It's typical of him, but Reginald Hargreeves doesn't announce his presence.
He waits for Five to notice him, all on his own.
Which he does.
"Dad," Five whispers. His mouth has gone dry and the heavy weight of dread settles over him.
He doesn't look any different- although Five wonders if it's possible for him to have grown even more cold.
There's hardly any emotion in those eyes that only regard him with disapproval.
A chill sweeps over him and he drops his gaze. Tiny tremors are running over him, traversing the entire length of his arm.
"Number Five."
Anything Five could possibly think to say is lodged in his throat. He can't bring himself to look away from his father either, but Dad has always held that sort of power over them.
How wildly different he must look from that brazen boy who disappeared over a year ago.
He eyes his father, searching for some crack in the stony exterior, but there is none.
He's not surprised to see him again after all these years.
He's not relieved to see that he's still alive.
But then, Five knows better than to expect anything like that from him.
"I know it's been some time, Number Five, but I assure you, the rules have not changed. I expect you to speak when spoken to."
Five's jaw unlocks and lips part, but nothing comes out, the words caught in his throat.
But Dad is watching him expectantly and it's the force of that stare that finally forces his tongue to move.
"How…" He hesitates, unused to the way his voice sounds in the open. "How long has it been?" His insides twist at relying on his father for anything, but Dad is what he's got for now.
That catches his father's interest. "You don't know?" Wonder colors his tone.
Five shakes his head mutely.
Even this admission feels like too much.
Dad steps further into the room until he's standing at the edge of Five's hospital bed, but he doesn't take a seat.
Five gets the message and fights not to squirm.
Dad has always been above them.
Even now.
Especially now.
It doesn't matter that Five proved he could time travel, that he proved him wrong, because he failed.
His heart is racing and his skin prickles, but he knows better than to appear weak.
To be weak is to die.
It's what their father drilled into his head, drilled into all of their heads.
It's what kept him going, day after day, week after week, in the apocalypse.
You pick yourself up, you keep going.
You survive.
Just as he thinks he's going to be left to wonder, Reginald answers, "It's been just over sixteen years."
Five's heart skips a beat, mouth going dry. The world swims around him, becoming foggy and indistinct.
Nausea bubbles up in his throat and he fights it back down.
Whatever composure he thought he'd had is going out the window and he can't even think, he can't process…
Sixteen years.
Sixteen years.
But then that also means he's made it to 2018.
The apocalypse isn't happening tomorrow.
He still has time, a whole year of precious time, but he has no idea how or where to start.
Dad had told him not to time travel, had told them they were meant to save the world.
How much does he know?
Five has never confided in his father ever, never asked him for help, but he briefly imagines doing so now.
Would he help him? Would he even know how to?
His time in the apocalypse had forced him to see Dad in a new light.
If I had listened… If I hadn't been so arrogant as to think I could do this… If I had been happy with just one jump… where would I be now?
Always an if.
And his father's voice, I told you so.
It had been an endless chorus, day in, day out, keeping him company. At least until he had found Dolores, but she had only made the voices more tolerable. She hadn't been able to drown them out completely.
Because she couldn't protect Five from the truth and the truth was that he had disobeyed and, in doing so, he had landed himself in hell.
He was his own undoing.
Five works his jaw, but he can't bring himself to speak.
He can't, because doing so means laying bare his failures at his father's feet, and Reginald Hargreeves is not a forgiving man.
His stomach is rock hard, heart caught in his throat, as he stares straight ahead.
Not even to save your family? his inner voice sneers. Coward.
Five slides his eyes shut.
I'm going to save them, he protests weakly. I can save them.
It sounds pitiful, even to him.
Dolores says nothing, though he knows she's listening. He wants to hear her, wants her support, but she stays silent.
Regardless of her reasons, it doesn't feel like anything short of a betrayal.
Dad clears his throat.
"Your arrogance was insurmountable, Number Five," Dad says. His voice is tightly controlled, but Five recognizes that his father is angry. He's only ever seen his father angry- truly angry- a handful of times. "I had thought that, given time, you would learn better. I see now that you have not."
Five lifts his head, heart lodged in his throat, waiting for the hammer to drop.
"We will discuss your time in the future in time. As for now, however, you will be returning with me to the academy," he continues, tone frigid, "but you will no longer be considered my son. Any privileges you may have enjoyed are revoked."
"But…" Five's world is spinning.
He shouldn't… He shouldn't care.
You're not a coward, Five, she assures him quietly when Dad is gone.
Five isn't sure he believes her.
He can't stay here.
The thought of returning to the Academy makes his breath catch in his throat, but the rejection stings even more.
Five? Dolores asks, worried.
"I'm fine," he gasps, but he isn't and he isn't sure why he insists on putting up pretenses when he knows she can see right through him.
He draws his knees to his chest.
Where are the doctors? Dolores wonders uselessly.
/
So here's the thing: that shit about family sticking together? Absolute bullshit.
Families don't stick together.
At least not his family.
Sure, he might keep an eye on Klaus, but spending time together like actual brothers?
Doesn't happen.
Nada.
Zilch.
Would things have turned out differently if Diego had actually sat down with him, taken him out for a bite to eat maybe? Actually talked about their problems?
He's never going to know.
Diego forcefully turns his thoughts away from that.
Klaus is safely tucked away in rehab.
They're doing what they can for him- or at least that's always been the lie Diego has told himself.
But Klaus isn't the brother he's supposed to be worried about right now.
It's Five.
"Where do you think he's been?" Vanya asks, clipping in her seat belt across from him. She's tense, expecting an argument or some sort of caustic remark, and Diego bites back the urge to give it to her.
He actually feels bad.
"I don't know," he replies honestly.
He casts a sideways glance his sister's way.
All this time, he's hated Vanya- or at least told himself that he did- but what he feels right now is decidedly not hatred.
He's not sure what it is.
If he's being honest, he's not thrilled to be in the same car as her. But he doesn't hate her.
He turns the key in the ignition and pulls out into the street.
They don't really have any sort of plan, but the fact that they're even working together is a step forward from how things have been for… years really.
Diego takes a deep breath, willing himself not to start jumping ahead.
Actually seeing Five would be a great place to start.
They can work from there.
Diego flexes his grip around the steering wheel.
"Listen," he says stiffly, "when this is over, we're not friends. I'm just going to see that Five is okay. And then we're done."
Vanya inhales softly and stares at her lap, fingers interlaced. "Okay," she whispers.
It's a dick move and he knows it, but he'd needed to feel like he's got some of his own back.
It had felt good- for all of two seconds.
Diego keeps his eyes on the road and tries to pretend like he doesn't feel like an absolute douche.
Instead, he focuses on everything Eudora told him.
A kid appearing in a flash of blue light in the middle of the sidewalk, taken unconscious to the hospital.
If the first part was a damning enough piece of evidence- because who else could teleport?- then what followed afterwards certainly was.
The umbrella tattoo on his wrist.
The words criminal investigation had given him pause and they still gave him pause now, even if he knows it will never happen.
Their father has too much power, too much influence, for him to ever face justice for what he did to them.
They probably wouldn't even have an investigation.
Still, it's nice to fantasize sometimes.
But do they really think Dad had anything to do with Five's original disappearance? Is that where he's been for all these years?
When he reappeared on the sidewalk, had that been his attempt at escaping after all these years?
Five had been a mouthy little shit back then, keen on disobeying when he thought he could get away with it and even sometimes when he couldn't.
No matter what happened, there had always been this rebellious spark inside of Five. No matter what Dad had done to them, nothing had ever extinguished it.
The idea of his brother trapped with that madman while the rest of them were none the wiser makes his insides shrivel.
No…
Diego shakes his head, as if he can physically dispel those thoughts from his head.
He's starting to sound suspiciously like a conspiracy theorist.
But then… their life has always been abnormal, starting from the day they were born.
Who's to say dear old dad didn't have a hand in this?
"Diego…?" Vanya ventures hesitantly. Like she's worried about a blow up, but she doesn't need to be.
He has no intentions of picking a fight.
(It's not like he hasn't given her ample reason to think the opposite.)
"Nothing," he says tersely.
Vanya makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat.
"What?" He glances at her sharply.
"Nothing, I…" She stops herself.
"You what?"
"Nothing," Vanya says lamely, but with a note of finality. "It's nothing."
Diego isn't sure he believes her, but he also isn't sure how to press it.
He lets it slide.