RUN BOY RUN- reader x Five Hargreeves

Part Forty-Eight

The air crackles with tension as I crawl across the debris-strewn floor toward Diego and Klaus. My palms press against cold concrete, catching on fragments of shattered glass that bite into my skin. The building's violent tremors make every movement treacherous, but I push forward, driven by desperation and the need to reach my siblings. That's when it happens – strong fingers suddenly dig into my waist like steel cables, yanking me backward with brutal force. Jack's grip is ruthless, his arms wrapping around me with a strength born of pure survival instinct. His ragged breathing hits my ear in hot bursts, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. The scent of his fear-soaked sweat mingles with the dust and chaos around us. "What the hell are you doing?" I shriek, my voice barely carrying over the thunderous wind that howls through the building's fractured windows. Debris whips around us in a deadly dance, and I can taste copper in my mouth from where I've bitten my lip. "Saving myself!" The words explode from him, raw and primal. His fingers dig deeper, and I know there will be bruises tomorrow – if we survive that long. I claw at his arms with increasing desperation, my nails leaving angry red trails across his skin, but his grip remains unbreakable.

The training I've endured for years kicks in, muscle memory flowing through my body like electricity. In one fluid motion, I drive my elbow backward, feeling it connect with his solar plexus. The satisfying whoosh of air leaving his lungs spurs me on. I pivot, ignoring the screaming protest of my tired muscles, and drive my knee upward into his groin. The impact sends shockwaves through both of us, and his agonized groan echoes off the walls. Freedom seems within reach as I lunge forward, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. But Jack isn't finished – his fingers snatch my ankle with devastating precision, sending me sprawling. The concrete rushes up to meet me, and I barely manage to break my fall with my forearms. Pain shoots through them like lightning. "Diego!" My brother's name tears from my throat, panic making it sound foreign even to my own ears. Through the chaos, our eyes lock – a silent conversation passing between us in microseconds. Diego's hand moves with the grace of a dancer, and suddenly a blade is spinning through the air. Time seems to slow as I watch its arc, the metal catching what little light remains in the room. The knife finds its mark with a sickening thud, burying itself in Jack's shoulder. His fingers release me instantly as he stumbles backward, crimson blooming across his shirt like a macabre flower. The metallic scent of blood joins the cacophony of smells – dust, sweat, and fear. Just then, the violent shaking that had been rattling the building to its foundation ceases abruptly.

The sudden stillness feels almost supernatural, leaving my ears ringing in the aftermath. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles, and make my way to Klaus and Diego's side. My breath comes in ragged gasps, heart still racing from the encounter. "What are you doing here?" I manage to ask, studying their faces – faces I'd missed more than they could know. Before either can answer, the sharp click of heels against concrete announces new arrivals. Vanya and Allison emerge from the shadows of the hallway like apparitions, and suddenly everything clicks into place. I take a halting step toward Vanya, my limp more pronounced now that adrenaline is beginning to fade. "You caused all this trembling," I whisper, realization dawning. "Your powers are back." She offers me a smile that's equal parts pride and sorrow, her eyes holding secrets I can only guess at. Without hesitation, I pull her into a fierce embrace, feeling the barely contained power thrumming beneath her skin. Pride swells in my chest – pride for who she is, who she's become despite everything that's tried to break her. "Why were you here?" she asks as we separate, her hands lingering on my arms as if afraid I might disappear. A pained moan interrupts my response, drawing our attention to the corner where Jack sits slumped against the wall.

Blood continues to seep from the wound Diego's knife left behind, and despite everything that's just happened, I can't let him die. I strip off my shirt without hesitation, the cool air raising goosebumps on my exposed skin. Tearing a substantial piece from the fabric, I push aside any self-consciousness about standing there in just my bra. Some things matter more than modesty. I kneel beside Jack, my hands moving with practiced efficiency as I bind his shoulder. His skin is clammy beneath my touch, shock starting to set in. "We never speak of this day," I tell him firmly, pressing a carefully folded paper into his trembling hands. The document feels heavy with the weight of secrets it contains. "Find the gang and give them this. It explains everything." His eyes, glazed with pain and confusion, search mine. "Where will you be?" "With my family," I answer without hesitation, a genuine smile spreading across my face as my siblings gather around me. Their presence fills a void I'd been carrying for longer than I care to admit. Diego suddenly bolts toward the president's location, his movement spurring us all into action. We chase after him, our footsteps echoing through the corridors like thunder. The air grows thicker with tension with each step, but we arrive moments too late.

The bitter taste of failure mingles with the metallic tang of blood still in the air. Yet amidst this new tragedy, familiar faces emerge from the chaos – one in particular making my heart skip a beat. "Y/N?" Five's voice cuts through everything else, clear as a bell. Every dark hour spent in that frigid cell, every moment of isolation and fear, had been marked by thoughts of him. I crash into his arms with enough force to make us both stumble, breathing in his familiar scent – a mixture of coffee, old books, and something uniquely him. "Where were you?" he murmurs, his hands framing my face with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with his usual demeanor. His eyes scan for injuries with barely contained worry, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "I couldn't connect, and I was terrified." More tears blur my vision as I cup his face between my palms, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. In this moment, the chaos around us seems to fade into the background. "Just kiss me, please," I plead softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Five doesn't hesitate – his lips find mine with an urgency that speaks of lost time and endless worry. The kiss is everything I've dreamed of during those cold, lonely nights: warm, real, and full of unspoken promises. For just a moment, the world around us ceases to exist. There's no mission, no danger, no impending apocalypse – just us, finding our way back to each other in the eye of the storm that is our lives.

...

The familiar scent of home – old books, coffee, and that inexplicable warmth that lingers in well-loved spaces – crashes over me like a wave, making my knees buckle with relief as we strolled into Elliots apartment. All seven of us. "You're shivering," Five murmurs, his fingers ghosting over the constellation of goosebumps that pepper my bare shoulders. I'm still only in my bra, the remains of my shirt having been sacrificed to stem the crimson tide of Jack's wound. The concern pooling in Five's storm-gray eyes makes my heart stumble over itself – it's a rare glimpse of the tenderness he keeps locked away, a softness reserved for moments like these when the world narrows down to just us. "Let's get you cleaned up," he says, guiding me toward his room. His hand finds the small of my back, thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin that send electricity dancing up my spine. "I found some things you might like. Just in case." There's a rawness in his admission that steals my breath – the thought of him preparing for my return, keeping faith even when hope seemed foolish. Five opens a wardrobe that I recognize as Elliott's mother's, pushing aside time-worn fabrics to reveal a carefully curated collection tucked away like buried treasure. Each piece tells a story from the Great Depression era, yet somehow they pulse with vitality, as if they've been waiting all these years for someone to breathe new life into them.

My fingers are drawn to a soft-toned green shirt and black slacks that feel like they were made for me. As I pull Elliott's suitcase from the closet, preparing for whatever chaos awaits us next, Five's arms snake around my waist from behind. His chest presses against my back, solid and real and here. I lean into his warmth as he reaches past me to retrieve my favorite sweater – an oversized comfort in a shade of blue that mirrors his eyes perfectly. With reverent hands, he helps me into it, his fingers lingering on my skin like whispered promises. I turn in his arms, and we begin to sway together to music only we can hear, two survivors finding their way back to each other. His eyes catch on my hands, and he stills. "Your hands," he breathes, taking my palms in his and examining the lattice of cuts from the broken glass. Without a word, he spatial jumps away – that familiar pop of displaced air that sounds like safety – returning seconds later with a first aid kit clutched in his grip. Five guides me to sit on his bed, dropping to his knees before me with a grace that belies his exhaustion. He tends to each cut with the same precise care he uses to calculate his jumps through time and space. These hands that have ended lives and altered timelines now treat my wounds with impossible gentleness, as if I'm something precious and fragile.

"I missed this," I confess into the quiet space between us, my voice barely more than a whisper. The admission feels like letting go of a breath I've been holding for far too long. Five's hands still against mine, and he looks up at me with eyes that have seen centuries pass but somehow still hold all the warmth of youth. In this moment, I understand something fundamental about survival – it's not just about making it through the chaos and catastrophe. Sometimes it's about finding your way back to these small, sacred moments of tenderness. Five and I have crossed time itself to be here, and maybe that's what makes it feel so profound – every gentle touch is a defiance against the universe that tried to tear us apart. As he finishes bandaging my hands, I realize that home isn't just a place with familiar scents and treasured belongings. Home is the way he says my name like a prayer, the careful press of his fingers against my wounds, the silent promise that no matter how many apocalypses we face, we'll always find our way back to each other.