"Ratiin," he agrees with Jedao, voice going hoarse and knuckles going white. Always. "Everyone else... they'll all be free because of him." It seems, right now, a paltry exchange for a life cut so brutally short.
"... he wasn't even ten yet," he whispers, and his shoulders shake for a moment before he goes rigidly still, draws in a handful of shallow breaths before one deeper one as he lets it go.
"He's... marched on with our brothers," he answers Quentin quietly. "And... his last words. To me. They were... they were that... the nightmare is finally over," he adds, voice fading away raggedly at the end. "I... I think that's peace. I hope."
Jedao squeezes Fives' neck, less for comfort than his own struggle hearing how young Tup was. He knew, more or less, or could have guessed, but - he kisses Fives' temple softly.
"He wanted not to kill anymore. He had that, and he has it. Rest and peace."
"Rest," Fives echoes them both, quiet and choked but... resigned. Maybe a little hopeful. "He deserves rest. And peace. He... was always gentler than the rest of us. He would have made ARC, but war-" He shivers a little, grateful for the steadying hand at his nape. "It never... it never quite suited him."
He takes a shuddering breath and finally opens his fist, lays the delicate hairpin with its glittering blue gems on Jedao's chest and reaches out to settle his hand on Quentin's shoulder. Gratitude and comfort. "It's good... that he'll never have to kill again."
"You really were both very good with Jedao-ye," Jedao murmurs, letting go of Quentin's hand to brush his fingertips over the cheap filigree of the hairpin left over his heart. "He came closer to self-acceptance in a few days with the two of you than he has in two years locked up in Shuos headquarters and locking down any feelings he could catch."
The lack of give in Quentin's shoulder takes him by surprise, but he doesn't mind it at all. Many of his brothers have prosthetics, he just hadn't realized Quentin had one as well. All he does in response is slide his hand farther up, until he finds the join between what he assumes is some kind of plastoid and Quentin's own flesh, because he doesn't know if the prosthetic is high enough tech for him to have feeling in it, and there's no point trying to provide a comforting touch that can't be felt.
"He should have brothers," Fives murmurs, partly because he thinks that of everyone. "Brothers always accept you, no matter what, and... they help you learn to be yourself." It bothers him deeply that the boy hadn't seen the importance of that, that he was so set on masquerading as Jedao, taking responsibility for all of his atrocities and none of his accomplishments. That he had no idea how to be himself, or interest in it even if he had.
He's quiet for a moment, then adds. "Thank you. Both. For-" He has to draw in a slow breath to keep his voice steady. "Tup. His week here... it made him happier than I think he'd ever thought he could be."
"It is," Fives agrees quietly, and tightens his grip a little at the join between Quentin's neck and shoulder. He hopes that Quentin understands just how much he values his friendship. "It's... almost as good as having brothers," he murmurs into Jedao's shoulder.
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"... he wasn't even ten yet," he whispers, and his shoulders shake for a moment before he goes rigidly still, draws in a handful of shallow breaths before one deeper one as he lets it go.
"He's... marched on with our brothers," he answers Quentin quietly. "And... his last words. To me. They were... they were that... the nightmare is finally over," he adds, voice fading away raggedly at the end. "I... I think that's peace. I hope."
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He reminds him, quietly.
"It is peaceful. It varies from world to world, I'm told- but there's time to rest."
And that sounds so seductive right now. Just, sleeping.
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"He wanted not to kill anymore. He had that, and he has it. Rest and peace."
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He takes a shuddering breath and finally opens his fist, lays the delicate hairpin with its glittering blue gems on Jedao's chest and reaches out to settle his hand on Quentin's shoulder. Gratitude and comfort. "It's good... that he'll never have to kill again."
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Warns Quentin, but maybe Fives won't mind the wood, even though he doesn't know about it yet. He subsides, and settles in to watch them.
"Someone share some good news?"
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"He should have brothers," Fives murmurs, partly because he thinks that of everyone. "Brothers always accept you, no matter what, and... they help you learn to be yourself." It bothers him deeply that the boy hadn't seen the importance of that, that he was so set on masquerading as Jedao, taking responsibility for all of his atrocities and none of his accomplishments. That he had no idea how to be himself, or interest in it even if he had.
He's quiet for a moment, then adds. "Thank you. Both. For-" He has to draw in a slow breath to keep his voice steady. "Tup. His week here... it made him happier than I think he'd ever thought he could be."
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Agrees Quentin, eyes closing.
"It's probably not unconditional acceptance, but it's nice anyways."
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