#I've had about eight people today tell me they were french and i Needed to speak to them in french

[greppelheks]

god was like how am i going to torture humankind? and then he invented french people and gave them enough money to travel and interact with other people

[assaily]

Hi, it's been a while. I'm here to feed the fandom with some fic snippets. I've been having some of the worst creative block of my life this last year but I've made it another rotation around the sun today so I thought I would share what I have been working on.

Working title: Something Delicate Something (still working on it obvs) Colloquial title: Buffalo Wild Wings Main themes: Vulnerability and accepting help

This is from the silly little wing-fic I occasionally tease about. Wings are a rare genetic mutation that only occurs in a small percentage of the population, so Klaus is the only other one besides Five who has wings. People aren't born with wings, but grow them during adolescence. Five is about to grow his but he's the only one that knows that, but his siblings may or not suspect something. When he grew them in the apocalypse, they emerged with one weak, broken, and useless (because he was starving and alone). They were a burden on him his whole life, a point of weakness. The Commission removes them when they picked him up, a cultural taboo that Five is convinced was a necessary procedure. He's afraid to tell his brothers about his wings, afraid to share that vulnerability with them.

Takes place about a year and half to two years after they save the world and return to a timeline much like their original. Five has a large mental break before this part of the story that spurs his brothers into taking better care of him. Five doesn't know how to feel about being taken care of like that.

Klaus did think he was an angel, going so far as to exclaim it loudly for the whole house to hear when he offered the half-cream-half-coffee. He was nearly done molting now, most of his flight feathers coming back in at once, but he was sleeping for periods of twelve hours or more.

Klaus complained about how exhausted he was and how badly the poor things itched. Five patiently brushed oils into the new feathers and carefully picked the loose ones coming out. Klaus had the misfortune of both having large wings and having a molt that happened in one big collapse. It meant a mess.

So while his brother sat in the nest of blankets, pillows, and feathers in his room sipping his cream, Five acquired a broom and started the great clean-up task. Approximately twenty-eight minutes after Five woke him up, Klaus started his stereo, playing something with a gentle piano at a medium volume so it filtered out into the hallways for Five.

It’s easy to work to, and Five lost himself into a rhythm of sweeping and piling the dark tawny feathers together. The sun was peeking in through the windows when Klaus came out to take his empty cup downstairs for a refill. He came back up fifteen minutes later with two mugs and Diego with a much larger broom in company.

“Back up has arrived,” Klaus said cheerily, trading Five the refilled mug for his broom. “Go sit down or something, me n’ Diego can finish this.”

Five only relinquished the broom because Klaus wordlessly threatened to keep the coffee hostage until he did. “I can finish,” he groused, taking a sip and getting instantly distracted. Klaus had been getting very good with a french press lately, and Five was coming to appreciate it. Based on the twinkle in his brother’s eyes as he watched Five drink his coffee, Klaus knew just how good at it he was getting. 

“Go, shoo, we got this. You’ve done enough.”

Five turned his attention to Diego, standing silently by watching the two of them interact like an onlooker at the zoo. “How’d you get roped up into this?”

Diego shrugged, failing to smother a smirk. “Klaus was telling me what a good doting brother you’ve been lately, and we both decided you needed to take a break.”

Five squinted at him, suspicion stirred by the smirk. “Taking care of this idiot,” he jabbed a thumb at Klaus. “Is probably the least stressful thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Aww, thanks,” Klaus said sincerely from where he’d started tidying up Five’s already made piles. 

“Still,” Diego said, something false about his casually friendly smile, but Five still wasn’t good enough with faces to identify the issue. He sidled up to him, switching the broom from one hand to the other. “It’s so nice of you to help.”

Klaus glanced back at them and straightened with a jolt, Diego’s name forming around his lips. Five sensed more than saw Diego’s palm coming to slap him on the back, and abruptly he understood what the ploy was.

Five would have preferred to save his coffee, but the rage that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach chose vengeance instead. The mug likely broke, spilling really good coffee all across the hallway, but the only one who got to see it was Klaus. Diego ended up being dropped from the second story into an open dumpster two blocks over– it was the closest open dumpster Five knew about, and would force him to walk back covered in trash. Five himself landed on a fire escape just long enough to make sure he hadn’t accidentally hurt Diego, before popping back to his room.

It was silly to be so mad about it, about practically nothing at all, but his hands still shook as he tore into his wardrobe for clean clothes and a towel. A hot bath would help him feel better, the steam would ease the headache drilling into the back of his skull and down his spine. Then he would take a nap, and if anyone had an ounce of self-preservation, he would remain undisturbed.

Of course, none of his brothers had self-preservation, or brain cells. Except maybe Viktor, but he and his lonely brain cell were woefully absent. Klaus was waiting for him in his room when he returned from his bath. He was glad he had the foresight to put a shirt on, but he’d really had hope for that nap.

“What do you want?”

“What, you’re up in my grill for a week and now you want nothing to do with me?”

“I wasn’t ‘up in your grill’. If you didn’t want me to help, you could have told me to go away. In fact you did, so I filled my schedule, I have shit to do, get out.”

“Okay, grumpy, jeez,” Klaus put his hands up, jumping up off the bed when Five came at him, threatening to use his damp towel as a weapon. “Is your back okay?”

“It’s fine,” he snapped.

“Really, cause Diego was gone for like half an hour, and he came back smelling like a dumpster, so I’m just wondering if he hurt you or something because that was really dramatic–”

“Get. Out.” He punctuated his point by snapping the towel loudly.

“Okayeeee!” Klaus yelped, leaping toward the door with an obscene cackle born of hysterical fear. Complete lack of self-preservation. If Five ever made that much noise while in danger, he would have been dead a hundred times over.

Five slammed the door shut behind him, closing his eyes and listening to his brother hover outside for about forty seconds before leaving. When Klaus finally shuffled away, Five let go the breath he was holding, scrubbing at his face.

He hadn’t slept much last night, or most nights. Less so lately with his back beginning to hurt so much. If Diego had touched him, the gig might have been up, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to hide his reaction. The uncontrollable rage was just a side effect of all the hormones his body was releasing, but he was also usually an asshole, so he didn’t think his siblings would notice the difference.

“Dramatic,” he echoed to himself. Sending Diego two blocks over and into a dumpster was a little dramatic, but the other option was the pond in the park a mile and half west of the academy. It seemed like an unnecessarily large expenditure of power to send him all that way, so Diego got the shorter, dryer walk. So really, Five wasn’t as dramatic as he could have been.

And if Klaus really saw that as just an innocent pat on the back, he was lying to himself and to Five. Diego was checking for lumps, or at least a reaction if he hit him hard enough. The lumps weren’t in yet but his back was already showing signs of the blood bruising, and was getting tender to all hell.

He’d done this all before, he knew what to expect, and this time would be a hell of a lot easier because of it. He didn’t need them losing their goddamn minds and crawling down his throat because Mom wasn’t here anymore and couldn’t take care of him like she would have Klaus. Five didn’t need to burden them with it either. He survived the first time, and he would again.

He made sure his door was locked before he went back to his bed and collapsed onto his stomach. He was still warm from his bath, and the last few days had been long and sleepless. He dozed off quickly, but didn’t sleep for long, carved awake as the infant growths under his skin pushed and shifted at his shoulder blades from beneath.

-

Diego was in the kitchen again when Five went down for food hours later. Luther was there too, but his gaze didn’t zero in on Five the second he appeared like Diego’s did.

“Oh look it’s the asshole who dropped me in a dumpster for offering to help.”

“Why are you still here? Don’t you have a job or something?”

“It’s my day off. Not that you would know, freeloader.”

“Child labor laws, idiot. I couldn’t get a job even if I wanted to.” Besides, he’d been pawning off some of the antiques their father had laying around so he wasn’t relying on his siblings’ wallets for luxury purchases. He mostly sold stuff out of the attic so he was sure none of them had noticed anything missing yet.

“Okay, look I just want to eat dinner in peace, please,” Luther interrupted. “Five, there’s a container for you in the fridge, I didn’t know when you’d be down for it so I stuck it in there, but it should still be hot.”

Five’s stomach growled at him at the prospect of food, smoothly digressing off the brewing spat with Diego. He turned to dig in the fridge, finding a plastic container with his name on it in Luther’s neat handwriting. If it wasn’t labeled, Klaus would eat it. He was surprisingly respectful of labeled containers, however, so Luther had gotten very anal about making sure everything of Five’s was labeled. It forced him to eat it or give it away, which then alerted one of them to the fact that he hadn’t eaten it.

A convenient monitoring system for his brothers, a pain in the ass for Five. Though, and he would never admit it, sometimes he would pop down to the kitchen whenever everyone managed to be out of the house but him, and root through his labeled containers like a raccoon with his favorite garbage. 

Five pried the lid off his container, broccoli beef with white rice. Fried foods grossed him out more than he would have liked to admit, but the only one that actually cared was Klaus, who thought it was sacrilege, but then helped himself to all of Five’s portions of the fried take-out Luther always brought home. Luther cottoned on quick and made sure to order him the white rice.

While he worked for the Commission, Five had to be careful what he ate because his stomach couldn’t handle much after so many decades living off expired canned food and whatever he could grow. That was less of a problem now, he could even drink straight milk and oil if he wanted and his young, stout little body would digest it without so much as an ounce of indigestion. No, it was the fact that Five had gone so long without salt and basic spices, that even the beef gravy mixed with the plain rice was still intensely salty to him. Oily fried foods had a taste to them that Five struggled to stomach, instincts still telling him it would make him sick.

Besides, Five could afford the luxury of being picky these days, so he would be.

“Fork,” Luther said, even as Five started throwing pieces of broccoli into his mouth with his fingers. 

Diego snorted, shaking his head before tucking back into his noodle dish. He didn’t seem inclined to keep fighting, so Five sat down at the table opposite both of them after he got himself a fork from the drawer. 

Luther waited until they were all at least halfway through their meals before he started with a casual, “So, Five, it’s been ten days since you’ve last left the house.”

Five glared at him over his dinner. So much for eating peacefully.

“You know what that means,” Diego chimed in, looking a bit too smug at Five’s instant discomfort.

“I have library books that need to be returned anyway,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“I was actually hoping we could go somewhere besides the library.”

Five frowned down at his rice, pushing it around with his fork. His stomach had instantly gone up in knots, and he wished Luther hadn’t done this over dinner. It was hard enough to eat as it was. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s been over a year since you’ve been to the doctor–”

“I would need an appointment, wouldn’t I? Don’t have one as far as I know.”

Luther puffed his cheeks out and inclined his head forward and to the side like he was ashamed of something. “I didn’t want to alarm you and have you spend the whole week overthinking it.”

A numbing buzz started in the tips of his fingers and began crawling through his palms and up his arms. “You made one,” he said faintly, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Diego grimaced, eyes darting between him and Luther. “It’s alright Five, we’ll both go with you. Klaus, too if you want.”

He swallowed thickly, the room around him narrowing down to pinprick sounds and details. The buzzing of the lamps, the tick and churn of the dishwasher, the faucet that no one had gotten around to tightening up, drip drip dripping into the sink below. His brothers, just across the table from him and miles and miles away, each breath they took like thunder in his ears.

“No one has to go, just tell me where it is.”

“I have to go. I’m your legal guardian, remember?” Luther said softly.

“I’m not going.”

“Five–”

“I’m not going.” And he refused to listen to whatever reasoning they had. He wasn’t dealing with it, not right now. He sent them both one final glare each before he blinked back upstairs.

He knew he would only have a few minutes before someone was at his door, Luther rarely backed down that easily when it came to getting Five out of the house, and there was no doubt in Five’s mind that Diego had been there as backup. He stepped toward the window and reappeared on the fire escape, then again on the roof.

He wasn’t thinking about his blinks, following line of sight so he didn’t have to do so much calculation, landing his final jump in the greenhouse on the roof. The setting sun shone through the opaque walls and cast his world in a gentle peachy orange. The smell of soil and dust was familiar and warm, and allowed him to take the deep breath his lungs desperately needed.

“The fucking doctor,” he spat. “They want me to go to the doctor? Now of all fucking times!” He rolled his shoulders without thinking, flaring pain from between his shoulder blades and down his spine. There was no way, the doctor would see the bruising, would no doubt want to examine his back–

He wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his clothes tight over his spine. “No,” he told the universe, the green house, his brothers downstairs that couldn’t hear him, and the theoretical doctor he’d never met. “Absolutly not, you’re not going to touch me, not without losing some fingers; go fuck yourselves. You can go fuck yourselves!”

-

He hid in the greenhouse until well after dark. When he finally went back to his room, his door was left wide open from where Luther had no doubt come barging in looking for him. His room otherwise dark and empty, or so he thought. He closed his door before he heard the rustle of feathers on his bed, scowling into the darkness

“I didn’t yell at you earlier about it, but you’re gonna get feathers on my bed.”

The lamp at his bedside popped on, Klaus stretched out across the mattress like a cat. “I heard you didn’t want to go to the doctor.”

Five scowled all the harder. “Don’t need it, you can’t make me, I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to have a stranger poking and prodding me and asking me if Luther has given me the sex talk yet.”

Klaus let out a surprised wheeze of a laugh. “No, alright, that’s fair. You didn’t object this badly last time, was it really that bad?”

It really hadn’t been. The doctors who thought he was an actual thirteen year old treated him with a hell of a lot more respect than any doctor he had had the misfortune of dealing with when he worked for the Commission. “Yes,” he answered anyway.

Klaus raised an eyebrow, seeing right through him. “No, tell me what’s really going on, Five.”