, just to botch it when you make the move,” he says. “No, they’re playing at something else.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Diego says, and he’s playing with one of his knives, moving it front to back in his hands. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
Five narrows his eyes suspicious at the concession.
Diego shrugs. “I mean, we don’t need to know why or even how they’re coming after us,” he says. “The mistake is letting them make all the moves. We’re letting them control the situation, and we’re stuck playing defense.”
Diego is clearly vying for a more direct approach. It’s a sentiment Five can appreciate, but it’s woefully naive. “They have infinite resources,” he says plainly. “All we can do is play defense.”
He’s not trying to be melodramatic.
Okay, he is trying to be melodramatic.
He has a thing for grand statements and bold proclamations, even when they are overstated.
Unfortunately, his siblings know this about it.
Their response, therefore, is to roll their eyes. Klaus makes a gesture of futility and says, “Well, that’s great, then. Maybe we should just find them and turn ourselves in now. You know, throw ourselves on the mercy of the system. I’m really good at sounding contrite in front of a judge. Really good.”
Klaus’ ability to lie notwithstanding, Five thinks he may be on to something there.
The rest of them miss it.
Naturally.
“No,” Luther says, and he shakes his head like it’s a decided thing. Of them all, Luther is the best trained to convinced himself of things that he’s not certain of at all. Five has always suspected that, more than his innate strength, are what earned him the classification of Number One. “They’re just underestimating us.”
It’s Five’s turn to roll his eyes. “I sincerely doubt that,” he says. “They have access to all our history, all history -- period. Not to mention the future. They know what we’re going to do, and that’s even more of a problem than what we’ve already done.”
“And we have each other,” Luther all but insists now. He implores the others to agree with him. “That’s got to be worth more than hit squads and all of history. What happened proves it. We’re stronger than they know how deal with.”
Five thinks this is still a romanticized version of the truth, but he allows himself this logic: “Well, then maybe this attack was a test. Maybe they’re trying to feel us out, see what kind of resistance we show as a way to improve future attacks”
He hadn’t been convinced of it until he said it, but as it rolls around in his head, it certainly seems feasible. That would make his absence noteworthy. They want to see what his family is capable of on their own. The targeted nature of the strike would still support Five’s previous theories.
As he’s coming to these conclusions, the others are coming to conclusions of their own.
“But that means they’re coming back,” Allison says, as if this is somehow a revelation.
“They’re regrouping,” Diego says.
“Wait, so we have to fight them again?” Klaus asks, whining a bit while his eyes go wide. “Again again?”
“I think that’s an oversimplification,” Five tells them. “They’re probably working on a much more defined platform, one that we have only begun to imagine.”
“But none of this is simple,” Luther says. “If what you’re saying is true--”
“Which I think we all know it is,” Five reminds them.
Luther closes his mouth looking grave.
Diego scoffs on his behalf. “Then we can’t sit around,” he says. “I mean, we have to stop letting them define the playing field.”
“Did you not hear what I said about defense?” Five asks pointedly.
“The best defense is a good offense,” Klaus says sagely. “That’s a thing, right? Did I get that right?”
Diego nods his approval. “Exactly,” he says. “We have to confront them, catch them off their guard. Then we can define the terms.”
There’s something to that. For all that Five likes to plan, he’s still an impulsive teenager at heart. And, well, literally. You don’t end up stuck in the apocalypse if you’re great at thinking things through.
“If we can force their position somehow, we would have some leverage,” Five allows himself to venture. “Verbal agreements are steadfastly regarded as binding within the system.”
“But isn’t that a real risk?” Vanya asks, sounding worried at the prospect. She hasn’t grasped the fact that she can literally destroy the world and therefore has nothing to worry about except herself. “I mean, these instances, sightings -- the Commission could have dozens of agents on the ground here. We’re outnumbered.”
The fact that Five agrees with her in principle can’t stop him from being an asshole. “A dozen? Not likely,” he says as contrary as ever. “I’ll have to map it out, but I’d guess we’re seeing the same five to ten agents cycling through different covers.”
“Oh, only five to ten,” Klaus says, throwing his hands up.
“That’s still a lot of agents, Five,” Luther says.
“And what if they bring backup?” Diego asks. He points to the damaged house. “Hit squads like at the theater before? What do we do then?”
Well, there’s only one response to that. The same response Five has had since the beginning. “We need a plan,” he tells them, because there’s the crux of the issue, the only thing that matters. His pride aside, that’s the failure he has to own to, now more than ever. He nods, resolute, because his brothers and sisters are thinking a lot of things, but there’s no longer any doubt among them. Five thinks they can work with that. “We need a real plan.”