Umbrella Academy fic: Thicker Than Blood (12/13)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
-o-
That was his choice, then.
Family first.
Even when a job this pressing was hovering over his head.
He’d said to them, stay prepared but it was time to live.
And damn it, if that was the choice, then Diego was going to live it no matter how hard it was. To be clear, it was hard. It went against his nature. It might have even gone against his better judgement. It was an effort to force the air into his lungs, but he did it. He did it because that was the choice he had made for them.
The first day, everyone milled about awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. So Diego did the only thing he could, called up Beaman and made plans for dinner than night. When he went out, their tasks were done for the day, and they all gave him wary looks as he put on clean clothes -- civilian clothes -- and walked down the stairs without his knives strapped to his chest.
“You’re really going out?” Luther said, drawing him by the arm and lowering his voice.
Diego shrugged, more nonchalant than he felt. He didn’t keep his voice low. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ve got my phone on me. If something comes up, you can give me a call. Who’s on duty tonight?”
“Five is,” Luther said. “He’s already upstairs.”
“So, we’re good,” Diego said.
Luther looked vaguely desperate. “But,” he said, fumbling now. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Live, remember?” he said. “That was what we agreed.”
“I know,” Luther said. He bit the inside of his lip, hesitating. “But. The job…”
Diego clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll still be there tomorrow,” he said. “Trust me, big guy. That’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”
-o-
He made it sound simple.
To be fair, he was talking to Luther. It wasn’t like he was about to admit weakness to Luther. That just wasn’t going to happen, not outside of extreme duress. And this? This was just mild distress.
Well, moderate distress.
Nothing Diego couldn’t handle.
He wet his lips, flexing his hands on his steering wheel as he forced air in and out, in and out.
At least, it was hopefully nothing Diego couldn’t handle.
He’d made his choice, though.
Now he had to follow through.
He put the car into gear, pulled away from the house, glancing at the mansion as it retreated into obscurity in his rearview mirror.
-o-
This time, he beat Beaman there.
This was unusual; Beaman was usually unduly punctual. But Diego had already ordered a drink by the time Beaman showed up, and Diego was taken aback. The detective looked horrible. He was not only bedraggled with rumpled clothes and tired eyes. He was sporting a bruise on his cheek and there was a bandaid plastered sloppily on his forehead near his hairline.
“Shit,” Diego said. “What happened to you?”
Beaman sat down. “Long story,” he said. “Kind of a bad day at work.”
Diego raised his eyebrows.
Beaman made a motion to the bartender to get his attention. “Or, you know. A bad week.”
Diego watched as the detective ordered his drink, still watching as he downed it in one, long drag before ordering another.
“Looks like a bad month, more like it,” Diego commented. He took another small sip of his own drink.
“I can’t deny it,” Beaman said. “Honestly, this is the first time I think I’ve been out in three weeks. I’ve been sleeping at the station, crashing at my desk. Some days, I’m not even sure I remember to shower or eat. I kind of have lost track.”
Diego worked his eyebrows even more, not quite sure what to say. “I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said. He’d taken his turns at the police scanner, just the same as anyone else. He’d read the reports about crime and criminals, but the clinical detachment offered in their daily family meetings didn’t reflect any of this.
“We’re trying to keep it under wraps,” Beaman said. He shook his head. “The mayor’s office is worried about riots if word gets out.”
He looked around, lowering his head closer to Diego.
“Crime rates have practically tripled,” he reported. “Drug busts are climbing. Robberies have increased tenfold. We’ve got bodies filling up the morgue and our jails are disconcertingly empty. We can’t hold anyone. Even if we do catch someone, there are at least a dozen more who get away. It’s like a silent takeover of the city. Much more, and there’ll be nothing we can do.”
Well, Beaman certainly wasn’t sugarcoating it. Maybe he was asking for help; maybe he just needed to say it to someone. It was a hard thing to think about, how one choice excluded another. He hated that his choice for family meant forfeiting any choice he might make on Beaman’s behalf. But relationships weren’t just about jobs; relationships were being there for each other when it counted.
And Diego didn’t have to throw knives in a mask to be there for Beaman.
Sure, that might be what Beaman wanted.
But Diego had to hope what he did have left still counted for something. “Sounds pretty bleak, man,” he commiserated. Then, he leaned closer to Beaman in return. “I wish I could do more.”
Beaman looked back at him, unflinching. “You’re telling me you can’t?
The implication, though not spelled out, was clear enough. Diego sighed. “You’re going to have to trust me, man.”
“Trust you with what?” Beaman asked. “I trusted you back at the clinic. And what came of it?”
“The Umbrella Academy is still together, that’s what,” Diego said.
“So?” Beaman asked. He shook his head. “I mean, it’s your choice to make, Diego. No one ever said you had to go around playing superhero. In fact, Patch always wanted you to stop. But I can’t figure you guys out. Are you a crime fighting unit? Or just a family? Because we could sure as hell use a crime fighting unit these days.”
Diego sat back, his gut clenching. His chest hurt. He made himself breathe.
“We’re both,” he said. “And that will matter, I promise you. When it counts, you will see.”
Beaman sighed, his weariness evident. “I hope so,” he said. “I really, really hope so.”
“Now,” Diego said, sitting back up again. “Why don’t you let me buy you some food? You look pretty hungry.”
Beaman shrugged. “I’m not hungry; I’m famished.”
“Then we’ll order an appetizer, too,” he said. “My treat.”
“You think buying me a hot meal will work?” Beaman asked jadedly.
Diego frowned. “Yes?”
Beaman laughed. “You know,” he said. “I think it just might.”
-o-
Going out was the first thing, but it wasn’t the only thing. Sure, he needed to cement the idea that they were no longer bound to this house. He needed to build up this notion that they existed beyond the Academy. A family -- even a team -- was composed of working, distinct parts. Diego needed them each to manage their part in order to make sure the whole was functioning at peak capacity.
That didn’t just mean getting out and about. It meant validating outside interests.
This was harder than you might expect. Diego had always -- always -- been preoccupied with the job. Even in his huff to leave the Academy as a teenage, he had instantly gravitated back toward the job. He had done it defiantly on his own terms, but that didn’t make his tendency toward it any less pervasive. His interests, therefore, were somewhat limited.
His siblings, on the other hand, had always been quite open in exploring alternative activities. Their father had never encouraged this. In fact, he had even actively discouraged it, you might say. But even Luther -- obedient, loyal Luther -- had fallen victim to it eventually. His father had emphasized the team to the extreme, but he had never been able to snuff out the concept of individuality, no matter how hard he tried.
Ironically, it was Diego who had managed to shut it all down far more effectively in his short tenure as leader. Over the last few weeks, his siblings had thought about nothing but the job.
So while it was good that Luther went to the grocery store and that Allison went to the mall, he had to move beyond perfunctory tasks. It didn’t matter if Klaus physically went to an AA meeting or if Five got a coffee at the corner joint. It wasn’t important if Vanya took a walk in a park. Not if they weren’t engaging with themselves.
If they weren’t going to do it, then Diego would have to do it for them.
It was like teaching someone to breathe all over again. You would think you could take it for granted, but teaching it was more difficult than you could imagine.
That didn’t, however, make it any less essential.
So Diego did it.
Not because it was the job.
But because it was family.
He started with Luther.
There was something logical, starting with Number One. Also, he just wanted to get it over with. Of all his siblings, his lack of affection for Luther was the most pronounced. If he was going to force himself to be nice, he would need to jump right into the proverbial deep end.
Of course, what was he supposed to do to distract Luther? The only things he and Luther had ever done together willingly was fight, but somehow he didn’t think that using Luther for target practice was going to be an effective means of pursuing personal interests outside the job. It also wouldn’t do much for brotherly affection. That wasn’t the primary objective, sure, but it had to be considered a secondary motive. After all, Diego knew what it was like to genuinely dislike your brother. His utter disdain for Guillermo put his relationship with Luther into a bit of perspective. The big oaf was annoying, but he wasn’t a completely irredeemable asshole. The distinction mattered.
It mattered just enough that Diego plunked down on the couch next to Luther one night and turned on the television. Their old man had been against these kind of distractions, but they had invested in cable TV after his death. It had been part of their push to modernize the mansion, thereby modernizing the Academy. Diego had mostly used it to watch sports and news.
Tonight, however, he flipped the channels until he came to a program on the history channel.
“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t this about the moon missions?”
Luther looked up from the book he was reading. “What?”
“This show,” Diego said, nodding his head at the screen where there was a rocket on a launcher. It cut away to some boring looking dude talking in front of a NASA logo. “Isn’t it about the moon missions? The ones back in the 60s or whatever.”
Luther looked, his interest mildly piqued now. “Oh,” he said. “No, this is about the later missions.”
“Later missions?” Diego asked.
“Sure, after the Apollo program was scrapped, they did some stuff with Skylab in the 70s. They started the space shuttle program in the 80s,” he explained. “They got out of manned missions when funding got low, but the stuff the started doing with long range probes was really fascinating in the 90s.”
That was about the most he and Luther had ever talked about, well, anything. And Diego didn’t give a shit about the space program, but it was kind of interesting to see Luther be excited about something -- something that wasn’t following the old man’s rules. He’d always been unfair to Luther -- to all his siblings, probably -- seeing them in a one-dimensional light when they were all multifaceted people. Family was about great intimacy. The problem was that that kind of intimacy could be taken for granted.
“Huh,” Diego said, looking at the screen again. He turned up the volume and put the remote down. “I don’t know anything about it.”
Luther hesitated, glancing at Diego uncertainly. “I always kind of wished I could have sent my data from the moon to NASA,” he said after a moment’s pause. “You know, helped out with the cause.”
Diego shrugged. “Well, you still can. It’s still sealed under Dad’s floorboards, isn’t it?”
Luther’s expression changed, something new dawning. “Yeah,” he said, putting his book down and watching the program in earnest now. “I guess it is.”
-o-
After that, it was relatively easy. All he had to do was remember what his siblings liked to do and then make them do it. He wasn’t sure why it had seemed so daunting in the first place.
With Allison, he started with old movies -- the ones he knew she loved when they were kids -- but he quickly discovered that acting was her day job. Her passion was family, so Diego helped her set up a Skype call with Claire, and he spent time getting to know his niece. It wasn’t direct time with Allison, but he could tell it meant something to her. It was the most he’d seen his sister smile in years.
Klaus had many interests, of course, but very few of them were viable in the present. Sitting around getting high was no longer an option, so Diego would have to indulge Klaus other interests instead. He had wanted to take his brother to a recovery meeting, but that wouldn’t be interactive enough. Instead, he agreed to see through an online knitting tutorial one afternoon on Youtube. Klaus made something that resembled a scarf. Diego learned you could knitting needles as well as you could a knife. It was a success for both of them.
Five, fortunately, was much easier to entertain. It had worried Diego at first, considering that Five had always been a prick and that Diego had never liked him much. The fact that Five was technically pushing 60 while in a 13 year old body had only made it more daunting, but he quickly realized that Five could be easily distracted with new methods of inflicting bodily harm. Apparently, Five was good at murdering people but he had minimal experience throwing knives. A night aiming pointy things at walls was kind of Diego’s definition of a good time, and Five quite readily agreed.
When it came to Ben, he debated whether it was necessary. Ben was, after all, not actually alive. However, to make such a distinction seemed unnecessarily cruel. Since Ben was dead, the least Diego could do was to not treat him that way. The fact that that made sense was testament to just how messed up the situation was. At any rate, he played a few rounds of Go Fish with Ben before giving in and breaking out Yahtzee. By the end of the night, they had also played Scrabble, Boggle, Old Maid and a particularly cut throat game of Monopoly.
He was out of ideas when it came to Vanya, but when he asked if there was anything she wanted to do, her eyes lit up and she handed him a flyer to a performance at one of the theaters downtown. It was some ridiculous sounding musical, written by some dude that Diego had never heard of, featuring actors he couldn’t give a shit about. But Vanya said it was an award winning troupe and she had wanted to go for ages now and this was their last night in town and she just wished someone would go with her. For the record, Diego thought the production was shit and he had to pinch himself to stay awake in the second act. But they didn’t talk once about the job that night -- Vanya was so transfixed, she didn’t even think about Diego’s murderous half sibling bent on revenge -- so that probably made it a win.
He had thought he knew what success looked like. It wasn’t that he’d been wrong. It was just that he had never realized how many ways there were to be right until now.
-o-
One week became two.
Two was three.
Diego thought it was possible that Guillermo had moved on. Maybe Guillermo had let it go. Maybe he had realized that family was a choice, and that he didn’t want Diego’s leftovers. Maybe he had realized he was wrong. Maybe things would really, finally be okay.
The days that passed, it was harder to remember that the job mattered. Sure, he spent his shifts on the police radio. Yeah, he gave his due diligence to the daily briefings. Of course, he worked hard during all the training sessions. But he found he looked forward to those things less. There had been a time they had been his priority, his sole focus. Now, he rushed through them to get to other things.
More important things.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He wasn’t sure what he needed.
But he was pretty damn grateful for what he had.
-o-
The routine was becoming familiar by now, and the tension was starting to ease. They were laughing more; they were telling stories, jokes. They were being friendly. No, scratch that. They weren’t being friendly. They were being family.
That was what they were, after all.
They were family.
And family wasn’t the big things. At least, not all the time. The grand gestures mattered sometimes, obviously, but what built relationships was the little stuff. It was the daily activities. The small moments. It was dinner together. It was noticing when someone felt off. It was even the behind the scenes stuff, the small sacrifices you made just because.
That was one reason why Diego started cleaning more often.
That and because it was also the best way to spend time with Mom.
She tutted at him, saying, “Darling, you don’t have to, really.”
But he took up the dishcloth and started to wash the dishes anyway. “I want to.”
She hummed contently. “Well, then,” she said. “You wash; I’ll dry.”
There would always be bigger jobs, more important jobs.
The job that mattered most, like the air in his lungs, was the one that meant taking care of his family.
-o-
With the dishes done, Diego started up the stairs. He was to the first landing, when Pogo cleared his throat from his room.
Diego paused to smile. “Hey, Pogo,” he said. “How are things going?”
Pogo, unexpectedly, did not smile. He did not return the polite greeting. In fact, he didn’t answer at all. “We need to talk, I’m afraid,” he said. He pressed his lips thin and grim. “Now.”
Just like that, Diego’s breath caught, lodged painfully and irrevocably, in his throat.
-o-
It was clear, when he entered the room, that Pogo had a whole little presentation prepared. There was a neat stack of papers on the desk, and he seemed to have rehearsed this a bit. He cleared his throat, readying to speak, but Diego didn’t need to hear it.
He already knew.
He’d known all along.
“They’re back, aren’t they?” he said, foregoing the preamble.
Pogo straightened his suit a bit, nodding his head. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said. “The evidence, as you might expect, is not conclusive, but it is quite convincing. Even more convincing than the data we collected before previous attacks.”
With that, Pogo handed the first few papers to him. Diego took them with a sigh. “An uptick in activity?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Pogo reported. “The first page shows activity from the group itself, the one we had been tracking.”
Diego frowned, confused. “But there’s no activity. Nothing.”
“No, nothing, indeed,” Pogo said. “Flip to the second page and you’ll see why.”
Diego complied, eyes lighting over the new numbers in confusion. “What is this?”
“From what I can tell, Guillermo has severed ties with his old allies,” he said. “Significant assets were transferred to these new accounts, suggesting a whole new association behind the shell companies.”
“Whoa,” Diego said. He looked up, tilting his head. “You’re saying he’s gone rogue?”
“I’m saying he’s no longer got connections by which to keep him in check,” Pogo said. “There is evidence that he wants complete autonomy for what he’s about to do next.”
“To protect them?” Diego asked.
“Or to protect himself,” Pogo said. “Think about it. If someone wants to wage a dangerous, high risk, expensive vendetta--”
“They might veto it,” Diego concluded. “So you think he broke free to do what he wanted?”
“Such autonomy would allow him to pursue anything, no matter how trivial or vicious,” Pogo said.
“That’s a bit of a leap,” Diego cautioned.
Pogo handed him another sheet. “Perhaps not,” he said. “These are the other known associates. They are all dead. The entire leadership, everyone he has ever worked with, is dead. The supply chain has been decimated. He has not even attempted a coup. He simply eradicated them.”
Diego swore, looking at the list of names. “And he took all their accounts?”
“From what I can tell, yes,” Pogo said. “We can also assume that he took the other working assets on the ground.”
“Weapons, technology--”
“Everything he would need to fund his own private war,” Pogo said sadly.
Diego sighed again. “And that’s why all the mercenaries are in town,” he said. “Shit. He’s hiring his own private army.” He shook his head, mind reeling. “But why? We know he wants to come after me, but is the Academy the target? Will he look for something bigger?”
Pogo let out a long, weary breath. “As to the reason why, I cannot begin to speculate. I’m afraid your instincts would be better than mine.”
Diego pursed his lips, his stomach churning uncomfortably. “We’re not ready. The scale of what Guillermo is capable of? There’s no way in hell we’d ever be ready.”
“You and your siblings have defied every expectation your father ever had,” Pogo reminded him gently.
Diego snorted. “Much to the old man’s chagrin.”
“Don’t be so naive as to think it was always for the worse,” he said. “That was why he trusted you, in the end. To come together in his death. Because he knew that you would rise for the right cause, if it was good enough, pure enough, noble enough.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t saving the world this time,” Diego muttered.
“No,” Pogo agreed. “This time you’re saving the family. I can’t think of something more pressing.”
-o-
Pogo had a point.
No, Pogo had lots of points. He had points about Guillermo and the increased likelihood of his next move. He had points about motivation, too. He had points about how doing shit for family made you that much more dedicated.
That was the real point, then. Not that you did shit for family. But you did shit for family because you knew how much you had to lose.
That was a powerful, transformative point.
It was also damn terrifying.
Because Diego had done it. He’d finally done it. He’d embraced family. He’d gone all in. And now he was, what? Supposed to put it on the line? He was supposed to be okay throwing them into the most dangerous situation they had ever faced? Was that how this was going now?
It wasn’t what Diego wanted, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Yet, it was the plan. The very plan Diego had meticulous laid out and convinced them all to follow. It would only figure that he was the one who ultimately couldn’t abide by it any longer.
He couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
He liked seeing them happy. He liked seeing them whole. He liked Luther’s goofy smile when he talked about space missions. He got a kick out of hearing Allison talk to Claire on the phone. He was starting to enjoy doing random shit with Klaus. He was really getting into teaching Five the finer points of throwing knives. He wanted to play more board games with Ben. He even wanted to take Vanya to the theater on a regular basis.
He wanted family.
So he took Pogo’s notes, studied them and hid them beneath his pillow. He didn’t call a family meeting.
What came next, would come whether they were bracing for it or not.
All Diego could do now, it seemed, was hold his breath and hope for the best.
-o-
There was a reason, though, that Diego hated denial.
Simply put, it didn’t work.
There always came a time when you had to face the music. When the shit hit the fan. When you just ran out of excuses and were left with nothing, nothing but the truth.
That day came exactly six days after Pogo told him about the latest developments about Guillermo. The last week had been odd. It’d been quiet. Diego had let his siblings go on with things, living their lives. He’d listened to them tell their stories, laugh at their jokes. He’d indulged their hobbies and distractions with an odd sort of detachment. The sense of knowing that time was short, that the inevitable end was coming. He’d wanted to give them the last few moments of fleeting naivete.
There was nothing practical about it, but Diego did it anyway. He told himself it was for their sake, and for six tenuous days, he lived the charade with all the strength he could muster.
Then, during his shift at the radio, the frequency crackled to life.
He expected another mundane call. A traffic violation. A potential domestic dispute. A robbery. Maybe an assault.
But there was something different about the static, something clearer. The police scanner was prone to overlapping, but this was startling clear. And Diego heard the slight but distinct inhalation and his spine went cold as the voice spoke over the line.
“Diego,” the voice came, steady and knowing. Diego knew everything about Guillermo, and even though he recognized his voice, the coldness in it made him shiver. “I know you’re listening.”
Diego’s chest constricted painfully. He felt his fists clench as his body went heavy, rooted into place.
“I apologize for the wait, but I promise our reunion will be worthwhile,” Guillermo continued. He sounded almost amicable, unsettling in the genuine lilt of his accent. “I simply wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for our last family reunion. I will see you in one hour -- exactly one hour -- at the rec center, not far from your home. You know it. You used to swim laps there while you were in the police academy. You quit because you couldn’t afford the dues anymore, which is a pity. It is much nicer than the slum of a gym you chose next.”
The ease with which Guillermo discerned his own history made him shake. Fear? Rage? What the hell did it matter?
“One hour should give you sufficient time to mobilize,” Guillermo said. “You may, of course, come alone, but I’m afraid that saving everyone is not a one-man job. If you bring the police, I will be sorely disappointed and the cops will be dead -- along with everyone else in the area.”
A bomb, then. There was another bomb. Just what Diego wanted.
“And do not think that this is an optional arrangement, my dear brother,” Guillermo said. “If you choose not to come, then I’m afraid I will have to kill all those people anyway. You can give them a fighting chance if you arrive. Those adopted freaks, however, I can make no sure assurances for.”
Tears burned, unshed in his eyes. A thousand retorts died on his tongue, filling his throat until it felt like he was choking. His lungs were screaming, but he did not dare indulge that now.
“The rec center; one hour,” Guillermo reiterated. “See you then, little brother.”
Still bracing himself, Diego listened as the line went dead.
He closed his eyes.
He took a breath.
Family, he had learned, was full of non-negotiables. More than he wanted to admit. More than he could fight.
He opened his eyes, letting the breath back out.
What the hell.
It looked like there was no turning back now.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
PART ELEVEN
PART TWELVE
PART THIRTEEN
-o-
That was his choice, then.
Family first.
Even when a job this pressing was hovering over his head.
He’d said to them, stay prepared but it was time to live.
And damn it, if that was the choice, then Diego was going to live it no matter how hard it was. To be clear, it was hard. It went against his nature. It might have even gone against his better judgement. It was an effort to force the air into his lungs, but he did it. He did it because that was the choice he had made for them.
The first day, everyone milled about awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. So Diego did the only thing he could, called up Beaman and made plans for dinner than night. When he went out, their tasks were done for the day, and they all gave him wary looks as he put on clean clothes -- civilian clothes -- and walked down the stairs without his knives strapped to his chest.
“You’re really going out?” Luther said, drawing him by the arm and lowering his voice.
Diego shrugged, more nonchalant than he felt. He didn’t keep his voice low. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ve got my phone on me. If something comes up, you can give me a call. Who’s on duty tonight?”
“Five is,” Luther said. “He’s already upstairs.”
“So, we’re good,” Diego said.
Luther looked vaguely desperate. “But,” he said, fumbling now. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Live, remember?” he said. “That was what we agreed.”
“I know,” Luther said. He bit the inside of his lip, hesitating. “But. The job…”
Diego clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll still be there tomorrow,” he said. “Trust me, big guy. That’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”
-o-
He made it sound simple.
To be fair, he was talking to Luther. It wasn’t like he was about to admit weakness to Luther. That just wasn’t going to happen, not outside of extreme duress. And this? This was just mild distress.
Well, moderate distress.
Nothing Diego couldn’t handle.
He wet his lips, flexing his hands on his steering wheel as he forced air in and out, in and out.
At least, it was hopefully nothing Diego couldn’t handle.
He’d made his choice, though.
Now he had to follow through.
He put the car into gear, pulled away from the house, glancing at the mansion as it retreated into obscurity in his rearview mirror.
-o-
This time, he beat Beaman there.
This was unusual; Beaman was usually unduly punctual. But Diego had already ordered a drink by the time Beaman showed up, and Diego was taken aback. The detective looked horrible. He was not only bedraggled with rumpled clothes and tired eyes. He was sporting a bruise on his cheek and there was a bandaid plastered sloppily on his forehead near his hairline.
“Shit,” Diego said. “What happened to you?”
Beaman sat down. “Long story,” he said. “Kind of a bad day at work.”
Diego raised his eyebrows.
Beaman made a motion to the bartender to get his attention. “Or, you know. A bad week.”
Diego watched as the detective ordered his drink, still watching as he downed it in one, long drag before ordering another.
“Looks like a bad month, more like it,” Diego commented. He took another small sip of his own drink.
“I can’t deny it,” Beaman said. “Honestly, this is the first time I think I’ve been out in three weeks. I’ve been sleeping at the station, crashing at my desk. Some days, I’m not even sure I remember to shower or eat. I kind of have lost track.”
Diego worked his eyebrows even more, not quite sure what to say. “I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said. He’d taken his turns at the police scanner, just the same as anyone else. He’d read the reports about crime and criminals, but the clinical detachment offered in their daily family meetings didn’t reflect any of this.
“We’re trying to keep it under wraps,” Beaman said. He shook his head. “The mayor’s office is worried about riots if word gets out.”
He looked around, lowering his head closer to Diego.
“Crime rates have practically tripled,” he reported. “Drug busts are climbing. Robberies have increased tenfold. We’ve got bodies filling up the morgue and our jails are disconcertingly empty. We can’t hold anyone. Even if we do catch someone, there are at least a dozen more who get away. It’s like a silent takeover of the city. Much more, and there’ll be nothing we can do.”
Well, Beaman certainly wasn’t sugarcoating it. Maybe he was asking for help; maybe he just needed to say it to someone. It was a hard thing to think about, how one choice excluded another. He hated that his choice for family meant forfeiting any choice he might make on Beaman’s behalf. But relationships weren’t just about jobs; relationships were being there for each other when it counted.
And Diego didn’t have to throw knives in a mask to be there for Beaman.
Sure, that might be what Beaman wanted.
But Diego had to hope what he did have left still counted for something. “Sounds pretty bleak, man,” he commiserated. Then, he leaned closer to Beaman in return. “I wish I could do more.”
Beaman looked back at him, unflinching. “You’re telling me you can’t?
The implication, though not spelled out, was clear enough. Diego sighed. “You’re going to have to trust me, man.”
“Trust you with what?” Beaman asked. “I trusted you back at the clinic. And what came of it?”
“The Umbrella Academy is still together, that’s what,” Diego said.
“So?” Beaman asked. He shook his head. “I mean, it’s your choice to make, Diego. No one ever said you had to go around playing superhero. In fact, Patch always wanted you to stop. But I can’t figure you guys out. Are you a crime fighting unit? Or just a family? Because we could sure as hell use a crime fighting unit these days.”
Diego sat back, his gut clenching. His chest hurt. He made himself breathe.
“We’re both,” he said. “And that will matter, I promise you. When it counts, you will see.”
Beaman sighed, his weariness evident. “I hope so,” he said. “I really, really hope so.”
“Now,” Diego said, sitting back up again. “Why don’t you let me buy you some food? You look pretty hungry.”
Beaman shrugged. “I’m not hungry; I’m famished.”
“Then we’ll order an appetizer, too,” he said. “My treat.”
“You think buying me a hot meal will work?” Beaman asked jadedly.
Diego frowned. “Yes?”
Beaman laughed. “You know,” he said. “I think it just might.”
-o-
Going out was the first thing, but it wasn’t the only thing. Sure, he needed to cement the idea that they were no longer bound to this house. He needed to build up this notion that they existed beyond the Academy. A family -- even a team -- was composed of working, distinct parts. Diego needed them each to manage their part in order to make sure the whole was functioning at peak capacity.
That didn’t just mean getting out and about. It meant validating outside interests.
This was harder than you might expect. Diego had always -- always -- been preoccupied with the job. Even in his huff to leave the Academy as a teenage, he had instantly gravitated back toward the job. He had done it defiantly on his own terms, but that didn’t make his tendency toward it any less pervasive. His interests, therefore, were somewhat limited.
His siblings, on the other hand, had always been quite open in exploring alternative activities. Their father had never encouraged this. In fact, he had even actively discouraged it, you might say. But even Luther -- obedient, loyal Luther -- had fallen victim to it eventually. His father had emphasized the team to the extreme, but he had never been able to snuff out the concept of individuality, no matter how hard he tried.
Ironically, it was Diego who had managed to shut it all down far more effectively in his short tenure as leader. Over the last few weeks, his siblings had thought about nothing but the job.
So while it was good that Luther went to the grocery store and that Allison went to the mall, he had to move beyond perfunctory tasks. It didn’t matter if Klaus physically went to an AA meeting or if Five got a coffee at the corner joint. It wasn’t important if Vanya took a walk in a park. Not if they weren’t engaging with themselves.
If they weren’t going to do it, then Diego would have to do it for them.
It was like teaching someone to breathe all over again. You would think you could take it for granted, but teaching it was more difficult than you could imagine.
That didn’t, however, make it any less essential.
So Diego did it.
Not because it was the job.
But because it was family.
He started with Luther.
There was something logical, starting with Number One. Also, he just wanted to get it over with. Of all his siblings, his lack of affection for Luther was the most pronounced. If he was going to force himself to be nice, he would need to jump right into the proverbial deep end.
Of course, what was he supposed to do to distract Luther? The only things he and Luther had ever done together willingly was fight, but somehow he didn’t think that using Luther for target practice was going to be an effective means of pursuing personal interests outside the job. It also wouldn’t do much for brotherly affection. That wasn’t the primary objective, sure, but it had to be considered a secondary motive. After all, Diego knew what it was like to genuinely dislike your brother. His utter disdain for Guillermo put his relationship with Luther into a bit of perspective. The big oaf was annoying, but he wasn’t a completely irredeemable asshole. The distinction mattered.
It mattered just enough that Diego plunked down on the couch next to Luther one night and turned on the television. Their old man had been against these kind of distractions, but they had invested in cable TV after his death. It had been part of their push to modernize the mansion, thereby modernizing the Academy. Diego had mostly used it to watch sports and news.
Tonight, however, he flipped the channels until he came to a program on the history channel.
“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t this about the moon missions?”
Luther looked up from the book he was reading. “What?”
“This show,” Diego said, nodding his head at the screen where there was a rocket on a launcher. It cut away to some boring looking dude talking in front of a NASA logo. “Isn’t it about the moon missions? The ones back in the 60s or whatever.”
Luther looked, his interest mildly piqued now. “Oh,” he said. “No, this is about the later missions.”
“Later missions?” Diego asked.
“Sure, after the Apollo program was scrapped, they did some stuff with Skylab in the 70s. They started the space shuttle program in the 80s,” he explained. “They got out of manned missions when funding got low, but the stuff the started doing with long range probes was really fascinating in the 90s.”
That was about the most he and Luther had ever talked about, well, anything. And Diego didn’t give a shit about the space program, but it was kind of interesting to see Luther be excited about something -- something that wasn’t following the old man’s rules. He’d always been unfair to Luther -- to all his siblings, probably -- seeing them in a one-dimensional light when they were all multifaceted people. Family was about great intimacy. The problem was that that kind of intimacy could be taken for granted.
“Huh,” Diego said, looking at the screen again. He turned up the volume and put the remote down. “I don’t know anything about it.”
Luther hesitated, glancing at Diego uncertainly. “I always kind of wished I could have sent my data from the moon to NASA,” he said after a moment’s pause. “You know, helped out with the cause.”
Diego shrugged. “Well, you still can. It’s still sealed under Dad’s floorboards, isn’t it?”
Luther’s expression changed, something new dawning. “Yeah,” he said, putting his book down and watching the program in earnest now. “I guess it is.”
-o-
After that, it was relatively easy. All he had to do was remember what his siblings liked to do and then make them do it. He wasn’t sure why it had seemed so daunting in the first place.
With Allison, he started with old movies -- the ones he knew she loved when they were kids -- but he quickly discovered that acting was her day job. Her passion was family, so Diego helped her set up a Skype call with Claire, and he spent time getting to know his niece. It wasn’t direct time with Allison, but he could tell it meant something to her. It was the most he’d seen his sister smile in years.
Klaus had many interests, of course, but very few of them were viable in the present. Sitting around getting high was no longer an option, so Diego would have to indulge Klaus other interests instead. He had wanted to take his brother to a recovery meeting, but that wouldn’t be interactive enough. Instead, he agreed to see through an online knitting tutorial one afternoon on Youtube. Klaus made something that resembled a scarf. Diego learned you could knitting needles as well as you could a knife. It was a success for both of them.
Five, fortunately, was much easier to entertain. It had worried Diego at first, considering that Five had always been a prick and that Diego had never liked him much. The fact that Five was technically pushing 60 while in a 13 year old body had only made it more daunting, but he quickly realized that Five could be easily distracted with new methods of inflicting bodily harm. Apparently, Five was good at murdering people but he had minimal experience throwing knives. A night aiming pointy things at walls was kind of Diego’s definition of a good time, and Five quite readily agreed.
When it came to Ben, he debated whether it was necessary. Ben was, after all, not actually alive. However, to make such a distinction seemed unnecessarily cruel. Since Ben was dead, the least Diego could do was to not treat him that way. The fact that that made sense was testament to just how messed up the situation was. At any rate, he played a few rounds of Go Fish with Ben before giving in and breaking out Yahtzee. By the end of the night, they had also played Scrabble, Boggle, Old Maid and a particularly cut throat game of Monopoly.
He was out of ideas when it came to Vanya, but when he asked if there was anything she wanted to do, her eyes lit up and she handed him a flyer to a performance at one of the theaters downtown. It was some ridiculous sounding musical, written by some dude that Diego had never heard of, featuring actors he couldn’t give a shit about. But Vanya said it was an award winning troupe and she had wanted to go for ages now and this was their last night in town and she just wished someone would go with her. For the record, Diego thought the production was shit and he had to pinch himself to stay awake in the second act. But they didn’t talk once about the job that night -- Vanya was so transfixed, she didn’t even think about Diego’s murderous half sibling bent on revenge -- so that probably made it a win.
He had thought he knew what success looked like. It wasn’t that he’d been wrong. It was just that he had never realized how many ways there were to be right until now.
-o-
One week became two.
Two was three.
Diego thought it was possible that Guillermo had moved on. Maybe Guillermo had let it go. Maybe he had realized that family was a choice, and that he didn’t want Diego’s leftovers. Maybe he had realized he was wrong. Maybe things would really, finally be okay.
The days that passed, it was harder to remember that the job mattered. Sure, he spent his shifts on the police radio. Yeah, he gave his due diligence to the daily briefings. Of course, he worked hard during all the training sessions. But he found he looked forward to those things less. There had been a time they had been his priority, his sole focus. Now, he rushed through them to get to other things.
More important things.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He wasn’t sure what he needed.
But he was pretty damn grateful for what he had.
-o-
The routine was becoming familiar by now, and the tension was starting to ease. They were laughing more; they were telling stories, jokes. They were being friendly. No, scratch that. They weren’t being friendly. They were being family.
That was what they were, after all.
They were family.
And family wasn’t the big things. At least, not all the time. The grand gestures mattered sometimes, obviously, but what built relationships was the little stuff. It was the daily activities. The small moments. It was dinner together. It was noticing when someone felt off. It was even the behind the scenes stuff, the small sacrifices you made just because.
That was one reason why Diego started cleaning more often.
That and because it was also the best way to spend time with Mom.
She tutted at him, saying, “Darling, you don’t have to, really.”
But he took up the dishcloth and started to wash the dishes anyway. “I want to.”
She hummed contently. “Well, then,” she said. “You wash; I’ll dry.”
There would always be bigger jobs, more important jobs.
The job that mattered most, like the air in his lungs, was the one that meant taking care of his family.
-o-
With the dishes done, Diego started up the stairs. He was to the first landing, when Pogo cleared his throat from his room.
Diego paused to smile. “Hey, Pogo,” he said. “How are things going?”
Pogo, unexpectedly, did not smile. He did not return the polite greeting. In fact, he didn’t answer at all. “We need to talk, I’m afraid,” he said. He pressed his lips thin and grim. “Now.”
Just like that, Diego’s breath caught, lodged painfully and irrevocably, in his throat.
-o-
It was clear, when he entered the room, that Pogo had a whole little presentation prepared. There was a neat stack of papers on the desk, and he seemed to have rehearsed this a bit. He cleared his throat, readying to speak, but Diego didn’t need to hear it.
He already knew.
He’d known all along.
“They’re back, aren’t they?” he said, foregoing the preamble.
Pogo straightened his suit a bit, nodding his head. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said. “The evidence, as you might expect, is not conclusive, but it is quite convincing. Even more convincing than the data we collected before previous attacks.”
With that, Pogo handed the first few papers to him. Diego took them with a sigh. “An uptick in activity?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Pogo reported. “The first page shows activity from the group itself, the one we had been tracking.”
Diego frowned, confused. “But there’s no activity. Nothing.”
“No, nothing, indeed,” Pogo said. “Flip to the second page and you’ll see why.”
Diego complied, eyes lighting over the new numbers in confusion. “What is this?”
“From what I can tell, Guillermo has severed ties with his old allies,” he said. “Significant assets were transferred to these new accounts, suggesting a whole new association behind the shell companies.”
“Whoa,” Diego said. He looked up, tilting his head. “You’re saying he’s gone rogue?”
“I’m saying he’s no longer got connections by which to keep him in check,” Pogo said. “There is evidence that he wants complete autonomy for what he’s about to do next.”
“To protect them?” Diego asked.
“Or to protect himself,” Pogo said. “Think about it. If someone wants to wage a dangerous, high risk, expensive vendetta--”
“They might veto it,” Diego concluded. “So you think he broke free to do what he wanted?”
“Such autonomy would allow him to pursue anything, no matter how trivial or vicious,” Pogo said.
“That’s a bit of a leap,” Diego cautioned.
Pogo handed him another sheet. “Perhaps not,” he said. “These are the other known associates. They are all dead. The entire leadership, everyone he has ever worked with, is dead. The supply chain has been decimated. He has not even attempted a coup. He simply eradicated them.”
Diego swore, looking at the list of names. “And he took all their accounts?”
“From what I can tell, yes,” Pogo said. “We can also assume that he took the other working assets on the ground.”
“Weapons, technology--”
“Everything he would need to fund his own private war,” Pogo said sadly.
Diego sighed again. “And that’s why all the mercenaries are in town,” he said. “Shit. He’s hiring his own private army.” He shook his head, mind reeling. “But why? We know he wants to come after me, but is the Academy the target? Will he look for something bigger?”
Pogo let out a long, weary breath. “As to the reason why, I cannot begin to speculate. I’m afraid your instincts would be better than mine.”
Diego pursed his lips, his stomach churning uncomfortably. “We’re not ready. The scale of what Guillermo is capable of? There’s no way in hell we’d ever be ready.”
“You and your siblings have defied every expectation your father ever had,” Pogo reminded him gently.
Diego snorted. “Much to the old man’s chagrin.”
“Don’t be so naive as to think it was always for the worse,” he said. “That was why he trusted you, in the end. To come together in his death. Because he knew that you would rise for the right cause, if it was good enough, pure enough, noble enough.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t saving the world this time,” Diego muttered.
“No,” Pogo agreed. “This time you’re saving the family. I can’t think of something more pressing.”
-o-
Pogo had a point.
No, Pogo had lots of points. He had points about Guillermo and the increased likelihood of his next move. He had points about motivation, too. He had points about how doing shit for family made you that much more dedicated.
That was the real point, then. Not that you did shit for family. But you did shit for family because you knew how much you had to lose.
That was a powerful, transformative point.
It was also damn terrifying.
Because Diego had done it. He’d finally done it. He’d embraced family. He’d gone all in. And now he was, what? Supposed to put it on the line? He was supposed to be okay throwing them into the most dangerous situation they had ever faced? Was that how this was going now?
It wasn’t what Diego wanted, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Yet, it was the plan. The very plan Diego had meticulous laid out and convinced them all to follow. It would only figure that he was the one who ultimately couldn’t abide by it any longer.
He couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
He liked seeing them happy. He liked seeing them whole. He liked Luther’s goofy smile when he talked about space missions. He got a kick out of hearing Allison talk to Claire on the phone. He was starting to enjoy doing random shit with Klaus. He was really getting into teaching Five the finer points of throwing knives. He wanted to play more board games with Ben. He even wanted to take Vanya to the theater on a regular basis.
He wanted family.
So he took Pogo’s notes, studied them and hid them beneath his pillow. He didn’t call a family meeting.
What came next, would come whether they were bracing for it or not.
All Diego could do now, it seemed, was hold his breath and hope for the best.
-o-
There was a reason, though, that Diego hated denial.
Simply put, it didn’t work.
There always came a time when you had to face the music. When the shit hit the fan. When you just ran out of excuses and were left with nothing, nothing but the truth.
That day came exactly six days after Pogo told him about the latest developments about Guillermo. The last week had been odd. It’d been quiet. Diego had let his siblings go on with things, living their lives. He’d listened to them tell their stories, laugh at their jokes. He’d indulged their hobbies and distractions with an odd sort of detachment. The sense of knowing that time was short, that the inevitable end was coming. He’d wanted to give them the last few moments of fleeting naivete.
There was nothing practical about it, but Diego did it anyway. He told himself it was for their sake, and for six tenuous days, he lived the charade with all the strength he could muster.
Then, during his shift at the radio, the frequency crackled to life.
He expected another mundane call. A traffic violation. A potential domestic dispute. A robbery. Maybe an assault.
But there was something different about the static, something clearer. The police scanner was prone to overlapping, but this was startling clear. And Diego heard the slight but distinct inhalation and his spine went cold as the voice spoke over the line.
“Diego,” the voice came, steady and knowing. Diego knew everything about Guillermo, and even though he recognized his voice, the coldness in it made him shiver. “I know you’re listening.”
Diego’s chest constricted painfully. He felt his fists clench as his body went heavy, rooted into place.
“I apologize for the wait, but I promise our reunion will be worthwhile,” Guillermo continued. He sounded almost amicable, unsettling in the genuine lilt of his accent. “I simply wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for our last family reunion. I will see you in one hour -- exactly one hour -- at the rec center, not far from your home. You know it. You used to swim laps there while you were in the police academy. You quit because you couldn’t afford the dues anymore, which is a pity. It is much nicer than the slum of a gym you chose next.”
The ease with which Guillermo discerned his own history made him shake. Fear? Rage? What the hell did it matter?
“One hour should give you sufficient time to mobilize,” Guillermo said. “You may, of course, come alone, but I’m afraid that saving everyone is not a one-man job. If you bring the police, I will be sorely disappointed and the cops will be dead -- along with everyone else in the area.”
A bomb, then. There was another bomb. Just what Diego wanted.
“And do not think that this is an optional arrangement, my dear brother,” Guillermo said. “If you choose not to come, then I’m afraid I will have to kill all those people anyway. You can give them a fighting chance if you arrive. Those adopted freaks, however, I can make no sure assurances for.”
Tears burned, unshed in his eyes. A thousand retorts died on his tongue, filling his throat until it felt like he was choking. His lungs were screaming, but he did not dare indulge that now.
“The rec center; one hour,” Guillermo reiterated. “See you then, little brother.”
Still bracing himself, Diego listened as the line went dead.
He closed his eyes.
He took a breath.
Family, he had learned, was full of non-negotiables. More than he wanted to admit. More than he could fight.
He opened his eyes, letting the breath back out.
What the hell.
It looked like there was no turning back now.