Umbrella Academy fic: The First Cut is the Deepest (2/2)
PART ONE
PART TWO
-o-
Luther is the first to move. Stifling a curse, he crosses over toward Five. He’s too slow to catch him, but he lays Five out, arranging the limp body on the floor for better access to the wound. He’s not been well trained as a medic, but he knows a few of the basics. Starting with this: he has to stop the bleeding.
His big hands are good for throwing punches, but they will make an adequate pressure bandage in a pinch. He gathers up the torn fabric around Five’s wound and presses down hard around the blade lodged in his chest. Beneath him, Five doesn’t flinch.
Around him, the others are falling apart in an even more spectacular fashion.
Allison comes running up around to Five’s other side, going to her knees. “Is he?”
“I don’t know,” Luther says. “I didn’t check--”
She reaches out trembling fingers to Five’s pulse point while Klaus circles around behind her.
“Oh, shit,” Klaus mutters. “That’s really bleeding, isn’t it?”
It doesn’t warrant a response. Luther looks at Allison instead.
Allison nods, but her face is grim. “He’s alive.”
“But we need to get him out of here,” Luther declares. He glances back, looking for an ally. “Can someone secure our exit?”
No one responds. Diego is standing pale faced, shaking his head. “I didn’t see him,” he says instead. “I swear to God, I didn’t see him.”
“Well, yeah!” Klaus says. Ben seems to be unable to maintain a connection to the real world in all the chaos. “That’s kind of obvious!”
“Though not justified,” Allison snaps. She looks up, her gaze harsh. “How could you not see him?”
“He jumps in and out!” Diego protests with a wide gesture. He exhales, at a loss. “I just -- he was just there!”
“Guys,” Luther says, trying to bring their attention back around. “He’s bleeding here. We need to act--”
Allison seems to focus herself back to the task at hand. “Right, who has the first aid supplies?” she asks. She glances around. “Someone is supposed to have the first aid supplies, right?”
Vanya is slightly at a distance, visibly shaking from there. “There’s just so much blood--”
Allison’s question goes unanswered, just like Luther’s orders to unheeded. Diego makes a face. “It was an accident,” he insists.
Allison’s eyebrows arch. Klaus laughs, short and incredulous. “And here I thought my accidents were bad,” he says. “I’ve never messed up this bad.”
“It’s not that bad!” Diego shouts back.
“You’re lucky it didn’t hit his heart,” Allison snaps with an unsympathetic snort.
“Are we sure?” Vanya asks, still not moving from where her feet are planted in the ground. “He’s okay?”
Luther meets Allison’s eyes and understands. “If it had, he’d be dead already,” Luther confirms on her behalf. He looks up, more pleadingly this time. Five’s blood seeps through his fingers. “We need to secure an exit now.”
Diego, however, looks on the verge of tears. “He jumped right into it!” he all but yells.
“Oh, okay,” Allison says. “So it’s Five’s fault now?”
“It’s not mine!”
“What the hell even happened?”
“There’s so much blood--”
It’s too much; it’s not enough.
Luther has tried so hard not to be his father, but his father is the only inspiration he has now. It’s his father’s voice, his father’s invective, that echoes through his lungs when he finally breaks their bickering with a bellowing shout. “Quiet! Everyone! Now!” he yells. He looks up, eyes focused on the only plausible goal now. The others come to attention, just as you might expect from a direct order from the obvious authority. With their attention, Luther issues the orders now. “We need to focus -- and now. Otherwise, we won’t be able to salvage the job, protect our reputation and save Five’s life.”
They stare back at him, mouths drawn. They are soberly, painfully quiet. Looking at him. Looking to him -- for answers.
And it’s up to Luther to provide them. Overwhelmed as he is, the training is still there. “Okay,” he says. “Diego, make sure all the marks are secured. I don’t want any of them getting away and flag any that need immediate medical assistance.”
Diego, still pales, finally gives a nod of assent and turns away. Luther looks across to Allison. “I need you to coordinate with the authorities,” he says. “We need to have a police presence here with EMTs.”
“For Five?” Allison asks.
Luther looks down at his brother, his slack face going white on the floor. “No, we’ll take him back to the house; Mom has the training and resources,” he says. He looks back at Allison. “Can you do that?”
She hesitates. “There will be questions,” she says. “Especially with all this blood--”
“Just get them here,” Luther orders. “We’ll have Pogo deal with the fallout -- he’s always been good at that.”
The answer is sufficient, and Allison nods, getting to her feet. She disappears to the far end of the room, and Luther turns toward Klaus.
“I need you to go ready the car,” he orders his brother.
“I don’t have a driver’s license--”
“I just want it running, and I want the path cleared,” Luther reports. “And get blankets and any first aid supplies you can find ready in the backseat. I want to have everything ready for Five when we’re ready to move.”
Klaus nods once and then twice. He twitches, slightly convulsively, but then he turns away as well, frittering out of the room.
Finally, Luther settles his gaze on Vanya. Still across the room, she looks more tremulous than ever. “Come on,” he says to her, nodding toward Five. “Help me get him up.”
Luther shifts, trying to go to his feet. Vanya looks ready to crumble. “I can’t--”
“Vanya,” Luther says, plaintive and without nonsense. “If we’re going to save Five’s life, I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that?”
She looks like she wants to say no, but she looks at Five. She looks at Luther. Finally, she nods.
“Good,” Luther says, scooping Five up. “Then let’s get him out of here.”
-o-
Five’s body is slight in his arms, and Luther doesn’t dare slow down. He worries about the obstacles still in his way, but remarkably, his siblings have come through.
In fact, they have more than come through.
The exit is quick, efficient and without fault.
Diego has the bad guys all secured, and Allison reports dutifully that that emergency services will be enroute shortly. At the car, Klaus has it running with the back door open. Vanya climbs in before him, reaching out to take Five, guiding him inside and resting his head on her lap while the others pile in around her. Allison resumes first aid; Klaus sorts the supplies. Diego climbs into the passenger’s seat, eyes on Luther as he takes the wheel.
In short, this is the best they’ve been all night.
The best they’ve been since the apocalypse.
It’s a glimmer of brilliance, of what they’re meant to be.
Luther glances in the rearview mirror, taking in the coordination for what it is once more. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thinks.
He puts the car into gear and swallows hard, hoping like hell that it’s not too late.
-o-
Luther doesn’t speed, but it takes all his self control to get them safely, within acceptable guidelines back home. Now that they’re back, they seem to be in disarray again. As they argue about who will go inside first, Luther grunts his frustration -- he has neither the time, nor the patience for this -- nearly ripping the car door off its hinges as he reaches down and takes Five up again. He says nothing as he takes his brother’s body inside and bellows, “We need medical support now!”
The others, needless to say, scramble to follow him, but they’re still two steps behind him as Luther takes the stairs two at a time, carrying Five without haste to the infirmary.
While the others are prone to bickering and dissention, Pogo is loyal to a fault and Mom’s programming is impeccable. They get straight to work, whisking Five off. The others move to follow, but Luther closes the door for all of them. Of course he’d like to stay with Five, but they’re going to be a hindrance now, not a help.
He hates to think maybe this is the real story of the Umbrella Academy.
Moment of brilliance.
Defined by paralyzing self defeat.
Crossing through them, while they fight over who will donate blood, Luther retreats to one of the chairs. He sits down heavily and drops his head into his hand. There’s still blood on it.
He sighs.
“What we needed was better intel,” Diego says, pacing back and forth in the makeshift waiting room.
“No, we needed restraint,” Allison argues. She has sat down, eyeing her siblings warily. “It was completely out of control.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Klaus says with a wide gesture. He’s sitting cross legged on the floor, the ghostly outline of Ben behind him. “Though it got a little distracting in there. I mean, how is anyone supposed to focus with all those people yelling and firing guns?”
“That’s the job, asshole,” Diego snaps, still taking long strides.
“Right, right,” Klaus says. “And remind me, what part of the job involves throwing knives at each other?”
Diego snarls, but Allison huffs in frustration. “No, the point is, if we’re not focused, we shouldn’t be out there,” she says, looking from Klaus to Diego harshly. “Any of us.”
“And does that include you?” Diego asks, eyebrows arched. He shrugs coolly. “Because you’re just as rusty as Klaus is.”
Both Allison and Klaus protest this.
Vanya, sitting withdrawn in a chair opposite Allison, shakes her head. “This isn’t helping--”
“Of course it’s not,” Diego says at her. “But it’s not like you were helping either.”
“She was doing her best,” Allison immediately defends.
Klaus hedges. “But if she’s not ready--”
Vanya all but dissolves into tears and the back and forth picks up so that the voices are impossible to pick out over each other. Luther folds his hands together and sighs again.
There are no orders to give now, even if he wanted to.
But that doesn’t mean that the team doesn’t need a leader.
Now, more than ever.
He clears his throat. “What happened back there?”
The talking does not cease.
Luther clears his throat again, sitting up to his full height. This time, he allows himself to roar. “What the hell happened back there?”
The power of his voice resonates, and the others fall silent save for Vanya’s sniffling. Diego stops halfway across the floor and Allison purses her lips. Klaus slinks down, slumping guiltily while Ben all but disappears.
With their attention on him, Luther gives them a plaintive and expectant look. “What happened?” he asks again, his voice deadly calm now in their silence. “Anyone care to tell me?”
“We were all there,” Allison says. She flushes and sends a scathing glance toward Diego. “We all know what happened.”
“Oh, shut up,” Diego says. “It was the whole string of events.”
“Yeah, but you did throw the knife,” Klaus points out.
“Because half the team was completely off point,” Diego leers back. “I only threw it that direction to avoid Vanya.”
Vanya shakes her head, looking near tears again. “I was just trying to stay out of the way,” she explains. “Klaus kept projecting Ben closer to me, so I kept retreating.”
Klaus scoffs. “We were trying to protect you,” he says. “You looked totally lost in there.”
“But that was never the plan,” Allison argues to Klaus. “If you shift the strategy without telling anyone, no one knows how to respond.”
“Oh, okay,” Klaus says. “But what about you? You literally rumored the last guy directly at us.”
“Because you were near the exit,” Allison says. “I was doing my job.”
“No, your job was to clear the area, not create chaos,” Diego says. “You didn’t have any situational awareness.”
“Like you’re one to talk about situational awareness,” she snaps back at him. She turns to Klaus. “And you talk about focus, but I saw you in there. You spent half your time goofing off.”
“It’s called comic relief, thank you very much,” Klaus says. “Because everyone looked ready to fall apart the instant we got in there. I did what I could.”
“And it didn’t work,” Diego says. “I couldn’t focus at all with all your shit.”
Vanya is becoming distraught again. “Was it like this? When you were kids? So much chaos and conflict?”
Allison draws her face up soberly. “No,” she says shortly. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Dad never would have tolerated it.”
“Oh, so we’re to this now?” Diego asks. He rolls his eyes and turns away to pace some more. “We’re going to pretend like Dad’s the good guy now?”
Luther lets out a long, tired breath and closes his eyes. The arguments devolve again, and the chaos reigns. They might need Dad, but no one wants him, and Luther isn’t sure what that means for him.
He isn’t sure of anything.
Opening his eyes, he sees the door open. Standing there, blood stained and prim, is Mom. Her hands are clasped. She’s got the slightest polite smile on her face.
Hurriedly, Luther gets to his feet, cutting through the others to get to her. It takes the others a few seconds to realize what’s happening, and they fall silent and fall into step behind him. “You’re done? Already?” Luther asks, not sure if he should be hopeful or terrified. It’s only been an hour since they got back. An hour is a long time for a family to fall apart. It’s not that long for life saving surgery.
She nods. “Children,” she says. “You requested an urgent update as soon as Five was out of surgery.”
Luther nods readily. “Of course,” he says. He wets his lips, forcing himself to speak. At this point, he’s not sure if he’s the only one who knows how to ask a question instead of lobbying accusations. Either that, or they’re all just waiting for him to take the lead they resent him taking. It’s no matter; he does it anyway. “How is he? Is he okay?”
He’s a little less calm and collected than he intends -- probably less calm and collected than his siblings probably need at the moment. He remembers, however faintly, the frantic sound of his father’s voice when he’d been brought in fro that last mission on his own. He’d been so busy dying that he’d scarcely noticed how scared his father had sounded. If you were cyncial, you could attribute the emotion to the loss of a dream, the fledgling hopes of a failed lifelong ambition. Luther is many things, but cynical is not one of them.
At any rate, the others are too preoccupied with their own fears to notice Luther’s doubts.
Grace looks at him and she presses her lips together, sighing a little. He doesn’t know how his dad would have programmed that into her, but he suspects she’s had plenty of practice over the years. Too much practice. “I was able to repair the damage to his lung,” she explains. “Fortunately, the blade did not hit any of the major arteries, and my advanced programming allowed me to work quickly and minimize further blood loss. As it was, I was able to supply him with several pints of blood. He’s stable for now, but his condition is still critical while he recovers.”
She’s clinical about this, the same ways she’d calmly explained to him that the serum that saved his life had changed him irrevocably. She hates to make her children sad, but there’s still blood on her hands every time.
Luther swallows thickly. He’s always been simple in his approach. He’s never been one for nuance or caveats. “But he’ll be okay?”
She nods, smiling again. “I believe so,” she says. “But I am going to monitor him closely. He needs to be kept still and calm during his recovery.”
Nodding readily, Luther presses on. “Of course,” he says. “Can we see him? Now? Can we see him now?”
Her eyes move from Luther to the others, and there’s a flicker of sternness dictated by her programming that she can’t quite seem to maintain. They’ve all changed, then. All of them.
Time will just tell if it’s for the better.
“You may,” she concludes finally. “But you must remain quiet. Any bickering must be kept out here with no exceptions. Do you understand?”
She’s not able to be stern, but her point is still well made. The others look down, clearly sheepish. Luther, as seems to be the need tonight, speaks on their behalf. “Yes,” he says, trusting the others to follow his lead this time. “We understand.”
“Very well,” she says, and she steps back from the door. “I will be right outside.”
It’s a hell of a thing, being a leader, Luther decides wryly. Going into a fight is one thing.
Leading everyone back home safely, it seems, is entirely another.
-o-
Given the scope of their father’s project with the Umbrella Academy, his investment in medical supplies is perhaps not a surprise. But Luther is always reminded, in times such as these, that their father had been fully aware of what he was doing. He’d left nothing to chance.
The fact that he had a full medical set up to support his children when they fell in conflict was a sign that he was probably a really awful father.
It’s also the sign that he was a pretty good leader.
Luther hates him and loves that about him in equal, unpredictable turns. It’d be much easier to have one or the other, but Luther’s not what you would call the lucky sort.
He’s reminded that none of them are the lucky sort when he walks into the exam room.
It’s a room Luther knows well; it’s particularly ingrained into his memory. He remembers passing out, a dying man, and waking up, a mutated hybrid. It’s a place where his life ended. A place where his life began. He also remembers Allison bleeding out on the table. Needless to say, none of these memories are ones he likes.
And the image of Five, laid out, looking like the 13 year old he is not supposed to be is not a memory that will fade any time soon. Five has been stripped down and covered with a sheet, but that does little to obscure the bulk of the bandages around his chest and midsection. Pogo has at least taken to cleaning the area. The bloodied uniform and bandages have all been taken away, but there are still flecks of blood on what can be seen of Five’s exposed chest and neck. There’s a smudge of it on his cheek and another by his hairline that no one has had time to deal with.
Beyond the blood, Five’s complexion is pearly, and he looks particularly skinny without the normal weight of his clothing. It’s one thing to joke about your brother being 13 in the field. It’s another to see the consequences of it. True, Five is more than capable of holding his own -- he is probably their most skilled fighter, when you got right down to it -- but despite his years of experience, he’s got the body of a teenager.
It’s hard to think they were all this small once. Harder still to imagine how their father sent them all off into harm’s way on a consistent basis at this tender age. He knows Five would hate Luther’s trepidation -- especially now -- but it’s hard not to feel responsible.
Luther falls into place at the bedside, standing in stunned silence while the others filter in around him. They fill in around the bed until they have formed a semicircle around Five’s bed. Diego and Klaus stand across from him; Allison is supporting Vanya at the foot of the bed.
There’s no discussion here; no argument. There’s no blame.
In fact, no one dares to speak.
The tableau condemns them on its own. It condemns their shortcomings and their willfulness. It condemns their impulsiveness and blindness. It is a testament to their collective failure. It doesn’t matter who threw the knife. It doesn’t matter who caused the distraction. All that matters is that Five’s fighting for his life.
The Umbrella Academy is fighting for its life.
Five, in his small broken body, can be stitched up and transfused. What hope is there for the team? What possible fix is there for the Umbrella Academy? Is there anything that can be done to salvage the family?
The questions are too much.
The implications threaten to overwhelm him.
With a muttered apology, Luther backs away from the bed. He knows his siblings are watching him, but he has no strength left to guide them. He doesn’t think he can be who they need him to be. At this point, he’s not even sure who that is.
With a rush of emotion, he ducks into the hall without allowing himself a painful look back.
-o-
In truth, Luther isn’t good at making hasty exits. His siblings are usually the ones to go, and usually he’s left trying to pick up the pieces in their aftermath. In the hall, he worries he’s been to rash, because now that he’s out here, he’s not really sure what he hopes to accomplish.
Of course, he hadn’t known what he was going to do back in the room, either, so it feels like a losing proposition.
That’s the story of his life, probably. A nonstop, inevitable, losing proposition.
Shit.
He makes it to the end of the hall where he falters. Unsteady, he struggles to control his breathing, closing his eyes as he leans his head against the wall and braces himself against it with his oversized arms.
Shit.
There is a noise nearby. A shuffling of feet; a clearing of the throat.
Startled, Luther opens his eyes. He’s gathering himself in case it’s one of his siblings, but he is surprised to find Pogo come up the hall. Visibly relaxing, Luther exhales in a rush. “Oh, Pogo,” he says. “Didn’t see you coming.”
Pogo is walking slowly these days, leaning heavily on his cane as he shuffles through the mansion. “You are otherwise preoccupied,” he says, coming to a stop in front of Luther. “Master Five is doing quite well, though. All things considered.”
Luther is too tired to scoff. “You mean considering the fact that he was stabbed?”
Pogo makes a small, futile sort of gesture. “Your job has always come with certain risks. Master Five embraced that even more than the others.”
Luther shakes his head, weary. “It wasn’t from an enemy, though,” he says.
Lips turning down, Pogo looks old in his gravity. “Yes, I recognized the blade,” he says. His brow creases sympathetically. “I imagine it was quite chaotic, your first time out there as a team.”
This time, Luther almost laughs. “Chaotic? Pogo, it was a complete disaster. Nothing went the way I’d planned.”
With a slow nod, Pogo offers no quick fix but he is not devoid of sympathy. “I would wager that none of your father’s efforts turned out as he planned either.”
It’s perspective. There’s an emotional twinge in Luther’s chest, but he shakes it away. “But I was supposed to do it better. Do it right.”
There is no inkling of surprise in Pogo’s expression. “Did you stop them? Did you finish the mission?”
The question seems obvious, but it’s not one that Luther has even allowed himself to consider yet. “We did,” he says, and it feels something like a concession. “The cops will have a mess to clean up, though.”
“Ah, well, some messes are better to clean up than others,” Pogo commiserates. “But there was no collateral damage?”
“Well, just Five,” Luther reports. “I mean, a few of the bad guys have some bumps and bruises. Maybe a concussion or broken ribs. Diego hit one in the leg with a knife, and I toss one down the stairs, but that’s the worst of it.”
Pogo is clearly impressed. “Sounds like progress, then,” he says keenly. “They’re learning restraint, control.”
Luther shakes his head. “I told you, though: it was a mess,” he says. “Everyone was doing their own thing. I mean, Five took a knife to the chest due to friendly fire. Because no one would listen. No one would communicate. I’ve tried telling them that they have to work together, put each other first, but it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other. I can’t help but think how Dad ever managed any of it.”
“Ah, well, you might argue that he didn’t,” Pogo counters quizzically. “Your father often commented to me that his greatest challenge was making you all a team, united and unified. Seven super powered individuals, all exceptional in your own rights. But getting you to work together? That was always the task that threatened to break his resolve entirely.”
“Then how?” Luther all but implores. “How did he do it?”
Pogo expression turns rueful. “Suicide, in the end,” he quips. “Not a method I’d recommend.”
The point is valid, and Luther lets his shoulders slump. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
Pogo smiles gently now, in that paternal way of his that Luther has come to count on. “Just be Number One,” he instructs. “It’s not merely a designation your father provided. It’s who you are.”
It’s not the kind of answer Luther’s quite prepared to deal with. He’s not sure what it means; he’s not sure he wants to know what it means. Stepping up and taking responsibility. Being a leader. Dealing with the fallout.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks.
Pogo pats him on the arm. “Indubitably, my boy,” he says. “Indubitably.”
-o-
Pogo ambles off down the hallway, and Luther is alone again. There’s a part of him that thinks he should go back, but he’s not sure what he’d do if he did. He’s simply not ready.
They’ve all been not ready in their own unique ways. Everyone has taken it for granted that Luther is. They want all the benefits of him being Number One without any of the fallout. They have no idea what they’re asking him to do.
Retreating to his room, Luther sinks heavily onto his bed. It’s still lined with airplanes and spaceships. As a child, he’d believed that anything was possible. He thought if he worked hard, followed the rules and did the right thing, then it’d all be okay.
That had been a fallacy, of course. The naive belief of a child.
He wonders why his father let him harbor it so long when he was so intent to break the others. Maybe because it served his interests. Maybe because Luther was more valuable in his willingness to serve.
Those are plausible explanations, ones that Luther has gone around with in his head a lot since stopping the apocalypse. But he keeps coming down to the fact that his father sent him to the moon.
Initially, when he’d learned that his father had disregarded all his research coldly, he’d felt betrayed. But there’s something else to it, something Luther can’t fully bring himself to dismiss.
His father sent him to the moon. There had been no tactical reason for this. His father hadn’t needed research or data. And it was outrageous to think that the moon was the only option. His father had successfully sequestered Luther all his life. There were other distant locations, foreign destinations and the secure walls of the mansion itself that could keep Luther’s new identity hidden.
But Reginald Hargreeves took the time, trouble and effort to send Luther to the moon.
He fingers one of the spaceships, which still dangles from the ceiling.
The fulfillment of all his childhood aspirations. The ones he’d never thought possible due to his commitment to the Umbrella Academy. In Luther’s darkest hours, his deepest torment, his father had thought to fulfill his deepest desire.
True, he’d done it coldly and callously. But the intent remains.
Leaders are just people when you got right down to it. There is nothing special about them. It’s just the combination of having foresight and embracing it. It’s a constant balancing act between the pragmatic and the emotional, the practical and the sentiment. You have to remember the goal, first and foremost.
Then, you have to remember the people to get you there.
His father failed at this in many spectacular ways, given the way six siblings had disappeared or walked out. But he’d never quite got it wrong with Luther.
Number One of seven.
It’s not that he’s first.
He’s the last.
He had to be that, the last one standing.
So he can be the first one there when everyone else comes back in line.
The fact is Luther has always been Number One.
The others have probably already known it, but it’s about time he started living up to it.
-o-
Ultimately, there’s only one thing left to do. Luther goes back to his family.
He finds them where he left them, huddled together. They reflect varying degrees of uncertainty. Diego plainly tries to hide it, while Vanya appears to be falling apart on a semi regular basis. He pats Vanya on the arm and gives her a box of Kleenex. He sighs as he approaches Diego and, when his brother flinches, he pats him on the shoulder in a gesture of goodwill. For Klaus, he brings snacks -- chocolate, lots of chocolate, and an appropriate amount of caffeine -- and Allison he takes into the hall and hugs.
For Five, he settles down next to the bed and draws the chair close.
“We’re going to have a talk about this,” he says. “As soon as you wake up.”
And Luther is there.
For each of them, in their own ways. Because this is the part his father failed at so miserably: there’s a time for comfort, as a leader. There’s a time for softness and sympathy and gentleness. There’s a time to stop, a time to listen.
Mostly, Luther silently promises his siblings as he takes care of them, there’s a time to heal.
-o-
Then, of course, there’s the other part. This is the part his father excelled at; the part Luther’s been reluctant to embrace -- to the team’s detriment. It’s the moment when you have to confront the issues, pursue the weaknesses, call out the shortcomings. It’s the moment of accountability, plain and harsh and unrelenting.
He’s been the Number One his father never could have imagined for the last day.
Now, it’s time for Luther to be the Number One his father raised him to be.
It’s almost cruel the way Luther stages it. He barely waits for Five to wake up. He allows Mom to give him a once-over, but when he’s groggy, still struggling to keep himself upright on the bed as the others gather near, Luther does what needs to be done.
“I asked you all when we got back to the mansion what happened,” he begins, overriding their inclinations to chitchat and small talk. “And you all had a lot of reasons, explanations.”
They are watching him now, their faces growing hesitant and sober.
Luther doesn’t flinch as he continues. “Excuses, mostly,” he says. “We made a mess of the mission, one of us nearly died, and you all sat around making excuses for why it wasn’t your fault.”
The traces of humor and ease from Five’s recovery had fully faded now. Vanya is wide eyed; Allison’s mouth is pressed flat. Klaus rocks back and forth on his feet while Diego looks like his fingers are itchy to reach for a knife out of instinct. Five, still propped up on pillows on the bed, listens intently.
“So, since none of you can tell me what happened back there, what went wrong, then I’ll do it for you,” he continues, making deliberate eye contact with each of them. “I’ll tell you exactly what went wrong.”
It’s such a stark declaration that none of them have the willpower to look away. No one even has a voice to protest.
Luther draws a breath and seeks to solidify himself for the words that have been days, weeks, months in the making. “What happened is that we went into that job as individuals. Seven strong, capable individuals. We did what we thought was best, and we didn’t pay attention to anyone around us,” he says. “We all did it our way. And it nearly destroyed us.”
Vanya is trembling again; Klaus gaze is watery. Allison is grim while Diego looks increasingly murderous. Ben still hasn’t manifested clearly since the incident, and Five appears moderately vexed in the bed.
“So, this is how it is,” he says flatly, in a way that his siblings will recognize from their father’s playbook. “We have a choice, all of us. We can do this together, we can put each other first, we can listen to each other, or we can get the hell out.”
The words are like stone now, falling hard and fast. Luther feels his confidence mounting.
“That’s not to say we won’t be family -- because we will. We are. We’re always family, no matter what,” he says. “But the Umbrella Academy is more than family. The Umbrella Academy can’t be seven individuals. It’s one team. It has to be one team.”
There’s a stiffening; there’s a breathlessness. Luther does not hesitate to fill it.
“Now, I get it, I know what we’ve all been through, and I’m not Dad -- no one wants that, including me,” he says. “But if we’re going to do this, if we’re going to be the Umbrella Academy, then I will be the Number One. I will play that role, the one he carved out for me because I’m the only one who can. Not because I’m stronger or smarter. But because I know what the sacrifice looks like. I know what putting the team first really means in the most vicious, heartless and unrelenting ways. I never left not because I’m better but because this is who I am. And I’ve kept my mouth shut these last few months. I’ve put my better judgement behind me because I was so scared you would reject me for being that, Dad’s lackey or whatever.”
The tension is thick. It rides higher and higher, and Luther does not let it abate.
He shakes his head. “Because we all have issues with Dad, all of us,” he says. “But just because he did some bad things -- some terrible things -- doesn’t mean that he did everything wrong. I mean, how can we think that? Really? When he brought us together. He made us a family before he ever made us the Umbrella Academy.”
It’s reaching its pitch now; it’s reaching its climax. Luther wets his lips.
“So I’ll take that. I’ll embrace it,” he says. “We need a unified front, and I’m the one to help you find it because I’m the one who has trained my whole life for just this purpose. And if you don’t like that, if you don’t want to follow me, then that’s fine. No one has to be part of the Umbrella Academy. That won’t change the way I feel about you as siblings. But for the team -- if we’re going to be a team -- then you’re going to have to trust me and fall in line. If you can’t do that, if you can’t commit to following orders and working together, then you can’t be on the team. That’s all there is to it.”
The ultimatum hangs heavily in the air, and Luther momentarily feels his confidence waver. Maybe he’s pushed too hard. Maybe he’s called a bluff that isn’t a bluff at all. Maybe he’s just taken apart the team - his team - in one fell swoop, one brash moment of misplaced bravado.
It’s a lot to ask, after all. For Diego, who has felt slighted all his life. For Allison, who has felt the weight of lies. For Klaus, who has been haunted by demons he doesn’t deserve. For Five, who never got to grow up. For Ben, who died too soon. For Vanya, who never got to know who she was. He’s asking them to get over it, to put it aside, to overcome when the loss, the trauma, the resentment is still so damn fresh.
And Luther knows they can walk away. He knows he can watch each one of them head out that door all over again. He knows -- he knows -- he runs the risk of being the last one standing again and always.
The terror grips him. His heart flutters against his chest.
Then Five clears his throat. “I was wild and reckless,” he says. His voice is still thin and weak, but there is no sound of doubt even as it wavers. “I wasn’t thinking strategically. My approach was haphazard and I lacked all situational awareness. If anyone is responsible for any of this, it’s me. I’m the one moving in and out of time and space; solidifying a safe landing spot rests solely on me.”
It’s a stark, simple confession. Luther is awestruck.
Diego’s face, however, twists with guilt. “No way,” he says. “It was me. I mean, I threw the damn knife. I have complete control over the trajectory but I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even see Five until after the knife was in his chest. That’s inexcusable and I know it.”
Klaus, looking pained, shakes his head quickly. “I know I was distracting,” he says, words in a rush. “I got so anxious, so nervous -- I mean, I hadn’t been in a fight like that in years. And these powers are overwhelming, and I didn’t know what to do with them. I got freaked out and started making jokes instead of actually doing the job. I’m the one to blame.”
“No, not even,” Allison says, and she lets out a sigh. “I’ve been hedging my bets this whole time. I keep telling myself that telling lies is not the same thing as not telling the truth, but that’s not it. I haven’t been fully committed to this, even when I need to be. I need to be all in or I’m just a liability like I was on this mission. I’m sorry.”
Luther is vaguely aware that he is gaping now, but it’s not over yet.
Vanya, looking wrecked, wipes at her eyes again. “I know I keep saying I’m ready, but I don’t know if I am,” she says. “You all say you trust me, but I don’t trust me. Which means I shouldn’t be out there. I shouldn’t go out until I’m confident in myself because the last thing any of you should be thinking about is me. I don’t know how to believe you when you say I’m getting better. I don’t know how to believe you when you say I’m really a part of this team. I have to apologize for that, because I knew that before I went on this mission. I knew for a fact I wasn’t ready, and I went anyway.”
There it is, then.
No excuses.
Responsibility.
Shakily, Luther nods. He nods and then he smiles. “Okay, then,” he says, clearing his throat. He looks at them each, looks at them steadily. “All of that is stuff we can work on. But only if you want to.”
He hesitates, glancing around the room again.
“Do you want to?” he asks. “Do you still want to be the Umbrella Academy?”
Diego scoffs. “Hell, yeah.”
Allison smiles. “Of course.”
“Uh, yeah,” Klaus says. “And Ben, too. Once I get my energy focused enough, he’ll tell you himself, but I’m pretty confident that he agrees.”
“Naturally,” Five says from his spot on the bed. “I didn’t spend 45 years trying to get back to this team just to let it go.”
“It’s going to be hard, I know that,” Vanya says. “And I don’t know how I’ll get there, but it’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”
That’s a yes, then.
That’s a resounding, unmitigated yes.
Luther is not their father, but he is their leader. The others buy into that.
It’s time for Luther to start selling it.
“Good,” he says with a nod of solidarity. “Then that’s it, then. The Umbrella Academy is back.”
The others are starting to smile. Klaus looks vaguely giddy while Diego’s posture relaxes. Allison edges closer to him, and Five appears wholly satisfied despite the fact that he’s still hooked up to an IV and bed ridden. Vanya’s tension melts away, and her smile is beaming.
Luther returns her smile with equal vigor. “The Umbrella Academy isn’t going anywhere.”
-o-
Like with most things, rebuilding the team isn’t easy, not even when they all finally know their place. Luther is their leader, and that’s undisputed, but it’s not without its complications.
Diego still challenges his decisions on a regular basis, and when they spare, he hits Luther the hardest of all. That said, Diego is also the first one to be at his side, standing between the world and danger, when it matters.
Klaus has serious issues with self control that persist, and he is inconsistent even at the best of times. But he’s getting better, and Luther comes to recognize that the baby steps count, frustrating as they can be at times.
Ben, who has wholly operated as an extension of Klaus, struggles to find his voice. It’s hard when he literally doesn’t have a body, but Luther finds his presence to be oddly reassuring. For someone who is noncorporeal, he is the most grounded of them all.
Five is so well trained as a lone gunman that his notion of teamwork is sometimes stark and limited. But Five, despite his stubbornness, is inordinately teachable. He wants to learn, and he approaches his understanding of teamwork in a straightforward, academic fashion that doesn’t always yield the results you expect, but still yields results.
Vanya hesitates to trust herself, almost entirely to her own detriment. But the thing about Vanya is that, despite what they’ve done to her, she trusts them. Therefore, with support and reassurance, Vanya learns to let go. Her powers, more than anyone else’s, are a game changer in the field. Luther suspects when she comes into her own, they will be unstoppable. And he knows -- doesn’t suspect -- that they will get there, possibly sooner rather than later.
As for Allison, whom Luther has always had a soft spot for, it is hard to hold her accountable when all she wants to do is prioritize her daughter. But she checks herself, and when Luther reminds her of her team responsibilities, she listens. And then usually agrees with a compromise that befits her common sense. After all, she reminds Luther with a smile, “We’re family.”
Luther takes her hand, and he smiles back. “No, we’re more than that,” he tells her. “We’re a team.”
She gives him a funny, quizzical little look. “And what’s the difference?”
“One was forced on us,” he answers, giving her fingers a squeeze. “The other we chose for ourselves.”
She leans into him, nuzzling him gently. “And that,” she tells him, nestled up against him, “is why you’re our Number One.”
Luther melts into her, because this is his father’s dream, finally realized. His father’s legacy, finally fulfilled.
But in their own way, in their own terms.
Luther will lead them there.
And they will follow together into whatever comes next.
PART TWO
-o-
Luther is the first to move. Stifling a curse, he crosses over toward Five. He’s too slow to catch him, but he lays Five out, arranging the limp body on the floor for better access to the wound. He’s not been well trained as a medic, but he knows a few of the basics. Starting with this: he has to stop the bleeding.
His big hands are good for throwing punches, but they will make an adequate pressure bandage in a pinch. He gathers up the torn fabric around Five’s wound and presses down hard around the blade lodged in his chest. Beneath him, Five doesn’t flinch.
Around him, the others are falling apart in an even more spectacular fashion.
Allison comes running up around to Five’s other side, going to her knees. “Is he?”
“I don’t know,” Luther says. “I didn’t check--”
She reaches out trembling fingers to Five’s pulse point while Klaus circles around behind her.
“Oh, shit,” Klaus mutters. “That’s really bleeding, isn’t it?”
It doesn’t warrant a response. Luther looks at Allison instead.
Allison nods, but her face is grim. “He’s alive.”
“But we need to get him out of here,” Luther declares. He glances back, looking for an ally. “Can someone secure our exit?”
No one responds. Diego is standing pale faced, shaking his head. “I didn’t see him,” he says instead. “I swear to God, I didn’t see him.”
“Well, yeah!” Klaus says. Ben seems to be unable to maintain a connection to the real world in all the chaos. “That’s kind of obvious!”
“Though not justified,” Allison snaps. She looks up, her gaze harsh. “How could you not see him?”
“He jumps in and out!” Diego protests with a wide gesture. He exhales, at a loss. “I just -- he was just there!”
“Guys,” Luther says, trying to bring their attention back around. “He’s bleeding here. We need to act--”
Allison seems to focus herself back to the task at hand. “Right, who has the first aid supplies?” she asks. She glances around. “Someone is supposed to have the first aid supplies, right?”
Vanya is slightly at a distance, visibly shaking from there. “There’s just so much blood--”
Allison’s question goes unanswered, just like Luther’s orders to unheeded. Diego makes a face. “It was an accident,” he insists.
Allison’s eyebrows arch. Klaus laughs, short and incredulous. “And here I thought my accidents were bad,” he says. “I’ve never messed up this bad.”
“It’s not that bad!” Diego shouts back.
“You’re lucky it didn’t hit his heart,” Allison snaps with an unsympathetic snort.
“Are we sure?” Vanya asks, still not moving from where her feet are planted in the ground. “He’s okay?”
Luther meets Allison’s eyes and understands. “If it had, he’d be dead already,” Luther confirms on her behalf. He looks up, more pleadingly this time. Five’s blood seeps through his fingers. “We need to secure an exit now.”
Diego, however, looks on the verge of tears. “He jumped right into it!” he all but yells.
“Oh, okay,” Allison says. “So it’s Five’s fault now?”
“It’s not mine!”
“What the hell even happened?”
“There’s so much blood--”
It’s too much; it’s not enough.
Luther has tried so hard not to be his father, but his father is the only inspiration he has now. It’s his father’s voice, his father’s invective, that echoes through his lungs when he finally breaks their bickering with a bellowing shout. “Quiet! Everyone! Now!” he yells. He looks up, eyes focused on the only plausible goal now. The others come to attention, just as you might expect from a direct order from the obvious authority. With their attention, Luther issues the orders now. “We need to focus -- and now. Otherwise, we won’t be able to salvage the job, protect our reputation and save Five’s life.”
They stare back at him, mouths drawn. They are soberly, painfully quiet. Looking at him. Looking to him -- for answers.
And it’s up to Luther to provide them. Overwhelmed as he is, the training is still there. “Okay,” he says. “Diego, make sure all the marks are secured. I don’t want any of them getting away and flag any that need immediate medical assistance.”
Diego, still pales, finally gives a nod of assent and turns away. Luther looks across to Allison. “I need you to coordinate with the authorities,” he says. “We need to have a police presence here with EMTs.”
“For Five?” Allison asks.
Luther looks down at his brother, his slack face going white on the floor. “No, we’ll take him back to the house; Mom has the training and resources,” he says. He looks back at Allison. “Can you do that?”
She hesitates. “There will be questions,” she says. “Especially with all this blood--”
“Just get them here,” Luther orders. “We’ll have Pogo deal with the fallout -- he’s always been good at that.”
The answer is sufficient, and Allison nods, getting to her feet. She disappears to the far end of the room, and Luther turns toward Klaus.
“I need you to go ready the car,” he orders his brother.
“I don’t have a driver’s license--”
“I just want it running, and I want the path cleared,” Luther reports. “And get blankets and any first aid supplies you can find ready in the backseat. I want to have everything ready for Five when we’re ready to move.”
Klaus nods once and then twice. He twitches, slightly convulsively, but then he turns away as well, frittering out of the room.
Finally, Luther settles his gaze on Vanya. Still across the room, she looks more tremulous than ever. “Come on,” he says to her, nodding toward Five. “Help me get him up.”
Luther shifts, trying to go to his feet. Vanya looks ready to crumble. “I can’t--”
“Vanya,” Luther says, plaintive and without nonsense. “If we’re going to save Five’s life, I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that?”
She looks like she wants to say no, but she looks at Five. She looks at Luther. Finally, she nods.
“Good,” Luther says, scooping Five up. “Then let’s get him out of here.”
-o-
Five’s body is slight in his arms, and Luther doesn’t dare slow down. He worries about the obstacles still in his way, but remarkably, his siblings have come through.
In fact, they have more than come through.
The exit is quick, efficient and without fault.
Diego has the bad guys all secured, and Allison reports dutifully that that emergency services will be enroute shortly. At the car, Klaus has it running with the back door open. Vanya climbs in before him, reaching out to take Five, guiding him inside and resting his head on her lap while the others pile in around her. Allison resumes first aid; Klaus sorts the supplies. Diego climbs into the passenger’s seat, eyes on Luther as he takes the wheel.
In short, this is the best they’ve been all night.
The best they’ve been since the apocalypse.
It’s a glimmer of brilliance, of what they’re meant to be.
Luther glances in the rearview mirror, taking in the coordination for what it is once more. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thinks.
He puts the car into gear and swallows hard, hoping like hell that it’s not too late.
-o-
Luther doesn’t speed, but it takes all his self control to get them safely, within acceptable guidelines back home. Now that they’re back, they seem to be in disarray again. As they argue about who will go inside first, Luther grunts his frustration -- he has neither the time, nor the patience for this -- nearly ripping the car door off its hinges as he reaches down and takes Five up again. He says nothing as he takes his brother’s body inside and bellows, “We need medical support now!”
The others, needless to say, scramble to follow him, but they’re still two steps behind him as Luther takes the stairs two at a time, carrying Five without haste to the infirmary.
While the others are prone to bickering and dissention, Pogo is loyal to a fault and Mom’s programming is impeccable. They get straight to work, whisking Five off. The others move to follow, but Luther closes the door for all of them. Of course he’d like to stay with Five, but they’re going to be a hindrance now, not a help.
He hates to think maybe this is the real story of the Umbrella Academy.
Moment of brilliance.
Defined by paralyzing self defeat.
Crossing through them, while they fight over who will donate blood, Luther retreats to one of the chairs. He sits down heavily and drops his head into his hand. There’s still blood on it.
He sighs.
“What we needed was better intel,” Diego says, pacing back and forth in the makeshift waiting room.
“No, we needed restraint,” Allison argues. She has sat down, eyeing her siblings warily. “It was completely out of control.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Klaus says with a wide gesture. He’s sitting cross legged on the floor, the ghostly outline of Ben behind him. “Though it got a little distracting in there. I mean, how is anyone supposed to focus with all those people yelling and firing guns?”
“That’s the job, asshole,” Diego snaps, still taking long strides.
“Right, right,” Klaus says. “And remind me, what part of the job involves throwing knives at each other?”
Diego snarls, but Allison huffs in frustration. “No, the point is, if we’re not focused, we shouldn’t be out there,” she says, looking from Klaus to Diego harshly. “Any of us.”
“And does that include you?” Diego asks, eyebrows arched. He shrugs coolly. “Because you’re just as rusty as Klaus is.”
Both Allison and Klaus protest this.
Vanya, sitting withdrawn in a chair opposite Allison, shakes her head. “This isn’t helping--”
“Of course it’s not,” Diego says at her. “But it’s not like you were helping either.”
“She was doing her best,” Allison immediately defends.
Klaus hedges. “But if she’s not ready--”
Vanya all but dissolves into tears and the back and forth picks up so that the voices are impossible to pick out over each other. Luther folds his hands together and sighs again.
There are no orders to give now, even if he wanted to.
But that doesn’t mean that the team doesn’t need a leader.
Now, more than ever.
He clears his throat. “What happened back there?”
The talking does not cease.
Luther clears his throat again, sitting up to his full height. This time, he allows himself to roar. “What the hell happened back there?”
The power of his voice resonates, and the others fall silent save for Vanya’s sniffling. Diego stops halfway across the floor and Allison purses her lips. Klaus slinks down, slumping guiltily while Ben all but disappears.
With their attention on him, Luther gives them a plaintive and expectant look. “What happened?” he asks again, his voice deadly calm now in their silence. “Anyone care to tell me?”
“We were all there,” Allison says. She flushes and sends a scathing glance toward Diego. “We all know what happened.”
“Oh, shut up,” Diego says. “It was the whole string of events.”
“Yeah, but you did throw the knife,” Klaus points out.
“Because half the team was completely off point,” Diego leers back. “I only threw it that direction to avoid Vanya.”
Vanya shakes her head, looking near tears again. “I was just trying to stay out of the way,” she explains. “Klaus kept projecting Ben closer to me, so I kept retreating.”
Klaus scoffs. “We were trying to protect you,” he says. “You looked totally lost in there.”
“But that was never the plan,” Allison argues to Klaus. “If you shift the strategy without telling anyone, no one knows how to respond.”
“Oh, okay,” Klaus says. “But what about you? You literally rumored the last guy directly at us.”
“Because you were near the exit,” Allison says. “I was doing my job.”
“No, your job was to clear the area, not create chaos,” Diego says. “You didn’t have any situational awareness.”
“Like you’re one to talk about situational awareness,” she snaps back at him. She turns to Klaus. “And you talk about focus, but I saw you in there. You spent half your time goofing off.”
“It’s called comic relief, thank you very much,” Klaus says. “Because everyone looked ready to fall apart the instant we got in there. I did what I could.”
“And it didn’t work,” Diego says. “I couldn’t focus at all with all your shit.”
Vanya is becoming distraught again. “Was it like this? When you were kids? So much chaos and conflict?”
Allison draws her face up soberly. “No,” she says shortly. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Dad never would have tolerated it.”
“Oh, so we’re to this now?” Diego asks. He rolls his eyes and turns away to pace some more. “We’re going to pretend like Dad’s the good guy now?”
Luther lets out a long, tired breath and closes his eyes. The arguments devolve again, and the chaos reigns. They might need Dad, but no one wants him, and Luther isn’t sure what that means for him.
He isn’t sure of anything.
Opening his eyes, he sees the door open. Standing there, blood stained and prim, is Mom. Her hands are clasped. She’s got the slightest polite smile on her face.
Hurriedly, Luther gets to his feet, cutting through the others to get to her. It takes the others a few seconds to realize what’s happening, and they fall silent and fall into step behind him. “You’re done? Already?” Luther asks, not sure if he should be hopeful or terrified. It’s only been an hour since they got back. An hour is a long time for a family to fall apart. It’s not that long for life saving surgery.
She nods. “Children,” she says. “You requested an urgent update as soon as Five was out of surgery.”
Luther nods readily. “Of course,” he says. He wets his lips, forcing himself to speak. At this point, he’s not sure if he’s the only one who knows how to ask a question instead of lobbying accusations. Either that, or they’re all just waiting for him to take the lead they resent him taking. It’s no matter; he does it anyway. “How is he? Is he okay?”
He’s a little less calm and collected than he intends -- probably less calm and collected than his siblings probably need at the moment. He remembers, however faintly, the frantic sound of his father’s voice when he’d been brought in fro that last mission on his own. He’d been so busy dying that he’d scarcely noticed how scared his father had sounded. If you were cyncial, you could attribute the emotion to the loss of a dream, the fledgling hopes of a failed lifelong ambition. Luther is many things, but cynical is not one of them.
At any rate, the others are too preoccupied with their own fears to notice Luther’s doubts.
Grace looks at him and she presses her lips together, sighing a little. He doesn’t know how his dad would have programmed that into her, but he suspects she’s had plenty of practice over the years. Too much practice. “I was able to repair the damage to his lung,” she explains. “Fortunately, the blade did not hit any of the major arteries, and my advanced programming allowed me to work quickly and minimize further blood loss. As it was, I was able to supply him with several pints of blood. He’s stable for now, but his condition is still critical while he recovers.”
She’s clinical about this, the same ways she’d calmly explained to him that the serum that saved his life had changed him irrevocably. She hates to make her children sad, but there’s still blood on her hands every time.
Luther swallows thickly. He’s always been simple in his approach. He’s never been one for nuance or caveats. “But he’ll be okay?”
She nods, smiling again. “I believe so,” she says. “But I am going to monitor him closely. He needs to be kept still and calm during his recovery.”
Nodding readily, Luther presses on. “Of course,” he says. “Can we see him? Now? Can we see him now?”
Her eyes move from Luther to the others, and there’s a flicker of sternness dictated by her programming that she can’t quite seem to maintain. They’ve all changed, then. All of them.
Time will just tell if it’s for the better.
“You may,” she concludes finally. “But you must remain quiet. Any bickering must be kept out here with no exceptions. Do you understand?”
She’s not able to be stern, but her point is still well made. The others look down, clearly sheepish. Luther, as seems to be the need tonight, speaks on their behalf. “Yes,” he says, trusting the others to follow his lead this time. “We understand.”
“Very well,” she says, and she steps back from the door. “I will be right outside.”
It’s a hell of a thing, being a leader, Luther decides wryly. Going into a fight is one thing.
Leading everyone back home safely, it seems, is entirely another.
-o-
Given the scope of their father’s project with the Umbrella Academy, his investment in medical supplies is perhaps not a surprise. But Luther is always reminded, in times such as these, that their father had been fully aware of what he was doing. He’d left nothing to chance.
The fact that he had a full medical set up to support his children when they fell in conflict was a sign that he was probably a really awful father.
It’s also the sign that he was a pretty good leader.
Luther hates him and loves that about him in equal, unpredictable turns. It’d be much easier to have one or the other, but Luther’s not what you would call the lucky sort.
He’s reminded that none of them are the lucky sort when he walks into the exam room.
It’s a room Luther knows well; it’s particularly ingrained into his memory. He remembers passing out, a dying man, and waking up, a mutated hybrid. It’s a place where his life ended. A place where his life began. He also remembers Allison bleeding out on the table. Needless to say, none of these memories are ones he likes.
And the image of Five, laid out, looking like the 13 year old he is not supposed to be is not a memory that will fade any time soon. Five has been stripped down and covered with a sheet, but that does little to obscure the bulk of the bandages around his chest and midsection. Pogo has at least taken to cleaning the area. The bloodied uniform and bandages have all been taken away, but there are still flecks of blood on what can be seen of Five’s exposed chest and neck. There’s a smudge of it on his cheek and another by his hairline that no one has had time to deal with.
Beyond the blood, Five’s complexion is pearly, and he looks particularly skinny without the normal weight of his clothing. It’s one thing to joke about your brother being 13 in the field. It’s another to see the consequences of it. True, Five is more than capable of holding his own -- he is probably their most skilled fighter, when you got right down to it -- but despite his years of experience, he’s got the body of a teenager.
It’s hard to think they were all this small once. Harder still to imagine how their father sent them all off into harm’s way on a consistent basis at this tender age. He knows Five would hate Luther’s trepidation -- especially now -- but it’s hard not to feel responsible.
Luther falls into place at the bedside, standing in stunned silence while the others filter in around him. They fill in around the bed until they have formed a semicircle around Five’s bed. Diego and Klaus stand across from him; Allison is supporting Vanya at the foot of the bed.
There’s no discussion here; no argument. There’s no blame.
In fact, no one dares to speak.
The tableau condemns them on its own. It condemns their shortcomings and their willfulness. It condemns their impulsiveness and blindness. It is a testament to their collective failure. It doesn’t matter who threw the knife. It doesn’t matter who caused the distraction. All that matters is that Five’s fighting for his life.
The Umbrella Academy is fighting for its life.
Five, in his small broken body, can be stitched up and transfused. What hope is there for the team? What possible fix is there for the Umbrella Academy? Is there anything that can be done to salvage the family?
The questions are too much.
The implications threaten to overwhelm him.
With a muttered apology, Luther backs away from the bed. He knows his siblings are watching him, but he has no strength left to guide them. He doesn’t think he can be who they need him to be. At this point, he’s not even sure who that is.
With a rush of emotion, he ducks into the hall without allowing himself a painful look back.
-o-
In truth, Luther isn’t good at making hasty exits. His siblings are usually the ones to go, and usually he’s left trying to pick up the pieces in their aftermath. In the hall, he worries he’s been to rash, because now that he’s out here, he’s not really sure what he hopes to accomplish.
Of course, he hadn’t known what he was going to do back in the room, either, so it feels like a losing proposition.
That’s the story of his life, probably. A nonstop, inevitable, losing proposition.
Shit.
He makes it to the end of the hall where he falters. Unsteady, he struggles to control his breathing, closing his eyes as he leans his head against the wall and braces himself against it with his oversized arms.
Shit.
There is a noise nearby. A shuffling of feet; a clearing of the throat.
Startled, Luther opens his eyes. He’s gathering himself in case it’s one of his siblings, but he is surprised to find Pogo come up the hall. Visibly relaxing, Luther exhales in a rush. “Oh, Pogo,” he says. “Didn’t see you coming.”
Pogo is walking slowly these days, leaning heavily on his cane as he shuffles through the mansion. “You are otherwise preoccupied,” he says, coming to a stop in front of Luther. “Master Five is doing quite well, though. All things considered.”
Luther is too tired to scoff. “You mean considering the fact that he was stabbed?”
Pogo makes a small, futile sort of gesture. “Your job has always come with certain risks. Master Five embraced that even more than the others.”
Luther shakes his head, weary. “It wasn’t from an enemy, though,” he says.
Lips turning down, Pogo looks old in his gravity. “Yes, I recognized the blade,” he says. His brow creases sympathetically. “I imagine it was quite chaotic, your first time out there as a team.”
This time, Luther almost laughs. “Chaotic? Pogo, it was a complete disaster. Nothing went the way I’d planned.”
With a slow nod, Pogo offers no quick fix but he is not devoid of sympathy. “I would wager that none of your father’s efforts turned out as he planned either.”
It’s perspective. There’s an emotional twinge in Luther’s chest, but he shakes it away. “But I was supposed to do it better. Do it right.”
There is no inkling of surprise in Pogo’s expression. “Did you stop them? Did you finish the mission?”
The question seems obvious, but it’s not one that Luther has even allowed himself to consider yet. “We did,” he says, and it feels something like a concession. “The cops will have a mess to clean up, though.”
“Ah, well, some messes are better to clean up than others,” Pogo commiserates. “But there was no collateral damage?”
“Well, just Five,” Luther reports. “I mean, a few of the bad guys have some bumps and bruises. Maybe a concussion or broken ribs. Diego hit one in the leg with a knife, and I toss one down the stairs, but that’s the worst of it.”
Pogo is clearly impressed. “Sounds like progress, then,” he says keenly. “They’re learning restraint, control.”
Luther shakes his head. “I told you, though: it was a mess,” he says. “Everyone was doing their own thing. I mean, Five took a knife to the chest due to friendly fire. Because no one would listen. No one would communicate. I’ve tried telling them that they have to work together, put each other first, but it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other. I can’t help but think how Dad ever managed any of it.”
“Ah, well, you might argue that he didn’t,” Pogo counters quizzically. “Your father often commented to me that his greatest challenge was making you all a team, united and unified. Seven super powered individuals, all exceptional in your own rights. But getting you to work together? That was always the task that threatened to break his resolve entirely.”
“Then how?” Luther all but implores. “How did he do it?”
Pogo expression turns rueful. “Suicide, in the end,” he quips. “Not a method I’d recommend.”
The point is valid, and Luther lets his shoulders slump. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
Pogo smiles gently now, in that paternal way of his that Luther has come to count on. “Just be Number One,” he instructs. “It’s not merely a designation your father provided. It’s who you are.”
It’s not the kind of answer Luther’s quite prepared to deal with. He’s not sure what it means; he’s not sure he wants to know what it means. Stepping up and taking responsibility. Being a leader. Dealing with the fallout.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks.
Pogo pats him on the arm. “Indubitably, my boy,” he says. “Indubitably.”
-o-
Pogo ambles off down the hallway, and Luther is alone again. There’s a part of him that thinks he should go back, but he’s not sure what he’d do if he did. He’s simply not ready.
They’ve all been not ready in their own unique ways. Everyone has taken it for granted that Luther is. They want all the benefits of him being Number One without any of the fallout. They have no idea what they’re asking him to do.
Retreating to his room, Luther sinks heavily onto his bed. It’s still lined with airplanes and spaceships. As a child, he’d believed that anything was possible. He thought if he worked hard, followed the rules and did the right thing, then it’d all be okay.
That had been a fallacy, of course. The naive belief of a child.
He wonders why his father let him harbor it so long when he was so intent to break the others. Maybe because it served his interests. Maybe because Luther was more valuable in his willingness to serve.
Those are plausible explanations, ones that Luther has gone around with in his head a lot since stopping the apocalypse. But he keeps coming down to the fact that his father sent him to the moon.
Initially, when he’d learned that his father had disregarded all his research coldly, he’d felt betrayed. But there’s something else to it, something Luther can’t fully bring himself to dismiss.
His father sent him to the moon. There had been no tactical reason for this. His father hadn’t needed research or data. And it was outrageous to think that the moon was the only option. His father had successfully sequestered Luther all his life. There were other distant locations, foreign destinations and the secure walls of the mansion itself that could keep Luther’s new identity hidden.
But Reginald Hargreeves took the time, trouble and effort to send Luther to the moon.
He fingers one of the spaceships, which still dangles from the ceiling.
The fulfillment of all his childhood aspirations. The ones he’d never thought possible due to his commitment to the Umbrella Academy. In Luther’s darkest hours, his deepest torment, his father had thought to fulfill his deepest desire.
True, he’d done it coldly and callously. But the intent remains.
Leaders are just people when you got right down to it. There is nothing special about them. It’s just the combination of having foresight and embracing it. It’s a constant balancing act between the pragmatic and the emotional, the practical and the sentiment. You have to remember the goal, first and foremost.
Then, you have to remember the people to get you there.
His father failed at this in many spectacular ways, given the way six siblings had disappeared or walked out. But he’d never quite got it wrong with Luther.
Number One of seven.
It’s not that he’s first.
He’s the last.
He had to be that, the last one standing.
So he can be the first one there when everyone else comes back in line.
The fact is Luther has always been Number One.
The others have probably already known it, but it’s about time he started living up to it.
-o-
Ultimately, there’s only one thing left to do. Luther goes back to his family.
He finds them where he left them, huddled together. They reflect varying degrees of uncertainty. Diego plainly tries to hide it, while Vanya appears to be falling apart on a semi regular basis. He pats Vanya on the arm and gives her a box of Kleenex. He sighs as he approaches Diego and, when his brother flinches, he pats him on the shoulder in a gesture of goodwill. For Klaus, he brings snacks -- chocolate, lots of chocolate, and an appropriate amount of caffeine -- and Allison he takes into the hall and hugs.
For Five, he settles down next to the bed and draws the chair close.
“We’re going to have a talk about this,” he says. “As soon as you wake up.”
And Luther is there.
For each of them, in their own ways. Because this is the part his father failed at so miserably: there’s a time for comfort, as a leader. There’s a time for softness and sympathy and gentleness. There’s a time to stop, a time to listen.
Mostly, Luther silently promises his siblings as he takes care of them, there’s a time to heal.
-o-
Then, of course, there’s the other part. This is the part his father excelled at; the part Luther’s been reluctant to embrace -- to the team’s detriment. It’s the moment when you have to confront the issues, pursue the weaknesses, call out the shortcomings. It’s the moment of accountability, plain and harsh and unrelenting.
He’s been the Number One his father never could have imagined for the last day.
Now, it’s time for Luther to be the Number One his father raised him to be.
It’s almost cruel the way Luther stages it. He barely waits for Five to wake up. He allows Mom to give him a once-over, but when he’s groggy, still struggling to keep himself upright on the bed as the others gather near, Luther does what needs to be done.
“I asked you all when we got back to the mansion what happened,” he begins, overriding their inclinations to chitchat and small talk. “And you all had a lot of reasons, explanations.”
They are watching him now, their faces growing hesitant and sober.
Luther doesn’t flinch as he continues. “Excuses, mostly,” he says. “We made a mess of the mission, one of us nearly died, and you all sat around making excuses for why it wasn’t your fault.”
The traces of humor and ease from Five’s recovery had fully faded now. Vanya is wide eyed; Allison’s mouth is pressed flat. Klaus rocks back and forth on his feet while Diego looks like his fingers are itchy to reach for a knife out of instinct. Five, still propped up on pillows on the bed, listens intently.
“So, since none of you can tell me what happened back there, what went wrong, then I’ll do it for you,” he continues, making deliberate eye contact with each of them. “I’ll tell you exactly what went wrong.”
It’s such a stark declaration that none of them have the willpower to look away. No one even has a voice to protest.
Luther draws a breath and seeks to solidify himself for the words that have been days, weeks, months in the making. “What happened is that we went into that job as individuals. Seven strong, capable individuals. We did what we thought was best, and we didn’t pay attention to anyone around us,” he says. “We all did it our way. And it nearly destroyed us.”
Vanya is trembling again; Klaus gaze is watery. Allison is grim while Diego looks increasingly murderous. Ben still hasn’t manifested clearly since the incident, and Five appears moderately vexed in the bed.
“So, this is how it is,” he says flatly, in a way that his siblings will recognize from their father’s playbook. “We have a choice, all of us. We can do this together, we can put each other first, we can listen to each other, or we can get the hell out.”
The words are like stone now, falling hard and fast. Luther feels his confidence mounting.
“That’s not to say we won’t be family -- because we will. We are. We’re always family, no matter what,” he says. “But the Umbrella Academy is more than family. The Umbrella Academy can’t be seven individuals. It’s one team. It has to be one team.”
There’s a stiffening; there’s a breathlessness. Luther does not hesitate to fill it.
“Now, I get it, I know what we’ve all been through, and I’m not Dad -- no one wants that, including me,” he says. “But if we’re going to do this, if we’re going to be the Umbrella Academy, then I will be the Number One. I will play that role, the one he carved out for me because I’m the only one who can. Not because I’m stronger or smarter. But because I know what the sacrifice looks like. I know what putting the team first really means in the most vicious, heartless and unrelenting ways. I never left not because I’m better but because this is who I am. And I’ve kept my mouth shut these last few months. I’ve put my better judgement behind me because I was so scared you would reject me for being that, Dad’s lackey or whatever.”
The tension is thick. It rides higher and higher, and Luther does not let it abate.
He shakes his head. “Because we all have issues with Dad, all of us,” he says. “But just because he did some bad things -- some terrible things -- doesn’t mean that he did everything wrong. I mean, how can we think that? Really? When he brought us together. He made us a family before he ever made us the Umbrella Academy.”
It’s reaching its pitch now; it’s reaching its climax. Luther wets his lips.
“So I’ll take that. I’ll embrace it,” he says. “We need a unified front, and I’m the one to help you find it because I’m the one who has trained my whole life for just this purpose. And if you don’t like that, if you don’t want to follow me, then that’s fine. No one has to be part of the Umbrella Academy. That won’t change the way I feel about you as siblings. But for the team -- if we’re going to be a team -- then you’re going to have to trust me and fall in line. If you can’t do that, if you can’t commit to following orders and working together, then you can’t be on the team. That’s all there is to it.”
The ultimatum hangs heavily in the air, and Luther momentarily feels his confidence waver. Maybe he’s pushed too hard. Maybe he’s called a bluff that isn’t a bluff at all. Maybe he’s just taken apart the team - his team - in one fell swoop, one brash moment of misplaced bravado.
It’s a lot to ask, after all. For Diego, who has felt slighted all his life. For Allison, who has felt the weight of lies. For Klaus, who has been haunted by demons he doesn’t deserve. For Five, who never got to grow up. For Ben, who died too soon. For Vanya, who never got to know who she was. He’s asking them to get over it, to put it aside, to overcome when the loss, the trauma, the resentment is still so damn fresh.
And Luther knows they can walk away. He knows he can watch each one of them head out that door all over again. He knows -- he knows -- he runs the risk of being the last one standing again and always.
The terror grips him. His heart flutters against his chest.
Then Five clears his throat. “I was wild and reckless,” he says. His voice is still thin and weak, but there is no sound of doubt even as it wavers. “I wasn’t thinking strategically. My approach was haphazard and I lacked all situational awareness. If anyone is responsible for any of this, it’s me. I’m the one moving in and out of time and space; solidifying a safe landing spot rests solely on me.”
It’s a stark, simple confession. Luther is awestruck.
Diego’s face, however, twists with guilt. “No way,” he says. “It was me. I mean, I threw the damn knife. I have complete control over the trajectory but I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even see Five until after the knife was in his chest. That’s inexcusable and I know it.”
Klaus, looking pained, shakes his head quickly. “I know I was distracting,” he says, words in a rush. “I got so anxious, so nervous -- I mean, I hadn’t been in a fight like that in years. And these powers are overwhelming, and I didn’t know what to do with them. I got freaked out and started making jokes instead of actually doing the job. I’m the one to blame.”
“No, not even,” Allison says, and she lets out a sigh. “I’ve been hedging my bets this whole time. I keep telling myself that telling lies is not the same thing as not telling the truth, but that’s not it. I haven’t been fully committed to this, even when I need to be. I need to be all in or I’m just a liability like I was on this mission. I’m sorry.”
Luther is vaguely aware that he is gaping now, but it’s not over yet.
Vanya, looking wrecked, wipes at her eyes again. “I know I keep saying I’m ready, but I don’t know if I am,” she says. “You all say you trust me, but I don’t trust me. Which means I shouldn’t be out there. I shouldn’t go out until I’m confident in myself because the last thing any of you should be thinking about is me. I don’t know how to believe you when you say I’m getting better. I don’t know how to believe you when you say I’m really a part of this team. I have to apologize for that, because I knew that before I went on this mission. I knew for a fact I wasn’t ready, and I went anyway.”
There it is, then.
No excuses.
Responsibility.
Shakily, Luther nods. He nods and then he smiles. “Okay, then,” he says, clearing his throat. He looks at them each, looks at them steadily. “All of that is stuff we can work on. But only if you want to.”
He hesitates, glancing around the room again.
“Do you want to?” he asks. “Do you still want to be the Umbrella Academy?”
Diego scoffs. “Hell, yeah.”
Allison smiles. “Of course.”
“Uh, yeah,” Klaus says. “And Ben, too. Once I get my energy focused enough, he’ll tell you himself, but I’m pretty confident that he agrees.”
“Naturally,” Five says from his spot on the bed. “I didn’t spend 45 years trying to get back to this team just to let it go.”
“It’s going to be hard, I know that,” Vanya says. “And I don’t know how I’ll get there, but it’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.”
That’s a yes, then.
That’s a resounding, unmitigated yes.
Luther is not their father, but he is their leader. The others buy into that.
It’s time for Luther to start selling it.
“Good,” he says with a nod of solidarity. “Then that’s it, then. The Umbrella Academy is back.”
The others are starting to smile. Klaus looks vaguely giddy while Diego’s posture relaxes. Allison edges closer to him, and Five appears wholly satisfied despite the fact that he’s still hooked up to an IV and bed ridden. Vanya’s tension melts away, and her smile is beaming.
Luther returns her smile with equal vigor. “The Umbrella Academy isn’t going anywhere.”
-o-
Like with most things, rebuilding the team isn’t easy, not even when they all finally know their place. Luther is their leader, and that’s undisputed, but it’s not without its complications.
Diego still challenges his decisions on a regular basis, and when they spare, he hits Luther the hardest of all. That said, Diego is also the first one to be at his side, standing between the world and danger, when it matters.
Klaus has serious issues with self control that persist, and he is inconsistent even at the best of times. But he’s getting better, and Luther comes to recognize that the baby steps count, frustrating as they can be at times.
Ben, who has wholly operated as an extension of Klaus, struggles to find his voice. It’s hard when he literally doesn’t have a body, but Luther finds his presence to be oddly reassuring. For someone who is noncorporeal, he is the most grounded of them all.
Five is so well trained as a lone gunman that his notion of teamwork is sometimes stark and limited. But Five, despite his stubbornness, is inordinately teachable. He wants to learn, and he approaches his understanding of teamwork in a straightforward, academic fashion that doesn’t always yield the results you expect, but still yields results.
Vanya hesitates to trust herself, almost entirely to her own detriment. But the thing about Vanya is that, despite what they’ve done to her, she trusts them. Therefore, with support and reassurance, Vanya learns to let go. Her powers, more than anyone else’s, are a game changer in the field. Luther suspects when she comes into her own, they will be unstoppable. And he knows -- doesn’t suspect -- that they will get there, possibly sooner rather than later.
As for Allison, whom Luther has always had a soft spot for, it is hard to hold her accountable when all she wants to do is prioritize her daughter. But she checks herself, and when Luther reminds her of her team responsibilities, she listens. And then usually agrees with a compromise that befits her common sense. After all, she reminds Luther with a smile, “We’re family.”
Luther takes her hand, and he smiles back. “No, we’re more than that,” he tells her. “We’re a team.”
She gives him a funny, quizzical little look. “And what’s the difference?”
“One was forced on us,” he answers, giving her fingers a squeeze. “The other we chose for ourselves.”
She leans into him, nuzzling him gently. “And that,” she tells him, nestled up against him, “is why you’re our Number One.”
Luther melts into her, because this is his father’s dream, finally realized. His father’s legacy, finally fulfilled.
But in their own way, in their own terms.
Luther will lead them there.
And they will follow together into whatever comes next.