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REWRITTEN.

The next few days went by in a blur.

Blood was on his hands, not his own and not for the first time in his life, but he could not bring himself to wash it from his skin.

Her skin had been icy.

His lungs were on fire.

Staring at the wall passed time he did not have, but now he did not want it.

He did not want to save the world anymore. He did not want the burden. The weight. The responsibility.

He was just a kid.

He had been just a kid.

And now, he was an adult and he had to move on, because this was bigger than one person, than his feelings.

He moved on. He ignored his siblings pleas. He ignored Vanya. He ignored Grace attempting to wipe his tears.

They were worried about him. He hated it. He wasn't weak. He wasn't a child.

It was pathetic.

He worked. His head hurt. His heart hurt.

But the world was going to end and he was the only one who could do anything about it-

So he made a deal. An impossible deal that a rational Five wouldn't have dreamt to make.

But that rational part of Five had broken off, chiselled away like crumbling stone. He was now hollow.

He made the deal, he plastered on a bitter smile, he did as he was told.

If he carried on, he could steal a briefcase.

He could go back.

He could figure it out.

He could fix it.

Or maybe he was just lying to himself to keep him on his feet, to keep him upright.

But that wave kept coming back, kept sweeping him off of his feet, and there was only so many times he could pick himself back up and drag on.

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