Klaus is sitting at the dining room table.
Diego blinks, stops short, and Vanya walks straight into his back, caught off guard.
Eudora is sitting across from Klaus, her hands clasped around a mug of coffee that likely went cold a long time ago.
She looks exhausted, the bags under her eyes more pronounced than usual.
She meets his eyes, but, before she can open her mouth, Klaus is staggering to his feet. "Oh, heeey, bro!"
He throws his arms around Diego and squeezes him tight. Diego accepts the hug, wrapping his arms around his brother.
Klaus brightens when his eyes land on Vanya. "Hey, Vanny!" He wriggles away from Diego and pats her on the shoulder.
Vanya manages an awkward smile, not really sure where she stands yet. "Hey."
"It's good to see you." Any doubts she may have had are set to rest when Klaus gives her a little side hug.
Her smile is a little more genuine now. "Yeah. You too."
"What are you doing here, Klaus?" It comes out far more gruffly than he intended and he does wince internally at that, but Klaus was supposed to be in rehab.
Klaus pulls away from them both, bringing both hands to his lips in a mock gasp, eyes wide. "Is that any way to speak to your favorite brother?"
Diego rolls his eyes, but some of his frustration from before is fading.
"Yeah, whatever." There's no delicate way to ask what he wants to ask. "Aren't you supposed to…"
Klaus whips out a sobriety coin, almost like he's rehearsed this. "All done," he says, waving it proudly. He flips the coin in the air, catches it, and tucks it back into his pants. "We are alllllll done with that shit." He laughs, which then breaks into a cough.
Diego sucks in a breath- and senses Vanya behind him doing the same.
Good for him.
He just hopes it lasts this time.
Immediately feeling guilty for his lack of faith in his brother, Diego opens his mouth to say… something congratulatory, he's sure, but Vanya beats him to it.
"That's really good to hear, Klaus. I'm happy for you."
Klaus beams. "Thanks, Vanya."
She smiles, but Klaus is already moving on.
"So, Diego, your lovely lady friend," here, he flaps his hand in Eudora's general direction, "was just informing me of some very interesting news."
Diego's eyes flit to Eudora, then back to Klaus. He's not sure how much she told him.
"Yeah," he says, carefully. "So you know…"
"Yeah, yeah…" A laugh bubbles out, sounding slightly hysterical. "Explains why he never showed up… around here." He makes a circle motion with his hand, indicating the empty space around him. Then looks affronted at the space just off to his left. "Oh, shut up."
Diego swallows thickly. "...right."
Eudora rises. "What happened?" she asks. "Is he…?"
"Dad has him," he says grimly.
"Oh, that isn't good." Klaus slaps a hand over his mouth, aghast.
"No kidding."
Not good is the understatement of the century.
"We're not going to leave him there," Vanya speaks up, surprising them both. She shrinks back once she has their attention. "I mean… obviously, we can't. It wouldn't be right. We have to get him back. Five would do the same for any of us."
"Oh, I agree, Vanya." Klaus bounces on the balls of his feet. "I'm sure dear old Dad is having the time of his life with one of us back at least."
Eudora, who had remained respectfully silent, makes a discreet motion for Diego to follow him. He does so.
"Look," she says softly, keeping her tone low so the other two don't accidentally overhear, "is this a good idea?"
Diego's hackles rise. "He's our brother…"
"That's not what I meant, I'm sorry." Eudora brings a hand to her forehead, pushing back a few stray strands of hair. "I just meant…" She hesitates, biting her lip. It's unlike her, but they both know they're traversing uncertain territory with this. "Your father. He hurt you. He hurt all of you. And you don't really have any sort of plan to get him back, do you?"
Diego grimaces.
She's right.
"I'll come up with a plan."
She smirks, but it's almost sad. "We both know how well those go."
Diego grins, surprising himself with just how genuine it feels. "The soap machine idea was brilliant and you know it."
/
Five is left alone again, which is… surprising.
He had expected something else. What, he's not sure. Some penalty for running away all those years ago.
Extra training or whatnot.
Even if Dad was waiting for him to recover before implementing it, he had at least expected to be informed.
But then, it's not like he's been left unscathed either.
Dad had torn down his defenses without even trying. Gutted him and left him hanging high and dry.
He knew how to pick them apart, where the chinks in their armor were.
Five had been better than his siblings at hiding his weak points, but he had never been able to barricade himself entirely.
It's nice to see that hasn't changed.
He hadn't had much to offer about the impending apocalypse either. Just his usual brand of cryptic bullshit.
…he needs to find his siblings.
Needs to see them with his own eyes, assure himself that they're alive, that he still can save them.
That objective hasn't changed in the slightest, even with the remarkable lack of information Dad had been able to give him.
Mom has come to see him once in the time since Dad's left. She doesn't say much this time and Five wonders if Dad has said anything to her.
But she brings him broth.
It's the most heavenly thing he's ever tasted. At the same time, it leaves him feeling more hollowed out than he had before.
He hasn't had a good meal in… a long time and he desperately wants more.
He sits up carefully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
He takes a deep breath.
And then he blinks.
It works.
Five has a moment of elation when he reappears in the kitchen, before he's stumbling, barely managing to catch himself against the table, gasping for breath.
He's okay.
He's okay.
He did it.
His body is trembling and he has no idea if and how he's going to manage to summon enough energy for the jump back, but certainly food will help.
Five remembers that Mom kept the fridge and pantry well-stocked before he vanished and it seems that hasn't changed.
He's completely overwhelmed by the abundance of food.
Not just food, but good food.
He grabs the first thing he sees with trembling hands, the loaf of one of Dad's fancy breads, before his knees give out and he slides to the floor.
There had been nothing like this in the apocalypse.
Anything perishable had been gone- destroyed in whatever had initially ended the world or too rotten to be of any use to him.
He tears into it, biting more and more before he's even chewed and swallowed his first mouthful. His stomach cramps- and he knows from experience that gorging himself now is going to cost him later, but he can't stop himself.
He's too hungry.
And that's how Pogo finds him, in tears on the floor, stuffing his face.
If he'd felt more like himself, it would have been humiliating.
As it is, he's simply relieved it's not his father.
"Pogo?" he gets out around a mouthful of half-masticated bread.
Pogo simply stares at him, jaw hanging open, before taking an audible breath and composing himself.
"Number Five," he says, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his voice thick with emotions, "you're home."
"Pogo…" he whispers, tongue dry.
There's a moment in which he's surprised it isn't Mom visiting the kitchen before Five scrambles to his feet on wobbly legs. He's engulfed in a tight hug before he's even entirely off the floor.
He's shaking, fingers tightly clenching the fabric of Pogo's jacket.
"Number Five." Pogo holds him tightly and Five doesn't want him to let go. "I've missed you, so very much."
And then the embrace is over and Five staggers back, wiping at the tears that streak his face.
Seeing Pogo brings a well of emotions to the forefront of his mind.
Five is glad to see him alive and well after so long. On the other hand, he can't help but feel apprehensive.
Pogo has always backed Dad and his methods.
Even if he disapproved, he never said anything, never stood up for any of them, never protected them.
He'd just sadly shook his head while patching them up and told them it was for their own good, that Dad knew what he was doing.
It was to save the world, you see.
Now that the initial euphoria of seeing him… well, alive is wearing off, Five is suddenly afraid that he's about to be sold out.
He doesn't know what Dad will do to him if he finds him sneaking around, stealing food without permission.
It can't be worse than the apocalypse. It can't…
But he's frozen in place, knees shaking.
"Let's get you back to bed," Pogo says, catching him by the elbow and gently guiding him from the kitchen.
Five doesn't protest. The knot in his throat is too big.
Somehow, he forces his legs to move.
His stomach is twisting uncomfortably- he still feels hollow, but he allows Pogo to lead him from the kitchen.
"Don't tell, Dad," he finally chokes out.
Something changes in Pogo's demeanor- he's almost sad, almost remorseful, when he says, "I won't tell your father, no."
There aren't words to describe the relief that sweeps over him.
He hates it, hates how he practically wilts when the terror of being discovered leaves him.
Out of all his siblings, he'd prided himself on being the one Dad had the least control over, the one he couldn't scare.
He hadn't been afraid of him the same way Klaus and Vanya were. He certainly hadn't been the same loyal soldier Luther was. He was more brazen in his defiance than Diego ever had been.
(Except there's a twisted little voice in the back of his mind, telling him none of this would have ever happened, he never would have had to suffer the way he did, if he had just been like Luther and shut up and listened.)
But that isn't true.
That was never true.
Maybe, deep down, in spite of what he told himself, he always was just a little afraid of Dad.