Five Hargreeves oneshots

Tired

(Five's pov)

"Why are you sick a smart ass?!" My dad, Reginald, asks me. I sigh and shake my head. "I'm doing what I have to, to protect my siblings!" I tell him, he rolls his eyes at me. "Oh yeah? Well-" He cuts himself off. "Five!!!" Someone yells my name, but I can't quite make up the voice. Suddenly something grabs me and shakes me.

I sit up in bed, sweat pouring down my face. "Oh thank goodness...." I look up and see Luther. "What-" I start, but get interrupted by Diego. "Don't speak. You'll need to save your energy, so no speaking." He tells me.

"Save my energy for what?" I rasp, already ignoring Diego's orders. My throat feels like sandpaper.

Luther and Diego exchange a look, that look that always makes me uneasy. The 'we're hiding something but it's for your own good' look. "Don't give me that," I snap, pushing the blankets back. "What the hell is going on?"

"You've been out for two days," Luther says, gently pushing me back down onto the pillow. "Just rest, okay?"

Two days? What could possibly knock me out for two days? The last thing I remember is...Reginald. The argument. But that was just a dream, right?

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" I say, my voice barely a whisper.

Diego hesitates, then sighs. "We need to talk about Dad, Five."

Dread pooled in my stomach, cold and heavy. "What about him?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

Luther pulls up a chair beside the bed, his face grim. Diego remains standing, a brooding shadow in the corner. "He's gone, Five," Luther says, his voice low.

"Gone?" I echo, the word feeling hollow and meaningless. "Gone where?"

"Dead, Five," Diego says bluntly. "He's dead."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Dead? Reginald Hargreeves, the unfeeling, iron-fisted bastard who raised us, was dead? A strange mix of emotions flooded me - relief, disbelief, a strange sense of emptiness.

"How?" I manage to croak out, my throat still scratchy.

"Heart attack, apparently," Luther says, avoiding my gaze. "Pogo called us together this morning. The funeral's tomorrow."

"And you waited two days to tell me?" I snap, anger bubbling up through the shock.

"You were burning up with fever," Diego says defensively. "We thought it best to let you rest."

"Rest?" I scoff, throwing the blankets off. "I need to see this. Where's the body?"

Luther and Diego exchange another one of their looks. "Five," Luther begins cautiously, "Pogo already... took care of it."

"Took care of it?" I repeat, my voice rising. "What the hell does that mean?"

A beat of silence. Then, Diego mutters, "He cremated him, Five."

Cremated. Reginald Hargreeves, reduced to ashes. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Cremated. The finality of it slammed into me like a physical blow. No grave to visit, no body to... to what? I didn't even know what I wanted to do. Yell at him one last time? Demand answers to the questions that had haunted me for years?

Answers.

A memory flashed through my mind, sharp and painful. I was six, eavesdropping outside Reginald's study, a habit I'd perfected over the years.

"...becoming too volatile," Reginald's voice, low and laced with displeasure. "His powers... unpredictable. He's a liability."

"He's a boy, Reginald," Grace's voice, soft but firm. "He needs guidance, not condemnation."