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Ash was falling from the sky. The air burned against Five’s face, a constant reminder of the fires that never seemed to go out.
His hands were clenched so tightly into fist that he could feel the skin burning on his palms. Everywhere he looked, rubble and ruin, not a soul in sight (but he knew, with a bone deep certainty, that if he looked just a little further he would start finding the bodies, the people who had never stood a chance - he would shake them all anyway, just in case).
He took a shaky breath in. It wasn’t real. It felt real. But he’d just seen his family earlier. They were alive. The house was still standing. He’d stopped the apocalypse.
Hadn’t he?
Five remembered the Handler’s words about gathering up his family to fight the apocalypse. She’d called it a dream. Maybe it was just that. He wondered, briefly, why he didn’t know the Handler’s name. Was she real?
She couldn’t have been real, if he was still in the apocalypse. Real people had names, right? So had she just been a figment of his imagination all along? Someone he’d conjured up to pull him from the rubble and save him?
(She didn’t save him, he did that himself. He didn’t owe her one thing, he would have gotten back to them eventually, Commission or not. He didn’t owe her shit.)
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t hallucinated his siblings in his isolation. He’d talked to them frequently, even though Dolores fretted about it. Klaus saw ghosts, which proved their existence, right? Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. Talking to them wasn’t insane, it wasn’t.
And when he did see them, covered in ash and dust with empty eyes asking him why he’d left them, why he’d let the apocalypse happen - well. He didn’t like talking about that.
But - they’d been so real.
Five uncurled a hand, looking indifferently at the crescent indentations where his fingers had dug in way too tight, and lifted his hand towards the sky. The ashes burned against his hand, real and terrible and the worst thing possible.
He choked on a sob as he brought his arm back to hug his stomach tightly. He was back, back amongst the rubble and wasteland. Back to being alone.
“Now now,” The Handler crooned in his ear, making him stiffen and whirl around in shock. She looked like she had the day she met him, not smiling so much as baring her teeth at him, “You didn’t think you deserved to win, did you?”
There were tears in his eyes, and he didn’t care. The Handler stepped closer, cupping Five’s face and touching a wet cheek with a manicured hand. Five flinched away, but she’d never cared about his comfort. Not really. She’d always liked to grab at him, even more so during the day that wasn’t when she thought she could turn him into management material. But she’d never cared about making him uncomfortable, seemed to take a terrible sort of joy in it.
“You left them, remember?” The Handler’s smile was still on her face, but her words her cruel and bit into Five’s heart as his breath hitched, “How could they ever love someone who abandoned them? You left them in the hands of your father, you escaped when they couldn’t, and they have never forgiven you for that.”
Five shook his head. A denial. He loved his siblings, he did everything to get back to them, he’d killed people, done terrible horrible things just for the chance to save them. He hadn’t meant to leave them, they knew that. They knew that, right?
“Just because you love them,” The Handler told him, hands falling to his shoulders and starting to shake him, “Doesn’t mean they love you back. How could they? You’re unlovable. A murderer, Five. Five. Five - ”
” - Five! Five? Are you okay? Say something!”
Five blinked his eyes and suddenly it wasn’t the Handler’s face in front of his own. It was - Ben’s? It took him a second to connect the face to the name, because the only time he’d seen Ben during the apocalypse his brother had been thirteen, like him. He’d never found Ben’s body. He’d found out about his death from Vanya’s book, but the ghost that haunted him had always looked like the last day Five had seen him, at that fateful dinner.
Not the older face of Ben that Klaus was summoning for longer and longer periods. His Ben had never grown old, like Peter Pan.
Five’s breath hitched again in a sob, because there was still ash falling from the sky. He was still in the fucking apocalypse. He guessed now he’d made up an older Ben that would be what he saw instead.
“Hey hey hey, none of that now.” Not-Ben informed him, looking vaguely panicked. What did not-Ben have to panic about? It was Five who was alone again. A shaky hand brushed against Five’s face, smearing his tears on his cheek as Ben hovered uncertain. But Five didn’t pull away. What was the point? It wasn’t like you could escape a ghost, not when they were only in your mind.
If anything though, not-Ben looked even more concerned that he hadn’t lost a hand.
“C’mon Five, talk to me.” Ben begged, “What’s wrong?”
More tears leaked down Five’s cheeks. He could still feel the burn of the ash against his skin. Well, if he was in the apocalypse, he at least knew how to survive. “Gotta - Gotta get shelter.” Five sniffled, bringing up an arm to swipe at his face.
Crying was just wasting fluids, and he couldn’t afford that.
“Get shelter?” Not-Ben’s face was still confused, but then he nodded firmly to himself. “Yeah, yeah right. Fuck, you must be freezing. Let’s get you inside, okay?”
Freezing? As if Five could be cold when all around him burned. His face burned, and be wondered where his scarf and hat where. Even in his early days he’d known that breathing ash was an unwise idea. Not-Ben tugged his arm, and Five couldn’t find it in himself to really care that he was following a ghost.
“Get out of the ash.” Five muttered numbly, and them promptly walking into his brother’s back as Not-Ben froze.
Which was odd, he’d never really physically run into his hallucinations before. Was this a sign that he was crazy? Crazier?
Hands were on his shoulders again as Ben crouched at eye level. Unfair. Little thirteen year old ghost Ben didn’t have to lean down to look him in the eye. Being a kid again fucking sucked.
“Five,” There was a sense of urgency in Ben’s voice that had Five standing to attention and trying his best to focus through the buzz of why-why-why under his skin, “Five, it’s not ash. There’s no ash. It’s just snow. It’s snowing. It’s not ash, you’re not in the apocalypse. You’re home.”
Five took a second to swipe at his face again, eyes still leaking no matter how much he told himself to conserve water. He needed a second to process - to figure it out. Ben was saying something else, but Five had turned his head to blink at the sky.
The flakes falling from the sky - they looked like ash but. When had ash ever been so white?
Ben’s hand tugged him forward again, as the passed through a set of doors (doors? In the apocalypse?) and into the warmth (when had it been cold?) of the house. A solid pair of hands brushed snow (ash?) off of his shoulders.
“Klaus!” Ben was calling as Five stared at his brother with wide eyes, “Klaus! Can you fetch some dry clothes for Five? And some blankets? No, I don’t care what you were doing, just go! And hurry up!”
Was Klaus here? Five wasn’t really sure if he wanted Klaus to show up. If more people started showing up, the rest would follow and he hated it when it was all of his siblings accusing him of things, accusing him of not saving them.
Without noticing, Five had been steered to the couch and pushed backwards onto it. Ben’s face popped back into view, “Five, talk to me. Please, c’mon. You’re scaring me.”
Well, those were the magic words. Five might not generally care about his own well-being half as much as he should, but he’d be damned if he let anything harm his siblings after he’d tried to hard to get back to them. Especially Ben. To Five forced a shaking hand (his whole body was shaking, actually, now that he cared to pay attention) over and put it into Ben’s. Fingers entwined with his brother’s very solid (very real) hand.
“‘M okay.” Five assured Ben, “Just - ” Afraid, lonely, crazy - “Cold.”
A blanket and sweater were dumped over his head, plunging his world into blackness as Ben yelled something muffled by the fabric.
Five stuck out a hand to peel the blanket off of his face to look at Klaus’s grinning one.
“Hey shortstack!” Klaus greeted, and Five couldn’t even find the energy to protest the nickname which brought a slight frown to Klaus’s face. “Time to change out of that sweater, it’s soaked! Actually - is that Diego’s sweater?”
The sweater in question was a black turtleneck that looked suspiciously like the one Diego had received a few birthdays back. It was too big on Five, really, with the sleeves rolled up enough to not impede his hands although if unrolled they would clearly extend a not insignificant way past them. “One of these times we’re going to address your casual magpie tendencies,” Klaus told him, holding out one of the sweaters they’d actually bought for Five specifically out as a peace offering.
Didn’t stop Ben from smacking Klaus on the arm hard enough to make him hiss.
Mechanically, Five stripped off the wet cold sweater and handed it off to Ben (who promptly threw it at Klaus’s face making the lankier sibling stumble backwards with a curse) to put on the new dry one. It was - an improvement, at the very least.
And now that he was out of the ash (snow), now that he was coming down from the flashback, he felt almost embarrassed. He let out another sniffle, swiping the arm of his new sweater over his face to clean himself up a little. He wasn’t supposed to be weak like this. Not actually in front of people.
Ben shuffled over, pulling Five with him and allowing for enough room to made on the opposite side of Five for Klaus to plop down looking like a particularly offended cat. No black sweater in sight. A weight fell on Five’s shoulders, making him startle before he realized it was just Ben shaking out the blanket to wrap around him.
“I’m fine.” Five protested. He was fifty-eight, not a child. He didn’t need to be coddled.
“You’re shivering,” Ben informed him, absolutely unimpressed, “From standing out who knows how long in the snow. Klaus, get closer. You know I don’t have body heat anymore.”
Klaus, who knew better than to disobey Ben when he was taking that tone, obediently shuffled closer. Five couldn’t help but lean into the warmth, even if he would forever deny it after. He still didn’t let go of Ben’s hand though, because old-Ben wasn’t part of his apocalypse hell. And that meant this was real more than anything else.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ben’s voice was soft, kind. Five didn’t quite know how to handle soft and kind things, anymore. But this was Ben, and even if he would snipe at all of his other siblings he’d try for Ben. Because who could disappoint Ben? It would be like kicking puppies, but somehow even worse.
But he really didn’t want to talk about it. So he just shrugged, “Just thought the snow was - was something else.”
Klaus nodded sagely, “Ah, flashback.”
The way Klaus said it like it was so simple had Five bristling and Ben shooting the taller brother a Look with a capital L.
But Klaus only shrugged, “Hey, I get ‘em too shortstack. You don’t get to hog all the family trauma.”
Strangely enough, that made Five relax. Maybe it was the confirmation that he wasn’t insane or that it wasn’t uncommon that helped him. Or maybe it was an experience shared and knowing someone would understand. Or maybe it was none of the above, maybe he was just really tired, but regardless it helped in some way.
“Hey Klaus, gimme your phone.” Ben reached out with the hand not occupied with holding Five’s. Klaus very intelligently didn’t hesitate to hand it over, though he gave Ben a puzzled look.
“Texting Mom.” Ben explained, “She’ll be back in a second with groceries. Asking if we can make hot chocolate.”
Five perked up, “Did she remember to pick up more marshmallows?”
Klaus snorted, “I wouldn’t worry about that, kiddo. Pretty sure no one could forget your favorite food if they tried. Peanut butter and marshmallows? Really?”
Feeling more himself, Five reaching out of his blanket cocoon to slap at Klaus irritably, “Just because you have no taste doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer.” He informed his brother snidely.
Klaus stuck his hand out in a ‘gimme’ motion when Ben still made no move to return the phone. Ben ignored the hand, letting Five take care of it by smacking it down. Klaus drew his hands back and pouted, “What are you doing now? He asked, more whine in his voice than there really should be.
“Well since I have hands,” Ben ignored Klaus’s mutter of you always have hands, they knew what he meant, “I’m taking control of tonight’s entertainment.”
As if by magic, a voice popped out of the phone introducing a new episode of a podcast. Klaus made a farting noise and Ben grinned victoriously.
Five sat huddled in the middle, oddly comforted by his siblings’ squabbles around him. In any other situation he would have jumped to his room to lick his wounds in peace. But it was nice and soft and warm where he was.
He was sure his brothers wouldn’t mind if he closed his eyes just for a minute.
Five closed his eyes feeling safe and warm and loved. Klaus pressed against one side, and Ben at the other. Safety sandwich. He was home, on the couch, with his very much alive brothers. No apocalypse in sight.
And that’s just the way it should be.