☂︎ 𝔱𝔰𝔲 | ❛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ❜

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 the Umbrella Academy sits quietly in pensive silence. They are scattered around the living room, aside from Klaus who is across from them at the bar, pouring himself a drink. After several beats of awkward silence, Luther rises to his feet and looks around the room at his siblings.

"Um, I guess we should get this started." He says, for the first time in their lives he speaks before them with a timid and unsure composure. "So I figured we could have a sort of memorial service, in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot."

A look of surprise crosses Allison's face as she speaks for the remainder of their siblings. "Dad had a favorite spot?"

Luther nodded, speaking as if it was as obvious as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.

-"Yeah,"

-"Yeah,"

Luther and Vanya share an awkward look with their siblings, both of them quickly realizing they were the only ones to know about this. Vanya ducks her head back down into her lap, not at all anxious to start anything back up but Luther was none the wiser.

"Yeah," he repeated, clearing his throat as he returned his attention to Allison. "you know? Under the oak tree?"

He quickly notices a look of pained absence in his brothers and sister's faces - Vanya merely rolls her eyes to herself, not speaking a word and he grows confused. "We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?"

Before anyone could correct him, Klaus strolled across the room to join them, cigarette and his latest drink in hand as he spoke.

"Will there be refreshments?" He asks, looking from Luther to his two sisters looking for a seat. "Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner."

"What?" Luther scoffs, shaking his head. "No. And put that out. You know Dad didn't allow smoking in here."

Allison speaks up next in an accusatory tone towards her brother in what she wished was the first of such habits. "Is that my skirt?"

"What?" Klaus asks, twirling around to face his sister before his face lights up excitedly. "Oh, yeah, this. I found it in your room. It's a little dated, I know, but it's very breathy on the, uh, bits."

"Listen up." Luther snaps, impatient with the wandering attention of his siblings. "Still some important things that we need to discuss, alright?"

"Like what?" Diego asks dryly from his seat by the hearth.

Luther looks to his brother knowingly, their previous conversation in mind. "Like the way he died."

Diego drops his head in annoyance, muttering. "And here we go."

"I don't understand," Vanya says, breaking loose from her timidness and into old habits as Klaus takes a seat next to her. "I thought they said it was a heart attack."

"Yeah, according to the coroner."

"Well, wouldn't they know?"

"Theoretically."

"Theoretically?" Asks Allison.

"I'm just saying, at the very least, something happened." Luther sighed. "The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange."

Klaus leaned farther into the couch, his head thrown back. His voice comes out through gargles in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, quelle surprise!"

Everyone, including Allison, shrugs it off turning back to Luther. "Strange how?"

"He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust." He looks to Vanya, unsure. "Van, I know you two had a falling out, okay?"

He tries gently, only pulling a sigh from her as she rises off the couch snatching Klaus's drink from his hands in the process, and begins to pace. Klaus lets out a small whine as he watches with a pout as his sister takes an anxious gulp from his drink as she crosses to the mantle. "but did he say anything to you? Did he reach out at all, recently?"

She swallows the gulp of mango margarita with a surprised wince, her fingers curling anxiously around the cup as she heaved a heavy sigh at her brother. "I hate to burst your bubble Luther, but Dad had a little too much pride for that. There's no way in hell he'd be the first to reach out, to 'come crawling back',"

Luther shifts on his feet. "Well, he had to have said something. I mean-"

"Luther," Diego begins, grabbing everyone's attention as he rises to his feet and inches towards the taller man. "he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles."

"No. He must have known something was going to happen." Luther states with a clenched jaw, and he turns his focus to Klaus. "Look, I know you don't like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad."

Klaus's eyes widen, all trace of his nonchalant attitude vaporized, and he silently points to himself shocked. Off to the side, Allison scoffs taking a drink, knowing where this is about to go.

Klaus shakes his head, bewildered at Luther's request as he leans forward. "I can't just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, 'Dad, could you just, stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?'"

"Since when? That's your thing."

"I'm not in the right... frame of mind." He defends, struggling for words.

"You're high?" Allison offers.

"Yeah!" He cheers, breaking out into a nervous laugh. "Yeah! I mean, how are you not, listening to this nonsense?"

"Well, sober up, this is important." Luther barks, eliciting a tired sigh from Klaus. "Then there's the issue of the missing monocle."

Growing abrasive, Diego snaps. "Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?"

"Exactly. So whoever took it, I think it was personal." Luther says, turning to rest his glare on Diego before bringing it around the room to each of his siblings. "Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge."

"Where are you going with this?" Klaus gaped.

Diego turns on their "number one", glaring up at him pointedly. "Isn't it obvious, Klaus? He thinks one of us killed Dad."

A soft, barely audible grunt escapes Luther at the accusation, and yet no words come to deny it. He looks around lost at all the broken faces of his betrayed siblings, clearly not wanting to believe he would even consider such things. But as they watch him stand there in silence, it's with heavy hearts they realize just how deep Reginald's hooks are in their brother.

"You do!" Klaus gasps breathlessly.

"How could you think that?" Vanya asks, inching forward as several objects all across the house began to rattle.

Everyone looks to Vanya anxiously, knowing how destructive her anger could be having grown up in competition with her. Luther gulps but does not back away. He eyes her cautiously, authority written on his face but fear evident in his eyes.

"Vanya," he eases.

Her wavy brown locks begin to brush back and forth against her shoulders and the shaking grows with her threatening look. "What?" She seethes.

"I-" he gulps, eyes darting momentarily to the watchful but reluctant eyes of their siblings. "I'm not jumping to any conclusions, I just want to cover all our bases. Look at possibilities-"

"Like me murdering Dad?"

The house shakes harder and with more fury as she inches closer to him. "Cause I'm too unhinged, right? I might lose control? I mean, hey,"

She looks around bitterly at all her siblings, any hope of burying the topic with any of them long gone. "it's happened before so why wouldn't it make sense; I finally snapped and murdered Dad. Or maybe,"

The house was now shaking so hard Luther had begun to lose his footing, and the others stumbled for something to hold onto. He gave her a fearful look, abandoning any effort to hide his fear of her. "Vanya-" he tried, but she kept pacing and the world kept shaking with her as she paced back in forth too angered to care.

"maybe it wasn't. Maybe one of our siblings did it? Cause we all have a motive right? Cause pushing us all away and pinning his death on one of us is just a bit easier for you to swallow than the fact that we are finally free from that manipulative bastard and we can all finally try and be equal. Huh?"

"Vanya!"

"What?!"

He looks around at the house in fear, several things from the shelves and decor fell far from the walls. Glass pitchers and frames fell to the floor and shattered, finally snapping her out of her anger and bringing attention to the tremors happening all around them.

"Just calm down, alright?" He tries, all of them still stumbling to maintain their balance.

Vanya meets Luther's gaze with a look he cannot quite place, but he does note the tears that had pooled in her eyes and had already streaked her cheeks. She shakes her head softly, her voice grave. "Luther, that's not me."

Within moments, silence returns to the room as does the world and all of them look around the house, their fear growing inside all of them. Vanya's eyes never strayed from Luther when the tremors stopped, and her cold voice rang out across the shocked silence.

"You don't have to remind me I'm a monster, Luther," she said. "I remember what happened."

Everyone's eyes fall to the floor as they remember that day. Klaus is the only exception, who suddenly picked his head up and gazed across the room when a sympathetic look grew on his face as he returned to Vanya. But she had moved on.

"I obviously can't change your mind, so," she trudges across the room and hands Klaus his drink back. He happily takes it back like an excited toddler. "if you're really itching to solve some mysteries, maybe you can finally solve whatever the hell is wrong with this house. so I mean it when I say good luck, Luther."

With that, Vanya disappeared around the corner, her shoulders slumped and her feet dragging in sadness. Luther's mouth parts many times as he struggles to process what had just happened. As if, like Allison, there were some magic words he could say to make it all better. But when he looks back at his siblings, he finds the same look that had shown through in Vanya's eyes; betrayal.

"Great job, Luther." Diego drawls, pain laced within his gloating. "Way to lead."

Not unlike their departure from the Academy, Diego is the first to stalk off after Vanya. The simple act is enough to break Luther from his trance.

"T-That's not-" he sputters. "Guys, I didn't mean-"

No one listens, and Klaus is the next to scold him as he launches himself off the couch. "You're crazy, man. You're crazy. Crazy!"

Everyone but Allison rises from their seats, ready to disperse to their corner of the mansion, and Klaus puts out his cigarette in a goblet on the side table.

"I'm not finished." Luther tries, but still, no one cares enough to listen. And he can't blame them.

Klaus cuts him off as he makes his way out of the living room. "Oh, well, okay. Sorry, I'm just gonna go murder Mom. Be right back."

"That's not what I was saying. I didn't-" He breaks off his sentence with a heavy sigh, guilt washing over him as he stares at the floor.

Just when he thought the weight on his heart couldn't grow heavier, he saw Allison rise from her seat and glide across the room without even a glance in his direction.

"Allison," he chokes. "Jeez..."

Luther now stands completely alone in the foyer, the last few minutes playing over in his mind intrusively. He couldn't help but think, after all these long and lonely years since they first left the Academy, his reunion with his siblings would be a bit different.

He sighs, nodding his head bitterly towards himself. "That went well."

His mind reels at the thought, how different things had become since they were kids. Back then, in the Academy's hay day, he had never felt more important, more treasured, more alive than he had back then... Not for the cameras, or the crowds that followed them wherever they went, not even because of his father... But because he had the love and support of the others.

The Academy was a unit, a team. They were there for each other, all of them. Especially during missions. And he certainly would never forget the first time they had saved the day as a team, as a family.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first of many news reporters check his mark for the last time as the camera centers on his face.

"We go live in five, four, three, two," One.

"This is Jim Hillerman reporting live for Channel Two news outside the Capitol West Bank at Main and Sixth." A chill in the autumn air weaves its way through the gathering crowd beyond the barricades, brushing the man's neck and sending a quick shiver down his spine that he pushes through. "A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages. "

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A stocky bald man stomps down the marble hallway of the bank, barking orders into his walkie as he makes his way to the lobby. His patience is growing dangerously thin, as is their window of time. Reinforcements had already arrived, barricading themselves outside surrounding him and his men but he still had confidence. But it was quickly tested again by his anger when he sees the hostages still lingering in the center of the lobby, his men doing nothing useful.

"Get them behind the counter!" He orders, waving his gun threateningly at one of his henchmen who hurriedly scurried the hostages into place. His voice lowers in volume, the threat still lingering as he returns to the conversation in his walkie much too distracted to notice the young girl skipping up to his side. "Now you've put me in a position where I gotta do something I don't wanna do... Hmm? Shit!"

It takes everything in him not to smash the walkie to bits on the floor in anger, but it was all too necessary. And needless to say, he is baffled to finally register the girl standing at his side, bouncing back and forth on her heels as she looks around the lobby in disinterest. He gawks at her, completely baffled as to why a young girl in a school uniform and domino mask had appeared out of thin air, and more importantly, why was she acting so cavalier? He didn't allow himself to dwell on it and had every intention of taking control of the situation.

"Hey," he growls, pointing his gun at the counter of his shoulder. "Get back with the others."

She looks him up and down, completely unimpressed - and unbeknownst him, checking him for more weapons but finds none. She had quickly deduced this man was in fact, an amateur. This wouldn't take long.

"I heard a rumor," she says. The confusion she had hoped to pull out of him lured him closer just as she had hoped.

"What? What did you say?"

She grins, trying so badly not to laugh. Instead, she leans in cupping her palm against her face as she tells him her 'little secret.' "I heard a rumor," her grin triples in size. Too easy. "that you shot your friend in the foot."

He staggers back, the white veil that came with her abilities flashing in his eyes. Her words burrow into his mind, becoming his obsession. That's all he could think of doing. All he wanted to do. And he did it. The gun in his hand rose to point at the henchmen passing by who gave him a worried look, and before he could ask him what was wrong he was on the ground, howling in pain as he clutching his right foot with glass from the nearby window raining down on him and hostages; during his fall, his machine gun had misfired a single round that rang throughout the entire building and even captured the attention of everyone outside.

"We just heard shots from inside the bank," Hellerman says, eyes darting from the camera to the bank. He keeps his head low and gathers distance between himself and the bank. "It's uncertain if any hostages have been harmed in that-"

"Up there!"

The cameraman flies the camera to the roof where a flash of blonde hair darts across their field of vision.

"And now there's some movement on the roof! Possibly law enforcement?"

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A figure dressed similarly to the girl - a young Allison Hargreeves - falls from the sky along with millions of shards of glass where the boy makes his entrance; Luther. He lands by the increasingly frightened crowd of hostages. The footman watching the hostages has no time to react before he eats a mouthful of the marble counter thanks to Luther. A scream erupts from the man's bloodied mouth as he is suddenly thrown across the lobby and through a high window.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Multiple screams erupt from the crowd at the sight of the bloodied body landing on the concrete, where it laid unmoving. Hellerman turns uncertain to the camera.

"Looks like one of the armed robbers has been thrown from the bank!"

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Another boy enters the lobby across from Allison; a young and extra mischievous Diego, matching set of knives in hand.

"Guns are for sissies," he quips, announcing his arrival as he winds his arm up before the perfect throw. "real men throw knives!"

He releases the identical pair of knives into the air, seemingly headed straight for his sister before curving suddenly with a beautiful glint as they catch the light. They take the fourth armed man off to the side by surprise, entering his torso suddenly and he collapsed against the wall with a groan.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I've been in many hostage situations before," Hellerman says, turning back to the camera anxiously as he inches closer to the barricades. "and it can escalate very quickly,"

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Another masked henchmen emerges, stepping away from his post herding the hostages with a wild and panicked look in his eye. Nevertheless, he draws his gun and the barrel doesn't seem to know who it wants to shoot first; Diego, Luther, Klaus, Ben, or Allison who all now started to gather.

"One more step-," he shouts, shaking his head as he cocks his gun. "An' I swear to god!"

His threat is met with a soft and vibrant melody that echoes brilliantly off of the marble walls from the hall behind him. The violin's song carries a tune so enticing, he fights his instincts to remain focused on the children he has trapped now and finds himself casting a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder. Gliding into the lobby, her signature white violin resting under her chin as she glowed with intense power was a smirking Vanya. Sound waves all around the room migrated towards her, her small body soaking them up like a sponge and turning her brown eyes a bright white along with the rest of her small stature. She was dressed identically to her sister, only her clothes had been stained white from her powers.

The bow stopped suddenly where it rested on the strings as she froze, the hall going quiet as her body absorbed the remaining notes. Her siblings watched with mischief in their eyes as her bow became her sword, slicing the air in one fell swoop. Her bow helps cast the burst of energy that sends the man flying across the room, his back colliding into the wall and cracking his skull. He's dead before he hits the floor and Vanya lowers her instrument, drawing it back to her side and she joins the rest of her siblings as they gather as her glowing white skin returns to its usual pinkish hue.

The man in charge now stands on the marble counter, inching back as far as he can as he points his gun shakily towards the gathering of amused uniformed children that only seems to be growing in numbers. He tries to threaten them, but as it happened with Allison, his words only came out in a weak tremble.

"Get back you freaks!"

"Hey, be careful up there, buddy." Diego chirps.

"Get back!" He shouts, but he is the one to move farther back along the counter.

"Yeah," Allison chimes, joining in on Diego's teasing. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Get back now, o-or I'll-"

A flash of electric blue appears beside his feet on the counter, bringing with it another boy. The boy in question lounges on the counter in a leisurely manner, a smug grin stretched across his face.

"You'll what?" He mocks in a gloating tone, the gun coming to aim at him now.

Wasting no more time, the man pulls the trigger several times but to his confusion, they only hit the marble where the boy once sat. He blinks several times, trying to understand what was happening. He turns to find the same boy waiting for him with crossed arms and the same confident smirk. He pulls the trigger at the boy again, this time even quicker but his bewilderment only triples. In his hands is not a gun, but a stapler. An empty one at that.

"Ooh!" Mocks the boy, Number Five. "That's one badass stapler!"

Before he can blink, the office supply strikes his forehead, stunning him. Blood drips onto his brow and he dizzies, his body tipping before collapsing off the counter altogether. The academy kids smile to one another triumphantly, pleased with how everything was going so far.

- - - - - - - -

"Although there's been no activity for a few minutes," the reporter outside speaks quickly into the camera, his eyes repeatedly darting between the crew and the bank not wanting to miss a thing. "We're gonna stay live on location to make sure we don't miss anything in this hostage situation at the Capital West Bank."

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The smallest of the children now stood before the office behind the counter. His shoulders are slacked and he looks between his brothers and sisters with uncertainty.

"Do we really have to do this?"

"Come on, Ben." Luther eases. "There's more guys in the vault."

He casts one last pleading glance to Vanya, who in turn, meets him with a somber gaze. "Sorry, Ben."

The poor boy sighs heavily, anxiety brewing in his stomach though he knows that is not the worst thing in there.

Ben sighs bitterly at the floor. "I didn't sign up for this."

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"And now we see the hostages." The camera is fixed on the entrance of the bank where the small sea of hostages flee the bank in terror. "They're... They're free."

They scramble over one another in a stampede, shrill cries of terror tearing their throats apart. Several of them throw a horrified look over their shoulder at what had frightened them.

"They're scared, clearly, but they do seem to be unharmed."

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The rest of his siblings stand outside the office where Ben had disappeared. They watch with raised brows - and slightly queasy stomachs - as they make out an array of tentacles that flail violently behind the wall of frosted glass. Petrified screams from the other side are silenced left and right as several bodies are flown against the glass, painting it crimson. The unseen monster inside the small boy picks off the men one by one, its mighty roar swallowing any and all other noises in the bank including the screeching alarm.

Then all is silent and still. The small brass doorknobs turns with the softest of clicks and Ben emerges shyly from the room. Not a single inch of him is dry, and it looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of blood on him though that wasn't too far from the truth. He was drenched in it. He sighs so quietly they almost miss it, and he looks to the Academy meekly and they notice even the whites of his domino mask are stained red.

"Can we go home, now?"

- - - - - - - -

The crowd comes alive, particularly the journalists as the group of seven kids file out of the bank and onto the front steps.

"People are coming out now." The man says, baffled gaze attempting to make out what he thinks he is seeing. "It's not the armed robbers. These are young school children in uniforms with masks on."

They fall into line in numerical order, not by coincidence as they stand before the cameras.

"Jim Hellerman, Channel 2 News."

The Hargreeves kids are bombarded with questions, the line of reporters had moved up closer to ask questions. It is not much longer until their adoptive father joins them on the steps.

- - - - - - - -

The kids now properly wrapped up in protection against the crisp autumn air - and Ben now cleaned off to some extent, all of which happened thanks to their mother, Grace - Sir Reginald Hargreeves stood before the waiting crowd. His voice is colder than the autumn breeze as he begins his speech.

"Our world is changing." He bellows, his intimidating aura strong enough to silence the large crowd of people, all they can hear now in the silences in between are the shutters of cameras. "Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond ordinary. I have adopted seven such children."

The man steps aside, arm sweeping out as he declares his children to the world.

"I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy."

No sooner does he punctuate his sentence that Sir Hargreeves is assailed by a flurry of questions cast from the crowd of reporters that squabble at his feet.

"Mr. Hargreeves! Mr. Hargreeves. Channel 9 News," One woman asks, microphone extended out. "What happened to their parents?"

"They were suitably compensated." He answers stiffly from beside Klaus.

"Are you concerned about the welfare of the children?" Asks another woman with a concerned frown of her own.

Hargreeves squares his shoulders subtly, his chin hiking higher and his scowl growing deeper hardening his grip on his trusty monocle. Everything he did had purpose, everything had an ulterior motive and he couldn't possibly be bothered to care how he got there, or who he hurt. This included this very moment, and his chest puffs as he looks directly into the eyes of the third reporter, his face completely devoid of emotion.

"Of course. As I am for the fate of the world."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

All that was left now of Sir Reginald Hargreeves was the elaborate golden urn his ashes rested in on the mansions bar and an overabundance of mental and physical issues he had left behind in his seven children. Klaus stood before him now, much to his great disdain, and figures the old bastard had a framed portrait of himself places just beside. Now even in death, he could look down on them. Well, up at them, now if you were to ask Klaus. He glowered at Klaus now as he stood before the urn and attempted to rid himself of the fright and general unease that came with his power.

Huh, it was just like old times.

"Listen up, old man," Klaus frowned, rolling his shoulders to loosen himself up. "You know, if I was murdered, and if one of my sons-- adopted sons-- happened to be able to commune with the dead, I might think about,"

He strolls across the carpet, his right arm coming to rest on the edge of the bar.

"I don't know, I don't know," He tosses his head over his shoulder as he fakes a laugh, sending a wink to a spot on the couch before backing away in a flourish with his arms spread as he cries, "manifesting!"

"Do the whole," his fists land on his hips, mocking his father with a frown and hunch. "big angry ghost lecture. Tell everyone who done it, and find eternal peace. Eternal peace is probably overrated."

Klaus sighs tiredly when the room is greeted by silence. He looks around the room disinterestedly, as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. He lounges from nook to cranny surrounding the bar, hoping by some lazy miracle his father will appear if he stands a chance from across the room however comfortable he feels. Again, nothing works.

At one point he finds himself leaning against the bar again, head draped lazily on his shoulder as he sighs at his father's urn.

"Come on now, Reggie,"

He stands across the room, eyes drilling holes into the framed photo. "Any time now."

He begins playing his exposed belly button, bored enough to seek entertainment from the gimmick of making it speak. "Please."

"Just need to sober up," he tells himself, stretching out, even smacking his face repeatedly. "Clear thoughts."

His head rolls across his shoulders and he lets out a relaxing deep breath. His palms open at his sides, revealing clearly the matching tattoos "HELLO" and "GOODBYE". They tremble from the drugs still in his system, and deep down he knows what he is trying to accomplish is not something he can do properly. Not sober anyway. He cries out in frustration.

"Come on! Come on, chop-chop!" He shouts, beginning to pace before he throws an accusatory finger at his father. "You always were a stubborn bastard!"

His anger fizzles out almost as soon as it had boiled to the top, but his resentment still burned bright within his chest. Instead, he turns to his own preferred method of coping. He pants as he approaches the bar, casting a sour glance forward.

"I don't about you, but I could use a drink."

He reaches across the bar for the shiny glass bottle that had caught his eye. What happened next he could not for the life of him decide if it had been because of his intoxicated state, his bitterness for Reginald, or a powerful cocktail of the two, but as he made a grab for the liquor bottle his arm collided with the urn. It toppled over onto the counter, his ashes burying a portion of the marble and creating a small cloud that flurries in the air.

Klaus' hands burying themselves in his short curls, a shocked laugh choking his airways that he quickly buries in a gasp, palms descending his face to cover the amused smile that tugs at his lips.

"Oh!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Decolonize Palestine:

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