Thank god mom was there. That probably wasn't the most mature thought for a thirty year old man to have, but whatever. Five was bleeding out, Allison was worried and Diego was more scared than he wanted to admit. He didn't know shit about first aid beyond 'keep it clean and slap a band-aid on it'. He knew they had to get the shrapnel out but he didn't know how he was going to do that really. That's what hospitals were supposed to be for, but Five had refused. Until he passed out, anyway. Stubborn little asshole.

But he was Number Two (and Jesus hadn't those jokes gotten old fast) and the marginal leader of their little trio so he did his best to take charge of things and not let Allison see how afraid he was or how incompetent he's feeling. Just helped her drag their bleeding (younger? older?) brother out of the car and carry him into the house. Then he went for the medical kit, deciding the best thing to do is try to stanch the bleeding before they moved him to the medical room.

And suddenly there was mom.

It didn't make any sense, Diego had switched her off, but she was there and alive and he was too frazzled and grateful and relieved to look into it all that deep. He brought her to Five and she did what she'd always done from the time they were kids, taking over with a calm efficiency that he'd missed. The tightness in his chest loosened a bit and he felt like he could start breathing again. Mom was here, and it was going to be okay. Five was going to be okay.

The world might still end in two days or whatever but at least he wouldn't have to bury his brother before then.

It was while he's in the bathroom washing off the blood that he noticed his hands were shaking. "Too fuckin' close, man" he muttered to himself in the mirror. They'd just gotten Five back. He'd come back. With a drinking problem and talking to a mannequin while raving about the end times sure, but that wasn't anything Diego hadn't seen from the homeless people downtown, so. The main difference there being that some of them were actually pretty nice people whereas Five was an asshole.

But he was still Diego's brother.

It was over an hour before Grace finished, before Five was stitched up and bandaged and laying pale-faced in his room with an IV in his arm. Welp, he wouldn't be saving the world tonight. Probably ought to take it easy tomorrow too. Diego still wasn't sure he believed all that apocalypse business, nor Five's nutcase ramblings about some all-powerful organization that monitored all of time and space. That was some next-level Doctor Who crazy right there. But was obvious Five believed it. Believed it so much he'd almost died for it. And whether or not it had anything to do with the end of days, Harold Jenkins was a dangerous criminal and he had their sister, so.

So why had he volunteered to keep an eye on his brother while mom got some rest and recharged her batteries? The kid would be fine. He ought to be going after Jenkins, or the assholes who killed Patch. Five didn't need him to be here, and probably wouldn't want him here anyway. If he were awake Diego's sure he'd be calling him an idiot and yelling at him to get his ass in gear and go stop the apocalypse.

Well, there was a little apocalypse happening right here at home and it was called 'Five almost died 'cause he's a dumbass' and it seemed a lot more tangible to him than some nebulous Armageddon. His vigil would only set them back and hour or two anyway and then mom could take over again. He knew Allison felt the same way because she was still here too and that was a good thing; he didn't like the idea of her going off on her own into this mess. He was worried about Vanya but there was no sense in sending Allison to deal alone.

He walked by Five's room for the third time, expecting his brother to be in bed because unconscious people tended to stay where you left them but of course it was Five so it couldn't be that easy, right? Five never did anything easy. He couldn't even age like a normal person so Diego felt like he really shouldn't be surprised when a quick glance revealed a dangling IV needle and an empty bed, but he was.

"Ah, shit," he muttered to himself, stepping into the room. He'd jumped, hadn't he? The stupid kid (old man, whatever) was out there somewhere with a hole in his side doing God knows what and-

A faint scratching sound caught his attention and he turned around. Five hadn't jumped. He was right there, crouched down next to the wall, scribbling furiously with a bit of white chalk. Diego's eyebrows crushed together in confusion. What the hell was he doing? "Five?"

His brother didn't answer, which to be honest wasn't that strange. What was strange - and what had Diego very slightly concerned - was the stiff, jerky movement of his arm and the nearly illegible handwriting scrawled out in front of him. He'd seen something similar when they'd found him at the library, the random mathematical equations he'd been drunkenly writing on the walls. But those at least were tidy, and if he had the brain for it he could probably have followed them. This though...it looked as if Five simply started writing atop whatever formula was already there and kept right on going, layer after layer of integers and fractions and esoteric equations all jumbled together. It looked insane, and he had no idea if it was even supposed to make sense.

"Five?" he asked again, a little more urgently and Five was still ignoring him, still scratch, scratch, scratching at the wall and it reminded him of a crazy person, the kind you'd find in an asylum somewhere huddled up on the floor talking to plants and something was definitely wrong with his brother.

"Five!"