amour coriace ( five hargreeves! ) - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

THE PAINFUL OUTLOOK OF DEATH was nothing short of terrifying for Vincent Leblanc. Of course, he never really minded the thought of it much, seeing as death was something he would long for in the middle of the night whilst staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Although, the pain of it all was what scared him. The thought of dying slowly and painfully had always plagued Vincent's mind. The idea that he would most definetly die a painful death.
Vincent was almost positive he would.  The powers he withheld stood as a threat not only to others, but himself. He had no doubt in his mind that his death would not be a peaceful one. Would not be one that simply passes by with a flash of light and a euphoric feeling. No, Vincent's death will be slow and bloody. His death will be agonizing, a painful spread throughout his limbs that will burn worse than anything he's ever felt. He does not know when he will die, does not know if that sense of pain ticking throughout his body will ever actually come. Maybe he will die a good death, one that will not feel like he's being torn apart. Maybe it will make him happier, bring him a peace that he has never held.
Vincent laid there, in the motel bed he was staying in as he stared up at the ceiling above him. He thought of these things, of death and what kind he would inevitably go to. If they all saved the world maybe Vincent would live until he's 100 with a happy life and a peaceful death whilst he's in his slumber. Although, he doubted they would ever get that far.
Vincent groaned under his breath. He hated busying himself with these overbearing thoughts that created a deep sense of dread to overtake him and pound on his chest painfully. The thoughts that would make his breathing quicken and his panic heighten to an all time high. He rolled his eyes to himself, standing up on wobbling legs. He didn't have clothes to change into, wearing a black hoodie and a pair of pants cuffed at the ankles. He wore a pair of knee high socks, with little marijuana leaves drawn onto them. They had made him laugh a few months before, so he just had to buy them. His shoes were completely fucked, tearing at the soles, the rubber on the sides peeling off slowly.
Vicnent hadn't bothered to buy many clothes in France. This was mostly what he wore anyway. He stretched his arms above his head lightly, relishing in the satisfying crack of his bones before walking out of the motel room. He made sure to lock it behind him, not particularly wanting to come back to his room to a homeless man lying in the bed.
Vincent didn't know where he'd go to clear his mind. So he merely walked, walked away from the motel to wherever his legs brought him.
He eventually found himself standing in front of a liquor store, a donut shop by the name of "Griddy's Donuts" close by. He supposed he could head there afterwards. Vincent waited outside for a moment, grinning when a man walked out with a bottle of liquor in his hands. Vincent merely bumped his shoulder, muttering a half assed apology before waiting for the man to get into his car and head out.
Once the man left entirely, Vincent easily took on the form of him. Vincent had gotten quite good at shapeshifting. Becoming other people was his strong suit. He could do it in seconds, as long as he'd touched them beforehand. He used to practice by becoming his mother. He'd bump into her before running up to his room, transforming into her before transforming back to himself. He supposed that was the only thing his mother had ever helped him with, despite her definetly not meaning to help him in any way.
He hated using his power too often. Once he transformed back his limbs would often become sore, a pain like that of needles poking into skin taking over his body. Vincent didn't think about the side effects just yet, walking into the liquor store as whatever man had just walked out a few minutes prior.
Vincent, in the body of the man, grinned at the clerk, leaning against the counter. The clerk raised his eyebrow, chuckling. "Back so soon, Chuck? Thought you said y'all are sticking with liquor tonight?" He spoke, a slight smile on his lips. The clerk was visibly much older, most likely in his mid 60s. Vincent couldn't help but wonder why he was working in a fucking liquor store at such an age.
Vincet chuckled, "Sorry about that.. figured maybe they'd want me to bring a pack of cigs too. Could I get one? Marlboro, menthol." He spoke, the man's voice coming out of Vincent. He had always hated that part. It just felt odd. Having another persons voice for a moment. It made him feel like a total fake fuck, which he sort of was.
The clerk looked suspicious, but nodded anyway. He grabbed a pack of Marlboro menthols, just as Vincent asked for, out of the glass cabinet behind him, sliding it over the counter to Vincent. He easily caught it underneath his fingertips. "Can I get ya anything else, Chuck?" The clerk asked, his southern accent making much more of an appearance.
Vincent thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah. That's all I need." He spoke, keeping the cigarettes in his hand. He knew that if he put them in his pocket, it wouldn't turn out the way he wanted it. Vincent was not in his own body, after all. The clerk nodded, watching as Vincent fished out a 10 dollar bill from his pocket. He didn't quite understand American currency, but luckily he had a correct amount.
The clerk handed Vincent his change, which he simply pocketed. "Well, have a great party Chuck. And don't party too hard. Wouldn't want ya going to jail anytime soon again." The clerk laughed. Vincent nodded slowly, furrowing his eyebrows before walking out of the store.
He rolled his eyes, a signature Vincent thing now it seems. He placed the pack of cigarettes on the ground before transforming back into himself, 15 year old Vincent. He couldn't turn into 37 year old Vincent because, technically, he did not exist yet. Vincent sighed to himself, picking up the pack of cigarettes and sliding it into his front pocket.
He made the decision to walk towards the donut shop, crossing the street before walking into the place, an "OPEN" sign in the front. He stepped in, glancing around. His eyes caught onto an older man, accompanied by a boy who was oddly familiar. Five.
Vincent grinned to himself, walking over. He sat down beside Five, sighing overdramatically to himself. Five recognized the voice, turning to look at Vincent with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here? Are you following me now?" Five asked, growing somewhat angry.
Vincent put his hands up in faux surrender. "Woah woah, calm your tits Five. I didn't follow you anywhere. Promise." He put a toothy grin on his lips. "Do I look like a stalker to you?" He added on.
Five thought it over for a moment before nodding. "Yes, you do actually." He spoke, huffing when the waitress walked over with a kind smile. "We'll talk about this later." He whispered, to which Vincent couldn't help but get excited. Maybe Five would have a civilized conversation with him this time. Maybe he'd run his fingers through his curls like he did once before a very long time ago, help Vincent fall asleep and get away from his impending thoughts.
He doubted it, though. Five hated him now. And for good reason. He wanted him out of his life, wanted him back in France. He never wanted to see Vincent again.
The waitress smiled politely. "What can I get all of you?" She asked, holding a pad of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other. The older man at the end of the table ordered an eclaire, Five unsurprisingly asking for a black coffee.
Vincent smiled when she came over to him, leaning up a bit more. He hummed lightly to himself as he thought, making this all more dramatic than it was. "An orange juice, please? Thanks, doll." He grinned, watching as the waitress' eyes widened, scurrying away quickly.
Five smacked his arm, leaning closer into him. "You can't just go flirting with old ladies. You are visibly 15." He hissed under his breath.
Vincent turned to him, with that breathtaking grin that left Five weak in the knees. "Don't be jealous, Five. You know I've only got eyes for you." Vincent joked with a wink, loving the annoyed expression that overtook Five's face, his jaw clenching yet again. "And I know. I just like making people uncomfortable. You of all people should know that." His smile grew wider.
Five grumbled to himself, muttering something Vincent couldn't make out under his breath. The waitress walked over with their orders, giving the older man his eclair, Five his coffee, and Vincent his orange juice. The older man paid for Five and Vincent, who both muttered a short "thanks." Five did not turn back to Vincent this time, turning towards the older man. Vincent did as well.
Five caught on to the shirt the man was wearing, raising his eyebrow. "You told me you've been driving around for years. Could you get me an address?" Five spoke. The man looked up, furrowing his eyebrows before nodding slowly.
Vincent watched, bored out of his mind as he leaned back, sipping his orange juice slowly as he tuned out the rest of their conversation. The man eventually left completely, leaving Vincent and Five alone. Vincent turned to Five. "What was that about? Why'd you need an address from some old dude?" He asked with a snort of amusement.
Five huffed, "Why I needed it is none of your business. As I said, you are not helping us. Therefore, you do not need to know anything." He spoke firmly. Vincent rolled his eyes. "And he's not some old dude. We're both older than 40."
"Fuck off man! I like to think of myself as 15. If I even slightly remember I'm actually 50 something I have a total mental breakdown. At least we're not old and ugly anymore." Vincent grinned wide, holding up his glass of orange juice. "Bottoms up." He joked before chugging down the rest.
Five stiffened beside Vincent at the sound of the door opening. Vincent raised his eyebrow before making a move to turn his head. Five reached out before he could, shaking his head as he moved Vincent's head to look forward yet again. His fingertips traced over Vincent's cheek for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows deeply as he felt a large scar on the side of Vincent's jaw. Although, Five did not question it, merely pulling his hand away.
Five sighed. "That was fast." He spoke up, rolling his eyes. It all clicked in Vincent's head who these people were, a slight hint of an amused smile on his lips. Vincent tapped his fingers against the counter in front of him. He leaned back in his chair. "Thought I had more time before they found me." He chuckled out.
"Okay. So let's all be professional about this. On your feet and come with us. We'll talk. Both of you." The man standing beside them spoke, a gun pointed at Five's head. Vincet doubted the man understood that Vincent was also powerful. Although, he wasn't going to make a scene about it.
"We've got nothing to say." Five spoke with a shrug, eyes on a butter knife beside his fingertips. He chuckled when the man began to talk again.
"It doesn't have to go this way. You think I want to shoot two kids? Go home with that on my conscience?" The man spoke. Vincent laughed under his breath, earning him the end of a gun pressed against his forehead. His grin didn't fade away. In fact, it widened.
Five's fists clenched atop the table, jaw grinding together. "You don't have to worry about that." He spoke, turning his head slightly. "You won't be going home." He spoke before gripping the knife, teleporting behind the man with the gun. He stabbed him wherever he wanted, starting a plethora of gunshots to sound off.
Vincent ducked, grinning wide as he moved to pull one alive man down from his wrist roughly, using the mans gun to shoot him right between the eyes. The alive man was now a not alive man. Vincent chuckled. The sight did not phase him one bit, a result of being a hitman for so many years.
He watched as Five stabbed a man or two with the knife between his fingers, stabbing one in the eye. Vincent simply admired the sight, rather impressed. His powers could do practically nothing to assist the situation, so he simply used the gun he grabbed to shoot yet another man, a dead shot. Vincent had always been handy with a gun.
Once most of the men were dead, Vincent stood up slowly as he let out a chuckle. "Well, shit Five. You look as hot as ever." He joked as he looked at an exhausted sweaty Five. Although, Vincent was not entirely joking. Five looked pretty good.
Five simply flipped him off, fixing his tie as he walked over slowly to a struggling man on the ground, snapping his neck like it was nothing. "Fuck off, Vincent." He huffed. "We need to talk about this." He added on, grabbing a cleaner knife as he rolled up his sleeve, lying his arm on the table. He pointed the knife again his wrist, cutting up deeply. Vincent winced at the sight, covering his eyes as Five pulled out the device that the people attempting to kill them had utilized to track him down.
Vincent was fucking glad he didn't have one.... Or at least, he hoped he didn't.
Five huffed, pulling his sleeve back down as he looked at the tiny flashing device. "As I said, we have to talk." He spoke.
Vincent grinned, removing his hands from his eyes when he knew Five was no longer reaching into his arm. "Would love to talk, babe, but I gotta blast." He joked, making a crude motion with his hand that alluded to him jerking off. Five rolled his eyes in disgust, beginning to walk off. "I'm kidding! You sensitive fuck. Fine, I'll talk. Where are we going?" He asked.
"My sisters house. Vanya." Five muttered simply, already walking out of the shop as he dropped the device on the ground. Vincent stayed back for a moment, leaning against the counter. He turned when he heard a gasp coming from the waitress. He turned around, grinning as he tipped his nonexistent hat at her, leaving a five dollar bill as "tip" on the counter and sliding it towards her.
Vincent walked out of the store, catching up with Five quickly.
All the way to Vanyas house.