Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life is boring — coming from a financially stable person.

Not trying to toot my own horn, but it’s safe to say that I’m certainly financially stable. It wasn’t easy to get to this point, which made the journey all the more exciting, albeit exhausting. But, now that I’m here, my daily routine almost feels bleak with the repetitive chores and whatnot.

Staring out the window of my kitchen, I can’t help but sigh. It’s a peaceful life, living in the outskirts of town, surrounded by nature. A large patch of land stretched far and wide, divided by three columns based on the tree that’s planted on it; apple, peach and plum. By the looks of it, the apple trees are already starting to bear fruit, while the peach and plum trees are still in their flower era.

Glancing back a little to the side, my eyes catch a glimpse of the worn down barn building, its red paint chipping from the years it has stood. Reminiscing to the old days, I can’t help but feel a pang of longing for the sound of barn animals. All I have left are five horses and due to my lack of free time to care for them, I might as well put them up for adoption to find a more loving family for them.

Drying my hands off the rag, I stride over towards the dining table with a long sigh. Managing a farm on my own is hard, but I’ve grown accustomed to it over the years. The hard work pays off, sure, but even with all the wealth that I’ve gained, I feel as if I’m missing out on life. I need something, anything, to give me that… Spark of something back.

Sitting at the dining table, I pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans. Kicking back, I feel the wooden chair tilting until it reaches the perfect angle for my legs to stretch up on the dining table.

“Let's see,” scrolling through social media, I chuckle. “Gosh, people really be living their life to the fullest in the city.”

I stare at the posts on my feed. Most of the posts consist of some old friends I still keep in contact with. Not that I'm super close with anybody, but we talk every now and then. Seems like some of them have settled down with a family of their own, become workaholics, and the rest become local influencers. Nothing surprising.

Until my finger hovers above a certain post.

Urgent need for a foster parent for five teenagers.

Very energetic, loveable, helpful, enthusiastic. Each of them refuses to be separated. Any requests to foster one out of the five is non-negotiable.

Five teenagers? Sounds like a rowdy bunch. Somehow, I find myself zoning out. Fostering some teenagers sounds hectic, but having company around the farm might liven up the atmosphere around here. Besides, they're teenagers, not babies that need extra care 24/7. What's the worst they can do at a farm that's a good hour away from the city?

Out of curiosity, I clicked on the link attached to the post. It leads me to an unknown number and a pre-written message from my side that reads: “Hey, I'm interested in fostering.”

For a moment, I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering right above the send button. Is it safe? Will I get scammed? Will they steal my data?

“Screw it.”

With a shake of my head, I press the send button and wait. But, right after I tapped on the home button, a notification bubble appears on the top of my phone's screen.

Thank God.

How about I drop em off tomorrow noon?

There's no catch. I promise.

Chapter Text

I spent the remainder of my yesterday with my usual routine; did house work, checked the field, picked some ripe apples and wrapped the rest in a mesh fabric to prevent those damned pests from ruining the beautiful fruit, and ended the day with a nice, cool shower.

It's not until I lay down in bed in a fresh, casual sleepwear does my mind begin to wander. That ad I responded with impulsively, was it true? Was it that easy to gain trust to foster some random teenagers? Shouldn't there be some sort of legalities and documents involved? Or… Was it a scam? Did I put myself in danger? Who's gonna show up at my front door tomorrow?

There's more questions that pops to mind, all that's left unanswered. It keeps me up all night. Amidst my overthinking, I find myself sitting up, sliding down to kneel by the bed. Bending down, I grab a dusty wooden box from underneath. Blowing on the dusty surface, I hastily insert the code to the dial and open the lid — revealing a trusty old revolver inside. It's something I bought a year after my stay in the farm, when a pack of wild dogs came and ransacked the chicken coop from all the livestock inside.

Taking the revolver, I seal the box back, pushing it back underneath the bed. Then, pulling the second drawer to the bedside table, I put the revolver inside and push it back in.

Finally, plopping back on the plush bed, I sigh. I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring, but if it comes to my farm and my safety, I won't hesitate to shoot a bullet or two.

Morning rolls by in a flash. Before I know it, I'm back doing my routine, per usual. House chores, check the fields and harvest some ripe crops. Plucking on some ripe corn, I pull a satisfied grin. This time around, the corn has been growing quite large lately, it's almost as long as my wrist. Humming to a familiar tune, I leave some corn on its stalk to harvest tomorrow, stuffing today's harvest into the wicker basket strapped to my back.

“Hello?” a distant, unfamiliar voice calls out from beyond the corn field.

I barely get any visitors around these parts. They're mostly passing tourists from the town nearby, asking direction for that famous secluded resort an hour drive away. So, without much of a thought, I weave my way through the towering corn stalks, memorizing the direction by heart through years of living here.

Reaching the edge of the road, I find a lone woman standing by a parked, black SUV. She seems younger than me, pacing back and forth with her head spinning round the barren field on the opposite side of the road.

“Yes?” I call out, stepping on the asphalt road to stand a polite distance away from her. “Are you looking for that famous resort? It's just an hour drive from here. Follow the road, then take a left when you reach the fork ahead.”

The woman has a look of mild confusion as she stops pacing. “Um, no,” she fidgets, turning to face me. “I'm looking for a farm around here. I think the owner's name is (Name). They said, they uh… Wanted to foster my boys.”

So, this is the person? She doesn't look shady at all — if anything, they look nervous, like a lost puppy in the middle of a highway. The ad didn't specify anything about the teenager's genders though, so I'm a little wary of how they'll behave.

“That'd be me,” I nod, offering her a reassuring smile. “I reckon I could use a bit of company around the farm.”

A relieved sigh escapes her lips as the woman steps forward, grasping my hand in hers. “You're an angel…! I, uh… I'm really glad you answered to my ad. These teens could very much use a little fresh air, away from the city.”

I was about to ask the woman a question, but she beat me to it. Turning her head to the SUV’s direction, she beckons with her head with a tilting motion. The door to the car opens in unison.

“Gosh, teenagers these days really be looking tall and buff, huh?” I chimed, watching as five teenagers stride over to stand behind the woman. I find it hard that these guys are teenagers, given their physique and how nearly all of them tower over me and the woman that holds my hand.

“Ahaha, yeah. Surprising, isn't it?” the woman laughs a little too nervously for my liking. “Boys, introduce yourself.”

“Hi,” they collectively speak in sync, striking a very Power Rangers type of pose. “WE'RE THE HANKS!”

That catches me off guard. Not only did they speak in perfect unison, but the level of enthusiasm and energy in their voices perfectly match each other. “Damn. You're like five peas in the same pod,” I pull my hand away from the woman's grasp, putting them on my hips. “Seriously though, what's your name? Like, each and every one of you.”

One of the guys, the blonde with a missing tooth, raises his hand and opens his mouth. But, the woman shoots her hand up to cover his mouth before a single syllable slips past his lips. "They share the same name: Hank."

That's weird.

“I know it's strange,” the woman gives a sheepish smile. “But, that's how they bond with each other. They just so happen to find each other during middle school and form a group based on their shared names.”

The blonde with a missing tooth, raises his hand and opens his mouth, again. But, just as quickly as the first syllable left his mouth, the other Hanks are quick to silence him with their hands on his mouth.

That's suspicious.

“So,” fixing my gaze on the suspicious group, my gaze flickers from each and every one of their eyes. “How do I call each of you separately?"

“Oh, we go by numbers,” a guy with dark skin and dreads speaks. “I'm Hank #1, that's Hank #2, he's Hank #3, next is Hank #4 and lastly, Hank #5.”

Huh. What an odd bunch. Judging from Hank #1’s short explanation and the way he pointed at each of the other Hanks, I can finally know how to call them separately. “Still, I'd need to know your actual names, ya know.”

The woman clears her throat, pulling all five of the guys into a big hug. “Anyways, why don't you get to know each other inside? I bet you're dying to see what Miss (Name)’s farm looks like.”

I'd protest, if it's not for the Hanks’ intrusions.

“Ooh, you have a farm?”

“How big is it?”

“What animals do you have in your farm?”

“You run the farm all by yourself?”

“What's it like being a farmer?”

Amidst the barrels of questions that's being hurled, I fail to notice the woman slipping out of my gaze. Slipping in-between the Hanks, the woman makes her way towards the parked SUV, the engine humming as it drives forward down the road.

“I'll visit you next month!”

“Hey!” I pushed through the Hanks, running after the car. Unfortunately, due to the heavy basket on my back, I'm quick to lose my breath. Stopping in my tracks, I watch as the car drives farther away, disappearing into the distance.

With a hunched back and both hands on my knees, I try to regain the slightest bit of my composure, panting. Then, I feel an additional weight resting on my shoulder. Snapping my head back, I find the Hanks standing behind me and Hank #4 pulling the strap of my wicker basket from my shoulders.

“Need help?” the guy gives a small smile, his green eyes agleam as the sunlight directly hits his irises.

Carefully slipping the straps off my shoulders, I give him an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

I stand my ground, staring off at the distance on the winding road ahead. A part of me is hoping that this is some sort of prank and that these guys are paid actors, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise me with a hundred bucks or something. But, looking back at the five guys standing behind me, it seems like they're as oblivious as I am.

“Look,” I breathe a sigh, turning to face them entirely. “Why don't we… Get to know each other in my farm?”

Watching two of the Hanks, specifically the blonde and the ginger, picking curiously on the corn in the basket, I can tell that they've never seen fresh produce before. “And please, refrain from peeling the corn's skin. I need to ship those to the town later.”

Beckoning to the group of guys with a tilt of my head, I make my way to the cornfield. “Hold hands. Stick close so you wouldn't get lost,” I stand by the edge of the cornfield, extending my hand out for someone, any one of them, to take.

Leading the way through the maze-like cornfields, I listen in to the Hanks' whispered conversations. They sound happy, eager even. It's like they've never seen anything like a cornfield before — judging from the way they assume that the cornfield is a “never ending labyrinth of tall grass”, there's no denying that they've never stepped foot into the countryside.

“Woah,” the Hanks exclaimed in unison. Stepping through the last strands of corn stalks, we arrive at the wide front yard of my house. Compared to the animal barns, the house itself is in better condition, since I live in it and occasionally call someone to keep maintenance of the building entirely. The walls are painted a sandy yellow, with white listings and a burnt sienna roof. Shrubberies lined the building's edges, and smaller crops like onions, garlics, shallots and the likes are planted a short distance away from the porch.

With a prideful huff, I smile. “Impressive, huh?”

“This is awesome!” Hank, uh, #1 speaks as he walks right by my side.

“Do you really live here on your own?” Hank #2 turns his head to meet mine, to which I nod to answer his question.

“That makes you a single mom for all the animals here, huh?” Hank #3 gives me a side glance, a flirty smile lacing his lips. “I like that.”

Casting a discreet glance to the guys behind me, I notice that Hank #4 and #5 are still in awe of the scenery before them. It's like seeing someone getting isekai’d to a completely different universe.

We make our way into the spacious house, their awestruck whispers keeping us from the silence. Letting them sit at the dining table, I fix a quick jug of lemonade and a bowlful of skittles and leftover carrot cake that I baked the other day.

“Now,” standing at the end of the dining table, I slide the bowl and jug to the middle of the table. “Let's get to know each other better. Starting from me.”

“Hi, I'm (Name) and I own this farm,” I give a small wave and a small smile. “I used to live in the city, but I was offered to take care of this old farm by the mayor himself.”

“Now, since I'm gonna be fostering the five of you. I want you to tell me anything and everything I need to know about you,” I make a slow turn, eyeing each and every one of the Hanks with a careful gaze. “Starting from Hank 1#.”

“Uh, um,” the dark-skinned guy sputters. “I'm Hank 1# and… I…”

“No, no,” I shake my head with an exasperated sigh. “Please introduce yourselves with your actual name. No codenames whatsoever.”

The Hanks all stare at one another, their faces contorting into that of confusion. “Um, Miss?” the blonde haired Hank raises his hand. “I think we owe you some explanation.”

Raising a curious brow at his words, I nod. “Okay, then. Go ahead.”

“We weren't humans,” Hank #4 starts.

“We were, uh… Hangers. Like, clothing hangers, literally,” Hank #2 adds.

“And, the fine lady you met earlier, the one that dropped us off. She's the one that turned us humans,” Hank #3 finishes.

I stand, unmoving, unblinking. I'm no lie detector machine, so there's no way of telling whether these guys are telling the truth or not. But judging by the looks on their faces, they're either very good at acting, or they're being honest. I prefer the former.

“I'm not sure what kind of drugs you teen consume,” propping my hands on the edge of the table, I stare at Hank 4# with a careful gaze. “But, I swear to God, you could've used a better persona for your roleplay-type of thing — is that what you call ‘em these days?”

“Uh,” the blonde stammers, looking at the other Hanks for help. “I don't know…?”

Raising my hand, I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a wave of nausea and confusion starts to spiral within my head. “So, let me get this straight,” pulling a lone stool nearby, I sit at the end of the dining table. “You guys were hangers. The lady I met earlier was, say, your owner. And, somehow, someway, with whatever sorcery she possessed, she managed to, um… Turn an inanimate object into five, actual human beings. Is that correct?”

“Correct,” the Hanks speak in unison.

My gaze falls to the bowlful of snacks. Taking a pinch of skittles in my hand, I raise them up, glancing from the Hanks then back to the candy curiously. “So, you're telling me that these skittles could very well be turned into human beings as well?”

“We don't know, brah,” Hank #4 shakes his head. “We used to have other objects as our friends, too. But, we can't tell which object has, uh… Has a soul…? After we become humans.”

Quirking my brow at the nickname, I pushed it aside. Instead, I try to think of something that's much more important. “So, you don't have any identification? No birth certificate, whatsoever?”

“What's that?” Hank #3 piques up curiously.

“It's that paper where it says when you're born and everything, man,” Hank #5 explains matter-of-factly.

“Ohh,” the other Hanks respond in unison.

I pop the skittles in my mouth, munching on the sweets. This will definitely be way harder than I initially thought. “Okay,” I try to accept their explanation, however strange and impossible it may sound. “I assume that you have things you'd like to do after turning into a human?”

“Ooh, ooh!” Hank 1# raises his hand. “I wanna make parachutes for dogs!”

“I wanna be a great American author!” Hank 2# chimes in.

“I wanna do a brain surgery!” Hank #3 follows in.

“And, get this,” Hank #4 glances at Hank #5 with a broad smile. “Hank #5 wants to be a dad!”

Hank #5’s cheeks flushed a subtle red at his friend's mention of his dreams. He coughs into his hand, diverting his gaze elsewhere.

“What about you, though?” I addressed Hank #4. “What do you want to be?”

“I, uh…” Hank #4 gave a sheepish chuckle. “I kinda like boxing, or uh, wrestling… Like that guy from Nacho Libre.”

I prop my elbows on the dining table, leaning against the edge. “You mean that movie starring Jack Black?”

“Dawg,” Hank #4’s eyes widen as he abruptly stands up, the chair he sat on falling backwards. “You're telling me it's not real?!”

“No,” the disappointment that appears on Hank #4’s face is a bit too comical. “It's based on a real story, though.”

“Then, I wanna meet the real life Nacho Libre!” Hank #4 declares, banging a fist against his chest patriotically.

Silence ensues between us. Slowly, each of the Hanks begin to reach for the snacks, with Hank #2 pouring each and every one of the Hanks their respective lemonades. They begin to banter with each other casually, as if their previous owner didn't just abandon them, like putting some stray litter on the side of the road. Quite literally.

“Look,” I cross my arms, propping them on the dining table. “Let's make a deal. You help me around the farm and I'll help you reach whatever crazy dreams you have the best I could.”

Chapter Text

Since the Hanks arrived all too suddenly, I didn't have much time to prepare for their bedrooms. Fortunately, this house has two separate bedrooms; a smaller room, supposedly, the kid's bedroom and a medium-sized one, the guest bedroom. It's a little shabby, but hey, it's enough if they're willing to split their group into two just for the night.

“Nu-uh,” Hank #4 crossed his arms.

“We're like, inseparable,” Hank #1 added.

All five Hanks crossed their arms over their chests, huffing simultaneously.

With an exasperated groan, I leant against the doorframe of the guest's bedroom. “It’s not like you're separated by the whole milky way. The only thing separating you from each other is a wall.”

“No,” they collectively responded.

I'm pretty sure the ad mentioned them as being lovable and helpful. But, all they've ever been is a pain in the ass.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I shook my head in disbelief. “Alright. Not like I give a damn where y'all sleep.”

Standing upright, I turned on my heels, ready to head off to my own bedroom. Until Hank #5 called out. “Can we sleep in the barn?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” was the only response I gave as I left them, cheering like a bunch of bachelors on the night before their wedding day.

I didn't think much of it. That night, I dreamt of climbing the tallest apple tree in the world, taking a delicious bite into a gigantic, pretty, red apple. It was the most delicious apple I've ever tasted in my life. Too bad it was a dream. Wished I could've pulled the Freddy Krueger move and brought the apple's seed back to reality.

I overslept purposely today. Waking up at 8 in the morning, I awake to an odd silence — definitely out of my expectations. Making my way to the kitchen, I pass by the very hallway of the bedrooms they're supposed to be sleeping in. Nothing. Not a single guy in my sight.

Strange. Did they run off to find their owner?

Shrugging, I go about my usual routine. Make breakfast, shower, then head out towards the fields to check on those apples.

Sunlight slips through the tree’s leaves. The sweet smell of plums and peaches waft through the air, carried by the soft passing breeze. Laying before me are the rows of apple trees, separated by a small patch of dirt from the plum trees on the right and the peach trees on the left. Amidst the shrubs of greens and the brown barks of trees, ripe apples of red peeks from behind the branches and leaves, waiting to be harvested.

Craning my neck up to get a better look at the apples above, I smile. It looks like those fruit bats finally give up on getting their hands on my apples. Everything looks ripe and healthy without a single nasty bite.

Grabbing the makeshift pole off the ground, I raise it up in the air, aiming to clock those delicious red apples into the small basket on the end of the pole. It takes quite the effort, but it’s better than aimlessly shaking the tree and letting the apples fall to the ground — wouldn’t want to lose that perfectly polished, red surface.

In the middle of my harvest, I hear some sort of rumbling in the distance. Pulling the pole down and throwing the apples from its basket into a large basin on the ground, I whip my head around. It doesn’t sound like a car engine, but it doesn’t sound natural either. I’ve never heard of such a sound before.

Cautiously making my way to the edge of the field, I hold my breath, trying my best to discern the sound and find its source. Turning to my left, I squinted my eyes, staring off at the distance ahead. That direction should lead to the woods, tall trees peeking out from the horizon. Raising my hand up to cover the sun’s glare, I manage to catch sight of a…

“What the hell?!”

The sound grows louder. At the very same time, a horde of wild cows make their way towards my field. My mind begins to panic as I whip my head around in search of some sort of weapon to fend myself. Hastily, I grab on the makeshift harvest pole, bracing myself to fight against those enraged cows.

As they get closer, an odd sight greets my eyes. On the front row of the wild cows are five horses — but, not just any horses. They’re my horses.

Caught up in my reverie, I fail to notice the wild cows marching at a brisk pace towards me. But, it looks like fate grants me another day to live as a strong arm swoops down from one of the horses, pulling me up to ride the brown stallion.

“Woah, hey!”

The voice exclaims, piercing through the loud stomping of hooves from the horde behind us. Turning my head round, I come face to face with a concerned Hank #2. “You alright, Miss?” his arms are on either side of my shoulders, hands gripping on the horse's mane.

I would've socked him in the face if he didn't just save me. Plus, it's hard throwing a punch with my back pressed against his chest and riding a damn horse without any proper gear.

“Are you out of your god dang mind?!” I yell through the loud sound. My hands cautiously find their places in the horse's mane as well, gripping on the strands to keep myself from falling. “What the hell are you guys doing?!”

Before Hank #2 can further explain, a whistle pierces through commotion. “Yo, check it!”

Turning my head to the side, I see Hank #2 pulling a crazy stunt by balancing himself on the horse's back. “Isn't this awesome?!” with a broad grin, showcasing that missing tooth on the front row of his teeth, the blonde laughs out loud.

“You—!” I nearly choke, partially impressed at his skills but also at the fact that these horses aren't going rampant yet. “Sit your ass down before you fall and get your meat beaten!”

“Can I have my meat beaten?” another voice joins in the conversation as Hank #3 comes into sight.

“I meant you'll be stomped to death by those mad cows!” I groan exasperatedly, looking directly forward. Thank God, we didn't crash into the orchard. But, keep this up and we might end up at the corn field.

“HANK!”

“YEAH?” they collectively respond.

“We gotta return these cows to where they come from!”

“But, we brought ‘em here for you!” Hank #1 exclaims, his horse picking up the pace to meet mine.

“You idiots! We don't know if they're feral or wild!” I grunt. “Whatever. Just… Steer these cows to the field by the barn!”

“ROGER!”

“HYAH!” they collectively shout as the horses break their formation. I'm not sure what Hank #2 is doing, but the horse slows down, leaving Hank #1 and Hank #5 to lead the formation on the front of the horde.

My ass hurts. Giving a discreet glance down at Hank #2, I'll admit that I'm impressed at the sheer strength of his legs, considering how we're both riding this horse without a saddle on. It looks like he's used to horseriding. Maybe, they're not so dumb and clueless after all.

Passing by the last peach tree, we pass by the front yard of my house, before finally making it to the barn. A short picket fence stands in the way of the grassy plains stretching in front of the barn, momentarily alarming me. Just as my lips parted, both Hank #1 and Hank #5 do a somersault off their horses, safely landing a few steps away from the picket fence. They hastily push the gate of the picket fence open, letting their horses rush into the field, followed by the stampede of wild cows.

I don't know how they managed, but that was a cool stunt they pulled — even though it was completely unnecessary and dangerous.

As the last of the wild cows enter the grassy field, my trusty steed slowly comes to a halt. Hank #2 jumps off easily. Stretching his arms up, he lifts me up by the waist, helping me off the horse. Personally, I'm not a fan of physical touch, but it's impossible to protest when the guy has that proud grin on his face.

The Hanks gather round, watching the herd of wild cows settle down to graze about the grassy field. “Now,” I start, earning every one of their attention. “I think you owe me an explanation. All of you.”

They glance to stare at each other momentarily, a look that screams ‘oh shit’ crossing their faces. Finally, Hank #5 takes a meek step forward, his head slightly tilted down. “Well… We tried sleeping at the barn last night—”

“You actually slept at the barn?” my eyes grow wide.

“Uh, kinda, yeah,” Hank #5 entwines his fingers nervously. “But, it was too empty. Too quiet. So, we were wondering where all your cows went.”

“So, we thought we'd go out and help you look for your missing cows!” Hank #3 adds, standing a little behind Hank #2.

“But, we didn't know where to start,” Hank #1 continues. “So, we tried looking around the other barns. That's when we found the horsies.”

“We ended up bonding with them the whole night. It was totally fun,” Hank #4 chuckles. “By sunrise, we tried riding them around the field. We made a quick stop by the orchard so they could eat the apples off the ground.”
“But, we still couldn't find your cows. So, we tried exploring a little bit,” Hank #2 steps up, standing by Hank #5’s side. “We ended up exploring deep into the forest.”

“That's when we found ‘em!” Hank #4 exclaims. “We thought it'd be dangerous to leave them out in the forest for too long, so we brought them back here.”

At this point, the Hanks are crowding around my personal space. Their figures tower over me, their faces light up with excitement as they recall the adventure they had earlier. Carefully, I push them away, keeping them at an arm's length.

“I gotta say, I'm impressed that you manage to bond with my horses and ride them without proper gears,” I cross my arms over my chest with a placid face. “But, what you did is extremely reckless. Plus, I never had cows in the first place.”

“You don't?” Hank #2’s eyes widen. “I thought all farms have cows.”

“I did. But, it's hard, taking care of livestocks on my own. So, I had to sell them off,” I sigh, stretching my hand out to carefully pet the horse’s mane. “I was planning to do the same with the horses, but I haven't had much luck with the offerings.”

Unexpectedly, the Hanks fall to their knees. They lift their faces up to stare me directly in the eyes. “DON'T SELL THEM!”

“We beg you!” Hank #5 wraps his arms around the back of my knees. “They're too precious for us!”

“We can't live without them!” Hank #3 adds, his hands grasping at the hem of my shirt.

With a raised brow, I put my hands on each of their faces, pushing them farther away before their noses could even graze my jeans. “It's only been a day and you're emotionally attached to the horses already?”

“YEAH!”

“It’s only a day for you, Miss. But, we've known them for the rest of our human lives!” Hank #1 pulls my hand off from Hank #3’s face.

“And, we've only been humans for… Three days!” Hank #2 does the same with my other hand, rubbing his cheek against the back of my hand.

“PLEASE!” Hank #4 launches himself onto me. The only thing keeping me from falling are the four other Hank's firm grasp around my limbs. “Don't you have a little bit of sympa…thy? Or… empathy?”

God, help me. Refusing one would be easy, but refusing all five of them — I'm already outnumbered to begin with. With a forceful pull of my arms, Hank #1 and #2’s grasp slipping off my wrists, I give Hank #4 a shove, not so much to make him fall but enough for him to stagger a step back.

“Okay, shut your traps,” I sigh exasperatedly, pulling the hem of my shirt to cover the slight exposed skin of my stomach. “But, you gotta take care of them. Feed, brush, and talk to them daily. Are you up for that responsibility?”

“HELL YEAH!” they exclaim in unison, standing upright in one swift motion.

“We won't let you down, Miss!” Hank #5 makes a heart with his index and middle fingers.

I stare at the beaming Hanks for another second. I'll have to make sure to keep an eye out on all of them tomorrow morning.

With a sigh, I lean back against the picket fence, nearly sitting on the horizontal plank. Glancing towards the grassy field before me, I can't help but awe at the sight. Last time, I only ever had three cows in the barn, and it was already too exhausting caring for them everyday. Now, there's at least ten cows of different spots and colors grazing the field. I find it odd that they're being so docile. Wild cows would've been wreaking havoc right now.

“Um, Miss?” Hank #3 quips.

“Call me (Name). Miss sounds too old.”

“Uh, sure,” Hank #3 clears his throat. “Can we… Have something to eat? Please?”

Glancing back at the Hanks, they all wear a nervous smile on their faces. Despite their remarkable physique and strength, they really do act like a bunch of clueless teenagers sometimes.

“I don't know. Can you?”

Chapter Text

During the years which I’ve spent alone in this farm, I've never really thought much when it comes to meals. It's always something simple; usually a fruit, or a whole bowl of mixed fruits depending on the harvest, drizzled with condensed milk for breakfast, some bread and homemade jam for lunch, and pasta for dinner mostly. I'd put little to no effort to my day-to-day meals, using few ingredients to save some cash and energy to do grocery shopping.

But, now, with five hunks living under the same roof as mine, I can't justify my stingy nature for a poor meal. Then again, I'm not sure what kind of food these boys like.

Bending down to check the fairly-stocked fridge, I turn my head to the boys, who are standing idly by the kitchen counter. “Fancy anything for dinner?”

“Nothing fancy is fine,” Hank #4 responds with that missing-toothed smile.

Erupting to a curt, hearty laugh, I shake my head. “I mean, do you all have something you want for dinner?”

The five boys give a collective ‘ooh’ turning to each other with that same clarity etched to their expression. “What do you usually have for dinner?” Hank #2 speaks up.

“Depends,” I reach into the fridge, taking the boxed pasta out with the homemade Bolognese sauce — don't tell the Italians, but I never make the sauces fresh, they're always made in bulks and stored away in the fridge for up to a week. “I don't cook much, but when I do, I always challenge myself to beat the quickest meal in the Guinness's Book of World Records.”

Unexpectedly, a stampede of footsteps approached the fridge. With the ingredients pressed between my arms and chest, I push the door close, only to see five of their faces peering from behind with wide grins spread on their face.

“Did you say challenge?” Hank #1 asks, his eyes agleam.

“We don't know what this Book of World Records is,” Hank #5 adds with that giddy grin.

“But, when it comes to challenges,” Hank #3 creeps closer, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“WE’RE THE BEST!” all five of them announce vigorously, fist-pumping the air. It seems like all that cow-herding and lack of sleep ain’t stopping these guys from being ridiculously hyper.

I stare at the five of them carefully for a solid minute before regaining my thoughts. “Okay?” pushing past Hank #3, I make my way to the kitchen counter. “But, I really don’t wanna risk my kitchen burning to a crisp. So, I’ll gladly do the cooking myself.”

“Aww,” the five of them visibly slump, but neither protest — looks like they understand their inability to cook.

Placing the ingredients on the counter, I sneak a glance at them, their footsteps obnoxiously loud as they drag their feet along the kitchen floor to the doorway. “Y’know there’s millions of records in the Guinness Book of World Records.”

My words successfully stop them in their tracks. Each of the Hanks turn their heads by the slightest at me from the doorway, waiting for me to further elaborate. “But, if I remember correctly, the record for “fastest bed making in the world”, “fastest floor sweeping an entire house”, and “fastest mopping an entire house” has yet to be made.”

I can’t quite comprehend what happens next. The hanks simultaneously bolts through the doorway, with Hank #4 tripping, pulling along poor Hank #3 and #5 as they fall to the ground, but just as quickly regain their composure and follow after the other two Hanks.

“FIND THE VACUUM!”

“I'LL DO THE BEDS!”

“WHERE’S THE MOP YO?”

The chaos soon dies down, leaving me in blissful silence. With a satisfied smile, I start boiling a pot full of water. With the spaghetti boxes in my hands, I start to ponder — there's six mouths to feed and a box of pasta should be about six servings for a regular portion. But, I don't know how these guys' appetites are.

Shrugging, I open two boxes of pasta, dumping them into the pot of boiling water. Leaving the stove, I make way to the cupboards, stacking some plates and a large bowl on top. Cautiously turning around with the dishware balanced in my arms, my feet guide me to the dining table. It's only then that I notice the lingering person of a Hank, standing idly by the kitchen's doorway with a flirtatious smile.

“What's cookin’, good lookin’?” Hank #3 strides his way back into the kitchen, standing by my side. “The dudes insist on breaking some world records, so that leaves me on my own.”

With a raised brow, I glance down to catch sight of his hands, grabbing the large bowl from the top stack of the dishware to set it on the middle of the dining table. “And, you don't wanna break any world records?”

The ginger merely takes a plate one at a time, setting them neatly on the dining table. He gives me a side glance, that smile of his growing at my question. “The only thing I'm eager to break is your bed,” he murmurs, letting his hand linger on the last plate on my hands, his fingers grazing across the palm of my hand.

I freeze — quite literally, a chill runs down my spine as I stand my ground, unmoving. Maybe it's the look on my face, or the growing blush that warms my cheeks, but as Hank #3 turns to face me with that flirty smile, I can't help but avert my gaze elsewhere.

“You mess with me one more time and I'll punch you in the gut,” I cross my arms over my chest, sneaking a glance at him.

I'll admit, this guy has guts. Despite the threat I'd delivered, he takes a tentative step forward, as if he's attempting to pet a skittish cat. “I don't mind a little pain,” his voice drops even lower, the mischievous glint in his eyes evident. “What's a little pain compared to the immense pleasur—”

My fist comes flying towards Hank #3’s stomach, earning a pained groan as the guy leans against the dining table, slightly pushing it due to his weight. Retracting my fist, I hide it behind my back, soothing my aching knuckles with the help of my other hand. For someone that doesn't look jacked, his stomach is oddly solid, like he's a trained mule that plows the land on a daily basis. It's actually impressive.

I was half-expecting the ginger to retaliate or do something as an act of revenge. Surprisingly, he simply lifts his head to show his flushed cheeks and that darned smile, despite his glossed eyes.

“Damn,” his voice is breathless, but steady. “That's a good punch. What else can your hands do?”

Even though he's hunching, the guy's still taller than me. Ignoring the slight height difference, I grab him by the collar, pulling him closer to come eye-to-eye. “Know your place, boy,” I scowl, watching as he gulps at the unpleasant expression donned on my face. “I ain't risking anything with some lovestruck fool of a teen like you.”

“Whoa, Miss, sorry! I swear, it just slips off my tongue! It's uh,” Hank's eyes glance all over the place, attempting his best to avoid my gaze. “I, just, uh… It's an impulsive thing. I flirt a lot, I know… But, uh… I didn't lie when I told you you're good looking, you know?”

My grip involuntarily loosens around his collar. Hank's freckled cheeks are flushed a bright red, his eyes slowly glance at mine, offering a sheepish smile. “Again, I'm really, totally, sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

With a defeated huff, I let his collar go. “I’m letting you off with a warning, ya hear?” turning back to the stove, I grab the wooden spatula hanging by the wall nearby, stirring the pot halfheartedly. “Don't do that again. Especially considering the age gap between us.”

I can hear him shifting behind, probably pulling the dining table back to its place. “Roger that, Miss! But, I don't think you're any older than me.”

Huh?

Turning the stove off, I swing my head round to see Hank sitting at the dining table. He props his chin on the palm of his hand, staring off into the distance. As if sensing my gaze on him, he glances,and that stupid smirk is enough to tell me he's about to flirt, again.

“Not that I mind a little age ga—”

Taking the wooden spatula, and making sure that it's not hot, I slap the handle on his shoulder, earning a small yelp out of him. A millisecond later, the other Hanks return to the kitchen with bright grins spread across their faces.

“All three beds are made!” Hank #1 proudly exclaims as he marches into the kitchen

“The floor is swept!” Hank #4 adds, skipping into the kitchen.

“And, mopped!” Hank #2 and #5 joins in, looking slightly more exhausted than the other Hanks.

“Did we make a world record?” the Hanks ask in unison as they crowd by the countertop, the sweat on their foreheads as prominent to the excited gleam in their eyes.

I hum, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, under ten minutes and the whole house is spotless,” there's a strange amusement in watching the giddy smiles on their faces. “But, I think I've seen someone do it quicker. Sorry, guys. Maybe next time.”

“Aw,” the four Hanks slump their backs.

“We'll definitely get it next time!” Hank #4 fist pumps the air, the passion in his voice successfully invigorating the other Hanks.

“YEAH!”

Shaking my head with a slight chuckle, I turn back to the stove. “Take a seat. Dinner's ready.”

“ALRIGHT!”

—

Apparently, the boys did a miraculous job. The house was quite literally spotless. I should tell them to clean around the barn some day.

That night, it took me an hour, give or take, to convince the guys to sleep in the house instead of the barn. They reluctantly agreed to be split in two, with Hank #1 and #3 sharing the kid's bedroom while the rest of the Hanks took the guest's bedroom.

I was expecting them to reunite at night, maybe wreck havoc or sneak into the barn to do whatever shenanigans they come up with. Surprisingly, they didn't. I did find the mattress in the kid's bedroom gone, leaving the wooden bedframe. Walking to the guest's bedroom, I found the Hanks building some sort of fort out of two mattresses and a few pillows on the floor, where they slept in a tangled mess.

Despite their childlike antics, I can't help but think of Hank #3’s statement last night. If they’re being honest, as strange as it may be, I'd understand their lack of understanding on ageing — given that they were inanimate objects. But, how could Hank #3 be sure that I'm not older than him?

The question plagues my mind through my entire morning. Since the guys have yet to wake, I decided on making some toasts for when they rouse and made a bowl of fruit salad for myself.

Making my way out the house, I catch sight of the barn in the distance. The silhouette of those cows are a great addition to the landscape. Thankfully, the picket fence surrounding the barn keeps the wild dogs away from the herd, so they can graze freely along the field through the entire night.

I've yet to determine whether these cows are actually wild or feral. If they turn out to be wild, I'll have the guys return them to the forest. Wild cows will do no good in the barn, given their robust nature and lack of milk produce. But, if they're feral, well I'll be damned. The guys might've hit the jackpot and saved me a few bucks.

Spending the next few hours by the barn's picket fence, I hear the soft hum of a car in the distance. Stepping up on the fence, I look across the cornfields, watching as a bulky man walks through the small path hidden by the stalk’s leaves.

“Howdy,” the brunette waves his hand, donning a friendly smile. In a few strides, he approaches the place where I stand, taking his Stetson hat off to reveal that shiny, brown spiked up hair of his.

“Abel!” I linger by the fence, so I wouldn't have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “Thank you so much for coming!”

“My pleasure, darlin’,” his kind eyes glance at the herd grazing by the barn. “Darn. Are these the cows you found?”

“Well, I wasn't the one that found them,” I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest as I sit on the picket fence’s flat surface. “But, yeah. Can you tell whether they're wild or feral?”

Abel takes a step closer, standing by my side. The picket fence creaks as he leans against it, humming as he stares at the cows inside. “They look docile. They don't look like the wild species either.”

“Right? That's what I thought.”

For a moment, we stand in a comfortable silence. A passing breeze carried the fresh scent of morning dew. “Do you think I should keep them?” I glance back at the grazing cattles.

“Most of the time, feral cows have adapted to living in the wild. There's some things to consider if you're planning to keep ‘em,” Abel stands upright, fixing his cattleman-styled hat back on. “They might need vaccinations, a little taming, adapting to their new environments. Most importantly, they might not produce as much milk as the domesticated cattle does.”

“But,” the brunette stretches his arms up with a grunt, popping the joints in his limbs. “If yain’t in it for the money, you can keep ‘em. Unless you are, then I'd say let them graze around for a month or so, see if you can take care of ‘em on your own.”

Pondering over Abel’s words, my ears perk at the last few words that ended his sentence. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—”

Before another word can escape my lips, a shrill scream erupts in the distance. We both share a confused look, whipping our head towards the source of the sound: my house.

“Fuck.”

Jumping off the fence, I start running, dismissing Abel’s warnings as he too, eventually, tails behind me. I can barely stop myself from running as we reach the front porch, slamming the door open amidst my alarmed state. There’s another scream, but judging from how it’s muffled, it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from inside the house. Quickly, I rush towards the back door, slamming it open once more as I nearly trip on my way to the backyard.

The Hanks turn their heads simultaneously, with the exception of Hank #2, who’s quivering behind the oak tree by the tall wooden fence.

“What in tarnation—?!”

Abel’s words are cut short as I briskly saunter forward, pushing past the four Hanks standing in the middle of the backyard. Just as I catch a glimpse of yellow fur, my collar’s yanked back, nearly choking the air out of me.
“Stay back, Miss!” Hank #2 screams, his arms wrapped around my torso. “It… It might have rabies!”

Turning my head just enough to shoot him a side-eye, I harshly push my elbows against Hank #2’s stomach. As the guy recoils and groans from the pain, I take a tentative step forward to get a better look at ‘it’.

An American Dingo pulls stands defensively, barring its teeth out. It growls, flinching as I successfully elbowed Hank #2. “Which one of you brought a wild dog back from your little expedition?” turning round, I cast a stern gaze at each and every one of the Hanks.

“We didn’t!” Hank #1 clarifies.

“It was scratching at the back door!” Hank #3 adds.

“And, when we came to check, it almost bit Hank #2!” Hank #5 points at the poor guy, crouching with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“I just wanted to feed it…” Hank #2 murmurs, whimpering.

As if responding to the Hanks’ explanation, the wild dog barks. It starts backing away, turning round when it’s created a safe distance between us. As the dog slips through a hole on the bottom of the tall wooden fence, the backyard falls silent.

“Wait,” Hank #4 approaches Abel, craning his neck up to meet the burly man’s eyes. “Abel?”

Abel takes a step back, anxiety written all over his face. “Have we met before?”

“Of course we have, man!” Hank #4 beams. “We used to go base jumping on you, remember?”

If it's not for Abel's worrisome face, I would've let that odd preposition slide. For a moment, I can only glance between them, scrutinizing Hank #4’s beaming smile and studying Abel's nervous eyes. “You two know each other?”

Abel makes an incoherent sound, almost as if he's choking on air. “Long story,” he pulls his hat off his head, toying with the brim of his hat. He makes it clear that he's nervous.

“Dude, it's been awhile since we've since you!” Hank #5 steps closer along with the other Hanks, their attention drawn to the cowboy.

“Eh,” Abel stares at them for a second before his gaze darts around aimlessly. “Never thought I'd meet you all here, out of all the places I've been to.”

“Never thought we'd meet you here too, dude!” Hank #1 comes up to slap Abel's back, earning a stifled groan from the brunette.

“So, how's it going, brah?” Hank #2 asks as he regains his composure.

“Been good,” is all Abel responds with. I can almost see a visible sweat rolling down his forehead.

“So, you're good friends with our Miss?”

Hank #3’s question earns a shocked look from Abel. His wide eyes turn to mine, silently asking for an explanation. “Remember when I told you I didn't find those cows? Yeah, these guys found ‘em.”

Abel's eyes narrow, urging for me to continue. “Uh… I was feeling lonely so I thought I'd, uh… Foster some teenagers?”

Ignoring the questioning tone to my voice, Abel parts his lips. Whatever he intends to say, he thinks otherwise, his lips pursing a second later. “Were you scammed?” he warily glances at the Hanks, a visible shudder coursing through him.

“Uh, no?” my gaze flicks between Abel and the Hanks, trying to make sense of their unexpected reunion. “How about we catch up over lunch?”