8:47pm, Sunday September 8th, 2019
Klaus still remembers his first scar, the result of a training accident and his father's staunch refusal to believe in things like safety mats. ("Do you think your enemies will give you the comfort of a soft place to land?")
He'd sat in this very room with the blood dripping down his chin, withering under his father's disapproving glare as Grace put a row of small black stitches under his bottom lip. "It will probably scar," she'd said and Reginald harrumphed at her in response. "Scars remind us that adversary can be overcome," he'd told Klaus, who was trying not to cry because Reginald didn't believe in tears either. "That pain, disease and violence are obstacles which can be triumphed over. Your scars are proof that you have survived."
Klaus had been six years old.
He's seen a lot of scars since then, even helped make a few (both his and others). He's seen chemical burns, puncture wounds, knives. Scars made by fire and cigarettes and needles. But he's never seen a scar like the one emblazed across Five's chest; the chain too-neat letters; typewriter print punched into his skin by some impersonal machine. Something about it sticks in his head, scratching at the back of his mind like a heroin itch. It reminds him of a polo shirt logo.
Or dog tags.
"Ah, shit-" he mutters, running spidery fingers through his hair as his much-abused brain finally makes the connection, as he finally realizes what it is he's looking at and Luther turns towards him like a question mark. "You guys...it's an insignia. Identification. The Commission must've put it there, like-"
"Like a brand," Diego says bitterly, voice grinding like broken glass. "Like cattle."
Allison makes a small sound and covers her mouth.
"Did- did the other Five have one of those?" Luther asks quietly and they all look at each other, searching one another's faces for an answer none of them have.
"I don't- we never saw him with his shirt off, did we?" Vanya asks and Klaus shakes his head because he certainly hadn't and he's pretty sure no one else has either. Five was- 'modest' is the first word that comes to mind but it doesn't really fit. Five was many things but modest has never been one of them. Private, then. Secretive. Annoyingly, frustratingly taciturn. He tries to remember the last time he'd seen anything of Five between his neck and knees and concludes it was sometime back in childhood, before he shot himself into the future.
"No," Klaus says, "but Pogo looked him over when he reappeared last week, didn't he? I think he would have noticed something like that." He's not sure what it says about them as a family, that they really can't be sure whether or not Five has been walking around with the word 'Chronos' carved into his skin. Probably nothing good.
But he understands what Luther's really asking, and it makes him feel a little ill.
Diego sits heavily in the chair and no one has the heart to say what they're all thinking. That they'd gotten it wrong. That if they dug up the body buried in the courtyard it wouldn't have any mysterious scar, because that body was Five's. Their Five.
"Oh God," Luther says, looking about the same way Klaus feels.
"We don't know anything for sure," Klaus says, holding onto Vanya just a little tighter because he needs to be able to reach out and touch his siblings right now.
"We have to check," Luther says, swallowing around the words. "We have to be sure."
Diego shakes his head. "I c-can't...I can't do that again man. Not this soon."
"I'll do it," Luther says softly.
"Hey, wait- wait wait," Klaus says a bit desperately. "I can- maybe I can just summon him and ask, you know?" He's not fond of the idea, because one dead brother following him around was more than enough but he's willing to do just about anything to scrub that look from Luther's face. "No need to go grave robbing just yet, yeah?"
"Would that work?" Luther asks him, but Klaus doesn't get the chance to answer.
"Would what work?" asks Five, and five heads swivel in tandem to regard him, conversation discarded. He grimaces and opens his eyes, hazel-green and too familiar and Klaus knows those eyes. They belong to a cocky thirteen year old troublemaker and a broken, sixty year old man and a cold-blooded assassin Klaus has watched kill without hesitation more than once. Someone who's been lost in time and almost destroyed by it. His brother's eyes. Older now but still recognizable.
It's like looking at a ghost, except ghosts never grow up.
Klaus clears his throat. "That scar," he begins, because someone has to break the ice and he's used to talking to ghosts anyway so it might as well be him, "The one on your chest. What's chronos? Is that your name, or-?" Or did you just kill our brother? Is the unspoken end to the sentence.
Five glances down at himself. "Our name is Number Five," he says testily, "Chronos is what we are." He groans and reaches up, feeling the stitches along his shoulder. Klaus is just about to tell him how extremely unhelpful of an answer that is when Five's eyes go wide with momentary panic. "Wh-How long have we been out!?"
"Couple hours?" Klaus says uncertainly, not because he doesn't know the answer but because he isn't sure why it matters.
"Shit!" Five swears, leveraging himself off the bed and nearly falling, still weak from what Klaus assumes is the energy drain of having maxed out his teleportation ability. Well, that and getting stabbed in the shoulder, that probably had something to do with it too. Several pairs of hands reach out in aid, Klaus' included even though he's on the other side of the bed and can't really help much.
Five bats them away with an impatient scowl. "We're fine," he bites out despite all evidence to the contrary and Klaus knows how useless arguing with the other Five had always been when it comes to stuff like this so he doesn't bother.
"What's the rush, short stack?" he doesn't really mean to add the nickname, but he's understandably freaked out by everything so he forgives himself.
"Don't call us that," Five growls, face twisting in irritation as he gets his feet under him. "We've always hated that. And 'the rush' is because the Commission will be expecting a check-in from their field agent soon and if they don't get one they're going to come looking and if we're still around when they get here, it's gonna get messy. Where's our shirt?" he asks suddenly, and Allison holds up a ball of shredded material.
"Pogo had to cut if off. You had a knife sticking out of your shoulder."
Five rolls his eyes as if their efforts to keep him from bleeding to death had been a terrible inconvenience but rather than say anything he simply walks out of the medical room and heads for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Vanya calls after him and Five doesn't even slow down.
"We need to have a look around our room," he answers, already heading up. Klaus shares a look with Ben, shrugs and follows behind because what else is there to do?
Diego isn't nearly so complying. He pushes his way past Klaus, walking fast and catching up with Five as he reaches the top of the landing. He grabs him by his good arm and spins him around, pinning him against the wall with their noses almost touching. Diego's face is alive with pent-up frustration, flickering like a neon road sign. Five in contrast is still and calm as glass, preternaturally so, not even the usual irritation he would display at unexpected contact. He stares at Diego with a leveled gaze, unintimidated and deeply unimpressed.
"We need some straight answers," Diego demands, shoulders hunched with coiled tension and if Five had been wearing a shirt he probably would have grabbed it. "What the fuck is going on? Did you just kill our brother?"
Five regards him passively. "We killed one of them," he says and Diego looks like he's about to throw hands. Luther steps forward, ready to put himself between them but Five stays him with a look before turning his attention back to Diego. "But he was a clone, like us."
"Are you sure?" Asks Luther and Five gives an eerily familiar scoff.
"Of course we're sure. Jesus Luther, We're not an idiot. We can tell the difference."
"Then how come he looked thirteen and you don't?" Klaus asks, wondering who 'we' is supposed to connote. The Commission? Other clones? The voices in his head? Who the fuck knows, Klaus sure as hell doesn't. One answer is likely as the next and this day has been weird enough he's not ruling out anything.
"He was created to infiltrate the academy, at least at first. Kinda hard to do if we show up looking like anything but a thirteen year old kid."
That word again. We.
"He didn't 'infiltrate' us," Diego counters. "He tried to slaughter us. Not exactly subtle."
"Yeah well, something went wrong," Five says glibly. "Now, we can stand here talking until the Commission shows up, or you can let us do our job."
"What is your job?" Allison asks and Klaus has to admit it's a good question. A fucking fantastic question, actually.
"Keeping you idiots alive," he answers and it's such a Five kind of thing to say that Klaus forgets to be indignant.
"We've fought off the Commission before," Diego says but he steps back, the fire not gone from his eyes but tamped down to embers.
Five just looks at him gravely. "No you haven't; not like this."