Five Hargreeves oneshots

Acting Like A Child

(Five's pov)

I wake up, feeling like a thousand knives hit me in the head. I groan out of pain and sit up. I stumble out of bed and leave my room. I accidentally bump into someone, they catch me before I fall. I look up at them, trying to get my eyes to focus on the person so I can figure out who the person is. "Five, you okay?" I immediately recognize the voice as Diego's. "Yeah, just peachy," I mutter, pushing past him. My stomach chooses that moment to lurch, and I clap a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat.

Diego's eyes widen in alarm. "Dude, you look awful. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie, even though my voice sounds rough and strained. I just need to get to the kitchen, grab some coffee, maybe teleport myself into the sun for a quick recharge. That always helps, right?

Except, my legs feel like jelly, and the world is starting to tilt sideways. I sway, my vision blurring at the edges.

"Five?" Diego's voice seems to come from miles away. "Five, hey, don't pass out on me..."

And then the world goes black.

I wake up to the smell of antiseptic and old books. Blinking, I realize I'm on the infirmary bed back at the mansion. Why am I in the infirmary? Oh, right. Passing out. Fantastic.

Diego's sitting beside the bed, reading a comic book, but he glances up as I stir. "Sleeping Beauty finally decided to grace us with his presence," he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Very funny," I grumble, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours. Luther almost called Mom."

The thought of Mom fussing over me with her limited human understanding of illness is enough to make me want to disappear. "Please tell me you stopped him."

Diego shrugs. "He's on patrol. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on you. You were burning up pretty bad."

Burning up? Now that he mentions it, I do feel hot. And achy. And my head still feels like it's stuffed with cotton wool. This is... unpleasant. I haven't been sick in years, not since I was a kid, and I'd almost forgotten how debilitating it could be.

"Here," Diego says, handing me a glass of water. "Grace made you some soup, but knowing you, you'd rather have this."

He's not wrong. I gulp down the water, which feels cool and refreshing against my parched throat. "Thanks," I mumble, handing the glass back to him.

"So," Diego says, leaning back in his chair. "What's got you down, Five? The apocalypse finally catch up with you?"

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my brain. "I don't know. Just feel like crap."

Diego raises an eyebrow. "You? The guy who can teleport and fight off assassins? Admitting weakness?"

"Shut up," I groan, pulling the thin blanket over my head. "Just let me sleep."

"Whatever you say, old man," Diego says, his voice laced with amusement.

I can hear the rustle of his comic book as he goes back to reading. Despite myself, I feel a flicker of gratitude for his presence. Maybe having a brother around isn't so bad after all, even if he does find my misery endlessly entertaining.

(Diego's pov)

The others are giving me weird looks. I can feel their stares burning into me as I reheat the soup Grace left for Five. He's been asleep for most of the day, only waking up to grumble about the taste of the medicine Allison managed to sneak past his stubborn lips.