𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 ━ five hargreeves¹

21│TWO WRONGS MAKE A FIGHT

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❛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙ. ʙ. ᴇꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢs ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ғɪɢʜᴛ ꒱　


❝ I WOULD'VE GROWN UP TO
BE AN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED,
OVERGROWN MAN-CHILD LIKE
EVERYONE ELSE AROUND HERE ❞

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One of the hardest things Five Hargreeves ever had to do was pull himself away from his dead family members. He wasn't sure how long he'd lingered over their bodies— one in particular— but instinct told him that he wouldn't survive like this. He had to keep moving. That was the only way things would ever go back to normal— although, how could it now that he's seen this hellish future?

He shook his head to clear it. Five would've liked to bury their bodies but it was a waste of time and precious energy. He had no idea how scarce food was going to be and he shouldn't wait until he was hungry to look for some. He didn't plan on staying in the apocalypse long. He'd find a way to get back home soon; he had to, and he couldn't think about it any other way. The most important thing was to keep reminding himself that this was the future and because of this, it hadn't happened yet. It was preventable. Forcing himself to focus, he decided food was most important and shelter would be next— he could find it on the way if he was lucky.

-

Ten days into the apocalypse and nothing had changed. Five himself had, of course, but the scenery was still full of burning, ashy rubble from whatever had destroyed the human race. As far as he could tell, he was the only living person left on the planet. After living in a house with seven other children— albeit quieter ones than average— the heavy silence weighed on him as a reminder of where he was. Sometimes, his ears played tricks on him.

The wind could sound like laughter from a certain blonde member of the Academy or a flash in the corner of his eye made him turn, thinking he saw the telltale shields of her presence. But then he would turn and Five was reminded, again, of what he'd lost.

-

Nearly a month in— although Five was worried he'd lost count at some point since it was hard to tell the days and nights apart— and he could feel himself cracking. He spent most of his time trying to figure out how to get home and the rest scavenging for supplies. He was lucky, really (if you could call it that) that large portions of the library were still standing which provided a good shelter for him to live in and there was even a chalkboard that had amazingly survived somehow.

During his treks across town, he'd sometimes find himself humming familiar tunes that had once played on Alexa's record player and then he'd mentally smack himself for falling prey to such frivolities. As he searched for food he found other, less pleasant things— dead bodies being chief among them.

So when he saw a pale, manicured hand sticking up out of the rubble it hardly fazed him, except— the hand was almost too perfectly intact. This many days after the apocalypse, most bodies were beyond recognition. His interest piqued and he moved towards the object. After removing the cement blocks around the body, he discovered that the hand belonged to a mannequin like those in a department store. 

Gazing at the painted, manufactured face, he couldn't help feeling the sheer relief that washed over him. It had been so long since he'd seen another human and even if this one was plastic and just as dead as the others, at least he could carry her around as a reminder.