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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ꒱


❝ THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE ❞

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After Five's narrow escape from the Swedes, he landed in the back alley of Commerce and Knox. Adjusting his tie, he looked back to make sure he'd lost his unwanted followers while puzzling over how quickly his entire time in the sixties had gone downhill. Unprompted, he remembered Hazel's vague answer about getting his equations wrong again and the man's momentary absence as he apparently went to fix the timeline.

Dolores. Where was she? Five had expected his wife to follow him through the portal as she'd done the first time and the fact that she hadn't was throwing him off. Even though it had barely been an hour without her— on his side at least— he could already feel her absence acutely and felt the first of many guilty thoughts as he wondered exactly how long she'd been stuck here.

Distant police sirens made him shake his head, clearing his thoughts. He'd find her, he promised himself. He wouldn't leave without her. Absentmindedly, his left hand went to his right wrist where his ring rested, tied securely by the black ribbon he'd stolen from her days before. The gold metal was cool to the touch and a reassuring presence as he focused on his surroundings, most notably the second-story window whose curtain had just twitched closed.

Dropping his hand, he looked up to the roof where homemade detecting equipment stood out against the sky and instant suspicion made him approach the nearby shipping and receiving door for Morty's Television and Radio. Jumping though it, he landed on the other side of an empty stairwell. He ascended the stairs quickly as they lead to a door at the top with a glass window. The words MORTIMER GUSSMAN, D.D.S. were emblazoned on the pane. Raising his hand, he knocked smartly on the door.

The one to his right opened a crack to reveal a wary, average-looking man. "What do you want?"

"Hi," the boy started. "I'm selling encyclopedias for my youth group. I was curious if—"

The man slammed the door in his face, interrupting him. Growing increasingly impatient, Five ignored proper etiquette and jumped through the door, easily scaring the nervous man. With a shriek, he hastily tried to find his closest weapon, patting his hand along the counter before delving into a drawer to pull out a tool with a tiny blade. Holding it between himself and the boy he asked, "how'd you do that?"

"I don't really have time to explain," Five said dismissively.

"You from the Pentagon? Huh?"

"Definitely not."

"CIA? FBI? KGB?" He spewed out the names of different organizations as he continued to tremble, his eyes never leaving the strange boy.

Five ignored him, his gaze instead roaming over the rooms he could see before he zeroed in on the coffee pot. "Is that fresh?" he questioned the man. Without waiting for an answer, he blinked over to the table as the man gave another scream, panting against the doorframe.

"What. . ."

The boy calmly poured himself a cup into one of the mugs, watching the other man with light interest. As he made his way into the den, he took a sip and was slightly surprised by the taste. "Hmm, is this Colombian?"

"It's my own blend," the man answered.

He gave a nod of approval as he continued to examine his surroundings, noting the variety of newspaper clippings pinned to the walls. The common subject among them had to do with UFOs and strange lights. More homemade (and some store bought) equipment was scattered around the space and he quickly understood the type of person he was dealing with. (The boy thought that his wife would be proud of this fact. She had always been the people-person, after all.)

Five directed his next question to the man: "you ever heard of uh, Area Fifty-one? Roswell?"

He let out an excited sound as he exclaimed, "hot damn!" The previous fear vanished completely as he grinned broadly and tossed the blade aside. "Whoo! See, I always knew we weren't the only ones!" He used both fingers to indicate the crazy gesture. "See, Eleanor thought my head wasn't screwed on tight but. . . but it's all true, yeah? UFOs, crop circles. . ."

"Well, the truth is out there," Five answered vaguely, giving him a non-threatening smile.

"No, no, no, no. The. . . the truth, it's right here in front of us." He approached the boy and his hands reached out towards him but Five took a step back. He leaned forward anyway. "Tell me, why is it always an anal probe?"

Maybe Dolores was still the people-person. Five's eyes narrowed. "Any closer and I'll melt your brain."

The man took his warning to heart and obeyed, backing away. "He needs a little space. Yes, I'll be over here."

"All those contraptions on the roof, you built those, right?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure did," he answered proudly. "Yeah, I've been tracking anomalies in. . . in the atmosphere. Just waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Five asked.

"For you," he replied, motioning to the boy. When he didn't catch on, the man continued: "for all of you. It all started in 1960, the year the Silvertone Omega was released. I was in the middle of a sale when something very. . . strange happened." He remembered the bright flash of light that some newspapers had reported existing. "So, for the past three years I've witnessed five energy surges in that alleyway out back. Same thing every time. A bright blue light, then something appears."

Five's brows creased as he did the math. "Only five? Are you sure?"

". . .Yes," the man said slowly. "Why? Should I expect another one?"

"Never mind that," the boy replied. Worry started to form in the pit of his stomach. Where was she? "Did you get a good look at any of them?" He squinted at the pixelated pictures stuck on the push-board.

"Yeah, the first one. And then the big, sensitive one." He pointed to the respective images.

"Sensitive?"

"Yeah, cried a lot, kept coming back to the alley, sat around for hours calling a woman's name. . . uh—" He tried to recall it and snapped his fingers when he did. "Allison!"

It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was talking about. "Luther."

"Yeah, he wasn't the only one. Uh, others came too, off and on over the years, looking for each other. Eventually, they all stopped."

"Did you ever see them clearly again? Maybe a girl, my age, with dark hair?" Five tried not to let the hope show in his voice.

The man frowned, trying to remember before regretfully shaking his head. "No, sorry. Everyone who came by was clearly an adult."

Five clenched his teeth together, his hands fisting as he resisted the urge to touch the metal band reassuringly. He would find her. He had to. He sighed and forced himself to focus. "So, my family is alive. Shit. I think I stranded them here." He turned to the man. "Now listen to me. . ."

He walked up to the other man who grew nervous again as he spluttered, "Elliot. Elliot." He paused as Five continued to walk towards him, spatial jumping to force Elliot over the couch.
"My name. . . my name is Elliot."

Five reappeared in front of him. "Whatever, alright?" he exclaimed. He raised an arm to point at the board. "I got ten days to find them and save the world! Now I need your help to do that."

Elliot's first reaction was to try to protest, pointing to himself as he stammered up a response before the boy's words began to make sense to him. "You need. . . my. . . you know what? I, uh—" He clumsily opened the drawer behind him before his fingers sifted through papers. "I always thought that this, uh, mugshot looked like arrival number five."

The boy took the piece of paper from him and examined the image. His eyes went wide. "Diego."

"So then that's helpful?" Elliot asked. His expression filled with relief.

"You have no idea," Five replied as he folded the paper before he blinked away.

Once he was gone, Elliot let out a relieved breath before giving a giddy, happy laugh, amazed to find that for once, Eleanor was wrong and he was not— as she said— crazy.

✧✧✧

It really didn't come as a surprise to Five that Diego had been taken to the sanitarium for his failed assassination attempt. In all honesty, Five was only surprised that he hadn't succeeded.

Now, he sat in a chair (the same one Dolores had occupied months earlier) while waiting for his brother to appear. When he did, he saw that the dark-haired man's clothes had been changed from black to white and his once-cropped hair was now long as it reached towards his shoulders with a beard to match.

As he sat, Diego's lips curled slightly at the sight of the boy. "Five."

"Hey, Diego," he returned. "You look good in white."

That's what your wife said, was on the tip of Diego's tongue but resentment made him keep his mouth shut. Instead, he replied, "about time you showed up."

"How'd you know I'd be back?"

You would never leave her. "Because that's the kind of shit you pull," he said with obvious hostility.

"Where are the others?"

Diego smirked at the boy, the small power he had over his brother giving him an edge. "They're not with you?"

Five nodded, not catching the man's expression. "How long have you been here?"

"Seventy-five days," his brother answered. "Landed in the alley behind—"

"Commerce and Knox," they finished together. At least five of them had the same arrival point.

"You?"

"I got here this morning."

Diego nodded. "How did you find me?"

The boy pulled out the scrap of newspaper. "Page sixteen," he answered, holding it up for the man to see. Diego turned away as he remembered his bitter failure. "'Disturbed man with multiple knives arrested outside 1026 N. Beckly,'" Five read off. "That's Lee Harvey Oswald's house. Care to explain?"

The dark-haired man gave him a slightly crazed smile. "Let's just say Dallas Law Enforcement has not been supportive of my attempt to stop the assassination of. . ." He lowered his voice: "John F. Kennedy."

Five missed the sound of echoed words as he gave his brother an incredulous look. "Because it hasn't happened yet."

"No shit," he replied. "Not on my watch. Look, I've been shaving down the bars in my room," he explained, oblivious to his brother's narrowed eyes. "Another day or two I'll be out of this place then I'm gonna stop Oswald and save the president. You want in, say the word."

He really was crazy, Five thought as he looked into his brother's delusional eyes. "Listen to me very closely, you gibbering moron. You are not going to do a goddamn thing."

"Why not?"

"Because we have to stop the apocalypse."

"No shit," the man scoffed, "but that doesn't happen for another sixty years." Or ten days, if your wife was telling the truth.

"Not that apocalypse. This is a new one," the boy looked away before meeting his brother's eyes. "It followed us. I've seen it. Nuclear war, Diego, in ten days."

Diego let out a soft laugh as the teen confirmed the girl's previous words. They really couldn't catch a break, could they? "Fine, say you're right. What causes it?"

"I don't know," Five sassed. "Maybe some looney-tuned asshole with a hero complex tried to save the president and screwed everything up."

Now this was new news, Diego thought as he leaned forward. "So you're saying it worked? I saved the president?" He let out a proud noise as the crazed look returned to his eyes. "I knew I could do it. Okay, okay. I'll help you."

"Thank God—"

"After I save Kennedy," he interrupted his brother. "And then you swing us back a few decades so I can slit Hitler's throat off with a butter knife."

Five stared at his brother in disbelief. "This is why you don't have any friends. You know what? Guards!" He stood and addressed the employees that were overseeing their meeting. "My brother is plotting an escape. The bars of his room have been shaved down."

Diego slammed his hands against the table as he lunged towards the boy, a similar reaction to Dolores' insult to his intelligence. "You piece of shit!" he cried as the guards reacted quickly, shoving him down. "No! Here— alright, asshole."

"Look, this is for your own good, Diego," Five told him calmly. He put his hands in his pockets to avoid contracting the nervous habit that they were trying to start.

"No, Five!"

"Listen," he addressed the guards. "My brother is a very sick man. I only pray that he gets the help he so desperately needs." He gave them his best smile, trying to appear innocent as the nurse came in with a needle.

"No, Five! No!" his brother shouted as his eyes caught the glint of the metal tip. "No, please! Not the needle! No!" In a last-ditch, desperate attempt to save himself, Diego played his trump card: "I know! I know where Dolores is!" (A lie, of course, but the boy didn't know that.)

Five's expression changed in an instant. His face grew stony as he lurched forward and placed his hands on the table. "What was that?" he asked in a dangerous tone.

He was too late; the nurse put the needle tip into the man's arm and pressed down, injecting the contents of the vial without hesitation. As Diego's eyes closed, Five shook his brother feverishly. "Wait, Diego-Diego—" His efforts were fruitless as Diego succumbed to the sedative and Five gave a low growl. The boy leaned over the man. "I'll be back for you later," he snarled. "Until then, nighty night."

✧✧✧

Five was fuming when he returned to Elliot's apartment moments later, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he seethed angrily to the man: "I can't believe that idiot! Why the hell would he keep her location from me? He's probably my only chance at finding her and I'm not about to go pleading forgiveness," he spat. "He's an absolute moron! A complete imbecile! Totally and completely—"

Elliot watched as the boy continued to rant furiously, sipping on his own mug of coffee. He'd been back almost ten minutes and the spew of words hadn't stopped coming as the boy paced, all of his remarks extremely derogatory towards arrival number five.

"Is. . . this girl important?" Elliot asked tentatively as he tried to figure out why the boy was so easily provoked. "Is she the missing piece or something?"

"Or something," Five replied, finally bringing his venting to a halt. "I can't do this alone."

"Yes, but you're particularly worked up about. . . about this her. Is she just important to you, then?"

The boy glowered at him. "It would take me ten seconds to slit your tongue."

The man immediately raised his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He sank against the couch. "Maybe I could. . . help you find her? What's her name?"

Five hesitated before he answered slowly, "Dolores. Dolores Hargreeves."

Elliot shook his head. "The name doesn't ring a bell. I could take a look at the phone book to see if she's in there? Maybe if she's been here awhile she would have a permanent residence."

Oh, god. He hoped his wife hadn't been here long. Anything longer than. . . than a week and he wouldn't forgive himself for it.