definitely maybe i will live to love || Five x Reader/OC ||

feel the vibe, feel the terror, feel the pain

Mad About You

tw: blood

Diego hears a cry and a crash from the bathroom.

He jolts from his bed, immediately awake. All the missions throughout the years have severed any notions of lingering exhaustion. It's Vanya or Allison, most likely, who made the noise.

A crack of light from the ajar bathroom door beckons Diego in the dark, like the sliver of a portal, a tear in reality. He then hears soft crying, and it immediately sends his slow steps into a burst. The door slams open with his hand splayed against it. His eyes take in the towels, the blood, the fallen shower curtain—

You.

This, this isn't you. You can't be crying, be hurting, be crumpled on all fours on the tiled floor in a mess of warm red. You're you. This is a bad dream, a nightmare, not real.

"Get Mom," you choke out through tears. "Diego, get Mom."

He tries to say your name, but the stutter chains it down in his throat. You let out another cry—a scream, harsh and loud and high—and slip to your side. You hold a soaked red towel between your legs.

"Diego! GET MOM!"

You don't have desperation in you. Yet it's there, cracking, shattering your calm voice.

Bleeding. You're bleeding. You're bleeding.

Other bedroom doors hurriedly open at the noise. Diego turns and sprints down the hall, up a flight of stairs, shouting for Mom until he reaches the chaise where she lounges. She stares vacantly at the framed paintings on her wall, wires inlaid on her head for charging. With shaking hands why are his hands shaking Diego turns on the manual switch that overrides Mom's six o'clock alarm.

She smoothly transitions into the world, and she smiles gently at Diego. "What's the matter, sweetie—"

An ear-splitting shriek seems to break the mansion in two. Mom's expression changes; she becomes concentrated, serious in less than a second.

"I-i-i-it's—"

They don't have time for Diego's words to get out. He points downstairs in the direction of your bedrooms. The chargers slink back from Mom's head. She stands up and walks swiftly down the stairs. Diego follows, trying, trying to talk, fucking talk, damnit!

The bathroom crowds with everyone by the time they make it. It's pandemonium. Luther's shouts mingle with Klaus' and Ben's and Allison's, but it's pitted in sharp contrast with Five, who isn't shouting at anyone except for you. He's on his knees with your head in his lap, attempting to talk you through the pain that causes your body to convulse. Vanya is beside him, beside you, holding your hand, grimacing through her tears and the strength of which you grip her.

"Tee! Hey, come on, Tee, look at me, focus on me! Tee!"

Five, so normally composed and nonchalant and proud, is utterly lost and terrified when your surreal, wild cries crash over him, when he can do nothing but watch torment consume you. So he invokes your nickname like he always does when he's scared for you—which is beyond rare. It tells Diego that this is very, very bad.

Mom assesses the situation in a millisecond. She firmly brushes past everyone and says to Five and Vanya, "Excuse me, children, but a mother's touch is needed here."

Five argues with her, but Mom deftly picks you up off the floor with the strength she hardly ever needs to use. The towel between your legs drops, revealing a heart-stopping amount of blood. They've all seen that people with that much blood outside of them. It never ends well.