Three days. He had three days to save the world. To save his family. Three days to figure out the mindfuck that was the end of the world. And now, he had a time traveling device. He could go back and fix it, do it right, as many times as it took. His travel wasn't a science, it wasn't always accurate, but the stupid little black briefcase sitting on the counter, was.

He glanced down at the cup of coffee he'd stolen from Allison grasped in his hand, swallowing thickly. His body felt hot, his limbs heavy and weak, and his head was beginning to throb, but that, was time travel. That was the past few days, eating away at the stupid immune system of his 13-year-old body, all wrapped in his determination to fix whatever caused the damn apocalypse.

He downed the last sips of the sweetened coffee noisily, grimacing at the taste, wishing it was black coffee like he was used to. He let out a slow breath as Diego asked who the hell Harold Jenkins was, and Five turned, breathing shakily as his head spun. He felt his legs beginning to shake, his stomach twisting and dizziness washing through his exhausted body. Fuck his 13-year-old body. Fuck time travel.

He coughed slightly, his siblings' eyes fixated on him, and Five threw the empty cup behind him knowing if Pogo saw him, he'd get lectured. But he didn't care. It didn't matter. It was all just so damn irrelevant. Five shrugged his shoulders, swallowing again as the light behind Diego brightened, filling his vision harshly. The teenager shook his head slowly, "I don't know. But I do know he's responsible for the apocalypse…"

He trailed off, pausing as he thought he heard a noise upstairs and stumbled back slightly. He caught himself against the couch, looking up as sweat trailed down his temple slowly to see his siblings staring at him, questions, curiosity, fuck maybe even concern, etched into their faces. They had a right to be concerned. They had the right to be frightened. Hell, they should be frightened. Because if this didn't work, if Five couldn't help stop what was about to happen, then it was the end of the world.

"Hey, Five, you alright?" Luther asked, reaching a hand out as the 13-year-old caught it, his grasp tight around his brother's giant wrist, "It doesn't matter. Like I said, if y'all don't get your sideshow selves together, then we're screwed."

"Hey, man, I mean, maybe you should sit down or something. You look kinda…" Klaus trailed off, his hand circling his own features slowly before grimacing and clearing his throat. Five dropped Luther's hand, pressing his lips together firmly. The world was about to end in three days, and they were concerned about how he looked? Pathetic.

He took a step back, biting his bottom lip as he turned away from them, glancing up towards the second floor as another noise hit his ears. He swallowed against the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, wincing again as he put weight on his left ankle; the damned thing was probably broken from the fall through time. Despite the briefcase being more accurate than his own jumps, he had landed less than gracefully. Not to mention his right side was killing him.

"How is he connected to what's about to happen?" Luther asked. Five shook his head, clenching his fists, feeling his power surging through his body, "I don't know…"

Power surged through his chest, ruminating through his fists as the idea of going upstairs, of inspecting the clicking coming from the hall, crossed his mind. He felt his body jump, his legs wobbling as he crashed against the table at the other end of the room, and Five groaned as he pressed himself against the solid wood to keep himself from falling. His eyes glanced up towards the second level again as he tried jumping, tried traveling. His body shook, his fists clenching again, and he grit his teeth as ringing echoed loudly in his ears. His side burning.

His body collided against the railing on the stairs. And he slumped slightly, out of breath. Fuck! FUCK… We both know you have a limit. He couldn't jump, something was wrong, and he couldn't jump. His legs shook harshly, and he heard his siblings asking him questions as his own mind reeled. The world ended in three days, and if he couldn't jump, couldn't get his own shit together, then they were all fucked. They were all dead.

The stairs beneath his feet spun, sliding slightly into something his shoes couldn't grasp and he felt himself falling. His body collided against the wooden floor, hard. The breath occupying his lungs, gone, and he groaned loudly, as he tried to piece together how the hell he fell from the second step.

Strong arms grasped his shoulders, forcing him up, and Five pushed the person away, glaring at Luther as a hurt expression crossed his brother's face briefly. Klaus inched closer, an amused worried look masking his sweaty face, Diego and Allison a few feet behind him. Diego took a step closer, "Five, what the hell was that!"

Five swallowed, "It doesn't matter."

"You sure? Because it looked like you took a tumble down two steps," Klaus said, laughing slightly, looking towards his other siblings, "Am I still high, or did you all see that too?"

Allison nodded, and Luther took another step forward. Five growled, stepping back, shoving Luther's hand again, and shoved passed Diego, "Like I said, it doesn't matter. We need to find Harold Jenkins before the end of the fucking world."

The teenager let out a slow breath as he ran a tired hand through his black hair. He pressed a firm hand against the wooden table, running his fingers over the shiny coat, his thumb tracing over the memories etched into the old wood. I want to time travel…

Five going into the past… it had been a curse, and a blessing. A curse because he had been alone. For over 40 years. Yeah, he had Dolores, and for her, he was thankful… but he had no family, no siblings, nothing, for years. He had seen them dead. But he hadn't been able to tell them, to say he was sorry, to say goodbye. It had been a curse for 45 years. But now… now it was a blessing because he had a chance to stop it. He had a chance to save them. He knew when the apocalypse would happen… and this time, it wouldn't be the end of the world. His siblings just needed to get their shit together and get on board. Because he couldn't do this alone.

"Five?"

There was a thick layer of dust on the tabletop, and Five's eyebrows drew tighter in confusion before he remembered their mother had died. They hadn't sat at this table for a long while, and there wasn't a housekeeper anymore. The teenager swallowed as he glanced up towards the open bar, smirking slightly as he headed towards it, hearing Allison call him again.

He reached for a scotch glass, pouring himself a drink before turning around and facing his siblings. He took a slow sip as Klaus pushed the briefcase aside slowly, and climbed on top of the bar, grabbing a bottle from the cabinet. The teenager cleared his throat. They all looked so young, all his siblings… hell, they weren't kids anymore, they weren't how Five remembered them, but they were still so young. So much younger than him. And yet, by some twisted asinine cruelty and miscalculation, he had ended up stuck in his pubescent body. What kind of sick joke was that?

The teenager glanced down at his fingers shaking against the crystal glass as he swallowed again. The old man had caught Klaus drinking once and forced him to drink until he puked… a cruel and yet entertaining punishment, disguised as what Five had always assumed to be, an experiment. The bastard liked to do that sort of stuff… to see how much they could take. A smirk crossed his face as memories pushed to the surface. Honestly, that was probably the reason his brother had such a high tolerance for whatever poison he put into his body on an hourly basis.

"Five?"

The teenager jerked his head up, swallowing again as glanced towards the black briefcase. With the Briefcase Room blown up, at least the Commission would have a harder time tracking him down… or at least it would slow them down. Cha-Cha and Hazel were another matter, but they should be easy enough to handle if he could get to them first. Five took another sip from the scotch in his glass, letting his taste buds drown in the bitter alcohol. Over the years, he'd acquired a taste for it, but black coffee was still his drink of choice. It was rare in the apocalypse.

…Steam rose from the ground, fire surrounding the nightmare around him in heated patches, and Five glanced around, pressing his sleeve to his mouth as he struggled to breathe through thick air. There was no one around, everyone, everything was gone…

"Hey," Someone whispered. The teenager jumped slightly as Klaus's hand pressed against his shoulder. Five looked up, his vision wavering slightly as his mind flashed back to his brother lying against the brick, blood covering his temple, ash covering his black jacket, and that stupid tattoo… that stupid umbrella tattoo…

The 13-year-old cleared his throat, setting the empty glass against the counter. His eyes met Klaus's briefly before he his vision started blurring, and he winced, pressing a hand against his right side harshly. He glanced down slowly, surprised to find blood seeping passed his slender fingers, and he felt dizzy, sick. His legs started giving out and his breathing was coming out unevenly, and he turned slightly, trying to turn away, trying to piece together what do, why he was bleeding. He breathed softly, "Hey…"

He didn't remember falling. He didn't remember his legs giving out completely, but he did remember hitting the ground, his head smacking once more against the wooden floor and the sound of glass crashing against the ground. He remembered confusion crossing his face as he tried to push himself from the floor only to find his limbs were failing him. So was his sight, his breathing… hell, everything.

The light above him spun harshly, and he saw Allison and Diego's face swimming in front of him, Klaus leaning over the counter, and he briefly heard Luther asking questions. Pain lit up his side as fingers slipped under his sweater vest, pulling the knitted material from his side; blood pooling from the bullet deep under his skin, staining the stupid clothes, the floor, the world.

Five winced loudly, pushing his head off the floor to see bright red smeared across his chest and stomach; crimson soaked into his shorts, running down his leg. His head fell back against the ground dizzyingly, and he groaned as someone touched the wound, biting his bottom lip as he tried to stay conscious. The end of life, of everything, was in three days; they didn't have time for this, he didn't have time for this. A bullet wound, a stupid bullet wound and all that stupid concern and worry, was just going to slow them down. There wasn't time for mistakes, or hiccups, or rest and recovery. It was the end of the fucking world.

"Jesus, Five! Why didn't you say anything?" Diego asked, and the teenager closed his eyes, swallowing against the nausea coursing through his stomach, mixing with the pain enveloping his side. He felt hot, wrong, sick… weak. He felt weak. Which was pathetic given he was stuck in such a feeble young body. And if he didn't stop this, then they were all going to die. He swallowed, feeling someone touch his cheek gently, "We-we have to keep going… so close…"

"Five?"

The teenager felt someone shake his chest as his body went limp. The world around him started to fade, questions being thrown around harshly, dull pain eating away at his organs, and strong hands pulling him up. He cracked his eyes open slightly as the world around him slipped away, replaced by the burning flesh and dementated air of the ever-loving apocalypse. And despite being alone, he was floating. Someone was carrying him… Dolores? Yeah, it had to be Dolores. Because she was the only one left in this hellish nightmare. She was his only bright light.

His eyes flicked to the portrait of their father; the oily painting's eyes cast on him in disapproving shadows. For 45 years. His gaze was there for 45 years. A constant reminder; a curse; the bastard. And yet, with everything he'd done, Five had probably turned out more like him than the rest. He wasn't cruel by any means… but he wasn't the same kid that ran away from his father's objections. The teenager let out a soft, "No."

Hands moved to touch him, and confusion clouded his mind before the rest of the world faded around him. Before the rest of the apocalypse faded into the background.

…

The stress was eating away at his body. And if, by some fucked up miracle, he made it out of this alive, still stuck in his childish body like some cosmical joke, Five feared he'd have grey hair by the time he reached his late teens. At least Dolores would still love him. After all, they were together for over 40 years. She had seen him at his worst, his lowest, and yet, considering the world hadn't ended yet, she didn't know him.

The teenager groaned loudly, coughing as he forced his eyes open to the bright light surrounding him. A cool breeze ran through his hair, and Five groaned again, blinking several times as his eyes met the blue sky hanging above him, clouded in dust. He sucked in a harsh breath, forcing his arms up quickly, his body protesting the movement. No. No. No! NO!

He was back in the apocalypse; the deserted, dusty atmosphere surrounding him in horrific runes; the brick building crushing a bloody hand a few feet away from him, and Five swallowed. He pushed himself from the ground, swaying slightly as his body threatened him down, his arms folding over his stomach protectively as he spun around slowly. Smoke still rose from the ground, the smell of death filling his nostrils, and the teenager felt tears well in his eyes as his knees threatened to buckle.

He glanced towards Luther's hand sticking out of the rubble, his fingers stiff and lifeless. He was gone, they were all gone, and by some fucked up déjà vu, Five was alone, again. His stomach tightened, and he choked, trying to remember how the hell he had ended up here, ended up in the apocalypse yet again. Had the Commission done something? Had they found him so quickly?

Wind rushed past him, howling through his ears, dust piercing his eyes and the teenager stumbled, tripping over some bricks. His knees smashed against the ground forcefully, his hands mashing against dirt, his muddy nails digging into the warm ground, bloody cuts covering his hands, and he glanced up as someone yelled his name.

Dolores's body laid a few feet in front of him, her body broken more than it had been before, her face distorted and misshaped. Her arm was gone, blood covered her pale face, and her neck was broken. Someone yelled his name again and Five felt tears stream down his face in hot dizzying waves as he clenched his hands, closing his eyes, trying to jump, trying to go back, to get the hell away from here, to save her, to save them. But it was no use. He couldn't jump. He couldn't time travel. He was weak, tired and old, and he had reached his limit. He couldn't save them. Like last time. Or the time before.

Dust smacked against his face and the teenager winced, opening his eyes again as he let out a soft cry, the ruins of his childhood surrounding him in a hellish reminder. He was stuck here. Alone. For 45 years. Forever. Again.

He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to go back. To be back with his bastard of a father, his siblings, to grow up with them… he wanted Dolores back. He pressed his head against the ground, crying loudly as wind whipped around him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, embedding reminders against his sweaty skin.

He was shaking, his body was weak, done; an old mind stuck in a young vessel. And he couldn't do this again. He wouldn't. The 13-year-old forced his head up, glaring up at the sun, cursing a non-existent God, and forced his body up on legs that refused to stand. His body was hot, overheated, exhausted, and yet, he had to do something, he had to save them.

He clenched his fists again, tears still welling in his eyes as he glanced at the bloodied faces of his family; Diego, Klaus, Allison, Luther. Number two, number four, number three, number one. His siblings. And the destroyed face of his love, Dolores. Oh, how he loved her. She had been there through everything, and now, she was gone too.

Black soot covered his face, raining from the sky above him, and Five glanced up. The sky was blurry, fuzzy, dizzy, and he felt sick, wrong, broken, abandoned. Abandoned by his own stupidity. He never did learn, did he. If his father could see him now…

"Five."

The teenager turned, smoke and dirt rushing past his face in a windy isolation. He squinted, trying to listen, to see someone, anyone, to see the person calling him. No one. There was never anyone. He was just old and senile, hell maybe even a little crazy. But being alone for as long as he was, did that to a person.

Tears dripped down his cheeks as he turned back towards the house, his foot catching on something and he stumbled back as his eyes connected with the now intact walls, paintings, and living room of where he was standing. Confusion crossed his face as his eyes searched over the room, finding everything exactly as he remembered, no apocalypse in sight. Nothing was gone… and yet…

"Five?"

The 13-year-old jumped, his breathing hitching as he pushed away from the wall. Diego inched closer, worry eating away at his features, and Five swallowed. What the hell was happening? Had he jumped? The teenager backed further away, tripping over something lying on the floor and he fell backwards, slumping against the leg of the table as Diego knelt slowly down in front of him, alarm shining in the corner of his tired eyes.

"You're crying," Diego whispered softly as he reached out to touch the teenager's face. Five smacked his hand away, wiping harshly at the wet marks still trailing down his cheeks, the tears still welled in his eyes, and he swallowed again as he tried to keep his breathing even. This was pathetic; he was stronger than this, stronger than all of them combined… and yet, he looked the weakest.

He glanced down at his side, realizing it felt weird, tender, raw, and to his surprise, white bandages were wrapped around the pale flesh. He closed his eyes briefly as memories hit him. He'd gotten shot. Shit, the apocalypse was in a few days.

Five cleared his throat, "What happened?"

Diego exhaled, running his good hand through his hair, "Well, you forgot to mention you were shot like an idiot. Then you almost bled out on the floor; Klaus stitched you up, took the bullet out. Something I didn't know he knew how to do… since then, you've been unconscious for several hours."

Several hours? Five grit his teeth. They had lost several fucking hours because his stupid body couldn't handle a stupid piece of metal. The teenager gripped the edge of the table, forcing his body up, fighting against the pain swallowing his side as he let out a harsh breath, "We have to keep going."

The teenager took a tentative step before his legs betrayed him, and he fell against his brother. He swallowed again as Diego snaked an arm around his torso gently, pulling him up further, leading him towards the couch. The 13-year-old clenched his fists, trying to jump, trying to find any type of strength his body could muster to get away from his brother. He wasn't weak, he wasn't a child… and he didn't need to be treated like one, especially now, especially with the apocalypse so near. He needed to get information, to find Cha-Cha and Hazel, to kill Harold Jenkins, to save the world… even if it killed him.

He collapsed against the couch, sweat trailing down his face as he realized that trying to jump, to travel in his condition, in this body, was useless. He eyed the briefcase a few feet away, sitting peacefully on an end table. Maybe he could go back, he could travel further… maybe he could stop himself from getting shot.

A hand pressed against his cheek, then forehead and Five's eyes darted back towards his brother before smacking his hand away. Diego was a pest. Five wasn't important right now… stopping the apocalypse was. Why didn't anyone get that? Why wasn't anyone helping him?

"You have a fever," Diego said, his lips forming a disapproving line like it had been the teenager's decision to get shot. Five shook his head, swallowing weakly, "It's irrelevant."

"So, you really are just as stupid as you used to be," Diego said, leaning away from the couch, sitting down on the coffee table slowly. Five snorted, rolling his eyes as he glanced once more at the black briefcase. If he could only jump, if he could only reach it. He groaned slightly as he leaned forward, turning back to face his brother, his jaw set.

"The apocalypse is in three days. That's three fucking days to save the world. I don't matter; we don't matter if we can't figure out how to stop it. Why don't any of you idiots get that?" Five growled, leaning as far in as he could, his hand pressed tightly against his side as his vision swam slightly.

Diego shrugged, "Maybe because you're our brother. Or maybe because you said it yourself, the only chance we have to save our world is us. Last time I checked, you can't do that if you're dead…"

"Yeah, well," The teenager started, trying to stand as Diego reached out a hand, pushing him back down, "If we don't do something, we all die."

"Allison is getting information on Harold Jenkins from one of my contacts. I'm going to meet her in a few minutes… or I was, until you decided to start freaking out. Despite what you think, Five, life did go on without you. We're capable of making our own decisions, kid," Diego said, giving the teenager a stern look as he pushed him back down again. Five slumped against the couch, clenching his jaw once more, "I'm not a kid. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that. Last time I checked, I'm older than all of you by at least 28 years."

"Yeah," Diego sighed, standing, stretching his good shoulder, "Well, I don't look like a 13-year-old version of myself."

Five huffed harshly, shaking his head. He let his head fall back against the couch. This was un-fucking-believable. The end of the world was before the end of the week, and yet he had to go and get shot like some dumbass kid. Fuck, he was stuck in this stupid body, and he couldn't even jump. Could the world get any more ridiculous? Probably not considering it was ending in three days, but who knows.

He turned as Diego smacked Luther in the chest as he made his way towards the door, and mumbled, "Watch him."

The teenager rolled his eyes as he groaned, flopping his head back against the cushion once more. His eyes watched as Luther made his way over towards the couch, sighing heavily as he sat down. He turned his head slightly, letting his sweaty cheek stick against the leather couch as his eyes met his brother's concerned ones.

Luther reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against Five's cheek before the 13-year-old pushed them away. He was so sick of all this lovey-dovey bullshit, of the concern, worry; it was all pathetic. None of them saw what he was trying to do, the reason he'd come back, to save them… he didn't need to be treated with care because he was stronger than all of them. He'd done things that would send them running, things they couldn't even fathom, killed hundreds of people; he didn't need any one to watch him, to care for him. He only needed to save the fucking world, and Dolores. He needed to pay his debt.

His eyes drifted to the second level, towards the direction of his room, and he wondered briefly if she was worried sick about him, if she had noticed his absence. He would have brought her with him, but he knew the exchange would have been dangerous, and he didn't know what he'd do if she was shot… or worse, died. He sighed softly, wondering what she was going to say when she saw him, covering in dried blood, bandages and sweat. He'd probably be up all night trying to reassure her that he was fine.

"Five?"

The teenager's eyes lazily met Luther's once more as his brother glanced towards the hall upstairs then back towards Five, confusion clouding his face. Luther shifted, the couch groaning loudly as it struggled to stay together despite his giant brother's movements before crossing his arms over his chest. Five stayed put, his sweaty back pressed against the couch, his cheek sticking almost uncomfortably on the stupid expensive leather. If his father were here, he'd scold Five for getting shot, for getting sweat on the couch, and his mother would whisk him away, cleaning up yet another one of his messes. She was good at that, even for a robot.

"Five? Why didn't you tell us you were hurt? I mean, where did you go? Who did this to you?" Luther asked softly. Five swallowed, forcing his cheek from the couch, wincing slightly as the leather stuck to his face. He sighed, running a shaky hand through his sweaty hair as he glanced towards the paintings of his family throughout the years plastered on the opposite wall. He shook his head slowly, "It doesn't matter."

"If you tell me, maybe I can-" Luther started before Five cut him off, "There's nothing you can do… nothing any of you can do."

Five felt the couch cushions shift and he peered over to see Luther scooting a little closer, "We're trying to help."

The teenager snorted. If they were really trying to help, then Diego would have let Five leave, would have let him come with. Instead he was confined to this house, probably this stupid couch until he could either find the strength to sneak out or jump. The world was ending and there was nothing he could do to help from this stupid sticky sofa. Nothing he could do while he was confined in this body. Sure, he could easily outpower Luther, outsmart him, and maybe, if he was lucky, outrun him… but if he couldn't jump, then he wouldn't get far. The 13-year-old coughed slightly, "You wanna help? Find Harold Jenkins, figure out how he starts the damn apocalypse, and then kill him."

His brother was silent for a while and Five felt himself beginning to drift as he contemplated sleep. It had been days since he'd slept. And years since he'd had a good night's rest. About 40 years. He'd been so concerned with trying to get back to his time, then paying his debt, and then when he finally managed to jump, he'd been so hellbent on stopping the end of the world, that sleep seemed like a disadvantage, a distraction.

"Kill him? Five, you don't know anything about-"

"Grow up, Luther," The teenager spat, forcing his eyes open despite his body feeling heavy, "He starts the apocalypse; he's responsible for the whole damn world."

Five swallowed, wincing as he pushed away from the couch weakly to look his brother in the eye, "We're not kids anymore. There is no right or wrong, good or bad. Only people. And in three days, all those people will die because of one. So, either one of you kills him, or I will."

Silence evaded them and Five held his brother's gaze, his jaw set as he tried to find a newfound strength. Luther shook his head slightly, looking down at his hands before getting up from the couch, the old material groaning loudly, the wooden pegs scooting across the floor slightly as his brother stood. Five pushed himself up; his knees wobbling slightly, and he straightened his body despite the headache threatening to swallow him. His fingers clasped gently against his side as he glanced up towards Luther's face once more. Luther ran a hand over his head, "There has to be another way."

"You have any brilliant ideas, I'd sure love to hear them. Until then, figure out how he's connected to the apocalypse, and then if I need to, I'll kill him," Five interjected, taking a step forward, his jaw locked tightly as Luther towered over him. They used to be the same height, but now, his twin brother was a skyscraper… it was off-putting.

"He doesn't deserve to die."

Five snorted slightly, feeling his stomach clenching as he looked down, shaking his head, "You still don't get it. This isn't about deserving or not. This is about the end of the fucking world. You think the entirety of the world deserved to die? If he's responsible for the apocalypse, I will kill him."

Luther cleared his throat, "If he doesn't deserve it, we'll stop you, Five."

The teenager looked back up, his eyes locked onto Luther's menacingly, "I'd like to see you try."

The 13-year-old turned, feeling dizziness wash over him as he felt his body collide with something hard and solid. For a long painstaking moment, he thought he'd fallen against his brother… which would have defeated his argument and made stopping him probably a lot easier but not impossible. He swallowed thickly as his stomach threatened rebellion and glanced up, blinking several times as he tried to clear the black dots eating away at his vision.

He pressed against the ground and stood shakily, his vision returning to normal before he fully comprehended where he was. He was in his room. Fuck. He'd he'd jump when he hadn't meant too… and to a place he didn't really want to be.

The teenager stood, letting out loud breath, straightening his posture as his tired eyes met Dolores. He shook his head slowly as he made his way over to the bed, sitting across from her. She gave him a disapproving look and Five sighed again, "I'm okay. I swear. It's just been a rough couple of days, not gunna lie. A small kink in our plan. I'll be fine, Dolores, I promise."

She continued to stare and Five swallowed again, "I know. I know, you told me it was a bad idea to go, but I had to. I had to get a briefcase… it was important. And now I know how the Commission works… and I slowed them down. I also know who's responsible for the apocalypse."

Five leaned against the wall, letting the exhaustion he had been trying to forget about, swallow his limbs and cloud his mind as Dolores continued to nag him, as she continued to fret. All-in-all, it was going to be a long night, and odds were, if they made it out of this alive, Dolores was never going to let him live this down. But then again, if he failed, if they all died… then it didn't really matter.

….

When Five was 22, him and Dolores had stumbled across an entire box of Twinkies left behind on the shelf of a half-standing corner store. And after ignoring Dolores's constant bickering that Twinkies were not only unhealthy but disgusting, and devouring about three of them, Five soon found that Twinkies did, in fact, have a shelf life. He didn't really remember much from that experience except that it had been three days of misery, vomiting, dust-covered water, and apocalyptic dreams. All of that, though, was nothing compared to now.

The teenager leaned against the tiled wall behind him, groaning loudly as his stomach threatened to rebel again, and the thought of foul-tasting Twinkies crossed his tired mind. He swallowed thickly, wincing as he tried moving, the small action sending pain shooting through his abdomen, and he glanced down weakly to find blood seeping passed the white bandages. Fuck.

He coughed slightly, smacking his head dizzyingly against the wall behind him, letting out a hot breath as he fought against the consciousness pulling him under. He felt weak. Weaker than he'd ever felt. He felt 13, which for him, was a low blow. Sweat trailed down his temple, sliding passed the pink tint of his cheeks, and puddled on the bottom of his chin before dripping against his chest and eventually soaking into the wraps. You can't keep this up, Five. We both know you have a limit.

Yeah, he had a limit. But this wasn't it. Their father liked to push his limits, like to force him further and further, his jumps stretching across the house, down the block, until he collapsed, exhaustion coursing through an overheated body. Sometimes the jumps were hard, sometimes they hurt, sometimes they made him sick until he found himself weak and puking in the bathroom. Vanya would sit with him, every time, and they would talk about life after the academy. They would discuss real things, things of importance. She understood him, she always did… or so he thought. But when he came back, she had changed… then again, he had too. They weren't kids anymore, and despite being on his own for over 40 years, his siblings weren't. They had their father… in some aspect Five had escaped him, but they hadn't.

The teenager groaned loudly, pushing a tired leg out in front of him as he tried his best to stretch. He needed to get up, to pull himself together, to figure out who Harold Jenkins was, and how he could stop the apocalypse. The Commission wanted to protect him for a reason, but Five? Five wanted to kill him… hell, he would, if he could find his bearings. If he could find the strength.

The 13-year-old tried leaning forward, crying softly as his stomach clenched and the muscles in his abdomen screamed, blood oozing past his fingers clutched against his side, before his head smacked against the wall once more. Fuck. This was useless. He was useless, and given how he felt, he'd probably either bleed out all over the ugly tiled floor or drown in a pool of his own sweat or vomit.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he swallowed against the nausea coursing through his stomach. Figures, he'd come back to save the world and the world would do anything to try to kill him. He figured Cha-Cha or Hazel would have at least had another shot at him before he bit the dust. But if he was gunna go, then he was gunna go. There wasn't a point in trying to fight it or cry about it. At least his siblings weren't completely stupid and would be able to figure out what to do with the stupid Briefcase. The only regret, he was alone. At least when his siblings died, they had each other… but he was going to die like he lived, lonely. Not even Dolores was here to argue with him. How unbelievably poetic.

…There was no one around, everyone, everything was gone. The air was thick and unbreathable, and the teenager choked as he glanced around. The people he'd seen, gone, those unfamiliar faces, blood dried around their bodies… but those tattoos. Those stupid umbrella tattoos, inked into their skin just like his, sent chills down the 13-year-old's spine. Because in some retrospect, he knew. He knew who they were.

He stumbled slightly, gulping some dust that invaded his mouth and he fell, his knees knocking against the hot pavement. Tears swelled in his eyes again and the teenager swallowed. There wasn't any point for more tears; it'd been a week. A week he'd spent here, stuck in this stupid nightmare, alone. Crying wasn't going to help him. And neither was his power.

He'd tried jumping. He'd tried traveling back in time, for two straight days. But all he managed was an intense headache, and jumping distances, not time. The old man was right. He wasn't ready. He hadn't acorned. And now, he was stuck here.

He swallowed thickly, his throat dry and coarse. He hadn't had anything to drink in several days, not to mention eat. Odds were, he'd be dead by next week if he didn't find something or figure out a way out of here, a way back. There had to be a way back.

The 13-year-old glanced up, seeing the half-blown form of a mannequin slumped against a white pile of bricks. Her polka dot shirt covered in dirt, burned at the edges; her body forgotten and abandoned. Five smirked, pushing himself from the ground as he stood, swaying. Smoke covered his path momentarily and he waited until it cleared before making his way over to her and kneeling gently.

He glanced around, hoping to see something or someone else, maybe someone who could help him get back. Maybe someone he could talk to. Hell, maybe even a friend. He cleared his throat as he looked back down at the soot covered woman, wiping some of the damage away with his sleeve gently. He cleared his dry throat, "Well. It's the end of the fucking world, and it looks like me and you are the only survivors. How screwed up is that?"

Something soft touch his cheek and Five flinched, opening his eyes slowly as he realized he had drifted. He had been asleep… or maybe he had lost consciousness… either way, it would be nice to go back, to get away from here.

The lights flickered, causing the tiled bathroom to darken by several shades, casting eerie shadows off the bathtub, sink, toilet, and Five groaned loudly. He swallowed, his hand still pressed against his side, sticky and wet with what was either blood, sweat or vomit… or maybe all three. All-in-all, he'd lost track of time, and he wasn't really sure what was real anymore, he wasn't sure what was going on. Not completely.

Something touched his cheek again, and the 13-year-old blinked lazily, trying to clear what little of his vision he could as Klaus came into view. He smirked slightly, his brother's purple scarf hanging loosely from his neck, shinning brightly against the dim bathroom light. It looked alien, foreign, shimmery, and if Five had any strength in his heavy arms, he would have reached out to touch it.

Klaus's eyes met his briefly; those big stupid green eyes suddenly serious and alert, and Five shivered as Klaus's expression filled his vision. He'd never really seen that look on his brother. Normally the idiot was snorting, injecting, drinking or taking anything he could get his hands on, talking to air, or replaying some dumbass story that involved him revealing himself in some fucked up way. He was a joker, an idiot; so, the seriousness that masked his brother's face right now, looked wrong.

Slender fingers ran through his hair gently, and the teenager coughed slightly, moving his leg as he tried to sit up straighter, but the movement was futile. Everything he did was futile. Maybe he'd be better off if Cha-Cha and Hazel put another bullet through him; at least they would actually be thrilled to kill him. Hell, they'd probably get a raise or some shit. Not that they actually had a fair chance against him, well, like this they would.

Five felt Klaus pry his fingers from his side, and he winced as pressure was released and warm liquid met cold air, sending shivers through his body as he tried to keep his eyes open. Nothing made sense. He should have gone back further, he should have grabbed the briefcase when he was with Luther; then maybe, maybe his siblings would have a better chance at survival. The whole world would. Odds were, they were all going to die.

"Christ on a cracker, Five," Klaus whispered. His brother's voice barely hit his ears as he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting back to Dolores, the apocalypse, the time travel, the Commission, his siblings, his father… simpler times. Easier times… maybe. But simpler, definitely. At least back then, his jumps were mostly accurate.

Pain shot through his side, sending nauseating shivers through his stomach, chest and Five's eyes shot open as he became painfully aware of his surroundings. He let out a strangled cry as he glanced down at Klaus's hands, pressed firmly against the mostly open wound, the red bandages on his side, and he squirmed, trying to stop the stupid pain swallowing his body. Klaus reached a bloodied hand towards him, his fingers brushing Five's cheek as he tried shushing his brother, tears welling in his own eyes as he knew that he was the one inflecting pain.

Five glanced back down at the wound as Klaus pulled back the bloody wraps, biting his bottom lip as blood rushed past the stitches. The ones the teenager had reopened while trying to jump… several times. A stupid decision, honestly. But Five had been determined to leave, to sneak out, past Luther, Pogo, Klaus, hell anyone who occupied the academy. But jumping was harder when he was weak, when he was hurt… not impossible, but harder than he expected. Sure, he'd had over 40 years to perfect it, but he was stuck in a young body, and he'd forgotten what it was like to get shot.

Five smacked his head against the wall behind him, wincing loudly as Klaus prodded the stupid wound again, pulling the rest of the soiled bandages from his body, and pressed down harder. The 13-year-old bit his bottom lip, glancing towards the hallway, wondering slightly if he had it in him to jump, to find someone else to help him… and how he was going to get Klaus back for this.

His side burned and the teenager squirmed again, swallowing thickly as tears welled in his eyes. He clenched his fists as he tried to keep still, as he tried to focus on the stupid shushing coming from his brother. How pathetic his brother was to assume that some stupid whispered shush would compare to the ringing in his ears, the pain scorching his side. Klaus should have just let him bleed out… or at least Five should have gone back further, because there wasn't time to deal with this.

The teenager coughed loudly, his limbs growing heavy, suddenly he found himself tired, weak, gone. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins momentarily, had vanished, and the exhaustion that threatened to bring him down fell heavily on him with dark blankets. Warmth enveloped him, eating away at his vision and forcing his body down as his slid against the cold tile wall he'd been leaning against. His cheek pressed against the ground, and he let out a slow breath as he heard Klaus yell his name, then darkness swallowed him.

…16 years in the apocalypse, hundreds of miles, and no one in sight. The last several years hadn't been kind. Instead they had been cruel, misguiding and Five found that the hope he'd possessed when he was a boy, gone, vanishing with every passing day. If it hadn't been for Dolores, he was sure he would have offed himself by now. Hell, he'd tried, but she had stopped him. And then ceremoniously argued about his drinking habits.

Five removed his goggles, squinting slightly as dust beat against his face, mixing with the snow embedded in his clothes, the icy frost caught in his beard. He shivered. He glanced back towards Dolores, sitting comfortably in the wagon he'd found several hundred miles back, her head covered in a winter cap he'd found a few hours ago.

The land ahead of them was covered in snow. The ground covered in white innocence, unaware of the crushed buildings, destroyed lives, and smoky destruction it was hiding. It was kind of beautiful… in a poetic sort of way. But it was also a reminded as it laid untouched, that he was alone…

When Five opened his eyes, he was greeted by the same dim lights hanging in the bathroom. The lights swung slightly, shadows dancing on the dark tiled walls as it flashed across his face in a circular pattern. He swallowed, blinking several times, trying his best to clear his vision, letting his body bask in a few moments of painless relaxation before he moved his arms slowly, letting the cold wet floor mix with his warm palms before forcing his aching body to sit up.

He leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes briefly as dizziness washed over him and he swallowed again, letting out a soft cough. Confusion crossed his face as he glanced down at his hands, finding them covered in wet, sticky blood. He looked down at the wraps in his abdomen to find fresh white bandages over his side, and from the sore, raw feeling eating away at his skin, new stitches he assumed. What the hell happened?

The teenager made a move to stand when his foot slid across something wet and slippery, and Five glanced down at the floor to find most of it was covered in blood. The dark crimson standing out against the dark tiled floor in a messy, cold fashion, staining the crevices between the tiles, soaked into Five's shorts, socks.

The 13-year-old slid back down against the wall, his breathing hitching slightly as he glanced around. He swallowed loudly as he noticed Klaus, sitting in the doorway, looking down at the blood dried on his hands, his expression blank, his mind gone. Five groaned slightly as he leaned his head against the wall, sweat dripping down his temple as he locked his jaw, "You're an idiot, Klaus."

His brother didn't respond. He seemed lost in thought, memory, or something that Five couldn't see. He continued to stare at the blood covering his hands, most of his arms; his expression shifted slightly, and tears started swelling in his eyes, falling past dark long lashes, the black eyeliner he'd been wearing several days ago running in black rivers down his sweaty face. And Five swallowed again.

The teenager winced slightly as he pushed off the wall, and scooted closer towards his brother, trying to ignore the pain in his side. He coughed softly, "Klaus?"

He reached a hand towards his brother, letting his fingers touch Klaus's knee gently as his brother jumped, looking up, his expression hurt and broken, tears plastered against his cheeks as his eyes met Five. Klaus swallowed, wiping at the tears on his face and in his eyes as he cleared his throat, "Well, if it isn't our little psycho back from the dead."

Five shook his head as he grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up. He stood slowly, his legs wobbly and his head spinning. He closed his eyes briefly as he glanced down at Klaus, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Klaus laughed softly, pushing himself off the floor, wiping his hands against his pants, "Here? In the bathroom? Well, I came to take a-"

Five took a slow step, falling against the door as the pain in his ankle flared up and he cursed loudly. Klaus caught him, pressing a hand against his shoulder and chest gently, and Five shoved him away harshly as he slid back down against the doorframe, letting out a few shaky breaths. He was so sick of this puny body. Of the concerned worry basically ruminating off his siblings. The only thing they should be concerned about was the end of the world.

"Well, I know. Shut up," Klaus whispered. Five glanced towards him, his eyebrows drawing together as he glanced towards the empty space his brother was addressing. He rolled his eyes; even with the end of the world, leave it to Klaus to still be, well, Klaus.

The 13-year-old sighed, forcing himself to stand again, leaning against the doorframe before Klaus had a chance to reach for him. His brother frowned, his eyes fixated on the teenager, and Five shivered. He spent over 40 years with only Dolores; he didn't like to be inspected, observed.

He pressed a hand against his side gently, letting out a silent breath as Klaus continued to whisper to himself. It sounded like an argument. Five turned towards him, pausing briefly to watch Klaus gesture towards him then back towards the empty space. He coughed again, running a warm hand over his tired face, "Where are the others?"

Klaus paused, turning back towards Five, "Diego and Allison are out; Luther is getting drunk off his ass, and we're hunting for some rope."

"What?" Five asked, stepping away from the doorframe, turning to face Klaus fully. Confusion crossed his face as Klaus took a step back, "Yeah, I need someone to tie me up so I can get clean. And I thought, oh you know, Five's here. But when we came upstairs, you were half-conscious on the bathroom floor. What were you even doing anyway?"

Five shook his head. He let out an aggravated sigh as he walked into the hallway and shoved his door open with his hand. He frowned toward Dolores as she instantly started fretting, and turned back towards Klaus, "It doesn't matter. It didn't work anyway."

"What didn't work?" Klaus questioned, taking a few steps towards the door, his eyes observing Five intently. The teenager shook his head again, turning towards Dolores briefly to tell her he was fine, before turning back towards his brother.

"It doesn't matter, Klaus," He said, "Go away."

The 13-year-old slammed the door shut, listening to his brother lean against the old wood. The door cracked slightly and Five sat on his bed slowly, wondering if his brother was going to come crashing through the stupid thin piece of wood any moment. He coughed roughly, falling back against the pillow, staring up at the speckled ceiling, his hand reaching towards Dolores outstretched one.

The apocalypse was in three days… well, maybe two and a half, and Five was having a harder time jumping. And despite wanting nothing more than to escape this house, his bedroom, his childish body, if he didn't get some rest, if he didn't get some sleep, then he wouldn't heal. He would take longer to heal… and he need to heal fast, he needed to be able to jump. He needed to be ready when it mattered. Three days. Three fucking days to save the end of the world. Again.

Klaus knocked several times before asking, "You're still going to tie me up though, right? Five?"

…..

The sheets enveloping his body felt hot and heavy plastered roughly against sweaty flesh. Five groaned loudly as he moved, trying to find a more comfortable position, trying to figure out how in the hell he slept on these 45 years ago. Because the fabric was itchy, scratchy, a heated weight against his skin, sitting on top of him in sick layers.

He felt sick. Hot. Wrong. Worse. His stomach was twisting, churning, lurching, and he swallowed loudly as he pried his eyes open slowly to the white ceiling above him. Sweat trailed down his face, plastering his black hair against his forehead and he turned slightly to find Dolores sitting near his bed, a worried expression on her face. He smirked slightly, "I'm fine."

She always fret. More so when he was sick or hurt, like that time with the Twinkies. After, she'd argue with him about how stupid he was, about how she told him to listen to her, how she was right. Turns out, she was right more than Five was willing to admit, like when she told him the calculations for his time travel were off. He should have listened to her… maybe then, he wouldn't be stuck in this body.

The 13-year-old swallowed again, kicking weakly at the blanket laying over him, his side warning him that if he moved too much, he'd regret it. He turned over, his back resting against the old mattress and he ran a sweaty hand over his face and glanced towards the door briefly. It was half-opened. Which means someone had come into his room. Someone had been here.

The teenager wondered momentarily if they were still in the hallway, and he wondered if he called for someone, they'd be able to hear him. He blinked slowly, grimacing as his stomach churned again and he let out a slow breath. He didn't need anyone… he never did. But…

Part of him wished he'd listened to the old man. For years. Another part wished this were a dream. The world would end, a big flash or some destructive shit would kill him, and he'd wake up in his bed when he was 13; actually 13. But that's not how the world works. What a cruel mistress she was.

He groaned again, closing his eyes briefly as the ceiling above him began to spin violently. The stupid wallpaper of his childhood bedroom swimming in a multitude of colors and designs, making him more nauseous than he already was. He shifted, sighing softly as the cold breeze from the fan above him cooled the sweat sitting against his skin, and Five opened his eyes, turning over again.

The 13-year-old dropped to his knees as he glanced around, his heart heavy, his body dizzy and tears threatening his eyes. The room he'd been in, the bed he'd been in just seconds ago, was gone. Instead everything, including the stupid wardrobe Klaus had punched a hole in the other day, was gone. The room was gone. The academy was gone… everything was gone.

The fucking apocalypse was laying out in front of his eyes. Smoke rising from the ground, fires still burning around him, and black ash fell from the sky in a haunting reminder. He couldn't escape the fucking apocalypse. The end of the world.

Wind rushed past him harshly, papers, abandoned and forgotten, blowing around the bricks and stones, the remains of his house, of the academy sitting in a vacant lot, full of skeletal reminders and pain. Five pressed his hands against the dirt, letting out a strained yell as he glanced towards the dead remains of his siblings. Their corpses, the thing haunting his nightmares, filling his vision every damn time he closed his eyes, lying in a horrific realization that he was back.

He cried loudly, pushing himself back on his knees, his eyes towards the sky as soot and burning dust covered his body. He fell back letting his head smack against the ashy ground, his body weak and tired. He couldn't save them. No matter how many times he went back, no matter how many times he did this… it would always end the same way. It always ended the same way. He couldn't do this.

His stomach twisted and he turned slightly, retching loudly as his body shook against the sweaty convulsions wreaking his frame. He pushed himself up on his elbow, wiping his mouth harshly as tears fell from his lashes, and he rubbed his dirty sleeve across his eyes. He felt weak. Gone. Old. He was old. And this, this was killing him.

He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on getting back, focusing on jumping, time traveling back. He needed to get back. It was important. He couldn't watch them die over and over and over. He would go back, as many times as it took. He'd made a promise.

"You can't keep this up, Five. We both know you have a limit."

The 13-year-old opened his eyes slowly, his jaw locking as he pushed himself up, swaying dangerously as the dusty world around him shifted into a blur of black and brown. He stumbled slightly, shaking his head as he turned to face the Handler. She laughed softly, one of her eyebrows raised as she walked down a few half-standing stairs.

Five clenched his fists, heat surrounding him as he felt power surging through his chest, sweat trickling down his dirty face as he kept his eyes fixated on her. She sighed, pushing her hands in her black jacket, "If you keep this up, you'll probably die."

The teenager smirked, swallowing against the nausea still coursing through his body and focused on the jump he was about to make. His strength was fading fast, his side was burning but there wasn't any blood, and the apocalypse was getting harder to focus on. She was right, he didn't have long. He was reaching his limit.

He shoved his body forward, gripping the gun in his hand he'd stolen from her pocket, and aimed it toward her a few inches away. The Handler raised another eyebrow, a bemused look crossing her face as the gun shook in the teenager's hot hand. She licked her lips, "If you kill me, I'll just be replaced."

"That's probably true," Five growled, "But what if I torture you?"

In a spilt second, the teenager cocked the gun, aiming towards her left thigh and pulled the trigger. The shot rang off the crumpled buildings, echoing around him piercingly, and the Handler screamed before grasping at her thigh and glaring up towards him, "You little shit!"

The 13-year-old cocked his head, wincing slightly as the ringing in his ears continued, as he tried to keep a cool, collected manner. He raised the gun again, "Now. I'd like to discuss the apocalypse."

The Handler shook her head, "I told you, it's beyond my control. It's supposed to happen."

The teenager took a shaky step forward, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat as he glanced around. His eyes met Luther's hand sprouting from the ground, Diego and Allison buried under rubble, Klaus lying motionless on top of destroyed memories. Five shook his head, turning back towards the Handler and firing off another shot.

The gun shook in his hand as he dropped to his knees, his legs failing to support him as the stupid world swam in front of him and he dropped the gun, letting it hit the dirt with a dull thwack. He pressed a hand against the ground to stop himself from falling face forward and glanced up towards the Handler, wincing as the sun filled his vision before disappearing behind another cloud of smoke.

"Like I said, even you have a limit, Five," The Handler snapped, limping a few feet in front of him before stopping and leaning against a standing pillar. She winced loudly as she pressed a hand against her shoulder, pulling back a gloved hand to find it stained in dark red. She glared back towards the teenager, "I forgot how good of a shot you were."

Five smirked, a goofy smile masking his face momentarily in a drunken way before his stomach lurched and he lunged forward, spewing bitter stomach acid on the dirty ground. He coughed loudly, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead as he gulped several times. He waited for his stomach to calm before looking back up, wiping his mouth once more on his sleeve.

He pushed himself back, letting his body fall against some bricks behind him, the gun laying next to him, waiting. He watched the Handler tend to her wounds for several minutes, grinning. He leaned back against the pile of bricks, deciding he'd wait a few minutes before trying to jump again. The teenager ran a shaky hand through his hair, pulling out some loose rubble before wiping at his forehead. He didn't remember the apocalypse being so damn hot.

"You always were reckless, ruthless," She said, glancing back towards Five. The 13-year-old shrugged, "The perfect assassin as I seem to recall."

The Handler sighed, stepping closer, limping as she caught herself from falling, and Five glanced down to see one of her white heels was broken; tiny red droplets staining the shiny fabric. The teenager coughed slightly, leaning over, spitting bloody saliva from his mouth as he coughed again. He felt dizzy. Thirsty. Sick. And the bitter taste of blood left over in his mouth, wasn't helping him.

A noise sounded to his right and the 13-year-old jerked his head up, his hand instinctively grasping the gun sitting next to him as his eyes met two idiots in cartoon masks. Cha-Cha and Hazel. Five shook his head in disbelief as they grasped at their guns, turning them around to face him, and he let out a loud laugh as he turned back to face the Handler.

"You couldn't stop me yourself, so you sent these two jokes in to do it for you? Really? You can't be serious." He said, pressing his back harder against the bricks, forcing his body up roughly. His vision blurred momentarily, and he heard someone yell his name before the apocalypse came back into view in all its shitty glory.

The Handler crossed her arms, "Not stop you, Five. Kill you."

The 13-year-old laughed again, looking up at the sky as he took a wobbly step forward. This was unbelievable, truly. He glanced towards the Temps then back towards the Handler, "After all these years, and you still think you can kill me? After everything you've taught me? For trying to save the world?"

"For trying to stop the inevitable, Five. This will happen. No matter how many times you go back. No matter how many lifetimes you live. I'm just making it easier on you."

The teenager swallowed. Wind whipped around him as some bricks a few feet away finally caved, falling to the ground dully, dust clouding around it, and Five stepped back slowly. The dust was clouding most of the air now, mixing with the smoke still rising from the ground, and the 13-year-old doubled over, coughed loudly, trying to clear his lungs. The air was getting harder to breathe now, hot and heavy; and his limbs were starting to feel tired, useless.

"I'll tell you what though, Five," The Handler yelled, and the teenager glanced up, peering through the thick cloud of dirt, "I'll let you have two minutes."

Confusion crossed the 13-year-old's face as he straightened his posture. Two minutes? For what? Something moved to his left, and Five flinched, shoving away air as he jumped, landing harshly against a half-standing wall. He breathed heavily, his heart pounding against his chest as his breathing came out in harsh, sporadic waves. Sweat plastered against his face, dripping down his cheeks, soaking into his shirt, making it stick to his overheated body uncomfortably.

He slammed his head against the wall behind him, cursing slightly as pain shot through his side and he glanced down to find, thankfully, there wasn't any blood. He heard something move to his right and he peered around the corner of the wall, squinting painfully as he tried to make out the shape in the cloudy distance.

"Come on out, Five," The Handler yelled, "I thought you wanted some alone time with your family. I won't give you this chance again."

Five pressed himself harder against the wall as he realized the shape in the distance was Luther. His body twisted and distorted, stiff and dead, but he was standing… they were all standing. Five closed his eyes, "No. No. No. NO!"

He let out several shaky breaths. This isn't what he wanted. He wanted them back. Not dead. He wanted to save the damn world. He smacked his head against the wall again, coughing as a wave of dizziness washed over him and a nauseating warmth filled his veins.

"One minute, Five. Better hurry."

The 13-year-old opened his eyes slowly, standing even more so. His body swaying as he stood and he pushed himself away from the warm brick, letting the dust clear around him before taking a step towards her. He winced loudly as his body jumped and fell to his knees a few feet in front of the Handler. He glared towards her, his foot laying over the gun on the ground before glancing towards his siblings, tears welling in his eyes.

He choked, letting his body fall forward, his hands mash against the dirt, dust coating his hands in a sticky sweaty fashion as he continued to stare up at his siblings. Dust, blood and soot covering their bodies, their eyes lifeless and gone, fixed on him, their limbs bent at ungodly angles as little pieces of rubble fell from their hair. Luther took a step forward, "This is all your fault, Five. If you had let us help you, if you hadn't been so selfish, if you hadn't been so damn arrogant to prove you were better than us, then maybe we could have survived."

Tears swelled in his eyes, dripping from the teenager's long lashes, running down his cheeks in dirty trails as he shook his head. He didn't start the apocalypse. Harold Jenkins did. This wasn't his fault. And yet, he had left them.

Diego snorted, "You know, maybe you shouldn't have ever left. Better yet, maybe you should have just stayed gone."

"Because then I at least could have spent my last few days with my daughter," Allison said, stepping forward. She stumbled slightly and Five glanced up, letting out a soft sob as she fell, her body dropping like dead weight and he reached for her. But she was already gone. His minute was almost up.

He swallowed thickly, letting out a loud cry as Diego and Luther dropped, dust clouding their bodies. The air hurt his lungs now. His arms were shaking, and he doubted he be able to jump accurately or hold himself up much longer. He dug his fingernails further into the warm dirt, letting the soft ground eat away at the sweaty flesh, painfully.

Klaus knelt down in front of him, and Five gulped, tears dripping from his chin, gathering into a dirty puddle on the ground below him. He closed his eyes briefly as Klaus's fingers slipped under his chin, forcing his head up, and the teenager watched as the alarmed concern that plagued his brother's face twisted, contorted into hatred and disgust. Klaus dropped his hand, and stood, folding his arms over his chest, "Our life has been so fucked since you came back, old man. I've lost people I loved, lost him- Diego's right. You should have stayed gone because you couldn't save us. And we can't save you."

The teenager let out another cry as Klaus dropped, his body falling against the others in a pile of dust, and he pressed his head against the ground as the wind picked up around him. He couldn't save them. No matter how hard he tried, and yet, he had to keep trying. Because he couldn't do this. He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't be alone. Not for another 45 years.

He pushed his head up slowly as someone called his name and he glanced around. Dolores was lying in the dirt a few feet away; her face turned towards him, regret etched into her lifeless form, and the teenager reached a hand towards her as something moved next to him. He looked up to see the Handler standing over him, an amused look crossing her red lips. She sighed loudly as she bent down, "How pathetic, Five. How old you are, and yet you still hang onto the hopes of a child."

Tears still fell silently from the 13-year-old's face as he pushed himself up on his knees slowly. He glanced towards Dolores, then towards his siblings. He wiped at the water stains on his cheeks, letting out a hot breath as air refused to fill his deprived lungs. Smoke and dust clogging his throat, making him gag harshly before he spit more blood from his mouth, and he turned back towards the Handler. His side burning.

"I-I want them back," He said forcefully, feeling tears welling in his eyes, "I-I can't be alone. Again. For 45 years. I don't want to be alone."

The Handler smirked, shaking her head slowly, her fingers ghosting over his cheek tenderly, "But you weren't alone. Remember? You had Dolores."

Five fell back, shoving his feet forward as he glanced towards Cha-Cha and Hazel inching closer. He swallowed, rubbing his dirty sleeve across his sweaty face as he grasped the gun now next to him, and raised it, aiming it towards the Handler. Shock spread across her features for a fraction of a second before a calm, collected expression filled her face.

She sighed, standing slightly, watching as the gun followed her movements, "I told you, Five. If you kill me, I'll just be replaced."

The teenager's hand was steady and even, his breathing barely audible as he cocked the gun, his finger on the trigger. A grin filled his face stupidly as his head reeled and he wondered just how long his body would hold; how quick this would be.

He glanced towards Cha-Cha and Hazel, and stood quickly, his body jumping, and he landed behind them, shoving the gun into Hazel's back and fired. Blood spurted from the older man's body and he fell before Five jumped again, his gun pressed against Cha-Cha's chest. He forced her gun down, throwing it behind him and he fired a shot through her torso and watched her fall, blood pooling on the ground, splattered across his clothes. And he turned to face the Handler.

She stood several feet from him, a shotgun raised in his direction, and Five smirked. His vision swam and he blinked sluggishly as he realized he was losing consciousness. He was beyond his limit. And he was done. He coughed roughly, blood falling from his mouth and he ran a shaky hand across his chin, smearing the stupid crimson across his face.

He turned slightly, hearing some yelling his name, and his eyes met the lifeless ones of Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus. The Handler cocked the shotgun, and the teenager glanced back in her direction, aiming the gun and firing towards the black briefcase sitting on some bricks a few feet behind her. She jumped, and Five fell to his knees, breathing heavily.

He clenched his eyes shut tightly as the sun filled his vision momentarily and groaned as he forced his body to jump one last time. The ground spun beneath him and he gagged, coughing up more blood and bitter saliva, as he tightened his grip on the gun, keeping it raised towards the Handler.

He felt the cold barrel of the shotgun against his temple, and he forced his eyes open, pressing the gun harder under her ribs. A goofy smirk crossed his face as he stared up at her, blood and sweat dripping in his eyes, down his chin. The Handler smirked back, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, "That was reckless, Five, even for you. So, what? You travel back to your time? Leave me stranded here for 45 years?"

Five grinned, his eyes feverishly bright, his skin painfully hot, and he laughed slightly, "You still don't get it. None of you do."

The Handler raised an eyebrow, pressing the gun harder against the teenager's head causing him to wince. Wind whipped around them, dust, ash, soot eating away at their bloody clothing, and the smell of burnt wood, cement and rotting flesh filling their nostrils. Behind them, bricks fell from a crumpling archway, and the ground shook slightly. The muddy ground swimming under the teenager's shaking knees as he struggled to stay upright, to breath, to stay conscious.

"Get what?" The Handler asked after a few minutes. The teenager glanced once more towards his siblings, Dolores, then towards the lifeless bodies of Cha-Cha and Hazel before looking back up. The 13-year-old coughed roughly, his mouth drowning in blood as he smiled up at the Handler, watching her calm collected expression fade slowly, morphing into curiosity, concern… fear. She pressed the gun harder, the cold barrel piercing the burning flesh on his temple, "Get what, Five?"

Five pulled the gun away from her ribs swiftly, shoving it under his chin and grinned towards the Handler, his eyes locking on hers for a split second before he pulled the trigger. Pain enveloped his head and he fell, dropping the gun, blood spewing from his mouth as he fell against something soft, sweat dripping in his eyes, down his face, matted in his hair.

He grasped tightly at the soft material holding him up, clutching at the silky purple scarf he seen earlier as he coughed roughly. Something ran through his hair, pushing his bangs back and he felt his body go limp as his head fell against something solid, something real. His vision wavered, and he felt sick, dizzy, disoriented, detached from his body like the first time he'd jumped.

He gripped again at the soft material surrounding him and it took several muddled minutes for him to realize that by some miracle or some fucked-up joke, he was back in the living room; he was back at the academy. And Klaus was holding him, his purple scarf swaying slightly as his brother continued to rock him back and forth like some kind of perpetual child. The teenager grasped again at the soft material of Klaus's coat as he let his sweaty head fall against his brother's shoulder and he let out a loud sob.

"Shh, Shh. You're alright, Five. We've got you, we have you now," Klaus whispered, tightening his grip around his brother's body, a hand running through his sweaty hair. Five blinked slowly. The world around him was hot and heavy, wavering in and out, the light flashing between what was real and what wasn't. The past was bleeding into the present, the present into the future; and Five was having trouble holding onto any of it. His family had died… or maybe they would, but watching them die, seeing their deaths this last time hurt worse than before because he knew who they were… and he knew he hadn't been strong enough to stop the end of the world.

The teenager continued to cry, letting tears paint his face, running down his chin, mixing with the blood dripping from his mouth and onto the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. His breathing was reckless, old, and his lungs hurt from the air they refused to take. Maybe this was it, maybe his old age was killing him. He'd lived a lonely life, so maybe it was only fair he died before the world did. Gentle fingers slid under his chin, and Diego's worried face filled Five's blurry vision; Klaus's grip tightening as Luther's voice echoed around them.

"We have you now. We have you," Klaus continued, his fingers automatically running through Five's messy hair as his brother coughed roughly. Heat fell over him, his heart pounding wildly against his chest and Five choked, tears trailing messily down his pale face as the thought of the apocalypse filled his mind. He was stronger than this, than them… the last 45 years proved that. But maybe the Handler was right, maybe he couldn't stop the apocalypse, maybe it was supposed to happen. It was inevitable.

His body fell heavily against Klaus's chest, the room spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors, and the 13-year-old clenched his eyes shut as he tried to stop the tears falling from his eyes. As he tried to calm down. He needed to calm down. He wasn't a kid anymore. He felt old. Weak. Wrong. Young. Sick. Hot. Hurt. He had forgotten what it was like to have a family… again. That's why he'd come back.

But truth was, he had three days. Three days to save the world. To save his family. Or he'd lose them, again. He'd lose this… and Five couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Not this time around. Because this was it. And one truly was the loneliest number.

…

He stood there for a while, listening to the violin drifting through the old wooden door, leaning his head against the doorframe as Klaus and Ben ran passed him. Five shook his head as he watched the idiots trying to shove each other down the stairs as they went down. The violin paused for a moment, and the 13-year-old turned his head back towards the closed door, listening quietly as it started up again, a different song playing.

Allison and Luther walked passed him, their hands separating when Five glanced towards them. He rolled his eyes. They weren't actually related… well, Allison and Luther weren't actually related, so no one would give a shit if those two actually started dating. Besides, Klaus had already called it 3 years ago.

Luther nudged him on the shoulder as Allison knocked on Diego's doorframe. Five kicked towards his brother and Luther dodged him before pointing towards the closed door, "Dude. Are you coming or what? We have to sneak out before Pogo catches us."

"Yeah, yeah," Five mumbled, turning back towards the door, "I'm coming."

Luther gave him a look before turning back towards Allison and Diego, following them towards the stairs. Five sighed before knocking on the door. He bit his bottom lip as the playing stopped, a goofy smile toying on his lips as Vanya opened the door, her violin in one hand.

"Five? What are you doing here? Was I playing too loud?" She asked quietly. Five laughed softly and shook his head, "No. We're sneaking out to the donut shop before Pogo catches us. Klaus bet Ben 30 bucks he could eat a dozen donuts before he pukes."

Vanya laughed, a surprised expression masking her face as she set the instrument on the bed, "Really? Last time he only got down half a dozen."

Five shrugged his shoulders, "I know. But the psycho's feeling lucky. Wanna come?"

Vanya paused for a moment, looking back at the violin before smiling, and she nodded. Five grinned, pushing himself away from the doorway awkwardly…

He felt hot. Burning. Suffocating against heavy air, and something thick was lying on top of him, making moving difficult, and making him feel trapped. He swallowed, flinching slightly as something wet touched his forehead, cheek, neck, chest. And he shivered as the sweat that plastered against his scorching flesh, felt suddenly dry and cool.

Voices drifting in the background. Arguing reaching his ears as his world came back into a slow, hazy and hot focus. The 13-year-old groaned softly as fingers ran through his hair gently, and the sound of humming reached his ears. Someone was humming.

Confusion clouded his mind, making it harder for him to formulate a coherent thought as Five tried to piece together what was happening, where he was, and who was with him. The last person who had sung to him was his mother, and-

"Vanya?" Five asked, his voice weak and scratchy. He tried to open his eyes but found the task difficult and slow. His body felt like Jell-O, overheated and mushy Jell-O. He had always hated Jell-O, the translucent substance was annoying and disgusting, to say the least. Luckily, that shitty, wobbly gunk didn't survive the apocalypse.

Fingers clasped his hand, and Five opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the burning light hanging above him. His head spun and he closed his eyes, swallowing dryly as confusion settled over his features and warm fingers ran through his hair tenderly. He felt tears pricking his eyes as memories of his childhood hit him and he let out a slow breath.

"Allison," His sister's voice met his ears softly, barely above a whisper, and the teenager winced as he tried moving. His body was heavy, and there wasn't any strength left in his 13-year-old self. He was pathetic. This was pathetic. He was older than all of them and yet he was being cared for like some child. Like he was a child. And there wasn't anything he could do about. It hurt. The memories hurt.

The end of the world was in… well, honestly as this point, Five wasn't exactly sure when the apocalypse was, but it had to be soon. Everything was hard to piece together; all muddled together in murky confusion set in an old mind. Nothing made sense. Especially, Allison singing to him. She'd never done that before. Not even when he was sick. It was always either mom or Vanya… and once Klaus, but that was more of an annoyance than anything else.

Five moved slightly, wincing as the movement sent pain flagging his right side, and he jerked his head towards the wound instinctively. Last time he was shot, he didn't remember it hurting this much. Chalk it up to bad luck, miscalculations, and his prepubescent body. Figures, he'd have to go through puberty twice, so he might as well get shot twice.

He cracked his eyes open again, squinting against the blinding light, the headache behind his eyes intensifying momentarily, and he grimaced. He blinked sluggishly as he glanced towards Allison sitting on the edge of the bed, towards her hand clasped around his. This was beyond embarrassing. If he could move, if he could speak properly, he'd tell them to leave. To go back to figuring out the end of the world because that was more important than sitting idly by some teenager's bed while he slept.

He closed his eyes briefly before something shifted at the end of his bed, and he glanced at the foot of the bed to find Klaus sitting cross-legged, hugging Dolores against his chest protectively, his eyes fixed on Five attentively. Five swallowed. He wasn't used to this lovey-dovey crap; he'd forgotten what it felt like over the last 45 years… what it felt like to have a family again. It felt weird, embarrassing, painful, and part of that pissed him off. He wouldn't watch over his brothers or sisters while they slept, or were shot, or whatever… he was trying to save them from a worse fate.

The teenager turned his attention towards the hallway, black dots eating away at his vision momentarily as his eyes met Diego and Luther arguing in the hallway. Diego was pointing a finger in Luther's chest. Shit. The 13-year-old coughed weakly, turning back towards the ceiling, listening to the disagreement as he closed his eyes. He was so damn tired. His body was hot, the heat surrounding his limbs and mind making it hard to concentrate, and all he wanted to do was sleep, wake up, and be ready for his part. If they needed him… When.

"Kill him? Are you out of your fucking mind!"

"Look, Luther, I'm not saying the kid's right, but Five has a point. Allison said this Harold guy is Vanya's-"

Five groaned loudly, his face scrunching up slightly as he shifted, trying to move his burning body against sheets that hurt and limbs that refused to move. His body felt weak, mushy, gone; and he momentarily wondered if this is what it felt like to be crushed under the bricks he'd seen in the apocalypse. Maybe. He heard Klaus shift at the end of the bed, and Allison pressed something wet against his forehead causing him to flinch. Maybe he would die this time around. How fucked up that would be… but then again, if it saved the rest of humanity, if it saved his family, then his life didn't matter.

"Hey, guys. Guys! Could you keep it down or go somewhere else?" Allison interjected. Five relaxed slightly, the argument stopping mid-conversation, and the sound of a door creaking open. He felt Klaus shift again and heard the floorboards creak as he could only assume the other two morons made it into the room. They were still bickering, but softer this time. Fuck.

The 13-year-old stayed still, he wanted them to leave, to go back to their tasks. But he was too weak to say that, his mouth felt like cotton, and he swallowed, listening to his family surviving around him. Without him. They had all survived without him… and if the apocalypse could be stopped then he'd leave and let them continue living without him. His siblings had been right. He'd been selfish. He was. For coming back, for wanting his family back, for wanting them to survive even if it meant losing him. Because the truth was, Luther was right. Five needed them a lot more than they needed him. He always had.

…

There was this sound. This weird sound of metal scraping against metal when Five finally opened his eyes. The world surrounding him was dimly lit, the sky outside dark, and he turned slowly to find the moon caught in his bedroom window. It was a nice sight… but after 45 years, he'd had enough of that bright planet. The teenager smirked slightly, wondering if Luther was sick of it too.

The sound caught his attention again, and the 13-year-old turned towards the door, squinting as his eyes tried to readjust to the figure standing in his doorway. He pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his side burned dully, and his arms trembled slightly as he forced his body into a sitting position.

"If you bust those stitches again. I'm letting you bleed out," Someone said, and Five ran a hand through his hair as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed slowly as Diego flicked the light on. Five winced again, blinking several times as his eyes readjusted to the light filling the small childish bedroom. He glanced down at his side, his hand tracing over the fresh white bandages carefully.

Diego stepped closer, pulling a chair from the desk, letting the old wood scrape against the floor before sitting down. Five watched as he pulled the knives he'd been sharpening from his pocket, running the blades over each other again as he continued his task.

"What are you doing here?" Five mumbled, shivering slightly as his bare feet touched the ground. His toes digging into the splintered wood, tracing over the scrapes and lines etched and carved on the floor. Diego snorted, "You mean besides babysitting your stupid ass?"

"I don't need a babysitter. I'm not a kid," Five spat, glaring up at his brother as Diego paused, putting the knives in his pocket before leaning back and crossing his arms.

"You sure about that, Five? Let's review the last day, shall we? First, you get shot; don't tell us. Then you sneak out of the house, force your stitches open and almost bleed out on the bathroom floor; don't tell us. You even know how long it took Luther to clean up all that blood? Then you spike a fever and jump. Except you were so fucked out of your mind that we were literally in this stupid game of cat and mouse because you kept jumping; pull your stitches again, start vomiting blood, almost bleed out… For someone as old as you, you sure act like a child."

The teenager snorted, glaring towards the wall, clenching his teeth together. Getting shot wasn't his fault, nor was the fever. He didn't bother telling them because he figured he'd be able to manage three days on his own. Hell, he'd managed 45 years on his own. But…

"It doesn't matter,"' The teenager said, turning back towards his brother, "I saw you die. All of you were dead. For 45 years. And I couldn't stop it. And now, now I can. We have a chance to save our universe in some fucked-up comic book way. I can't go back to the apocalypse again, alone. I can't watch you guys die again."

Diego's face softened slightly, and the teenager inched away as his brother reached out a hand. Five ran a hand through his hair, glancing towards Dolores lying on the foot of his bed as she asked if he was okay. He rolled his eyes.

Diego sighed, "And we can't watch you die, Five. We've already lost you once, lost Ben, Dad, Mom… we can't lose another family member. No matter how screwed up this family is, bro."

The 13-year-old flinched, a chill breaking out over his body as he glanced back towards his brother. He'd spent so long hating himself, hating the fact that he forced himself into a situation that he couldn't get out of, consumed by some sheer determination that he would find a way back eventually, that when the opportunity arouse, he never stopped to consider that he was back with his family again. Perhaps the reason was that if he stopped, even for a moment, if he stopped to think about finally being back, thought of his siblings as his family like he used to, then it would make losing them so much harder. So much more painful. That's why he had to save the world. Because he still clung to that stupid childish hope that he thought he'd lost years ago.

Five swallowed, looking down at his feet, his toenails still stained red from what he assumed was his blood. He cleared his throat, "Where's Klaus?"

Diego snorted, leaning back in the old wooden chair again, "Detoxing. After your little jumping stunt, the druggie started having withdrawals. Started begging me to tie him up with some rope he'd found in the old man's office… twice. And Luther's shifting through some of Dad's old work or something; he's convinced that the apocalypse is still linked to his mission on the moon or some shit. Allison is at Vanya's apartment, waiting for her to get back."

The 13-year-old pressed his feet firmly against the floor and proceeded to stand when Diego reached out a hand, pressing it against Five's shoulder, "Take it easy, Five. You only missed half a day, honestly. Besides, your stitches aren't completely healed, and with Klaus probably trying to undo the knots with his teeth upstairs right now; if you pull them, like I said, you're bleeding out, kid."

The teenager sighed loudly as he sat back down on the bed, "Stop calling me that."

"Fine, old man." Diego said, smirking towards his brother as he pulled a knife from his pocket and went back to sharpening them. Five grinned slightly before leaning back against the wall behind him. Despite wanting to help, his brother was right, there wasn't anything immediate he could do right now… and if he started bleeding again, then he'd only slow them all down. As much as he hated it, he was better off staying put until morning.

Silence fell over them for a long time. Metal running against metal and Five watched as Diego continued with his knives. The teenager didn't much care for knives, though he was good with them… better than Diego after his years with the Commission, better with any weapon really. After all, he was linked to some of the most famous murders in history…

But when they were 11, him and Diego had gotten into a fight over something stupid. His brother had thrown a knife at him when Five jumped. And whether it was because Five pulled the knife with him or by sheer dumb luck, he'd gotten stabbed in the thigh. He still had a scar there from the shitty stitching job Luther had done afterwards. They'd never told their father; they were too scared the bastard would include that in some of his fucked-up experiments.

"You remember that time, a few days before I left, we all snuck out to Giddy's Doughnuts?" Five asked, glancing back towards Diego. His brother paused for a second before laughing, "Yeah, then when we came back, mom caught us, and Klaus threw up all over the rug because the dumbass had eaten a dozen donuts for 30 bucks. I was scared shitless. Thought for sure dad would find out. And I don't think I'd ever been so scared of mom before… not that she thought anything about it."

Five smirked, shaking his head slowly, "Simpler times, I guess."

"Yeah," Diego sighed, setting the knives on the nightstand gently, "First time he got high, too. With that 30 bucks."

"Alas, the junkie was born."

"Yeah. But you got to admit, Dad fucked him up pretty bad. Fucked us all up, I guess. The bastard. I mean, with what he did to Luther- not to mention Ben. You're lucky you got out when you did, Five."

"Yeah…" The teenager trailed off, glancing towards the moon still hanging in his window. Diego was right. Five had gotten out, away; he didn't have to put up with their father for 17 years, according to his siblings… and given he was already pretty fucked up, he could only imagine how screwed he'd be if he'd stayed. All of them were messed up; Klaus maybe more than them, then there was Ben. But for 17 years, his siblings at least had each other; and from what he'd read in Vanya's book, there had been some bad times, dark times. And Five was lucky he missed those… but still, part of him wished he'd listened to the old man; he should have listened. He hadn't been ready to time travel, he hadn't acorned… not until he'd started Corrections. But even now, his jumps weren't always accurate.

"You hungry?"

Five huffed, turning back towards his brother, "I'm stuck in a 13-year-old body of myself, what do you think?"

Diego nodded slightly before standing, pushing the chair back with his foot, "Peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches?"

"That depends. Did you buy any coffee?" Five stood slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as his side ached. He crossed his arms over his chest as he locked eyes with his brother. Diego was watching, probably contemplating shoving him back down…

Diego shrugged, putting the knives in his pocket before turning towards the door. He glanced once more towards Five, then headed towards the door, turning in the hallway, "Are you coming or what?"

The 13-year-old snorted, shaking his head slightly as he took a tentative step, testing the weight on his ankle, testing the strength in his body. He felt relieved that his body seemed willing to support him this time. Truth was, he felt better. Way better than he had earlier… better than he had in 45 years. Maybe his body bounced back easier because it was so young. But that had to count for something.

Five nodded as he glanced back up to see Diego watching him. He rolled his eyes, "What?"

Diego shook his head before starting down the hallway, "Nothing. It's just, you move like an old man."

Five smirked as he walked towards the door, turning slightly to glance back at his childhood bedroom. There were so many memories in here, so many lives lived. And hopefully, there'd be more. The teenager sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed his brother down the stairs.

Two days. He had two days to save the world. To save his family. Two days to figure out the mindfuck that was the end of the world. And he'd go back and fix it, do it right, as many times as it took.