RUN BOY RUN- reader x Five Hargreeves

Part Forty-Nine

Five and I sat at the bottom of the stairs, my body curled against his warmth. The ancient radiator clanked and hissed, fighting against the November chill that seeped through Elliott's drafty windows. His fingers traced absent patterns on my knee as we watched the evening news, the black and white images flickering across the screen like ghosts. The others were scattered around the room – Diego pacing by the windows, Luther hunched in a chair that seemed too small for him, Klaus sprawled on the floor painting his nails with what looked suspiciously like Elliott's India ink. The television droned on about local weather and crop reports until the reporter's next words sliced through the room's drowsy atmosphere like a blade. "Authorities are seeking assistance in identifying several persons of interest at Dealey Plaza. The FBI believes they may have collaborated with the alleged shooter, Lee Harvey Oswald," the reporter announced with practiced gravity. The room went still, even Diego's restless movement ceasing. "Vanya Hargreeves is wanted in connection with the deaths of several FBI agents inside the federal building at Dealey Plaza." I glanced at Vanya, who sat rigid in her chair, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She rolled her eyes at the accusation, but I could see the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her shoulders that meant she was fighting to maintain control.

"A juvenile delinquent who goes by the name of Dottie—" my attention snapped back to the screen as they displayed a photograph of Ace and me standing with reporters from our first public appearance. My throat tightened at the sight of Ace's face, his easy smile now a painful reminder of everything we'd lost. "She is wanted for orchestrating an escape from the same building, leaving a seventeen-year-old FBI intern critically wounded with a severe knife wound to the shoulder. She is also charged with withholding information." I scoffed, the sound bitter in my mouth. "Jack was just a kid looking to make a name for himself. He knew exactly what he was getting into." Five's hand squeezed my knee, whether in warning or comfort, I couldn't tell. The reporter continued, each new accusation landing like body blows. "A Cuban exile known only as Diego, recently escaped from Holbrook Sanitarium." Diego's knife appeared in his hand, spinning restlessly between his fingers. "A bare-knuckle boxer with suspected mafia ties, who fights under the name of King Kong—"

"Really? King Kong?" I turned to Luther, unable to hide my disdain at his lack of creativity. He shrugged, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he shifted uncomfortably. Five's fingers pressed into my hip, a silent warning to stay quiet. I could feel the tension radiating off him, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. The news kept coming, each revelation worse than the last. "Allison Chestnut, a n**** radical responsible for instigating and organizing the recent riots at Stadler's Lunch Counter." Allison scoffs at this clearly annoyed. "And finally, Klaus, the controversial cult leader and known tax evader." Klaus looked up from his nails, batting his eyes innocently. " "The FBI is also asking the public to be on lookout for this unidentified boy," the reporter continued as they showed Five's photo. I had to bite back a laugh, though a smirk still tugged at my lips. The picture showed him standing outside the library, looking every bit the innocent schoolboy in his uniform and knee socks. 

"Who they believe is being held hostage by the suspected terrorist network." I couldn't take anymore. The bitter irony of Five – probably the most dangerous person in the room – being painted as a helpless victim was too much. I strode over to switch off the TV, the screen going dark with a soft pop of static. "Well, it's true. I do feel like I'm being held hostage most days," Five muttered darkly, but his lips quirked up at the corners. The weight of our situation pressed down on my shoulders like lead. The Commission, the FBI, the entire Dallas police force – we had enemies on all sides now. What in God's name were we going to do? I climbed the stairs, mind racing, as Vanya brushed past me to reach the phone. Below, my other "siblings" erupted into their usual bickering, voices rising in a familiar cacophony of accusations and defenses.

I needed a drink.

In the kitchen, I rummaged through Elliott's cabinets until I found a bottle of tequila, probably left over from better days. The glass was dusty, but the seal was unbroken. I poured a shot and knocked it back in one swift motion, wincing as the bitter liquid burned down my throat. The familiar warmth spread through my chest, but it did little to calm the storm of thoughts in my head. Leaning against the counter, I felt my heart hammering against my ribs. What are we going to do? The past week's events tumbled through my mind like debris in a tornado: Ace's death, his blood still sticky on my hands as I tried to save him. Five's return, appearing in that alley like a ghost made flesh. Dinner with Dad, his cold eyes assessing us like specimens under glass. Being hunted by my enemies, always looking over my shoulder, never knowing which shadow might hide an assassin.

My stomach churned with that same strange feeling I got whenever I looked at Five's painting above the fireplace. Something between dread and anticipation, fear and hope all tangled together. I couldn't decipher it, but it didn't matter – we'd be home soon. We had to be. "Y/N!" Five's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp with urgency. I met him by the stairs, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted to the windows. "What's happening?" "We're helping Vanya," Five said, pulling me down the steps. Luther stood waiting below, his massive frame blocking most of the entrance. "What's wrong with Vanya?" I asked, grabbing my coat from the rack. The leather was still warm from earlier, and I caught a whiff of gunpowder and Five's coffee-tinged scent as I pulled it on. Instead of answering, Five just wrapped an arm around my waist and blinked us to the car in a flash of blue light.

Klaus sat in the front beside Vanya, drumming his fingers nervously on the dashboard. Five opened the back door with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Five, Y/N, you don't have to—" Vanya started, her voice smaller than usual. "I know," Five cut in, something gentle entering his tone, "but we owe you one." I smiled, still clueless about what was happening but touched by the gesture all the same. Despite everything, we were still family – dysfunctional, dangerous, but family nonetheless. "Children ride in the back," Five quipped at Klaus, who grinned and clambered into the rear seat with theatrical grace. The car sagged dramatically as Luther climbed in the trunk, the suspension groaning in protest. "Anyone makes a fat joke, and I'm out of here," Luther warned, though there was a hint of humor in his voice. I chuckled and turned toward Vanya, who gave us a grateful smile as we pulled away from the curb. The streetlights cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across our faces as we drove through the quiet streets of Dallas. I reached out to Five through our mental link: Where the hell are we going? He glanced my way, amusement dancing in his eyes despite the gravity of our situation. Vanya may have given the kid she used to nanny for powers. His mom is freaking out and we wanna help as much as we can. His hand found mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining with practiced ease.