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Nevermore

Summary:

Five figures out how to travel back in time and does, giving himself eight days to fend off an apocalypse no one else knows about.

Or

Season 1, but things are different.

Notes:

Y'all know the drill by now - the chapter titles obviously come from a song I'm currently obsessed with, this one being "Oh Raven (Sing Me a Happy Song)," which additionally inspired the title of the fic (shoutout to my boy Poe, the OG).

Yeah so basically, like I said, this fic is season 1 if season 1 had been different.

Chapter 1: Here You Are Again

Chapter Text

Nevermore

 

Here You Are Again

 

Finally, decades after his first impulsive step through time, years after the only names branded in his brain were his siblings’, Five figured out how to travel to the past on his own. He appeared outside the academy - which looked even bigger and darker than it had when he was a kid, but what would he know, he could barely remember anything about his childhood these days - in a glimmering portal of blue and a body that had stopped being his a lifetime ago. 

He picked himself off the ground and felt small in his suit, small in front of the looming building that wasn’t burning rubble but might as well have been for how empty it seemed. Just before he headed inside, he saw a statue of a familiar figure in the courtyard and froze, breath catching inside his throat and feet stumbling in too-large shoes. It had always been a possibility that not all of them would be alive, he knew that, but for it to be Ben, the gentlest of all of them, and for him to be so young was . . .

not fair! something petulant in him shrieked.

. . . unexpected.

His first stop in the academy was the kitchen, but no food lined the dusty shelves. Traveling backwards in time had expended far more energy than he’d expected, and he needed fuel as soon as possible. Change of clothes first, sustenance second, and knowing today’s exact date third. How long did he have until the apocalypse? Ten years? A day?

He had to pass by everyone else’s empty rooms to get to his own, and while none were quite as dusty as his, they all contained some measure of decaying atmosphere to them. He was almost certainly closer in time to the apocalypse than when he’d left at thirteen years old. His siblings leaving the academy made sense - it was practically all Diego had been able to talk about. What he was having a difficult time wrapping his head around was the absence of Dad. Was he supposed to believe Reginald Hargreeves had moved? Five was quite literally unable to picture Reginald living anywhere that wasn’t the academy. 

But he had more important things to worry about, and by things he meant Thing, so when he finished pounding the dust off of his old academy uniform and transferring his precious parcel from the apocalypse - a glass eyeball - from his old suit to his new pants pocket, he walked out the front door, headed to a place he knew would have coffee and newspapers at this time of night.

Griddy’s was both worse than and exactly the same as he remembered. He grabbed a newspaper from the front and took a seat on a ratty-looking barstool. He barely looked up from the paper when a man around his age hefted himself into the chair next to Five. Today’s date was March 24, 2019. Eight days until the apocalypse.

When the waitress finally presented herself, Five ordered coffee. Caffeine, he’d found, was the fastest way to replenish his faded reserves. A quarter of the way through his drink, he noted the company name on the newcomer’s shirt and realized the man might prove useful to him.

“You must know the city well,” he said, trying not to come off as eager. Never let them know they have something you want (or how badly you want it).

“Been driving it for twenty years,” the man grunted. “I’d hope so.”

“I need an address,” and maybe Five wasn’t doing a good job at sounding bored, because the man raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Gimbel’s department store. Know where it is?”

The man rattled off the address, and Five mentally filed the information away for later. He could visit once he felt more secure about what direction the fate of the world was headed in.

The man left, and Five hadn’t quite drunk half of his mug before the front door jingled amicably again. 

Commission goons. Five made certain he looked and sounded as unperturbed as possible as he spoke to them, but inwardly he seethed at himself. The tracker. Of course. How could he have been so stupid? He was getting old.

“You think I want to shoot a kid?” the leader said. “Go home with that on my conscience?”

Five almost felt bad for him.

Ten bullet-riddled minutes later, Five was the only one left standing. Honestly, it was insulting they’d sent a bunch of no-names after him. He expected better from the Handler.

He took one of the men’s knives and neatly opened up a slit in his own forearm to dig the tracker out from under his skin. It wasn’t a deadly wound, but he supposed he should at least try to stem the bleeding, so he blinked behind the counter to find a towel he could tie around his arm.

Okay, next step: save the world.

And as he dropped the tracker into the gutter, readjusted his tie, and walked away from Griddy’s, that was the only thing on his mind, truly. It wasn’t until he was well beyond the diner and he caught sight of a tiny woman with mouse-brown hair climbing into a cab that his mind and feet suddenly veered in a different direction entirely. He told himself he was doing it for her - she would want to know he was alive, and it would be cruel for him not to reveal himself - and no other reason.

Trailing the cab was easy enough, although it burned a lot of the energy he’d only just received from the coffee. Within seconds of her closing the apartment door behind her, Five was there, loudly rapping on it with his fist. He’d considered blinking directly inside, but she’d always spooked easier than the rest of them, so he restrained himself.

It didn’t open immediately, and so he knocked again, faster and harder. He said he wasn’t going to blink inside, but that was before it took her longer than two seconds to let him in. He didn’t have time - 

The door creaked open slightly, revealing a confused-looking adult Vanya.

Five’s breath caught in his lungs for the second time that night. A living, not-coated-in-ash human being had never looked so beautiful. He couldn’t believe how grown up she looked. It wasn’t hard to reconcile this timid woman with one of his two best friends from forty-eight years ago.

“Hello, Vanya,” Five said. He hadn’t meant to speak quietly, but this moment felt too surreal, too large, to shatter it with his normal volume.

How many times had he imagined his first meeting with his siblings? Dolores would know precisely, but he could only assume it was in the hundreds. At first, the fantasy always involved the thirteen year-olds he’d left behind, but the longer the apocalypse eroded the line between surviving and dying, the more the siblings in those daydreams flickered between children and the burned remains he’d buried.

But this Vanya was young and clean and healthy and nothing dredged from the mires of his bare imagination had even come close to -

“Do I know you?”

Bitingly cold fingers gripped his chest.

Vanya glanced down the hallway. “Are your parents here? I didn’t hear anything about a new student, but, er, it’s way too late for a lesson, anyway, so . . .” She trailed off, and it was obvious Five was supposed to answer, to pick up where she’d left off, but it was as though his brain had short-circuited. 

He knew it’d been a long time, but to forget entirely?

Then again, she hadn’t had only the company of six faces shadowing her every step for forty years, so maybe it was normal to forget your siblings in a normal world. How would he know?

Vanya’s brow creased in concern. “Um, are you okay?” She squinted at something on his collar. “Is . . . is that blood?”

“Are you Vanya Hargreeves?” Five blurted out, because maybe this wasn’t her (but of course it was - he could never forget those blank eyes staring vacantly back at him).

She frowned. “I’m Vanya White.” The door opened wider. “Why don’t you come inside? I have a phone, so maybe we can try calling your parents . . .?”

“Do you have any siblings?” Did he sound as desperate as he felt?

Vanya wrung her hands together. “Um, no. I was an only child. My parents are dead.”

The cold in his chest was clawing up his throat with bloody talons. The next words he spoke sounded far away, like he was listening to someone else utter them. “I must have the wrong address. Sorry to bother you.” He turned and began walking down the stairs, feeling nothing, thinking of nothing at all.

“Wait,” he heard Vanya say, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Once Five was out of her sight, he blinked outside of the building. He couldn’t think past the thunderous noise reverberating in his head. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at a crack in the sidewalk, but his neck was stiff when he finally moved his gaze elsewhere. Vanya didn’t remember him, but it didn’t change anything. He’d come here with exactly one goal in mind.

That thought stilled the tumultuous silence roaring between his ears. Right. A goal. A plan. One hand drifted into his pocket to ground himself to his only keepsake from the apocalypse.

Everything inside him screeched to a halt.

His pocket was empty.

A noise actually left his mouth as he - not frantically, because Five didn’t do frantic - clawed at his pants pocket.

There was nothing there.

The world around him was tilting upsettingly, and someone sounded like they were gasping for air, but it couldn’t be him, because he wasn’t pulling enough air into his lungs, let alone too much.

The apocalypse had been real. It didn’t matter how many Vanya’s stared at him with no recognition on their faces (which didn’t make him feel like someone was scraping the skin off of his bones), how many Vanya’s said the words, “I’m Vanya White,” because he knew for a fact the apocalypse was real.

Five was real.

Then his groping fingers found the moth-eaten hole in his pocket, and his vision abruptly leveled out. Of course. The eye had fallen out of his pocket.

(Five was real.)

He breathed out, then began the arduous task of retracing his steps.

 


 

Like he’d guessed, the glass eye wasn’t anywhere on the path he’d taken to follow Vanya’s cab, which meant there was only one other place it could be - and, just his luck, Griddy’s was swarming with police when he arrived.

He scowled. As low of an opinion as he had of cops, the odds of them missing a prosthetic eye in the middle of that bloodbath were slim. He wasn’t leaving without that eye, but now he had to actually - ugh - investigate.

He stood there for several seconds as he mulled over his options, far enough away from the uniformed crowd not to be noticed. He could blink inside the diner on the off-chance they had missed the eye. He could blink through the press of people until he found the guy holding the evidence. But then again, he definitely didn’t have the energy to blink that much in a row - he hadn’t even been able to finish his measly cup of coffee before he’d been ambushed.

Even as he thought that, a familiar cramp spiked in his stomach. Traveling back in time had required so much more from him than his usual blinks did and, as much as he loathed to admit it, he was starving.

“You come here often?” a voice said behind him.

Five was an idiot for letting someone that close without noticing, but at least he salvaged some of his pride by not flinching. The woman who spoke wasn’t wearing a uniform, but her badge glinted on her belt. Detective, then.

“When I was younger,” Five said, feigning interest in the crime scene tape. Subterfuge had never been his specialty, but he really needed that eye. Preferably without coming across as suspicious. He adjusted his sleeve so that the blood dripping from the towel onto his wrist was covered.

“You’re still young,” she said, sounding amused.

Ah, yes. He’d wondered why he hadn’t been confronted with immediate hostility from her, but now he remembered what he currently looked like. “What happened in there?” He tried to sound as interested as a normal passer-by might be as he directed his attention toward the diner.

“I’m not sure,” she said. Five could practically feel her stare boring into the back of his head. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Well, that was a cue to leave if he’d ever heard one. Exhaustion was weighing him down like a physical object, but surely he could manage one blink.

Except right before he did, the detective shouted, “Diego!”

He shouldn’t have stayed. He had no reason to believe it would play out any differently than it had with Vanya. But his head whipped to the side anyway, and he made eye contact with a man whose face was lodged in the worst memory of his life. 

Adult Diego looked better without a coating of ash and burned flesh. The leather jacket wasn’t a surprise, nor was the suspicious glare he directed at Five. Five waited for the flash of recognition on Diego’s face that he knew was never coming. “What’s a kid doing at a crime scene?”

The detective sighed. “What kind of cop are you? Don’t you remember what the waitress told us?”

“Oh, yeah.” Diego crossed his arms over his chest. “So? What exactly went down in there?”

This was easier than his conversation with Vanya had been, probably because Diego was a dick. “Wouldn’t know. Wasn’t there.”

Diego scowled. “I hate kids.” 

“Then we can agree on something.”

“Listen,” the detective interjected calmly. “You’re not in trouble, I promise - we just want to ask you a few questions.”

Five didn’t actively loathe the female detective, which was more than he could say for Diego at the moment, so he decided to throw her a bone. “Let me save you time and resources - this is way above your pay grade.” He suddenly had to blink hard. His head felt light.

Maybe he should have found the time to properly stitch his arm.

The detective’s eye twitched. “‘Above my pay grade’?”

Diego was suddenly in Five’s personal space, squinting at Five’s hand, and if Five wasn’t feeling so woozy, he would have already blinked away. “You’re bleeding?” Diego said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ll grab a paramedic,” the detective said before taking off. “Stay with him!” she called over her shoulder.

Five rolled his eyes. The cut on his arm did not merit this kind of attention. Good thing he was leaving before they insisted on a check-up or, worst of all, a hospital. He’d come back for the eye when it would be easier to nab.

His hands warmed with stuttering blue energy, which meant he was out of juice, which meant: no good, but the light threw Diego’s comically surprised face into full view. It might have amused Five more had the world not tilted severely right then.

“What the -” he heard Diego say before he passed out.

Chapter 2: Bad News from a Bad Friend

Chapter Text

Nevermore

Bad New from a Bad Friend

When Five woke up, he had to stare very hard at the ceiling for several seconds. This ceiling wasn’t the usual cracked, flaking one that was the same in literally every dingy motel the Commission sent him to. It wasn’t a smoke-shrouded flap of fabric, either, which meant he wasn’t in the apocalypse. 

Even years after working for the Commission, Five still found himself dreading the day he opened his eyes to find the same sight that had greeted him most of his life.

“About time you woke up.”

When Five looked at the speaker, his brain hiccuped. He’d only ever seen that face in the apocalypse, so did that mean -

Adult Diego frowned. “Does it still hurt? You look white as a ghost.”

What was a ghost doing calling him one?

Diego leaned forward in his chair, his dour expression creasing into something akin to worry. “Seriously, kid, you do not look okay.”

Kid?

And, finally, Five remembered. 

“How long have I been here?” he barked, shoving the hospital sheets off of him. Ugh, they took his clothes - he’d have to visit the academy again.

“It’s only been two hour - what are you doing?

Five bared his teeth as he let the tube previously inserted in his arm fall to the floor. “What does it look like, moron? I’m leaving.” The end of the world was approaching in approximately 160 hours, and he’d just spent two of them sleeping. He had to grudgingly admit that hospitals were good for something, at least - now he didn’t have to waste time bandaging his arm.

Diego laughed, and Five hated him more than he already did, which he hadn’t thought possible. “Hilarious. I’ve still got questions for you.”

“And I’ve still got no time for sloppy police work,” Five sneered at him before blinking outside the hospital.

He immediately had to lean against the wall. The two-hour rest had been enough to replenish some of his energy, but he really needed to find food. He’d search the academy for something to eat after he changed his clothes for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. His brief survey of the kitchen earlier had revealed nothing, but he hadn’t searched every crevice.

Of course, as he should have expected, there was nothing edible in the entire house, and hadn’t been for years, based on the amount of cobwebs in the cupboards. However, this thorough search revealed what he’d missed his first visit: she was seated in her armchair, facing the faded pictures on the wall. He couldn’t see her face, and although he loudly cleared his throat, she never turned her head towards him.

“Grace?” he said quietly. His next word stumbled awkwardly off his tongue, like a foreign language. “Mom?”

He circled the armchair to find Grace’s open eyes directed at the wall. A thick film of dust coated her whole body, but, even more than that, she looked old.

He immediately chided himself for that thought. She was a robot - robots didn’t age.

“Mom?” he tried again, expecting nothing but doing it anyway. It should have been easier the second time saying it, but the word felt even more stilted than the last time.

Grace blinked once, twice. Her lips creaked into a smile, her neck twisting until she was facing him. “Oh, hello! I must not have heard you come in.”

“Grace,” Five said, crouching down in front of the chair. “Where is Reginald?”

Grace’s expression didn’t change. “Reginald is dead, silly. He’s been dead for three years.”

In hindsight, it was ridiculous, but it had never even occurred to Five that the old man might have died. A younger Five had been convinced Reginald would outlive the earth itself. It explained the state of the academy, but . . . “What happened to the others? Why don’t they remember anything?” Why did they forget me?

Grace cocked her head to the side with a squeaking noise. “Others? What do you mean?”

“The children who lived in this house with you,” Five said slowly. Something dark and cavernous threatened to swallow his stomach.

Grace’s smile never wavered. “You must be mistaken. No one has lived here except for Reginald and me.” She blinked dusty eyelids. “Now, what did you say your name was?”

Five silently rose to his feet. He started to walk past her, then he stopped, one hand awkwardly hovering in the air. Finally, he gently brought it down, patting Grace’s cold hand. “Bye, Mom.”

 


 

Five needed that eye back. It wasn’t like he didn’t have every square inch of it committed to memory, but it was tangible, physical evidence of a time that hadn’t happened yet, and, additionally, he’d probably get more information out of people by handing them something they could see rather than him rattling off a serial number.

The weight of it in his pocket to prove he wasn’t crazy was simply an added benefit.

A half hour and one theft from a gas station later, Five stood outside of the police station as he shoved the last bite of a granola bar into his mouth. In theory, this should be easy: blink in, grab the eye, and blink out. He’d have to see if the theoretical accurately reflected the practical. He peered through a window to map out a quick layout of the building, then blinked inside, directly next to a holding cell.

A man leaning against one of the bars visibly startled. “What the -”

Five ignored him in favor of scanning the room to see if anyone else had noticed his appearance. No one had, so, yay, but he caught sight of a familiar leather jacket, so, boo.

Diego was at a desk, talking to the jittery man sitting across from him, so he wasn’t looking in Five’s direction. Would the eye be in the evidence locker? Or would it be at Diego’s desk because this was an ongoing investigation?

“You . . . you look like one of the Umbrella Academy kids.”

Five whipped his head to the side to stare at the man in the holding cell. An emotion he couldn’t place spiked in his chest at the mention of his family’s hero name. “You know about the Umbrella Academy?”

The man blinked, looking surprised. “Um, of course. Doesn’t everybody?”

So . . . whatever this memory issue thing was appeared to just be affecting his family.

The man suddenly leaned forward, his hands clutching the bars. “Wait - you’re the one who disappeared.”

What had been a useful source of information had quickly spiraled into an irritating nuisance. Five tuned him out and redirected his attention toward Diego, who was now scowling at the other man whose inability to sit still and gaunt frame screamed junkie. “You can’t be serious,” he heard Diego say.

“No, it’s a good lead, I promise!” the man with his back to Five whined. “You know I was right last time.” Diego’s face remained impassive. “What if I drop it down to fifteen? Ten?”

“Diego!” a voice shouted from another office.

Diego sighed and stood. “Don’t move,” he told the other man.

Five was not one to squander opportunities, so as soon as Diego bellowed, “Coming,” and started walking away, Five sidled up to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers.

“Let me know if you find any cash, little man,” a voice drawled from above him.

Five snorted without looking up. “Fund your habit elsewhere.” No eye in any of the drawers, but a filing cabinet he had yet to check was locked. Promising.

“Mm, I could,” the man said. Five could hear the staccato taps as long, thin fingers drummed the top of the desk. “Or maybe I could raise a big ol’ hullabaloo about an unaccompanied minor rifling through a cop’s desk.”

Five lifted his head to level an unimpressed stare at the man who thought Five could be threatened. Instead, his cool, dignified gaze was marred by a slow blink when he finally looked up.

The man with dark circles underneath his eyes and hollow cheekbones grinned languidly. “Cat got your tongue?”

After a second that lasted too long, Five tore his eyes away from Klaus. He’d been in the middle of something time-sensitive, he knew, something urgent, but all he could do was stare blankly at the cabinet in front of him.

He shouldn’t - he wasn’t surprised, really, that Klaus had become an addict. The signs had been there even when they were kids. It had been stupid to imagine that substance abuse was something Klaus would eventually grow out of. Five thought his time at the Commission had purged any lasting romantic notions he’d forgotten to rid himself of completely, but some had stubbornly clung on, clearly.

Naive, was what it was, but his reaction wouldn’t seem that bad to an outsider if he could just remember what he’d been doing.

He’d been staring too long, because Klaus leaned forward to peer over the desk. “Oh! What a conundrum. If only you knew someone who can pick locks.” He waggled grimy fingers in Five’s direction.

Five had been planning on opening the cabinet using a different method, but he supposed it was better not to cause a scene. “I’ll give you ten bucks.”

Klaus seemed to appraise him. “Twenty.”

Parting with nonexistent funds had never been difficult. “Fine.”

Klaus grinned, and Five felt a pang of . . . something when he realized Klaus, too, held onto certain romantic notions, because the man never even asked to see the money upfront. Klaus scooted over to Five’s side of the desk and cracked his fingers. “Watch the magic happen, kiddo.”

If it weren’t so patronizing, he might have laughed to hear a thirty year-old refer to him as “kiddo,” but it was, so Five ground out, “Not a kid.”

Klaus waved a hand dismissively without looking away from his task. “Right, ‘young adult,’ or whatever the youth like to call themselves these days.”

It probably wasn’t worth correcting him, but Five opened his mouth to anyway when the cabinet slid open. Klaus looked back at him, eyes bright with triumph. Five reached past him to dig through the drawer.

“No fair!” Klaus said, trying to bat his arm away. “I get first dibs!”

But Five’s hand was already curled tightly around what he’d come here for. He pulled out the blood-splattered evidence bag in which the prosthetic eye stared vacantly out of.

Klaus’s whining abruptly cut off. “Um,” he said, “what?”

“KLAUS!”

Klaus casually rose to his feet and turned, one foot surreptitiously sliding backward and nudging the cabinet closed. “Yes?” he said innocently as one hand behind his back made a beckoning motion towards Five in a clear, “Give me,” gesture.

All Five could see was “Goodbye” flashing across the palm of his hand.

“I specifically told you not to mo-” Diego’s words came to a grinding halt.

Five knew he should’ve been gone already, knew he was only making a messy situation messier, but knowing all of that didn’t stop him from staying. Nearly - not nearly, Ben is dead, remember? - half of the Umbrella Academy were in the same place together, and something primal, intrinsic to him since he found their bodies so many years ago, insisted that he stay.

Diego’s brow was already furrowed in anger before his gaze shifted to the bag in Five’s hand. “Hey -” he yelled, and he started running forward, but Five could see he wasn’t even pretending to move a hand towards his holster.

Five had to scoff. He’d always known Diego was softer than him.

(That was why Diego wouldn’t have survived.)

Then a hand latched onto his upper arm, and even though Five could clearly see it was Klaus who was looking at him with an expression of, “I’m starting to think you don’t have twenty dollars, so it might be in my best interest to join the other team,” Five’s nerves flared like a struck match, and he viciously yanked his burning arm out of Klaus’s grasp. They didn’t remember him, and he was supposed to be gone, anyway, so what exactly was he doing?

He must have looked wild, feral, because Klaus held his hands up, a combination of contrition and fear turning his mouth down. “Whoa, sorry, I didn’t mean -”

But Five was already gone.

Chapter 3: They Call You an Omen

Notes:

Me, trying to balance what would actually realistically happen in the show while also getting my healthy dose of people caring about the well-being of Five.

(In other words, I don't think I'm succeeding lol)

Chapter Text

Nevermore

 

They Call You an Omen

 

He had the eye safely returned to his pocket, so that was good. What was not so good was the display at the police station. The apocalypse was happening in less than a week - what had he been doing wasting time there? Why did seeing his siblings provoke a reaction from him? It was -

- “Sweet,” the Handler crooned, trailing a sharp fingernail down his cheek -

- sentimental, which he most certainly wasn’t.

Anyways. He had a prosthetics lab to visit.

He strolled through the doors, eye clutched tightly in one palm, and politely asked to speak to the boss. The boss, Lance, was slimy and condescending, and it quickly became too difficult to keep up a polite appearance, so it was really inevitable that Five’s knife came out, prodding Lance in the ribs until the man stuttered out what Five needed to know.

The eye hadn’t been created yet.

His one lead was useless.

His nerves felt frayed, his limbs heavy, and even though he hadn’t not been hungry since appearing in this timeline, he knew without a doubt where he had to go next.

Gimbel’s looked different when it wasn’t debris wreathed in flames. He blinked inside the locked building, weight like stones slipping off his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how tense his body had been until it finally relaxed when he came to a stop in front of the only person in the whole world who knew him.

He allowed himself to smile at her. His facial muscles were unused to the movement, but it’d never been hard when it was for her. “Hey, Dolores.”

It’s been a while, hasn’t it, darling?

“You look good,” he said honestly.

You’re not one to beat around the bush. Why are you here, Five?

Five’s body physically ached when he heard his name spoken out loud. “I’ve . . . it’s been a rough couple of days. The apocalypse is coming, and I don’t feel like I’m any closer to preventing it now than I was while I was in it. The eye wasn’t as helpful as it was supposed to be. At this rate, I’m just going to die alongside everyone else.”

Five, and her voice was so gentle it made Five want to weep, why are you here?

“Because,” he said, and if his voice broke, he knew Dolores would never tell a soul, “I’m so alone.”

Oh, she said sadly, that must be so hard.

They were dangerously close to re-enacting their very first conversation in the apocalypse, but Five hoped he wouldn’t be a sobbing, hiccupping mess at the end of this one.

He’d never find out, though, because it was at that exact moment that two masked figures appeared behind Dolores with shotguns in their hands.

No!” he shouted, but it was too late - gunfire lit up the darkened store like fireworks, and Dolores’s torso crashed to the floor. He dragged her between rows of clothing, but he knew she would be safer for now apart from him.

He blinked to the next aisle and heard the instantaneous response of a gunshot. It didn’t hit, but it was far too close for his liking. If he hadn’t already suspected when he’d seen their forms, he now knew for certain - they’d sent Hazel and Cha-Cha after him. A boon to his pride, certainly, but aggravating in the long run.

He found the aisle with hunting knives and rubbed his palm against the smooth handle of one. On his best day, he might have been able to take both Hazel and Cha-Cha on, but as it was, he owned a pre-pubescent body running on emergency fumes and a lack of sleep as he tried to protect Dolores. The goal was to escape, not win.

He blinked next to the one he knew was Cha-Cha and slashed upward. Her reflexes were quick, and she was able to turn so he caught her arm instead of her throat. Still, he’d drawn blood, and he might have felt more triumphant had Hazel not immediately whirled and fired. Five blinked into the next aisle, breathing hard. He’d been hit, but how badly, he wasn’t sure yet.

Shotguns sucked.

He’d poked them enough - now was the time to leave. He grabbed Dolores and tried to blink outside. 

His power fizzled out in his hands.

“Come on,” he snapped, but that hollowness in his gut protested painfully when he tried to do it again.

Fine, okay, he could manage without any powers. He ran, keeping low to the ground, clutching Dolores to his chest and ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder. He was almost to the nearest glass window - how hard would it be to shatter that with his new, spindly limbs? - when Hazel and Cha-Cha spotted him. He was caught in the beam of their flashlights and the muzzles of their guns and he never thought he’d feel so tired to stare death in the face, but when flashing blue and red lights flooded the room and both agents twisted to look at the source, Five wasted no time vaulting himself and Dolores over the counter, ignoring the screeched protest of his limbs. He crouched behind the barrier, forcing his ragged breathing to slow.

“He jumped again,” he heard Hazel say over the sirens. He knew the two would get out of here as soon as possible. The Commission didn’t take kindly to agents who botched a job enough to get involved with law enforcement.

Five slid down until he was sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back, his chest heaving, shoulder stinging.

You need to leave, and Five knew that, he wasn’t an idiot, but he needed a quick minute.

“Hello?” a feminine voice called out. “Anybody there?”

Five.

“Fine,” he huffed, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Bright light pierced through his closed eyelids. He threw up one hand to ward off the sharp flare.

“I wish I was surprised,” a man said, sounding angry, but when Five opened his eyes to squint at the speaker, Diego only looked worried. “Why is it always you?”

Five hummed noncommittally. 

Diego sighed, then said loudly, “Patch, it’s the kid again.” He jerked his head at Five. “Come on, let’s go. You’re not dodging our questions this time, and you’re going to explain your little disappearing acts while you’re at it.”

“Not acts,” Five snapped. He waggled tired fingers. “Powers.”

Diego rolled his eyes, but Five saw something like recognition flicker over his expression.

Five leaned forward, exhaustion forgotten momentarily. “You’ve got powers too, right? Things that can’t be explained by ordinary means?” He shouldn’t be this desperate to get Diego to remember. It had no bearing on the impending apocalypse.

Oh, that must be so hard, Dolores had said.

Diego looked like he hadn’t decided whether to be angered or intrigued by those words when he suddenly squinted at Five. “Wait, were you shot?”

Five huffed in annoyance, back colliding with the counter. The moment was lost. “No.”

“Dude, I can see your arm.”

“I was shot a little bit.”

“A little - do you know how stupid you sound?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Hey.” Diego’s tone was serious, and that wasn’t right, he was supposed to be annoyed and unconcerned. The man lowered himself to a crouch, his eyes scanning Five. “Is someone after you?”

Five rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Let us help you.”

The looming apocalypse was like a physical weight pushing down on his shoulders as he buckled beneath it, and the thought of someone who wasn’t even aware of the annihilation crouched just above their heads trying to assist him was so laughable that Five actually laughed. “Help me? There’s nothing you can do, Diego.” He nearly tripped over his brother’s name. “I’m the only one who can stop this.”

“Stop what?” He didn’t know when Detective Patch had come around the counter to stand at Diego’s side. 

Five couldn’t help the sneer from curling onto his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Why don’t we start with something easier, then?” Her voice was too soft, like she thought he’d break underneath a sterner tone. “What’s your name?”

Five looked Diego directly in the eyes. “I’m telling you this for your own good - stay out of this.” Diego thought he was good, but he wasn’t Hazel and Cha-Cha good.

Diego snorted in derision. “Sorry, kid, but I’m not going to let a twelve year-old tell me what cases I can and can’t take.”

“Fine,” Five snapped. “Get killed. See if I care.”

“And what about you? What if you get killed?”

“I won’t, because I’m better than you.”

“You’re lucky I’m not arresting you right now, you little -”

“Diego,” Patch said. “We have to take him to the station.”

Diego huffed out a breath and rose to his feet. “All right, we’re leaving.”

“No,” Five said, and if he enjoyed seeing the rage overtake Diego’s face, no one needed to know. Of course he wasn’t going to the police station, but also, embarrassingly, he wasn’t entirely sure he had the ability to stand right now.

“Kid, I swear -”

“Wait,” Patch said, her brow furrowing, “are you hurt?” She reached down to move Dolores away from Five’s torso.

Five curled tighter around her and snarled, “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

Patch slowly held her hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. Five could see her eyes darting towards every available piece of skin, cataloging his injuries. “Diego, I don’t think he can get up.”

“Yes, I can,” Five spat without moving.

Diego frowned. “I’ve seen you straight up disappear. It’s weird that you haven’t done it yet.”

“It’s weird that you’re so ugly,” and oh geez, how did Diego manage to regress him to his actual thirteen year-old self?

Diego held out a hand.

Five glared at it and wouldn’t have taken it if not for the thought that he needed to get Dolores someplace safe. Diego hoisted him to his feet, and then the three of them stood in silence, staring at one another.

Then Five’s stomach gurgled very loudly.

Tonight, he decided, could not get more embarrassing.

Patch looked startled; Diego, amused.

“Shut up,” Five said before Diego could open his mouth.

Diego smirked. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

Patch frowned. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Don’t remember.” Ugh, now Diego’s glee had transformed into something sober, as well. “What does it matter?” Other than the fact that it meant he couldn’t blink, but they didn’t know that.

“Maybe we can grab some fast food on the way back,” Patch murmured to Diego.

Five smiled, big and wide and hopefully innocent. Maybe he would accept that ride to the police station, after all. “Oh yes, let’s.”

 


 

Five sat in the back of the police car, Dolores tucked against his side and the knife from the department store tucked in his pocket. His forehead pressed against the cool window, he knew he probably looked bored, but his mind was racing. Meritech Lab would have to be his next stop. Of course, it would be closed at this time of night, but something about that quivering Lance didn’t sit right with him. He’d have to stakeout the place tomorrow, which was incredibly tedious, but it was the only lead Five had at this point.

“Do you have any parents?” Diego said.

“My dad is dead.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. 

“And your mom?” Patch said.

Five inwardly sighed. If only he’d had the ability to blink out of the car before this conversation began. “She’s not around.”

“Siblings?”

“Six of them,” Five said, staring directly at the back of Diego’s head, “and one of them’s an asshole.”

“Six -?” Patch started, incredulous, but Five spoke over her.

“It’s only fair to give a little if you’re going to take a little. Diego, what’s your family like?”

Diego shrugged, his eyes focused on the road. “Wouldn’t know. I was brought up in an orphanage.”

Interesting. Vanya and Diego’s faux past both left them without close familial connections. “And when did you leave?”

“I left -” Diego stopped. Five could see his frown in the reflection of the windshield. “Huh, I don’t - I can’t remember when I left.”

Five leaned forward eagerly. “What’s your last name?”

“Lopez.” 

“What was your favorite thing to do as a child?”

“I think I liked . . . fighting?”

“What donut shop did you always go to with your siblings?”

“I don’t know!” Diego’s hand reached up to rub his temple.

Patch glanced at Diego in concern, then back at Five, who smiled sweetly. “I was just curious,” he said, falling back against the seat. It felt like a victory, but against whom? And what did it mean that Diego’s version of his childhood seemed to fall apart when prodded with a stick?

Diego spent the next few minutes trying to get details about the crime scenes out of Five, but Five only responded with snark and sarcastic jabs. You’d think Diego would’ve gotten the hint by now that Five wasn’t going to tell him anything substantial.

They finally pulled up to a fast food place to order. “What do you want?” Diego asked.

“Coffee. Black.”

“Try again.”

Five scowled. He needed the caffeine. Other food took too long to metabolize into fuel he could use. “A large coffee.”

“Two burgers and a side of fries,” Diego told the crackling speaker, and if not for the physical barrier separating the front from the backseat, Five would have strangled him. 

“If you’re hungry enough for your stomach to make noise, you don’t need a drink,” Diego said, sounding not in the least bit apologetic.

Five seethed. “You have no idea what I do or don’t need.”

When the worker in the next window handed Diego the food, Patch had to get out of the car and open Five’s door to hand the bag to him. Five snatched it out of her hand without saying a word and tore through the brown paper so he could start shoveling fries into his mouth. He refused to stay a minute longer in this car than he needed to.

“See?” Diego said smugly as he pulled away from the restaurant. “Told you.”

Instead of screaming, Five thrust another fistful of greasy fries into his mouth while glaring at Diego.

Patch sighed. “Diego has a harder time expressing it, but you know we’re concerned about you, right? I mean - someone your age isn’t normally a part of one shootout, let alone two.”

“You’re right,” Five mumbled around the huge bite of burger he’d just taken. “I’m way too old to still be doing this.”

“Right,” Patch said skeptically.

“Do you -” Diego started to say, but, unfortunately for him, Five had regained enough reserves to blink out of the moving vehicle.

He took the extra burger with him. Not that Diego needed to know that.

Chapter 4: Only Here to Torment

Chapter Text

Nevermore

Only Here to Torment

The van at the academy, Five was pleased to discover, still worked, so he drove it to Meritech Lab, parked it where he’d have an unobstructed view of the building, and settled in for a long wait. He’d found an ancient-looking first aid kit in the academy’s medical room and was stitching the wound in his arm.

It’s two in the morning. Nobody’s here.

“I know that,” Five said as he finished his stitches.

So maybe now would be a good time to sleep.

“How can I sleep when in less than a week the world will burn?”

Dolores was silent, as she always was when she thought she was right.

Five huffed out an annoyed breath and stared hard at the closed doors of the dark building. “I’m not sleeping,” he told her.

 

Five woke up to someone rapping on the window. He shot straight up in his seat, eyes flying open as he assessed the threat. Dolores was safe next to him, the sun was only just starting to climb into the sky, and making a stupid face at him through the driver’s side window . . .

Five scowled. “What do you want?” he shouted through the glass.

Klaus looked affronted. “My twenty bucks, obviously!”

Five cranked down the window just a hair so he didn’t have to yell. “Like I said before - I’m not funding your habit.”

“My scrapbooking habit?” Klaus said innocently, batting his eyelashes. When Five said nothing, Klaus bounced on the balls of his feet. “Come ooon, at least let me hang out with you.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because,” Klaus whined, grabbing the handle of the side door and tugging, “I’m a fun gu-”

The door slid open.

Five and Klaus both stared at it silently. Uh. Whoops.

“Did you,” Klaus said, “stay here all night in an unlocked car?”

“No,” Five said, daring Klaus to argue with him.

Klaus clambered into the backseat. “Well, you are quite a little fella to be doing that, so maybe lock it next time?”

“What are you doing,” Five said as Klaus took a seat and slid the door shut.

“I was just wondering about that eyeball you took from Diego.”

Five’s hand reflexively went to his pocket. He stilled when he brushed the prosthetic’s smooth surface with his fingertips.

“And . . .” Klaus fidgeted. “I don’t know, I felt . . . something, when I first saw you, and my memory’s never been too good, so I thought maybe . . .”

Five’s heart thundered against his ribcage. The words “Number Four” crouched on the tip of his tongue, itching to be released.

Klaus chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m definitely crazy, so don’t mind me.”

“Are you crazy because you can see ghosts?”

Klaus looked like he’d been punched. “I -” he breathed. “How did you know?”

Five’s gaze never left Klaus’s face. “Because I’m from the future, and I’m here to stop the end of times.”

“Oh.” Klaus’s laugh sounded both relieved and disappointed. “So you’re crazy, too.”

“You use so you don’t have to see them.”

A smile still floated around the edges of Klaus’s mouth, but it was sharp, mean. “Did Diego put you up to this?”

Five twisted around completely in his seat. “Diego knows?”

Klaus shrugged. “Sort of. I helped him out with a pretty tough case once. I didn’t think he believed me when I told him how I knew who the murderer was, though.”

“How do you know Diego?”

Klaus flapped a hand in the air, all tension vanishing from his posture as the conversation moved away from ghosts. “You get arrested by a guy once or twice and a friendship just blossoms, you know?” He squinted at Five. “How do you know Diego?”

“I don’t.”

“Sure, sure. So . . . what’re you doing in a van?”

“I’m waiting for a guy,” Five said, returning his attention to Meritech.

He heard Klaus sigh dramatically. “Aren’t we all.”

Five pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get out.”

“Whaaaat? We’re bonding!”

Five’s glare must’ve been just the right amount of menacing, because Klaus acquiesced surprisingly quickly. “Fine, but only because you’re grumpy.”

Klaus flounced away, and Five pretended he liked the silence better.

 


 

It took quite literally all day, but finally something worthwhile happened - Lance, long after the sun went down and the rest of his employees left, handed an unmarked bag through the rear window of a car. The whole deal was incredibly suspicious, which meant Five was incredibly pleased. His dead-end lead might not be so dead, after all.

Then the van door slid open behind him.

Super hilarious that you’re still not locking the doors,” Klaus said in an upbeat tone as he crawled into the vehicle, “but I’m starting to worry about your future well-being, little man.”

Okay, Five deserved what was coming his way for forgetting again, but was it really his fault that he was used to being the only person alive?

“Why are you back?” Five said, resigned.

“I needed a place to crash tonight, and I knew for a fact that your van is quite spacious.” Then, almost carefully, Klaus added, “And this guy was asking some pretty weird questions about you, so I wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, dead or anything.”

That was almost definitely not good. “What guy?”

Klaus began rearranging the junk in the back of the van. “I dunno. He was pretty normal looking. But he found me at the gas station, where I was -” Klaus not-so-subtly slid a glance at Five - “buying snacks.”

Five rolled his eyes. “What did he say?”

Klaus fished a lighter out of his pocket and lit a cigarette. “He started out by asking if I knew who the kid at the police station was. He seemed friendly enough, but I didn’t like the way he asked, you know? So I told him no, but then he went on and on about how you were his kid brother, and he was really worried about you, and if I knew where you were to please let him know.”

Five frowned deeply. “Hm.”

Do you have an older brother? Because I’ll feel a little bad for giving him wrong information if you do.”

Five stared at him. “Why did you give him any information at all? You could have just -” Ah. “He offered you money.”

Klaus took a long drag of his cigarette. “Yes, indeed. But I wasn’t about to rat out my new friend.”

“We’re not friends.” This was bad. The Commission sending agents after him was one thing, but for them to interact with his family was another thing entirely. They didn’t normally play dirty like this. In fact, it was difficult to - the Commission rarely gave their agents more information than was strictly necessary. More often than not, that information boiled down to the target’s name. “Klaus, this is very important. If someone ever tries approaching you while you’re alone, get to the nearest public place as soon as possible. If anyone asks you about me again, tell them everything they want to know.”

Klaus giggled. “And I thought my dealings were shady.”

“I’m serious.”

Klaus tilted his head, breathing out a plume of smoke. “Why are people looking for you?”

“I left my previous job on bad terms.”

“I have so many questions.”

After a moment of hesitation, Five started the van. He would have to interrogate Lance later - for now, he had to make sure his useless brother didn’t get killed.

“Ooh - where are we going?”

“You’re staying at my place tonight.” Additionally, maybe seeing the academy would trigger Klaus’s memories. 

Klaus snorted in amusement. “Your place? I really need to know what job you had.”

When they pulled up to the academy, Klaus, wide-eyed, breathed out, “Okay, now I really need to know what job you had. Are they looking for someone to replace you, perchance?”

“No one can replace me,” Five said, going for flippant even as his gut twisted at the thought of one of his siblings getting caught up in the Commission. “So you don’t recognize this place?” They stopped outside the front door.

“Yeah, definitely not. Should I?”

Five shrugged as he opened the door and pretended not to be disappointed. “It used to be where the Umbrella Academy kids stayed.”

“Ohh,” Klaus said, craning his head back to look at the vaulted ceiling. “Yeah, I remember hearing about them, but I didn’t really pay attention to any of that.”

So, they still knew about the Umbrella Academy’s existence, just not being a part of it. “Take whatever room you want.”

Klaus clapped his hands together and gasped. “Oh wow, this is so fun. Which room is yours?”

“I’m not staying tonight.”

Klaus glanced around warily. “So you expect me to stay in this giant house by myself?”

“No one even knows we’re here.” Five frowned. “It’s better than you spending the night out on the -”

Someone knocked on the door.

Five and Klaus whipped their heads toward the entrance.

“This is it,” Klaus bemoaned as Five walked to the door. “This is how I die.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Klaus didn’t need to know Five was already brushing his fingers against the handle of his knife.

He raised himself on his tiptoes to peer out the peephole.

Diego stood outside, glaring at the entrance. “I know you’re in there!”

Five scowled and opened the door, but made sure to keep one hand on it so Diego couldn’t misconstrue the gesture as an invitation. “What do you want.”

“What do I - are you serious? You vanished out of a moving car.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Diego crossed his arms over his chest. “We got a call from a concerned old lady convinced she’d seen a child driving a van. I put two and two together, and instead of pulling you over, I followed you.” Five was tempted to slam the door in Diego’s face, just to get that smug expression off of it.

“Congratulations,” Five drawled. “Would you like a gold star?”

“Oh, hello, Diego!” Klaus chirped from behind Five.

Diego’s eye twitched. “What is Klaus doing with you?”

“I invited him.” Five rolled his eyes and refused to move when Diego immediately made to shove past him. “Relax - he’s not giving me drugs.”

“Yet!” came Klaus’s cackle.

Diego’s eye twitched again. “Then why is Klaus here?”

Klaus was suddenly at Five’s shoulder, flinging the door wide open, out of Five’s grip. “Because he was worried about me!” One hand patted Five on the head, which startled him so much that he blinked farther back into the foyer. “Isn’t that so sweet?”

“I’m not sweet,” Five said through gritted teeth as Diego stepped through the doorway.

Diego shot Klaus a suspicious glare. “Don’t think I’m finished with you - we’re definitely coming back to this. But I’ve got to talk to you first, kid.”

“You really don’t.”

“I do.” Diego’s fingers continuously clenched and then uncurled themselves at his sides. “It’s obvious that dragging you to the station won’t do us any good, because you’ll just vanish again, but I need you to talk to me.”

Five threw his hands into the air. “Why does this matter to you so much?”

Diego looked taken aback. “Because I’m worried about you!”

That stung, for some reason. “Why? You don’t even know who I am.”

Diego snorted. “You don’t get to tell me who I do or don’t worry about.” He paused. “Besides, I almost feel like . . .”

“You do know me?”

Diego remained silent, and Five felt that surge of almost-victory again.

Then someone began humming from upstairs.

Klaus and Diego’s heads both shot upward. “Who else is here?” Diego said, one hand hovering above his gun.

Five mulled over how much he should reveal. He wanted them to remember, but if seeing Grace didn’t trigger any memories, they’d probably write him off as crazy, which would be worse for him in the long run. “It’s just my mom.”

Klaus seemed to be appeased by this. Diego narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said your mom wasn’t around.”

Ah, he had said that, hadn’t he. “I lied.”

“Er, and you’re sure she’s okay with a grown man staying here overnight?” Klaus said.

“Yes,” Five said, maybe a little too quickly, because Diego looked at him funny and then started up the stairs.

Five blinked in front of him. “She’s resting.”

The humming cut off. “Is somebody there?” Grace called out.

Diego raised an eyebrow at Five, who sighed, then blinked next to Grace’s armchair.

“Oh, it’s you again.” Grace sounded pleased. Five wasn’t surprised to see she hadn’t moved since he’d left her. Her mechanical lips curled upward upon hearing two sets of feet clamber up the stairs. “And you brought friends!”

Klaus swung around the front of the chair, all smiles. “Why, it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. . . .?”

“Grace,” Five said.

“Grace! Your son seems like a lovely boy, truly, and very generous, although not with money, but I’m sure that’s something you’ll work on in the . . .” Klaus trailed off, then whispered to Five, “Why is she covered in dust?”

But Five was focused on Diego, who’d stopped cold once he’d seen Grace’s face.

“She’s a robot,” Five finally answered, but without looking away from Diego. “You recognize her, don’t you?”

Diego shook his head sharply, then hesitated. “I . . . no, not exactly. It’s like I’ve seen her in a dream, or something.” As if realizing who he was speaking to, Diego quickly added, “Not that it means anything.”

“Did you say ‘robot’?” Klaus said.

Five pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter.” If only he had undeniable proof of the past they shared - maybe then he could try explaining it to them. But that childhood was seventeen years ago for them and much longer than that for him. There was nothing that existed that all of them -

Five nearly smacked himself in the face. He was a true moron. 

He yanked his sleeve back and brandished his forearm in front of the other two. “Does this look familiar?”

Diego and Klaus’s eyes widened at the sight of the black umbrella on Five’s skin. Klaus slowly pushed up his own sleeve while Diego snapped, “Where did you get that?”

Five confirmed Klaus’s umbrella tattoo before looking both of them in the eyes. “We all got them when we were twelve.”

Stunned silence. Then:

“What does that even mean?”

“Did I have a robot mom?”

This was clearly a huge mistake, and he opened his mouth to say so above their overlapping voices, but they fell completely silent when an object made a loud clattering sound from downstairs. Five’s eyes quickly found the doorknob rolling across the floor.

Great - he’d just led two of his brothers straight to the Commission.

He heard the door open, but he was already turning towards Diego and Klaus, shoving them closer to the wall and hissing, “Stay out of sight.”

“Why?” Diego immediately whispered back, as Five knew he would. “What’s happening?”

“Escape through a window,” was all Five said, but as he turned back around, Diego grabbed his arm.

Five’s body involuntarily tensed. If Diego noticed, he didn’t react. “And what are you going to do?”

“Take care of them, obviously.” He needed to create a scene to buy his brothers enough time to get out unnoticed, so, while it definitely would have been easier picking the intruders off one by one, Five blinked directly in front of Hazel and Cha-Cha and presented them with a wide smirk. “Let me guess - your pay’s been docked once already.”

Without saying a word, both masked agents aimed their shotguns at him and fired. By then, of course, Five had blinked behind them and swung his knife at Hazel’s side. Hazel moved aside at the last second so the blade sliced instead of plunged into his leg, but Five was already blinking towards Cha-Cha before Hazel could fully turn around. 

Cha-Cha pivoted and slammed the butt of her gun against Five’s jaw before Five could thrust his knife forward. He staggered as his head whipped to the side. A coppery tang flooded his mouth, and he blinked behind one of the pillars in the foyer. A gunshot ripped through the air where he’d been a second ago.

Unfortunately, Hazel and Cha-Cha weren’t idiots. One skirmish with Five had been enough for them to better anticipate his blinks now. But if he didn’t engage them in combat, they’d go looking for him, and he wasn’t sure if Diego and Klaus had made it out of the house yet. So he spit the blood out of his mouth, blinked between the two Commission agents, and lunged for Cha-Cha. Mid-jump, as Cha-Cha whirled to face him and Hazel leveled his shotgun at him, he blinked again, directly behind Hazel, and rammed his knife home. Blinking in mid-air had always been tricky, however, on account of having to factor in momentum and gravity, so instead of sliding between Hazel’s ribs, the dagger plunged into the man’s arm.

Hazel grunted in pain, but Five was farther down the foyer by the time the stocky man turned around. He could keep this up for a little bit - poking and running - and eventually kill-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts. Or, more likely, he could wear himself out and end up getting killed. If only he knew whether or not Diego and Klaus were out already, then he could -

A gun fired from upstairs, and Hazel cursed as a bullet narrowly missed him. 

“Who else is here?” Cha-Cha demanded as Five ground his teeth together.

“Nobody intelligent,” he responded.

“Police!” Diego yelled from the top of the stairs. “Freeze!”

Hazel and Cha-Cha simultaneously raised their shotguns at the man and fired. Five blinked to Diego and shoved the both of them to the ground. “They don’t care that you’re police, idiot! You were supposed to be gone by now!”

You’re the idiot if you thought I was going to leave you alone with two killers!”

“These guys have killed people?”

Five and Diego both looked at Klaus, who was crouched behind the bannister. “What are you still doing here?” Diego said. “I told you to leave.”

Five closed his eyes and viciously massaged his temples. “I do not have the capacity to deal with either one of you right now. Get out of here.”

“We’re only here for the kid,” Hazel called out from downstairs. “Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“Even if we ask nicely?” Klaus shouted, grinning manically. 

“Dude, get off the drugs,” Diego hissed.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Hazel said. 

“Ooh, ooh, let me guess!” Klaus’s eyes were artificially bright. “Does it have to do with the ‘end of times’?”

“Klaus,” Five snapped.

“What did you say?” Cha-Cha’s tone was one that Five very much did not want to hear.

“What are you talking about?” Diego said. As the man looked at Klaus, Five focused his power in the palm of his hand and displaced the knife he’d been clutching with Diego’s gun.

Diego stared, agape, at the knife now in his hand. “What -”

Five blinked to a spot near Grace, rose to his feet, carefully aimed the weapon, and fired.

Cha-Cha staggered as the bullet tore a hole into her shoulder. A sound of irritation left Five’s mouth - that should have hit her neck. He wasn’t used to the weight of the gun in his thirteen year-old hands.

As the muzzle of Hazel’s gun swiveled toward him, Five blinked back to the top of the stairs and took aim. Then a hand latched onto the gun.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Five snapped. 

“Stop!” Diego looked . . . was appalled the right word? “You’re a child, you can’t - you don’t shoot people!”

Five snorted in laughter. “Tell Dad that. And, regardless - not a child.” His stupid, spindly limbs didn’t possess the strength to wrestle the gun out of Diego’s grip, so he snatched the knife out of Diego’s other hand and blinked downstairs.

Hazel and Cha-Cha were gone.

Five’s fingers clenched around the handle of the knife. Great. A perfect opportunity to rid himself of two nuisances wasted because his suddenly moral brother couldn’t stand the thought of Five holding a firearm. “Are you happy?” he snapped at Diego, who was descending the stairs, gun at the ready. “They got away because of you.”

“No,” Diego said sharply. “Everything stops right now. Who are they? Why are they looking for you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does when we -” Diego angrily gestured at himself and Klaus, who was cautiously coming down the staircase - “were nearly caught in the crossfire!”

“Only because you didn’t do what I said.”

“I still don’t even know your name!” Diego said as though Five hadn’t spoken.

“Remember when you said this place would be safer than the streets?” Klaus mused out loud. “I’m not saying I fully disagree, but I can’t remember the last time I was shot at.”

“And the tattoo!” Diego was on a roll now, and it appeared nothing was stopping him. “You never explained that!”

“Just forget I said anything.”

“It’s a little late for that!”

Five closed his eyes and exhaled. “I do not have time to discuss this right now.” Hazel and Cha-Cha were getting desperate to finish the job - he could imagine how their pay would be even further reduced after tonight. Five had to somehow keep his siblings alive while also preventing the destruction of the entire world. It might be easier if they actually listened to him, but he would have to make do. “Their names are Hazel and Cha-Cha. Keep an eye out for them and try not to go anywhere alone. I’ll take care of them eventually -” and he would - “but I have something more pressing to deal with at the moment.”

Diego laughed wildly. “More pressing than two gun-wielding psychopaths actively trying to kill you?”

“Yes.”

Diego pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m going insane.”

Klaus giggled. “Join the club!”

Five instinctively gripped the glass eye in his pocket. Still there.

To Diego, he said, “Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Diego’s face twisted in rage. “No, don’t you da-”

Five blinked to the van. He had a Meritech employee to harass.

 


 

It was still several hours until daylight, but it took all of that time to find out where Lance’s apartment was. Then it was a simple matter of lurking on the sidewalk until the man finally emerged and climbed into his car. Five blinked into the passenger’s seat, displayed his knife, and kindly asked what else the scumball was hiding.

“I - I manufacture prosthetic devices for fake patients,” Lance told him. “I’ve got a list.”

“So the serial number I told you about?”

“Y-yeah, it could’ve already been bought, off the books.”

Vicious hope flared in Five’s chest. Not a dead end, indeed.

It took some gentle encouraging, but Lance agreed to graciously drive Five back to Meritech Labs to show him the list of black market prosthetics. Once there, Five dragged Lance out of the car and began marching him toward the building, but something curdled in his stomach when he saw the column of smoke. 

Meritech Labs was ablaze. 

He let go of Lance’s arm and started running for the lab. This was his one lead - the only possible indicator he had for the apocalypse. He couldn’t afford to lose it.

He was steps away from the entrance when it exploded. 

A smoke-hazed sky swirled overhead. Heat crackled just above his skin. Ash softly descended onto his face. He was back. He didn’t know how it hadn’t killed him with everybody else, but the apocalypse had returned while he wasn’t looking, and was it too much to ask to die alongside the rest of the world?

A face in a yellow helmet bent over him. “Hey, don’t worry, I’ve got you,” the face said, lifting Five into his arms with ease.

“Luther?” Five slurred, his voice sounding distorted beneath the ringing in his ears.

The firefighter looked startled. “How do you know my name?”

Five closed his eyes, hoping that would assuage the pounding in his head. “Lucky guess.”

Chapter 5: Wicked and Hellbent

Notes:

Yikes, this one was long. But I was in an awkward position of being like, "Soooo I don't think these scenes would change all that much from the show, but they're still important enough that I have to include them," and so what we have here, kids, is lots of dialogue, most of it directly from the show.
BUT if all goes according to plan, this will never happen again lol.

Chapter Text

Nevermore

Wicked and Hellbent

Five sat in the back of an ambulance, legs dangling off the side, a bright orange shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His jaw ached, his recently-stitched arm burned, and he must have hit the back of his head against the pavement, because his skull throbbed, but he could barely dredge up the urge to care. The paramedics thought his numbness was a result of shock. They didn’t know the likelihood of every single one of them dying within the next five days had just shot up astronomically.

Where could he go next? What was there left for him to do?

The ringing in his ears had subsided a bit, so he could just make out the words of the paramedic talking to Luther and making no effort to disguise her concerned glances back at Five. “. . . won’t say a word to anyone, so we don’t know if he’s injured or how badly. Do you think you could -?”

Five’s gaze snapped up to Luther as the man began walking towards the ambulance. Luther had grown into a handsome man, if the looks that same paramedic kept shooting at him were anything to go by, despite his oversized torso. (Seriously oversized - how did one manage to look so top-heavy without falling over?) But a profession that involved rescuing people from burning buildings seemed right up Luther’s alley, so the man was a relieving sight after witnessing Klaus’s version of adulthood.

“So, um,” Luther said, slowly seating himself beside Five, “are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Despite the imminent destruction of planet Earth, Five couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter. Number One had been assertive and bossy as a child - as a man, Luther seemed awkward and gentle. He was certainly the most changed of Five’s siblings. “No.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Luther fidgeted in the silence until he finally said, “Back there - seriously, how did you know my name? Do I know you?”

Screw it. Everyone was dying, anyway. “I’m your brother.”

Luther blinked. “Uh . . .”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Five said, flapping a hand as though it didn’t matter. “Let me guess - you were an only child? Dead parents?”

Luther’s brow creased. “What -?”

“Can’t forget about the super strength, of course.”

Luther let out a nervous laugh and glanced around them. “You can’t - I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Tattoo on your wrist that you’ve never been able to explain, even to yourself, memories that are better off not being investigated too closely, and combat knowledge you don’t remember getting,” Five rattled off. “Did I miss anything?”

Luther full-on gaped at Five. “Who are you?”

But Five had just realized there might actually be another way to save the world. He had to think like a Commission agent - whose death would most likely affect the timeline? He would have to start the equation from scratch, and it would no doubt take a massive amount of time, but it was something when he had nothing, so he clutched at it like a drowning man. The library would have plenty of surfaces that could be written on. He’d take Dolores, too. Why not - might as well make a day of it.

He looked back at Luther, who was still staring at him with a dumbstruck expression on his face. “Never mind.” He patted the orange blanket around his shoulders and flashed a smile. “Must’ve been the shock talking.” Then he blinked away.


“Make a day of it” had started out with taking Dolores to the library with him, had gradually evolved into “nab a couple drinks from the nearby liquor store,” and finally ended with “find the bottom of a bottle of wine as fast as possible.” Apparently, his alcohol tolerance had not carried over into this body, which, even though Five didn’t believe in the concept of fairness, seemed genuinely not fair.

To summarize: he didn’t exactly remember passing out at the library, but he muddled his way through what must have happened when he woke up in Luther’s arms.

“You’d better start talking,” Diego said from in front of them.

Five’s head lolled as he looked from Diego to Luther. The yellow streetlights barely provided enough illumination in the dingy alleyway for him to see their faces. “Since when are you guys friends?”

“Since we were looking for you at Meritech Labs and we found Luther instead.”

Five craned his head to try and look behind Luther. “‘We’?”

“Klaus and I. But he’s not here right now, and that is so not the point.”

“They were worried about you,” Luther said to Five, adjusting his grip. “And then, we started talking, and -”

“He also has the tattoo?” Diego exclaimed. “And you told him you were brothers?”

“Mmm,” Five hummed. “Yeah.”

“That’s all you have to say?!”

“Maybe you should take it easy on him.” Luther’s chest gently rumbled whenever he spoke, which was oddly soothing. “I mean, he’s a kid, so . . .”

“Do you know how many favors I had to call in to make sure I was the only one who investigated the call about an intoxicated minor? I’m not going to ‘take it easy’ -”

“Not a kid,” Five said. His words felt sloppy. “‘M older than you. I’m -” hic - “fifty-eight.”

“Unbelievable,” Diego muttered under his breath.

“And,” Five said, because it felt important to say, “I’ve killed more people than you.”

Then he hurled over Luther’s shoulder.


Five woke up and immediately knew Dolores was unhappy with him, because his entire skull loudly thrummed as it always did after a night of drinking. For some reason, this hangover felt so much worse than usual.

“Diego, he’s awake.”

Five buried his face deeper into the pillow. The details of yesterday were somewhat beyond him, but he recalled enough to know that he was not looking forward to this conversation. He shifted so that he could peek over the pillow. Luther and Diego were both seated on chairs pulled up next to whichever of their beds he was in - assuming he was in one of their apartments. Luther was fiddling his thumbs while Diego’s arms were crossed over his chest.

Five sighed, resigned. He supposed he owed them an explanation. “If I’m gonna talk, I need coffee.”

One steaming mug of not-very-good coffee later, Five was sitting up in the bed, pondering where the best place to start would be.

“Well?” Diego demanded.

Here went nothing. “You are both members of the Umbrella Academy, as am I. We were adopted and raised by Reginald Hargreeves to be superheroes because we all had powers. Luther has super strength, Diego has pinpoint accuracy when he throws things, and I can teleport. Dad branded us with tattoos when we were twelve.”

“But Klaus has the tattoo,” Diego said. “How many of us are there?”

“Seven.” Five’s chest tightened. “Although one is dead, and another doesn’t have any powers or a tattoo.”

“And what are the others’ powers?” Luther said.

“Klaus can see dead people, and Allison can manipulate people to do what she wants. But that’s not what’s importa-”

“Hang on.” Diego frowned. “If we all got these tats together, how come you’re not the same age as us?”

“When we were thirteen, I wanted to test my limitations, so I tried traveling through time. It worked, but I got . . . stuck. I wasn’t able to travel to the past - only the future.” No need to bog them down with the gruesome details of a world on fire and thirty-plus years of wondering which would kill him first: starvation, dehydration, or infection. “But when I was much older, I figured it out, so I came back half a week ago. Unfortunately, there were clearly a few details that needed ironing out, because, despite being fifty-eight, I now look like I’m thirteen.” He thought he’d lose them during the time traveling part, but, surprisingly, both men seemed to be fully engaged, if not necessarily on board. 

“Let’s say that’s all true,” Diego said. “It still doesn’t explain - what did you say their names were? Hansel and Gretel?”

“Hazel and Cha-Cha.” Might as well lay all his cards on the table if he was already telling them this much. “The future that I traveled to didn’t exist. That is, everyone and everything was dead. I figured out that whatever it was that destroyed the world happened on April 1, 2019. But there’s an organization called the Commission - the same one that hired me after getting me out - that wants to make sure this apocalypse does happen, and Hazel and Cha-Cha work for them. They’re here to eliminate me.”

Diego and Luther stared at him blankly, which was about as much as Five had expected. 

“That’s insane,” Diego finally said.

Luther looked sad. “You were the only person alive when you were thirteen?”

Five blinked. That was . . . not as expected. Considering he’d just dropped the metaphorical apocalypse bomb on them, he’d figured there were far more important details to focus on than that one. “Well, yeah, but I found Dolores a few years later,” he said, gesturing at her. He was grateful to whoever had set her up on the chair in the corner. Diego and Luther exchanged a look that he couldn’t bring himself to care about. “That’s the whole story.”

“So, what kind of work did you do for the, uh . . .?”

“The Commission. I was a hit man, like Hazel and Cha-Cha. I took out people who messed with the timeline.”

“I can’t decide who’s more batshit,” Diego said. “You for coming up with that ridiculous story, or me for almost - almost - finding it believable.”

“Believe it or not, it’s happening in four days.” He took the glass eye out of his pocket and displayed it in the palm of his hand. “This is the only clue I have about what causes the apocalypse, and now the building it was created in is an ash heap, so I have to figure out how to stop an event I know nothing about in less than a week.”

“Why is this a clue?” Luther asked, plucking the eye out of Five’s hand and examining it.

“I -” Five’s throat abruptly closed off. He quickly cleared it and hoped the other two hadn’t noticed. “I found it with your bodies. All five of you were together -” not Ben, which he had thought strange, but now it made sense - “so you must have been trying to stop the apocalypse. You were holding that eye when you died, so it had to belong to whoever caused it.”

Both of their faces did something funny at that, so Five snatched the eye away from Luther.

“If everything you said is true,” Luther said slowly, “then why can’t we remember any of it?”

Five hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Diego said. “You expect me to believe that, what, all of my memories are fake?”

“Yes.”

“You realize how absurd that sounds.”

“Has anyone else in your whole life offered an explanation for why you never miss when you throw things?” Diego said nothing. Five turned to Luther. “Or why you can lift things normal people can’t without breaking a sweat?” Luther looked away. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I don’t know why you don’t remember any of it, and I don’t know how someone implanted other memories in its place -”

Luther blinked in surprise. “What makes you think someone did this to us?”

“I highly doubt all five of you spontaneously made up an entirely different childhood than the one you actually had on your own. Someone else had to be involved.” But, back to his first point. “What I was going to say was I don’t know why you can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter, anyway, because that’s not why I’m here.”

“An entire life that I may or may not have lived seems pretty important to me,” said Diego.

“Well, it’s not, and it definitely won’t be in four days if I do nothing.”

“I’m not saying I believe you, because I don’t.” Diego looked at Luther expectantly. “Right?”

Luther shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, it’s weirdly convincing.”

Diego’s glare clearly conveyed, You’re no help . He turned back to Five. “However, on the off-chance the world is going to end in four days, I’ll help you.”

“Me too,” Luther chimed in.

“No,” said Five.

Diego scowled. “If this is as big of a deal as you say it is, why not?”

“Because I don’t need it.” Because I’ve already seen you dead once.

“Okay, then, enlighten us on your current plan to supposedly save all of humanity.”

Five paused. “There’s an equation I’m working on. It could help me figure out whose deaths impact this timeline the most. It could be enough to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Great,” Diego said, leaning back in his chair. “Makes absolutely zero sense to me, but you work on the nerd equation while we make sure nobody kills you.”

“Kinda like your bodyguards,” Luther said.

Five actually considered the possibility. Not of them protecting him, which was laughable, but of keeping them close for now. He wouldn’t have to worry about the Commission going after them without his knowledge. Hazel and Cha-Cha would be less likely to attack them while Five was around. “Do what you want,” Five said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be working at the academy.”

Luther frowned. “Why not here?”

Five’s brow creased. Was Luther an idiot? “Because there are more walls to write on there.”


Five spent the better portion of the day chalking equations and diagrams on the walls of his former bedroom. Diego and Luther . . . okay, to be completely honest, Five had no idea what those two had done the entire time. He vaguely remembered one of them coming in at one point and asking if he was hungry, but when he was working on time-altering math, he tended to tune everything else out. Dolores always said that everyone had some form of tunnel vision, but Five’s bordered on telescopic. Five always chose to take that as a compliment.

He stepped back to view his finished handiwork. “I think I’ve got something, Dolores. It’s tenuous, but promising.”

Luther stepped through the doorway at that moment, seeming to catch the last bit of Five’s words. “Did you find out who causes the apocalypse?”

“No, but I found out whose deaths might prevent it.” 

Luther looked between the probability map and Five uncertainly. “How does that work?”

Five sighed in annoyance. “Time is fickle - the slightest alteration in events can lead to massively different outcomes in the time continuum. The butterfly effect.” Luther nodded robotically, and Five took that as a sign to continue. “So, all I have to do is find the people with the greatest probability of impacting the timeline, whoever they may be, and kill them.”

Luther peered at the four names Five had scrawled onto the wall. “‘Milton Green,’” he read as Five hefted Dad’s sniper rifle onto the bed. “So who’s he? A terrorist, or something?”

Five pulled the weapon out of its case. “I believe he’s a gardener.”

Luther about-faced, eyes wide with shock. “You can’t be serious.” Then he saw the gun. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, his voice rising with incredulousness.

“Dad’s room.”

Five heard Diego’s footsteps approach from the hallway. “What are you yelling ab- why is he holding a sniper rifle?”

“You can’t,” Luther said, ignoring Diego. “This guy - Milton - he’s just an innocent man!”

When did Luther turn into a giant teddy bear? (Or maybe he’d always been one and Five just hadn’t been around to see it.) “It’s basic math - his death could potentially save the lives of billions. If I did nothing, he’d be dead in four days, anyway. The apocalypse won’t spare anyone.” He supposed it’d spared him, but not for lack of trying.

“Are you planning on shooting someone with that?” Diego said.

“What part of planetary destruction do you two not understand?”

“I won’t let you do it,” Luther said resolutely. “I believe you about the apocalypse, but I won’t let you kill an innocent man.”

Five scoffed. “Well, good luck stopping me.” 

He turned around and prepared to blink past Diego when Luther said, “You’re not going anywhere.”

And Five knew even before he turned around what Luther had done, who Luther had dared to touch, and so he brought the gun up and snarled, “Put. Her. Down.”

Luther, one hand holding Dolores out the window, leveled his gaze at Five. “Put the gun down.”

Five was saved from having to figure out if his own threat was empty or not by Luther tossing Dolores. Five blinked to the window to catch her, dropping the gun.

Diego immediately snatched the rifle off the ground. “I can’t believe I just watched that happen. I can’t believe I’m not arresting anybody.”

Five cradled Dolores in his arms. Five used to say that Dolores was, simply and unequivocally, his world. But then he would remember that he left her to save the world, and that thought made something deep in his brain twist with a sound like screaming and threaten to drag him back to memories of the apocalypse before he found her, and so he instead began saying that she was his humanity. The concept of leaving his humanity behind in the apocalypse was easier to stomach, for some reason. 

Probably because it was true.

 “Listen,” Luther said. “It sounds like you were alone for a really long time. But you’re not anymore.”

There’s never only one way to solve an equation, Dolores reminded him gently.

How had he been trying to solve the equation that was the apocalypse? First, it was finding the owner of the glass eye and killing whoever it turned out to be preemptively. Now, he was trying to kill whoever he could to disrupt the timeline - essentially, using the exact same means of a Commission agent to achieve the exact opposite effect of what a Commission agent strove for.

You’re more creative than that.

But all he’d ever been in life was the last man alive or a time-traveling assassin. How was he supposed to not think like either one of them?

Or . . .

He sat up straighter. Why not utilize one of his only two identities? It wasn’t that he needed to stop thinking like a Commission agent - he needed to think more like one. Hazel and Cha-Cha weren’t hazarding a guess on who needed to be taken out to re-stabilize the timeline, like he was with the probability map he’d just finished. They knew exactly what to do because they were hearing directly from the source.

Five needed to get to the source.

“There may be another way,” he said, looking at Luther.

“Good!” Luther said, his body visibly sagging with relief. “What do you need from us?”

“Nothing.” Five stood up and placed Dolores carefully onto the bed. “I’ll be back. Eventually.”

“Back?” Diego demanded. “Where are you going?”

There were a few things in life that Five knew for certain. One was that Twinkies did not, in fact, have a permanent shelf life.

Another was that the Handler would do almost anything to get him back. “I’m paying a visit to my coworkers.”

“Wait -”

But Five blinked away.


There were a limited number of motels that they could be in - the Commission tried its hardest to consolidate its resources into one place to cut down on cost. It took him four tries, but eventually Five found the room they were sound asleep in and blinked inside. Both of them immediately sat up at the noise, Cha-Cha already reaching for the shotgun next to her bed, but Five blinked next to her, his knife pressed hard enough against her throat to draw a thin line of blood. She stopped.

“Hazel,” Five said warmly, “would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Kill him,” Cha-Cha said to her partner.

She choked as the blade slid farther into her skin. “I need you to get in contact with your superior,” Five said as though she hadn’t spoken. “So I can have a chat with her.”

Hazel said nothing, and though Five was attempting to look as casual as possible, he knew this entire plan hinged on the rumor he’d heard that Hazel was going soft. If Hazel were a  true Commission agent, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Five, even if it meant losing Cha-Cha. “I don’t have all day.”

Five had not been holding his breath, per se, but his muscles relaxed minutely when Hazel tch’ed in frustration and stood up, moving towards the motel phone.

“Hazel!” Cha-Cha snapped, but Hazel refused to look at her as he dialed.

Five flashed him a smile. “Good boy.”

“We know why you’re here,” Cha-Cha said, clearly switching tactics. “You think you can stop what’s already happened?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you and I are still breathing, so it obviously hasn’t happened yet.”

“You used to be one of us. You should know better than to mess with the timeline. You have no idea what kind of ramifications there might be.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Spare me the morality spiel. What ramifications could possibly be worse than the utter annihilation of life itself?”

Hazel hung up the phone. “She said she’d speak to you shortly,” he said to Five stiffly.

Five looked around the room. “I don’t see your briefcase anywhere - isn’t that against regulation?”

Cha-Cha stayed silent, but Hazel’s eyes darted to the vent on the wall for the briefest of moments.

Five grinned. “It’d certainly be a shame if someone were to take that, hm?”

Hazel opened his mouth and froze.

Five waited for him to speak, then realized Cha-Cha, too, was sitting perfectly still. Neither one of the agents so much as blinked.

“Neat trick, isn’t it?”

Five turned around. A tall woman with hair bleached white as bones removed her sunglasses and smiled at him. “Hello, Five,” said the Handler. Her eyes roved over his body. “You look good - all things considered.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Five lied.

“It feels like we met just yesterday. ‘Course, you were a little bit older then. Congratulations, by the way, on the age regression.” Her eyes lit up in a way that made Five’s stomach turn. “Very clever. Threw us all off the scent.”

“I wish I could take credit. I just miscalculated the time dilation projections, and, well, you know - here I am.” Remembering just how much I loathe you.

“You realize your efforts are futile,” she said, patronizing and self-righteous all at once. “So why don’t you tell me what you really want.”

“I want you to put a stop to it.” And he did.

But he knew she wouldn’t. That wasn’t why he was here.

“You realize that’s next to impossible, even for me. What’s meant to be is meant to be. That’s our -” he didn’t miss the way she emphasized that word, which shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did - “raison d’etre.”

He knew he would have to sell this, which was why he’d taken the time to pick up a gun, which he now leveled at her. “Yeah? How about survival as a ‘raison’?”

The Handler shrugged. “I’ll just be replaced. But this fantasy you’ve been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse is just that - a fantasy. I must say, though,” she said, taking a step forward as though the gun didn’t exist, “we’re all quite impressed. Your initiative, your ‘stick-to-it-iveness,’ is really quite something.”

Five refused to allow himself to smile. Got you.

“Which is why we want to offer you a new position back at the Commission - in management.”

Sell it, sell it, sell it. “Sorry, what’s that now?”

The Handler stepped forward again, hunger in her eyes. “Come back to work for us - you know it’s where you belong.”

Sad thing was, Five knew it, too. But if he gave in a fraction of a second too soon, she would know it was what he wanted, and she had never liked giving him what he wanted. “I don’t remember that working out so well last time.”

“You won’t be in the Corrections division any longer - I’m talking about the home office.” She scanned him again. His skin crawled. “You’re a distinguished professional, and look at you - in school boy shorts. We have the technology to reverse the process.” She was close enough now that she put a hand on the gun and gently pushed it down. “I mean - you can’t be happy like this.”

Five told the truth, maybe for the first time. “I’m not looking for happy.”

He’d never liked being disappointed.

Pity swathed her face like too much makeup. She reached out a hand and softly stroked his cheek. He forced himself not to flinch. “We’re all looking for happy. And we can give you that. We can make you yourself again.”

He still couldn’t play his hand, not yet. “What about my family?”

“What about them?”

“I want them to survive.”

She groaned. “All of them?”

Yes, all of them.”

“Well,” she said, like they were haggling over rusty pennies instead of human lives, “I’ll see what I can do.” She stuck out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“One thing.” Five walked past the frozen Hazel and Cha-Cha to the vent, removed the covering, and took out the briefcase. He looked back at the Handler. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“As long as you bring it to me - no, I don’t.” She glanced at her two oblivious agents disdainfully. “They’ve failed me enough times.”

Leaving Hazel and Cha-Cha stranded in this time could prove beneficial in more ways than one. He gave their briefcase to the Handler, who shifted her grip on her own device so she could hold both in one hand. Her other hand stretched forward invitingly again.

For a moment, Five wasn’t in a cheap motel room. He was in a burning desert with ash-dust skin and gnawing nothingness in his belly.

The Handler smiled at him with blood-red lips.

Five reached out an aged, wrinkled hand black with grime.

For his siblings. For the world.

Chapter 6: A Damned Soul Pretending

Notes:

Ummm sorry this took so long...I literally had everything written down weeks ago except for the last couple of paragraphs and just couldn't write them. BUT here we are folks

Chapter Text

Nevermore

A Damned Soul Pretending

“Five, meet Dot.”

Dot smiled brightly, and it took everything inside of Five not to lunge for her throat.

These people, this building, made him ill. He might not like himself, or Hazel, or Cha-Cha, but at least they knew what they were. At least they didn’t sit behind office desks acting like they were in the business of paperwork, not murder. At least when they went home after a shift their hands were bloody, at least they saw with their own eyes what price a tidy timeline demanded. 

At least they couldn’t tell themselves they were good people at the end of the day.

“It was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019,” the Handler was saying. 

Dot’s grin widened. “No hard feelings.”

Five wondered how many times she’d watched him pick up his gun and stare at it, sometimes until the sun went down. 

He wondered if she’d known what he’d been thinking.

“You’re on the Hindenburg,” the Handler said, her smile coy.

The disaster was deceptively mundane to orchestrate, so while everyone else went to lunch, Five snatched the folder on the apocalypse off of Dot’s desk. The Handler had barely allowed him to so much as breathe without her presence, so it was only a matter of time until she sought him out again. Whether that was because of her fascination with his new body or because she knew she couldn’t trust him, he wasn’t sure, but it posed a problem either way, because he couldn’t let her see that he was researching the apocalypse. 

He sneaked the folder into one of the bathroom’s stalls and was just starting to flip through it when the door swung open and he heard the loathsome tap tap of her heels on the tiled floor. It’d been silly, of course, to presume that the men’s bathroom would be off-limits to her, so he awkwardly shoved the papers back under his shirt and tried to sound as unaffected as possible when he spoke to her. 

“Have you had your lunch?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Not yet.”

“Great!” Tap tap. “How would you like to have lunch in my office? You can eat solid foods, and I can live vicariously through you.” She poked her head above the stall door and grinned at him.

He hadn’t thought anything would make him feel more uncomfortable in his own skin than existing in a body that didn’t match his age, but he should have known better than to make a statement like that in a world where the Handler existed. She’d always had a knack for making him feel dirty. 

But he managed to keep the folder from her prying eyes, even though he somehow agreed to eating lunch with her. That was the other thing - he couldn’t not slip up when she was with him. He was always pragmatic, always clever, always the one holding the cards, but never around her. Around her, he was reckless, ignorant, and a step behind.

Regardless, he was never going to find enough time to read the whole dossier on the apocalypse with this kind of monitoring. 

So - new plan.

After exiting the bathroom, he blinked to Dot’s desk and placed the folder slightly to the left of where he’d found it, then switched the order of the first several pages. Hopefully Dot wasn’t as air-headed as she looked.

He mentally steeled himself, then walked into the Handler’s office. 

“I have something for you,” she said with a pleased glint in her eye after they finished eating, and Five wondered if she’d always made him feel gross when she looked at him or if this was a new development. 

He opened the box she set in front of him to find a pressed suit. “Clothes make the man,” she said, inching closer, her gaze fixated on his face. “Won’t it be nice when you can actually wear it? Very soon, I assure you. They’re perfecting your body as we speak.” 

The thought of her being near a potential body of his without his consent was stomach-churning, to say the least. But it was easy to divert her attention to the weapons on the wall, which Five was grateful for, even if it meant another caress with her too-long fingernails, because he was able to slip two grenades into his pocket.

He thought he might be able to convince her to let him instead of Gloria, the glorified bag of bones in charge of the mail room, deliver his messages to the agents on the ground, but before he could fully launch into his pitch, Dot, looking flustered, dashed into the room.

Five politely absconded from the office, trying his hardest not to look like Dot had played right into the palm of his hand. Sure, making her suspicious of him had moved up his termination date considerably, but he’d be out of here before “termination” applied to more than just his job. He waited around the corner until he saw Dot hurry toward Gloria’s office, then he blinked into the mail room.

“Deliver this to Hazel and Cha-Cha,” Dot said to Gloria. “Immediately.”

Dot left, and Five sort of felt bad that he didn’t feel bad about knocking a woman in her eighties unconscious. He pried off the lid of the canister she’d been holding and unfurled the note inside. Were his hands shaking from adrenaline or excitement? He couldn’t tell; didn’t have time to tell.

 

REASSIGNMENT: PROTECT HAROLD JENKINS

 

A name. He’d started with an eye, and that lead had burned to nothing, but now he had an actual name.

Hazel and Cha-Cha could still pose a menace even without receiving this reassignment, so he’d have to manually intervene to get them out of the way. “Terminate for immediate extraction” had a nice Commission ring to it, if he did say so himself. He sent each of the assassins a separate message instructing them to kill the other and was feeling quite proud of himself when the Handler stepped into Gloria’s office.

“You’re,” she said, “a great disappointment to me.”

He didn’t know how to tell her those words stung less upon hearing them a second time from someone who wasn’t his father.

“You belong here,” she said.

“I don’t belong anywhere, thanks to you,” Five spat. 

She pulled out her gun and shot at him, but Five blinked backward to lure her deeper into the mail room. “I saved you from a lifetime of being alone,” she said, grief etched onto her face. “You owe me.”

If she’d never taken him, maybe he could have saved what was left of the thirteen year-old boy who’d cried as he dug the graves of his family. Maybe, if she hadn’t taken him, he’d still be able to recognize himself.

(Maybe his siblings would have recognized him when he came back.)

“I do owe a debt,” he said. He blinked back into Gloria’s office and neatly rolled one of the grenades into the mail room, where it came to a rest at her shiny high heels. “But it’s not to you.”

What debt could be greater than one life against the whole world?

Five ducked around the wall as the grenade went off, then he blinked to the briefcase room. His goal was to prevent the apocalypse, but the Commission would never stop trying to stop him, so it only made sense to take out the trash while he was here. He grabbed one briefcase for himself, hastily entered the correct coordinates, then heaved his last grenade behind the wall of time-altering machines. He sprinted out of the room and hit the button to leave. The room exploded in a glorious combustion of flame, and just before Five was pulled through the mini vortex, sharp pain radiated from his side.

Then he slammed onto the academy’s bar table. He didn’t move for a second as he struggled to inhale. Breathing shouldn’t hurt this much.

“Oh, uh, shoot, what did we decide the code word was, again?” someone said above Five. “Um . . . DIEGO! THE KID’S HERE!”

Five finally lifted his gaze from the bar. Klaus winked at him. “I think he got the gist - what do you think?”

Five had not yet recovered the breath to answer Klaus; fortunately, Diego’s entrance meant he didn’t have to.

“You are the worst, you know that?” the man said as he practically stomped toward Five. “You disappear on me for the hundredth time and only show up an entire twenty-four hours later. I had to recruit this clown -” he angrily pointed at Klaus, who waved at Five happily - “to help me search this stupid house for any clues about where you went, all the while not knowing if you were at the bottom of a ditch filled with bullet holes!”

Five dragged himself off the table and discovered that standing was much better for the pain in his abdomen than lying on his stomach had been.

Diego frowned. “You look awful. Where were you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He’d kill for some coffee. “The apocalypse is in three days. And I know who causes it.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the guy with the eye, we know. I filled Klaus in while you were gone.”

“And I am just the right amount of high to believe it!”

“No - I have a name now.” Five fished the crinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Diego. “Harold Jenkins.”

Diego’s brow creased. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, it’s not that helpful then, is it? How many Harold Jenkins do you think live in this city?”

Five sent him a withering stare. “Obviously - that’s why I’m going to the police station, to go through the files and see if any of them have a criminal record.”

Diego barked out a surprised laugh. “I have been trying to get you down there all week - who knew all I needed was the end of the world to make it happen?”

Klaus shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“You weren’t invited,” Diego said.

Five sighed, ignoring the sharp twinge in his gut and the spreading warmth on his undershirt. He could fix himself up after Harold Jenkins was dead. “I don’t care who comes, but I’m going.”

 


 

“Just let me go in and grab the file, okay?” Diego said.

Five hadn’t looked at his wound yet, but his shirt was wet and sticky now, which had never promised anything good to him before. “You know I could blink in, steal the file, and blink out, right?”

But Diego was insistent on walking into the station on his own, and, if Five were being completely honest, it was better that he did. Five needed to conserve as much energy as possible, considering a fair amount of his bodily fluids were leaking out of a hole in his stomach.

After the door shut behind Diego, Five leaned his back against the wall of the building, hoping the action looked casual and not necessary. 

“You okay, little man?” Klaus said. “Diego was right - you look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

Klaus hummed to himself. “Not that I don’t mind calling you ‘little man,’ but I don’t actually know your name.” He looked at Five expectantly.

Five snorted, regretting it when his stomach flared in pain. “My name isn’t necessary.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, you know mine.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Klaus pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and began rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, I don’t actually remember giving you my name.”

Fair, Five had to concede.

“Besides, it’s just a name, anyway. What’s the big deal?”

“Because it’s mine,” Five snarled, startling even himself with the viciousness in his tone.

Klaus raised an eyebrow. 

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal - but he wanted the name Five Hargreeves to mean something. His siblings didn’t know it, didn’t know him, and learning it wouldn’t change that. It would just be a name to them, not a brother.

“All right, we’ll move away from the name, then. What are you gonna do when you find this ‘Harold Jenkins’?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Klaus flapped his hand through the air. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but I mean after that. What’ll you do after you save the world?”

“I -” Five frowned. After? What did it matter what he did after? Everyone would be alive. His job would be done. 

Of course, when he’d visualized successfully stopping the apocalypse, he’d always assumed he’d have his family again. 

“That’s irrelevant.” The words felt heavier than he was used to.

Klaus side-eyed him knowingly. “Maybe you should think about it.”

“Maybe you should go to rehab.”

Klaus shrugged. “Touché, my friend.”

Diego emerged from the building clutching a folder. “You’d better be right about this,” he said sourly as Five eagerly snatched the papers out of his hand. “I swore to Patch that this was for a life-saving cause.”

“World-saving cause,” Five said distractedly, opening the folder. A photo of Harold Jenkins stared back at Five. He looked perfectly average - certainly not what Five would have expected from the destroyer of Earth.

And yet . . .

Klaus gasped and jabbed a finger at the picture. “I know that guy! He’s the one who found me at the gas station and was asking about you! Who said he was your older brother!”

“Hang on,” Diego said, “I think I remember seeing him this week, too. He was in jail for something minor - public intoxication, maybe? - but he kept asking me tons of personal questions.”

Five frowned. “I met him the first time I came here to get the eye. He was in a holding cell.”

“Wait - you’re the one who disappeared.”

A discomfort even more unpleasant than his wound gnawed at his insides. It simply couldn’t be a coincidence that the same man responsible for the apocalypse had met three Hargreeves leading up to the apocalypse. But what did it mean?

The first page of the report listed Harold’s address, and within fifteen minutes, they were outside Harold’s house.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Diego said, peering through the window.

Five blinked inside. He couldn’t stop the hiss from sliding through his teeth as the shrapnel in his side shifted. The pain was getting worse, and he most definitely had begun to feel the effect of blood loss, but he could practically reach out and touch the only thing he’d ever cared about, that had ever mattered, and if he let up for even one second, it might slip away from him forever. He would make himself keep going.

“Okay,” Diego said after he and Klaus entered, “this is very illegal, so let me know as soon as you find anything, and then we’re out, understand?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here who’s bothered about doing something illegal,” Klaus hummed.

Diego rolled his eyes. “I’ll search the ground floor - you two go upstairs.”

“So,” Klaus said as they made their way to the second floor, “what exactly are we looking for?”

The hallway was slowly spinning, but Klaus didn’t seem to notice, so Five pretended it wasn’t, either, as his wound throbbed with a warm ache. “Any clues that could tell us where he is right now or how he’s planning on causing the apocalypse.” Five ducked into what he assumed was Harold’s bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary in here - based purely on extraneous observations about the man thus far, he seemed to be the most boring person alive.

“Whoa,” came Klaus’s shout, sounding far away. “This is trippy.”

Five peeked into the hallway to see a set of stairs leading up to the attic had been unfolded. He blinked to Klaus’s side at the same time Diego started coming up the steps.

Perhaps Five had spoken too soon - there was more to Harold Jenkins than met the eye. Photos of the Umbrella Academy kids littered the walls, solid black “X’s” scratched over him and his siblings’ eyes. An eerie shroud hung over the room, and it was so stifling that sweat dampened the back of Five’s neck.

“What am I looking at?” Diego said, sounding uneasy.

“Us,” and Five must have sounded off, because Diego jerked his head toward him, which was when his legs decided to fold in two. He collapsed onto his back and watched the ceiling twist in circles as his abdomen burned.

“Um?” he heard Klaus say, then Diego’s face was bent over him as the man lifted up the bottom of his shirt. 

Diego cursed. “What the hell, why didn’t you say anything?”

So he couldn’t force his body to cooperate, apparently, but they were so close - they couldn’t afford to stop now. He waved a hand at Diego and Klaus. “Go on without me. Find Harold.”

“In your dreams, kid.”

If breathing hadn’t required painstaking effort from Five at that point, he would’ve unleashed a vicious verbal onslaught on Diego. As it was, though, he offered practically no resistance when his brothers each looped an arm around their necks and hoisted him to his feet. “Don’t . . . have time,” he slurred. His head felt far too light, like it might detach from his neck at any moment and float toward the ceiling.

“Nearest hospital is five minutes away,” Diego said over Five’s head to Klaus.

Klaus giggled breathlessly as they carted Five down the stairs. “And what, pray tell, are we going to say happened to this minor that won’t get us arrested?”

They made it outside, and as Diego began wrestling with the van door while still holding Five up, a young couple on the other side of the street shot concerned glances their way. 

“Don’t worry,” Klaus hollered, readjusting Five’s arm around his neck, “he just had a little too much to drink!”

“That’s worse,” hissed Diego.

Leave me,” Five said, and this time there was a coppery tang to the words. Keeping his head up took too much effort, so he let it droop downward. He wasn’t dramatic enough to think he was dying, but he wasn’t optimistic enough to think this wound wouldn’t eventually kill him. Warm fog polluted his head and cast a gray haze over his vision.

Someone walking by them bumped into Klaus’s shoulder, jostling Five and causing a groan to escape his clenched teeth.

“Hey,” Klaus complained, “watch where you’re -”

Five heard a gasp, then an object clattered to the ground. Seconds later, a paper cup rolled into Five’s line of sight, brown liquid spilling out from it and staining the sidewalk.

Possibly bleeding to death or not, Five refused to sit idly by as coffee was wasted, no matter how bad it might have been.

“No, sorry,” Klaus said hastily, “I was totally joking. He’s not drunk, he’s, um . . . high.”

“So much worse,” Diego snapped under his breath.

Not without considerable effort, Five lifted his head up to berate the low-life.

Allison blinked owlishly at him, one hand hovering in the air where her coffee cup had presumably been.

“Five?”

Chapter 7: But I Don't Believe Them

Notes:

Soooo I have no excuse for the delay - I am very sorry. However, the good news is that I stayed up way past my bedtime last night because I was suddenly so excited to finish this chapter, so I'm hoping that motivation stays with me XD

Chapter Text

Nevermore

But I Don't Believe Them

Alliston still looked frozen, and Five’s mind was too sluggish to offer anything more than a startled, “Allison?”

“What did she just call you?” Klaus said.

“Is that really you?” Allison said quietly, one hand reaching forward.

Diego shifted so that he was half-standing in front of Five. “You know him?” he snapped.

“Diego,” Five said, gripping the back of Diego’s jacket as much as he could, “she’s not Commission.”

Allison’s brow furrowed, looking not in the least concerned by Diego’s aggressiveness. “Do you know him?” she asked Diego, sounding genuinely curious.

Diego snorted. “What do you think?”

Allison’s smile was suddenly sharp. “I don’t think you do.” She looked past Diego to Five, her expression brightening. “We have so much to catch up on.”

“Hey,” Diego barked, scowling. “He needs a hospital, not -”

“I’ll take it from here,” Allison said, voice smooth and dangerous enough to make the hair on the back of Five’s neck stand on end. “No need to bother yourselves.”

Diego’s grip on Five’s arm tightened just before Diego’s whole body inexplicably relaxed. He slipped out from under Five’s arm as Klaus did the same on Five’s other side. Five, too weak to stand without the physical support, toppled forward. 

Then Allison was there, letting out a grunt as she caught him around the chest. The abrupt halt stretched the flesh around his wound painfully. “Geez,” Allison panted, “you did not look like you would weigh this much.”

Five, head still spinning from a combination of agony and blood loss, watched Klaus and Diego climb into the van and drive away, their expressions blank. “How,” he croaked, “did you rumor them without saying the words?”

Allison let out a breathless laugh as she adjusted her grip on him. “I learned a lot while you were gone.” She sounded pleased with herself. “Not to mention - wait, are you bleeding?”

“A little,” Five grunted.

“What happened?” Her tone darkened. “What did they do to you?”

“They?” Five said, or maybe meant to say. He wasn’t sure if it came out of his mouth before dark fog obscured his vision completely.

I heard a rumor you were healed.”

Immediately, the incessant pain in his abdomen disappeared. The haze clouding his skull and vision eased back, although the dizziness remained. Five hefted his gaze up to Allison, who smiled. “Neat trick, huh?”

The Allison he’d left had only ever been able to manipulate people into doing things, not shape reality. He lifted his blood-soaked shirt up and peeked at the skin beneath it. The shrapnel, wound and all, had vanished, leaving only a streak of blood in its place.

“Allison, since when -?”

“Like I said.” Her eyes were bright. “I learned a lot while you were gone.”

Despite how sluggish his movements still were from the blood loss, he pulled away from her. An emotion he was unable to describe started to swallow his chest. It was almost like pain, but he’d learned to ignore pain long ago. This dug deeper, pressed harder. “You rumored them all. You made them forget me.”

If Five had been expecting shame, he certainly didn’t get it. Allison shrugged. “Yeah. That was me.”

The pain surged with heat, scorching the back of his throat. “Allison,” he said through gritted teeth, “my siblings were all I had.”

Her sharp gaze was far more knowing than it had any right to be. “That’s cute, coming from the one who left us first.”

He would never let her know how deep that cut. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did we do anything as kids?” Allison’s tone was almost bored. “Because Dad told me to.”

“And you just . . . accepted that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like it would have mattered if I hadn’t.”

The pain still sat in his chest, unimpressed with the excuse. “Fine - then why did Dad want them to forget?”

“He was always going on and on about how ‘it was always going to be one of you,’ and about the ‘end of times,’ but you know what I think? I think he did it because he hated us.”

End of times. Reginald Hargreeves knowing about the apocalypse was not as shocking as it probably should have been. But what would erasing the Umbrella Academy’s memories achieve? Weren’t they the ones trying to stop the apocalypse? “When did you rumor them?”

“Depends on who you’re talking about. Dad only told me to rumor them when they decided to leave.” Her face did something funny at that, but then it smoothed back into a neutral expression before Five could decipher it. “Diego was the first - sixteen, seventeen, maybe? - then Klaus, then Vanya, then Klaus again. I mean, not counting Vanya’s first time.” She leaned forward, grin sharp. “Did you know she has powers?”

There was a lot to unpack there, but Five decided to question the part he actually believed. “Why Klaus twice?”

Allison, examining her fingernails, sounded distracted when she said, “Well, the first time I rumored him, I didn’t account for Ben.”

Five frowned. “What does that -”

“Come on,” Allison huffed. “Rehashing the past is so boring. You’re back! After seventeen years!” She beamed. “It was time travel, wasn’t it? I bet it’s only been a couple of days for you.”

How could she stand there like nothing was wrong, like she hadn’t severed his ties to the only things that had ever mattered to him? The only thing I lived for is gone because of you.

He let out a long, slow breath. He could get answers later. In the grand scheme of things, i.e., the survival of the world, this didn’t matter. He knew exactly who caused the apocalypse, and yet here he stood, arguing with his sister about events that occurred over a decade ago. It was petty, it was childish, and most of all, it was selfish, so he forced himself to turn away from her. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, aware that his promise sounded vaguely like a threat.

“Wait -” if Five didn’t know his sister any better, it would have sounded like fear driving that word - “where are you going?”

“I’ve got to take care of something.” He thought he was above such trivial nonsense as hurt feelings, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “And then - and then we can talk.”

He suddenly identified the emotion festering in his ribcage. 

Betrayal.

“Five,” she said, voice cracking with desperation, “please -”

He swallowed the sour realization and blinked away.

 


 

As loath as he was to admit it, his odds of finding Harold Jenkins faster went up significantly if he had other bodies to throw at possible locations the man could be at, so he dragged himself back to the academy. He had no way of knowing if that was where Diego and Klaus had driven to, but it was a start.

He opened the door to find Vanya, looking small and awkward, in the foyer.

She visibly started. “Oh, um, hi again.” Her smile was small but genuine. “I’m glad you’re okay. I didn’t know, before, if you were hurt, or something.”

Did you know she has powers?

Five simply could not afford to think of Allison right now, so he scraped the words off of his skull. “What are you doing here?”

She flinched. Ah. Perhaps his tone had been harsher than he’d meant it. “Sorry, I just -”

“I brought her here.” Luther stepped into the foyer from the living room.

Five squinted at him. “Why?”

Luther shrugged. “Diego told me to earlier today. Apparently, she’d called the police a couple of days ago about a bloody kid showing up on her doorstep. He figured that meant she was one of us.”

Five raised an eyebrow at Vanya. “And you came with him because . . . ?”

“I mean, the things he said were pretty unbelievable, you know?” She laughed nervously. “Like, being in the Umbrella Academy? Having a family I don’t remember? But, um,” she shrugged helplessly, “he seemed kind.”

“Vanya, that is how people are murdered.” Better late than never to learn she had absolutely zero sense of self-preservation.

Luther looked affronted. “I wasn’t going to murder her.”

Five looked at the pair dubiously. They weren’t exactly who he’d been planning on helping him search, but they would have to do. He pulled out Harold’s papers from his pocket and showed them the mug shot. He already had every detail of the perpetrator’s face memorized, so keeping the picture was really just a formality at this point. “Do either of you recognize him?”

Luther frowned in concentration. “Yeah . . . he came to the fire department a few days ago and just started talking to me. I thought he was in HR or something.”

Vanya nodded. “He came to my apartment once, asking about violin practice. He kind of seemed less interested in the violin than in my past, though? He asked me what my childhood was like, and when I tried to talk about my available classes, he didn’t seem to care. Never saw him again after that.”

Harold had purposefully sought out each of the Umbrella Academy members - probably Allison, as well. 

But why?

“I need you to help me find him,” Five said. “But he’s very dangerous -” never mind that Five wasn’t exactly sure how, yet - “so make sure you stay together.”

Luther nodded curtly. “Where are we going?”

Five blinked away the sudden image of a young, bold Number One standing in front of him and pulled out a different piece of crumpled paper. “This is listed as his house, but we were just there and he wasn’t home. Go there and stake the place out. If you see him, do not approach - just wait for me. If he leaves, Luther, you’ll follow him from a distance, and Vanya, you’ll stay behind so you can let me know where he went.”

“Where will you be?” Vanya asked.

Five pointed at the other address on the page. “This is listed as his dead grandmother’s house. If he’s not there, either, I’ll come straight back.”

Vanya peered at the picture again. “I don’t remember him seeming that scary . . . what did he do?”

“It’s what he will do.” Has done already, if they were living his timeline.

Luther looked concerned. “Shouldn’t you take someone with you?”

“No. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I don’t know where Diego and Klaus are, and . . .” and Allison’s not an option. “And I’ll be fine.”

Luther looked skeptical, but Five did not care, so he told him, “Keep her safe, okay?”

Luther blinked, taken aback. “Of course.”

And like a metronome, at the back of Five’s mind:

Did you know she has powers?

 


 

Five was able to drive the entire distance to the house without getting pulled over, which he contributed to the driving rain and dark clouds. The weather made the drive about a hundred times less enjoyable, but if that was the price he had to pay to get to his destination without any interruptions, then so be it.

Unfortunately, driving in silence for thirty minutes meant he had a significantly harder time driving out thoughts of his conversation with Allison from his head. If Reginald really had known about the apocalypse, why hadn’t he told them about it? Would it not have helped them prepare for it? It seemed absurd to go in the complete opposite direction, and make them forget everything they’d ever been taught. What was the phrase she said he’d always spout? “It was always going to be one of you."   What was “it”?

Five’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel in irritation. Of course he’d traveled back to a time when Reginald was already dead and couldn’t be asked questions.

Unless . . .

He sat up straighter. Did Klaus have enough control over his powers to summon Reginald? It was worth a shot - assuming, of course, Five didn’t find Harold within the next hour and kill him, thus solving the entire problem.

  Five was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed his turn down a gravelly road winding deep into the forest. Assuming Harold were here, Five wanted to catch him by surprise, so he turned off the car and set off on foot the rest of the way. By the time he reached the cabin, he was soaking wet and miserably cold, but he’d take that any day over ash-crusted skin and flaming heat.

He crouched beside a large tree and squinted at the house through the falling sheet of water. The windows were dark holes in its walls, which meant the lights weren’t on, but before Five’s high-strung anticipation could wane completely, he caught sight of something metallic just behind the cabin. 

A truck.

Adrenaline shot through Five’s veins so quickly that he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. An entire lifetime had led him to this singular, pivotal moment. The world would never know what he’d done for it, what he’d lost for it, but that was fine, because it had never been about the recognition, anyway.

He crept toward the house, moving slow, keeping low to the ground. Once he was close enough, he blinked inside, one hand clutching the knife from Gimbel’s.

A lamp clicked on.

Harold Jenkins, reclining in an armchair, looked mildly surprised. “Whoa,” he said, “you were right - he did come!”

Next to him, idly aiming a handgun at Five, was the Handler.

“I always am,” she said with a grin.

Bang.

Chapter 8: You Don't Want Me to Stay Alone

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Nevermore

You Don't Want Me to Stay Alone

The bullet moved fast, but not faster than Five could disappear. He blinked onto Harold’s chair, one foot planted on each armrest, and plunged his knife below Harold’s wide, startled eyes and into his neck. 

Except before the blade could make contact, Harold vanished, and the knife sank into the cushion of the chair.

Five twisted his head to the side. Harold stood a few feet away from the Handler, near the kitchen table, blinking down at his body in wonder. The Handler winked at Five, lifting the suitcase in her other hand slightly. “Don’t tell me you forgot about my trick.”

Five tried to yank his knife out of the chair, but it was stuck fast. He was within spitting distance of the destroyer of Earth - he wasn’t about to quit just because he was up against a woman who could freeze time with her device.

“Come now, Five,” she said, spreading her hands. “You don’t want to ask me how I survived?”

Maybe if he cared about anything other than the man standing behind her, he would. Five blinked to Harold’s side, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and slammed his face into the table. Harold shrieked in pain and tried to jerk away, but Five used his other hand to grip the back of the man’s head and smash it into the table again. As Five reared Harold’s bloody face back for the second time, a gunshot rang out.

Five staggered back, releasing Harold as his other hand automatically fastened onto the hole in his left shoulder. Logic dictated that you go for the most dangerous opponent first, but when he couldn’t accurately determine how long his fight with the Handler would take, he couldn’t risk the possibility of Harold getting away. Besides, whether purposefully or not, she’d missed his heart.

“You said you’d keep me safe!” Harold wailed at the Handler, clutching at his face through a mask of blood.

The Handler rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic - I said I’d keep you alive.”

Five lunged for Harold again. The fate of the entire world hinged on this fight. Harold wasn’t making it out of this cabin alive, even if it killed Five in the process. Any doubts he’d previously had about Harold Jenkins had been thrown out the moment he’d seen the Handler. Her being here was proof enough that he was a crucial cog in the mechanism that was the apocalypse, so all Five had to do was rip him out.

Then, suddenly, the Handler was standing next to him, and the butt of her pistol cracked against the back of Five’s head.

He must have blacked out, but for how long, he couldn’t say, because when he opened his eyes, Harold was gone, and the Handler’s bright red shoes filled his swirling vision. He immediately tried to get up, knowing blinking would be a futile exercise when his skull was pounding this hard.

Something pressed down on his back, directly over the gunshot wound, and he hissed in pain as his chest collided with the floor again. “Five, sweetie,” the Handler crooned from above, “why can’t you let this go? This world’s going to end, but you don’t have to.”

“You know I never will,” he said through gritted teeth. He was going to puke if his head didn’t stop spinning anytime soon. “So why haven’t you killed me?”

Her laugh was loud and mocking. “Why, little boy, it’s because I know something that you -” her heel ground harder into Five’s wound - “don’t.”

The cabin door slammed open. A gun cocked.

“Get off of him.” Diego.

“Oops! Seems I’ve overstayed.” With the click of a suitcase’s button and a crackle as space collapsed in on itself, the pressure on Five’s back disappeared.

With painstaking effort, Five leveraged himself into an upright position at the same time Diego dropped to his knees beside Five. “Where are you hurt?” Diego asked urgently, but Five was only barely able to hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Did you -” Five had to stop and swallow to keep the sudden rush of bile down. “Did you pass a truck on your way here?”

“Yeah, it nearly hit us in the woods, but I’m having a real hard time caring about that right now.”

Five lurched to his feet. “We have to go. We have to go now.”

Diego rose with him, but instead of sprinting to the car outside like he should have, he grabbed the bottom of Five’s shirt and lifted it up. “Don’t touch me,” Five snarled, trying to swat the hand away. He kept missing, which only aggravated him further.

“It’s gone?” Diego exclaimed, but Five really did not have time to figure out what the man was talking about.

Luther’s hulking frame appeared in the doorway, and Five turned to him in relief. Luther had always been the best at following orders. “Get the car started, Number One.”

Luther blinked slowly. Then he looked at Diego. “Was he shot?”

“Yes,” Diego said, frowning, “but the bullet went all the way through. I’m more concerned about the concussion.”

Whoever had the concussion could wait. “Car. Now.”

“Whoooa, I thought you said he seemed fine when he left,” a voice said from behind Luther.

Diego sighed. “Klaus, I told you to wait in the van.”

“I did. Then I got bored.”

“He was fine,” Luther protested. “I would have noticed a bullet wound!”

Five wanted to scream. “We have to leave! He’s getting away!”

“He’s long gone by now, but we are leaving.” Diego jerked his head at Luther. “Help me get him in the van. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” As Luther lumbered toward them, Diego snapped his fingers in front of Five’s face. “Hey. Don’t be falling asleep on me.”

Five scowled. “I’m not.” His eyelids had just taken a little longer to open after he blinked, was all.

“Who was that lady just now?”

“My prior boss.” Five hated that he had to lean on his brothers as they made their way through the onslaught of rain to the still-running van outside, but speed was more vital than his pride. “She was protecting Harold from me.”

Luther opened the back door of the car. Vanya peered anxiously at Five from the backseat. “Oh - what happened?”

Diego grunted as he practically man-handled Five into the seat beside her. Klaus squeezed in next to him. “This is just par for the course at this point,” Diego said. He held out a hand to Luther as rain continued to drench the two of them. “Give me your shirt.”

Luther flinched as though he’d been burned. “What? No.”

Diego scowled. “We need something to stop the bleeding.”

“Use your shirt, then!”

“No way! I’m gonna look like a tool if I’m wearing this jacket without a shirt!”

“Lose the jacket!”

“Lose the - do you hear yourself, man?”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Oh, wow,” Klaus said, clapping his hands to his cheeks, “maybe we are all related, because I want to stab you both.”

“Fine!” Diego viciously tore off his jacket, tossing it unceremoniously into Vanya’s lap. His wadded-up shirt came next. “Hold that against his shoulder, and make sure to press hard. Got it?” He didn’t wait for Vanya’s nod before slamming the door shut and storming to the driver’s side.

Vanya’s hands were steadier than her voice. “Um, am I hurting you?”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Klaus said from Five’s other side, “but probably, yeah.”

“Why aren’t we moving already?” Five snapped over the incessant ringing that no one else seemed to be bothered by.

“Hey!” Diego barked as he whipped the car around and started motoring through the path they came through. “No backseat driving, especially from punks who keep getting shot!”

The road seemed to be made of more rut than road, and every time the van’s tires plunged into one, the vehicle jostled Five violently. His headache worsened with every bump, but he grit his teeth and willed his vision to focus.

After what could have only been minutes at the speed Diego was driving but felt more like hours, Five’s abandoned (and stolen) car gleamed in their headlights. They’d reached the end of the path. “Which way did he go?” Five demanded.

“I told you, he’s long gone by now,” Diego said. “We didn’t see where he went. We’re getting you to a hospital.”

No!” Five snarled. He needed more time.

“Look at yourself! You need professional help, and none of us here are qualified to give that!”

Bleeding out before locating Harold would prove to be a problem, Five conceded to himself, seeing as that had happened once already. But a hospital would sedate him, and that was out of the question, so he offered a compromise. “I know someone who can help.”

“A professional?”

Five thought of Grace’s dusty synapses and said, “Yes.”

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Vanya said.

“Diego.” Five leaned forward as much as he could with Vanya still pressing the shirt against his shoulder. “If you have ever believed me in the last week, even once, you have to trust me now. You can’t take me to a hospital. By the time I get out, it will be too late.”

The van was silent, and Five’s skin crawled with impatience. 

“I say we listen to him,” Luther said. “I mean . . . if he is right, we’re talking about the lives of billions of people on the line.”

Further silence.

“And if he isn’t?” Vanya countered, looking guiltily at Five even as she said it. “We’re potentially letting a kid die for nothing.”

“But I am right, and you know it,” Five said to Diego. “Trained assassins wouldn’t be targeting a thirteen year-old for no reason. Besides, this isn’t going to kill me.”

Diego groaned in frustration, then slammed on the gas and whipped the van onto the road. “Where’s this ‘professional,’ then?”

Five’s fingers relaxed. He hadn’t realized he’d been clenching them into fists. “The academy - my house.”

“This is so dumb,” Diego muttered under his breath. “I’m so dumb.”

They were almost definitely exceeding the speed limit, but it was hard to tell if they were making good time or not when the sheet of rain masked their surroundings. Although the constant pounding on the roof of the van, at first annoying, became almost soothing after a time.

“Don’t let him fall asleep,” came Diego’s sharp voice from the front.

Five didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he opened them now to glare at the back of Diego’s head. “I’m not a child.”

“Sooo,” Klaus said, shifting in his seat to face Five, “what was the deal with that mind-controlling chick from earlier?”

The bile had returned to Five’s esophagus, and he wasn’t sure he could keep it down this time. Additionally, he wasn’t sure how to answer that question just yet.

When Five remained silent, Klaus said, “See, well, I thought she looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought, ‘It’s like when you see an actor in a movie and can’t remember what else you’ve seen them in,’ and then I was like, ‘An actor! Oh yeah!’ Her name’s Alli Rain. I’ve seen a couple of her movies. But -”

“How do you know her?” Diego cut in. “And what did she do to you after we left?”

Five hadn’t had time to deal with Allison’s betrayal himself, so he certainly didn’t have the capacity to try explaining it to them right now. “She’s an old friend.”

Diego barked out a derisive laugh. “‘Old friends’ don’t kidnap you while you’re actively bleeding out.”

“I wasn’t kidnapped.”

“Fine - stolen. Why are you trying to protect her?”

“I’m not.” He was trying to protect them.

“Is she one of us?” Klaus asked. “Because she definitely has powers.”

“She - it doesn’t matter right now, okay? Can we just focus on the end of the world for a second?”

Diego scoffed. “You want us to help you save the world? Kinda hard to do when you’re purposefully keeping us in the dark.”

“I’ve told you everything you need to know.” Barring a few minor details. “How did you all end up here, anyway?”

“Vanya and I were only parked in front of the house you wanted us to watch for about fifteen minutes,” Luther said, “when this van comes screeching around the corner. Diego and Klaus get out, shouting at each other -”

“We weren’t shouting,” Diego muttered.

“ - and so I get out of the car to ask what’s going on, and then Diego runs up to me and says, ‘Have you seen the kid? Or a tall, black woman?’”

“Who was dressed very stylishly,” Klaus said approvingly.

“I tell them that we just saw you a little bit ago, and that you went to go check out a different house, and then Diego freaks out and starts yelling about how we have to go get you right now, or else -”

“I thought you were dead,” Diego said, accusingly.

The ringing in Five’s ears was back. “Well, I’m not.”

“Hey, so,” Klaus said, “I have a question - what was it that Alli Rain said to you? She said it like it was your name, but it wasn’t a name.” He frowned. “I just can’t remember what it was.”

Five opened his mouth to answer, but Diego beat him to it.

“No, no, let me guess - it doesn’t matter.” His tone was scathing. “Just like everything else that has happened so far. How can you say you’ve told us everything we need to know with a straight face when we still don’t even know your name?”

“Because it’s not important,” Five said through gritted teeth.

“If it really wasn’t important, you’d have told us already! So it’s important to you, for whatever reason, but not enough for you to share it with us!”

“Knowing my name isn’t going to help us kill Harold any faster!”

Diego laughed humorlessly. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey,” Vanya said quietly, “why don’t we all just relax and - and chill a little.”

But the role of placater had always been Ben’s, not Vanya’s, and so the rest of the car ride was spent in simmering silence.

By the time they pulled up to the academy, the rain had lightened considerably, although the dark clouds didn’t appear to be going anywhere, and the occasional lightning bolt still streaked across the sky.

“Let’s see your supposed ‘professional,’” Diego grumbled as he put the van in park. He was reaching for the door handle when he suddenly stopped. “Does anybody recognize that car?”

A cherry-red Lamborghini sat dormant on the road in front of them, almost directly in front of the academy. 

Klaus giggled nervously. “It doesn’t look like the vehicle of two mask-wearing assassins, right?”

“No,” Diego said at the same time Five reached a similar conclusion, “it looks like the vehicle of a movie star.”

“Diego,” Five snapped as the man opened his door. “Don’t go in there. Let me talk to her, first.”

“Are you serious? You’re the one who’s not going in there. I’ll handle this.”

Diego!”

But the man had already shut the door behind him and was striding for the academy. 

Five shoved Vanya’s arm away and clambered over Klaus’s lap to yank the door open and run after Diego. If he could blink, this would be so much easier. “Stop, you moron!”

Diego whirled around. “For being an ‘old friend,’” he spat, “you sound scared of her.”

Five balked. “I’m not scared of her.” At least, he didn’t think he was.

But Diego probably should be.

“In what world do you think I’d let you walk alone into a room with someone who’s already kidnapped you once?”

Five’s pulsating headache felt like it was coming from more than just the Handler’s blow now. “I already told you, I wasn’t kidnapped.”

Diego snorted. “Right.” He glanced behind Five. “Keep him here, would you?”

A large arm covered in a still-damp sleeve wound around Five’s abdomen. “Sorry,” Luther said apologetically.

Five all but gnashed his teeth as he beat his hands pathetically against Luther’s arm. His thirteen year-old body was useless and weak and nothing without his powers, so all he could do was watch as Diego opened the door to the academy and walked inside.

“Luther,” Five growled, “let me go.”

Luther spoke hesitantly. “I don’t know, Diego seemed pretty serious about you staying here. And, I mean, if this lady is as dangerous as you guys were making her out to be, maybe it’s better if you don’t go in.”

“Why don’t you wait in the car, big guy?” Klaus called from the backseat of the van. “Aren’t you tired of getting rained on?”

“Um,” Luther said to Five, clearly uncomfortable with the position Diego had put him in but unwilling to release his hold on Five, “would you mind? Going back to the van?”

Yes,” Five hissed just as the academy door opened.

Allison took a step outside, one hand shielding her eyes as she peered through the rain.

Diego, Five immediately noted, was not with her.

A look of excitement and relief swathed her expression when her gaze landed on Five, which then morphed into an emotion Five couldn’t identify when she glanced above him, to Luther. Almost like she was pained.

But then her face cleared, and she called out to the huge man, “Bring him to me.”

The air left Five’s body with an audible grunt as Luther bodily lifted Five off of his feet. Cradling Five in his massive arms, Luther began jogging the rest of the distance toward the academy.

Allison beamed as they drew closer. “I just want to have a chat,” she said to Five once Luther came to a stop next to her. “You and me.”

“There are easier ways to have a conversation with someone,” Five said, surreptitiously glancing through the open door for any sign of Diego.

Allison’s smile broadened. “Not with you, there aren’t.” She looked at Luther. “Put him down.”

After Five’s feet were on the rug outside the threshold, he straightened his jacket, doing his best to look unruffled. “I don’t suppose ‘no,’ is an option, is it?”

Allison leaned forward and brushed her fingernails through his hair, her touch feather-light. “If that’s really how you feel,” she murmured, “you shouldn’t have sent Diego in first.” Then she straightened and walked inside. “Shut the door on your way in!” she said over her shoulder.

Five ground his teeth together. He was wet, cold, hungry, hurting and miserable, and the last thing in the world he wanted was to verbally spar with his sister as the clock kept tick-tick-ticking toward the apocalypse.

So he took a deep breath, adjusted the tie around his neck, and strode through the front door as though he had no better place to be.

Notes:

Sorry AGAIN - I really am excited about this story, I promise, it's just taking me a bit longer to write than the other ones have.

Chapter 9: That's Why You Gotta Sing Your Song

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Nevermore

 

That's Why You Gotta Sing Your Song

 

Five shut the door behind him and followed Allison through the foyer and into the dining room.

Diego sat stiffly in a chair at the table, his eyes glazed in a blue sheen. He didn’t appear to be hurt, although the near-catatonic state was worrisome.

Five caught Allison looking at him and quickly glanced away from Diego. Never let them know they have something you want, but this was Allison, and she already knew, so who exactly was he trying to fool?

She swept around the side of the table and gracefully took a seat next to Diego, then gestured at the chair in front of herself. “Please, sit.”

Five had to pull the chair out with his right hand, given the sluggishly-bleeding hole in his left shoulder. He saw Allison’s sharp gaze track the awkward movement and knew the action hadn’t passed by unnoticed.

They sat in silence for several long seconds. She was testing him, seeing how long it would take before his patience ran out, because he’d always been the most impatient Hargreeves when they were young.

Unfortunately, that was not something he’d grown out of, and as much as he wanted to win this obvious power play, he simply couldn’t afford to. “So,” he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, “what do you want to talk about, Allison?”

Allison grinned. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to hear someone say my full name.”

Five smiled with his teeth. “I think I can hazard a guess.”

Allison was too smart to miss the slight, but too cunning to acknowledge it. “I want to explain myself. And it’s hard to do that with a person who can literally teleport.”

If he could, he’d have already snatched Diego and left by now, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Well, I’m all ears.”

But, it’s no fun if I’m the one doing all the talking. So let’s play a game. A secret for a secret.”

“Allison,” Five ground out between his teeth, “I do not have time -”

“Diego,” Allison said without breaking eye contact with Five, “wait for us upstairs.”

Five was too smart to miss the message, but too cunning to acknowledge it, so he said nothing as Diego silently rose to his feet and left the room, his face still completely blank.

Allison winked at Five. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to entertain himself, don’t you think?”

Maybe she could force him to play this inane game, but she couldn’t force him to small talk. “Why did Dad tell you to rumor our siblings?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “ Bo-ring - you already asked me this one. I don’t know. He never told me.”

“But did -”

“My turn!” She leaned forward eagerly. “How long ago did you show up?”

“Less than a week ago.”

Allison hummed, saying nothing.

“My turn.” If he had to be here, he might as well use his time well. “You said something about Vanya having powers. Explain that.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Allison laughed. “Well, I hate to disappoint, but I don’t remember it well enough to tell you what her powers are. I can tell you that, whatever they were, they were strong enough for Dad to be scared of her.” Her eyes glinted. “Scared enough to have me rumor her into forgetting them when we were four.”

That was very interesting information, but Five schooled his expression to betray nothing.

“So -” Allison’s light tone juxtaposed her weighted gaze - “why’d you leave us?”

Ah.

He supposed he should have expected to hear that question outside of recurring nightmares of pale, burned bodies, but the words still connected like a punch to the gut.

“I was young,” he said, quieter than he had intended, “and stupid, and naïve, and I didn’t know what would happen.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.” Allison’s voice was still pleasant, but something burned in her gaze. “What was so special about this time that you had to come here?”

“I didn’t come here. Not at first.” He looked her in the eyes. “When I walked out of the academy, I traveled too far into the future, and I found the end of the world. Everything was gone. Everyone was dead. I was stuck in a wasteland for decades, until I finally figured out the right equation to travel backwards in time. The reason I came here is because whatever happened to the world happens this week, and I’m going to stop it.”

Allison frowned. Drummed her fingers on the table. “You’re not thirteen.”

“I’m fifty-eight.”

“Hm.” The drumming stopped. “Okay. Your turn.”

Five blinked. “No follow-up questions?”

Allison shrugged. “Not yet.”

Her easy acceptance was disconcerting, but not Five’s priority, because another question had just come to mind. “What happened -”

The front door crashed open behind them. Five turned around in his seat to see Luther standing on the threshold, Klaus and Vanya huddled close behind him. Luther’s face twisted in confusion as he seemed to take in the image of Five and Allison sitting politely at a dinner table. “Did she - are you okay?”

Five rolled his eyes. “What does it look like?” 

Luther’s gaze flitted to Allison. “Where’s Diego?”

“He’s fine,” Five said flippantly before Allison could answer. “And I don’t need you three anymore. Go home.” Before she decides she needs more hostages.

Luther balked. “What?”

“That’s not what you were saying before,” Vanya said quietly.

“In fact,” Klaus piped up, “right before Diego came in here, you sounded -”

“I was overreacting,” Five snarled. Just shut up and get out. “I don’t need your help.”

“But -” Vanya said, hesitantly taking a step forward.

“He has me now.” Allison’s voice was authoritative. “You’re not necessary.”

Luther blinked. “We don’t even know who you are. You can’t expect us to -”

“You don’t even know who he is,” Allison hissed, suddenly venomous. Her chair screeched against the tile floor as she rose to her feet. “You don’t know anything about him. How did he break his arm when he was six? How old was he the first time he got shot?” Her voice climbed in pitch and volume. “Which of Dad’s training always made him sick? How long did Dad let us look for him after he -”

Allison,” Five snapped, because the three in the foyer seemed to be buffeted by an unseen force that was shoving them to their hands and knees. Their eyes were wide and their mouths were open, but they didn’t, couldn’t, make a sound.

Allison’s stony gaze met Five’s and held it. Then she breathed out, slowly, and whatever pressure pushed Luther, Klaus and Vanya to the ground seemed to vanish.

Allison’s words had always carried power, of course, but it had been honed - precise. The display Five just witnessed was messy and chaotic. She hadn’t even specified a command and was still able to bend the surroundings to her will.

“The point is,” she said quietly as the others struggled back to their feet, “you all got to forget.”

Five didn’t know what this Allison was capable of, physically or otherwise, and that put him in the rare, uncomfortable position of not knowing whether he was the scariest person in the room.

Allison must have seen something in his face, because she pursed her lips and sat back down. “We’re not taking visitors at this time,” she said airily, and with that, Luther, Klaus and Vanya turned around and walked out, their eyes a misty blue. “Now -” Allison turned to Five with a smile - “what was your question?”

Five watched the last of them exit the house, wishing her rumor had applied to Diego, as well. But she knew she still needed him in order for Five to cooperate.

Five narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you just rumor me?”

Allison looked startled. “What?”

“Why bother with this whole charade when you could have just rumored me into talking to you instead?”

“I would never do that to you.” Her tone was sharp, fierce. “Is that why you’ve been so hesitant with me? I know I rumored you when I first saw you, but I - I thought you were dying. Otherwise, I would have never. That was the one - the only - time. You believe me, don’t you?”

“You don’t have any problem rumoring our siblings,” he snapped, “so why should I?”

“Because,” Allison said, grabbing both of his hands, “you matter.”

Five ripped them away from her in disgust. “And they don’t?”

Allison tilted her head, as though puzzled. “Of course not. Not since I rumored them.”

Five had nothing to say to that except an explosive, “What?”

“Five, they’re not even real people anymore. They’re just . . .” she looked like she was trying to find the right word. “. . . shells that do whatever I tell them to. They don’t remember us, so what does it matter?”

“Allison,” Five said, mortified that he even had to say this, “their value isn’t determined by their memories.”

“Maybe not,” she said agreeably, “but it’s at least partly determined by free will, which they don’t have. Nobody does except for you and me.”

“Are you hearing yourself? They only don’t have it when you forcibly take it away!”

Allison slammed a hand on the table. “You don’t think I know that? After I rumor someone, they just become puppets that do whatever I want them to! And I - I would never let that happen to you.” Her eyes were wet. “You’re the only real person in this world, Five. I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

“Let me get this straight,” Five said slowly. “I’m important to you because you haven’t rumored me to do anything.”

Allison stood and walked over to Five’s side, then crouched down, gripping his hands tightly. His skin crawled and burned at the contact it wasn’t used to, but he didn’t move them away. “You’re important because you’re all I have left.”

Allison was teetering on the edge of insanity, but to admit that would be to resurface an ancient, faded memory of Five whispering similar sentiments to a broken mannequin, and inviting that comparison made something in Five’s brain screech like a blade being dragged down a windowpane, so instead he looked her in the eyes and said, “Then help me stop the apocalypse.”

She smiled, and her fierce hold on his hands loosened. “Of course. But first! - one last question from each of us.” She leaned forward. “Did you miss us? In the apocalypse?”

Five’s chest constricted. How could a simple, one-syllable word possibly encapsulate the frantic pleas he’d sobbed into the cracked earth, the nights he’d spent muttering their names in a frenzied litany over and over again to never forget them?

“Yes,” he said.

She looked pleased, and Five finally asked the question he’d started before Luther had arrived. “What happened to Dad?”

Allison blinked, then suddenly the smile was back. “He died - I thought you already knew that.”

“Yes, but how did he die? What exactly happened?”

Her expression never faltered. “Heart attack. He was old - what did you expect?”

The last time Five saw his sister lie was over four decades ago, but he could still recognize her tells. Nothing about Allison was passive - even her attempts at manipulation were brazen. When she lied, she held your gaze the whole time, like she was daring you to call her out on it.

“I thought we were telling the truth in this game,” he said quietly.

Allison’s grin widened, her eyes alight with glee. “I don’t remember making that a rule.” She rose to her feet. “And besides, don’t we have the end of the world to stop?”

Five’s skull throbbed, partly in pain, mostly in irritation. “Diego’s still upstairs. And I have to do something about this wound.”

Allison’s face twisted in annoyance. “Oh. I forgot he was still here. Diego!”

Diego came trotting down the stairs. “What would you like me to do with him?” Allison asked Five, sounding bored.

Five stared at Diego’s expressionless face and imagined living a life surrounded by blue-eyed zombies. 

Maybe it would have driven anyone insane.

“Send him home,” he said.

“Go away,” Allison directed the man, who turned on his heel and walked out the same door the rest of their siblings had.

“Okay,” Five said after he’d left, “now I need you to rumor my wound.”

“No.”

Five narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I told you,” Allison said, her eyes flashing, “I’m not going to rumor you anymore. I only did it that first time because I thought you might die.”

“What if I die from this one?”

Allison snorted. “We had the same childhood, Five - I know a life-threatening wound when I see one, and this isn’t it.”

Five ground his teeth together. “You realize what the end of the world means, don’t you? Rumoring this away would give us more time to prepare for it.”

“No.” Allison’s tone brooked no argument. “Besides, even if I wanted to, which I don’t, it might end up making things worse for you. I’ve noticed for the past several years that whenever I bend reality with my rumors, reality tends to . . . undo the last long-term rumor I’ve said. The more I bend reality, the more my past rumors are affected.”

“So if you rumored this one away, my last wound might come back?”

Allison shrugged. “Essentially. Listen, it’s not like any of us were born with an instruction manual to our powers. It’s just what I’ve observed.”

Fine. He hadn’t come to the academy to be healed by Allison in the first place, so he just had to resort to Plan A. He tried blinking upstairs and scowled when his headache spiked. The concussion was still interfering with his blinks - fantastic.

He stomped up the stairs. “Grace!”

 


 

“You’re sure you don’t want an anesthetic, dear?” Grace said as she finished adjusting the sling around his left arm.

Five didn’t bother telling her that it would be useless by now, or that he’d be ditching the sling as soon as he caught sight of his target. He was fortunate that she was functioning enough to be able to stitch his wound - it was fine if some other aspects, like common sense, were beyond her. That could be the very reason she so readily complied with his demand for no sedatives.

He eyed her as she began gathering up the medical instruments. Maybe she wasn’t as sharp as she used to be, but . . . “Grace, how did Reginald die?”

“Oh,” said Grace pleasantly, “he shot himself in the head.”

Five frowned deeply. Suicide was completely and utterly out of character for his stern, emotionless father. The man was far too logical, too mathematical, to act spontaneously. So either his suicide had been planned for a very specific purpose, or . . .

“Well?” Allison’s voice said from behind him. “Where to, fearless leader?”

He’d partnered with agents he couldn’t trust at the Commission. In fact, he’d never been paired with an agent he trusted, so that wasn’t the biggest issue with Allison.

Being unpredictable was one thing - being unpredictable and powerful was quite another.

Unfortunately, he also didn’t really have much of a choice.

Five hopped down from the metal table and fished out Harold Jenkins’ mugshot from his jacket pocket. Crumpled and bloodstained, the picture was a little less immaculate than when he’d shown it to Luther and Vanya. “Do you know him?”

Allison’s face betrayed nothing as she took the paper out of his hand. “Why do you ask?”

Five grit his teeth. “I’m not playing another game, Allison - do you know him?”

Allison shrugged and casually tossed the mugshot into the air, where it fluttered to the ground. “Nope. Never seen him before.”

Harold Jenkins’s blank eyes, one of them red with Five’s blood, stared up at Five from the floor. The man had been actively seeking out the Umbrella Academy members this week, so how had he not interacted with the one that would have been the easiest to find?

Unless . . . 

“Where were you going the first day you saw me?” Five asked.

Allison’s eyebrows drew together. “I got a letter a couple of days ago. It was . . .” Her gaze flicked to Five, then away. “Whoever sent it knew a lot about my past. It was more information than was ever shared with the public, and I was . . . intrigued.”

Five knew probing her for further details about the contents of the letter would be fruitless, so he asked, “Who was it from?”

“I don’t know. It was signed, ‘A friend.’” She snorted derisively. “They asked me to meet them at the house I ran into you outside of. They never showed - although, to be fair, I didn’t wait as long as I might have if I hadn’t seen you.”

Five scrubbed at his face with his right hand. His eyelids were heavy. This week’s events were catching up to him, but he only needed to outpace them for a few more days. The apocalypse was due in less than forty-eight hours. “Did he mention anything else in the letter? Like why he wanted to meet?”

Allison shook her head. “Just that he wanted to talk.”

Five studied Allison, the beginning of a plan starting to click into place in his brain. “How would you feel about being used as bait?”

Allison blinked, then grinned wolfishly. “I think it sounds delightful.”

Notes:

Thank you for your amazing reviews (despite my update schedule - or should I say, lack thereof). I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying the ideas my brain vomits up occasionally

Chapter 10: You Keep Tapping at My Door

Notes:

It's been so long I don't even know if anyone is reading this anymore lol DX
My bad - but here it is anyway!

Chapter Text

Nevermore

 

You Keep Tapping at My Door

 

The van sat where they had parked it, abandoned, the keys still dangling from the ignition. “Where did you make them go when you rumored them away?” Five said.

Allison shrugged as she wandered toward her cherry-red Lamborghini. “How should I know? I told them to leave. They left. Does it matter where?”

Five could only hope they’d at least stayed together as they trekked who knew where. “We’re taking the van.”

Allison pouted. “Why?”

Five hefted himself into the driver’s seat as well as he could with the arm not strapped to his chest. “Allison, the goal is to avoid drawing attention to ourselves.”

Allison cast him a skeptical glance as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Right, and a child driving a car will do just that.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Allison smiled. “You don’t have to trust me to be my brother.”

Five snorted humorlessly as he started to pull away. “My position as your brother is not a priority of mine.”

Allison was not perturbed. “Give it time.”

“We won’t have time if we don’t -”

A large form staggered out in front of the van. Five slammed on the brakes as Allison said, “Luther?”

Luther, his steps wobbly, placed both hands on the hood of the van and squinted through the windshield. “Give him back,” he said. He sounded drunk.

Five cast a sidelong glance at Allison, whose sole focus was the man in front of them. “I didn’t know people could fight your rumors.”

Allison looked torn. “They can’t. Not normally. But Luther -”

Luther’s slightly cross-eyed stare moved to Allison. “I . . . I know you.”

Pain warped Allison’s face. For the briefest moment, she looked like the child Five had left all those years ago.

Then her expression hardened, and she said tightly, “Drive.”

Five eased the van away from Luther, who was too uncoordinated to do anything more than take a half-step backward. Then Five left him in the taillights, standing alone in the drizzling rain.

 


 

“Remember,” Five said, “you’re just going to ring the doorbell and wait outside. If no one comes to the door within five minutes, make a casual loop around the house. Then you’re going to - are you even listening to me?”

Allison tilted her head toward him without looking away from her reflection in the passenger’s interior mirror, her fingers fluffing her hair. “Hm?”

Allison.” Five reached over and snapped the mirror shut. “This man is dangerous. Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

“Aww,” Allison cooed, patting Five on the cheek. It took every fiber in his aggravated being not to rip her hand from her wrist. “Is my baby brother worried about me?”

“I’m worried about the mission,” Five said, voice low. “I’m worried about you screwing it up.”

Allison’s smile was sharp enough to make Five uneasy. “Oh, honey - your concern is endearing, but I promise you that I can take care of myself.” She laughed. “I’ve managed it for this long, after all!”

Five forced his clenched fingers to relax. “Why did Luther act like that?”

There. A hairline fracture in her flippant veneer. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Why did it seem like Luther was fighting your rumor?”

Allison opened her mouth to answer.

Five talked first. “I want the truth this time.”

Allison seemed to study him for a moment. Then finally she said, “Luther didn’t leave the academy until we were in our twenties. We spent so much time together, going on missions and fighting crime, that he eventually built up a resistance of some sort to my rumors. My rumors - at least, the ones that don’t bend reality - aren’t as effective on him.”

“You regret rumoring him to forget,” Five realized.

Allison’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “I never wanted to rumor him. It didn’t make sense! All the others, they wanted to leave. I was just giving them what they were asking for, so when Dad told me to make them forget, I did! But Luther never made that choice! Dad just told me to do it after the accident.” Allison’s eyes were narrowed in rage. “I think he felt guilty. He wanted Luther as far from him as possible after what happened.”

Five frowned. “What accident?”

“It was a mission that went wrong. Luther was hurt, bad, and Pogo managed to save him, but it . . . affected him.”

Luther’s oversized torso. His unwillingness to take off his shirt. 

Allison’s eyes were focused on something far beyond Five. “And then Dad had me rumor Pogo, too. I didn’t stay much longer after that. I didn’t even tell Dad I was leaving. I just packed my bags and didn’t say a word.” She snorted. “Not that he cared.”

“Then what?”

Allison smiled, all solemnity vanishing from her face. “And then I found you!”

Five inwardly sighed. She’d clearly shared as much as she was willing to at the moment. “Okay, Allison, ring his doorbell, and if no one answers, make -”

“- a loop around the house, see if I notice him peeking out of any windows, and if I don’t, leave this note on his door,” Allison said, rolling her eyes and flapping the piece of paper in her hand at him. “Yes, I heard you the first time, Number Five.”

Five’s eye twitched. “Great. I can’t move the van any closer in case he recognizes it, so you’ll have to walk from here.”

Allison heaved out a dramatic sigh and opened her door. “If I had known I’d be walking so much today, I would have worn my casual heels.”

Five watched her until she disappeared around the corner of the block. He thought his tension would ease the moment she was out of sight, but her absence only seemed to heighten his anxiety. What if she decided that she was bored and left? What if she tried to fight Harold and lost? (Although Five found that scenario highly unlikely.) What if she was working with Harold?

That thought pulled Five up short. Was it possible? She was certainly crazy enough to condemn the world into oblivion on a whim. But he didn’t think she’d been lying when she’d said Five was all that mattered to her. Would she risk endangering her relationship with him?

He gnawed at his bottom lip. He couldn’t fail now - not when he’d come so far, lost so much. And he was closer to stopping the apocalypse than he’d ever been before, so it would be inane if this were the part where his momentum screeched to a halt, but here he was, sitting in a van doing absolutely nothing as the apocalypse crept closer and closer.

He rolled his stiff shoulders, quietly hissing as the movement pulled against his gunshot wound. He could admit, if only to himself, that this was not an ideal situation. He still couldn’t blink, his dominant arm was strapped to his chest, and his back-up, while powerful, was less than reliable.

But it would be enough. He would make it be enough. The man who had destroyed everyone and everything, who had ensured there would be no one to greet the thirteen year-old who stumbled into the wasteland of the future, would die by Five’s hands.

He reflexively reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the eyeball. He remembered how hot it was when he found the prosthetic. He remembered how stiff Luther’s fingers were when he peeled them back. He remembered clutching that eye for hours on end, wondering what it had seen, who it had come from. 

He’d taken the eyeball out of his pocket at some point. He didn’t remember doing that. It gazed at him, through him, as glassy as the eyes of his siblings’ corpses.

Shouldn’t Allison have been back by now?

The car was too hot. Stifling. It was already hard to breathe around the smoke and the ash, but now he had to deal with the sticky air trapped inside this baking vehicle. He couldn’t remember why he’d gotten in the car in the first place. It wasn’t like the engine worked. And even if it did, where would he go? Where had he been hoping this car could transport him to?

The eyeball was still staring at him.

“What do you want?” Five asked it, resigned.

It laughed. I already have what I want.

“I’m going to kill you when I find a way out,” Five promised.

No, you won’t. I’m the only real thing you have left. You need me.

Five’s fingers tightened around the prosthetic. He could smash it against the car window right now. He could grind it to pieces underneath the heel of his foot. He could - 

The van door behind him slid open.

Five sucked in a gulping breath of crisp, fresh air. There wasn’t any ash. A paved road, unbroken by tumbled mortar and uncratered by fallen debris, stretched out before him. The inside of the car was cool, not hot and smothering.

He really needed his head examined.

He really needed to start locking the van.

“Klaus,” he said, equal parts annoyed and relieved even though he wasn’t about to show it, “I told you -”

Sharp pain stabbed into the side of his neck. Five’s good hand immediately snapped up toward the source of discomfort. A needle. Someone had stuck him with a syringe.

He pried at the object with his fingers, but already he could tell how clumsy his movements were. Darkness lurked at the edges of his vision.

“Sorry,” said a decidedly un-apologetic voice that wasn’t Klaus’s. The grinning face of Harold Jenkins loomed in front of Five. “But I couldn’t risk you trying anything after last time. Besides, I have to repay you for this nice gift you left me.” He tilted his head to the side, and that was when Five realized his glassy left eye didn’t move with his right one.

You need me, Harold’s eye hissed at Five.

Five lurched forward and wrapped the fingers on his good hand around Harold’s neck. He squeezed as hard as he could, but his one thirteen year-old hand couldn’t wrap around the entirety of the man’s throat, and his squeeze felt more like a limp pulse.

Harold’s eyes had widened at the initial movement, but now he smiled indulgently and gently pried Five’s hand off. “Now, now,” he murmured. “I’m not going to kill you just yet. You still have an important part to play.”

“In the apocalypse?” Five had to fight to get the words out. He couldn’t stay awake much longer. Whatever drug Harold injected him with was fast-acting.

Harold sounded confused. “Apocalypse? What do I care about the world?” He leaned forward, his right eye gleaming, his left one dead and glazed. “You’re going to help me destroy the Umbrella Academy.”

Just before Five went under, he remembered the Handler’s words to him: “Why, little boy, it’s because I know something that you don’t.”

Chapter 11: Nevermore, Nevermore, Nevermore

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Nevermore

Nevermore, Nevermore, Nevermore

 

Something slapped Five across the face, sharply dragging him from unconsciousness. “Wakey, wakey!”

Five opened his eyes and fought to bring his swimming gaze into focus. Harold Jenkins leered at him, far too close to Five’s face for his liking. “Oh good, you’re up!”

Before Five’s mind was fully awake, before he was even aware of where (or when) he was, his body lunged forward to rend flesh from bones, to rip and shred and kill, because if this man died, the apocalypse did, too. But his movement halted abruptly with a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder. His hands were tied behind his back, the restraints pulling awkwardly at his gunshot wound.

Harold just watched him, a slight smile on his face.

Five tried to blink, but the leftover drug in his system wouldn’t let him. After forty-five years, here he was, inches away from the catalyst of the end of the entire world, and he couldn’t do a single fucking thing.

Then he realized - he didn’t know how long he’d been out. He didn’t know what time it was. 

He didn’t know how long he had left until the apocalypse.

He whipped his head to the side, looking for anything that could hint at the time, be it a clock or sunlight, but there were no clocks, no windows, just rows and rows of empty seats stretching out before him. And finally, belatedly, that was when he realized the chair he was tied to was set up on a stage. They were in a theater.

Hadn’t he found his siblings’ corpses in the burnt shell of a theater?

“Have you calmed down?” Harold asked him patiently.

Five forced himself to take slow, even breaths through his nostrils. He could untie himself eventually, but he needed time (didn’t he always?). Hopefully Harold would be willing to supply him with it. “What do you want with me?” he said while his fingers scrabbled furiously at the rope cinched around his wrists.

Harold clapped his hands together. “What a question! Quite frankly, Number Five, there are a lot of things I want from the Umbrella Academy.” He leaned in close enough for Five to smell the man’s stale breath. “I want you to hurt like I did. I want you to pay.”

“What did the Umbrella Academy ever do to you?” Five sneered, still working at the ropes behind his back.

“Nothing,” Harold said, “and that’s exactly the problem.”

The bad news was that the man was definitely crazy. The good news was that he was a talker - Five got the distinct feeling that he’d been waiting for someone to ask him these exact questions so that he had an excuse to monologue. On a stage, no less. 

“I was born on the same day as the rest of you, but Reginald Hargreeves said he didn’t want me! The Umbrella Academy was my way out - it was how I was going to leave my father and his shit household, and Hargreeves took that away from me. I wanted to kill him.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Get in line.” There. He’d found the knot.

“But that bitch beat me to it while I was still in prison.”

That pulled Five up short. “What?”

Harold clenched his fists. “The press said it was suicide. Which it was - he shot himself, after all. But do you know who visited him the same day he offed himself?”

Five had already suspected as much, but it still dredged up an emotion he couldn’t identify when he said, “Allison.”

“Yeah! ‘Course, now she goes by ‘Alli Rain.’ It’s like the rest of the world forgot about the Umbrella Academy. It’s like you all got to fade into obscurity.” Harold’s eyes were bright and manic. “But that’s not what any of you deserve.”

Five barked out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re going to kill me because you were abused by your dad instead of ours?”

The back of Harold’s hand cracked against the side of Five’s face. “None of you appreciated what you had.”

Five worked his jaw back and forth. His fingertips were raw, but he was close to pulling the knot free. “And you would have?”

“Of course,” Harold spat. “At least you had each other.”

Oh, didn’t Five know that. Had known it, actually, since he first stumbled across their burnt, lifeless bodies.

Harold huffed out a sigh and took a step back. “But I’m forgetting myself. You asked what I wanted with you.” He walked to the side of the stage and disappeared behind a curtain. Bright stage lights flared to life, throwing yellow illumination on the wooden planks and causing Five to automatically squint. He could barely make out the plush audience seating past the glare now. 

“You, Number Five,” Harold crowed, walking back out onto the stage with his arms outstretched, “are going to be the star of tonight’s show!”

Five’s eye twitched. “What?”

“Well,” Harold said, pausing, “you won’t be alive to see it, but you play a very important part, don’t worry.”

“An important part in what?” He was almost finished with the knot. Talk for a little longer, you lunatic.

“My first plan was to get close to Number Three - I know she remembers - and then turn her against the rest of the Academy. She’s always been friends with Number One. I was going to kill him and make it look like one of the others had done it - however, you practically dropping out of the sky was perfect! Killing Number One was going to be tough. Killing a teenager?” He smirked at Five. “Not so much.”

This didn’t make any sense. Where was Harold’s plot to end the world? What did he have to do with the apocalypse?

Harold pulled a knife from his belt and grinned at Five. “I’ve invited the esteemed Umbrella Academy to join us. They should be here in a few minutes. Who do you think Number Three will blame when she finds your body, stabbed to death?” He took a step forward, then raised the knife above his head.

Five let the loose rope in his fingers fall and dove forward, colliding with Harold’s stomach and sending him to the ground with a startled oof. The knife clattered to the stage, several feet away from the two of them.

“You little -” Harold snarled, trying to shove Five off, but Five, gunshot wound or not, braced his fingers on the sides of Harold’s head and plunged his thumbs into the man’s eyes - more importantly, into the red, swollen eye socket the glass prosthetic was encased in.

Harold shrieked in pain, wildly swinging his fists up. One hand caught Five’s cheek, but he hung on, pressing even deeper, and then Harold’s other hand gripped Five’s hair and bodily flung him to the side.

Five growled, hauling himself to his knees. The drug Harold had injected him with slowed his reaction times and weighed down his limbs. Harold was scrambling to his feet, going for the knife.

Five lunged, reaching the knife at the same time as Harold’s grasping fingers. Five clenched the hilt with all his might, but a thirteen year-old’s might left much to be desired. Harold ripped the knife away, cutting a long, deep slice of pain in the palm of Five’s hand. “A-ha -” Harold said, panting, but Five was already pivoting on his heel and slamming his bony elbow into the man’s ribs.

Harold screamed as something cracked, but Five was unable to press his advantage as the knife swung up. He had to stumble backward to avoid the blade opening up his neck in a fountain of blood. 

“This,” Harold seethed, the skin around his eyes inflamed, “was supposed to be easier.”

“I don’t know who told you that,” Five said.

Harold stalked toward him. Five backed up warily, one eye on the knife, and then pretended to stumble. Harold immediately thrust the knife forward, but Five sidestepped the lunge and shoved at the man’s back, using his momentum against himself. Harold sprawled onto the stage on his belly, and Five was immediately on top of his back, one hand under Harold’s chin, the other on the back of his head -

Harold rolled himself over, sprawling Five onto the ground, and then Five heard a door open and the rush of multiple pairs of footsteps.

“What the -” someone said.

Five, drugged, hurting, high on adrenaline, spiked on the imminent apocalypse, laughed wildly at the voice.

Harold scowled. “They’re not supposed to be here yet!” He grabbed Five’s arm.

“Diego,” Five yelled as Harold hauled on his arm, dragging him closer, “shoot him!”

“I can’t!” came Diego’s aggravated shout. Five could just make out the silhouettes of four of his siblings across the room. Two of them, one substantially larger than the other, were running for the stage. “I might hit you!”

And?” Five said. What was his one, singular life versus all of humanity?

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m going to -”

“There’s still time,” Harold muttered feverishly. “I can still destroy the Umbrella Academy.” He brought the knife down toward Five’s chest.

Five lifted both hands and grabbed Harold’s forearm, ignoring the fire that shot from his shoulder at the sudden movement. He pushed up with every ounce of strength he had, his muscles quivering, sweat slicking the palms of his hands as he fought against the weight of a full-grown man.

The knife hesitated in the air, trapped between warring forces.

But it wasn’t enough.

Harold pressed harder, using both of his hands, and the knife started to descend again, albeit slower than before. His eyes - one unseeing, ringed in purplish red, the other bloodshot and manic - bored into Five’s as he started to laugh, spittle flying from his mouth.

Diego and Luther weren’t going to get here in time. Five was going to die, and the rest of the world would follow soon after.

Diego, shoot him!” Five screamed.

“Shit, I can’t -”

Five’s left arm twinged in warning before abruptly buckling, caving to the unrelenting force from above and the pain from the wound below, and Harold plunged the knife through Five’s chest.

No!” someone roared. Five couldn’t tell who. He was too busy trying to haul in the copper-flavored breath he’d just choked out to do much else.

He’d starved in the apocalypse. He’d broken three ribs on a Commission job, once. He’d been shot, beaten, burned, sick enough to vomit blood, but the thing that would accomplish what those had failed to would be a knife in the hand of an emotionally stunted man-child. It was almost funny, if Five wasn’t aware of the patient, creeping apocalypse lurking around the corner.

Another thought struck him, but this one wasn’t as funny. His siblings were going to die without knowing his name.

Harold yanked the knife, now red to the hilt, out of Five’s chest. Five’s hand slipped off of Harold’s arm and slid to the floor. After half a century of survival, of clawing his way to the next breath, he quite suddenly had nothing left. It was a disconcerting feeling. But he summoned the last of his strength, the dregs of what little remained to him, and said around the taste of blood, “It’s Five.”

Harold squinted at him. “What?”

They were too far away, and even if they weren’t, they were too busy shouting things to hear him, anyway. Despite that, Five said it again. “My name is Five.”

A door slammed open. Five’s head lolled to the side. 

The figure framed in a different doorway than the ones his siblings had come through seemed to take in the scene on the stage. Harold was still knelt over Five’s prone body, a bloody knife in his hand. Based on the volume of pounding footsteps, Diego and Luther were almost on them.

“Allison!” Harold said over the sound of Five’s siblings. He hastily flung his weapon away, letting it clatter to the edge of the stage, and his expression crumpled into a facade of shocked despair. “I tried to stop Diego, I did, but -”

I heard a rumor,” Allison said coldly, and although the words were spoken, not shouted, they cut through the rest of the noise like a blade through skin, leaving nothing but blood and silence in their wake, “that you were nothing.”

Several things happened at once.

One: Harold - immediately, with no preamble, no last words, no last gasp - crumpled into dust. Ash - not ash, dust - settled onto Five’s skin, followed closely by the man’s clothing. The prosthetic eye dropped onto Five’s chest before rolling off and onto the stage.

Two: The suffocating pain in Five’s rib cage disappeared. Strength surged back into his limbs. The knife wound Harold had inflicted on him was gone, and so was any drug still left in his system. Allison had not just killed Harold - she’d erased him and any impact he’d had on the world.

Three: Before Five could seriously consider the ramifications of that, new, sharp pain flared from his side. Wetness seeped into his shirt. The shrapnel wound from yesterday was back.

Five, wincing, sat himself up. Allison trotted down the empty aisle in her high heels, the previous moment of anger passed, evidently. “I leave you alone for ten minutes,” she chided him fondly, “and you go and get yourself kidnapped.”

It was over. Harold Jenkins was dead, and the apocalypse hadn’t happened.

Five should’ve been celebrating, but he couldn’t stop staring at the glass eye. It rested innocently on the stage, its pupil gazing straight at him, as though to ask, Then why are you still scared?

Five suddenly realized the sounds from the rest of his siblings had ceased. Klaus, nearer to the back with Vanya, was standing stock-still, his stare fixed forward and glassy-eyed. Vanya was blinking rapidly, one hand resting on the side of her temple, her head bowed. Luther was crouched in one of the aisles, his hands fisted around his ears. Diego had one foot on the steps leading up to the stage, but he was frozen in place, looking straight at Five.

“Five?” said Diego, uncharacteristically quiet.

Allison’s rumor had been so big, so powerful, it had to have undone years’ worth of past rumors, including his siblings’ memories.

This was what Five had wanted the whole time, wasn’t it? To avert the apocalypse. For his siblings to remember him.

Why couldn’t he escape the sense of wrongness clambering up around his ears?

“How -” Vanya’s voice, directed at Allison, was quiet. “How could you do that to us?”

Diego whirled on Allison, who’d momentarily halted. “What the fuck, Allison!” he snarled. “That was years of my life! I didn’t even recognize Five!”

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Allison snapped, her eyes flashing. “You all left. Why else would you want to leave except to forget? I was giving you what you wanted.”

Diego made a strangled sound in his throat. Vanya began to say, “That’s -”

A high-pitched, frantic sound cut her off. It took Five a moment to identify the source: Klaus’ laughter. His lips were pulled back in what could have been a smile but was more like a sob. “You rumored me not to see Ben!”

Allison’s flinch was barely noticeable. Five only saw it because he was looking for it. “It’s not my fault his ghost wouldn’t shut up! You would have kept coming back to the academy!”

“He’s been alone this whole time!” Klaus said. He turned to the side, to something the rest of them couldn’t see, and sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

“Listen,” Diego said, “I’m sorry I left you with Dad, and I’m sure the others are, too, but that doesn’t mean -”

Allison clenched her fists. “You abandoned us,” she hissed. A chill swept through the room. Ice crept up the sides of the stage. “First we lost Five, then Ben, and that was when we should have stuck together. But you wouldn’t shut up about running away, and you -” she turned to Klaus and Vanya - “were quick to follow. You wanted to leave, to forget? Fine! By all means, forget everything!”

“Allison,” Luther choked out, lifting his head. His cheeks were streaked with tears.

Allison’s flinch was visible even to the untrained eye, this time. 

“Why?” he said.

Allison’s mouth twisted. “I didn’t want to,” she said to Luther, her voice soft. The ice receded. The chill faded. “Not to you. Never to you. But Dad -” she bit off the rest of her sentence, her eyes narrowed. “Well. It doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.”

“Allison,” Vanya said, sounding mortified, “did you -?”

“It was an accident,” Allison snapped, whirling on her. “I just wanted to have a conversation. I wanted to know why he made me do it. I didn’t think -” she barked out a humorless laugh. “I never even realized my rumors worked on him.”

“Five,” Diego said sharply, “are you bleeding?”

Yes, he was, but that wasn’t the problem right now.

The problem was still sitting on the stage in the middle of a pile of ash (dust?), and Five could hear it gloating.

Diego knelt next to him, asking, “Where are you hurt?”

Luther was a few steps behind Diego. He bent down, grabbed something, and rose back to his feet.

The eye rested in the palm of his hand.

Five stopped breathing.

“This was the guy’s?” Luther was asking, but the question sounded a million miles away.

It was just a coincidence that Luther happened to pick up the glass eye in this timeline. It was mere happenstance that Luther’s corpse had been the one holding it in the apocalypse.

How did it already have ash on it?

“Five?” Diego’s fingers snapped in front of Five’s face.

Allison sighed, annoyed. “Get out of the way, Diego. I’ll take care of him.”

Immediately, Diego was on his feet, standing between Allison and Five. “Like hell you will,” he growled.

Allison blinked, taken aback. Then she spoke, her words icy, her tone dangerous. “Do you think you could stop me?” 

I know something you don’t, the Handler had said.

Diego scoffed. “What, are you just going to erase my memories again?”

“I could,” Allison snarled, taking a step forward. “Or I could just skip the niceties and kill you.”

Diego staggered back a step, as though something had shoved him. A cut appeared on his cheek, dripping blood.

Five’s heart thundered against his chest. “Allison -” he said, but his voice was drowned out by Vanya’s.

“Are you going to erase Five’s memories, too?” Vanya had come to the stage and was standing next to Diego, lengthening the wall separating Allison from Five.

Allison’s eyes blazed in fury. “Like your opinions even matter.” Without looking away from them, she held out her hand to Five impatiently. “Five, let’s go.”

“Ah ah ah,” a breathy voice sing-songed, startlingly close to Five’s ear. Klaus’s lanky arms wrapped around Five. “We just got him back, sister mine. You don’t get to just take him.”

“Allison,” Luther said quietly, taking a single step forward.

I. Don’t. Care!” Allison shrieked. Every word rattled the theater. Dust drifted from the ceiling. “I don’t care what any of you think! I was the only one who stayed! I’m the only one who deserves him!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Five, come here!”

Five rose on feet propelled by someone else, shrugging himself out of Klaus’s hold, and walked forward. His wound stretched and widened and gushed blood down his pants, onto the floorboards, but he couldn’t make himself stop. 

Diego tried to put a hand on Five’s shoulder, but Five, on a volition not his own, twisted out of the way. “Five -” Diego said, sounding panicked.

Five stopped in front of Allison, whose eyes were still closed. “Allison,” Five said. His side throbbed. “I need you to calm down.”

Allison opened her eyes. She looked at him, then at the trail of blood he’d left behind, and her eyes widened. A hand covered her mouth. “I rumored you,” she whispered, horrified. Panic lit like a beacon behind her eyes. 

Five fought to keep his tone even. “Allison, it’s fine. I’m still here.”

She collapsed to her knees. “I have no one left,” she said, voice cracking on a sob.

Five followed her to the ground, ignoring the flare of pain in his side. “You have me. The others remember now, too. You have them.”

I know something

Allison smiled sadly at him, gently bringing up one hand to cup his chin, her thumb caressing his cheek. “Oh, my little puppet,” she said, “that’s exactly what I would want you to say.”

“Allison, please, look at me,” Five said.

you

“I want the world to burn,” Allison said, eyes vacant.

don’t.

The earth began to tremble.

Five lurched away from Allison. Harold Jenkins had only been the catalyst for the apocalyptic destruction that was his sister. He fought the urge to vomit.

“What’s happening?” Vanya said as the ground continued to shake.

The world was burning from the inside out. “The apocalypse,” Five said tonelessly.

“The - but I thought that one dude was the cause of it! He’s dead!”

“It was Allison,” Five said. “It was her all along.” All this time, he’d thought that if he had been there with his siblings, they would have been able to fight off the apocalypse together. Yet here he was, watching it unfold as though nothing had changed.

“What do we do?” Klaus asked, eyes wide.

Five pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Think, he had to think. It was pretty much all he’d been able to do in the apocalypse besides survive, so he should’ve been good at this.

Heat rose from the vibrating ground. It smothered Five, threatening to drown him in its grip, just like it always had as he stalked past burnt buildings, ashy corpses -

Five wrenched his eyes open. He hadn’t died to the first one. He refused to die to this one. “Everyone hold hands,” he commanded. 

“Stop,” Allison said.

They stopped.

“You’re trying so hard, and it’s stressing me out,” she said dully. “Just relax.”

Five’s shoulders slipped downward. The earth rumbled pleasantly beneath his feet, soothing his tense muscles. He looked around the circle at his siblings and saw that they felt the same. Their lips were curled into small, placid smiles.

Except for Luther. Luther, for some reason, was crying, his face twisted into a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he said, each word sounding like an ordeal. Then he turned, moving as though he was straining against something invisible, and his fist cracked against the side of Allison’s face.

Allison dropped like a stone, but Luther caught her before she could hit the ground. He gazed at the rest of them beseechingly. “I didn’t know how else to make her stop.”

Five shook his head roughly, clearing any lingering fog from her rumor. “Hold hands,” he said again. His siblings complied, Luther awkwardly positioned between Vanya and Diego as he held Allison’s limp body in his arms.

“What’s the plan?” Diego shouted. The quaking was stronger now, rattling the foundation of the building.

Five locked eyes with each of them and said with more confidence than he felt, “We’re going back in time.”

Never mind that he’d only done it successfully once before.

Five pulled on his power, ignoring the ache of his shoulder and the pain in his side, and familiar blue light began to envelop him and his siblings.

“For what it’s worth,” Diego said above the noise, looking at Five (and knowing Five), “I’m glad you’re back. Even though you’re an asshole now.”

“‘Now’?” Klaus snorted from Five’s other side.

Five’s family consisted of a bunch of morons, some with world-ending powers.

Five would do anything for them.

“For what it’s worth,” Five said in a moment of honesty, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

The blue light swirled into a crescendo until he could no longer see the rest of his siblings.

This time, he thought, we’ll get it right.

Notes:

I have /so/ many things I want/need to rant about. First and foremost, I didn't like season 3. I thought Five was super out of character (he voted NOT to save the world??? the thing he committed his entire existence to????), and I didn't like what happened with Allison at all (either make her a villain or don't - if she were ACTUALLY committed to doing anything to get Claire back, she could have done WAAAAY more but whatever I digress). Anyways, I hated season 3 (except for the Footloose thing, that stuff was legendary), and it kind of killed any writing desire I had for this fandom.
Then season 4 came, and wow. Wow. Season 3 looks like a masterpiece in comparison, honestly. I hate season 4 so much that it actually factually fueled me with enough spite to finish this story.
TLDR: Season 3 was bad, but season 4 was bad enough to send me back to the fandom.

Now, on an actual note about this story, I tried to follow season 1 as closely as possible (with obvious changes). So I wanted the ending to be like the season 1 ending. I originally had plans to follow this plot into season 2, but considering how long it took me to finish this one (*sheepish grin*), I probably won't do it.
Thanks for reading :)