Chapter Text
𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒄𝒕: 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒔
It was during the early morning—a week, five days, and something hours that Five had no idea of because the watch he’d been using for the past six months had broken down during the ambush. It had been twelve days since the damn arrow. Twelve days of restless nights, of shifting on the mattress just to find a position that didn’t feel like fire had sunk claws into his shoulder. The puncture wasn’t deep, he knew that—he’d pulled worse things out of himself before. But this one refused to be ignored. The bruise was fading ugly, yellow bleeding into purple, and the swelling had dulled, but the ache stayed. It sat there, stubborn, like a reminder of his own fragility. And he hated it. It reminded him of everything he hated about being weak—of a lapse in judgement. He can still remember how she’d saved him. He tried to shove it deep down that he had almost forgotten about it, not until the silence had became too loud—too suffocating.
The memory clawed back whether he wanted it or not. He could still see the blur of her body slamming into the bastard, could still hear the snap of the bowstring as the shot went off a fraction too late. If she hadn’t moved when she did—if she’d been just one second slower—it wouldn’t have been his shoulder pierced. It would’ve been his skull.
That thought sit heavy, coiling somewhere under his ribs, the kind of realization that leaves his stomach cold. He hated remembering how close it had been. Hated owing her for it. The sting in his shoulder was nothing compared to the burn of knowing his survival hadn’t been his own doing.
She’d saved him. That arrow was meant to end him, and instead it left him here—limping, aching, alive. Alive because of her. He couldn’t even swallow the thought properly. He hated the thought of owing his life to anyone aside from himself.
Lifting his arm past his chest sent a jolt through him, sharp enough to blur his vision for a second. Reflexes he used to take for granted—the snap of reaching for a weapon, the easy swing of a blade—felt slow, clumsy now. He can barely even lift his arm just to drink water. He hated it. He felt like a machine with a rusted cog, gears still grinding but catching on every turn.
Every step outside reminded him of it, too. The world didn’t forgive hesitation, not anymore. His arm worked, technically, but it wasn’t strong. Not steady. That weakness coiled inside his chest as much as it did in his shoulder, because weakness meant time—more time stuck here, more time wasting when he should’ve been finding the rest of them.
Time he didn’t have.
And though he wouldn’t say it, not out loud—not to Klaus, not to Ben—what gnawed at him worst was the silence where she used to be. [y/n] was gone, and the wound only seemed to deepen that absence. He clenches his jaw and shoved the thought down, but still, it lingers. Just like the ache.
——————————
They came the day after.
Five had just finished cleaning the wound. He feels dreadful, noting how their supplies are dwindling. It reminded him of how much time he had lost again, reminded him of how weak and vulnerable he had become. Albeit it’s still dangerous to trek out into the Runners infested grounds, he realized he doesn’t have much choice. And some buried part of him has been clawing to get out—to find her. It’s been too long.
They stand before Five and his brothers. Their once crisp and clean suit littered with dirt and blood. They seemed to have gone through hell and back. Five gives them a sarcastic but guarded smile.
“To what do I owe the pleasure…Hazel and Cha-cha?”
His shoulder seem to complain under the strain being put upon it as he pointed his rifle at Cha-cha, who barely batted an eye as she tilts her head in mock expression, “You really think you’re in a position to be asking questions, Five? I’d put the gun down before you rip that bad shoulder wide open.”
Five’s rifle didn’t lower an inch. The ache in his wound flares, but he held steady, “Funny. Last time I checked, you two only crawl out of the woodwork when you need something. Which begs the question—what’s so important that the Commission sends their clean-up crew in person? Lost your beeper privileges?”
Hazel shifts from beside her, towering and exhausted. His shirt is torn, caked in mud and dried blood. He looked less like a hunter and more like prey that had clawed its way back, “We’ve been looking for you. But, we’re not here for you, Five.” His voice is steadily soft, and it betrayed the appearance of a man that looked more like bear. He lets the words sink in. They’ve been looking for him, meaning that maybe they hadn’t seen her if the tugging in his gut is correct.
“Good,” Klaus mutters from the couch, legs kicked up like this was a casual sitcom instead of the end of the world, “Because honestly, I don’t think his shoulder could take another arrow. Or maybe it could—” He raises his brows, “Want me to test that theory?” He tries to hide his nervousness behind a grin, and Ben shuffles uncomfortably beside him, the pistol Five had given him pointed at Hazel.
Cha-cha looks at Klaus with cold indifference, “Prophet,” She almost sneers. Klaus raises his hands in mock surrender.
“If you’re not here for him, then who?” Ben asks, voice calm, but the tremor is obvious underneath.
There is a pause. A long one, before Cha-cha glances at Hazel, then back to Five, “Orders,” she said finally, too vague, too careful, “A name we’ve been following for months.”
Five forces his jaw to stay relaxed, his voice to stay smooth, but his heart is beating erratically against his chest as he chants inside his mind like a desperate prayer: not her, “And? Who’s important enough to send you through the graveyard of the world just to deliver the hit in person?”
Cha-cha gives the three brothers each a once over, as Hazel’s eyes flickers, “[y/n] [l/n],” he mutters, and that confirmation sends Five’s mind reeling. He tries not to let it show upon his face, but he can feel it throughout his body—like he had been dunked underwater. He hopes his siblings are doing their best damnest job at pretending like they don’t know that name.
“Pretty name.” Klaus muses and Five tried too hard to not snap his head towards his stupid brother and shoot him right there and then.
“Careful, kid,” Cha-cha hums, mock amusement lacing her tone, “The Commission doesn’t appreciate family meddling. You might end up on the list, too. This is a hit for you, Five Hargreeves. Your brothers are out of the equation.”
Five ignored Klaus’ retort, and instead kept his green eyes locked sharp on Hazel and Cha-cha. His voice is dry, deceptively casual, “You’ve been at this hunt for months, and yet she’s still breathing. Which means one of two things—you’re incompetent, or she’s smarter than you thought.”
Cha-cha’s silence is louder than any retort. Hazel shifts again, uncomfortable, before he clears his throat, a low rumble that doesn’t quite cover the tension snaking between the five of them, “Doesn’t matter what you think. Orders are clear. When the job’s done, payment drops at an address inside the city—you’ll be beeped.” He glances at Cha-cha briefly, then back at Five, “You know how it works. Clean and simple.”
“Simple,” Five repeats, letting the word curl like venom on his tongue. His rifle finally lowers, but only because the ache in his shoulder demands it, not because he trusts them, “Nothing’s simple when the Commission’s still slithering around the ruins, acting like they’re the last law of the land.”
Cha-cha tilts her head, “Better than chaos. Better than starving in the dirt like the rest of the world. Someone’s gotta keep order, and we do it better than anyone else.”
Five scoffs, sharp and humorless, “Order? Please. You’re scavengers with paychecks. That’s not order. That’s desperation dressed up in rules.”
The silence that follows is taut, dangerous. Hazel shifts uncomfortably again, eyes flicking between them, but Cha-cha only smiles behind her mask of disdain, “Keep talking, Hargreeves. Doesn’t change the fact you’ve got your orders, and you work the same as we do. And you know the penalty for disobedience.”
Her words hang heavy, a reminder Five doesn’t need. Apparently, the Commission didn’t just send their beepers anymore—they send their monsters in person, to remind people what leash they were on. And now, that leash had been thrown around his neck again. His lips curl in a snarl.
“Then I suppose we’re done here,” Hazel says finally, his voice flat, tired. He tugs at Cha-cha’s arm, “We’ve got ground to cover before nightfall.”
Cha-cha lingers a beat longer, her empty eyes locked on Five. She doesn’t bother to hide the hostility burning in her stance, the way she wants him to snap first, “Try not to fall apart before it’s over, Five,” she says, mock-sweet, before finally turning on her heel.
Their footsteps echo in the hollow quiet of the trailer park. They disappear behind the vehicles and Five stares at the empty space they left behind, heart still pounding, a knot of dread curling tighter in his gut.
Because now it is real. [y/n] isn’t just another Commission name on a page. She is the target—and so is he, and his family if he chooses wrong.
“Five, you seriously can’t be—“
“Pack up quick, we’re leaving before the sun sets.”
Five pushes past a gaping Ben, who watch him momentarily before Klaus scrambles on his feet to follow his brother who almost threw his rifle on the table with a grimace. His mind is racing with uncontained thoughts, and he just now realized how damp his palms has become as his mind continued to race. He needs to find [y/n] and fast.
“Oh, no, no, no—” Klaus throws himself over the pile of gear Five has already stacked, clutching it like a life raft. His voice pitches high with panic, “You can’t! She’s my soul sister, you don’t get it! You can’t just—hunt her down like some…like some job!”
But Five is not in the mood to entertain Klaus’ delusions. He’d rather spend his time efficiently and productively in the hopes that he’ll reach her before the Commission’s top assassins (below him still, mind you) does. He grabs Klaus’ collar with his uninjured arm, and with an effortless shove, he crumples to the floor with a yelp, arms flailing about. Ben, however, is more than eager to speak reason into Five as he clutches onto his green eyed brother’s trusted bag.
“Five, stop! What are you even planning? You can’t believe she’s dangerous enough for the Commission to put a hit on! You know her better than any of us. You’ve been with her the longest! This is insane.”
But Five is not listening to him. And he’s not exactly amused either of the prospect of his brothers being this dense. Though, some part of Five—some ugly, shameful part of him is agreeing with the target placed on her. And he feels part disgust and horrification of that connotation because yes, he’s been adamant on keeping her away from him and his recently reunited brothers, but a huge part of him also knows that the Commission wouldn’t just put a target on someone’s back just because of something in relation to a plant. But said plant isn’t exactly just a piece of a leaf and flower, isn’t it?
Five just needs answers.
Yes.
That’s exactly it.
He needs to find her because only she can put a halt to whatever it is that’s been plaguing his mind ever since his world was introduced to the Frozen Valley flowers. Only she can answer how exactly it works, why the Commission is so adamant on keeping operations of it mum and only she can answer just how exactly she fits in all of those equations.
“For God’s sake—” Five hisses, shaking him off as he snatches his bag from a flabbergasted Ben, who almost stumbles towards the floor with how tight he was gripping the item. His hold loosens, and Five turns towards his feet where Klaus has his arms around his ankle with a teary expression. Five feels his anger reaching an all time high with how annoying his brothers are becoming. All this for a girl! And they say he’s the unreasonable one?!
“Get your grimy hands off of me, Klaus,” he grits his teeth as he pulls himself free from Klaus’ iron clutch, though to no avail. To his surprise, even Ben braces his arms around Five’s waist and he looks at them both with an agape mouth and a face that clearly displays his disbelief. What is wrong with them?!
“I’m not letting you kill her! I’m sorry, Five, but you know she’s not a threat!” Ben reasons, and Five, feeling exasperated resign, drops both his arms to his sides, his bag swinging loosely as he shuts his eyes close tightly. He feels a migraine incoming already and a humorless laugh escapes his lips that twists into a bitter grin.
“You’re both are being unbelievable,” he grits out, before shoving Ben away with his uninjured arm and finally moving his ankle free from Klaus’ hold, “who says anything about killing her?” He sneers at them both, before heading back to his piled items with a glower that sent his brothers into rigid postures.
Ben blinks, “What do you mean? Isn’t that why—“
Five cuts Ben off with a scoff, “No, you dumbass. We need to find her before they do so hurry the fuck up and pack.” He didn’t bother sparing them a glance, his heart still pounding against his chest and his mind pulsing just the same. He doesn’t know where to begin, but he remembers their conversation about her friend and the stupid safe house she intends on finding. How laughable. And how naive must she be to have such blind hope for something as inconsequential as a safe house in a zombie ridden earth where everyone and everything is out to get you? He doubts that place managed to stand tall anyway, with all these rouge organizations, mercenaries and Holders lurking around the shadows. Add the Runners to that equation and you’ll have just about the perfect recipe for disaster. How quaint is that?
Five hadn’t realized that Klaus is now standing eagerly by the door with a purse barely the size of Five’s own bag. His eyebrows draw close to each other, mildly irritated at the prospect of his brother having no decency to mask his uselessness by at least packing clothes. But alas, it has always been Ben that is the most sensible of their duo dynamic and Five’s eyes travel to the Asian man who is glaring at a Klaus innocently bouncing on the heels of his feet.
“Really?” Ben says flatly and Klaus frowns.
“Never question a good ol’ fashioned purse, Bennie-roo. And plus, it’s got everything I need!” He exclaims, pulling out a small flask that Five has an inkling of with its content, a pack of dirtied cigarettes, a rolled up underwear and small tin of menthol candies. He giggles drunkenly, “Don’t be fooled. Its contents are something incredibly rare.” He winks, before mouthing with a hand beside his lips: condoms.
Five sighs in irritation and Ben is no different as he shoves a windbreaker to Klaus who whines in protest, rubbing his side towards where Ben had shoved the item quite forcefully. Ben mutters with resignation, “You’re such an idiot.”
“You both love me,” Klaus sings as he puts on the clothing, and Five just shakes his head as he tries to work around his injured shoulder. Ben mutters an unfortunately before suggesting he carry Five’s items to which he refused. His shoulder is still aching, every movement still sending a dull jolt to his muscles but he knows he can manage long as he refused to strain it. So he declined Ben’s offer, opting to sling one strap on his uninjured arm.
Although he knows that he needs to find [y/n] fast, he also knows that he can’t injure himself or else the most capable out of all them wouldn’t be much of a help. He knows that Ben can carry himself—clumsy, though still able, but only for so long. Klaus is a different story, however, he knows he’s none the wiser, and Five is willing to bet that Klaus won’t be much of a help if it ever comes down to it again, much like when they were ambushed. So he needs to gather his strength, pray his shoulder heals fast enough that he can hold his rifle properly and find that idiot of a girl quicker than Hazel and Cha-cha to ensure he gets his answers and put a stop to his brothers’ whining for her safety.
“You’re zoning out again,” Klaus waves a hand in front of Five, who scowls before pushing him away.
“Let’s go before the sun leaves us.”
________________________
Five, despite his better judgement, is having a less than ideal time as he grits through the strain piling not just upon his injured shoulder, but to his entire body. His head is no better, a migraine had already settled over his still scattered mind and Klaus’ constant whining for rest is not helping. They’ve barely covered much ground, having followed through the stream near where they were situated hours before and Five ponders over where [y/n] might be at this very same minute as he remembers how despite her barely there sounding footsteps, she’s no better than Klaus’ nonexistent endurance.
Ben, if he ever does feel the exhaustion as they trekked through the jagged and slick rocks, is keeping quiet about which Five is grateful for. That’s one less mouth to tape shut.
By the time Five has realized that the sun is close to setting and the strain in his shoulder is becoming ever prominent, he had his brothers set up a barely noticeable camp deep in the thick trees just a shy away from the hush of the stream. The sky has darkened over the horizon and Five, while his brothers try to make themselves as comfortable as they could beside a huge trunk of a moss covered tree, opted to silently stake out the surrounding area for any nearby Runner or sign of life. Runners around this time would be scarce, he knows that, attributing to the fact that the air is chilly. But he can’t exactly rest easy because it’s not always just the Runners that one has to watch out for. His green eyes traveled above the tall trees, noting darkness now blanketing across the leaves and he trudges back to where his brothers are after being satisfied of the survey he had done around their camp.
The night air is cool, and Five notices Klaus already passed out, clutching his purse to his chest with an open mouth while Ben is sitting shoulder to shoulder with him for warmth, albeit fighting sleep himself. He blinks up at Five through the darkness, and they remain quiet as the crickets sound within the distance and the soft noise of the stream prickling through the cold air.
Five settles against a tree a few feet away from them, close enough to hear their breathing yet far enough to keep watch. Exhaustion seeps deep into his bone yet he cannot find the solace of sleep. Instead, his mind wanders. He thinks back on the mark on [y/n], on how dire the situation is the more time ticks by. She’s dim, but not entirely ignorant. She’s survived long by herself and Five has no doubt that she’s probably still alive somewhere. She’s quite the resourceful one too, he remembers. She did that trap after all and she knows the value of keeping quiet in a world where the slightest sound can tick off a sequence akin to a detonating bomb. But he knows that she’s somewhat the magnet for trouble, so as much as he needs to keep his shoulder well rested, he must take haste in order to reach her before Hazel and Cha-cha does. And not to mention, there’s something that has been gnawing at him since their last confrontation. If she knew he was working for the Commission, why did she stay? What made her think he won’t turn on her the moment her name appears on his beeper? Is she just that stupid or is she planning something Five has been letting simmer for too long?
And once he finds her, what next?
Five swallows thickly as he lets the back of his head rest against the tree. What next? He gets his answers is what’s next. Then, he’ll figure out from there what to do with her. He works for the Commission, but his loyalty is with his siblings. He can figure out from there whether she can be trusted enough to keep around—Klaus and Ben aren’t too keen on straying from her, after all. But what about him?
How easy can you forget how she managed to string you along like a dog on a leash?
His mouth fills with something bitter and his expression must’ve registered his thoughts because Ben whispers through the dark, and Five barely hears it, but he does and his mood dampens even further at his obvious inquiry.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“Quiet.” Five hoarsely replies, voice low but Ben doesn’t oblige. He watches his brother’s face in the dark search for something within his usually indifferent face, a crack maybe, something that will show just how much Five is unraveling from a girl haunting him from miles away.
“You can’t keep running away from it,” Ben softly murmurs, and Klaus’ head lolls to his shoulder as the eccentric man scrunches his nose as if smelling something rotten within his dreams, “You care about her.”
Five’s face twists into something that resembles a man that has swallowed something sour, “Never. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do,” Ben says it with a finality like it’s something he can’t run away from, and maybe he’s right because Five’s eyes darkens as Ben continues, “You can’t even deny it to yourself anymore. The fact that we’re traveling and looking for her is already a sign in itself.” He huffs gently, watching Five glare at him through the darkness but he doesn’t falter.
Five doesn’t care about her. That’s absurd. If anything, he just has this unscratchable itch inside his mind that he believes will experience relief only when his questions will finally be answered by none other than the assailant herself, [y/n].
“See? You know you’re not subtle. You think about her at least once every hour.” There’s a teasing lilt in his tone and Five’s glare deepens into a vehement sneer.
“Don’t be stupid. I’m just looking for her because I need answers about her involvement with the Commission and those damned flowers.”
“Right,” Ben snorts gently, and Five glares at him to keep it quiet, “you know, a little bit of softness won’t kill you.”
“Softness? I think Klaus’ virus has gotten through your head. I don’t think you’ve noticed, but this shit hole isn’t exactly one for softness. And if you’re adamant on being dragged about with Klaus’ delusions, I suggest you quit because that’s how you die here.” He fumed quietly, knuckles white as he clutched the fabric of his loose jeans with silent rage. Ben hasn’t always been this soft. He’s smart, yes, he was the best out of all of them, if anything, but being around Klaus had maybe gotten to him. Ben was sharp in ways his other siblings aren’t. He was witty, a shithead at times, selfish in others but he has a moral compass mixed with a ferocious familial loyalty that put Diego’s into shame. Maybe, that’s why he’s always been the one to truly see through Five’s bullshit. And that’s irksome for Five because of course, it has to be him that notices the way he unravels.
But Ben just shakes his head, already used to Five’s abrasiveness. Instead, he just leans his head against Klaus’ who is mumbling something in his sleep before closing his eyes. Five thought that would’ve been the end of their discourse, but Ben’s next words intensified Five’s inability to sleep under such troubling thoughts.
“Fight against it long enough you start seeing truth in it. Won’t be long ‘til you’re admitting you miss her. I’ll be waiting.”
Five could just stare at his brother with an agape mouth, as if offended but Ben didn’t bother speaking again. Five could only keep watch through dawn with a bitter aftertaste within his mouth.
—————————————
On the fourth day, Five and his two brothers found a trace of her presence on a worn down car at the end of the stream that leads close into the City.
Klaus had tripped over a familiar pair of atrocious leggings, and Ben had to slap a hand on his mouth to keep him quiet as he wailed over how a sharp protruding stick had assaulted his shin. All three halted however, as they took note of the familiar set of clothes scattered along the side of the ugly mustard sedan. Five pulled the car door open and took note of how she had definitely camped here recently with how the dust settling inside and over the car had been wiped clean.
“Did she just stripped and went along wearing her birthday suit or something?” Klaus asks, horrified as he lifted her shirt from where it was laying in a heap on the ground. Ben’s face twists into a grimace and Five exhales through his nose as he points at the obviously rummaged through knapsack inside the car and on the passenger seat.
“No. Can you get your head out of the gutter, you daft idiot?”
The three peek inside at the clearly ransacked car. The knapsack had been left open, and Five regards the colorful set of clothes that he realizes aren’t exactly around the age group of [y/n]. Great way to be inconspicuous. Wear just about anything aside from a good set of clothes that can camouflage you in the wilderness and the dark.
“She’s not the brightest tool in the shed, ain’t she?” Ben comments and Klaus gasps in mortification on behalf of his friend. Five just glares at him.
“Rude. Well, I think she’s just making do of the sparse fashion options presented before her. I don’t blame her, I do love pink, myself.”
“Keep your eyes peeled. She might not be that far.” Five silences his two brothers with a cold look. A part of Five dreads the sudden onslaught of negative thoughts that took image of [y/n] being injured somewhere or taken, but he shakes the thought away. He had a lot of time of mull over the events of the previous days as they trekked along the outskirts of the City. He admits that he’s not entirely one to be calm when the prospect of his and his brothers’ safety are jeopardized, but he has every right to react and question everything she had been hiding from them—especially him since day one. He’s not gotten soft, God no, but he’s above the point of grumbling about it every second like school boy. Ben had been steadfast in getting him to talk about his feelings like some kind of unwanted therapist and Five is exhausted of having to listen to Ben berate him over and over again that he had opted to having Klaus yap about anything and nothing just to avoid having to speak to Ben. It worked for the most part. Barely. Because then he had to deal with Klaus’ ineptitude and that’s just as worse.
For now, Five just wants to find [y/n] and hope that maybe, just maybe she could deal with his brothers herself because he can’t deal with them any longer than necessary. He’s not one for conversations—well, not entirely, but he would love to have a stimulating conversation that doesn’t involve pop culture nonsense and having to talk about feelings every evening like clockwork. A long, silent rest would be beneficial, Five thinks. With an exasperated sigh, Five’s hand drags down his face as Klaus nicks a barely working lighter from the glove compartment while Ben surveys the area quietly. Five would’ve done it but his headache and ever present shoulder ache had dampened his ability to be at his top most efficiency. Ben is quick to pick up Five’s usual precise routines and he’s grateful that at least one of his two brothers is responsible enough to keep then alive.
Five is snapped out of his stupor when Ben taps him by the shoulder. He inhales sharply, twisting his body away as he grits his teeth through the jolt of ache Ben had prompted upon his injured and slowly healing shoulder. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it however, because Ben points at a direction that Five turns towards. His heart almost leapt out his throat as they took note of a horde of Runners scattered a fair distance. How did Five not notice them? He could only drown in the rage of feeling useless just because of his cursed shoulder as he drags Klaus down and behind the beat up sedan.
He slaps a hand over his brother’s mouth to silence his surprised yelp, and Ben meets his glaring eyes with his own fearful ones, “But it’s day time. How are they awake…?” He asks as silent as he could and Klaus’ wide and offended eyes switched between each of his brother in confusion and dread.
“Must be because the air’s getting colder,” Five replies quietly, before finally removing his hold on his now terrified brother. Klaus turns to Five in confusion and he explains without missing a beat, “They tend to sleep during warm seasons—like they’re hibernating,” he remembers Keechie’s words crackling through the last of his radio, “I thought they hated the sun at first, turns out they just hated warmth.”
Ben and Klaus’ faces dawn in realization, and they share a look of fear. It had came quite as a shock to Five when he pieced the facts together. He was so sure that traveling then during the day would ensure his safety. How wrong he was.
“Let’s move past them through there,” he says grimly and points over to the more hidden direction that will lead them out the forest park and into a run down amusement park in the City. They could already see the broken down buildings and barely standing shops that indicated their closeness to the most dangerous part of the country. Five hated coming back here. This is where everything went wrong—this is where he lost everyone and everything. But alas, fate has a cruel habit of bringing back ghosts.
Five led his two brothers past the mustard sedan, careful to keep their movements as quiet as possible as to not draw attention to themselves. Five ushers Ben forward through the littered bench close to the car, followed by Klaus who kept his hands over his mouth and Five is grateful that he’s at least trying to not give them trouble. Just a few more and they’d be able to hide in one of the broken down store near the mouth of the forest park that looks like a souvenir shop.
When he reunited with them behind the bench, his eyes scour the souvenir shop, noting the dirtied windows and the barely open entrance. If they could keep this quiet trek, they could hide there momentarily as they try to think of a way to get the horde far from where they would have to camp for the time being as they rethink their plans ahead. Five isn’t exactly looking forward to getting ambushed both by the undead and the living any time soon. And it doesn’t help that his shoulder has barely healed and he is in no shape or form to fight for long.
He mouthed for Ben to follow him as he crouched low, eyes traveling back to the horde, eyeing the jerky movements of his heads and limbs as the Runners’ milky white eyes twitch in all directions. With his gaze trained on them, he hurried to the next bench, watching from behind for any sign of the undead taking note of him. Realizing his brothers has to bolt now or lose the chance, he waved a hand to urge them forward. Ben follows through, silent as he was, albeit slower. Klaus, however, is trembling, hands still on his mouth as he glanced warily at the distance and to the Runners. Five gives him a glare that says do it now or die waiting for the chance.
Klaus, through his fear, did the sign of the Cross before scrambling to them on fours. But of course, it’s Klaus and he’s not entirely as efficient as his brothers. His windbreaker catches on a nail on the foot of the bench, and a loud riiiip tears through the air that sent not only his brothers’ hearts dropping, but also the snap of the undead’s heads turning to him, crouched low on all fours and mouth agape.
In a second, all hell breaks loose.
The sound had split the air like glass shattering. In the next heartbeat, the Runners jerked upright, their spines snapping in grotesque angles as their pale eyes locked onto the noise. Then comes the screech—the guttural, feral shriek that is vibrating against their ribs and clawing at Five’s skull.
“Shit—!” Ben hisses, stumbling back as the horde surged forward in a blur of jerky limbs and gnashing teeth. Five wasted no time, all the while. His good arm shoves Klaus flat to the ground as he raises his rifle, the kickback burning against his half-healed shoulder. The shot cracked through the park, bursting through one Runner’s skull. Another one drops, but three more replaced it instantly, barreling over the corpses with inhuman speed.
“Klaus, move! Do something useful for once!” Five snarls.
Klaus, panicked, snatches a loose brick from the ground and hurls it with all the grace of a drunk toddler. It clatters harmlessly against the pavement several feet away, “Oh, come on, that should’ve been a headshot!”
“Are you serious right now?!” Five barks, teeth gritting together as he, against the fiery pull in his shoulder, fires again.
Ben is already dragging Klaus up by the arm, shoving him back toward the souvenir shop. His own pistol cracking loudly, taking down one Runner that nearly tackled them from the side. His hands are shaking, but the shot landed true and Five is thankful that at least, someone is trying to be useful, “Go, go, go!”
The horde surges faster now, their shrieks rattling through the broken trees. Five dropped two more with clean, efficient shots, but each pull of the trigger tore at his muscles. He could feel the heat of sweat down his spine, his shoulder screaming louder than the Runners themselves. He isn’t going to last long.
“Klaus—inside, now!” Ben’s voice was raw, desperate as he shoves him through the souvenir shop’s crooked doorway. Klaus stumbles in with a cry, scrambling for cover as Ben fires another shaky round. Five is the last to retreat, teeth gritted against both pain and rage at himself for being too slow, too weak. He backs into the shop, slamming his boot against the doorframe as the Runners lunged. One gnarled hand claws past the entrance, nails scraping for his throat but Five jams the barrel of his rifle beneath its chin and fires point-blank, splattering the doorway in guts and gore before finally slamming the door shut.
Breathing ragged, he presses his back against the wall, rifle clutched in his good hand as the pounding of fists and shrieks rattled against the windows. Dust and broken glass rained from the frames with each impact. His heart hammers, his shoulder is burning, and his fury with his brothers is swelling to an almost unbearable degree.
“All of that,” Five growls through his teeth, glaring at Klaus, who was pale and trembling against a shelf of cracked mugs, “because you couldn’t get your damn jacket off a nail.”
Klaus raises both of his hands, panting and eyes wild, “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I’m delicate! Survival horror is not my brand!”
Ben runs a hand down his face, exhausted. His pistol is still clutched tight, “Five…they’re not going to let up anytime soon.”
Five’s gaze slides to the shattered window, the shadows of Runners slamming against it, their shrieks endless. His jaw clenches. Weak shoulder, dwindling ammo, and two brothers who were more liability than help. This isn’t just bad. This is suicide. And all he could think of is: If [y/n] were here, she’d never let me hear the end of this.
The first window gave way with a deafening crack. Glass exploded inward as pale and bloody clawed hands tore through the frame. The door shuddered, splintered, then buckled entirely, “Shit—shit—go, move!” Ben shouts, firing at the first Runner that lunged through. Five didn’t argue at his order. His shoulder screamed as he yanks Klaus by the collar and shoves him toward the back door. The three of them bursts out into the mid afternoon, into the twisted pathways of the park. The Runners are pouring after them, shrieking like a storm of broken and aggressive voices. Their footsteps thunders across the pavement and Five feels his lungs and entire body burning.
“Run faster, run faster—” Klaus pants, stumbling over cracked stones, his ripped jacket flapping like a cursed flag behind him.
“You think I’m not trying?!” Five snaps, dragging his bad arm tight to his ribs as he fires with his good one. Each shot echos like lightning, dropping one Runner only for another to take its place. They tore past the souvenir shop, deeper into the overgrown rides and skeletal silhouettes of the amusement park. Rusted tracks loomed overhead, the children rides dangling like corpses.
Ben’s breath rasps as he glances back, and nearly tripped, “They’re gaining!”
A handful had broken ahead, long limbs snapping the distance with grotesque speed. Five swears under his breath, swinging his rifle up again—only for the chamber to click empty, “Out of ammo,” he hisses, fury and fear mixing sharp in his throat. Klaus lets out a strangled noise, tripping over his own feet as one Runner nearly caught his ankle. They were done. Surrounded, hunted and—
The ground gave out in front of their very eyes.
A section of dirt and planks collapsed, sending the front pack of Runners plunging chest-first into what looked suspiciously like an old mascot ball pit frame, now filled with glass bottles, rusted cans, and way too many nails. The shrieks turned to garbled screeches as they flailed, impaled, stuck in the mess. The others skidded to a stop too late. A dozen more went down as a rain of…was that roller skates?… came swinging from a rope strung between trees, clocking skulls and tangling limbs.
Ben freezes in place, heart pounding and panting heavily, “...What the hell.”
Klaus, wide-eyed, gasps like he’d just seen divine intervention, “Holy Mary, Mother of Chaos.”
Five stands rigid, meanwhile, rifle slack in his hands. This wasn’t coincidence. This was…someone’s idea of a trap, and from the bushes, a figure stumbled out—their hair mussed, hands dusted in dirt, and soft pink shirt littered with white butterflies clinging to their—her form under the thick navy blue jacket with the hood lined with fur. Her pale blue leggings ended beneath her knees and the Hargreeves’ brothers’ eyes trailed down to her now covered feet. She’s wearing shoes, Five notes. Ugly ones.
“You…” She breathlessly lets out, expression mirroring theirs and God—Five cannot deny the relief that flooded his chest upon seeing the familiar sight of her face.
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