How to Kill Time (Reader x Five Hargreeves)

Chapter 4

 I ramble off another set of swear words as I hobble my way to the front door of the store.

Five flashes around the store, a table knife in hand. Sweat beads on his face and with every beam of light, one seems slower than the rest. Guns fire off in every direction and one by one, the people seem to collapse on the floor. I can almost hear Five panting as I look through the hazy glass windows.

"Hey assholes!" I shout at them. All of them immediately point their guns at me. "My turn." I narrow my eyes and concentrate with my full force on the assassins. Their eyes seem to pop out their skull and they fall down to their knees.

"I'm sorry! Please don't do this! Please please please-"

"No!"

"You promised. And you lied."

"You killed them!"

"Murderer!"

And with a flash of red, they collapse onto the floor, dead. I stroll calmly into the store, a large smirk on my face. Five is staring at me, wide-eyed.

"Your powers. It's-"

"Mind-blowing?" I snicker at my own joke. Suddenly, I feel like somebody sucked my blood out of my head, and I stagger, clutching at the edge of a nearby table.

"What is it?" Five asks. As if he's concerned.

"Lost practice." I heave out. "Haven't....done...this...in years..." He pulls me out the front door and onto a nearby bench.

"Stay here for a second, yeah? I mean it this time." He flashes away. After a few moments, he flashes back. His face is distorted into pain but quickly hides it as he pulls me up.

"What's wrong? Are you-? Yup, you're bleeding."

"All the reason to get out of here. Where's your house at?"

"Just around the right corner. Right there." I point at the windows of my apartment. Five grabs my hand and with a flash of light, we arrive at my house. I groan.

"The feeling doesn't get old, doesn't it?" Then I notice the blood dripping from his arm and onto the floor.

"Can't you stop bleeding on my carpet? I bought it like a week ago."

"More like a century. And it would be extremely helpful of you if you brought out medical supplies to clean it up." he says sarcastically.

I scoff and turn but I realize our hands are still locked together. Five seems to notice it too. We both let go in disgust.

I walk to the bathroom and pick out a couple of things from the cabinet and go back to the living room

"Sleeves up." I instruct and Five rolls the white sleeve of his suit up to the top of his shoulders. An ugly, red patch lies on his biceps, as if somebody dug a knife into it. Another trickle of blood escapes from his arms and lands on the couch.

"Well that's definitely not a bullet wound." I comment as I tie a bandage tightly above the wound. "You could have asked for supplies before digging your arm out with a knife."

"Supplies?" he asks, grimacing as I start cleaning his arms with alcohol. "What, you have a random scalpel in your house or something?"

"I have a doctor's degree."

"Thought you were a writer."

"I have a writing degree, a doctor's degree, an engineering degree, marketing degree, a philosophy degree and I don't even know anymore."