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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚ ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜ ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ғɪᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇs &
ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ʜᴏʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ɴᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ,
ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ꒱
❝ THEY'RE ALL DICKHEADS ❞
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10 minutes earlier
If having the worst week of your life was a category for the Olympics, Five Hargreeves would win the gold medal hands-down, no questions asked. From stopping his sister's first attempt to end the world to being immediately thrown into a nuclear war, he'd had a hell of a time trying to protect his family.
The last ten days had been the worst since he hadn't even known where his wife was. After being together for decades on end, being without her so suddenly had been. . . jarring, to say the least. Dealing with his siblings alone had been hell and their reunion had been a more than welcome one. Yet, not everything was as happy as it should have been. (After all, when did things ever work out for him?)
He'd learned that Dolores had been stuck in another apocalyptic wasteland— alone, this time— because of him. Still, he hadn't been able to give her a peace of mind and had selfishly dragged her through the next eight days of stopping the apocalypse she'd just survived for six and a half months. On top of that, he'd put her through Paradox Psychosis (again) and then she'd died.
Even though she'd done all of this without complaining— something that he admired greatly about her— and she would probably keep following him to the ends of the Earth, the last one had finally lifted the rose-colored glasses. He couldn't keep doing this to her. Hell, he couldn't keep doing this to himself. She'd died only hours ago and he was the only one who remembered it. The scene kept replaying in his mind every time he closed his eyes: the sound of the bullets spraying from The Handler's gun, the moment of unbalance as she turned them around and the soft oomph she'd let out as her body had fallen against his.
Her body. He refused to ever let that happen again. It was why he'd snapped at her so harshly despite her insistence that she could help in their newest fight. They both knew that she couldn't and her involvement would only increase the risk of her getting hurt— or worse.
Five shook his head to clear it. He'd apologize to her later; right now, he needed to focus on making sure that his siblings all got out in one piece. Speaking of— he blinked over to where Allison had collapsed on the floor due to the return force of her punch. His hand secured on her knee and they disappeared before the opposing Sparrow— the one with the disfigured face— could do further damage.
They landed on the balcony a floor above and his sister nodded to him gratefully. "Thanks."
"No problem," he replied as they got to their feet again.
They were hardly allowed a moment of respite before they faced the next Sparrow: a woman with midnight-dark hair but otherwise unremarkable features. "Hey, short pants!" she taunted him. "What's up?"
"Go help the others," he told Allison. "I'll handle this one."
As his sister agreed, the Sparrow gave him an unimpressed look. "What are you, their mascot?"
He blinked behind her and wasted no time in punching her in the face. The dark-haired woman fell to the floor with a grunt. "More like their ringer." Inexplicably, she pulled back her lips to reveal her teeth as she hissed at him. A dark substance flew from her mouth and landed on his forehead, causing him to grimace. "Ugh! Hey, gross, alright?"
The sounds of fighting that came from downstairs faded as Five seemed to be sucked into his own world. "The hell?"
Before he could question the change of circumstances further, woman's voice near the stairs made him turn slightly. "Five?"
He looked at the brunette with confusion. "Dolly? What are you doing up here?"
The brunette smiled softly at him as she stepped closer. She looked the same— she had the same brown hair that was separated into two braids, the same blue eyes, the same height and build— but there was something distinctly off about her that he couldn't place. Maybe it was because her features had a more youthful look to them: she didn't look exhausted and old like she had back in 1963 (like she did now, even), but almost. . . refreshed. She didn't give him much time to think about it as she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I just wanted to be with you."
Despite her sweet words, he frowned. "I thought I told you to stay downstairs."
Something shifted in her expression and she dropped his hand. "You're always telling me to do things."
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You told me to stay behind you when we got here and to stay out of the fight. You don't let me make my own decisions." Her tone had taken on a rather biting edge. "I know I don't have powers like you but I can't believe I haven't figured it out earlier. You don't even see me as your equal! Am I-am I just a little pet to you?"
"What?" This time, it was more an exclamation. His eyes widened at her accusation. "Dolly, you know that's not true! I don't know what I've done to make you feel this way but we can talk about it later, alright? Right now—"
"No," she cut across him swiftly. "You're always making excuses. We're talking about this now. I've been through so much for you, Five. I've survived more apocalypses caused by your family than I deserve. Your brother sent me to the Vietnam War. You made me go through Paradox Psychosis three times. Hell, I've even died for you!" Dolores flung the word died at him as if it were a whip and he flinched in response. "Does none of that even mean anything to you?"
Jayme watched with interest as her power worked its magic. At first— like most of her victims— the vision started off as something pleasant, what they wanted to see. To her, even though she'd been the one to "cast the spell" (so to speak), she couldn't see what they were seeing. (Sometimes she was grateful for this.) But, the longer the boy conversed with the air, the less. . . pleasant it seemed to become. A look so wounded and. . . heartbroken appeared on his face that she would've felt bad for him if she hadn't been enjoying the show so much. Half-afraid that he'd break down crying right in front of her, she decided that enough was enough and took the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine. She promptly roundhouse kicked him down the stairs.
✧✧✧
Five was still shaken from his. . . he supposed he'd call it an encounter with dream-Dolores?— she certainly hadn't been real-Dolores, after all— when they regrouped around some picnic benches in the nearby park. He could hardly meet the real-Dolores' eyes to make sure that she was alright, but they were all exhausted from their fight so she didn't really seem to notice— for now. When he did glance at her briefly, he almost did a double-take at the sight of her short hair and floppy front bangs; after seeing the hallucination of her with long hair he'd almost forgotten that she'd gotten it cut. He quickly looked away and positioned himself at one of the tables.
His siblings spread out on the other various seating options but Dolores took a spot next to him— something that normally wouldn't have been a big deal to him. Now, he shifted as subtly as he could away from her. Thankfully, Diego's words kept her from asking any questions had she noticed his strange behavior. "That didn't go well."
"No, not our best work," he agreed.
Klaus lay down on the adjacent table top and stretched out his back. "Oh, I'm cracking," he complained.
"You alright?" Allison asked Luther.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "I've just never had my ass handed to me like that before. It's like. . . here you go. It's your ass."
"Okay," his sister said. "I think Luther's concussed."
Klaus sat up after he finished stretching and moved to take a proper seat on the bench. He held up his hand. "Luther, how many fingers?"
He didn't answer as he suddenly remembered their final sibling. "Oh my god. Vanya."
Allison nodded in the direction that their sister was approaching. "Oh, thank god. You're alive," she greeted them.
"You okay?"
"Apparently so is Ben," Klaus commented, latching on to the 'alive' part of Vanya's statement.
"Yeah, and he's a total dickhead," his sister agreed.
"They're all dickheads," Diego added.
"Dickheads who can fight."
"Okay," Five cut in. "The next person to say 'dickhead' is getting a punch to the throat."
His siblings immediately repeated the word with the exception of Dolores, who went with— "Asshole." At his exasperated look, she shrugged and gave him a (faux) sweet smile. "At least I didn't say dickhead. Oh wait, I just did." She pointed to him in a teasing manner. "That one's your fault."
Even though he knew exactly what context she intended the blame in, he still had to keep himself from flinching at her words. That one's your fault. Hallucination-Dolores hadn't meant those words as a joke. Unfortunately, real-Dolores seemed to catch on to his involuntary reaction this time and she gave him a concerned look.
"Are you alright?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah, fine." He brushed her worry away in the hopes that she wouldn't press the issue. Diego saved him once again.
"Hey, did dad tell you why he was calling them his kids?" This question was directed at Klaus.
"He sure did," his brother laughed. "You ready? Dad was so repulsed by us back in Texas that he adopted an entirely different group of children just so that he didn't have to raise us."
"That's just peak dad," Diego commented as he sat down.
"Isn't it?" Luther scoffed.
"So he just didn't want us anymore?"
"Did he ever?" Allison replied.
"See? I told you we shouldn't have asked him for help in '63!"
"I think you're all missing the big picture here," Five spoke up. "If dad didn't adopt us as kids, he changed the timeline. Who knows what else is different now."
"Yeah," Dolores agreed. "Like me apparently being the manager of a superhero team. At least I have a job, I guess."
Allison was not so easily appeased. "Shouldn't you know?"
"Sorry, Allison," he began, "but it might take me more than twenty minutes and a traumatic brain injury to figure this all out. Is that okay with you?"
Probably due to his aggravated tone, the brunette next to him reached for his hand to give what he knew would be three familiar squeezes for reassurance. Yet, at the last moment, the hallucination-Dolores' words echoed in his head: "I've even died for you!" Nonchalantly, he pulled his hand into his lap to prevent her from holding it.
Dolores' expression flickered briefly but her resolve returned and she stood. "I actually do know someone who can help us."
"Oh yeah? Who?" Luther asked.
"My uncle. As you all were duking it out, I was having a nice chat with my alternate self. Apparently my Uncle Ed knows the timeline's been screwed up."
"Your Uncle Ed?" Klaus repeated. "Oh yeah, I kind of remember that you— well, younger you— mentioned him. How'd the old geezer know it's different?"
"First of all," Dolores corrected him, "he's not that old— only thirty-something. Second, he's always been like that. He knew that I would meet Five, after all. I think we should go see him."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Vanya said apologetically. "We should all stick together. I mean, if things are really bad then we can just use the Commission briefcase and fix it."
"Okay," Five began. He stood up from the table to join his wife. "There are two problems with that statement. First off—"
"Here we go," Klaus complained.
"Time travel is complicated, people," he spoke over his brother.
"Yeah, we get it," Diego snarked. "Your job is so hard. Just what?"
"And secondly," he continued, "I no longer have the briefcase."
"Five. . . " Allison rose slowly from her seat. "Where the hell is the briefcase?"
When he couldn't give his sister a suitable answer, Dolores jumped in: "see? This is why we should go see my uncle!"
"I still don't think that's a good idea," Vanya disagreed. "I mean, look what happened when we met our father too early. Not only that, but what if the Sparrows are still after us? Maybe one of us should go with you, at the very least."
"Vanya," the brunette started patiently, "I've lived through two of your apocalypses and survived three of them. I also survived the Vietnam War with him." Here, she pointed to Klaus. "I think that I'm fully qualified to walk down the street and visit my old home without being afraid for my life."
"It would just make me— us— feel better if you weren't alone," she said. "What if Five went with you?"
His eyes widened at that. As much as he'd have loved to spend a few minutes away from his siblings pre-Sparrow altercation, now the last thing that he wanted to do was be alone with his wife. (And yes, the thought did not sit well with him.) Thankfully, Dolores seemed exceptionally argumentative today.
"I'll be fine," she insisted. "Someone needs to stay here and make sure that this world doesn't get an apocalypse as well. I'll be back before you can even notice that I'm gone."
As his siblings made sounds of protest at her words— causing apocalypses? Them? Never!— a few of them turned to look at him, as if he was the one that made decisions for her. A part of him wanted to argue that he should go, especially after the last meeting with "Uncle Ed" went so well, but the larger part— the one that was having trouble letting go of the guilt over the fact that he'd just let her die— spoke louder. He shrugged. "Let her go."
A/n: thank you for 100K+ reads!