Description: Five could calculate it how ever he liked, break it down into whatever increments he wanted, no matter how big or small, but it would never change the outcome. He would never get a different answer, no matter how badly he wanted to. It would never change the fact that it was December 25th, 2019.

...

He had been there since April.

April 2nd, to be exact.

8 months and 3 weeks.

267 days.

6408 hours.

380 872 moments.

Five could drive himself mad with the equations, with the millions of numbers racing through his brain. He could calculate it how ever he liked, break it down into whatever increments he wanted, no matter how big or small, but it would never change the outcome. He would never get a different answer, no matter how badly he wanted to.

It would never change the fact that it was December 25th, 2019.

It was Christmas.

Five drew in a deep breath as he glanced up towards the murky white sky, the December wind whistling past his ears. The air was cool and at least somewhat crisp for once, the freeze of winter bringing him a brief respite from the stench of death and rot. Five trudged across the familiar stretch of road he had first traveled all those months ago, his wagon and his chosen companion in tow. All around him, a mix of ash and snow blanketed the earth, the icy air nipping at his wind-burnt cheeks.

"I guess it's just you and me this year, huh Dolores?" Five called back to her.

She made a sound of sad acknowledgment and the boy suddenly felt the need to cheer her up.

"Well, it's okay, we'll make it as festive of one as we can," he assured, pulling down his father's goggles over his eyes and turning back to the road with renewed determination.

It only took him an hour to reach his destination. It was a familiar one, even in its current incarnation. Five had been back there more times than he'd like to admit, he had spent more hours than he should just picking through the rubble.

Don't tell me we're back here again. Dolores's voice rang out, pulling Five's attention away from the ruins before them.

"Don't act so disappointed, this is where I grew up, ya know," he snarked in a good-natured sort of way, gesturing grandly to his dilapidated surroundings.

I know that. And I know how important it is to you... Dolores softened. But last time you were here you broke down and I could barely get you up to get food. She spoke with a chiding yet concerned cadence.

Five's gaze fell to the ground, an uneven tone settling into his words. "I—I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you. But...but I'll be fine, I promise. I just didn't expect to find Mom, that's all. I didn't—"

He quickly cut himself off as tears began to sting his eyes. He swallowed down the memory and blinked them away, casting his gaze skyward. Crying was a waste of water, as Dolores often reminded him.

Five cleared his throat and continued. "We won't be here long," he promised, "We just need to get some things."

That's right, you never told me what we left for, Dolores replied, adopting a soft yet knowing smile.

"Christmas decorations!" Five announced brightly as they made their way further into the mess of half-standing ruins and rubble.

"It happened in April, so it's not like there's a ton of tensile and lights laying around, but I know Mom always kept decorations up in the attic," he explained, turning back to look at her. "I thought maybe it would be nice to decorate the library, make it feel more like home."

Five's voice grew quiet; it felt a little silly when he said it out loud. It felt childish and perhaps even needy. He couldn't afford to be either of those anymore.

I'd like that very much. Dolores's words pulled his thoughts back from the edge.

Five lit up, beaming softly in spite of the way the action pulled at his chapped and split lips.

"Me too," Five said to the open air as he swiveled around to gauge his location, a new burst of excitement igniting in his chest.

Finally, he spotted it. It was about 30 feet away, badly damaged but still standing tall above all the rest.

"Wait here, I'll be right back," Five instructed as he let the wagon handle fall from his grasp.

He made his way through the uneven mess of broken objects and scattered bricks, climbing a pile or two and hopping over fallen support beams. Eventually, he found himself standing directly below his destination. It was the attic, or what used to be, anyway. Now it was just a raised platform, cracked open like a walnut and inaccessible. Well, almost. Inaccessible to anyone but him, that is.

Five closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He clenched his fists, feeling the familiar power course through him. A blue spark enveloped him and he leapt forward, the soothing threads of the spaces-in-between sliding over him. For a brief moment, everything felt right. He felt alive again, he felt free.

The familiar comfort was torn away as soon as he emerged, his feet smacking the wooden floor as he landed. Stumbling forward, he latched onto the nearest solid wall, the world around him spinning.

Performing jumps was a lot harder now, a lot more taxing. He wasn't getting enough food...he knew that. But there wasn't much he could really do about it, nor was it for lack of trying.

Eventually, the world found its balance once more and Five let his gaze sweep the room. The attic was remarkably well preserved. It was dusty and covered in a thin layer of dirt, but the roof was mostly intact and so were the contents inside.

It was filled with old furniture and forgotten knickknacks. Five could see quite a few of Vanya's things that had once called her room their home, he even thought he spied her bed frame in the corner. Five sighed, a heavy weight settling in his chest.

Her book could only fill in so many gaps, only give him a vague summary of what had transpired. There was so much he didn't know, so much he had missed. All because he was careless and so stupidly sure of himself. It was selfish and pathetic. He was selfish and pathetic. He hadn't been there. He didn't stop it. He didn't help.

But he was going to change that. He had vowed to himself and to Dolores. He was going to get back, or he would die trying.

Five continued his search, clearing away discarded chairs and dusty stacks of boxes. He was looking for one or two in particular, ones that would be marked with red sharpy and small simplistic doodles of Christmas trees.

Through the clutter, Five's eyes eventually fell to a small dingy curtain that hung over a cubby on the far wall. He froze in his movements, smiling a tiny wistful smile as a host of memories washed over him. He bent down and pulled back the curtain, ready to settle into one of the many hiding spots he had scattered around the mansion as a child.

(Child. Could he not be defined as that anymore? Had the past 8 months aged him that much?)

Five peered inside, expecting to see a pillow and maybe a few forgotten books. What he saw instead made his eyes widen and forced a quiet gasp from his cracked lips.

...

Vanya Hargreeves had grown accustomed to her nighttime routine.

Every night, when the house was quiet and the others were in bed, she would sneak off to the kitchen. She would make a sandwich so sugary only her brother could enjoy it, and would set out to find a good place to leave it that evening. Once an obvious or common place for him was found, she would slip back into the darkness, leaving a light on as she went.

It was the same every night, with each morning yielding the same results. The sandwich would go uneaten, or in a few cases, stepped on by an unknowing passerby. Yet still, Vanya did it, night after night. It was always the same. Except tonight.

Tonight, Vanya stood staring down the dark hallway, her cold bare feet shifting nervously against the wooden floorboards. She gripped the box in her hands firmly, the blue wrapping paper crinkling beneath her fingers. Vanya had something more than a sandwich to leave for him tonight.

There was a part of her mind that questioned why she was even doing this, why she bothered going through all the trouble if it was to go unopened just as her sandwiches went untouched. Yet, her thoughts echoed back that it wasn't just any night. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

Christmas was a time of miracles. Perhaps it could bring her a miracle of her own?

Vanya drew in a fortifying breath and crept forward, doing her best to avoid the creaky spots as she moved along the hall. Eventually, she emerged into the foyer, the soft glow of Christmas lights beckoning her.

Reginald Hargreeves had never been a man too concerned with pleasantries. He never truly seemed to care about the decoration of the house, so long as it was kept and cleaned. However, upon Pogo's request, he would usually allow one room, the sitting room, to be decorated for the holiday season. Vanya shuffled closer, peeking around the corner until the bright glow of the tree was in view.

The room was beautiful when it was decorated, the walls and ceiling strung with gold ornaments and red tinsel and sparkling lights. Beneath the Christmas tree was a small stack of presents. Their father did not give gifts, but Pogo and Mom did. To add to that, each of the siblings would always band together every year and get each other one present from them all. There was a present for Ben from them all, and for Allison, and Diego, and so forth. And tonight, Vanya held her present for Five.

She hadn't talked with the others about it...they never seemed too keen to talk about Five these days. Half of them acted angry at him for vanishing, while the other insisted he had just traveled forward in time and would show up any day now, as insufferable as the day he left. Vanya liked to think of herself as apart of the latter group, despite the way the fear and the doubt crept in at times.

So here she was, a present for him in hand and a quiet hope in her heart, a hope that—

Vanya was suddenly and abruptly jarred from her thoughts as another body collided with hers in the semi-darkness. She let out a quiet yelp, nearly dropping her box in the process. She whirled around just in time to hear a quiet curse and the shing of a knife being pulled from its sheath.

Diego.

"Diego, what are you doing here!"

"What the hell, Number Seven!"

The shocked words flew from their lips simultaneously as they now stood in the low light. They both just looked at each other for a moment, Vanya's eyes drifting to the small box tucked under Diego's arm just as his fell to the one in her hands. His glowering expression slowly morphed and he lowered his still-raised knife, sliding it back into the sheath on his leg.

He didn't speak right away, realization followed by a fleeting array of emotions flickering across his face.

"Is that..." Vanya asked quietly, peering at him from beneath the curtain of her bangs.

Diego glanced down at the box in his arm, his hands unconsciously fidgeting.

"I just w—wanted to—" Diego began only to be cut off as the low thump of footsteps entered their ears.

Both their heads snapped in the direction of the doorway. Without another word they dove in opposite directions, quickly finding hiding spots amongst the furniture and dark corners. A cold dread settled into Vanya's stomach, and not for the first time, she wished she could just teleport away like Five.

The footsteps grew louder and closer, bringing with them a new sound; that of hushed, raised voices.

"You didn't tell me. We could've collaborated."

"Well, every time I brought it up you didn't wanna talk about it!"

"Well, I guess he's just gonna get two this year then!"

"Fine."

"Okay."

Vanya recognized the owners of the voices before they even entered the sitting room. Moments later, Klaus and Ben came tiptoeing through the doorway, wrapped boxes in each of their hands. Vanya popped up from behind the sofa once she saw them, startling them both.

"Son of a biscuit!" Klaus hissed, jumping several inches off the ground. "Vanny, you scared the shi—" He was cut off by a sharp hush from Diego as he emerged from his hiding place.

Vanya couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips as she watched the scene unfold.

Ben eyed both Number Two and Seven as they came out of the dark and into the glow of the lights, their presents in hand.

"Wait, are you guys—" he stopped short as even more voices entered the fray.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just felt like it was my duty as Number—"

"Luther, hush, you'll wake Pogo."

The four of them didn't even bother hiding as the footsteps and whispers drew nearer. Allison and Luther soon rounded the corner only to find a small crowd there to greet them. After the initial shock and jump scares passed, Allison's eyes swept over them and the objects they each had in tow. She heaved an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes.

"Let me guess, you all got a present for Five too?" Luther deadpanned.

An awkward silence reigned as they stood huddled in a small circle, clad in their umbrella crested pajamas

"To be fair, nobody ever tells me anything," Klaus chimed in defensively.

"Oh please, I told you I was gonna get his gift two weeks ago," Allison shot back.

"So did I," Ben reminded, earning himself a glare.

The scene soon devolved into a chorus of hushed bickering.

"Hey, hey, guys, it's fine!" Luther finally cut in, his voice a low hiss. "It's fine. We should've talked about it, but it's too late now."

"Luther's right," Allison added, producing an eye roll from Diego. "Lets just leave our presents and go before Dad wakes up."

There were several nods of agreement and soon they all began to make their way to the tree, their bare feet quietly padding across the hard floors. All except Diego. He remained rooted in place as the others moved past him, his eyes fixed on the brown paper of his wrapped present. Vanya glanced back at him just in time to see him draw in a low sigh, gaze finally moving up to the rest of the group.

"Guys, we can't leave them here," he finally spoke.

"Why not?" Luther questioned, perplexed.

"You know how dad's been since Five left, he won't even let us talk or ask about him. If he sees these, he's just gonna throw them away," Diego explained, an edge of bitterness creeping into his words.

"Dad wouldn't do that," Luther argued, shaking his head.

Klaus let out a quiet scoff. "Yeah, he would, Luther. Remember when we were 7 and he forced Five to throw away his stuffed dog because he smarted off during training? Or when he burned your papier-mâché solar system because you stayed up too late painting it?"

Luther opened his mouth to retort only to end up closing it again, finding that he couldn't truly argue their point. Their father did have a tendency to do those sort of things.

A heavy silence settled over them, knowing they likely wouldn't even be allowed to so much as mention their absent brother this Christmas, not without the looming threat of punishment coming down on their heads. Vanya felt her chest tighten, a crushing weight constricting her heart.

"So what do we do now?" Luther was the first to speak again, sounding defeated as he glanced down at his box.

"We'll just have to find a place to put them where Five can find them but dad can't," Allison concluded, causing Vanya to perk up a bit.

"His room?" Ben suggested.

"No, Mom will find it."

"Okay, what about the greenhouse?"

"Dad will look there. Trust me."

"The vents?"

"Why the hell would Five be in the vents Klaus?"

"It's Five, why wouldn't he be in the vents?"

"I...I might know a place!" Vanya piped up for the first time since the whole group assembled, surprising herself with how strong her voice came out.

All eyes snapped to her, and Number Seven suddenly felt the urge to shrink in on herself, unsure if she liked the newfound attention or not.

Less than 5 minutes later, all the remaining Numbers stood in the dusty attic, shifting on their feet as they watched Vanya kneel down and pull back the curtain that covered Five's little nook.

"He likes to come here to read. Or sometimes to sleep when he doesn't feel well after training," Vanya explained quietly, reaching forward to gently fluff the lone pillow that occupied the tiny space.

"It's perfect, Vanya," Allison said, the softness in her voice surprising her.

Vanya glanced back over her shoulder at their small group, all lined up with their wrapped parcels. All there because, in their own ways, they missed Five just as she did.

"I—I think we should all say what we got him," Luther announced. "That way we know if we got the same thing twice."

They all agreed and Luther added, "Vanya, you go first."

Vanya was sure she must have looked like a deer in the headlights for a few beats, her eyes blinking dumbly and her ears unsure if she had heard him correctly.

"Oh. Um. Okay," she eventually acknowledged. "I, uh...well. Sometimes when Five does his piano practice his hands get cold," she explained without looking up from the box, absently picking at the edges of the wrapping paper. "He won't ever say anything to anyone about it, but he does. So I thought it would be nice to get him a pair of gloves. The fingerless ones so he can still play."

For reasons Vanya couldn't quite voice, tears began to well in her eyes. The thought of Five and his naturally frigid hands...of his piano, of the melody of the keys echoing off the Academy walls. The realization that she may never hear it again hit Vanya like a freight train. Her throat tightened and she began to blink rapidly, trying in vain to clear her blurred vision.

"I just thought he might like them," Vanya quickly finished, her voice uneven and watery.

After that, she leaned over and gently placed her present next to the pillow. Standing, she quickly stepped back, attempting to fade into the group as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"What about you, Luther?" For once, Vanya was relieved to have Klaus steer the attention away from her.

Luther swallowed back a choked-up expression that had found its way to his features.

"A model paint set," he said, forcing his voice to be steady. "I know we don't always get along, but...I was hoping maybe we could do it together. When he gets back."

Luther cleared his throat, sniffling quietly as he laid his box down next to Vanya's.

"Allison?"

Allison stepped forward, her posture steady and stiff, despite the way her eyes betrayed her. The box she held was little bigger than her hands, gold wisps adorning the wrapping paper.

"A watch," she said in a quietly pained sort of way. "A fob watch. He's always collecting broken ones and trying to fix them so I thought he might like one that wasn't broken. And I..." she trailed off, eyes shining.

"I thought it would be funny because then he'd be like the Doctor. A time traveler with a fob watch. It was something we joked about when he first started talking about it." She shook her head, giving a melancholic smile as she placed her present on the stack.

"Klaus?" Ben asked, glancing in his direction.

"It's fine, you go ahead," he mumbled with a faraway look in his eyes.

Ben's movements were measured and unsure as he inched closer to the familiar cubby. He never really liked it when all the focus was directed towards him anyway.

"Books," he spoke, quiet and thoughtful. "The sci-fi ones. Dad always said they were a waste of time but a couple weeks before he—" Ben stopped himself short with a low and sharp inhale, finding he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"We were coming from a mission and I caught him looking at these in the store window," he continued, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. "He lied and said he wasn't but...I knew he'd been wanting to read this series for a while."

Ben heaved a deep and heavy sigh, gently laying his among the rest. He let his hand rest atop them for a moment before returning to his spot between Klaus and Allison.

Diego went next, adding his gift to the mix and walking back without a word.

"You have to say what it is," Luther reminded, but Diego just shook his head.

"Nah. It's stupid," he muttered, more to himself than to them.

"Hey," Allison spoke up, reaching over to touch his shoulder, "it's not stupid."

He glanced at her, briefly holding her gaze before giving a barely detectable nod. Diego inhaled, as if to prepare himself. "It's...it's a sundial compass. It helps determine both time and location. I don't know, I guess I just thought that...I thought he—that he—"

Diego paused, his voice refusing to obey him. He closed his eyes as they began to get misty and pushed on. "I thought that if h—he ever got lo—lost, again, he could find his way h—home."

He eventually forced the words out while the others listened in thoughtful silence, nodding along.

"That's a good gift," Allison whispered, giving his arm a squeeze before letting go.

Diego just nodded, blinking the shine from his eyes.

"Well, I guess that leaves little ole me," Klaus concluded, taking center stage with his messily wrapped box in hand.

He didn't speak for a moment, as if in contemplation.

"It's just a music box...thingy," he said plainly and quietly. "It's one of those ones with the wind-up gears and a constellation map that spins and...and it's broken." He trailed off at the end, heaving a sigh and rubbing his eyes.

"And you know at first I was upset, because how messed up is that? Who gives someone a broken gift?" He was talking to himself now, pacing just a bit in the little attic space. "But then I remembered how much Five loves fixing broken things. Like watches!" He gestured to Allison. He then turned to Luther.  "Or like that time we broke the tail off the lizard on the coffee table but he helped us hot glue it before dad got home. Right?"

"I guess I just thought maybe he might like the challenge." He sighed again, setting it down next to the pillow. "Or maybe I'm just making excuses for being a lame brother."

Klaus moved back to stand with the others, surprised when Ben suddenly put his hand on his shoulder. "You are a pretty lame brother," he teased.

"Just not about this," Diego finished, bumping his other shoulder lightly with his own.

"Thanks guys," Klaus rolled his eyes with equal parts sarcasm and seriousness.

Diego gave a quiet snicker before turning back to the little nook. For a brief moment, they all stood together, huddled and leaning on one another. They took in the stack they had accumulated, the little ritual providing a bit of catharsis. It didn't fill the hole their brother had left when he vanished, but to be there, to finally acknowledge the loss, it somehow eased the persistent ache.

After a few minutes they dispersed, and that night when Vanya made her way to the kitchen to prepare Five his snack, she didn't make the trip alone. They all pitched in, leaving him not only a sandwich but a mug of cocoa and a candy cane as well.

Some children prepared snacks for Santa...but not the Hargreeves, they made snacks for their lost brother.

Truth be told, they had never even been given the option to believe in Santa, let alone any of the other things that came with it. But it was fine, because as far as they were concerned, one Five was worth far more than a thousand Santas.

...

The attic floor was cold and dirty, but Five knelt on it all the same. All around him laid the scattered remnants of dusty wrapping paper and ribbons. In front of him were six objects, six presents from six siblings that Five would give anything just to see one more time.

The tears had long since spilled over his eyes, streaking down his face and making small impressions on the grimy floor. Five let out a shuddery breath as he looked at the presents, many of them boxed with little notes attached to them. He lost track of how long he sat there just reading them, trying to memorize every letter.

Slowly, he gathered them up, his chest warm and aching all at once.

He put on Vanya's gloves, the fabric comforting and soft against his dry and scraped hands.

He gently closed Allison's watch and put it in his pocket, the hands still faithfully ticking even after all these years.

He held Diego's sundial compass. It was beautifully practical, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude, knowing that it would come in handy sooner rather than later.

He wiped the dirt away from Luther's model paint set, smiling sadly as the memories of one of their few shared hobbies flickered through his mind.

He picked up Ben's book, reading the back and letting his fingers trail the spine. A fresh wave of tears blurred his vision and he gently placed it next to Luther and Diego's gifts, knowing that he would likely read it as much as he read Extra Ordinary.

Finally, he picked up Klaus's gift. It was a beautiful and intricate piece. It was all gold and blue paint and gears and constellations etched into metal. It was music and machinery. Five ran his fingers over the small slip of paper that had been in the box with it, fingertips tracing the words.

"You gotta come back and fix it. Please. - Klaus."

"I will. I promise," Five whispered, his words carrying a double meaning.

He sniffled once again and wiped away his tears, his breath visible in the cold December air. Five moved to stand up, intending to find an empty box to transport his presents in.

That was when he saw it, the corner just barely peeking out from behind it's hiding place. He reached forward, pushing the pillow aside with a confused sort of curiosity.

What he found shattered any bit of composure he had managed to gather.

...

The truth was, there were very few things that surprised Grace anymore.
Whether it was intuition or circuitry, she couldn't tell.

Yet still, it didn't surprise her anymore when Reginald yelled or when the children came back hurt or when Pogo lied to them all about Vanya.

It didn't surprise her when she found all six children wide awake and in the kitchen on Christmas Eve. She didn't have to think twice about who it was for when she saw the sandwich and cocoa. She wasn't the least bit fazed or convinced when they tried to peddle her a story about how it was for Santa Claus.

She just smiled knowingly and nodded along, sending them all back to bed with a kiss and a cup of water or milk.

The truth was, sometimes it was far better to let others believe she was less perceptive, that she was less aware of things simply because she was machine and nerve. On nights like tonight, it served her well enough.

Grace's heels made steady and rhythmic clicks as she walked across the attic floor, a thin and large rectangular box in her hands.

She looked down at the children's stack of gifts, a strange sensation swelling in her chest. It was foreign and familiar all at once. She smiled sadly to herself as she slid her box in behind the little pillow that occupied the space.

Grace moved back a few steps, just taking in the hiding place she wasn't supposed to know about. It was empty, save the presents they all had left him. She felt something deep within her ache. She felt it in the very threads of her being. It echoed through her, calling to some deep and distant dream...or memory. It felt so strange, so familiar, so hauntingly human.

Suddenly, the world blurred and Grace felt something warm trickle down her cheek. Shocked, she reached up, dabbing the corner of her eye with her manicured fingers.

Had she sprung a leak? Did she need to be repaired?

She pulled her hand away to find that it was simply...water. Clear and salty.

She...she didn't know that she could do that.

...

Five would like to have been able to say that he had kept his promise to Dolores, his promise that he would be okay.

He wasn't. He was nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, having long since curled in on himself, tears spilling down his face and sobs escaping his throat.

In his arms he held a handmade sweater, heavy and soft and just his size. He clutched it close to his chest, his face buried in the fabric. It smelled just like her...just like Mom.

It smelled like perfume with a lingering whiff of baked goods. It smelled like home. Like the woman who raised him and loved him and always tried to make everything okay, even when it was impossible. Even when he didn't deserve it.

Suddenly, it all seemed too heavy. His mistakes. The apocalypse. All the death. The people he had lost. The weight of it all settled on his chest, threatening to crush his very soul.

Five choked on his tears as he knelt there on the floor, his chest heaving. He sat there and just cried. He sobbed and let the emotions pour out until there were no tears left, until the ache in his chest dulled.

Eventually, his eyes dried up and he was left with an inexplicable sense of release. It wasn't okay. He didn't know if it would ever be okay, but...but he had a slice of home that he didn't quite have before. Instead of being taken from the remnants of it all, these had been given. They were a little piece of each of them, tucked away and reserved just for him.

It wasn't the same as having them there, as knowing for sure he would see them again, but it made him feel just a little less empty. And he knew that that night when he went to bed, with his tinsel hung and his presents scattered around his makeshift camp, he would dream of them. He would dream of the Christmases he had missed, of the ones he had vowed to be there for someday.

Five lost track of how long he stayed there, but by the time he made it back to Dolores, the sun had painted pink and orange streaks across the sky as it began it's descent towards the horizon.

He trekked through the rubble with two boxes in hand, one of decorations and one of gifts.

Did you find what you were looking for? Dolores inquired as he set them down in the wagon.

Five paused, looking down at the box...at his gloved hands.

"Yeah," he whispered softly. "Yeah, I did."

You've been crying.

Five sighed, reaching up to wipe the last of the tears away, feeling disappointed in himself.

It's okay, we all cry sometimes. Dolores assured gently. We'll just have to make sure you stay hydrated.

Five chuckled softly to himself, picking up his wagon handle and walking away into the evening sun.

"What would I do without you."

Crash and burn, probably.