RUN BOY RUN- reader x Five Hargreeves

Part Sixty-Three

Five and I had been working ourselves to exhaustion, trying to piece together the puzzle of what was happening around us. We'd spent hours bouncing equations off each other, hoping something would finally click into place. The dim light of our makeshift workspace cast long shadows across the scattered papers and empty coffee cups. My eyes burned from staring at the same equations for hours, and I could see the same fatigue etched in Five's furrowed brow. "Five," I mumbled, walking over to where he sat hunched over his calculations. The floorboards creaked under my feet as I approached. I wrapped my arms around his tense shoulders, feeling the exhaustion radiating from him. His pen had left smudges of ink on his fingers, and several crumpled papers surrounded his workspace. "I'm not getting anywhere with this. What do we do now?" His shoulders tensed under my touch as he considered the question. The setting sun cast an orange glow through the dusty windows, making the equations on the papers seem to dance in the fading light. He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the sound of panicked screaming echoing across the farmland. "Y/n! Five! Start the car. START THE CAR!"

The urgency in the voice sent us both rushing to the window, our papers scattering in our wake. We watched as Klaus came sprinting down the hill from the farmhouse, his vintage coat flapping behind him like a cape as he ran. His arms windmilled wildly as an angry mob of his birth mother's relatives chased after him, pitchforks and all. Their shouts of outrage carried clearly across the evening air, mixing with the sound of dogs barking in the distance. "Five!" I called as he darted to the driver's side of our getaway vehicle, the engine roaring to life with a turn of his skilled hands. The familiar smell of leather and gasoline filled my nostrils as I threw myself into the passenger seat. Klaus launched himself into the back, his breathing ragged and heavy, the sound of his heartbeat almost audible in the confined space. The tires kicked up gravel as we sped away, the suspension groaning as we hit every bump in the unpaved road. Small rocks pinged against the undercarriage as Five navigated the treacherous path. Finally reaching the main road, I could breathe again, slumping against the leather seat. The tension in the car was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud. Five's jaw clenched and unclenched as he gripped the steering wheel. "Why can't you just get along with people for once?" he snapped, his knuckles white against the black leather of the wheel as we raced down the highway. The speedometer crept steadily higher as his foot pressed down on the accelerator. Klaus shifted in the backseat, the leather creaking beneath him as he straightened his disheveled clothes. 

Leaves and twigs had somehow found their way into his dark curls. "I tried, I really did." His voice carried a hint of genuine regret beneath its usual dramatic flair. Once we'd ensured the angry mob was well behind us, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He began flipping through a worn journal he'd apparently acquired during his escapade, the pages rustling in the quiet car. His fingers traced the aged paper reverently as he read, until suddenly they froze. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all its usual playfulness, replaced by something far more unsettling: "My mother died before I was born." The screech of tires against asphalt pierced the air as Five slammed on the brakes. The smell of burning rubber filled the car as Klaus lurched forward, nearly colliding with our seats. The journal went flying from his hands, landing with a soft thud on the floor. Five's face had gone pale, his eyes wide with shock and realization. "What did you just say?!" The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine and our heavy breathing. The implications of Klaus's discovery hung in the air like a physical presence, weighing down on all of us as we sat there on the empty highway, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of blood red and deep purple.

---

Later, Five pulled into the alley beside the hotel, the car's headlights casting long shadows against the brick walls. The engine's purr died away, leaving us in an eerie silence broken only by distant city sounds. Steam rose from a nearby vent, creating ghostly shapes in the dim streetlight. We made our way upstairs, our footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. The carpet was worn thin from years of use, its once-vibrant pattern now faded to muted browns and greys. As we approached our room, the muffled sounds of our siblings' voices carried through the thin walls. They were already gathered for an impromptu meeting, their shadows visible through the frosted glass of the door. The room itself was heavy with cigarette smoke and tension. A single lamp cast yellow light across the faces of our siblings, creating deep shadows under their eyes. The green felt of the pool table gleamed dully under the hanging light fixture, balls scattered across its surface from an abandoned game. I did a quick headcount, my eyes scanning the familiar faces. The absence of one particularly tall figure was immediately noticeable, like a missing piece in a puzzle. "Where's Luther?" The question hung in the stale air as everyone shook their heads, their expressions a mix of concern and resignation. I exchanged a meaningful look with Five, our silent communication perfected over years of partnership. 'Do you want to wait?'

Five's posture straightened, his shoulders squaring with determination. The dim light caught the silver in his hair as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of urgency. "It doesn't matter. We have bigger problems to worry about right now." I nodded and settled into a worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath me. Five positioned himself protectively behind it, his presence as reassuring as always. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath, a comforting constant in our chaotic world. "Like what?" Diego demanded, his fingers absently tracing the handle of one of his knives, a nervous habit he'd never managed to break. The notebook made a sharp slapping sound as Five threw it onto the pool table, causing several of our siblings to flinch. A few loose papers fluttered out, carrying the musty smell of aged documents. Victor picked it up with trembling fingers, his face illuminated by the overhead light as he thumbed through the pages. The sound of paper rustling seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

"Who are they?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes widened as he scanned the contents, recognition slowly dawning on his face. "Our mothers," Five responded grimly. The word hung heavy in the air like a physical thing. I glanced up at him, my heart constricting. We'd scoured that book countless times, but my mother's identity remained a mystery – a fact that gnawed at my insides like a hungry beast. "They all died," I explained, reaching for Five's hand. Our fingers intertwined automatically, a gesture born of years of shared trauma and trust. "They all died on the same day." My voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying the emotion I was trying to keep in check. "October 1st, 1989," Five added, settling beside me on the armrest. The old chair groaned under our combined weight. His hand found my thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping through my clothes, grounding me in the present moment.

"That's our birthday," Victor muttered, the realization dawning in his eyes like an approaching storm. The violin case at his feet seemed to vibrate slightly with his rising anxiety, though perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "Not in this timeline," I clarified, my heart racing so hard I could feel it in my throat. The question of my own mother's fate weighed heavily on my mind – was she alive somewhere in this twisted timeline? Or had she met the same fate as the others, her death simply unrecorded in those yellowed pages? The conversation spiraled from there, tension mounting with each revelation. The worn carpet beneath our feet had seen better days, much like our family's unity. When Allison's temper finally flared, it was like a match thrown into a powder keg. She stood near the window, city lights creating a halo around her hair as she challenged Five's authority. Her words dripped with venom, years of resentment bubbling to the surface. I found myself rising to Five's defense, though his hand tried to hold me back, fingers gripping my wrist with gentle restraint. "Y/n, calm down. I can fight my own battles," Five whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. But something in Allison's dismissive tone, the way she sneered while delivering her cruel words, had already ignited a fire in both of us.

When she muttered that crude insult, leaning against the wall with smug satisfaction, I saw Five's demeanor shift. His grip on my arm loosened, then released entirely. The change in him was subtle but unmistakable – like a predator shifting its stance before an attack. His silent permission rang clear in my mind: 'Okay, never mind. Get her, princess.' I felt my neck muscles tighten as I turned to face her, the crack of my joints audible in the sudden silence. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" The tension in the room crackled like electricity before a storm, the air charged with potential violence. Our siblings instinctively stepped back, creating a clear space between Allison and me. They'd seen enough of our confrontations to know what was coming. Five remained perfectly still behind me, his presence both warning and encouragement. The hanging light above the pool table swayed slightly, casting moving shadows across our faces as we squared off, neither of us willing to back down.