Number Five Imagines

Words Unsaid

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: angst

The Hargreeves' home was silent, the usual hum of life replaced by a tense, suffocating quiet. Y/n stood in the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on the clock ticking away on the wall. Each second seemed louder than the last, a relentless reminder of the time slipping through her fingers.

Five stood by the door, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. His fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he struggled to contain his anger. The argument had started over something trivial—a misplaced item, a careless word—but had quickly escalated into a whirlwind of accusations and hurtful comments.

"I can't believe you sometimes," Y/n said, her voice rising. "It's like you don't even care about how I feel!"

"Care about how you feel?" Five shot back, his eyes flashing with frustration. "I'm doing everything I can to keep us safe, to keep this family together! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it?"

Y/n's heart ached at the words, but pride and anger kept her from backing down. "Maybe if you didn't shut me out all the time, I wouldn't feel like this!"

Five's face twisted with pain and rage. "You have no idea what it's like to be me," he snapped. "To have the weight of time itself pressing down on you. I'm trying, Y/n. But I can't do this if you're constantly second-guessing me."

Tears blurred Y/n's vision, but she blinked them away, refusing to let him see her cry. "Then maybe you should figure out what you really want," she said coldly. "Because I can't keep doing this."

Five's eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of regret passing through them. But before he could speak, the anger surged back, and he turned on his heel, wrenching the door open. "I need some air," he muttered, stepping outside into the night.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty house. Y/n stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to call after him, to tell him she didn't mean it, but the words stuck in her throat, choked by pride and fear.

Y/n sat on the edge of the couch, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The house was dark now, the only light coming from the muted glow of the television. She had tried calling Five's phone multiple times, but each call went straight to voicemail. Anxiety gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots.

Just as she was about to try calling again, the phone rang. She nearly dropped it in her haste to answer, hope flaring in her chest. "Five?" she said breathlessly.

But it wasn't Five's voice on the other end. It was cold, detached, professional. "Mrs. Hargreeves? This is St. Matthew's Hospital. Your husband has been involved in an accident. You need to come down here immediately."

Y/n's world tilted on its axis, the words not fully registering. "What...what happened?" she stammered, her heart racing.

"He was hit by a car. He's in critical condition. Please come quickly."

The phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor. The world around her seemed to blur and distort, the edges of her vision darkening. She stumbled to her feet, grabbing her coat and keys with shaking hands.

The hospital was a sterile maze of white walls and antiseptic smells, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. Y/n rushed through the hallways, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind a whirlwind of fear and regret.

She reached the emergency room, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until they landed on a nurse standing by the door. "I'm here for Five Hargreeves," she said, her voice trembling. "Where is he?"

The nurse's expression softened with sympathy. "He's in surgery," she said gently. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

Y/n nodded numbly, the words washing over her without meaning. She sank into a chair in the waiting room, her hands twisting together in her lap. Each minute stretched into an eternity, her mind replaying their argument over and over again. Every harsh word, every angry look—it all haunted her, a relentless loop of guilt and sorrow.

It was the early hours of the morning when a doctor finally approached her. His face was weary, lines of fatigue etched into his skin. "Mrs. Hargreeves?" he said, his voice gentle. "I'm Dr. Nguyen. Your husband...he's out of surgery. He's stable, but he's in a coma. We're not sure when he'll wake up."

Y/n felt the ground fall away beneath her. "A coma?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "But he'll wake up, right? He has to."

The doctor sighed, his eyes filled with compassion. "We hope so," he said softly. "But it's hard to say. He's been through a lot. His body needs time to heal."

Y/n nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Can I see him?"

"Of course," the doctor said, guiding her to Five's room.

The room was dimly lit, the soft beeping of machines the only sound. Five lay in the bed, his face pale and still, tubes and wires snaking from his body. Y/n approached slowly, her heart aching at the sight of him so vulnerable and broken.

She sank into the chair beside the bed, reaching out to take his hand in hers. His skin was cold, his fingers limp in her grasp. "Five," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. Please, come back to me."

The silence was deafening, the only response the steady rhythm of the machines. Y/n bowed her head, her tears falling onto their joined hands. "I love you," she said, her voice breaking. "I love you so much. Please, don't leave me. I can't lose you."

The days blurred into weeks, each one a relentless cycle of hope and despair. Y/n stayed by Five's side, talking to him, reading to him, holding his hand. She told him stories of their life together, of the moments they had shared, the dreams they had for the future.

But Five remained unresponsive, his eyes closed, his breathing steady but shallow. Each day that passed felt like a lifetime, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. Y/n was reading aloud from one of Five's favorite books, her voice soft and soothing. She paused to turn the page, and that's when she felt it—a faint, almost imperceptible squeeze of her hand.

Her heart leaped in her chest, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Five?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response, but the slight pressure on her hand remained. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched his hand tightly, hope flaring in her chest. "I'm here," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm right here. Please, come back to me."

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, miraculously, Five began to show signs of waking. His fingers would twitch, his eyelids would flutter.

Y/n was there every step of the way, her heart lifting with each small victory. She knew their journey was far from over, that there would be challenges and setbacks. But she held onto hope, held onto the promise of their love, and the belief that they would find their way back to each other.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still and the only sound was the soft beeping of the machines, Y/n would lean close, her lips brushing against his ear. "I love you," she would whisper. "I'm here, Five. I'm not going anywhere."

And in those moments, Five's hand would tighten around hers, a silent promise that he was fighting his way back to her. That their love, though tested and scarred, was still strong enough to withstand even the darkest of times.