Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The jacket is hanging over the staircase railing and Five stares at it.

It's his, he'd recognise it anywhere. Of course, the last time he saw it, it was dirty; a layer of ash and dust covering it.

It had a tear down the seam of the right arm and the left one was only hanging on by a thread. The short, soft, artificial fur was matted, and it reeked of decay. Not that Five noticed back then; everything stunk. He, himself probably smelled no different than the multiple corpses laying around the debris.

Five reaches his hand out and let's it glide over the jacket. It almost feels the same as when he took it off Klaus’ body.

For a moment, Five's heart skipped a beat. When he took it all those years ago, he apologised profoundly for stealing it, but after years of living in the apocalypse, and having taken hundreds of things from the dead - they didn't need them anymore and Five was a foul beast, taking and taking and surviving -  the lines between theirs and his went kind of blurry.

He was the only person on the planet after all, to whom else should things belong if not him.

And Five remembers the tears he cried for his brother, and how he left the jacket in that hellscape, so why is it here?

Who took his - Klaus' - jacket and brought it here? Five doesn't own many things but the few possessions he has are guarded carefully.

And this - this is his jacket.

Five treasured it greatly, was always careful when he wore it. Sure, some wear and tear can't be helped, especially since he had it for so long, but in a weird way he only thought about when very, very sad, this was a gift from his brother. Kinda, at least.

What if someone is stealing all his things, not even stopping before his most important belongings?

Worse even, Five thinks suitably horrified, what if Klaus finds this and decides to wear it?

Five doesn't want to see his brother in the clothes he died, again.

So, with a quiet hum, he takes the jacket of the railing and blinks into the safety of his room, shoving it under his pillow.

*.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~*

The jacket is the first item he takes back, but it certainly isn't the last.

Allison’s scarfs are next. He takes them from where they're hung over the back of chairs or the couch. His sister only wore one of them when Five found her – he can’t say what colour it once was, grime and dirt were clinging to the fine threads and ruining the vibrant look – and he wore it around his face for years after he unwrapped it from her cold, cold throat.

Here, there is no ash, and Five isn’t sure which one the exact same scarf is, so he takes them all. They  find a new home in his room, wrapped around closet handles, hanging between his clothes, draped over Dolores’ chair. Some he even hides around the house – just in case.

Allison gets incredibly snippy when she notices yet another scarf vanished in thin air, and she and Klaus have long arguments on who took it. Allison comments on how Klaus is stealing them, and just doing it, because his jacket went missing a few days ago. In return, Klaus raises an accusatory finger which he points at her and screeches about how that was clearly a confession.

Five shrinks down in his chair at the kitchen table and wishes he could stop pressing the scarfs over his nose and mouth when he feels the panic rise. Wishes it wasn’t easier to breathe through the fabric just because it’s familiar and he feels safer with the protective layer on his face. He shouldn’t need the protection around the house. His siblings are safe to be around again, they're not omitting toxic fumes from their rotten corpses.

He reaches a shaky hand out to take a sip of coffee, but the cup is way too hot and he retracts his arm again, wishing he didn’t rely on the warmth of Klaus’ old jacket. But it’s great to hide his tears in, and Klaus is very tall and lanky, which means his clothes hang off of Five’s thirteen-year-old frame.

He glances to where Klaus and Allison are still being snappy to each other, on just-so the soft side of vicious and wishes he didn’t need the jacket next to him in his bed, wishes he could go one fucking night without pulling it on and marvelling in how big and warm it is. How the jacket felt just like the first time on his skin, like a hug he’d always denied and then craved for eternity in an isolated hell.

Luther walks in the room and pipes in that he’d be happy to lend them some of his clothing if they needed it.

Bile rises in Five’s throat and he blinks into the upstairs bathroom. “You can have something from me,” it rings in his head and echoes in the ceramic toilette bowl where Five is currently emptying his stomach in.

“Have something from me,” Luther said as he offered Five food from his plate. “You can have something from me,” as he let Viktor take his coat, because he forgot to bring his own again.

“You can have something from me,” screamed his brother’s eyes at a thirteen year old Five, wide open and unseeing. “Take something, if it helps you, take it!”

Only that Five couldn’t, because there was a car on top of Luther. It pinned him to the ground and with him his clothing and his shoes and his big, big coat that Five needed so, so desperately but couldn’t get out.

In the end, Five took the eye he knew didn’t even belong to Luther and tried to ignore the pleading voice of his brother in his head that begged him to turn around and take more.

He didn’t want to take, he wanted his big brother to give. To reach his hands out and offer something, let Five brush his fingers against his to feel his warm, alive skin under his fingertips; but he didn’t. Luther’s eyes only stared and screamed.

In the bathroom, Five retches again and wishes he could stop seeing the eyes.

Unlike Allison’s or Klaus’ stuff, he didn’t keep Luther’s clothes when he found all the items that made up his outfit that day. Instead, he burned them in secret. Five never got to take them, and Luther’s eyes had made it very clear that they were for him.

Five never wants his brother to look at him again while he’s wearing these clothes. Sometimes it’s hard to look him in the eyes even when he’s wearing different things and Five feels disgusted with himself whenever he catches himself flinching. Luther didn’t complain once about his missing outfit and somehow, that makes it worse.

He stands up and makes his way towards his room. His siblings voices drift to him, hushed and slightly concerned about his sudden departure and his face burns red in mortification. How foolish of him, how childish. Seeking comfort from stolen things. Wretched, foul creature, his mind screams at him, and then a very quiet voice whispers loving brother that you are, don’t be afraid to love, my dear, and he holds his sob in until he’s back in Dolores’ arms.

She’d always known what to say to him, when he was spiralling and forgetting his age, his manners, and his mind. Because Five is not crazy, he’s not. She knows that and she says it’s okay, Five. It’s okay to want.

And the thing is, Five knows it looks like weird coping mechanism or like he can't deal. Like he's not as unaffected as he'd like people to believe he is. He knows he's with his siblings and he's safe now.

He knows the apocalypse is over, this is just - it's just. Well, he's fifty-eight he doesn't owe an explanation to anyone, he's allowed his quirks. The only thing they need to know is that it isn't the paralysing fear that creeps up on him when the corpses of his siblings flash before his eyes again that makes him take their - his- things. It's not.

And it's not because the things he takes were his for much longer than they were theirs and he's scared he'll be left with nothing, scared his siblings wouldn't have offered the help when he needed it, like he had told himself when he robbed their dead bodies.

It's not any of it Dolores, please, you understand, I know you do. [She does.] It's just an endearing quirk. Old people have those, right?

Is he old? Sometimes Five doesn’t know what he is. Doesn’t know what made him himself, which part of him grew up, and which stayed behind.  

Here in Dolores’ plastic embrace none of it matters and he listens hopeful as she tells him that his siblings don’t care about these things either. They just want him to be okay. Five nods into her shoulder and pretends that just being okay is something he can realistically achieve.

Five wipes his tears while he tries to get his breathing back under control. Dolores doesn’t judge him for crying like the mirror does. She does however tilt her head worryingly. But she doesn’t need to be; it’s been a long time since Five got sick from being too sad. Coincidentally it’s exactly as long ago as the last time he let himself cry.

He wanders over to the desk and pulls the drawer open. The brass letters lie inconspicuously at the bottom and Five traces over them. BEN.

It was quite the commotion when he took them off of the plate in front of Ben’s statue.

He switches them around. NBE.

Five asked, though. He sat in the courtyard for hours, explaining to the statue that the letters actually belonged to Five. He found them in the ruins of the academy, together with the destroyed figure that didn’t look like Ben at all. When he realized what they meant, what he missed, what he couldn’t have stopped because he was stuck in a time after – he broke down crying and screaming. He yelled and raged and ripped the letters from their place, breaking his pinkie with the violent movement. Five swore to never cry again as he retched next to his siblings graves. Then he took the letters and promised to save them. Whatever happened – his siblings wouldn’t die in the apocalypse.

He switches them around again. EBN.

And he did it. His siblings didn’t die in the end of the world. But he forgot, he told the silence in the courtyard, that Ben hadn’t died in the apocalypse. And now he was still dead, and it was Five’s fault. He was losing his mind a bit, and he wouldn’t tell anyone this, lest his siblings decide he needs help, but maybe – just maybe he could take the letters back.

NEB. Five shakes his head. ENB.

When his siblings discovered the missing letters, everyone flipped their shit. Diego talked about finding whoever broke in and making them regret the theft. Luther agreed with wide eyes. Allison even told them she’d be willing to place a rumour if they needed the information. Viktor’s gaze skidded over Five, seemingly considering something. But Five had permission, hadn’t he?

BEN.

Klaus opened his mouth, displeased expression in contrast with his normal, crazy behaviour, when suddenly he whipped his head to the side and the corners of his mouth softened. “Ben says he gave permission.” It was said with a curious head tilt, followed by a pout. “He says it’s none of our business who’s the rightful owner, only that alongside his letters they own his heart as well.” Klaus leaned closer to the spot where Ben probably stood. “This is weirdly cute and not at all cryptic, Benjamin.”

The others already accepted Ben’s reasoning, turning back to whatever they were doing before. Klaus kept bugging their brother for days, but Ben kept Five’s secret. In return, Five took good care of the brass letters, cleaning them religiously.

He glides his fingers over the word again. BEN.

They give him purpose. He doesn’t need to have anything figured out as long as the letters are his.

It makes him dread the day Ben demands them back.

With one last look, he closes the drawer.

When he deems his face free of any tear tracks, and his breathing regular, he walks down again. Allison, Klaus and Luther are still in the kitchen, having settled their argument, or possibly got distracted enough by his sudden disappearance to continue nagging each other.

Five grunts in their general direction which they seem to take as a sign he’s doing well enough, and walks through the living room to one of the couches. He lets himself fall down in one, and grabs the telephone from the little table beside it.

Viktor’s number is one he has memorized. Of course it’s not the only one he knows by heart, and it wasn’t very difficult to remember, but he still likes to think about it as something special. Not knowing the number, but rather being trusted enough to have it.

When his brother had offered it by telling Five he’d always be welcome to call, Five was so happy he almost pulled Viktor into a hug. He caught himself before doing it, thankfully, but the intend had definitely been in the little rocking motion his body made.

Sitting upright on the couch – feet dangling because everything in this house is built for actual giants – he waits until the ringing noise stops and he’s greeted with the cheery voice of his brother. The last of the pressure in his chest dissolves and Five breathes easier again.

Viktor’s used to him calling without actually having anything to tell him by now, so he doesn’t question it now. Just starts talking about how great the practice is going and how he misses Five and the rest of their siblings even though he’s only three cities over for the orchestra’s annual rehearsal week-long trip.

“I miss you, too.” Five interjects quickly, because it’s easy to say when he doesn’t have to look at somebody while making himself so vulnerable. Viktor’s laugh doesn’t sound menacing and instead fills a small hole in Five’s chest.

Five didn’t find him, found no belongings and no corpse. Just like Viktor was absent and excluded from most things during their childhood, he was missing in a burning world. Never missing in Five’s caged heart though.

Viktor’s presence isn’t as soft as Klaus’ jacket or as calming as Allison’s scarfs or as relieving as the absence of Luther’s long, green coat. Instead he feels awfully victorious. Bloody and burnt, he won against the universe. Walked out of hell and made a world happen that had a space for Viktor – just like his heart did.

Sometimes, though, that makes it infuriatingly hard for Five to be in his brother’s arms. The things he did to make this smiling, joking, growing his confidence, happy Viktor possible weren’t pretty.

In fact, they were rather ugly. Ugly and twisted, and Five would do them all over again, if they meant his siblings would live. It’s a scary thought, because Five is so, so tired. And so it’s difficult to not flinch at Viktor’s touch.

Which is why they do phones now. Viktor understands Five even though he never talks about what is bothering him. Viktor always saw things before others did, and he tells Five when he’s happy over the phone so Five can know without having to look at his own bloodstained past.

He’s getting better as well. “I miss you,” he repeats and listens intently as Viktor starts to describe how big the smile on his face is right now, knowing that. His fingers twist themselves into the pillow in his lap.

“Your room is empty.” Five says and hopes it doesn’t come across as accusing as he hears it. In his defence, seeing the empty space Viktor leaves behind when he’s not there is so much worse than being confronted with his own sins.

Viktor is welcome here. It’s his home. He shouldn’t ever go away and leave Five with an empty space.

“There is some space on the couch next to me,” Five adds loftily.

Viktor tells him that he’s sitting facing north just like Five is. Five’s fingers relax a bit.

It’s like he’s right beside him, Viktor says. Taking up room and loving Five very, very much. Five pries his hand away from the pillow.

“You're my favourite little brother, Five.”

Five doesn’t correct him on the little part, because he feels not very big and strong most of the time anymore. Maybe he never did, but didn’t have another choice but to act like it. With Viktor he does.

He softly strokes the pillow in his lap with a relaxed hand and murmurs, “Klaus is missing a jacket.”

On the phone, Viktor giggles.

“And Allison’s scarfs keep disappearing.”

Viktor hums and answers, “one can never have enough scarfs.”

“Luther’s probably not seeing his green coat ever again.”

“It was ugly anyway.”

“Ben said he gave permission.”

“He meant it, buddy. The letters are in good care, he won’t ever want them back.”

“I miss you.”

“My cheeks actually hurt from how big my smile is, Five. There are wrinkles in my face!”

Five loves his brother so much. Viktor doesn’t need Five to explain. He understands. The relief is sweeping through his teenage body and Five makes an abrupt decision.

“Diego still has his blanket and he wakes up very quickly.”

Originally, Five took the harness that’s – in the present – somehow always strapped around his brother’s torso. It came in handy multiple times during the apocalypse. Carrying weapons, while not being bulky; plus the leather still smelled like Diego a bit. The item protected Five for a long time.

The one time the harness as outfit choice came up in dinner conversation, though, Diego was so very angry at the thought of someone taking it from him, that Five immediately overthrew that idea. He didn’t want Diego to be angry – he just wanted to feel safe while smelling his brother.

And then one night it got bad.

He woke up sweating, the jacket was to hot when he put it on, the scarf fell to the dusty floor before he managed to tie it around his face so he breathed in the dust and had to rip the fabric from his face again, and standing beside Luther’s or Viktor’s beds wasn’t an option, because Five was too scared to even check if they were still there. He needed something – something safe, and his panicked thoughts went straight to the harness he didn’t have in his possession yet. Five jumped out of bed, and stumbled through the hallways to Diego’s room.

Outside his door, Five stopped and tried desperately to come up with an excuse, as to why he would need Diego’s leathery knife-holder in the middle of the night.

He drew a blank, but then a shiver racked his frame and when his heavy eyes fell closed for a second he saw the academy burning. Without caring, he ripped the door open and rushed inside, expecting to have a pillow or a knife thrown at him.

Nobody threw anything, though, because apparently Diego was out fighting crime – his harness missing from its designated place on top of the chair and room empty.

Five’s breathing got worse, his legs started to shake, and he only barely made it to Diego’s bed, where he collapsed in a petrified heap.

And then, wondrously, after a few minutes his body relaxed. Five looked around manically – before he twisted his torso to the side and became aware of Diego’s blanket he must've wrapped around himself during his freak-out.

The blanket was very soft. It smelled faintly like his big brother and did a great job at protecting him. He could wrap it just as closely around his body as he could the harness, only the blanket was bigger and more comfortable and a lot more like Diego hugged him.

Five twisted his fingers in the fabric in awe, tugging it over his head so only his face was visible. This was actually amazing. He stayed there for a long time, right up until he heard someone leave their room, probably to go to the toilettes or get a glass of water.

He planned on staying there anyway, because there was no way anyone would look for him here, when suddenly Viktor poked his head through the still open door Five forgot to close earlier.

Before his brother could say anything, Five vanished in blue light, leaving the blanket crumpled on the bed.

One the phone Viktor hums, “he is a very light sleeper. Maybe a distraction would be necessary for him to leave his room unattended.”

Five grimaces. “Diego gets angry when his things get taken away.” And doesn’t that make the panic rise. If Five had known, he’d have never taken the harness back then. Guilt twists around his lungs and a soft whine steals itself out of his throat.

“And if there’s one person he wouldn’t get angry at, it’s you.” Viktor’s voice is calming, and Five takes a big breath.

“I didn’t plan on taking it, anyway.”

Viktor just hums again and starts talking about an audiobook Five could try, because he listened to it as well and really liked it, so if Five heard it, it’d be like they're doing it together.

Five really, really loves his brother.

*.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~*

It’s only a day later, when Five’s carefully constructed walls around his emotions crumble. As if crying in Dolores’ arms after so many years opened up a dam, it gets increasingly harder for him to keep his feelings at bay. It sucks tremendously, and she had probably known this would happen but didn’t say anything.

More power to her, Five guesses and he is only a little bitter that she’s so invested in getting him in touch with his emotions.  

It’s not like Five doesn’t want his siblings to be a part of his life. He didn’t fight tooth and nail for destiny to change just to then not spend time with the people he did it for. He likes being around them and their idiotic ways, likes the bickering and the movie nights.

It’s just hard sometimes. It’s really fucking hard to want to ask for help or company, but then not being able to open his mouth, because what if they laugh, what if they don’t want him here. He was gone for so long, he’s not the same anymore. They're not the same.

They’ve all changed, Five and his siblings, and sometimes he thinks it would have been easier if he’d managed to come back to a time where they were still kids. He wouldn’t be so different then, he thinks. They could all be weird fucked up kids together. Forced to grow up faster than anyone else, and somehow not growing up at all.

But Five didn’t land there, he landed years after his siblings moved on and learned how to grow up properly, because they had people to learn from how to do it. Five was alone, and he did the not-growing-up-while-growing-up thing much longer. In fact, he’s not sure he ever stopped.

Which is a very scary thought, because what even is he? A child? A senior citizen? A non-human creature made out of trauma and spite and a small heart that longs to be loved?

More importantly, how is he supposed to act when he doesn’t know what he is?

Reginald made it very clear that Five is a spoiled brat – arrogant, loud, backtalking. So that’s how Five acted. Then there were Ben and Viktor, who thought Five was their friend and brother, and for whom he was soft and vulnerable.

The commission saw him as a killer, so he was one. The handler thought of him as her perfect experiment, so he made sure he had the skills needed to be that.

In the apocalypse he was just like every other creature that had survived – feral, existing in the not-growing-up-growing-up. For Dolores he is just Five. There is no age, no expectations appointed to that name, just Five, in whose inside a tiny, scared thirteen year old child lived.

But here – here he doesn’t know who he is to his siblings and therefore doesn’t know how to be.

He only knows it’s getting harder and harder to lock his feelings away and exist as nothing.

He overreacts easier, feels his eyes burn with tears quicker and his breathing catch more often in his throat.

Five is painfully aware of how weird his behaviour is, how important it is that he hides it to not be questioned. Five is distinctively less aware of how careless he’s actually being, now that being careful and sneaking around isn’t tied to his survival anymore.

His walls are crumbling, his panics simmers just under his skin, and when Luther walks through the entry doors with a long, green coat in his arms because, “my old one is gone somehow, so I got a new one”, Five doesn’t stop for a second to think about how it looks like, just scowls in his brother’s general direction and blinks into his room to formulate a plan.

It’s not hard to come up with one – he is a genius after all. The problem is waiting for the perfect time for its execution. It has to be when it’s dark outside, because otherwise he might be seen.

From experience Five knows that the simpler a plan, the better – which is why this one only has three steps and two parameters. Locate the coat, take the coat, burn the coat – step one to three; don’t be seen, and no distractions allowed – parameter one and two.

When night time finally rolls around, Five sneaks out of his room by blinking into the kitchen. No one’s there, which means they're either already in bed or in the living room, watching a movie.

He quietly slips through the hallway, seeing his siblings spread out on the couches and looks carefully around the room without being noticed. The coat is hanging right next to the door, and with a quick jump he makes it there before blinking out of the house and into the courtyard.

As soon as he arrives where he wants to be, he drops the clothing item on the ground. Politely he greets Ben, even though he knows that the ghost is probably with his other siblings right now, watching TV, or even visiting Viktor during his rehearsals.

Around him, the wind picks up slightly, and Five shivers. Stupid, small body of a child. The coat lies on the ground and mocks him, because it most likely knows it would keep Five warm. But he doesn’t want the fabric to weigh him down, just like it weighed Luther down and didn’t let him up again.

And Five knows that it was a car that pinned Luther’s body to the ground but the coat felt just as heavy in Five’s arms when he blinked out here. Somehow the air gets even colder and Five needs to put on something. Then he remembers – the jacket!

In a flash of blue light he vanishes, reappears in his room and snatches the jacket from its place on his bed. In the next second he’s already back in the courtyard, stumbling forward a bit while putting it on.

He was so occupied during the afternoon with waiting for the right moment, he completely forgot to eat lunch or dinner. It’s biting him in the butt right now, as he can feel the exhaustion creeping up on him. The jittery feeling of the guilt, panic, and wrongness at planning anything that has to do with his siblings and fire, isn’t helping either.

Five pushes the bile back his throat, and closes his eyes. Then he tears them back open; the coat still on the ground – empty, without his brother in it.

Five stumbles back from it, and lights a match. As soon as the smell of the small fire reaches his nose, he throws in to the slightly rain-wet ground, where the flame dies. Tears sting behind his eyes. He has to get rid of the stupid coat. His breathing catches, and shit, he really, quite desperately needs air. Non-burning, not-like-ash-smelling air, preferably.

But that won’t be possible because the coat needs to be burned, and it’s not like he has something to put over his mouth –

Five blinks in the living room, where he knows he hid one of Allison’s scarfs. With his back to the room, he feels around the back of the giant TV they hung up instead of the incredibly ugly antlers, and pulls out the hidden object. 

He ties the fabric tightly around his nose and mouth, ignoring the background noise of the television, and what is probably Klaus one room over, complaining about something with his clothing, once again. Five clenches his fist, watches the blue light fizzle out and groans in frustration as the exhaustion tugs at the emptiness in his stomach.

He breathes through the scarf and allows himself to cuddle into the jacket for a second – just one, before he remembers that the coat needs to go now. Then he scraps his last energy together and blinks back outside.  

This time when he lights the match he can't smell the fire, and it’s easier to throw it at the coat, watching carefully as it catches on and starts burning.

The silence that surrounds him is only interrupted by his heavy breathing and then a softly spoken, “Five?”

Five flinches back and twirls around until he is facing the doorway doused in warm light, where his siblings are. Siblings. Plural. As in every one of them who’s not occupied by being in another city or dead. Though Ben is probably standing amongst them.

“Is that my coat?” Luther sounds incredulous and also a bit hurt. “Is it on fire?”

Five opens his mouth, and closes it again – not like they could see with half his face hidden. He didn’t mean to hurt his brother, he just wanted the coat to be gone. Allison elbows Luther and takes a step towards him.

“We’re not mad,” she tries to reassure him. They creep closer, but Five matches their pace as he stumbles backwards. Klaus holds out a hand. “We were just wondering why you needed our stuff?”

Five stares at him. The coat on the floor is completely on fire now, but when Five looks back at his siblings he only sees their bodies – crumpled and unmoving. “It’s mine.”

Klaus nods, finally reaching him. “Okay, little buddy, how about we all go inside and you can take all these layers of? I bet they're really stuffy, huh?”

Five shakes his head. “It’s mine!” He rips the scarf off his face and bares his teeth at them like a cornered wild animal to get them to back off.

They don’t. Instead the smell of burning wool and melting fibre penetrates his nose, and suddenly Five can't hear his siblings asking him what's wrong anymore – only his ragged breathing and cut off sobs.

His view gets blurry and he stares down at his hands as they tremble and no matter how hard he clenches his fists, nothing happens. He blinks the burning in his eyes away. Klaus is right in front of him, arms extended towards him – or the jacket, he probably wants the jacket back, but he can't have it, it’s Five’s!

Allison is a few steps to his right, hands reaching and Five flinches back from her, only to come closer to Luther who still looks at his burning coat with confusion and hurt, as if Five burned it with him still inside it, and shit – he chokes on his tears as the smell of burning flesh mixes into the air, robbing him of any chance to clear his mind and form a coherent thought.  

Then Diego’s arms squeeze around his middle and lift him off the ground. That’s fine, Five rationalizes with himself, he doesn’t have anything from Diego that the man could want to take back.

Klaus says something about Ben, a telephone and Viktor, and Five feels himself being moved into the living room, where Diego dumps him on one of the couches. His siblings shrink back from his shivering frame, but keep staring at him like he’s going to snap every second.

Shame curls in Five’s gut and mortification replaces the panic in his lungs. His ears are ringing and his gaze darts around the room, trying to find an escape opportunity. Viktor’s voice right next to his ears is a short-lived shock before Five can concentrate on what he’s saying.

Viktor is talking about the room service in his hotel and how the room he’s in has two beds but no pillows. Five tries to regulate his breathing and risks a glance at his siblings.

They're still standing in a semi-circle around him, probably judging him for his thieving ways. Five doesn’t know what they said to Viktor before they gave the phone to him, but his brother is on speaker – voice loud and strangely grounding. He grips the telephone in his hand and stares at his feet when he speaks urgently into the transmitter. “Luther got a new coat.”

On the other end of the line Viktor goes silent, and Five knows that he needs to get it out now, needs Viktor to understand. So before his brother gets a word in edgewise, Five rushes through the next sentence.

“They're trying to take my things!”

Around him his siblings break out into murmurs, and Five’s breath hitches again. They don’t get it, the items don’t belong to them anymore. Viktor raises his voice and sharply calls out “Guys!” to make them quiet.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Viktor hums, and it’s so calming that Five doesn’t even say anything about the pet name. But then again, with Viktor, he never does. “I promise they’ll stop.”

Five nods and he knows Viktor can't see, but it doesn’t matter, because Viktor understands.

“Do you have your jacket and your scarfs?”

Five makes a soft affirmative sound, clutches the scarf in the hand that’s not holding the phone, buries his nose in the jacket’s collar, and ignores when Klaus coos gently next to him. He doesn’t know when he sat down there – on the couch, in Viktor’s space – but there’s a hand settling on his trembling knee and he doesn’t feel like shaking it off.

“The letters?” Five shrinks back into the cushions but the expected accusations don’t come. Instead Klaus draws a little heart on his leg with his finger. Five’s wearing loose-fitted, dark blue slacks today. They're really soft and look just the right side of formal but relaxed. He probably wouldn’t go to an important event in them, but they're fine as comfortable day-to-day wear. “Ben says they're still where you left them and they still spell out his name.”

Five watches as Klaus traces the heart over and over again, then begins writing their names.

“What happened to the coat?” Viktor asks, and Five tenses.

“It’s on fire.” He can't look into Luther’s face.

Viktor hums again. “Good riddance.” 

Luther chokes on his spit in the background, and Klaus giggles next to him. Five can't get his breathing to slow down; the listing of his things making the absence of Diego’s blanket all the more prominent and he doesn’t want Viktor to ask about it – Diego will be mad, he’ll –

Viktor takes a breath. Five’s lungs refuse to work, and out of the corner of his eyes he can see Diego looking like he’s thinking really hard. His eyes are soft, though, as he watches Five. His smile is small, concern making itself known in the crease between his eyebrows.

“What about Diego’s blanket?”

The surprised look that replaces the concerned one is like a stab in his gut. Five can feel his heart beating faster and this is why he needed the harness or the blanket in the first place. They secured his lungs and his heart, and it was their job to protect him from shattering into a million little pieces.

“I don’t have it!” Five’s voice sounds awkwardly high-pitched, conveying his panic to the room, but when Klaus tries to pull him into his arms Five shrieks and leans in Diego’s direction. He can feel his insides splintering.

“Diego!” Viktor barks out and Five is shaking so badly it gets really hard to hold the telephone. It slips from his sweaty hand and Allison catches it just in time before it clutters to the floor, and then suddenly he’s engulfed in strong arms. His nose is tucked in a neck, where he smells leather and his big brother, and someone is holding his body together so it doesn’t break.

His siblings are talking with Viktor on the phone again, and he’s saying something along the lines of, “I don’t actually know, it just seemed right and he was never in the right mind to talk about it!”

The arms around him don’t let go and Five grabs the shirt before him tightly in his fists. The voices get quieter as the chest underneath him vibrates and someone asks about the blanket.

Then they're all moving and Five doesn’t look where they're going. When the arms around him loosen, a whine bullies its way out of his throat and he can feel the tears start to come in again.

He’s shushed softly, and then there’s Diego’s blanket all around him. He’s vertical on a bed, and Diego pets his hair with a smile. Five doesn’t smile back, just stares at his brother and tries to cuddle closer. He’s not very successful, because Diego doesn’t let him hide his face in his chest.

If Five’s emotional state wasn’t in the jumbles right now, he could have stopped the pout from appearing on his face. Alas that’s not the case, and he can feel Diego’s thumb pushing his lower lip back while he grins down at him.

Five grants him a ferocious scowl, but the effect gets lost when he leans into his brother’s touch.

Diego is very close to him, lying with him in bed and under the blanket. There’s an arm snaked around his waist and another behind his head. Five’s own hands are tangled in Diego’s shirt, holding on very tightly. They're both quiet except for Five’s still out of sync breathing, so when the rest of their siblings settle on Diego’s bedroom floor he can hear them despite their attempts to do it quietly.

Dolores speaks very softly in his mind, that this is the perfect moment to tell them what's going on. She doesn’t think they’ll leave without an explanation, and she knows how much the constant panic in the last hours – days, months, years – took out of him, and how tired he is.

It’s a good point and Five grumbles back at her that he knows she set this up somehow.

“When I arrived in the apocalypse the air was polluted with ash,” Five whispers and feels the hand on his head scratch his scalp lightly. “It was very hard to breathe.”

He still feels the grime in his lungs. Sees his siblings and hundreds of bodies who didn’t need the protection like he did. “Everyone – everyone was dead.” Except him and Dolores.

“I took – Before I buried Allison, I took her scarf so I could breathe through it.” He doesn’t want to find out if his siblings are looking at him with disgust, anger or pity, so he clenches his eyes shut. “I had it for over forty years, and now it’s mine.”

Diego brushes away a stray tear on his cheek. His fingers already feel wet when they come in contact with his face, but Five doesn’t know who else’s tears Diego could have been wiping away.

“I stole the jacket because it was very cold and I took very good care of it.” He dislikes the defensive tone in his voice. “I really needed it, and Klaus – “ tall, frightfully-still Klaus who stayed cold no matter how many jackets he had, because he was dead – “Klaus didn’t.”

There’s a rustling and then a hand sneaks into his and Diego’s blanket cocoon. It pats him directly on the face, and Five hums very quietly at the warmth – alive, that’s what the body heat means.

“I didn’t find Ben.” And he had searched and screamed for his brother for so, so long. “But I took the letters.”  

It’s very quit. Almost as if they're holding their breath – or have stopped breathing altogether, so Five opens his eyes to check.

There are tears on Diego’s face. Weird.

“I didn’t find Viktor either. There was no space for Viktor in the end of the world.” Someone sniffles; Five hopes it’s not him. “So I made space for him.” Diego wipes his face free from tears again, and the sniffles might have been him after all. He hopes his siblings can hear what he doesn’t say out loud. I became a monster for you. I made myself ageless. I gave up my life, my soul, and my mind. I've killed, massacred and hunted. I’d do it again, even though who I've become scares me to death.

There’s silence again, and then the telephone line crackles. “Thank you, Five,” Viktor says, and a very heavy weight falls from his small shoulders. He doesn’t remember anyone saying these words to him.

Suddenly the room is filled with the expression. They are all saying it, over and over again, so sincere in their gratitude and wow, that’s a bit much. This time, Diego lets him hide his face and just drops a kiss into his hair.

When they're all quiet again, Five continues. “There was a car pinning Luther down.” He hates, hates, hates talking about the eyes. He has seen death many times, but nowhere does it look as petrifying as on his brother’s face.

“So I couldn’t take the coat, and his eyes – “ Five stocks. “They were very –“ He can't do this. You can, Dolores reassures him. “Dead. They were very – dead.” Well. It’s not the most eloquent he’s ever been, but based on the sharp intake of breath all around him, he gets the point across.

And it’s stupid, because this shouldn’t affect him this much anyway. He’s old. “I spent so much time growing older.” His breath hitches. “I don’t think I ever used it to grow up.”

There it is. The thing he never wanted to admit, his greatest shame.

Instead of being mortified by his world-changing admission, his siblings begin murmuring about how that’s fine, he can just do it now – there’s no time-limit to growing up apparently. Which, sure, Five supposes that their lives are really weird, maybe – maybe he can. Five tells Dolores that the jury’s still out; she tells him to keep going with the talking-about-his-feelings.

She drives such a hard bargain, his Dolores. He breathes in through his nose, and waits until Diego drops another kiss to his head – just in case he doesn’t get any more after this.

Only one confession left. His fingers tighten around the fabric he’s still holding on to, and he hopes this doesn’t get him kicked out of the bed. 

“I needed protection.” Diego’s body stiffens, like he knows what's coming. “I needed protection, so I took the harness.” His big brother holds him tighter, and Five had wanted nothing more back then, than to be held like this when he took the leather off Diego’s body.

“I asked for permission, but you didn’t wake up.” It’s accusing and Five really doesn’t mean it meanly – he had just been so, so hopeful Diego would listen to him and open his eyes. Move his limbs, and protect him himself, instead of a stupid piece of leather filling in as a substitute.

“I know, kiddo, I'm sorry,” Diego strokes up and down his back, as Five cries inconspicuously in his chest. “Good job, taking it for yourself,” his brother says next and Five cries a little less inconspicuously. “You needed it so much more than I did. It’s okay.”

The “you're not mad?” is pretty muffled by Diego’s chest, the blanket, and his own sobs, but the immediate and vehement confirmation from every single one of his siblings that of course, they're not is easily heard in the small room.

The relief these words bring is cutting, tearing his doubts to shreds, and Dolores nudges him in his mind with her mischievous smile and a soft I told you so, dear.

So she did. Five manages a half smile, breathing finally calming, and body going limp as sleep claims him at last.

*.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~**.~*.~*

The body in his arms is tiny, and Diego tugs his little brother closer to him.

“You probably won’t be able to fuse your bodies together,” Klaus supplies unhelpfully. Diego scowls in his direction. “Won’t stop me from trying.”

 He looks back down, taking in Five’s tearstained little face, messy hair and raw bitten lips.

When Five blinked in front of the TV earlier, Diego was mostly baffled at his appearance. The too big jacket hung over his small frame, and the scarf tied around his head made him look like fresh out of a zombie movie.

He didn’t hear anything, completely caught up in his own head, and when his powers gave out on him on the first try, Diego’s heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest.

His abilities are so important to Five; it’s impossible for his little brother to imagine a life without them. To see the panic and fear on his face when they didn’t cooperate was heart-breaking.

Even more distressing was to see Five so completely unravel, just because they wanted to talk to him.

Little clothing-thief Klaus had said when they made their way to the courtyard. Now, he is eerily quiet, sitting right next to Diego’s bed. His hand is still extended, Five’s small fingers curling around his wrist loosely. Klaus face is pale, and every few seconds he looks of to the side where Ben presumably sits.

Diego doesn’t want to think about how the pulse underneath Klaus skin stopping or the heartbeat in his own chest subsiding is something Five knows so intimately he has nightmares and panic attacks about it.

His arms tighten involuntarily around his baby brother again, and he casts a glare around the room, daring his sibling to say anything about it.

Five needs this. Needs him.

When Klaus had related that Ben told him to call Viktor as he’d know how to help and what to do, he’d been way to busy carrying a struggling, shivering Five inside than to think about his own role in their dynamic with their smallest brother.

Only when Viktor began to list items of comfort that Five took from the rest of his siblings, did he feel a tiny twinge of hurt that his things were not among them.

Seeing Five so openly breaking down seconds later, took the hurt away and replaced it with anger. At the world, at the universe, at himself for being weak and for dying in an alternative timeline that left his brother so scarred.

That haze of anger only cleared, when Viktor had shouted at him to hug Five and the kid stopped shaking in his arms.

Once Viktor rushed out an explanation about the comfort Five probably took from Diego’s presence – concluded after he had found Five in Diego’s bed, cuddled up in his blanket – there really was only one thing on his mind, and that was making sure Five got said comfort as soon as possible.

Here, in his dimly lit room, they’re finally able to grasp the sheer horrors their brother had to endure.

It sucks tremendously, but it’s not like they can't to nothing.

And so, they start planning small changes in their lives, that don’t look like much, but make all the difference in the long run.

Out of paranoia he could accidentally dress in the same outfit he wore when he died, Luther throws out his entire wardrobe and buys a new one – not a single coat in sight.

Whenever he wants to offer something to Five, he presses it firmly into his hands and smiles encouragingly when his brother brushes purposefully over his fingers as he accepts it. Sometimes it takes a while, but that’s alright.

Luther’s great at stalling and coming up with excuses as to why he wears sunglasses coincidentally on days that are really hard for Five to get through.

Allison makes sure that there are scarfs everywhere in the mansion.

There’s at least one in each room, tied loosely around door handles or draped over every possible seating option. She checks up on the availability of them religiously and gets scarily good at forcibly tying them around the other’s heads when Five starts panicking about their ability to breathe through ash-infected air only he can smell.

Overnight, there’s no such thing as Five’s closet or Klaus’ closet anymore. Now they share – a big space, where smaller pants are hanging right next to oversized jumpers and feather boas are cramped in with polished dress shoes.

Five doesn’t have to ask when taking Klaus’ clothes anymore – they're his just the same.

There is a small space above the mantle where Ben’s letters are proudly displayed. The ghost watches as Five comes to them every day, cleaning them meticulously and tracing the brass with his  fingertips.

It’s a special kind of quiet whenever Five stands before the letters, and Ben appreciates every second Five looks and remembers his presence.

The new phone in Five’s pocket has almost no features, no additional apps installed, no text chains or pictures – except one.

His chat with Viktor is almost always open, sending updates about his day and countless pictures of mundane things like his half empty coffee cup, captioned: very tasty, made this myself.

The phone calls often last forever; Five doesn’t seem to get tired listening to Viktor talk and it doesn’t matter if they're in different rooms or different states when on the phone anymore.

Diego’s so used to seeing Five wrapped up in his stuff, that he doesn’t even react when his little brother comes downstairs one morning, blanket billowing like a cape behind him. Klaus coos into his tea and Five shoots him a glare, even as he settles right next to Diego and leans across his body to steal from his plate.

It fills Diego with quiet satisfaction – seeing his brother so safe and confident in taking up space, using what he needs to comfort himself and not glancing back at him every two seconds as reassurance that he’s allowed to cuddle with Diego’s things.

Some days are better than others, but Five keeps trying so, so hard, and Diego couldn’t be prouder.

Chapter Text

1.

Luther picks a long sleeve shirt up from the shop’s table and holds it in front of his body, staring critically. It doesn’t look like anything he’s owned before – the colour is a bit too bright and it’s endlessly big, so it will be looser on his shoulders. It’s perfect and he dumps it into the cart.

“How about this one?” Allison asks from a few feet away, and holds up a thin scarf.

The store they're in is massive, and horrifyingly disorganized. The tables are overflowing with random items, the racks have no system or sizing chart. Luther ordered most of his new wardrobe online – not many clothing stores have items his size, but every once in a while he sees something while looking for something else and takes it with him. Like the soft blue shirt he found just now, while actually in search for more scarfs Allison could distribute around their home.

The one in her hand right now is bright pink and a bit threadbare looking. Allison holds it up to her nose and presses it against the lower half of her face. She takes a deep breath in, then removes the fabric again and huffs. “No, that’s a joke. We need something a bit heavier.”

Luther hums in agreement. It won’t do to have such thin scarfs around – Five needed something he could feel properly on his skin.

A clerk walks past them and Luther pokes him on his shoulder to grab his attention. “S’cuse me?”

The man blinks up at him and Luther raises his eyebrows. “We’re looking for some scarfs? A bit heavier than that, material wise,” he points to the table where Allison placed the scarf down. “But still soft and breathable.”

The shop assistant looks at them, eyes fitting from Allison to him. “Uhm – breathable?”

Allison groans next to him. “Yes,” there’s an impatient tone in her voice. “Breathable. Like this.”

She picks the scarf back up and presses it to her face again. “Our little brother needs to be able to breathe through this,” she says through the scarf.

The man takes a step back. “Uh – sure. How – how old is your brother again?”

There’s a bit of green around his nose, Luther notes.

Allison still has the scarf around her face as she walks closer. “Around thirteen, I guess.”

The clerk jerks his head up and down in a nod, and stammers out, “I’m afraid we don’t. We have coats though,” he sizes Luther up again. “Long ones, they're surely your size. If – if you're interested?”

“Coats?” Luther takes a threatening step towards the man cowering away from Allison. “Five very much doesn’t like the coats. What exactly are you suggesting here?”

With a squeak the worker flinches back.

“Guys?” Viktor appears between the clothing racks and Luther deflates. Allison finally takes the scarf off her face.

Viktor glances at the clerk’s pale face, Luther’s posture and Allison’s scowl, and sighs. “Come on, I found some sunglasses. We can keep looking for a few scarfs a store over.”

“A lot of scarfs,” Allison corrects quietly so only Luther hears her as they walk towards the check-out. He nods. They take the search for scarfs very seriously.

Back at the mansion Luther puts seven pairs of sunglasses down on the small table in living room and sets up various rhinestone packets and glitter tubes next to them. Allison is already moving through the room, setting up scarfs in new hiding places, while Viktor takes a seat on the floor and pulls out his phone to text Five to come downstairs.

Only seconds later they can hear Five running down the stairs, heavier footsteps following him.

“What are you doing?” their little brother is slightly out of breath, Klaus – marginally more out of breath – appears behind him panting. “And is it better than the reading circle Fivey, Ben and I had going on?”

“Of course,” Luther replies, grinning. “We went out for a few things and saw these girls who had decorated sunglasses on, and Allison asked them where they go them from, and as it turns out they made them themselves!”

Viktor shakes one of the glitter tubes, “we thought maybe you wanna join us making a few for ourselves?”

Klaus gasps excited and pulls Five with him to the floor. “Yes! They're going to be fabulous!”

They sit together and decorate their sunglasses for hours. At one point Luther holds his out for Five. “I think my fingers are a tiny bit too large for the rhinestones,” he grins sheepishly, “a little help?”

Five reaches out and holds his hands underneath Luther’s – waiting for his big brother to drop the glasses. When he doesn’t, Five glances left and right to determine who’s watching him. To his surprise, both Klaus and Viktor are completely engrossed in their own projects – not even raising an eyebrow at Five’s weird behaviour.

He squares his shoulders and grabs the sunglasses right out of Luther’s grip. The moment his smaller fingers close around the object and consequently brushing over his brother’s larger hand, Luther releases the sunglasses.

The so painfully obvious voluntary act of giving, makes Five’s heart stutter clumsily in his chest. It really shouldn’t be such a big deal, but for Five it is. The contact is mere seconds long, but it also proves just how alive Luther is, and that makes the initial awkward moment – in which he debates with himself if it’s okay to touch – worth it.

An additional bonus are the finished sunglasses, which Luther somehow really likes. He wears them often, and silently Five is very thankful for the monstrosity of glitter and rhinestones to take up residence on his brother’s face – so different from the unforgiving stare of The eyes.

2.

The Wardrobe That Belongs To Them Both is one of Klaus’ better inventions.

He doesn’t have many, and sadly not a single one patented, but between the nail polish made out of crushed up cocaine and vodka (colour name: CV), and the feather boa dress, it ranks pretty high.

Klaus is especially proud of how confident Five looks when he takes an item that is obviously way too big for him out of the closet.

It took a lot of effort to assure his little brother that Klaus actually likes the concept of their shared clothing, but it’s completely worth it. After all, Klaus likes sharing his things – with Five at least.

They both benefit from The Wardrobe That Belongs To Them Both, and on the days that Five needs a reminder of that, they go shopping together for new things to put inside.

“I think you only merged our closets because you didn’t want to go shopping alone,” Five grumbles as his taller brother drags him into the next store.

“Please Fivey,” Klaus giggles, spins around, and vanishes between two racks before he re-emerges with a bright pink jumper in his hands. “You looove to go shopping with me.”

He holds the shirt to his front and then to Five’s. “What do you think?”

Five tilts his head and pinches the fabric between thumb and forefinger. Klaus can practically see the wheels turning in his brother’s head – trying to determine if the shirt would give enough warmth, if it would hold up to a bit wear-and-tear, and if loose fibres could get stuck in open wounds.

He doesn’t have to, because Klaus is an amazing big brother, and he already tested the fabric before he brought it over. Eventually, Five draws the same conclusions and allows Klaus to put the jumper into their shopping bag with a nod.

It goes on like this for half an hour and six approved choices – a wrap around skirt, two sets of matching pyjamas, and a beanie – before Klaus notices his brother staring at a knitted sweater vest with tiny gooses on it.

It looks adorable in Klaus’ professional opinion, but Five doesn’t make a move towards it. Just stares, lets his eyes stray back again and again, and with a jolt Klaus realizes what the problem is. It’s way to small; not for Five obviously, it’s the perfect size for his little brother – but for him.

He couldn’t wear it without looking utterly ridiculous, and Five is doing so, so well, but sometimes he struggles with putting items in their closet that won’t benefit them both.

It’s not difficult to make his way over there as if he’d just now noticed the vest. He pulls it over his head, the knitted fabric not accommodating to his lanky body and longer torso, making it sit awkwardly. “This is what has been missing from our collection for ages, little bro!”

“Don’t call me that.” Five twists his lips sceptically. “Isn’t it way to small?”

“Nonsense, mein kleiner Bruder!” Klaus wheezes slightly. The heavy wool might be cutting off his air supply a tiny bit. God, he needs to get out of this thing. “It’s the perfect size!”

He yanks another one of the rank and dumps it into the bag with their other stuff. “In fact, let’s get two! Daddy’s money and all that!” he also might have stretched this one out quite a bit already.

Finally, Five shrugs his shoulders, a small smile gracing his face as they make their way towards the check out. On the way there, Klaus tugs the sweater vest off him and subtly takes a deep breath.

His little brother doesn’t comment on the issue anymore, but for the reminder of their shopping trip, Five doesn’t stop his quiet, happy humming to himself and checks the bag in which the knitted vest is in every two minutes.

This is totally a win in Klaus’ books – especially when Five wears it around their home, giving Klaus the pleasure to see Diego walk into a wall accidentally because he was unprepared for that level of cuteness.

3.

Diego smiles down at the boy wrapped up in his large blanket. On the couch next to them, Klaus is perched on the armrest, seemingly waiting for Diego to let his guard down so he can strike forward and cuddle their smallest brother.

Five’s only just hanging onto wakefulness, eyes dropping every few seconds and staying shut longer with each blink. In this state, he might even allow Klaus to attach himself to him octopus-style.

And Diego doesn’t mind sharing Five’s cuddles with his siblings, really – only when Klaus latches onto something he isn’t letting it go for ages, and Five is wrapped up burrito-style in his blanket which is their sign for when Five wants to sleep in Diego’s bed, and no way is he sharing that with his lanky-ass sleep-kicking brother as well.

So with practiced ease, Diego scoops Five up in his arms, hushing the little grumble of protest from his brother upon being moved, and grins triumphantly at a pouting Klaus on his way out of the living room.

The walk up the stairs was scary the very first time Five refused to leave Diego’s hold, but he’s an expert by now – if he does say so himself, respectfully and without bragging.

Five huffs when Diego places him down on his bed, and glances disorientated around.

“It’s alright, kid,” he ushers his little brother closer to the wall, and slips beside him into bed.

“Didn’t say g’d night t’ Klaus,” Five lets Diego crawl under the blanket and tugs his nose in the warm space between his shoulder and jaw.

Diego rolls his eyes and presses a chaste kiss into Five’s hair. “It’s Klaus, he’ll live. Don’t wor-“

“Don’t fret,” Klaus singsongs as he appears in the darkness of the room. “I'm right here, to lighten your worries and accompany your sleep!”

Diego is incredibly close to raising his voice and yelling at Klaus to leave – comes even closer when Klaus climbs over him to lay down against Five’s back, stomping all over Diego’s legs and slapping him in the face in the progress – but then Five lifts his head up a bit. The smile is barely there but contend, and his little brother wiggles in place a bit before settling in their arms. His breathing evens out, and Diego sighs. There’s no point now, he’s lost the battle before it started.

Over Five’s head Klaus is grinning in victory, dropping a kiss to Five’s head as well. “Good night, little Five.”

Diego rolls his eyes again, but harder this time. Klaus squeezes his arms around Five’s middle and closes his eyes, ignoring Diego’s posturing.

They both know he’ll end up on the bedroom floor some point during the night, when Klaus accidentally kicks him in his sleep.

They also both know that as long as Five sleeps well and without nightmares, Diego would commit himself to a lifetime of nightly kicks. Really, Diego thinks, it’s kind of on him for caring so much about Five’s comfort. But he supposes Klaus and his stupid smug grin are right: he wouldn’t have it any other way.