𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

7│A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ
ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ꒱


❝ PLEASE TELL ME THAT
THIS ISN'T A DREAM ❞

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Later that night, Five returned to Elliot's apartment and was greeted by the sight of his brother lying against the man's couch. Lila was perched on top of him as she tended to his wound. He sighed. "Oh, he isn't dead."

"Disappointed?" Lila asked.

"Oh, to see you? Always," the boy responded. He reached for a napkin that was placed on the coffee table to put it on Pogo's claw marks.

"So much hostility in such a tiny package," the woman observed as she rested the arm that held the heat gun on her knee. "Did you cut yourself shaving? I could teach you to shave like a big boy."

Irritation prickled over his skin at the comment. "No, I just ran into an old family friend." He glanced over at Elliot, who was still tied to the chair and changed the subject: "you didn't untie him?"

"Was I supposed to?"

✧✧✧

The next morning, Elliot was the first one up— having been freed from his constraints the night before— and he fixed himself a bowl of cereal before he sat down at his desk. While he ate, he used a magnifying glass to look at the captured image of Luther. He startled easily when one of the machines nearby sounded an alarm. He called over to the boy: "hey, we got one." As Five walked over to look at what he was talking about, Elliot continued: "one of those machines you asked for is going crazy."

"Which one?"

"It's, uh, atmospheric radar."

"Good."

Elliot gave him a confused look. "I don't get it. What are you tracking? A hurricane? A storm front?"

"Sound waves," Five answered briskly.

"Soundwaves," the man repeated. "Wow. What—" The boy disappeared in a flash of blue, leaving him to shout: "where are you going?" to the empty room.

✧✧✧

Five found his sister in the exact spot the radar had indicated in a cornfield just outside of Dallas. He pushed the stalks away from the crouched figure and smiled down at the brunette. "Hi, Vanya."

She stood cautiously. "You're. . . Five. Right?"

The boy looked mildly surprised though he brushed past his curiosity in favor of efficiency. "Look. You can either stay here and wait for the Ikea mafia to come back and kill you or you can come with me."

"Wh-why are they trying to kill me?"

"'Cause you're not supposed to be here, Vanya," Five explained easily as they began to leave the field.

"In the 1960s, right?"

"Correct," he replied, wondering how exactly she knew this. Before he could ask, though, they came across the flattened area that she had destroyed the previous night.

Vanya looked at it with wide eyes. "Holy shit."

"It's good to see your powers are still intact," Five observed. "Let's go."

✧✧✧

Five and Vanya sat at the counter of a downtown café and the boy was on his second cup of coffee. The older waitress serving them (whose nametag read Mary) poured the dark liquid into the mug. As she finished, he nodded slightly. "Leave the pot, dear. Thank you."