Five Hargreeves oneshots

Age Regression

(Five's pov)

I wake up feeling lightheaded, I open my eye and for some reason I see Diego sitting on my desk. "Don't move. You're still running a fever." He tells me. What did he mean by "still"?

"Still?" My voice was a rasp, barely louder than the hum of the old grandfather clock in the corner. I tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness slammed into me, forcing me back against the pillow. "How long have I been out?"

Diego shifted on the desk, his usual gruff demeanor replaced by something... softer. Concern? It didn't suit him. "Three days. You nearly cooked your brain, Five."

Three days? That was impossible. I hadn't been out cold for that long since... well, since I'd first jumped. Panic tightened its grip, cold and familiar. "Three days," I repeated, my voice flat. "And what, pray tell, have you done with my room?"

He gestured vaguely around the space, and that's when it hit me. The faded floral wallpaper, the heavy velvet curtains, the faint scent of lilac and old books. This wasn't my room. This was Mom's old study.

"You're at the Academy," Diego confirmed, his voice low. "Luther brought you here when you collapsed."

The Academy. Of course. Where else would we end up when the world was falling apart? But why was I here, in Mom's study, instead of the infirmary? And what about the others? Where were they?

A thousand questions clawed at the inside of my skull, each one more urgent than the last. But the room was starting to spin, the edges blurring. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the dizziness to recede.

"Easy there, Number Five," Diego said, his voice closer now. He placed a cool hand on my forehead. "You're not out of the woods yet."

I swatted his hand away, but it was a feeble effort. My body felt like lead, my thoughts sluggish and slow. "The others," I managed, my voice a croak. "Where are they?"

Diego hesitated, his gaze flickering towards the door. "We need to talk about that," he said, his voice grim. "It's about Vanya."

Vanya. My stomach twisted into a knot. Vanya was always the wild card, the unpredictable element in our dysfunctional equation. But what had she done now?

I opened my eyes, forcing myself to focus on Diego's face. He was never good at hiding his emotions, and right now, his usually stoic features were a mask of worry and... was that fear?

"What about Vanya?" I asked, my voice raspy. "What's she done?"

He hesitated, then pulled up a chair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on some point beyond my shoulder. "It's not what she's done, Five," he said, his voice low. "It's what she's become."

"Become?" I frowned, my mind struggling to keep up. "What are you talking about?"

He took a deep breath, then met my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "She's the reason you're sick, Five. She's the reason the world's falling apart. She's... she's got powers."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with impossible implications. Vanya? Powers? Our Vanya, the quiet, unassuming one, the one who always felt left out, ordinary? It was absurd. Ludicrous. And yet...

A memory flickered at the edge of my consciousness. A flash of white light, a wave of raw, untamed energy. Vanya, her eyes glowing, her body surrounded by a halo of pure power. It had been brief, fleeting, easily dismissed as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and fever. But now...

"She's a bomb," Diego continued, his voice barely a whisper. "A ticking time bomb. And we don't know how to defuse her."

"Bomb."