𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

3│FIVE HARGREEVES AND THE TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD THREE WEEKS

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ғɪᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇs &
ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ʜᴏʀʀɪʙʟᴇ, ɴᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ,
ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ꒱


❝ THEY'RE ALL DICKHEADS ❞

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10 minutes earlier

If having the worst week of your life was a category for the Olympics, Five Hargreeves would win the gold medal hands-down, no questions asked. From stopping his sister's first attempt to end the world to being immediately thrown into a nuclear war, he'd had a hell of a time trying to protect his family.

The last ten days had been the worst since he hadn't even known where his wife was. After being together for decades on end, being without her so suddenly had been. . . jarring, to say the least. Dealing with his siblings alone had been hell and their reunion had been a more than welcome one. Yet, not everything was as happy as it should have been. (After all, when did things ever work out for him?)

He'd learned that Dolores had been stuck in another apocalyptic wasteland— alone, this time— because of him. Still, he hadn't been able to give her a peace of mind and had selfishly dragged her through the next eight days of stopping the apocalypse she'd just survived for six and a half months. On top of that, he'd put her through Paradox Psychosis (again) and then she'd died.

Even though she'd done all of this without complaining— something that he admired greatly about her— and she would probably keep following him to the ends of the Earth, the last one had finally lifted the rose-colored glasses. He couldn't keep doing this to her. Hell, he couldn't keep doing this to himself. She'd died only hours ago and he was the only one who remembered it. The scene kept replaying in his mind every time he closed his eyes: the sound of the bullets spraying from The Handler's gun, the moment of unbalance as she turned them around and the soft oomph she'd let out as her body had fallen against his.

Her body. He refused to ever let that happen again. It was why he'd snapped at her so harshly despite her insistence that she could help in their newest fight. They both knew that she couldn't and her involvement would only increase the risk of her getting hurt— or worse.

Five shook his head to clear it. He'd apologize to her later; right now, he needed to focus on making sure that his siblings all got out in one piece. Speaking of— he blinked over to where Allison had collapsed on the floor due to the return force of her punch. His hand secured on her knee and they disappeared before the opposing Sparrow— the one with the disfigured face— could do further damage.

They landed on the balcony a floor above and his sister nodded to him gratefully. "Thanks."

"No problem," he replied as they got to their feet again.

They were hardly allowed a moment of respite before they faced the next Sparrow: a woman with midnight-dark hair but otherwise unremarkable features. "Hey, short pants!" she taunted him. "What's up?"

"Go help the others," he told Allison. "I'll handle this one."

As his sister agreed, the Sparrow gave him an unimpressed look. "What are you, their mascot?"

He blinked behind her and wasted no time in punching her in the face. The dark-haired woman fell to the floor with a grunt. "More like their ringer." Inexplicably, she pulled back her lips to reveal her teeth as she hissed at him. A dark substance flew from her mouth and landed on his forehead, causing him to grimace. "Ugh! Hey, gross, alright?"