[valley hill beach, ohio–friday, midday]
JORDAN WOKE up to the sound of a door slamming. Yawning, he stretched carefully, moving Five's head off his lap and onto a pillow. Getting to his feet, he decided to go and pee because he felt like peeing.
As he went into the bathroom, his mind slowly started to wake up. Someone was coming up the stairs, but he assumed it was Maria and washed his hands. The soap smelled like watermelons.
Stretching, Jordan went into the kitchen again and finally have it a real look.
The rooms where small, a window over the sink. Cupboards where over a counter, with a stove and an oven as well. The fridge was a pristine white, a few pictures on it; closer inspection revealed Maria and a boy who could've been her twin. The table was circular and small, with only four chairs. A coffee machine rested on the counter, and although he really wasn't a huge coffee drinker (Ron was, though, which was a smidge concerning since the boy was only eleven), Jordan decided that he wanted some.
Quietly, he started the machine and then waited for Maria.
~{}~
Harry was surprised that Five or his faggot boyfriend hadn't tried to kill him yet. He wasn't exactly using stealth. He'd already slammed the door, tipped over a vase, and scared the shit out of Maria. Why the hell hadn't they reacted?
Probably sleeping, he thinks. Or fucking.
They're probably fucking. Five was always a bit of a whore. Never stopped the damn flirting when he was in the office—with lowly janitors or high-up officials. Didn't matter who. He was rarely there, anyways; only six times in the whole career. But Five was a slut.
Harry scoffs to himself and arrives at the second floor, eyes widening in surprise at the sight:
A messy head of black curls is standing at the counter of the kitchen, pulling down two mugs. The coffee machine is beeping, the dull blue of the sky's fading light washing over the room. The bedroom door is open to reveal a young boy that is most definitely Five asleep in bed, drooling slightly and cuddling the spot where the boyfriend must've been. It's an obscenely domestic scene.
Harry's heart pounds, a sudden hot, sharp anger pulsing through his bloodstream. God, why the hell do they get to have the sweet scenes in his house? Five and his–his whore. This little slut making coffee at sundown, in Harry's house. No. That shit will not go.
"Maria?" The black-haired boy speaks without turning around; he's focused on pouring coffee. "Sorry, I should've asked before using your coffee machine. And asked if you even wanted some, but I made enough for three. Five has a thing for coffee, and I dunno, figured you might want some too."
Harry pauses in his steps; this guy was thoughtful enough to make three cups of coffee? An extra for Maria? It almost makes him feel guilty about the knife in his hand, how he's already scanning for the quickest and quietest way to kill him. Five wasn't a top assassin for over twenty years to sleep through murders.
"Maria?" The boy set the cups down, his shoulders tensing. "You good?" He turns around, and freezes when he sees Harry.
"Who the fuck—" but his eyes trail to the knife and the words die in his throat. "Five!"
The boy hurls a coffee mug at Harry, the hot liquid splashing into the floor. He dodges the ceramic easily, a shard hitting his back when it shatters against the wall. Harry glances at the bedroom, and sees Five rubbing his eyes and yawing, not aware of the danger just yet.
Good.
"Shouldn't have done that, whore," Harry spits out, and the boys face crumples. Then it hardens in anger; a hurricane whirls in his cold brown eyes.
For a single moment, the possibility that Five has chosen a lover with just as much malice as him strikes Harry.
"I am not a fuckin whore," the boy snarls. Five is finally waking up, Harry sees, and now there is more danger than anticipated. Fuck. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
Outside, there is a strike of lightning. Harry screams and throws the knife, metal glinting as a crack of thunder echoes and rain begins to pour.
The boy screams back when the knife lodges itself in his thigh.
Harry falls backwards, retreating towards the steps when he sees Five bolting out of the guest room, teleporting to the wounded boy. Shit. Harry's in deep shit. The reward wasn't worth it. Shit.
Five is looking around, eyes wild as his fingers already apply pressure to the bleeding wound. The boy groans and lets out another scream in time with the lightning strike. Rain pummels the building, a dark and angry thrum that only adds to the fast thoughts in Harry's mind. He feels insane, and he probably has gone crazy; he probably did a long, long time ago. He hasn't felt the same since 1957 with Five and Maria.
Fives wild stare locks onto Harry and it's fearless gaze of fury shakes him to the bone. He has seen Five pissed off, watched him kill innocent men without so much as a wince, but he looks downright murderous.
He gets to his feet when the window blows out, glass flying all across the room. One gets Harry above the eye; blood drips, hot and red, into his left eye. Fear has started to choke him, panic deep in his soul.
He can't see.
Oh dear lord. Blinking furiously, he rubs away the blood and manages to get vision in his right eye. The lightbulb is on the floor, scattered, and thick droplets of rain are pummeling the tile. Lightning and thunder, the fury of angels, choruses outside. The whorish boy is still on the ground, holding his wounded leg tightly, knife handle sticking up. Five is at the counter, digging through the knife drawer.
Oh bloody fuck.
Harry turns on his heel and flees, heart loud as all fuck in his ears. He can barely see where's he's stepping, mostly relying on memory to get downstairs as quick as he can. He has to leave. Even The Handler's promise of returning his sanity and Maria's eyesight isn't worth this.
A flash of blinding blue and there stands Five, his eyes dark and angry and wielding a butcher knife. Harry shrieks in surprise and turns to go; Five laughs, sounding even more insane than he ever has. A light flicks on, and Maria's thick Northern English accent returns. Five teleports somewhere new.
"The bloody fuck is happening?" She yells, blind, unseeing eyes wide. "Harry? Five? Harry?"
Harry can't say anything to reassure his sister, though. Five has the ghastly knife pressed up against his throat, metal cold and unforgiving.
"I can't see, you shits, so tell me what in fuck is happening!" Maria demands, her hands twisting. She is searching desperately for them, but she can't fucking see. Because of Five.
That cold jolt of anger hits Harry again, and he adjusts his head quick as a wink and bites down as hard as he can in Fives arm; the sharp taste of iron hits him like a brick.
Five yelped and jumped backwards and then it all backfired; the knife sliced into Harry's neck, clean and fast.
Harry held back his scream, hands flying up to his neck; blood spilled between his brown skin, garishly like cherry Kool-Aid. He feels his knees go weak, pain fill him like booze on a binge, and then he falls headfirst down the stairs.
Five watches as Harry tumbles, cold and unforgiving meadow green eyes. Maria is still awaiting her answer, and a hot flush of guilt almost makes Five vomit when he realizes that, somewhere on the way, Harry's neck snapped.
The once-beautifully intelligent boy lays at the foot of the stairs, blood smeared across his neck and shirt and hands, expression twisted in hatred and fear.
Five drops the knife and races back up the stairs to where Jordan is.
A/N:
o.o
five killed a man ! and left his sister there alone ! oohhhhh no!
also Jordie got stabbed and that's got to suck lol
anyways, i hope you enjoyed this chapter/that it made any sense and that you have a lovely day!