𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

16│I WAS MADE FOR ( LOVING ) YOU

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴍᴀᴅᴇ
ғᴏʀ ( ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ) ʏᴏᴜ ꒱


❝ SURPRISE, BITCH ❞

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While the drive to Sissy's farm was strangely normal for such a dire situation, Dolores hardly paid attention to her surroundings. Instead, she stared intently out the window as she watched the passing green, grassy fields. As they drew closer to their destination it seemed as if her senses were heightening, that colors were more vibrant, her hearing was sharper, her touch more delicate and she was acutely aware of everything.

Each intake of breath was more thought out than how instinct usually was as she counted each one (twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.) The color outside the car seemed to have become saturated, as if someone had turned up the intensity to full blast. Her hands— which were resting against the soft wool of Five's blazer— seemed to be able to feel each intricate fiber that made up the material. Her ears could focus on the hum of the car's engine, the siblings' bickering and the screech of the metal tailpipe dragging along the ground due to Luther's extra weight.

She supposed she was. . . she was feeling all of this because she'd never taken into consideration how much life surrounded her. Her own, the Hargreeves, the boy they were going to save, the woman who lived on the farm. They had all touched her somehow— however indirectly— and now she was forever tied to them.

As they pulled into the driveway, Dolores came to a sudden, startling conclusion that she felt deep within her bones, an undeniable truth: she was going to die today.

That was the choice. The difficult one between life and death. Hers, or— Five's, she knew.

The siblings piled out of the car and she followed them, albeit more slowly as she came to terms with her abrupt realization. They came to a stop in the main yard of the barn and looked up at the storm cloud that hovered over the building as their feet crunched in the white, white snow. Unusually cold, sharp air entered her lungs as she took several deep breaths (one hundred, one hundred-one, one hundred-two) while Diego asked, "you think whatever's going on inside is causing the cold front?"

"Well, the correlation is high," Five answered. He shut the car door before he stepped next to the brunette.

As a blonde woman emerged from the barn, Dolores slid her hand into her husbands without thinking— a mistake. The sudden touch caused him to startle and turn to her with his brows furrowed. "You okay, Dolly?"

The girl glanced up at him, surprised that he'd noticed. "Uh, yeah (lie). Why?"

"Your hands," he explained as he held up the one he grasped. "They're freezing."

"Oh," she said. "It's probably just the cold. Temperature change and all that."

"Right," the boy agreed, though he didn't look convinced. He continued to give her concerned glances.

"I'm alright," she insisted and they fell quiet. She concentrated on how warm Five's hand was, how it fit in hers, slightly larger than her own. Cool wind whipped by her skin and tossed her short hair into messy curls. The breeze carried the woman's— Sissy's— words around them.

Vanya replied, though her response was lost. Then they were moving into the barn, so whatever she'd said must have done the trick. As they passed the wooden fence she reached out a hand to brush her fingers along the rough surface to feel the grooves and dips of the weathered lumber.