.

.

Number Five may as well fall asleep right here. His eyelids flutter shut.

He has been practicing his spacial jumps during early morning hours, skipping the bacon and eggs served during breakfast. They take a trip into a quarry where Sir Reginald orders Luther to heave gigantic, skull-crushing boulders in Number Five's direction. Mom patches up the open, gashing cut on Luther's palm while Number Five insists his ankle isn't twisted because it isn't and she shouldn't fuss so much.

But it's Mom. She pets her cool fingers gently through Number Five's bangs, and makes him promise to take ibuprofen and wrap up the tender muscles in a compression bandage if it gets worse. He will.

She may only be an AI, but Number Five thinks she deserves better. Certainly better than this hellhole.

"You need to be precise, Number Two…" Sir Reginald proclaims, his monocle flashing, ignoring Diego's half-scowl. Number Five jerks awake, straightening up from crouching on the sofa-end when he hears a pair of light, familiar footsteps approaching from behind. "Your form is sloppy. Do it again."

A catch of yellowed sunlight glimmers over Vanya's straight, brown hair.

Number Five's brain turns into fog the moment their eyes meet. The insides of his mouth dry. She sends him an overly bashful, sweet look, hugging her arms securely around one of her poetry books.

Vanya then glances between Diego and Allison as they spar, and then a critical Sir Reginald.

"I don't understand…"

Somehow hearing Vanya speak to him pulls Number Five out of the daze. "He's trying to antagonize Diego. It'll be easier for Allison to get him miss," Number Five explains lowly, surveying the rest of the Umbrella Academy in the cleared-out ballroom. Luther tries to copy Sir Reginald's stance, rubbing his nonexistent beard. Klaus mocks Luther behind him, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, exaggerating a frown while Ben chuckles and stretches out his arms. "Or Diego has to nick her somewhere and draw blood first."

"What—" Vanya says, dismayed. Number Five almost envies her ignorance. That innocence. She never had to hurt anyone on purpose before. Never had to fight to save her own life. He hopes she never has to.

Allison's powers trickle out, and Diego's eyes glaze over milky-pale. Right in the middle of his throw.

I heard a rumor… that you're gonna miss.

The custom-blade sinks into Ben's leg.

"Ben!" Klaus screams, running to him and full-out panicking, while Luther catches Ben paling and yelling out in agony. From there, it's chaos. Diego and Allison run to Ben as well, blaming each other for the incident while Sir Reginald talks gruffly, loudly over them — "stop this nonsense! I demand it!"

"Ben!"

"BEN!"

"DAD!" Vanya shrieks, clutching her fists, hurrying over to Sir Reginald who curls his lip down on her.

He backhands her across the face.

The noise that escapes Vanya feels like a dagger in Number Five's heart. Number Five leaps onto his feet, teeth gritting, ignoring the surge of burning-hot pain in his ankle. Vanya lands sideways by the powerful blow, whimpering, her long, dark hair fluttering around her.

Number Five zaps himself over to her, in milliseconds, hoisting her into his arms. He zap them both upstairs before anyone notices what has happened. Or at least Number Five supposes so.

It's the very first time he's ever brought someone with him in his jumps, but Vanya looks like she has all of her limbs. He's pretty sure he has all of his too. Number Five carries Vanya into one of the spare bedrooms, helping her down on a cot and then racing to lock the door, waiting in silence.

No stomping. The yelling is too far off to distinguish who it is for.

"Vanya, hey," he mutters, returning to her, sitting and cradling Vanya's face.

Her left cheek already develops into a bruise. Vanya opens her mouth, but it's spittle and blood dripping out onto her chin. Must have bitten her tongue. Or the callous impact of Sir Reginald's hand must loosened one of Vanya's teeth. She grimaces, sobbing in exhales, her crimson-smeared mouth open.

"I'm gonna kill him," Number Five says, deadpan. He vanishes momentarily into the upstairs bathroom, reappearing with a lapful of hand towels and urging the soft, maroon terry-cloth to Vanya's lips.

She shakes her head, grabbing desperately onto Number Five's fingers.

"Five…"

No, no, he refuses to let this one go. Vanya doesn't deserve to be treated like this. He can't do much but Number Five wants to protect her from the wrath and scrutiny of their adoptive guardian. Maybe Vanya isn't special. But that's a part of what makes her so special to him.

Number Five cradles her face again, looking her right in the eye. "You're the only one I care about," he murmurs, witnessing how Vanya blushes and how she smiles wistfully again, and hell, he just…

Vanya's fingers touch briefly over Number Five's jaw, as they lean in, bumping noses and sharing a kiss.

.

.

He vanishes for good.

The apocalypse made Five reevaluate most of his life, and commit some terrible acts. Changed who he was. But he soon discovers Vanya didn't have it too great either. Abused and forgotten.

But for seventeen years, she bothered to remember Five. Keep a vigil. As a teenager, and into her early adult years, Vanya left the porchlight on, and put fluffy gooey marshmallows into sandwiches, memorized all of Five's songs, and slept in his bed until Pogo caught her when she was fifteen. She waited for him, believed in him, and that's more than Five could have asked for.

It's not appropriate, but he still, still loves her. Five can admit that. He remembers with bright, startling clarity how it felt to press against Vanya's mouth, tasting a hint of her blood. How she was girlish and sweet, and a breathe of fresh air, and how she remains this way into her thirties.

So, no, it's not appropriate when they're on their own in the kitchen, laughing over a memory of Luther getting caught with Allison, and Five leans over his stool, capturing Vanya's soft, full lips against his.

She pulls away from him, speechless, dismayed.

"Van…"

Five breathes her name in reverence, feeling the weight of his old, old soul. "Don't," Vanya says hoarsely, rubbing his warm hand cradled between hers. "We… we can't, Five. You know that."

Why didn't ever let Mom pick a name for you…?

He dares to lift their hands, lowering his face and nudging a last, loving kiss to Vanya's knuckles.

Because… nothing else sounds as good on your lips…

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TUA isn't mine. God frickin' dammit, Aidan said something about his love of Five/Vanya and now I'm SOFT for them. Ughh. Frick. Well this is another prompt "Five/Vanya, protective/possessive" and I did a cutesy version for it so I hope you all enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts! Have a wonderful week! Also if you are part of the dumbass gays crew reading this ficcy, I just want you to know ily and ur the bestest ever. Ehehehee.