Ties That Bind

by iTony

Summary:

In 2006, the Umbrella Academy was a power house of vigilante justice, revered by the masses and ready to protect the world! Until it, like one of its members, faced a tragic and unexpected end.

This is the story of how the Umbrella Academy operated: the shared joys and sorrows experienced by its extraordinary teenage superheroes, who unwittingly lived their lives sheltered within its walls and stunted by its structure.

This is also the story of how the Umbrella Academy dissolved, and with it, the lives of those who survived.

In other words: the novel-length, canon-compliant, zany, sad, and cathartic prequel that you never knew you needed.

Notes:

Your feedback is appreciated!

Chapter 1: The Academy

3:18 am.

He woke to the familiar banging of Ryan dragging himself up the stairs.

Klaus didn't know if Ryan was his name.  Ryan couldn't speak, because his jaw had been torn off.  He'd named Ryan after a WWII movie that featured men getting their limbs blown off; Ryan was also missing an arm and both of his legs.  Klaus prayed to God (or Satan, or whoever would listen) that that was what had happened to Ryan. The alternative was that his condition was not a result of war, but murder.

The Academy was located in central Argyle and Klaus didn't get many visits from veterans, except when they drove past the veterans' cemetery.  When they did, hoards of men in uniforms looked up, some following the car, pulled to it instinctively. Klaus always slouched down and turned up his headphones rather than engage with them.

The fact that Ryan showed up every other week implied that this was Ryan's territory.  That he'd been killed or laid to rest somewhere close by. That someone had torn away his jaw and his limbs and that his death had been slow and brutal.

But Klaus didn't know for sure because he tried to stay far away from Ryan.  Ryan was slow, at least, so he could be avoided.

Klaus shoved his blankets off and swung out of bed.  Ryan knew which bedroom was his; the first step for getting away from him was to high-tail it out of there.

He stepped out into the hall; the tile floor was cold on his feet.  He scurried down the hall toward Luther's bedroom, giving a glance toward the stairs.  (Stairs slowed Ryan down considerably.)

"Luther!  ...Luther!" he hissed, jiggling the knob.  The door was blocked.  (None of them had locks on the door, though Luther, Diego, and Allison had all requested locks, due largely to Klaus's night-time wanderings.)

Klaus gave the door a kick with his bare foot.

"...go to sleep, Klaus."

"Luther, he's back!"

"This is the third night in a row.  I'm tired, Klaus."

"Oh, and you think I'm not?" demanded Klaus, voice rising to a high pitch.

Klaus kicked the door a couple more times for good measure, taking a mean-spirited pleasure in ruining Luther's sleep, then turned and ran, slipping slightly, back down the hall.  All their bedrooms were on the second floor; he could probably wake up everyone and still have time to run up to the third story before Ryan made it to the landing. Was it worth it?  Diego had threatened to kill him if he woke him up again. Could he fake a cold and get some cold medicine? That worked rarely nowadays; his dear old dad had gotten wise to his methods and had locked up the medicine cabinet.  The household went from going through four packs of Benadryl a month to less than one. NyQuil consumption was down from 64 fluid ounces a month to about three. Klaus continued to insist he had "allergies" and went so far as to huff at dust (finding dust was hard work; Mom was a neat freak), or snort pepper and chop up onions before bed in the hope to getting his hands on some pills or cough syrup.  The pepper and onions had disappeared from the crisper and were currently locked up as well in an undisclosed location, which had cured Klaus of his claim to allergies.

Getting any medicine at this hour would be almost impossible.

He ran past Diego's room and Five's silent bedroom to Ben's.  "Ben!" He pounded on the door. "Ben, wake up, he's back! Lemme in!  God, please, lemme in!" Thankfully, Ben had not barred his door; Klaus shoved it open, ran in, and shook Ben awake, thoroughly unconcerned with his comfort.  "C'mon. We gotta go upstairs. He's back again," pleaded Klaus. "...can you ask Mom for some allergy medicine or something? Please? I swear I won't bug you for a week if you get me a few pills.  Cross my heart and hope to-- oh, God, he's nearly up the stairs, c'mon, get up!" He ran across the room and flicked on the light.

Ben flinched when the light came on, yanking his sheets protectively over his eyes; he was awake in an instant, and he gasped like a drowning man coming up for water, his body jack-knifing.  Klaus froze; Ben grabbed his stomach with an audible groan of pain.

“God, Klaus!” he moaned.

“Sorry!  Sorry!”

Ben rolled onto his side, curling protectively around his midsection, breathing heavily through his mouth.  Klaus watched him, eyes darting between the bed and the door. Asking to choose between wakening Ben’s demons and facing a ghost was not a position he could claim to be happy about.  (Down the hall, he heard someone moan his name, and he shuddered.)

“Ben, please,” he whispered.

“Okay, okay.”  Ben threw back the covers, still hunching over his stomach.  His hair was standing up on one end. Like Klaus, he was dressed in the Academy’s standard pajamas, a pale blue outfit with the crest over the breast pocket. 

He crossed the room; Klaus immediately squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.  “Just take me upstairs. Please.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Klaus,” whispered Ben, opening his door and looking up and down the hallway.  It was empty and silent. They left together, toward the stairs; Ben led Klaus up, listening to him whispering to himself.

“Shut up.  Shut up. Leave me alone.”

“Hey.  Focus on my voice,” whispered Ben as they got to the third story landing.  “You know they can’t hurt you. They’re just ghosts.”

“Oh, just ghosts?  Wonderful! Here I thought I was over-reacting to being haunted by a bunch of mutilated corpses!” replied Klaus shrilly, one hand still clamped over his eyes.

“Come on, Klaus.  It’s okay. We’re upstairs now.  That’ll slow him down.”

“Keep moving,” demanded Klaus.

“...are we gonna do this all night?”

“Yep.”

“...you can’t outrun your demons, Klaus.”

“...watch me.”

---

Everyone’s alarms went off in perfect synchronization at 5:30 a.m.  In seven rooms on the second story of the Hargreeves mansion, six teenagers threw back their covers and rose; they had thirty minutes to brush their teeth, wash their faces, get dressed, and meet in the central room for the morning briefing.  Breakfast was promptly at six-thirty, and classes at seven.

Although there was no true order to the morning routine, the six Hargreeves children tended to fall into a natural order.  Luther was almost always the first into the bathroom, followed by Diego, who was wickedly efficient; Allison took longer to get the snares out of her hair, which sometimes required Ben and Klaus to work side-by-side to rush things along.  Despite the mansion having enough bathrooms for everyone, the hallway with their rooms had only one, and Reginald Hargreeves believed that this was for the best because it forced them to operate in close quarters on a tight schedule: a critical skill.

Ben stumbled into the first-floor sitting room still struggling to straighten his tie; the others were all seated on the couches, their attention on Reginald, who was looking at his pocket watch.

“You’re late, Number Six.”

“Sorry, Dad.”  Ben dropped into a couch between Klaus and Vanya.  He and Klaus had gotten to bed around five; they were sporting identical raccoon eyes.

“Today is Friday, September twenty-ninth.  Tomorrow we will be replacing your music lessons with a portrait sitting.  Number One, your lessons for Monday are canceled, as I have to attend an important meeting; you will attend archery with Number Two in lieu of your usual training.  Number Six, your free time on Sunday is canceled until further notice; you are falling behind in your trigonometry lessons. ...yes, Number Three?” Allison had stuck her hand up.

“Our birthday is on Sunday.”

Reginald’s brow furrowed even further over his monocle.  He seemed to be surprised by this information; morning briefings rarely had anything other than a list of upcoming events, and it was unusual for any of them to speak.  Everyone was looking at Allison hopefully; everyone had been eager to make the same point because Reginald appeared ready to forget it entirely.

“...very well.  I will allot another hour of free time for celebrations on Sunday,” said Reginald.

Ben raised his hand.  “Do I get to--”

“You may be present for birthday festivities.  Not for your usually scheduled free time.”

Ben looked dejected.

“Dismissed.”

Everyone rose in synchronization and filed out toward the kitchen.  Luther whispered a thanks to Allison. Ben shot Klaus a dirty look, but Klaus was yawning and missed it.

The days of the week had a rhythm as tightly as mornings did.  Mornings were communal lessons; mid-afternoon were communal trainings.  Each of them had their own day of the week for individual training in the evening, starting with Luther on Mondays.  After dinner, they were allowed to retire to the den for reflection time. This was not the same as free time; they were not allowed to play but expected to engage in activities that “stimulated the mind.”  To that end, they read, journaled, drew, or played pre-approved games. (Allison and Diego had been on the same game of chess for a week; Diego accused her of cheating, which she had been; everyone else feigned ignorance, hoping the match would end in an explosive argument, as the previous one four months ago had.  Chess had only recently been re-approved.)

After breakfast they sat in the classroom on the second floor, working out math problems while Reginald paced the rows, hands clasped behind his back, offering criticism.

“Posture, Number Two, posture.  Remember, the public is always looking to you, even when you are not paying attention.  ...that is incorrect, Number Four.”

Klaus had one hand bunched in his hair; he flipped his pencil around and erased his answer, trying to backtrack.  Behind him, Ben yawned.

They had originally been seven.  Five had been gone for four years, but his presence was still felt; his chair stood empty in its usual place beside Ben’s.  The classroom had two rows; Vanya could have been moved up to Five’s seat, but she remained in the back, behind the empty desk.  Allison sat behind Luther and often had to crane around him to see the chalkboard. Reginald was uncompromising on their arrangement; order was critical to success, he said.

Their afternoon lessons included swimming and lockpicking.  Ben lagged behind the rest, letting out small noises of frustration that he couldn’t open his lock; it was clear the lack of sleep was getting to him.  Reginald barked at him to try harder, reducing him nearly to tears; fortunately, Reginald was distracted before it came to that when Luther accidentally crushed his lock completely.  (“It still counts! It’s open!”)

They had a fifteen-minute break between lessons; Ben looked haggard.  Saturdays were his training days; Fridays had an open slot because of Five’s absence.  “This is your fault,” he hissed at Klaus as they toweled off in the communal shower that was attached to the small natatorium in the back of the house.

“My fault?  If this is anyone’s fault, it’s Ryan’s,” retorted Klaus indignantly, rolling his towel into a whip, ready to defend himself against Diego, who had done the same.  Seeing Klaus wouldn’t make a good target, Diego cracked his towel against Luther instead.

“My free time got canceled because of you!”

“...ask Vanya to tutor you, she’s great at math.”

“I could tutor you,” said Vanya hopefully as she pulled off her swimcap.

Ben responded by groaning and clutching his stomach.  “I think I’m going to puke.”

“It’s just trig, Ben, it’s not hard.  Soh-cah-toa,” said Klaus with a shrug.  He cracked his towel against Diego; Diego cracked back.

“You need to stop getting up for him,” advised Allison. 

“Dad says it’s a sign of progress that you’re getting more sensitive,” added Luther.

“Klaus is sensitive,” quipped Diego, landing another crack of his towel on Klaus’s stomach.  Klaus grabbed it and yanked; Diego slipped on the tile floor and fell with an audible crack.

“Are you okay?” asked Ben in alarm.

“Easy for you to say I should just stay in bed.  You’ve never tried to sleep with someone yelling in your ear,” snapped Klaus bitterly.

“We all literally do.  Every night. Because you wake us up,” said Luther as he shrugged on his blazer.

“Maybe you could try rumoring my ghosts away?  Tell them I can’t hear them?” suggested Klaus.

“They don’t listen to us,” said Allison with a shrug.  “Tell them yourself to leave you alone.”

Ben groaned again, clutching his stomach; the others were nearly dressed, but Ben was lagging behind.

“Come on, Ben, you’re okay.  Remember, sensitivity means progress,” Luther encouraged him. 

“Don’t wait up.  We don’t all have to get in trouble if I’m late,” said Ben.  His face was pale, and even though he’d already toweled off, it was shining with moisture. 

---

Speaking at the dinner table was forbidden.  They were allowed to speak at breakfast and lunch, which were informal, but dinner was usually tied to a lesson and they were expected to behave elegantly.  Reginald said this was good practice for state dinners and celebratory galas they’d be invited to as heroes. The dinners they had gone to had always been far less stuffy than Reginald had led them to believe, but nonetheless, he persisted in demanding they exercise their etiquette skills at the table.

“May I be excused?” asked Ben halfway through.

“You have not finished your lamb.”

“My stomach really hurts.”

“Good.  Embrace it.  Your powers are growing.”

Ben hunched over his plate, looking pleadingly to the head of the table.  “...please, Dad?”

“Absolutely not.  Your dinner is nutritionally perfectly balanced and you need to finish it.”

Ben picked up his fork listlessly and ate his food with minimal chewing.  He was clearly forcing it down. When they retired to the den after dinner, he curled into the corner of the couch, breathing heavily.

“Can you stop breathing like that?” asked Allison after a half-hour of silence that was only punctuated by the ticking of the grandfather clock.  She was staring at the chess board; Diego was watching her like a hawk, ready to take one of her knights.

Ben groaned in reply.

“...c’mere,” offered Klaus.  He was sitting in front of the fireplace, playing with a pack of tarot cards.  Card games were forbidden except on Sunday free time, but for Klaus, an exception had been made.  “I’ll give you a reading.”

Ben got up and walked over; Klaus shuffled a deck loudly and the scattered the cards over the ground.  “Major arcana. Choose one,” he said.

Ben let out a weary sigh; Klaus’s readings had long-since become predictable.  So predictable that Diego had nicknamed him “The Reverse Magician” because that was the card he always, inevitably, chose.

“I always get the tower.”

“This time you won’t, I promise.”

“...did you take it out of the deck?”

“Yeah.”

Ben flipped the card over.  It was the tower. He glared at Klaus.

“...oops.”

Klaus shuffled another deck and made three piles.  “Flip the top one,” he instructed.

Ben flipped the top three cards over.

“Okay, this is great.   I mixed all the suits together but you picked three different ones.  So this is physical, mental, and spiritual realm,” said Klaus, spreading his right hand over the cards.  “Reverse seven of tentacles-- I mean, pentacles--”

“Shut up, Klaus.”

“Sorry, sorry.  ...seven of pentacles for the physical realm.  You feel like you’ve stagnated. The wheels are turning but you’re going nowhere.  You feel hopeless, distracted, like you’re working hard without any results--”

“Wow, the cards told you that?” asked Ben sarcastically.

Klaus ignored him.  “Mental. Upright eight of swords.  You’re lost. You’re dependent. I’m getting helplessness.  Poor judgement. ...you’re going to rely on someone else to make a choice for you and it’s going to be bad.”

“Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, isn’t it, Klaus?” asked Luther, looking up from his book.

“Shut up.  Spiritual. Five of cups-- oops--”  The third card was stuck to another.  “You turned over two. Five of cups and eight of cups.  I can work with that. Five of cups is loss; eight of cups is surrender.  ...in light of the eight of swords, maybe you’re supposed to surrender to someone else’s decision?  ...but then you’ll get a loss. Unless you’re supposed to avoid the loss by surrendering. ...wait…”

“I want my money back,” said Ben.

“Look, this isn’t an exact science, okay?”  Klaus shuffled the cards indignantly. “I’m doing the best I can.”  He tried to cut the deck and dropped it. The cards scattered across the floor, with The Fool and the Devil facing upward and grinning at them.

Chapter 2: Birthday

On Saturday Klaus had the bathroom to himself, a rarity.  He followed the rest downstairs to the morning briefing; Saturdays were no different than other weekdays.  (On Sundays they were allowed an extra half-hour to sleep in.) Reginald checked his pocket watch several times; Ben was not present.

After waiting two minutes, he barked at Pogo to go rouse him, then carried on with the meeting as normal.

Ben stumbled in after Reginald had already dismissed them; he looked terrible.

“Not my fault!” whispered Klaus to Luther as they filed out for breakfast.

“Number Six, this behavior is unacceptable,” began Reginald.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Today is your designated day for special training.”

“I know.  I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I expect you to be particularly prepared on Saturdays.  There is no justification for tardiness.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.  I think I’m really sick.”

“Nonsense!  You have no reason to be sick.  Discomfort cannot stand in the way of progress, Number Six.  Now go join your siblings for breakfast.”

“Thank you, Dad.”  Ben went after the others; their mother, Grace, cooed over him and felt his forehead, but reported that he was not running a fever.

Before their teens, they had all had individual nannies, but as they grew older and more capable, Reginald dismissed the staff. In the end they were left with only one: Grace. By then, her algorithms had grown more complex and her role in the house had expanded greatly; everyone had already been leaning heavily on her, and her role changed from nanny to mother around the age of twelve, when she gave them their names.  They had readily adopted their names, because by that age, they all had a sense of discomfort with being numbered. Nowadays, only Reginald stuck insistently to the numbering system. When she gave them their new names, Grace had also named herself: Mom.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.  I’m sure it’s only growing pains.  Your father is very pleased to see you all developing in your abilities, you know.  We’re both so proud of you,” she said as she set a bowl of fresh fruit in front of Ben.  He poked at it listlessly. On the other side of the table, Allison and Diego took the opportunity to hastily exchange fruit; Diego loathed cantaloupe and Allison loathed grapes, but all of them took the same meals, with the only variable factor being the proportions.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Ben.

“What type of cake would you all like for your birthday tomorrow?” asked Grace as she breezed around the table adjusting napkins and pushing glasses of milk temptingly closer.

“Chocolate,” said Luther immediately.

“Anything but chocolate,” said Diego, probably just to start an argument.

“Red velvet,” said Klaus.

Ben shoved his breakfast away.

---

That evening, Ben arrived in the common room for reflection time late.  His hair was wet; apparently, he’d taken a shower. A small dot of blood behind his ear indicated why.

“Tonight, bug Diego,” he told Klaus; Klaus was letting Allison paint his nails with a glittery red polish.  Beside them, Diego was frowning at the chess board. Allison’s queen was poised to capture a rook that was protecting his king.

“Can do,” said Klaus, giving a little salute with his free hand. 

“You okay, Ben?” asked Luther.

“Just a rough lesson,” said Ben wearily, dropping onto the couch.  “...They’re getting stronger.”

“That just means you’re getting stronger, too.  Because you can control Them,” said Luther optimistically.

“...sorta,” muttered Ben.

“Hey, remember your reading last night?  Maybe the decision you’re supposed to make, the surrendering, maybe it’s to Them!” said Klaus excitedly, waving one hand to dry it while Allison tended to the other.

“Maybe your readings are all total bullshit.  Just because you can see ghosts and have some connection to the spirit realm doesn’t mean you can see into the future,” snapped Diego.  He advanced a bishop aggressively across the board to capture an inexplicably defenseless queen.

“Um, ghosts totally have knowledge of the future, I think, probably, and Dad says tarot is part of my training, so fuck you,” retorted Klaus.

“Language!” sang Grace as she stepped over Allison’s prone figure to wind up the grandfather clock.

“...maybe, yeah.  It’s hard to rein Them in,” said Ben.

“So don’t.  ...They’re on our side, aren’t they?” said Luther. 

“I don’t want Them to hurt anyone.”

“They only hurt bad guys.”

“Because I direct Them to.  ...if I let go I think They’d just hurt everyone.”

“Naw.  It’s like Klaus’s ghosts.  They’re harmless,” said Luther confidently.

“They are nothing like my ghosts, who are most assuredly causing me grave mental harm,” said Klaus, looking offended.  The power of his statement was lost because he was waving his splayed hands in the air. Allison capped the nail polish, turned to the chess board, and checkmated Diego.

---

Even though Sundays were a “rest” day (Vanya had no special training), and sleeping in was allowed, everyone was up early for morning briefing.  Even if Reginald was prone to forgetting birthdays, Grace wasn’t, and they were looking forward to a day of indulgence.

Sure enough, morning briefing started with a gruff, “Happy birthday, children.”  Everyone beamed. “How old are you turning today?”

“Seventeen,” they all chimed in synchronization.

“Very well.  Here is one hundred and seventy dollars,” said Reginald, pulling out a billfold and counting out the money.  He handed it to Luther. Everyone perked up; their usual allowance was five dollars a week.

Luther counted out six twenties, but was left with three odd bills: two twenties and a ten.  He looked to Reginald, who was watching. Everyone tensed. It was a test.

“There’s extra,” he said unnecessarily.

“Split it into fives,” said Diego.

Luther shook his head.  “Still doesn’t come out even.”

“...we could split it unevenly,” suggested Diego.

“Well, who ends up short, then?” asked Luther rhetorically.

Diego and Klaus glanced at Vanya.  Hurt flashed across her face, then vanished.  “I don’t mind,” she said quietly.

“I’ll take the cut,” said Luther quickly.

“That’s not fair,” said Diego.

“Well, it was your idea!”

“It was just an idea.  I don’t want anyone to get stiffed.”

“I vote we split it even,” said Allison.

“How much is that?”

Everyone paused; Allison came up with the answer first.  “Twenty-eight dollars and thirty-three cents.”

Luther looked at Reginald.

“I’m not a bank,” he said gruffly.

“Dad won’t split it.”

“Any convenience store would make change,” said Klaus.  “Luther can hold the cash and we’ll go to the corner store tomorrow to split it up.”

“Second,” said Allison.

“You’re third.  I’m second,” said Diego.

Everyone laughed in relief, and Luther pocketed the money.  Breakfast was French toast. That evening, Grace presented them with a large vanilla cake, the only flavor everyone could agree on, and the flavor they had every year that they could remember.  No one’s name was on it; there was not enough room; instead, there were six candles, one for each of them. Grace had knitted them each a scarf with their number on the end in their favorite colors.  The previous year, she had made hats, but they had never been allowed to wear them except on the rare free day, because they clashed terribly with the Academy uniforms.

---

On Wednesday at four, the alarms blared.  Luther, Diego, Klaus, and Ben were dutifully learning how to break out of various restraints; Vanya, who was not a member of the Academy, got her evenings free, something the rest of them secretly resented.  Violin music could be heard filtering down from the second level. Wednesdays were Allison’s special training day with Reginald.

The moment the alarms went off, everyone leaped into action; Luther and Diego ran toward the stairs to get into their uniforms on.  Klaus hopped after them, one arm twisted behind his back and zip-tied to his ankle, while Ben tried to help him.

“It has come to my attention that there has been a security breach at city hall, and armed gunmen have made off with a sizeable number of bonds belonging to the city!” barked Reginald, swaggering into the hall while the children scrambled to get ready.  “Your mission is to retrieve the bonds and apprehend those responsible for stealing them! The car will be leaving in five minutes!”

“Dad, help!” cried Klaus, crashing to the floor as he tripped on the top step.

“You see now, Number Four, why being able to remove oneself from binding ties is a critical skill!” shouted Reginald, making no move to come to his aid.  Diego ran into the hall half-dressed with his knives to cut off the zip ties.

“Mom?  My shoes!” hollered Ben from his room.

“Time is of the essence!  Every minute that elapses reflects poorly on the institution as a whole!” barked Reginald.

“I’m ready!” yelled Allison, tearing out of her room and down the stairs.

“Number Three has prepared herself in a suitable amount of time!” announced Reginald.

“I’m ready, too!” yelled Luther, slamming open his door and nearly nailing Ben in the face.

“I need my Ouija board!” cried Klaus as he staggered from his room putting on his domino mask.

“Got it!” reported Ben, waving the board at Klaus.

“Does anyone have a hair tie?” called Allison from the ground floor.

“Why would any of us have that?” yelled Diego over the railing.

The violin music from Vanya’s room paused, then resumed.

“Thirty seconds!” yelled Reginald.

“Two, can you grab my comb?” yelled Luther from downstairs.

“I cuh-- I cuh-- cuh--”  Diego let out a frustrated yell.

“Six, grab One’s comb!” yelled Klaus, who was desperately trying to tie his shoes.  Ben raced past with Klaus’s board under one arm, his other hand holding Luther’s comb.

“Ten seconds!”

Klaus, Diego, and Ben tripped over each other as they descended; Ben fell, and Klaus managed to grab him.  The board went flying; Diego caught it.

All three hit the landing, gasping for breath.  Reginald walked down the stairs, checking his pocket watch.  “...time,” he said. “That was a simulation. You all passed.  Two, Four, Six, your performance bordered on suitable. One, Three, your response time was sufficient.”

Diego wheezed, grabbing Ben’s shoulder for support and doubling over.

“Three.  In the future, have a hair tie at the ready,” said Reginald.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Four, your failure to be responsible for your own necessary instruments is a disappointment.  In the future, have your tools at the ready. Preparedness is among the most crucial skill I expect from you.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Two, stop that noise.  Your ability to hold your breath should preclude wheezing, and signs of distress are signs of weakness.  I expect more from you.”

“Sorry, Dad.”  Diego straightened.

Reginald checked his pocket watch again.  “You are all dismissed. This drill was merely adequate.  I hope you all strive for improvement in the coming weeks.”  He turned and strode back toward the private classrooms; Allison removed her domino mask and followed him, casting a look toward the others that communicated the words they all felt and could not give voice to.

---

The inevitable adrenaline crash following the drill put a damper on the evening.  Klaus holed up in a corner armchair, knitting furiously, trying to ignore the woman in the room who kept moaning his name over and over.  Their chess game over, Diego and Allison reset the board and began a new one, but it was clear neither was invested in it.

Fully half of the Academy’s alarms were merely drills; Reginald had no qualms about waking them in the middle of the night, on weekends, during personal trainings, or having back-to-back drills just to keep them on their toes.  Drills were, in their own way, as stressful as missions, and the stress had been compounded by the hanging of their latest portrait. It had been finished on Saturday, when they had all stood stiffly for hours, hyper-aware of each other’s breathing, muscles tense, trying not to jump whenever Reginald barked at one of them to straighten up or stop fidgeting.

They had a portrait done every year around their birthday and it had dawned on them, one by one, that Reginald could not have forgotten their birthday if he had commissioned the portrait.  He had simply planned not to address it. It was a sobering realization, and all of them glared at the painting when they passed it in the hallway to and from their daily activities.

“You’re not gonna wake us up, are you?” asked Diego as he slid a bishop toward one of Allison’s pawns.

Klaus’s hands tangled into the yarn.  “I’ve had a rough week.”

“Every week you’re having a rough week.  I’m tired.”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Not you.  Her.” He pointed to a stuffed boar’s head that was hung on the wall.  Allison rolled her eyes. They had all long-since learned not to trust him; it was anyone's guess if he was lying at any given time about what he was seeing or hearing. 

That night, there was a telltale scraping sound as Luther dragged his dresser in front of the door.  Wednesday and Thursday nights were Klaus’s worst; Wednesday was the day before his special training and Thursday was the day afterward, when he was especially sensitive.

Klaus scoffed.  “Asshole.” He retreated to his own bedroom and laid with his pillow over his head, but it didn’t matter.  The screams were internal; the ghosts themselves were channeled through him. At midnight he got up and banged on Allison’s door.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he whined.

She groaned.  “Fine.”

Klaus slipped into her bed, and she woke periodically during the night to listen to him whispering to his ghosts.

Chapter 3: The Monorail

Notes:

Wow what a great team I bet nothing bad is going to happen. :)

Klaus brought his Ouija board to the front room on Thursday at four o’ clock; Reginald gave a stiff nod of approval that he’d come prepared.  “Today we will be taking a trip to the hospital.”

The color drained from Klaus’s face.  He hated the hospital; at any given time, a dozen DNRs were wandering around.  He had bothered Grace for Claritin earlier in the day, hoping to dampen his senses, but it hadn’t worked.  He had brought the Ouija board with the hope that today would not involve a field trip. Klaus was dragged at least once or twice a week to sites that would have ghosts, and Reginald would demand he talk to them.  Klaus often ended up in tears, something Reginald had no patience for and scolded him sternly for, saying that he needed to learn to control his emotions if he ever hoped to control the ghosts. It was infuriating to be told he was supposed to control them; ghosts never listened.  They were selfish things, obsessed with their own deaths, and most were so grateful to have someone to talk to that they didn’t care how much distress it caused Klaus.

“Master Reginald?” called Pogo from the front room.  “A call for you.”

Reginald turned and stalked out of the room to take the call; a moment later the alarms were blaring and Reginald was charging out into the main hall with a purpose in his stride, shouting at them that they were needed for a mission.  Klaus turned and ran toward the stairs, unable to conceal his grin at getting out of training.

“The Academy has been called upon.  The city light rail is currently out of control and needs to be stopped; an estimated two hundred citizens’ lives are at stake.  The car leaves in three minutes!” shouted Reginald from the main hall. Upstairs, Allison elbowed Diego out of the way and emerged from her room with two scrunchies around her wrist.  Diego threw his shoes over the railing and slid down the banister. When they were given less than five minutes to prepare, most of them flew out of the house in various states of undress, finishing in the car.

“SIX?” yelled Luther.

“Ready!” yelled Ben, running out of his room with his shoe still untied and his tie in his hand.

The five of them grouped in the main hall, Klaus hugging his Ouija board to his chest, Allison trying to tie back her hair, which had frizzed up thanks to a recent rain.

“Is everyone accounted for?” shouted Reginald.

“Yes, sir!” shouted back Luther.

“Very well!  Let’s go!” This was not a drill, then.  The frantic energy of an upcoming mission crawled beneath everyone’s skin; in the car, they all fidgeted, pressed into the back of the car, forearms touching, knees bouncing impatiently, adjusting domino masks impatiently.

“Number Six, you’re with me; we’re going to try to stop the train manually.  Three, Four, you two go to the central control room at the station and try to figure out what happened.  Two, stand by the perimeter to prevent interference; if things get hairy and we need to evacuate, you join me and Six.”

“How come I have to do perimeter?  I did perimeter last time!”

“Number Six is going to be more capable of stopping a train.”

“...They don’t really like doing anything that doesn’t involve tearing things apart,” said Ben quietly.

“They can tear up the tracks,” said Luther.

“I expect you to minimize collateral damage!” said Reginald from the front seat.

“I’ll do perimeter,” insisted Six.

“No.  You’re with me.  Two’s got the perimeter.”

“I always get stuck with perimeter,” grumbled Diego, crossing his arms.

When they pulled up to the central station, a crowd was waiting, craning expectantly over each other, leaning into the police barricade to get a glimpse.  As the teens piled out of the car, a cheer went up. Allison waved; Luther had already grabbed Ben’s wrist and was running toward the tracks.

“How long do we have?” asked Diego, following them. 

Luther checked his watch.  “Less than ten minutes before the rail car goes head-long into the wall.  Why are you following us?”

“The police already set up a perimeter, so I’m with you.”

“...no, you’re on standby.”

“C’mon, Luther--”

“Go!” snapped Luther.  Diego’s shoulders sagged and he sighed, stopping, watching as Ben struggled to keep up to Luther’s strides.

Allison and Klaus burst into the station; Allison demanded to know where the control room was, and she led Klaus toward it after being directed by a police officer.

Inside, three men were hunkered over a panel of screens, lights, switches, and knobs, their brows furrowed.

“What’s the situation?” asked Allison.

One of them glanced at her, then did a double-take.  “Little girl, I doubt you know more than the engineers,” said one of them condescendingly.

“One of the engineers is likely to be the one who sabotaged the train controls,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“This is a simple system failure, and we have it under control, thank you.”

“I heard a rumor you could use my help.”

The man considered, then moved aside.  “There’s no evidence of hardware damage.  We think it’s a software or networking problem between the central controls and the terminal,” he informed her.  Behind them, Klaus had kicked off his shoes and settled onto the floor with his board.

“Klaus, can you contact someone who knows how to work these controls?” asked Allison.

“Do you know how many people are on the tracks?  Like, a dozen,” said Klaus, brow knitted in concentration as he stared at the board.  He tapped the fingers of his right hands into his palm, over and over. He took a shaky breath and then set his fingers on the small planchette in the middle of the board.  It slid immediately to 3. “Okay, okay, slow down, slow down,” whispered Klaus hoarsely.

The radio cackled beside them.  “--two young boys have leaped onto the front car and are currently attempting to manually apply the brakes, which experts suggest is functional but not responding to controls--” a reporter was babbling excitedly.

“Turn it off, I can’t hear,” said Klaus, eyes closed.  “...terminal three… there’s something up with terminal three.”

“Well, I could have told you that,” said one of the men.

“Shut up, shut up, one at a time.  ...well, I don’t see how laying down on the tracks would have prevented a divorce, you idiot.  ...how were the surveyors supposed to know that’s where you were buried? ...serves you right for getting drunk and stumbling around the station, doesn’t it?  ...insurance money?” Klaus’s eyes snapped open. The planchette slid over the board. “P...E… M… Pembrooke. ...there’s an investor named Pembrooke?”

The three men at the controls turned to stare.

“Yes, Pembrooke funded the recent expansion of the rail.  So what?” asked one of he men.

“...he lost money, though, didn’t he?  ...and Lucas Steinway knew about it, didn’t he?  Steinway knows all about the insurance policy.  Steinway's death wasn't an accident, either, was it?  He knew you were going to sabotage the train, so you killed him.  And once the train crashes, you're going to collect on the money," said Klaus, staring at the three men over the controls.  They stared back, eyes widening.

One of the men shoved Allison and bolted.

“Hey!” she yelled.

“What the--?” began one of the other men; Allison roundhouse kicked him in the jaw. 

The remaining man held his hands up in surrender.  “I don’t know what he’s talking about! I’m just a terminal technician!”

“Terminal three is where the fault is.  It was on purpose. ...I don’t know if he can fix it,” reported Klaus as he slid the planchette crazily over the board in front of him.  He kept shrugging his shoulder as if trying to get someone to stop touching him, and flinching as if someone were trying to grab his face.

“Can you fix it?” demanded Allison, turning to the third man; the second was doubled over, holding his face; his nose was gushing blood.

“No!  I don’t even know what the fault is!  I didn’t build this system!”

“Mr. Steinway?" asked Klaus, looking at an empty space in the room.  He nodded, hearing someone that no one else could.  "...he’s lying.  He has administrative access,” said Klaus. 

Allison cocked a fist; the man quickly leaned over the control board and began typing furiously.

“Grandma says hi,” added Klaus.

Outside, the crowd on the street was gazing upward hopefully; on the elevated tracks, there was a sudden shower of sparks, and everyone cheered over the squealing of brakes.  But the train was still coming in too quickly.

“Ben!” yelled Luther from the front; he was gripping the side, wind whipping in his hair.  Ben was pressed against the outside of the sliding doors. “Can you get in front and push it back?”

“...are you sure?” yelled Ben, peeking downward at the ground rushing below them.

Luther reached over, scruffed him, and shoved him toward the front of the train.  “Now!” he yelled.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut and ripped open the midsection of his shirt; the skin on his stomach rippled like water, and with a rumbling, unearthly growl, glistening red tentacles, some as wide around as tree trunks, whipped out.

Below them, the crowd of onlookers gasped and shrieked with delight.

The sight was brief; the train flew into the station, the brakes screaming in protest.  The ground went quiet, murmuring, waiting for the sound of a crash.

Inside, the train slid into the platform; ropey tentacles flung out, grabbing for purchase on anything available: pillars, railings, any surface that jutted out.  Sightless, they knocked over newspaper stands and concession stands and trolleys, flinging aside anything that wasn’t secured and then grabbing for something else that was; Ben let out an ear-splitting scream that could be heard over the brakes as the tentacles locked on to what they could, stretching his body out like it was silly putty, threatening to rip him apart as they braced, forcing the train to a stop.

The cars clattered together and one of them jumped off the tracks with a loud crash, but the train had slowed enough, and it stopped, settling with a hiss.

The tentacles coiled and uncoiled.  One of them, lightning-fast, grabbed a rat that was running past on the tracks and wrapped around it, popping it like a balloon in a spray of blood.  It whipped back into Ben’s body, taking the small corpse with it.

Luther jumped onto the platform and walked over to the sliding doors of the first train car, prying them open.  “Is everyone okay?” he yelled.

The passengers all began screaming excitedly and stampeding to get out.

In the central hallway, Allison escorted two of the engineers to the police, with Klaus following, Ouija board tucked under one arm and his shoes dangling from the other.

“Wow, what an incredible story!  A disaster narrowly averted by the heroism of the city’s finest team of super-humans, the Umbrella Academy!  ...here’s Spaceboy now, known for his strength, dexterity, and reflexes… it’s as if gravity doesn’t even affect him!  Spaceboy, everyone saw you on top of the train, were you in fear for your life at any point?” yelled a reporter the moment Luther stepped out of the station.

He held up a hand to block out the sun; it was shining brightly.  “Uh, no, no, we had the situation completely under control the whole time, and I’m just glad everyone is safe,” he said.

“Amazing!  And here’s the rest of your team!  ...Horror, what was going through your mind when you first arrived?” asked the reporter, thrusting a microphone at Ben. 

Ben had a clammy, sweaty look; he swallowed a few times, and, graciously, Allison shoved past him to answer the question for him.

Flashbulbs erupted from the crowd outside despite the brightness of the day; Luther, Allison, Ben, and Klaus raised their hands, smiling for the cameras, just as they had been taught.

“Rumor! Rumor, is it true that this was an act of sabotage?  Have all parties responsible for sabotaging the train been apprehended at this time?”

“Spaceboy!  Any message for the passengers of the train you just saved?”

“Kraken!  Kraken! ...where were you during all the commotion?”

“I was working the perimeter,” grumbled Diego, as Reginald appeared to escort them back to the car.  They waved to the crowd as they passed, the crowd shouting, cheering, crying, and waving.

The moment they were in the car, Reginald snapped, “Number Four!  Shoes!”

“I think better without them,” muttered Klaus, stuffing his feet back into his shoes.

“I’m gonna puke.  One of Them ate a rat, and I’m gonna puke,” moaned Ben, pressing his forehead against the glass of the window.  Allison reached over to rub his back.

“Number One, Three, Four, Six, I commend your performance,” said Reginald succinctly.

Diego looked sullenly out the window, twirling a knife.

“Can we go through a drive-through on the way home?” asked Klaus hopefully.

“No,” said Reginald, checking his pocket watch.  “Snack time has passed. We will return to evening lessons.”

“But we were on a mission!  I’m hungry!” whined Klaus. “Can’t we just get a snack on the way home?  Please?”

Ben keeled over and threw up, putting an end to the discussion about food.

Chapter 4: The Dam

The children were unsurprised when, two days after the monorail incident, at morning briefing, Reginald announced they would be having dinner with the mayor on Sunday evening to celebrate their victory on Thursday.  They had been to many such dinners, which were a mixed bag. The change of scenery and the disruption to their usual schedules was fun, but the stuffiness of the events often wasn’t; they were expected to dress in formal wear, be on their best behavior, and speak to adults about adult matters, much of which they agreed was extremely boring.

That evening, they tried on their clothes, the boys in matching suits and Allison in a demure, dark purple evening gown.  Everyone’s still fit, though Diego’s had an unexplained tear in one sleeve, which he gave to Grace to mend.

The next day, at three-thirty sharp, they met in the central hall, neatly groomed, hands out so Reginald could check their fingernails.  (Klaus had been forced to take off his nail polish.)

“Very good,” said Reginald with a tight nod.  “Grace, we shall return later this evening.”

“Of course.  Have a wonderful dinner, my darlings,” said Grace, smiling at them.  She cupped Klaus’s face because he was closest, and kissed the top of Allison’s head as she walked past.  Grace and Pogo never came to dinner with them; Grace had to stay behind to make Vanya her dinner, anyway.

“Number Two, please remember to keep your elbows off the table.  Number Four, no staring. Number Six, mind your napkin; at the last dinner I did not see you place it in your lap,” Reginald lectured them as they drove away from the mansion.  “We will spend no more than fifteen minutes with the press; Number One, be sure that you don’t block your siblings when you pose for pictures. This function is at the mayor’s estate and thus, you are all guests in his home, and I expect you to behave as such.”

They all murmured their acknowledgements.

The car pulled up to the winding entrance to the estate’s wrought iron gate, which opened for them; they drove up to the front of the house, where a small crowd of reporters and photographers were waiting.  The children filed out and gave their approved sound bites, smiling beatifically for the cameras. After fifteen minutes, they apologized for having to leaving, thanked the reporters for their attention, and filed into the mayor’s mansion, where they politely greeted their hosts one by one as Reginald introduced them.

Klaus glanced at the staircase, did a double-take, and went as white as a sheet.

“Klaus,” warned Luther in a low voice.

“Someone died here,” he whispered back.

“Just ignore them.”

“Oh, God, oh God.”

“Klaus, relax.”

“Oh, God.”

“Klaus.”

Luther clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him from bolting; the mayor was speaking to Reginald and Ben, and no one else had yet noticed the tiny drama that was playing out.

Allison’s attention was in the sitting room off of the main hall.  A young boy smiled and waved to her. She waved back. He must have been the mayor’s son; he looked normal.

The dinner was a fairly small affair compared to others.  The only people present were the mayor, his wife, his son, a woman from the city council, and two men from the railroad safety commission.

“Diego, switch with me,” whispered Allison as she looked over the seating arrangement; Diego was next to the mayor’s son.

“Then we’ll be out of order,” he whispered back.

“There’s no order; look, Klaus is next to Luther.”

“I don’t want to sit next to the council lady.  She’s boring. I sat next to her last time.”

“I heard a rumor you wanted to sit next to her again.”

“...I guess I could give her another chance.”

The children were all seated; Luther hissed “Napkin!” at Klaus, who was staring past the table and quivering in his seat like a deer in the headlights.

“So you guys all go to school at the Academy?  I go to Cottingham Prep,” said the mayor’s son.  “Next year, though, I want to go to Juilliard to study drama.  I haven’t gotten an acceptance letter, yet.”

“...oh?” said Allison with interest.

“Well, I applied late, so maybe that’s why it’s delayed.  Have you applied to any colleges yet?”

Allison frowned.  “...no,” she admitted.

“I guess you guys can get in anywhere, huh?  Do you even need to fill out applications, or does your letter just say, ‘I’m a superhero, let me in?’” he teased.

Allison looked disturbed, but she forced a smile.  “I’m sure they would take our academics into consideration.  Education is important, even for superheroes.”

“Wow.  Even in real life you guys are perfect,” he said, propping up his head.  “What do you want to study?”

Allison smoothed the napkin on her lap thoughtfully.  “...what are you studying?” she said finally.

“I told you, drama.  Hey, is he okay?”

Across the table, Klaus let out an audible whimper.  Luther kicked him under the table; Reginald shot him a withering glare.

“May I please be excused momentarily?” whispered Klaus shakily.

“...of course.  Aren’t you feeling well?” asked the mayor’s wife with concern.

“Yes, fine, thank you, ma’am,” said Klaus, rising.  He all-but ran from the room.

“You know, speaking of trains, Sao Paulo has a magnificent monorail.  I just came back from vacation in Brazil and it was fabulous,” said the city council woman.  “Would you like to see some vacation photos?”

“...okay,” said Diego wearily.

She procured a packet of recently developed photographs from her purse.  “This is the station for the monorail. And here is the inside of the car.  And here’s another angle of the inside of the car. And here’s the view from my seat of the car.”

Diego glared at Allison.

Upstairs, Klaus tore through the medicine cabinet, coming up with a box of Sudafed.  He popped four, splashing his face with water. “Hurry up, hurry up,” he whispered to the pills.

By the time dinner was being served, Klaus had settled back into his seat and was moving, slow and zombie-like, through the motions of dinner, his gaze heavy-lidded.  Fortunately, everyone else was sufficiently engaged enough for his sleepiness not to be noticed; after dinner, they retired to a sitting room, and Allison played the piano for their hosts; Luther did most of the speaking for the group, while Diego attempted to drag himself away from the city council woman, who had discovered a second pack of photos from a recent vacation in Montreal in her purse, and was eager to show off.

At the end of the night, they thanked the mayor, complimented the food, admired the house, shook hands, and graciously accepted compliments, before filing out after Reginald to go home. 

Klaus fell asleep on the ride; when they got back to the house, he couldn’t be roused, and Luther had to carry him inside, where he passed him off to Grace, who undressed him and put him to bed.

---

Mid-October, they all came down with a fever.  It hit Ben first and then filtered through the ranks, sending all of them to bed to shiver and sweat while Grace and Pogo, the only two who could not catch a human disease, flitted room to room to change pillow cases and offer glasses of water.  Klaus delighted in his fever; he was unbothered by ghosts and had a legitimate reason to request medication. He spent the five days of bedrest lying in bed blasting Britney while Diego kicked the wall they shared in an attempt to get him to turn it down.

Five days was long enough for everyone’s fever to break.  It was not long enough for everyone to return fully to their usual health, but that did not prevent Reginald from sounding the alarms.  Weak, shaky, pale, and sweaty, they all gathered in the main hall. Reginald frowned his displeasure, looking at his pocket watch.

“Ninety seconds late.  ...if each seconds were a life, then each of you would be personally responsible for eighteen deaths due to your dilly-dallying.”

Diego looked furious; Klaus looked panicked.  The other three managed to hold their poker faces.

“Do you think this is unfair, Number Two?  To ask that you respect the lives of the citizens you are sworn to protect?” demanded Reginald, turning on Diego.

Diego’s jaw tightened and a vein in his head throbbed.  “No, sir,” he grit out.

“Then wipe that sneer off your face!  You’re all dismissed.”

Diego turned and stomped off, presumably to go back to his lessons; they all had thrice-weekly language lessons with Grace, who knew ten languages and was instructing each of them in one.  He waited until he was well out of earshot from Reginald to swear, and even then, he did it in Portuguese, just in case.

---

The next time the alarms sounded, it was not a drill.  It was five in the morning and they stumbled from their beds, getting dressed while still half-asleep, their actions rote.

They were all downstairs within a few minutes, bleary-eyed and suppressing yawns.

“Look lively, now!” snapped Reginald as he shooed them out the door.  “Remember, the city looks to you to act as their protectors; laziness does not inspire confidence!  A radical eco-terror group calling themselves The Hexettes have taken over the city’s hydroelectric dam and are threatening to cut power unless their demands are met!”

“How’s the press even going to take pictures of us?  It’s still dark out,” said Allison in a low voice as they piled into the back of Reginald’s car.  On the way to the city power plant, Klaus fell asleep with his head on Ben’s shoulder.

“Okay, guys.  Here’s the plan,” said Luther.  “Klaus will find someone who can run recon for us, and we’ll infiltrate the central operating room.  The element of surprise is critical, because if they know we’re coming, they’ll overload the system and black out the whole city.  ...Klaus?”

“Wait, what?” asked Klaus, startling awake.

“Klaus, we need you to get us a way in.”

“...shit, I left my board at home.”

“Language, Number Four!  A gentleman never swears; it’s undignified!” yelled Reginald.

“Klaus isn’t a gentleman,” muttered Diego.

“Or dignified,” said Luther.  They grinned at each other.

“You shall have to communicate with the dead directly, as you’ve been training to do for some time,” said Reginald calmly, as if he were discussing Klaus’s homework schedule.

Klaus was suddenly very awake.  “Just turn around! ...we’re only a few blocks away, just turn around so we can get my board.  ...Dad? Dad, please. Dad, turn around,” he begged, voice laced with panic.

“Klaus, it’s okay,” said Ben.

“No, please, Dad!  ...Dad!” Reginald ignored his pleas as he steered them westward, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, lamp posts blinking past as they drove farther and farther from their home.  Allison put a hand on his back, rubbing his soothingly, but Klaus was panicking too hard to register her touch. His fear made everyone uncomfortable, but Luther tried to keep them on track.

“Once we know the best route to take to the control room, avoiding patrols, we’ll apprehend them as quickly as possible.  Ben, you’ll go in first, and me and Allison will follow up to clear up any stragglers.”

“What about me?” asked Diego.

“You’ll take perimeter.”

“What?   No !  I always get perimeter!”

“If any of them slips away, you can stop them with your knife-throwing,” said Luther.

“How about I do the infiltration?  I can swim up under the dam, sneak in, and let you guys in,” said Diego. 

“No.  If you go in without knowing where the Hexettes are positioned, you might accidentally let them know we’re there.  Right now they think the city is going to cooperate with their demands. It’s better to let them keep thinking that.”

“Come on, Luther, this mission actually has water!” whined Diego.  He had the ability to hold his breath for an indeterminate amount of time.  No one knew precisely how long; in training, Reginald had held him face-down in a basin of water for a hundred and forty minutes once, and he had not fallen unconscious.  To date, he had never gotten to use this particular power on any mission. “This could be our chance to unleash The Kraken!”

“We’re not ‘unleashing the Kraken,’” said Luther, making bunny ears with his fingers.  “Stop trying to make that a thing. We’re going to have Klaus give us directions to get to the central control room incognito and then take them quickly, by force.  You do perimeter.”

“But--”

“No buts.”

Diego crossed his arms and slouched; Reginald snapped at him from the front seat to sit up straight.

When they got to the damn, there were swarms of news crews reporting on the situation, spotlights set up in a row where it seemed like everyone was trying to get a good shot of themselves with the dam in the background.  Several helicopters were circling overhead; the city police was already there, various detectives pacing and talking into walkie-talkies.

The children piled out of the car.

“Please, I don’t want to,” whimpered Klaus, nearly crying.  “The drowned ones are always the worst, please, please don’t make me--”

“You have to, Klaus,” said Luther.  “Come on, let’s go down to the water.  ...once you find someone who can tell us how to get in, you can go wait in the car, okay?”

“Is that the Umbrella Academy?” asked one of the reporters, and all of them who had been actively reporting immediately left their positions and ran toward Reginald’s car, their cameramen in tow.

Several police officers hurried to block them.

“Boy, are we glad to see you, Mr. Hargreeves, sir,” said the deputy, tilting his hat.  “I don’t know how much longer our negotiator can keep ‘em from shutting down the power.  They say they want the president of ChemCo arrested or else they’ll knock out the whole grid.  You know how these environmental nutjobs are. Your kids gonna take ‘em in?”

“Yes, they will restore order as soon as possible,” said Reginald stiffly.

“Well, just let us know if they need anything, we’re real grateful to have you here.  ...big fan of the Kraken,” added the deputy, casting a look over at Diego. He saluted.  Diego looked surprised by this tiny act of acknowledgement, and he saluted back after a second of pause.

“Bet he’d want to unleash the Kraken,” he said to Luther, who had grabbed one of Klaus’s upper arms and was hauling him down toward the water.  The city of Argyle had a wide, rather sluggish river with one very narrow pinch point west of the city; most of the city’s electricity came from the dam.  The embankment from the street to the river was short but very, very steep; it had been paved and the steps that led down to the water were enclosed in chain link to prevent trespassers from playing in the water.  From the bottom of the dam to the top, it was fifty-nine feet, and the reservoir below it was filled with roiling water. Living with Klaus, most of the Hargreeves intuitively knew where there were ghosts, and the bottom of the dam on the West Argyle River seemed to be an obvious one; there had been several suicides off of the dam, a few accidental drownings (hence the chain link around the embankment), and probably a few dumped bodies.

“No, please,” whimpered Klaus, actively struggling in Luther’s grip.

“Number Three?” asked Luther.

“No, please, Allison, don’t make me, I don’t want to--”

“I heard a rumor this was your idea.”

“This was your idea, Klaus,” repeated Luther.

Klaus had stopped fighting; he stumbled beside Luther, who was holding his arm, looking confused.  “I-- I know, I know, but it was just a suggestion. I don’t want to do this,” he said breathlessly.

“I heard a rumor you felt up to it this morning,” said Allison.

“...come on, Four, you were just saying how this would be a piece of cake,” said Ben.

Klaus grimaced.  “Are you sure?  I hate the drowned ones…”

“No, you were bragging about it in the car, you said we’d be done with the mission before breakfast,” said Diego.

“That’s what I heard,” agreed Luther.

Klaus nodded uncomfortably.  “Y-yeah… yeah, I guess… let’s just get it over with, I hate the drowned ones.”

They made it down to the water; the rushing of the falls was deafening, and the flashing spotlights from the helicopters warbled over the churning surface of the water, making it look even more violent than it already was.

Klaus sat on the ground and kicked off his shoes, taking a shaky breath.

“I could just go under, you know,” said Diego, looking longingly at the water.

“No, Two.”

Klaus closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath.  “Okay. Here we go. Here we-- gah!”  He grabbed his head.  Within minutes, he was curled up, knees drawn up to his chest, sobbing.  “Stop, stop-- oh, God, stop-- leave me alone-- please, leave me alone--”

“Klaus, you need to ask one of them to go look inside for us,” Luther reminded him.

“They can’t touch you, Klaus, remember?  We’re all here; you’re safe,” said Allison.

Klaus sobbed.  “Shut up, shut up.  Just listen to me. Oh, God, stop, just listen, please.  Please, I need you to--” He let out a shriek and tried to scramble back from some unseen entity.

“Come on, Klaus, I know you can do this.  Be brave,” Luther encouraged him.

“I need to go to the control room.  I need to go to the control room. Please.  I need to go-- I need to get in without being seen.  Please,” whimpered Klaus, eyes screwed shut. One arm was wrapped around his knees, the other was extended out, trying to ward something off.  “Please, I just need to know who’s inside, I-- I’ll help you later, please-- oh, God, oh, God, that one’s got its guts coming out--”

“Sounds terrible,” muttered Ben darkly, looking away.  Allison elbowed him and shot him a warning look.

“--okay-- okay, emergency exit on the south end of the bridge?  --none in that stairwell? --but the door is barred.”

“That’s not a problem,” said Luther confidently.

“Okay, they-- they say there are a dozen people and four hostages.  You can get in through the south side, take the stairwell down two floor, then take the service hallway to another stairwell to the fifth floor, and then turn left instead of right.  The signs point right but-- but you can turn left and go around. You won’t meet anyone that way,” reported Klaus, his voice shaking.

“Great job, Klaus!” said Luther.  “Come on, guys, let’s go back up and take the back door.  ...Ben, you feel ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Ben, shrugging.

Luther helped Klaus stand up; Allison put an arm around him to led him back up the enbankment’s stairs and he leaned against her shoulder, sniffling and wiping his face.

When they got back, Klaus went to wait in the car; Luther, Allison, and Ben jogged off, ignoring the clamoring of reporters, while Diego stood next to a couple of cops, trying not to slouch lest Reginald yell at him later in the car.  (Reginald was standing firmly with his back to the car, arms crossed, observing, as stoic as ever.)

“Aren’t you going in?” asked one of the police officers.

“...no.  I’m guarding the perimeters.  ...in case you guys need my help,” said Diego.

“Wow, that’s great.  ...you know, any of you kids would be dynamite on the force.  There’s no cops in Argyle who’ve got superpowers… yet,” joked the deputy.

Diego chuckled appreciatively; at least someone appreciated his skills.

As Klaus’s ghosts had mentioned the emergency exit on the southside was barred, but Luther was able to break it open without any issue.  The three teens snuck into the power facility, pausing occasionally to listen and make sure they weren’t about to bump into anyone. But the hallways were silent.

They paused in a brightly lit corridor on the fifth floor; there were signs on the walls with arrows pointing to the central control rooms, turbine rooms, bathrooms, and offices.

Luther jerked his head to the left instead of the right, as Klaus had suggested.  Ben had pulled a yellow hard hard from a peg on the wall and was trying it on.

“How do I look?” he whispered.

“Not sure that’s your color,” replied Allison.

“Would you two stop goofing off!  ...we’re nearly there and we need to stay focused,” whispered Luther furiously, plucking the hat from Ben’s head and replacing it.  “Dad and the sheriff said that they’re armed so we need to be vigilant. Ben, are you ready?”

Ben sighed, looking down at the bright, tiled floor and nodded.

Luther jogged down the hall, with Allison and Ben in his wake.  The hallway took several turns but, sure enough, at some point it curved around and they saw a sign that said they were heading toward the control room.  They discovered it at the end of a wide hallway, closed and neatly labeled with a no-nonsense sign in all capital letters.

“Okay, Ben, I’m going to open the door on three,” whispered Luther, gripping the knob.  They assumed it was locked, but locks could rarely keep any of them out. “One… two…”

Luther’s muscles bulged and he snapped the knob off, slamming his shoulder into the door; it burst open and Ben flew past him, ripping open his shirt. 

A dozen shrill screams erupted from the control room; Ben contributed his as his tentacles flung out and wrapped around the torsos of the nearest bodies.  Someone discharged a gun and Luther pushed Allison out of the way, but he needn’t have bothered; the gunfire sent the tentacles into a frenzy. One of them dripped a dark blood that was nearly black, but it hadn’t been slowed at all; it grabbed the woman who had fired at it and smashed her head into a control panel with a sickening crunch.  Other tentacles coiled, squeezing, while some grabbed and flung.

The screaming stopped.

Luther and Allison peeked over Ben’s shoulders, just in time to see two tentacles, one coiled around a neck and the other around a pair of ankles, cooperatively yank a woman apart.  Blood splattered across their faces.

“Geez, Ben,” said Luther.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” cried Ben.  On the floor, the woman who had lost her lower half gaped like a goldfish, her scream silent; there was still a tentacle wrapped around her neck and her face was a deep, bruised purple.

“Are all these lights s’posed to be blinking red?” asked Allison, pointing to the control panel in the room.  It was lit up like a Christmas tree, splattered with human remains and dented in several places. Most of Ben’s tentacles lay on the floor like fat, glistening worms, contented with the destruction they had wrought.

“...uh-oh,” said Luther, as a sign flashed SYSTEM FAILURE.  “...Dad’s gonna be pissed.”

Ben’s tentacles retracted, and the three raced out of the control room to inform the police that the perps had been… dealt with.  Unfortunately, a city-wide blackout was already in effect. Apparently, the controls for the hydroelectric dam were not designed to have multiple bodies smashed against them violently.

“I’m extremely disappointed in you, Number Six, for your lack of control.  And you, Number One, for your lack of leadership,” said Reginald as they drove home.  Everyone was quiet because they didn’t want attention to be called to them; they stared out of the windows at the sun, which was just beginning to peak over the horizon.

When they got home, thankfully, Reginald had mellowed out moderately.  He told Luther, Allison, and Ben to go clean themselves up, and dismissed the rest to breakfast.  Even though all of the other houses on the block were without power for two days, the Hargreeves mansion remained lit up, a bright beacon in an otherwise dark city.

Chapter 5: Make-Believe in the Hargreeves Household

Notes:

Fluffy slice-of-life stuff. Enjoy; new missions are a-comin'.

“Let’s Get Kracken: City Police Commends Umbrella Academy Hero For Taking Initiative to Escort Citizens to Safety During City Blackout,” read Diego in the lounge.  His eyes crinkled in a smile as he looked at his siblings over the top of the newspaper.

“Ben took down twelve people, and you worked the perimeter, and somehow you’re the hero?” scoffed Klaus.

“We’re all heroes,” said Ben graciously.

“Your name just works best as a pun.  If they could find a way to make Spaceboy or Séance clever, they’d use that for the headline instead,” said Luther.

“Séyancé Leaves Destiny’s Child, Becomes Billboard-Topping Superstar,” mused Klaus.

“Ew.  No,” said Allison, throwing a pillow at him from the couch.  He laughed, ducking. Grace tutted as she wandered past, stepping over Luther (he was lying on the floor working on a homework essay) to dust the bookshelf.

“Remember that time we had the escort mission in Quebec and I pushed the prime minister out of the way of that gunman and all the headlines said ‘Le Kraken Sauve la Journée?'”

“You saved all the newspaper clippings for your scrapbook.  Of course we didn’t forget,” said Klaus.

Diego grabbed a pillow to hit him; he was sensitive about mentions of his scrapbook.

“Boys!” admonished Grace lightly.

“Bet they used your name ‘cause it’s the only one that translates perfectly,” said Ben.  (He was still annoyed by headlines calling him “Shokushu monsutā shōnen” in Japan and “Koshmarnyy urod” in Russia.)

“Séance is already French, though,” pointed out Allison.

“Ah oui, Madame, it is,” said Klaus.  “Fitting, since I’m pretty sure I’m from France.”

“No, dear, you were born in Austria,” said Grace gently as she stepped over Luther again.

“Someday, I’m gonna get a tattoo on the bottom of my foot that says, Made in Austria,” said Klaus.

“If you did that, Dad would send you back,” said Luther.

“...pretty sure all of our parents said no refunds,” said Allison.  They all laughed, then turned back to their homework after a while. The subject of their birth parents rarely came up and, when it did, it was quickly squashed.  They all all grown up knowing perfectly well that they were adopted, but preferred not to think of their “real” mothers, who, Reginald had made perfectly clear, did not want them, which is why they had been “turned over” to the Academy.

Grace, on the other hand, had been programmed to love them, and she hummed lightly to fill the silence.

---

“As you all know, I shall be out of town for one week, beginning tomorrow,” announced Reginald near the end of the month.  They did know, and had been looking forward to it. Any guilt about wanting their father to leave for a week was superseded by the knowledge that Reginald’s trips meant no special training and more free time, plus a stipend to amuse themselves with.  “I do not expect this to be an excuse for any of you to slack off in your studies; if anything, I expect you to apply yourselves with more vigor than ever. Pogo will be taking over your tutelage during my absence and will be reporting to me upon my return.”

“Thank you, Master Reginald,” said Pogo quietly from a doorway in the back of the room.

“I shall leave you with seventy dollars to spend as you see fit.  Don’t waste it on frivolous entertainment.” They always did.

The money was handed to Luther, who was distracted from his lessons all day.  Reginald departed mind-afternoon; they all gathered in the hall to see him off but he left without saying good-bye to anyone, as was his custom. 

That evening, in the lounge, Luther counted out the seventy, plus the one-seventy they had gotten for their birthday.

“Technically, we each get about forty dollars.  But we could buy one big thing if we all agreed on it,” said Luther.

“A motorcycle!” said Diego.

“...no motorcycle that’s safe enough to ride is only gonna cost two hundred and forty dollars,” scoffed Allison.

“A dog,” said Ben.

“Dad would never let us get a dog.”

“Besides, we have Pogo,” said Klaus.

“Klaus.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!  I meant Pogo wouldn’t like a dog, either!”

“We could all go ice skating on Saturday,” suggested Vanya quietly.

“How ‘bout a bowling night at Super Star?” suggested Luther.

“Naw, I’m sick of the Super Star.  Allison always wants to do karaoke there.”

“...what’s wrong with karaoke?” demanded Allison, crossing her arms.

“Roller skating!” said Klaus.

“I said--” began Vanya.

“Roller skating sounds fun,” agreed Ben.

“What if we bought candy and actually handed it out on Halloween?” blurted Diego.

Everyone stopped clamoring and considered.  The Hargreeves household had never celebrated a Halloween beyond Grace carving a single jack-o’-lantern to set on the front step, where it was promptly removed the first day of November.

“...we could dress up as ourselves,” said Allison.

Everyone tittered.

Their fame had never gone to their heads; they were too isolated for that.  They had appeared, as a team, in magazine interviews, morning television shows, and headlining every single one of the city’s newspapers.  But their forays into public relations was always under the watchful eye of Reginald Hargreeves, who tightly controlled every photo op and public appearance.  He emphasized that although they were all remarkable, they needed to remain humble, both for PR reasons and so that they never overestimated themselves. Hubris, taught Reginald, should be their primary concern, because hubris was what felled most heroes, and that they were only as remarkable as the rest of the world was unremarkable.

Not even the unique circumstances of their birth made them entirely unique.  After all, the “Phenomenon,” as it was referred to in the news, had occurred 43 times around the globe.  They were only seven of those 43. And being part of the the Phenomenon was no guarantee in and of itself; Vanya, for example, was perfectly ordinary.  Reginald often pointed to her and informed the children that there, but for the grace of God, went them.

They heeded these warnings as much as any child could be expected to, and that, combined with growing up in a household with so many siblings, kept them all relatively grounded.  Their general isolation from the outside world and their peers ensured they only understood their fame in a literal sense; they never felt it, and often poked fun at the idea of themselves as “superheroes.”  As far as the Hargreeves were concerned, being famous crime-fighters with enhanced abilities was perfectly normal.

“No one would come, though.  We’ve never passed out candy before,” said Vanya.

“We could have Mom light up the jack-o’-lantern so people know that this year is different,” suggested Ben.

“Yeah.  We could see other kids,” agreed Allison.

“I don’t know... “  Klaus scratched the inside of his left palm.  Halloween was a sensitive subject for him; he was not a fan of horror films or of people pretending to be dead.

“Dad would probably be mad if he knew we were inviting people to come up and knock on the door,” said Luther, but even he couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“...what if we went trick-or-treating?” asked Ben.

Luther and Alluson laughed, then realized he was serious.  “Ben, we’re way too old,” said Allison gently. “That’s for kids.  We’re seventeen.”

“I know, but… we’ve never done it.  And no one would be able to tell we’re seventeen if we were wearing masks.  And we already all own masks.”

“That’s stupid.  Dad left us money.  We can just go to the store and buy all the candy we want,” interjected Diego.

“Okay, okay, let’s just vote.  We can either go bowling, or roller skating,” said Luther.

“Ice skating,” corrected Vanya.  Luther ignored her. The subject of ice skating vs. roller skating was dropped when the vote came out strongly in favor of bowling; Luther and Allison always voted together and their opinions were usually the ones to guide the rest of the group.  Although not the most exciting activity in the world (they went bowling often enough to know the order in which they’d finish; Diego always won) it was at least cheap, and they ended up not having to spend any of their birthday money at all.

---

The Hargreeves had been raised to be eminently practical children.  They were rarely indulged in fantasy or imagination; beyond formulating plans to save the day and beat bad guys, Reginald saw no use for such things.  Their imaginations were limited by what was practical and could be translated into real-world actions.

Perhaps because of this, none of them spent too much time on “what-ifs.”  They knew they were all adopted but rarely thought of or spoke of their birth mothers.  They knew other children went to public schools and had friends who weren’t siblings, but never asked to go or imagined what it would be like.  It was understood that their lives were different because they were different; they were extraordinary. All of them but Vanya.

Because of her lack of powers, Vanya was allowed more indulgence in creative pursuits than the others.  Branded the “artistic” one, she was something of a savant with most instruments, most especially the violin, and was allowed to read fiction books that had no bearing on her training.  When they were younger, the others would take brief breaks during the day to ask Vanya what was happening to Alice in Wonderland, or how Oliver Twist was faring. But as they grew up, curiosity grew into resentment.  Vanya did not have any trainings, individual or otherwise, and it seemed to the rest that she was living a life of luxury with ample free time.

Often, Vanya tagged along to group trainings.  She was not allowed to participate but could sometimes be of help to Reginald, who would give her a tally sheet or a stop watch and put her to work.  This desperate attempt to join in only made things worse, because it made her appear to be the judgemental party. If she tallied only three parries from Diego in a sparring session, Reginald would yell at him to do better, while Diego sent Vanya a withering glare, clearing blaming her for delivering evidence of his failures to Reginald.

Armed with plenty of free time and a desperate wish to be special, Vanya’s inner life was relatively rich compared to that of her siblings’.  She was a voracious reader and, when she wasn’t reading, liked to write stories in her head. Some of them involved her discovering she was special.  She always felt an odd sense of guilt, of wrongness, for thinking this.  Fantasies that didn’t make her feel guilty included being invited to private trainings and becoming one of the other Hargreeves’s trusted confidante and best friend; being put in charge of the press coverage for the Umbrella Academy and acting as a sort of “agent” (currently, media scheduling was largely handled by Pogo); and somehow being the one to get Five to come home.

Vanya had never saved anyone in her life and knew that she’d never get an opportunity like her siblings did.  Her hobbled fantasies were still grounded in reality; Vanya never expected to be able to save people from a burning building or a tsunami.  Instead, she imagined a muted homecoming, one in which their lost sibling, Five, would return to find her waiting, and would be pleased that she had never given up on him, and they’d become best friends, and perhaps Five would demand Vanya be allowed to partake in group trainings.

That was probably her favorite day dream.

Five’s absence had many explanations, none of them satisfactory.  Five had “disappeared,” “vanished,” “run away,” and/or was “missing,” depending on who you asked.  He was never thought to be dead (at least out loud) and there was a large portrait of him in the front room, a sort of shrine that Reginald would sometimes walk past and pause for a half-beat of consideration.  Clearly, he was devastated.

Five had left right around the time that Grace had begun naming them.  She hadn’t gotten to them all at once; she had named Allison and Diego first, but taken time deciding on names for the rest of them.  Five had vanished before getting his, running off after an explosive argument with Reginald over dinner.

In a typical Reginald manner, Five’s disappearance was never addressed beyond a fly-by mention.  They carried on as usual with studies; there was no grieving or memorial service; time trudged on and everyone gradually got used to Five simply being… gone.  The large portrait in the main room appeared two months after his disappearance with zero fanfare.

Taking a clue from Reginald, no one spoke about Five.  But Vanya thought about him often. Where he was, and if he was even trying to get back, and if he got back what his name might be.  Five certainly got mythologized in Vanya’s imagination; he became the friend she’d never had, the other odd-one-out, and she missed him desperately even though they’d never been particularly close before his disappearance.

In an effort to make her dreams materialize, she got out of bed often in the middle of the night to go and turn on the front porch lights, and then go to the kitchen to make a snack, imagining he’d come in and find her and she’d get to be there for the joyful reunion.  (Even in her fantasies she was never the main protagonist, merely a sidekick.)

She slipped out of bed in the wee hours of November first, the night after they’d gone bowling, and tip-toed out into the hallway, nearly bumping into Klaus, who let out a high-pitched yelp and then clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Sorry!” she whispered.  Even in the dark, she could see the whites of Klaus’s eyes.  “I’m going to get a snack. Want to come with?”

Klaus nodded, eyes still wide.  In one of Vanya’s books, she’d read the phrase “looked like he’d seen a ghost.”  That phrase was hauntingly accurate when it came to Klaus.

“Can I borrow one of your pills?” he whispered as he followed her down the stairs.

“No.  It’s not borrowing if you can’t return it.”

“It’s really bad tonight, though.  It’s Halloween.”

Vanya wasn’t sure she believed it was any worse on Halloween than any other night.  “It’s technically November now,” she retorted.

“Se-vennn,” whined Klaus.  (In the Hargreeves household, using one’s number was akin to using their full name.)  (None of them had middle names.)

“Come on; I’ll make you a sandwich.”  She led Klaus downstairs to the kitchen, where she pulled out bread and peanut butter while Klaus sat perched on the edge of a chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, corporeal or otherwise.  Although getting caught by Reginald inevitably resulted in a scolding and a loss of privileges, Pogo and Grace were less disciplinary and occasionally looked the other way if the children got up to visit each other or wander around the house.  (In fact, the last time Pogo had caught Vanya up and wandering around the library, he’d offered her a first-edition copy of Little Women to take back to her room with her; Diego had, more than once, gone to sit up with Mom on sleepless nights.)

“If you can’t talk to Five, that means he’s still alive,” said Vanya wisely as she pulled open the cabinets to find sugar.

“Not necessarily.  I don’t know what the rules are, really.  Some people you just can’t conjure. It’s like they never existed,” said Klaus.  Then, he added, “But I think Five is still alive, too. He probably just doesn’t want to come back.  He probably poofed somewhere exciting.”

“Like a pirate ship.”

“Yeah.  Or a monastery in China.”

“A ranch in Texas.”

“Hollywood.”

“Australia.”

“Africa.”

“The moon.”

Klaus snorted.  “There’s no air on the moon.”

“He’d pop in, look around, and pop out,” said Vanya, shrugging as she slid a butter-and-sugar sandwich toward Klaus.  “He can go anywhere. Maybe that’s what he does. Goes everywhere. Maybe he comes back here late at night to eat and then leaves again.”

Klaus peeled the crusts off his sandwich.  “Doubt it. Dad has cameras everywhere. ...if I could go anywhere, I wouldn’t come back.”

“Where would you go?”

“...somewhere without ghosts.”

“But there’s no air on the moon.  Remember?”

Klaus offered a wry smile.  “Yeah. ...maybe Antarctica or something?  I don’t know. ...somewhere.” They lapsed into silence, Klaus taking tiny bites of his sandwich without much enthusiasm while Vanya made a third.

“Well, I’m glad you haven’t gone.  For what it’s worth,” she offered quietly without looking up, as the sound of the butter knife clicked against the glass of the peanut butter jar.

“...thanks.  You’re my favorite sister.  Tied with Allison.”

Vanya looked up, smiling.  “I’m tied with Allison?”

“Yeah.  You’re okay.  Even if you’re boring,” said Klaus.  “...can I have a pill now?”

Vanya scoffed and threw Five’s sandwich at him.

---

When the first snow fell, the children begged to go outside instead of staying in during their evening “reflection time.”  Grace relented and they tore into the courtyard laughing with glee, flinging snowballs at each other. (No one ever flung any at Diego, knowing that if he ever decided to return fire, they’d be dead.  Diego slung snow at everyone equally, having no particular vendetta against anyone, although he did tend to hit Luther more frequently in the head than the rest.)

Reginald watched over them regally, both hands on his cane, Pogo beside him, likewise leaning on a cane.

After thirty minutes of chasing each other around the courtyard and stuffing snow down each other’s backs, the teens tired, and eventually broke off into smaller groups; Allison and Vanya got to work on a snowman, while Ben and Klaus scaled the oak tree in the middle of the yard.  Diego flung snow at a third-story window, trying to get their mother’s attention; on the other side, Grace was washing the window, alternatively making faces at Diego and pretending not to notice him.

Luther walked up to Reginald and stood beside him, surveying the courtyard in quiet solidarity, hands clasped behind his back.

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.  From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.  But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that, for destruction, ice is also great and would suffice,” proclaimed Reginald abruptly.

Luther nodded wisely.

“Robert Frost wrote that.  If you were paying attention in your literature studies, you might have recognized it,” said Reginald.

Luther stopped nodding; Reginald had recited it so casually that he hadn’t realized it was quote.

“And how do you think the world will end, Number One?  In fire, or ice?”

Luther rocked back on his feet.  “I… I don’t think the world will end, sir.  So long as the Umbrella Academy is here to protect it,” he said.

“All good things end.  Eventually. And the world can hardly be said to be a good thing.  So, then. Fire, or ice?”

Luther looked out at the courtyard, at his siblings playing in the snow.  It felt like a trick question. “...fire, I think,” he said finally.

“Don’t underestimate ice, Number One.  Its silence makes it all the more dangerous than fire.  Sometimes, the greatest threats are those which we underestimate,” said Reginald.  He turned away, moving to go back inside.

“...Dad?”

“Yes, Number One?”

“How do you think the world will end?”

“It will end as it’s meant to.  Until then, I rely on you to keep it safe, Number One.”  He walked inside; Pogo stepped gingerly after him, wincing a little at the powdery snow on his bare feet.  Pogo only ever wore shoes when necessary to leave the house; otherwise, he preferred to keep them bare. As a chimp, wearing shoes was akin to wearing mittens, and he found them extremely inconvenient.

Diego jogged up to Luther, huffing, his breath coming out in puffs of steam.  “What did Dad say?”

“He said we have to keep the world safe.”

Diego scoffed a little.  “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me.”

“That’s what he said!” protested Luther.  Diego often acted like Luther and Reginald were keeping secrets, but the truth was, Reginald was as inscrutable with Luther as he was with all the rest of them. 

“What, I don’t even care,” said Diego, mashing snow up into a ball.

“If you throw that at me--” began Luther, but he never managed to finish his threat.  Diego was merely a diversion; from the branches of the tree above, Ben and Klaus jumped up and down, raining snow down upon him.  They would have done it sooner, but hadn’t dared get any on Reginald.

---

They were instructed to pack bags for one week at morning briefing without explanation; the last time they’d been instructed to do so, it had been to go to India. 

“I hope it’s Paris again,” whispered Allison excitedly over lunch. 

“I hated Paris.  What sort of idiot city builds itself over catacombs?” asked Klaus glumly, peeling the crusts off of his tuna sandwich and pushing them onto Luther’s plate.

“Maybe it’s just a drill,” said Vanya, hopefully.  She had never left the city; the other children had been to fourteen other countries on various missions. 

“If it were a drill, Dad wouldn’t give us notice this morning,” said Luther.  “...I wish he’d told us where we’re going, though. What if it’s Egypt and we all pack our coats?”

“Ugh.  Egypt,” groaned Klaus, who had not like Cairo any more than Paris.

“Mom, do you know where we’re going tomorrow?” asked Allison.

“No, dear.  Would you like some more carrot sticks?”

“One week is a really long time.  ...do you think the city’ll be okay without us?” asked Diego.

“Elbows off the table, honey.”

“It’ll be fine.  They’ve got a police department, you know,” scoffed Ben.

“I know, I know… but they sort of rely on us, you know?”

“Elbows, dear.”  Diego put his hands in his lap.

“I think they can live without ‘The Kraken’ for one week, Number Two,” said Ben with a roll of his eyes.  Diego flushed a little; in the newspaper the night before, an op-ed piece had run in the paper about the Umbrella Academy, and the police chief had been quoted as saying that they weren’t vigilantes and cooperated fully with the police and that in particular the Kraken worked well with official law officers, and so the police department did not see the Umbrella Academy as any sort of issue, legally speaking.  Diego always saved articles that specifically mentioned him by name; most of the time, articles only referred to them as a collective, or, if they took a quote, took it from Luther, who was recognized as the unofficial leader because of his number.

Reginald had never explained his naming system, or how he distributed their numbers, but it was assumed it was either by the order of their birth (they had all been born within the same hour, making such designations as “big brother” or “little sister” mostly meaningless) or by the order in which he had acquired them.  In any case, Luther had taken on his role as Number One naturally, and they all tended to follow his leadership. The rest of the world have given them nicknames long before they’d gotten “real” names. Reginald found the nicknames tacky and refused to use them, continuing to refer to the children by number long after everyone else in the world had given them nicknames; he seethed a little whenever he read a soundbite from “Spaceboy” or “Rumor,” and had gone on record as stating that the members of the Umbrella Academy preferred their rank designation to be used in lieu of their public personas.  This was entirely untrue; Diego loved being the Kraken and had signed dozens of posters; Allison, likewise, enjoyed the attention and signed her name as “Rumor” for the fans. (Briefly, she’d experimented with signing “Rumour,” because it looked more chic and exotic, but had gone back to the usual signing of it after a while.)

“Finish up, children.  Lunchtime is nearly over,” chirped Grace, setting an orange in front of Ben.  He reached for it.

“Maybe Dad doesn’t know where we’re going yet,” he suggested.

Everyone stared at him in shock.

“Don’t be stupid, Ben.  Dad knows everything,” said Luther.

“Mom, can I have an orange?” asked Klaus.

“You already had your orange.”

“I’m still hungry.  Can I have another orange?”

“Vanya, would you like an orange?” asked Grace.

Vanya shook her head.  “Klaus can have my orange.”

“...hey, maybe we’ll go to Florida and Dad’ll take us to Disney World!” said Ben, struggling to peel his fruit.

“Why would Dad take us to Disney World?” deadpanned Diego.

“...for saving the world, obviously.”

“What if we went to Disneyland and we ran into Five?” asked Allison, smiling.

“Number Five, this field trip is highly irregular,” mimicked Klaus.

“This is not an approved recreational activity,” mimicked Diego.

“Oh, kids,” scolded Grace gently, taking Ben’s fruit to help him peel it. 

That night, everyone packed for warm weather even though it was late November and had been snowing heavily all week.  Subconsciously, even though they knew they’d never go to Disney World, Ben’s suggestion had wormed its way into their brains, and that night, every single one of them imagined a vacation drenched in sunshine.

Chapter 6: The Escort

The destination for the next mission turned out to be Brazil.

Reginald briefed them on the plane ride down.

“United States intelligence has determined that a rogue band of insurgents is attempting to interfere with a weapons shipment.  It is your job is protect the shipment and ensure the safe arrival of the products on time and undamaged, by any means necessary.”

“I think I accidentally took your mask, Three,” said Diego, checking his mask; it wasn’t fitting correctly.

“Are you paying attention, Number Two?”

“Yes, Dad,” said Diego, as he and Allison switched masks.

“This mission is top-secret; you will have no martial aid and so you must be fully self-reliant.  As a team, you are greater than the sum of your parts. Remember that.”

“What’s the means of transportation?” asked Luther.

“The items are being unloaded from a vessel onto a convoy; that convoy will take it to an airfield for shipment.  Until the plane leaves the ground, I expect you all to treat this situation with delicacy.”

“Ow.  Dad, Allison keeps pinching me!”

“Silence, Number Six.  The escort should take no longer than two or three hours.  It is critical that no weapons fall into the hands of the insurgents.”

“They won’t, Dad,” said Luther firmly.  He reached over to smack Allison’s hands lightly; she rolled her eyes at them and they shared a private, teasing smile.  Klaus mimed vomiting; Diego mimed choking himself.

When the plane landed it was dark.  Reginald had a brief conversation with a man in a suit.

“What’s he saying?” whispered Luther.  Diego was the only one who spoke Portuguese.

“...he’s arranging to have our stuff taken to a hotel.”

“Why are we staying in a hotel if the whole escort mission only takes a few hours?”

“...maybe the mission’s just an excuse for us to be here and we’re on standby for some other, bigger mission,” said Ben.

Luther nodded.  This had happened before.

In the darkness, they piled into a rental car, with Luther in the front passenger seat, and the five kids crammed into the back.  They were used to sharing close quarters and have an arrangement that was already agreed upon; Allison sat in Luther’s lap, Klaus sat in Diego’s, and Ben, the smallest, crammed in the middle.  (Before Five’s disappearance, they had done it by number: Two sat on One, Four sat on Three, and Six sat on Five.)

“Can we listen to the radio?” asked Luther hopefully.

“No.  You have no need for music; it would only distract you.  I expect all of your thoughts from here on out to be on your success as a team,” snapped Reginald.

“Hey, a monkey!” said Diego, pressing against the window; the car swerved to avoid it and Klaus complained loudly as his head banged against the window.  (He never wore his seatbelt.)

“Okay, here’s the plan,” said Luther.  “Allison, I want you at the front of the convoy as a distraction.  No one’ll fire on a little girl. I’ll take the back, in case there’s an ambush from the back; I’m the strongest so I’ll be able to fight ‘em off and we can just outrun them if that happens.  Klaus, you and Ben take middle positions. Diego--”

“Please don’t say perimeter.”

“Up front with Allison.  You speak Portuguese and you have distance attacks, so I want you front and center.”

Diego’s face lit up.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really.  Don’t mess up.”

“You can count on me, Number One!”  The car swerved again; Klaus’s head banged against the window.

---

The docks were quiet in the wee hours of the morning; the kids stumbled out of the car yawning.  Reginald gave Ben’s ankles a few smart taps with his cane. “None of that, now! Look lively!”

A man in a military uniform strode up and gave Reginald a firm handshake.  Reginald snagged Diego to act as an interpreter; Reginald’s Portuguese was not entirely up to snuff.  The rest of the children looked around, bored, at the pale lanterns, seaside fog, unmarked crates, and lonesome sailors.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” asked a sailor, flicking a cigarette butt at Klaus.

“...shouldn’t you be on a boat?” countered Klaus, kicking the cigarette away from him.

The man laughed harshly.  “Nice try. I’m a submarine officer; I spend my time under the water, not on top of it.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well, then, where’s your submarine?”

“In the port.  I’m on leave. You know, we only get a few days to come ashore, and it’d be nice if we could do it without a bunch of snot-nosed little schoolkids hanging around the pier.”

“You’re telling me you spend all your time in a submarine?” asked Klaus incredulously.

“Just about.  And let me tell you, something, kid… it’s the loneliest gig in the world.  Just you and your crew, a dozen other guys, in a little space far away from any civilization with nothing but each other’s company.  Nobody but you and your men, all alone. It’s about as far away from anyone as you can get. What do you think of that?”

“...hm,” said Klaus.

“Number Four!” hissed Luther.

“Coming!” said Klaus quickly, scurrying away.

Some members of the Brazilian police had come to show them about; Diego basked in the attention, swaggering as he translated for everyone which cars were part of the convoy.  There were three trucks, tall, unmarked, drab olive vehicles, the beds covered by high tarps.

“You’re all clear on the importance of guarding the shipment, and ensuring that these weapons don’t fall into the wrong hands?” asked Reginald, slapping the top of a crate.

“Yes, Dad,” they all chimed.  Allison stifled a yawn; Luther caught it and hid his own yawn behind his hand.

“Very well.  I shall see you all in the morning when you have seen the shipment safely to its destination,” said Reginald.  He turned to say his good-byes to a man dressed in a military uniform; Diego translated for them. The man gave an envelope to Reginald.

There were a total of six vehicles; only three of them carried weapons.  The other three were cars loaded with men who were brandishing weapons.  All of the children were comfortable around weapons and had been trained to use them, themselves, so they paid no mind to the armed guards.  Luther arranged them into their respective vehicles; he would take one, Ben and Klaus would take the other, and Allison and Diego would sit in the first truck.

“Testing, testing,” said Klaus into a walkie-talkie.  Everyone else’s chirped. “This is Séyancé, thanking all my fans for coming out today.  Here’s an oldie but a goodie… I’m a survivor, I’m not gonna give up, I’m not gonna stop --”

Luther reached over and yanked the radio from his hands; he handed it to Ben.  “You be in charge of Four’s,” he said.

Diego twisted a finger in his ear.  “Don’t quit your day job, Four. Everyone move out!”

Luther rolled his eyes but didn’t bother correcting Diego; he had about to give the same order.

The five children dispersed.  Klaus and Ben helped each other get into the back of one of the trucks; Ben was too short and struggled to make it into the bed.  Behind them, Luther jumped into the covered truck with ease. In front, Diego and Allison piled into a car next to a man in a military uniform.  He frowned; Allison smiled.

“Can we listen to the radio?” asked Allison.

“Podemos ouvir o rádio?” relayed Diego.

The man leaned forward and flicked on the radio; dance music poured over them.  Diego pressed the button of his handheld radio and held it up to the car’s speakers.  “Hey, Luther, our car has radio.”

Diego’s radio cackled.  “Oh, so now we like music?” grumbled Klaus.

“Your singing hardly qualifies as music,” scoffed Luther.

The car started up with a rumbled and drove away from the dock.  Diego and Allison bounced together in the front seat, wedged in together, sharing a seatbelt.  Diego squinted out the window at the dark road; there were few street lamps and the fog rolling in from the ocean made visibility low.  It was, objectively, a great night for a heist. Everyone was suddenly very awake.

Despite the cheery electronic dance music playing on the tinny radio, it felt superbly quiet.  The ride was only supposed to take two hours, but they were taking rugged, narrow backroads, whose potholes prevented them from going full speed.  The driver’s knuckles on the steering wheel were white.

Ninety minutes into their journey, it happened.  They had just turned around a bend; the headlights of the car caught a yellow caution sign, and Diego espied movement.  The driver slammed on the brakes; behind them, the other cars braked and swerved to avoid rear-ending them. The driver swore; Diego had already leaned out of the window and flung a knife.

There was a shriek in the otherwise quiet night.

"Got him!" he yelled.

Allison unbuckled her seatbelt and tumbled out of the car after Diego, who had dove out and was stalking upon their assailant with a blade held in two fingers, ready to pitch it.

In the middle of the road, a small monkey lay gasping, a knife stuck in its side.

“Oh, no!” gasped Allison.

“What is it?” asked Luther, running up; Ben and Klaus ran up behind him, followed by several men wielding semi-automatic rifles.

The man in the military uniform said something to the driver in Portuguese and smacked the back of his head.  The driver apologized profusely, shakily pulling out a cigarette; the military officer smacked that out of his hand, too.

“It was just a monkey,” said Diego helplessly, lowering his knife.

“...well, put it out of its misery!” said Klaus shrilly.

“What?”

“Look at it!”

The monkey was flailing uselessly in the road, its actions uncoordinated and weak.  A pool of dark blood was seeping on to the bumpy pavement.

“Help him!” begged Ben.

Diego looked over at Luther desperately.  “I can’t. You do it.”

“What?!  I’m not the one who threw a knife at it!”

“I just reacted!  ...I don’t wanna kill it.”

“Well, it’s gonna die anyway.”  The monkey had stilled and was gasping wetly on the road.  It tried to rise, couldn’t, and fell with a soft, wet smack into the puddle it had created.

“Maybe we can take him with us,” said Ben, shrugging off his jacket, clearly intent on wrapping the monkey up.  Klaus grabbed his arm; the monkey shrieked at them, attempting to get up when Ben stepped forward.

One of the men with rifles yelled at them in Portuguese and gestured back to the trucks.

“We have to do something,” begged Ben.  “We can’t just leave him here like this.”

“It’s your monkey, Two.  You do it,” said Allison, crossing her arms.

“I cuh… I can’t.  I didn’t mean to,” protested Diego.  “Puh… p-please, Luther. You’re N-number One.”

Luther looked at Diego, and his shoulders sagged.  He walked over and knelt to break the monkey’s neck.  Ben covered his eyes; Klaus patted his shoulder.

Luther strode back over, offering Diego his knife.  Diego eyed it uncomfortably. Luther wiped it on his pants.  “...it’s okay. He’s not hurting anymore,” he said in a low voice.  Diego took his knife. “False alarm,” called Luther, louder. “Let’s get back on the road!”

Everyone piled back into their respective cars and they began driving again.  Allison played with the radio, trying not to look at Diego, who was staring out the window with a tight jaw.  She found a pop station and they listened to that.

As it turned out, the threat never materialized.  The convoy reached the airfield without any incident, and the children stood on the tarmac watching as the crates of weapons were loaded from the vehicles onto planes.

“We stayed up all night for no reason,” grumbled Diego, kicking the tires of one of the trucks.

“Well, it wasn’t for no reason.   Maybe the only reason the convoy wasn’t attacked was because they saw us and knew we’d defend the shipment,” said Allison reasonably, shifting uncomfortably.  The night was cold and she was wearing a skirt; the boys, in their shorts, were not much more comfortable.

“Listen, Diego… you did exactly what any of us would have done.  You reacted quickly to a potential threat, and you don’t need to feel bad about--” began Luther.

“Shut up, Number One.”

Luther knew better than to argue; he fell silent.

“Where do you think all this stuff’s going?” asked Ben, clearly trying to change the subject.

“I dunno.  ...Dad said it’s a weapon shipment, so maybe to fight a war or something?” guessed Luther with a shrug.

“I might join the navy someday,” mused Klaus, kneeling down to pull one of his knee-high socks that was slipping down.

Diego laughed harshly.  “Are you kidding me? You wouldn’t last a second in the army.”

“I said navy, not army, jerk.”

“Potato, potahtoe.  You wouldn’t last a day,” reiterated Diego.

“Yeah, because I’m not at all used to following orders and wearing a uniform and being around macho pricks like you all the time,” shot back Klaus.

“Hey, hey.”  Luther stepped between them.  “Come on, stop it, guys.”

“I’d rather be a macho prick than a cowardly little sissy.”

“Easy for you to say, monkey-murderer.”

Diego lunged; Luther grabbed him in a bear hug.

A black car drove up and a man stepped out; he frowned.  “What’s all this rough-housing? Are you the Hargreeves children?  I’m here to take you back to your father.”

“We’ll all feel better after we get some sleep,” said Luther, who eased off of Diego without entirely letting go of him.  He and Klaus glared at each other.

“My stomach hurts,” reported Ben.

“Yeah, yeah, what else is new?” grumbled Diego as they piled into the car.  To prevent any fighting, Luther took the middle, resulting in Klaus and Diego crammed against the windows uncomfortably.  Ben sat in the front seat and turned on the radio, but no one seemed interested in listening to it, and halfway back to their hotel room, Allison mentioned that she’d heard a rumor that they were all tired, and everyone ended up sleeping for the rest of the car ride.

Chapter 7: Brazil

Notes:

Your comments make me happy. :) Thanks, everyone.

Their hotel room in São Paulo was on the first floor, two doors down from Reginald’s.  In everyone’s collective memory, they had always shared a hotel room. Most hotel rooms had two beds, forcing them to figure out how to distribute the beds evenly.  In the past, when Five was still with them, they had done it by number: One and Two took a bed, Three and Four took another, and Five and Six were forced to fight over a couch.  (Five always won these arguments; Six was, by nature, passive, and Five was extremely assertive.)

After Five’s disappearance, there had been a single, peaceful year during which Six had taken the couch.  However, one year later, Luther had a growth spurt, and he and Diego began fighting more. Diego, however, didn’t want to bunk with Klaus, who had a habit of spreading eagle when he slept deeply (which was rarely) or waking up screaming (which was often).

New arrangements were made; Allison bunked with Luther and Diego demanded the couch for himself, leaving Ben to bunk with Klaus.  Ben, as usual, didn’t complain, though he often ended up on the floor after Klaus kicked him out so that he could occupy the middle of the bed.

They got to their room just as the sun was rising.  All of them were bleary-eyed and trying to hide their yawns; they had been up for nearly thirty-six hours and it showed.  However, no one wanted to be the first to turn in; sleep deprivation had made them anxious, cranky, and self-conscious.

Their luggage had been left at the foot of their beds, in its usual arrangement: One and Two were the furthest from the door, Three and Four were closest, and Six’s was at the foot of the couch.  Diego and Allison both went to their suitcases to swap places and to check the contents.

Diego dug into his suitcase and pulled out a small, well-loved stuffed octopus.  He let out a derisive scoff. “Mom,” he said.

No one said anything; they all knew they packed their own suitcases, and no one commented when Diego flopped onto the couch, back to the room, hugging his octopus.

Allison flicked on the television while Klaus sprang onto the bed and immediately began jumping violently on it.  Ben whined. “C’mon, at least take your shoes off, Four…!”

“I’m testing it,” said Klaus, bouncing harder.

“Doesn’t take a lot of study to see this isn’t the Ritz,” said Luther, sitting on the end of the far bed, next to Allison.  The mattress sagged noticeably.

“Oh, I bet Dad hates this place,” said Allison with barely concealed delight.

“These arrangements are not suitable,” mimicked Klaus.  His bed made a loud shriek of protest on one of his bounces and he quickly stopped; it was clear the box spring was imminently about to break.  Ben glared at him.

“No way we’re staying here for a whole week.  This hotel is gross,” said Luther as he pulled his sweater over his head.

“Yeah, but if Dad’s expecting another mission--”

“He’ll move us to a nicer place if we have to stay the whole week,” said Luther confidently.

“Yeah, no way Dad is gonna be able to handle it here for a week,” agreed Allison.  "This place doesn't even have a mini-fridge."  She was still scanning through the channels, but everything was in Portuguese; she paused on an episode of Spongebob Squarepants.  At home, they were not allowed to watch cartoons, which Reginald said were pointless and childish.

“This sure isn’t Dubai,” said Klaus, flopping onto the center of his bed.

“Anyone need the bathroom?  I’m going to take a shower,” said Luther, tossing his shorts over the back of a chair.

“All yours, bro,” said Klaus, who had taken the pillow from Ben’s side of the bed to prop himself up and stare at the television.  He had half-opened his suitcase; from it spilled a dream catcher, a hand pendant with an eye in the middle, and a large, red knot. Before night, the wall over his bed would be hung with his charms in an effort to manage his nightmares.  Klaus often underpacked clothes, preferring to borrow from Diego and cram his own suitcase full of various superstitious tokens, none of which appeared to work. Like Diego’s stuffed octopus, no one commented on their appearance on trips away from home.

---

They all fell into a light and restless sleep sometime before noon.  The television droned on; Luther and Allison fell asleep on each other, Allison still fully dressed but Luther in his pajamas; Diego hugged his octopus on the couch, curled up into a tight ball; Klaus sprawled out in the center of his bed, forcing Ben into an armchair, where he fell asleep reading Silent Spring.

They woke to the loud, tinny ringing of the phone on the bedside stand.  Klaus woke with a violent spasm and a gasp of “What is it,” knocking over the lamp and the phone.  Luther dove for the phone, waking up Allison, who automatically kicked him in the jaw.

“Ow!  Hello?”

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Diego, sitting bolt upright, octopus in one hand and knife in the other.  His hair had all gotten smashed to one side because he hadn’t used a pillow. In the corner, Ben groaned and clutched his stomach; being startled often disturbed Them and led to disturbing ripples on the surface of his skin, as if They sensed weakness and were eager to break free.

“Shh.  It’s Dad,” reported Luther, covering the speaker of the phone.  “...uh-huh? Yes, sir. ...uh-huh. ...no, sir.” He covered the speaker again.  “We’re all s’posed to be ready to go to some fancy dinner at four with the heads of state and he says Number Two especially needs to look sharp ‘cause he’s acting as our mouthpiece.”

“What about lunch?” whined Klaus.

“What about lu-- oh.  Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.  ...bye.” Luther hung up. “He says he’s out meeting with some important people but left the guy at the front desk a hundred reais!”

“That’s like forty dollars,” said Ben, trying to work a crick out of his neck.

“Let’s order crap!” said Klaus excitedly.

“If we ruin our appetites for dinner, Dad’ll be mad at us,” protested Luther.

“Dinner starts at four.  You know how these stupid state things are.  All they’ll have is little finger sandwiches and by the end of the night you’ll be starving,” argued Diego.  “Klaus is right. Let’s order crap.”

“McDonald’s!  McDonald’s!” exclaimed Allison excitedly.

“McDonald’s!” agreed Ben, jumping up.  At home, they rarely got to partake in any sort of fast food; Grace cooked them well-balanced, nutritionally wholesome meals, and they were expected to clean their plates.  They tried to make a point of sneaking out at least a few times a year to gorge on donuts or French fries.

“Alright, fine,” said Luther, who could normally be convinced to bend the rules if there was food involved.  Though Reginald almost universally disapproved of fast food, it wasn’t like he had to know.  (He had taken them out for KFC one time after a mission and since then they made a point of begging to go through drive-through windows after any daytime mission.  These pleas had, thus far, never been successful.)

Luther got up to get dressed; Diego went to the bathroom to try to tame his hair, and Klaus searched through his luggage for a pair of clean socks, sending a crystal ball rolling.

Ben concealed a yawn as they left the room in a tight cluster in their matching school uniforms; Allison covered her mouth, yawning along with him.  They crossed the parking lot of the motel to the front desk and shoved Diego forward. “Hargreeves,” he announced. They all beamed as the man behind the desk handed them an envelope with some foreign currency in it and went outside to count it.

“Where do you think the nearest McDonald’s is?” asked Luther, scanning up and down the block.

“I’ll go up on the roof and see if I see one,” said Diego, turning and jogging toward a set of stairs.  He returned shortly, panting. (Before Five’s disappearance, Five had always been the one to scout ahead for them.)  “...didn’t see one,” he reported.

“How ‘bout an Arby’s?” asked Luther.

“I saw a knock-off 7-Eleven that way,” he said, pointing.

“Is 7-Eleven the one that does Slurpees?”

“Yeah, remember that robbery we did two summers ago when Allison pushed the guy’s head into the machine?”

“Oh, yeah!  Yeah, I always wanted to try one of those.  Let’s go.”

The group of five set off.  Though it was November, the temperature was in the high seventies, and the children looked decidedly over-dressed in their knee-high socks, sweater vests, and jackets.  Klaus paused to roll down his socks, and Diego took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder instead.

They turned the corner and spotted the 7-Eleven.  It wasn’t called 7-Eleven but had the same color scheme.  A group of five teens was standing outside; two were smoking, and one was sipping a soda.  The Hargreeves tightened their group a little; the other kids were wearing denim pants and t-shirts and smirked a little at the others’ outfits.

“Você não deveria estar na escola?” asked one in a mocking voice.

“Vai pró caralho,” replied Diego as the automatic doors opened and the kids walked in.  Luther and Allison both made a beeline for the slushie machine; Ben and Diego peeled off to look at the candy aisle.  Klaus slipped off to grab some allergy medication.

They regrouped with the natural instinct of children who had always worked as one unit.

“...we’re not buying that,” said Luther, pointing to the three packs of generic antihistamines in Klaus’s hands.

“You wanna sleep tonight?”

“We don’t have enough for it.  All three of those are nearly our whole budget.”

“This is the best deal.  I checked,” said Ben, heaving up a one-gallon tub of Red Vines.

Allison offered him a high-five.

“I wanna try this,” said Diego, holding up a two-liter soda bottle.  It was labeled “Guaraná Antartica” and none of them had heard of that brand before, although, admittedly, they hadn’t heard of most brands of soda because soda, along with anything else that contained caffeine, wasn’t allowed in the house.  Reginald said caffeine was a crutch to stimulate weak minds and none of them had weak minds. The fact that he enjoyed black tea himself was a hypocrisy no one dared bring up.

“Can I get two?” wheedled Klaus.

“No.”

“But we might be here all week and Dad probably won’t give us any more money.”

“...one.  You can get one,” said Luther.  “I’m not giving up soda because you want to pass out at dinner.”

“Fine,” pouted Klaus, turning to return two of the packs to the shelf. 

“Those kids out there are laughing at us,” observed Ben.

“...don’t look at ‘em, Ben.  They’re just jealous because we’re buying a bunch of stuff,” said Allison.  Diego flipped off the kids outside, who were watching them through the window and clearly making fun of their school uniforms.

They walked up to the counter and shoved a pile of candy, chips, and soda at the clerk.  He rung it up dully, then pointed to Klaus. “E o remédio?”

Klaus shifted awkwardly.  “Huh?”

“He wants to know about the medicine,” said Diego.

“I put it on the counter.”

“...the medicine in your pocket, asshole.”

“You didn’t,” gasped Allison accusingly, turning to look at him.

Klaus considered his situation, then turned and bolted.  The clerk rose, yelling; Luther and Diego moved to block him automatically, used to protecting their brother; they reassured him in both English and Portuguese that they would pay for him.

They gave over all of their money for the two packs Klaus had pocketed, and the two slushies they’d already poured; the rest of the snacks had to be left behind.

Outside, both Klaus and the five loiterers had disappeared.

“I’m gonna kill him,” said Luther calmly, sucking on his straw.  He offered it to Ben; it was understood the slushies would have to be shared now.

“Those other kids chased him that way,” said Diego, pointing down the block.

“We’d better go save him,” said Allison, reluctantly.

“Aw, Klaus can defend himself.”  Diego reached for Allison’s slushie.

“You know he can only disarm three assailants at a time," she said.

“Well, I doubt all five of them were armed.”

“Guys, c’mon, Dad’ll be mad if we lose him,” said Ben uncomfortably.

The four begrudgingly turned in the direction Diego had indicated; sure enough, they found Klaus at the end of an alley, fists up, one knee already bleeding from taking a fall and a large bruise on his left eye.

“Hey!” barked Luther.

The five kids turned, grinning.  They sized up the Hargreeves and snickered; Klaus took their distraction and punched one in the back of the head, hooking the leg of another and bringing him down.  Luther, Allison, and Diego strode down the alley, leaving Ben with the slushies; they gave the loiterers a few good punches that sent them fleeing before Luther walked over and scruffed Klaus by the back of his jacket.

“What the hell, Number Four?” demanded Luther.

“I told you I needed it!”

“So you stole it?”

“I woulda gone back and paid for it, somehow!”

Luther and Allison shook their heads in disappointment, and they turned, Luther hauling Klaus back toward the motel.  “Just wait ‘til I tell Dad.”

At this, Klaus went pale.

They returned to the hotel room in bad spirits.  Despite everyone’s annoyance at Klaus, Ben begrudgingly allowed him to have his share of one of the slushies.  They got ready for the dinner mostly in silence; Luther made Klaus hold some ice on his cheek to keep the swelling down, and Diego rustled up a bandage to put on his knee.

When they met Reginald to leave, Reginald either didn’t notice or didn’t care to comment on Klaus’s injuries, and even though Klaus was pale and jittery all night, waiting for Luther to rat him out, Luther never mentioned the incident at the store.

---

As they had all suspected, Reginald found their motel accommodations less than satisfactory, and that evening, they returned to a far nicer hotel with a bigger, more luxurious room.  Klaus hung his lucky charms around his half of the bed, took half a pack of his medication, and was sound asleep within thirty minutes. Luther took up residence in the bathroom while Allison flipped on the television; Diego and Ben joined her on her bed to watch.

Diego was in an unusual mood and everyone walked around him on eggshells.  He had spent the whole evening being congratulated by various men on his fast reflexes and a job well-done in protecting the convoy on the way to the airfield.  Usually, Diego soaked up any praise lavished on him like a sponge, particularly anytime it was a man in uniform. But at dinner that night he had been reticent and sullen, shrugging off the approval with the repeated phrase: “Era apenas um macaco.”

It was unclear if he was trying to convince others, or himself.

He sat in sulky silence for the car ride to the hotel; everyone left him alone and Allison raised an eyebrow at Ben when he joined them on the bed to watch TV.  Usually, when Diego was in a foul mood, he preferred space, and everyone was more than happy to acquiesce, because he had a tendency to pick fights to get his frustration out.  All of the Hargreeves had, at one point or another, been on the receiving end of a Diego rage.

Allison and Ben moved over in silent solidarity so Diego could lie on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and sandwiching Ben between himself and Allison; Allison offered him the remote, and he accepted it, flicking through the channels before finding what appeared to be some sort of cop show.  The three watched with glazed expressions as Portuguese policemen chased a man through a dark neighborhood, yelling.

The switch to commercials was abrupt enough to make them all blink a little; the commercials were colorful, loud, and contrasted jarringly with the show.  The first played uplifting orchestral music and showed a young girl, perhaps nineteen, holding books and smiling as she walked across a campus with some friends, then cut to a concerned-looking professor leaning over her desk and pointing at something.  Diego scrambled to turn down the volume for the ad as the logo of a college flashed across the screen, the orchestral music swelling to an uncomfortably loud volume.

“...you guys ever think about what you wanna do when we grow up?” asked Allison thoughtfully.

“No,” said Ben.

“Fight crime,” said Diego.

“...you never think about, like, the future?”

“Nuh-uh,” said Ben.

“Nope,” said Diego.

“...those kids we saw today are probably going to college.”

“Fat chance.  They were a bunch of punks,” retorted Diego.

“Well, someday, when we graduate from the Academy--”

“We don’t graduate, Allison,” said Ben.

“Maybe Dad’ll update our outfits once we turn eighteen,” suggested Diego.

Allison frowned.  “But we could do something else.”

“Maybe you could.  With your powers, you could do anything.  But what’re me and Ben gonna do, huh?” demanded Diego, an edge creeping into his voice. 

Ben looked down; his silence spoke volumes. 

Without another word, Diego stood up, stormed off to the bathroom door, and pounded on it.  “ONE, HURRY UP!” he yelled.

“Just a sec!”

Diego banged his fist on the door again.

“I said gimme a minute!”

“You’ve already been in there for fifteen minutes!  Stop jerking off and lemme in!”

“Go away, Two!”

Diego banged on the door.

“Quit it!”

Diego banged harder.

Ben clamped his hands over his ears; sure enough, after several long seconds of Diego pounding on the door, Luther exploded out of the bathroom, and he and Diego fell to the floor in a tussle, wrestling each other with just enough force to possibly accidentally injure each other but to claim deniability later if it happened.

“I heard a rumor Dad’s coming!” yelled Allison.

The two quickly untangled and pulled apart, rising, looking guiltily at the door and trying to appear nonchalant.  After a few beats, Luther turned to Allison and jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t do that.”

“Stop fighting; you’re upsetting Ben!”  (Ben had his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut.)

“After you, Number Two,” sneered Luther, stepping aside and gesturing dramatically to the bathroom.

Diego walked past him, knocking his shoulder very purposefully on the way, and slammed the door.  Allison rubbed Ben’s back comfortingly and glared at Luther.

That night, Allison and Ben took a bed, and Luther slept alone in the other bed.  He moved Klaus to the floor, reasoning to everyone that Klaus was gone to the world for the next eight hours and wouldn’t care anyway.  Because he was unconscious, he made an easy scapegoat, and everyone agreed that their tensions were running high because of the shoplifting incident in the store earlier.  No one wanted to admit that having the other kids tease them had hurt.

Chapter 8: Life Under the Umbrella

Reginald tended to dispense information on a need-to-know basis, and it was not unusual to be taken to some remote, exotic location, placed into a hotel room, and told to wait further instruction.  The Hargreeves had been taken to locations before when no mission ever presented itself and after a few days of waiting for some emergency call, they were shuttled back home without explanation. They did not resent these strange breaks in their routine.  Indeed, they basked in them. The Academy was run on a strict schedule and there were no breaks except for a few major holidays; they had never had a summer off and hadn’t even known other kids got them until they were nearly ten.

For the Hargreeves, “vacations” were the times spent away from their home, either because they were awaiting a mission or sometimes because they had to attend a scientific conference or a press junket.  Reginald was happy to parade them around to the media as well as to the research community, though access to them was tightly controlled; as their guardian, he said, he had a solemn duty to protect them.  It was impossible not to let a little bit of the fame go to their heads, of course. After all, they’d seen themselves on TV and magazine covers, and they found that the press, unlike Reginald, was more than happy to indulge them as children in the hopes of getting more story to work with.

Excursions away from home felt similarly indulgent.  Without their usual strict, structured lives, without training or schoolwork, they lounged around in their hotel room watching TV and emptying the mini-fridge of its contents.  Sometimes they dared to order room service (mostly desserts), knowing that it was unlikely Reginald would care to comment so long as they didn’t charge more than a hundred dollars.  (The current record was just shy of $200; Luther and Ben had had an ice cream-eating contest. Ben had won, though Luther staunchly refused to accept defeat because he claimed that using Them was cheating, and the fact that Ben's tentacles had also swallowed the silverware, bowls, and coffee table should negate the fact that the ice cream had disappeared.)

Normally they would go out and explore the city in their strange, tight, matching pack, but they didn’t while they were in Brazil.  Perhaps because it was too hot; perhaps because of the disastrous excursion to the convenience store. In any case, they spent the five days following the escort mission in their room, playing card games, building pillow forts, watching TV, and eating sundaes.  Reginald told them to pack up abruptly and with little fanfare; they did so dutifully and flew home.

After big missions, there were often small crowds of fans waving signs, cheering, or offering up posters and markers for them to sign them with.  But this had been a covert mission and they flew home without any disturbance from the public.

“Welcome home, Master Luther, Miss Allison,” Pogo greeted them as they opened the heavy front door of the mansion into the cavernous main hall.  Luther was holding both his and Allison’s bags. “Hello, Master Diego. May I take your bags, Master Reginald? Hello, Master Klaus, Master Ben.”

“Hey Pogo,” they said in sync.

“Hello, children!  Hello, dear,” said Grace sweeping in and kissing Allison on the head.

“Put away your things.  It is too late for you to resume your studies today, so the lot of you may retire to the lounge for reflection time until dinner.  Number Six, come with me; we can still salvage a day’s training!” commanded Reginald.

“Okay, Dad,” sighed Ben, handing off his luggage to Diego, who handed it off to Allison.  He trudged after Reginald while the rest of them dispersed to unpack.

Vanya hovered at the top of the stairs, watching them.

“Sorry.  No change,” said Luther.

She nodded quietly.  “I can unpack Ben’s stuff,” she offered.

“It’s okay, I got it,” said Allison.

When Reginald gave them pocket money on their journeys, they always brought home the change for Vanya as a souvenir.  She had a jar of foreign currency on her bedside stand, a monument to all the places she’d never been. However, Luther had given the convenience store clerk all forty of their reais in an effort to placate him after Klaus had stolen the allergy medication, not wanting him to call the cops on them.

The convenience store incident was one of many collective memories that the Hargreeves children might have called “formative” had they ever paused to reflect on it.  Most of their formative shared memories were made outside the walls of the Academy, which was a stifling place of rules and time schedules and nothing interesting ever happened as far as they were concerned.  As they grew older and began to go on more and more missions, they had more and more experiences, ones that Vanya was not privy to. Early on, Three and Five had tried to debrief her, keep her “in the know.” But missions could be emotionally exhaustive and no one wanted to talk about the convenience store, so they ignored Vanya, who took a hint and retreated to her room.

Happy to enjoy some rare, unstructured time, Klaus went to draw a bath while Diego managed to nag Luther into playing a game of darts with him.  Klaus always took baths instead of showers because if he accidentally summoned a ghost in the shower, he was liable to slip; he had broken as many ribs as curtain rods in a startled panic to get away from one that showed up unexpectedly.  All of the Hargreeves children had seen Klaus running naked and wet down the hall with suds still in his hair; this was not considered a formative collective memory because it was a frequent and normal occurrence.

“Mom, do we have any envelopes?” called Allison.

“Of course we do, dear.  What do you need them for?” asked Grace, appearing in the doorway of her room.

Allison looked up from her desk; she had gotten Pogo to get her a phone book and was looking through the yellow pages.  “I wanted to write some letters.”

“How many stamps?” asked Grace placidly.  Grace was usually placid with most requests and rarely had anything less than a radiant smile on her face.

“...maybe three or four?” ventured Allison.

“Okay.  I’ll bring you up some juice, too.  You look thirsty,” said Grace, turning and sweeping away.  She returned carrying a tray of juice and distributed to the kids, admonishing them gently to remember to put away their things as Reginald had instructed.  All four had by the time the bell rang for dinner, except, of course, Ben. His suitcase had been placed on his bed by Allison and then forgotten, though Vanya gave it a glare when she passed by Ben’s open room on her way to dinner.

---

Ben arrived to dinner with a splatter of red blood still on the collar of his shirt and a decidedly ruffled appearance.  He picked at his food (ravioli Florentine) listlessly while they listened to a none-too-appetizing record on emergency first aid, medical symptoms, and recognizing symptoms of shock.

“...still darker urine signifies further dehydration, though an orange tint, mixed with blood in the stool, may be an indication of a disorder of the bile ducts,” droned the record.

Klaus passed a note to Diego; it was labeled “6.”  Diego passed it along to Ben, who unfolded it, scribbled back to him, and palmed it back.

“A dark tan or brown may be an indication of porphyria.  Porphyrins are essential for the function of hemoglobin — a protein in your red blood cells that binds to iron, in turn allowing the red blood cells to carries oxygen to your organs and tissues.”

Allison passed Luther the salt.  He accidentally knocked it over; Klaus immediately pinched some and threw it over his shoulder, nearly hitting Pogo, who was walking past to deliver a saucer of tea to Reginald.  Reginald always sat at the head of the table for dinner. His rules required the children to wait for instructions to sit, to be excused, and to speak. (Without permission, there was no talking, since lessons were delivered during dinner.)  However, so long as they minded their table manners and cleaned their plates, he often let them pass notes or even read at the table.

Klaus looked down at the note, frowned, then peered down the table to mouth “Really?” at Ben.

Ben shrugged.  Klaus penned a new note furiously and tossed it onto Diego’s lap.  He handed it to Ben. Ben unfolded it, read it, then looked up to mouth “Pen?” at Klaus.  Klaus relayed the pen to him through Diego.

“While urine may be used to diagnose porphyria of the liver, it is important to remember that protoporphyria, which arises in the bone marrow, produces normal-colored urine.  This is a reminder that not all diagnostic criteria may fit under a single umbrella.”

Ben passed a note to Allison across the table.  She dropped her fork.

“Manners, Number Three,” said Reginald sharply as she quickly hid the note in her lap. 

The note moved back to Klaus through Luther, than back to Ben through Diego.  Ben handed it off to Vanya, who began to open it; Diego kicked her under the table and pointed to Allison.

Whenever Reginald looked up, all of them made sure their postures were erect, their elbows were off the table, and the corners of their mouths were neatly dabbed at with their cloth napkins.

“May I be excused?” asked Vanya, pushing away her half-eaten dinner.

Reginald didn’t look up.  “Very well.”

She rose and walked off.  Allison gave Diego a questioning glare; he shrugged; the note passed back to Klaus, who suppressed a laugh at its contents and accidentally choked on his drink, prompting a bout of coughing that earned him a sharp reprimand from Reginald.

---

“Pugilism should always be a last resort,” said Reginald, almost conversationally, as Allison and Diego squared off on the gym mats.  Luther leaned against the wall, arms crossed; Ben sat at his feet, pressing a cold compress to Klaus’s eye. Klaus had taken a solid punch from Allison earlier and it was swelling into a fairly impressive bruise.

They were all dressed in matching gym uniforms, and had been boxing with each other for the better part of an hour for their Tuesday afternoon training.

“Ideally you should never place yourselves in a position that is compromised; your assailants should never have the opportunity to return your blows.”

Allison swung; Diego ducked and went in for a quick stomach jab.  She uppercut his jaw and followed it with a few jabs to the groin; Diego fell to the ground with a groan.  “Cheater!” he gasped, hands between his legs.

“In close combat, Number Two, you should expect anything; your enemies will have no regard for your sense of fairness,” said Reginald.  “Number One, rotate in!”

Luther pushed off the wall reluctantly and squared up to Allison on the mat, putting up his fists.  Diego hobbled over to Ben and Klaus. Ben looked at him slyly. “I’m not holding any ice on you,” he said.

“Aw, screw you,” grumbled Diego, his face still twisted in pain while he clutched between his legs.

They watched Luther and Allison swing at each other.

“You’re holding back, Number One!  You cannot hesitate; you cannot let your own emotions or sympathy stop you from protecting yourself.  Remember, the rest of your siblings are relying on you, also!”

“Hit her, One!” called Diego.  “Knock her teeth out!”

“Blood!  Blood!” chanted Klaus.

Ben let out a sudden, violent gasp, rising suddenly and dropping the ice pack from Klaus’s face into his lap.  He ran across the gym and just barely made it to the trashcan to vomit; a single tentacle whipped out and knocked the bin from his hands lazily, almost casually, splattering sick against a mirror on the wall.

Everyone turned to look over; he turned back, wiping his mouth, his shirt torn open.  His stomach was rippling visibly. “Sorry, guys,” he said.

“Pause,” commanded Reginald to Luther and Allison, walking over to Ben.  He crouched and leaned in to observe Ben’s abdomen, his brow furrowing over his monocle with a familiar expression of study.

“I’ve got Them under control.  I’m sorry I interrupted,” said Ben.

“Number Four, fetch Pogo to clean up this mess.  ...class is dismissed. Number Six, come with me to the medical wing,” said Reginald, straightening.

“Can we come with?” asked Luther.

“Very well, if you stay out of the way.”

The teens filed after Reginald and Ben to the medical wing.  The mansion had almost thirty thousand square feet and included its own private medical wing, where all of the children received treatment for various ailments: everything from chicken pox (they’d all caught it together at the age of four) to broken bones (Klaus was the most accident-prone) to injuries incurred on missions (Diego had received an impressive scar over his left eye during a jewel heist and nearly lost it, though Grace had managed saved the eye, leaving a large nick in one of his eyebrows).

Though the medial wing was used for palliative care, it was also often a place Reginald dragged them to poke and prod for his own curiosity, making notes by hand in a heavy leather-bound journal.  Everyone disliked the medical wing because going there often meant sitting around for a long period of time in your underwear with electrodes on your head while Reginald asked a relentless barrage of questions.

Ben sat on a medical table in the middle of the room; Klaus opened a cabinet and peeked in.  Luther shot him a disapproving look. “I’m looking for ice,” Klaus defended himself.

He found a cold compress for his eye and took it, but even if he was telling the truth, Pogo materialized to keep an eye on him.  The medical wing was usually locked to prevent Klaus from sneaking in and taking any pain killers.

“What would you say prompted the expression of your abilities?  Was it the Eldritch creatures responding to the environment, or your own emotional response to the environment that summoned them?” asked Reginald.  Ben had stripped off his shirt and Reginald had donned a stethoscope.

“I don’t know,” said Ben honestly as Reginald pressed the cold circle to his chest.  “It just happened.”

“But what was the trigger, Six?  Was it Number Four’s mention of blood?”

“I don’t think so.”

Allison moved to Ben’s other side, taking his hand gently. 

Reginald ignored the other children, still badgering Ben.  “Was it witnessing violence? Was it Number Two’s defeat?” (Diego scowled.)

“...I don’t know,” said Ben helplessly as Reginald tilted his head up to shine a pen light in his eyes.  The movements across the surface of his skin had stopped and he looked like a perfectly normal seventeen-year-old.

“Perhaps it was the mention of blood?” repeated Reginald.

“...maybe?” said Ben.

“One, come here,” demanded Reginald.

Luther walked over.

“Present your hand.”

Luther stuck his hand out.  Reginald pulled out a large needle and gave his finger a swift prick.

Diego promptly passed out.  He had harbored a deep fear of needles ever since they’d all gotten matching tattoos back when they were eleven.  Reginald frowned in disapproval and Allison let go of Ben’s hand to drag his inert body out of the way.

Reginald shoved Luther’s hand in Ben’s face.  “Any reaction?” he asked. A bead of blood trailed lazily down Luther’s palm and continued its path down his wrist.

“...no,” reported Ben.

“Did you know there’s an animal called a fainting goat that passes out if you scare it just like Diego?” asked Klaus gently.  (Ben was fond of animals.)

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“Nothing at all?” said Reginald, who seemed incredulous that Ben’s strange reaction in the gym had been an isolated incident and couldn’t be recreated.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Reginald made no attempt to hide his annoyance that Ben couldn’t explain the small, brief incident in the gym.

“...Mommy?” slurred Diego weakly from the corner.

“Go put a bandage on your finger, Number One,” said Reginald.  Luther obediently went to wipe away the blood from his hand and find a Band-Aid to place on his index finger.  Allison took Ben’s hand again and rubbed her thumb against his skin while Reginald took his blood pressure, tested his reflexes, made him breathe into a peak flow meter, and peeled back an eyelid.  But everything was normal. It was as if the incident in the gym had never happened.

Usually, Ben’s powers were an all-or-nothing event.  Usually. The rare occasions when he could control Them, or when it was only a small, uneventful eruption, were ironically the ones that most fascinated Reginald.  For years he’d been trying to get Ben to harness his powers better. Currently, the only thing Ben could truly guarantee was that he didn’t hurt his siblings in the process of unleashing Them.  But the same could not be said for bystanders, and earlier in life, he’d dispatched two nannies and broken Pogo’s arm, giving him the dubious honor of being the first of them to ever kill anyone.

Ben’s exam lasted long enough that they missed snack time, but Diego also got out of private training.  (It was just as well; he had smacked his head on the floor when he passed out and seemed slightly woozy from it.)

Eventually Reginald, with undisguised disappointment, told Ben he could put his shirt back on.  The event was over and there was no explanation, and it was as if it had never happened in the first place.

“May I go to the library?” asked Ben as he pulled his gym sweatshirt back over his head.

“Yes, dismissed,” said Reginald, back to him as he scribbling notes in one of his journals.

Ben hopped off of the bench and the children walked out together.  Even though their afternoon training had been cut short, all of them bore marks; Allison’s knuckles and Klaus’s face were swollen, Luther’s hand was bandaged, and Ben was still a little shaky from vomiting.  As for Diego, everyone knew the signs of concussion when they saw one, and they were quiet that evening during reflection time while Diego napped on the couch in the lounge.

---

That Sunday they had an interview with a teen magazine.  Interviews were always fun because they were a change of scenery.  Reginald could not stand “fluff” pieces (though recognized the importance of maintaining the Umbrella Academy’s positive PR) and often sent them with Pogo as a chaperone.  Pogo kept an eye on them but gave them more freedom to accept snacks, goof off, and act like kids.

Wearing their standard school uniforms as well as the domino masks they reserved for public appearances, that afternoon they drove to an office building downtown and were escorted into an elevator by a stylish young man in a flannel shirt, a fair bit of scruff, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.

“Hey, guys!  Thanks for coming to see us today.  We’re really excited to have you,” he said.  “I’m Jeremy, and today you’ll be sitting down with me and Fiona.  Do you guys need any water, or soda or anything?”

Everyone immediately perked up at the mention of a forbidden snack.  They all asked for Coke, the first brand they could think of, and Jeremy showed them into a comfortable room where they’d be giving the interview.  It was a standard room and pictures would be taken, and they settled onto couches amid fake plants and spotlights with the ease of a group that had done this plenty of times before.

“Oh my God, he’s cute!” whispered Allison.

“I knooow!” agreed Klaus.  “His freakin’ beard?”

“So cute!”

“He’s probably like thirty,” grumbled Luther, crossing his arms

Jeremy returned with a bowl full of ice, cans of soda nestled in it.  There were Cokes but also other brands; Klaus grabbed a Dr. Pepper, and Ben grabbed a Squirt.

“So!  What’s going on, guys?” asked Jeremy, sitting in a couch across from them and putting his elbows on his knees.  A few make-up artists descended on them to pat powder puffs on their faces.

“Not much,” said Luther, speaking for all of them as he sipped his Coke.  “I think Diego might be a little backlit.” He tilted his chin up; he had developed a small smattering of acne and was rather self-conscious about it.  It disappeared beneath a dab of concealer.

“You’re right,” agreed Jeremy, snapping his fingers.  “Where’s Emma? Emma, can we move this light over here?  ...so we have microphones for all you guys, and we’re going to put the recording up on the website.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” said Luther.

“I can move it,” said Diego, getting up to help another person move one of the lights away from the couch.

“Great!  Let’s get those clipped on.  The battery packs should be all charged, so you can just clip those to your belts and leave them alone.  ...do you guys want to take off your masks, or…?”

“No, it’s okay,” said Luther.  They never took their masks off in public appearances.  Reginald said it was to protect their identities. From what, or whom, was unclear, but no one had ever thought to ask.

They allowed microphones to be clipped to their jackets.  Luther took another Coke. Their second interviewer, Fiona, appeared, and sat on the couch with Jeremy.  The five kids had managed to occupy one couch, in part because it would make for better pictures. They no longer sat in “order” because it didn’t look right.  Now, Luther and Diego acted as bookends, and Allison, the only girl, took the middle.

“Any of you guys read Teen Undisclosed?” asked Jeremy.

“No,” said Luther. 

“Well, sometimes,” supplied Allison.  They weren’t really allowed celebrity magazines because they weren’t educational but Allison often used her spending money on teen gossip magazines anyway, especially ones they were featured in.  No one had ever commented on the glossy pages stuck to the walls of her room; apparently, magazines were not as forbidden as they’d been led to believe. Once Allison tore out interviews and posters, she often gave her magazines to Klaus, who had a fondness for make-up tips and quizzes.

“Aw, well, we’ll definitely get you hooked up with some copies, if you like,” said Jeremy.  Allison smiled at him. Luther’s leg jiggled a little in annoyance.

“So, we’re just going to do this really casually, okay?  If you guys have any stories for us, feel free to share them.  It’s Sunday, so we’re not going to work too hard,” said Fiona.

“Great,” said Luther, who, like the others, had never found any interviews to be hard work.

“This is Bianca, our photographer.  She’ll be taking stills while we rap, okay?”

Bianca waved at them, standing behind Jeremy and Fiona’s couch.  The children all smiled when she raised the camera and snapped a shot of them.

“So let’s get right into it.  You guys were all born as part of The Phenomenon, right?”

“That’s right,” said Luther.

“And you’ve been living in Argyle your whole lives, ever since Reginald Hargreeves adopted you?  How do you like it?”

“We love Argyle.  It’s a great city,” said Diego. 

“What’s your favorite thing to do here?”

“Well, the public library is amazing, and the skating ring down at the park is great, too,” said Allison.  This was largely a lie. Though all of them had visited the library and the park, their favorite places were bowling alleys, crappy donut shops, and small independently-owned record stores.  But they were expected to talk about the public works of the city. Besides, none of them wanted fans coming to nag them at Griddy’s.

“Skating, huh?  I bet you guys are all phenomenal at sports.”

“Well, we’re not bad… ‘cept Diego,” said Klaus.  Everyone chuckled and Diego leaned over to give Klaus a playful punch on the shoulder.  Bianca took some photos of their friendly rough housing. From the door, Pogo nodded approvingly, hands on his cane.

“What other hobbies, huh?  Do you think being members of the Umbrella Academy has helped you shape any unique interests or hobbies that other kids your age might not have?”

“Naw,” said Ben.  “We’re actually mostly just normal kids.  We like music and reading and sports and stuff.”

“Well, we do get to try a lot of different stuff, and we travel a lot for missions,” amended Luther.

“We’re really lucky in that regard.  We get to see the world. It’s great,” said Diego.

“Where’s the coolest place you ever visited?” asked Fiona.

“I really liked India!  The clothing there is so cool and colorful,” said Allison.  “I definitely like getting to experience other cultures. Yeah, travel is definitely a huge interest of all of us.  Our last two missions were to Japan, and Brazil.”

“We’re all crossing our fingers for Hawaii next!” said Klaus.  They all laughed.

“It’s really amazing you guys are able to balance school with all these missions you go on,” prompted Jeremy.

“Oh, it’s not really that hard.  Besides, going to other countries and stuff can be educational itself,” said Ben.  He had fallen further behind in algebra. “Plus, we all help each other out.”

“Lemme ask you guys a tough one.  Do you have best friends? Like, if you had to pick--” said Jeremy.

“Oh, no, we’re all best friends,” said Luther.  (His was Pogo and he’d said as much to Diego last week during a fight.)  “We get along with pretty much everyone. And it’s great when we get to meet other kids.  We’re actually probably pretty disappointing, because we’re so normal.”

Everyone tittered.  Allison reached for a Squirt.

“So you guys get to hang out with other kids, outside of the Academy?” asked Fiona.

“Oh, sure.  We have plenty of time to socialize,” said Diego.  “It’s actually nice because when you’re around your siblings all the time, you get used to them… me and Luther always get stalemate in chess because we know all of each other’s moves by now.”

“That sounds about right!” laughed Jeremy pleasantly.  “So… anyone special? Girlfriends? Boyfriend?” he asked to Allison.  She blushed.

“We’re-- we’re just mostly focused on school and stuff right now,” she said.  Pogo frowned a little.

“Well, none of us have anyone serious right now,” said Klaus. 

“I bet our readers and listeners are going to be excited to hear that!” joked Fiona.

There was a strange, uncomfortable beat.  It was Ben’s turn to speak but he appeared to have nothing more to contribute to this line of questioning.  Queries about their romantic lives had started cropping up in the last few years but none of them had ever even had their first kiss yet and they never quite knew how to say they didn’t date because who would they date, anyway, and when, and how?  It was more than impractical; it was an impossibility.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone special soon?  ...any college plans?” prompted Jeremy.

“Yes,” said Allison.

Ben, Luther, and Diego all turned to stare at her in shock for speaking out of turn.

“Oh, yeah?  What’re you planning to study?”

“...maybe theater?  Or business? I don’t know yet, but you don’t have to declare your major in the first year,” said Allison.  “I applied to Argyle City College, UCLA, and Tulane. I think I’d like to go to California most.”

“Wow.  Those are all great schools.  Well, good luck. I hope you get in!” said Jeremy.  “Did you all apply for the same schools?”

They all looked at each other, dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond, nor even who was supposed to speak next since Allison had messed up their order.  They looked over at Pogo, who was standing by the door with an equal look of surprise. He nodded to Ben.

“It’s still really early and we don’t have any plans set in stone, yet,” said Ben.  “We’re only seventeen.”

“But you all probably have some idea of what you want to do when you grow up, right?”

“Fight crime,” said Diego.

Luther craned his neck to stare at him from the other end of the couch, clearly annoyed his turn had been skipped.

Fiona laughed.  “Well, you certainly have a lot of experience with that, huh?”

“It would be irresponsible not to use our powers to protect people,” said Diego, glaring daggers at Allison.  She glared back.

Pogo coughed, loudly.

“What a great attitude.  Do you like having your powers, or do you ever feel like that’s a lot of responsibility?” asked Jeremy.

“Well, responsibility isn’t a bad thing,” said Klaus.  “We all got our learner’s permits and we love that responsibility!”  Everyone laughed.

All of them had been driving since they were old enough to reach the pedals; it was a necessary part of their training, just like tying a tourniquet or taking the safety off of a handgun.  None of them knew what the hell a learner's permit was, but they'd been asked about it by several interviewers.  Reginald told them they'd received theirs in the mail and were free to talk about being proud of it to the press, so they'd mentioned it a few times, and it always seemed to delight people for some reason.

“Everyone’s born with different talents.  I don’t think using those talents to help the world is a burden at all,” said Ben.

“Our abilities make us who we are.  We wouldn’t trade that for the world,” said Luther.  “Besides, it brought us all together as a family.”

“Aww,” said Jeremy and Fiona as the kids hugged.  Bianca took several pictures.

“You know, I was a little nervous to meet you… but you seem really down-to-earth,” commented Fiona.  “You really are just like normal kids, huh?”

“Oh, totally,” said Diego, nodding.  “Outside of all the superhero stuff, our lives are mostly pretty normal... and we really owe the Academy for everything it’s done for us.”

Chapter 9: Final Exams and Christmastime

Notes:

Oof, it's been a while since I updated. Sorry. The next update will be far faster and will involve a run-in with Dr. Terminal. We've had enough fluffy day-to-day life stuff... it's time to watch the kids fight crime! Stay tuned for future missions against the Entropy Institute, the Chaos Bandit Brothers, and The Post-Man.

On the ride back from their interview with Teen Undisclosed, they begged Pogo to let them go through a McDonald’s drive-through, since the interview had run late (their photographer, Bianca, wanted more shots of them individually) and they had missed snacktime.  The fact that they had each had three sodas over the course of the interview was not mentioned.

Luther drove, since Pogo couldn’t reach the pedals.  Pogo relented and they all cheered as they went through a drive-through window and ordered fries and shakes.

After the interview, there had been a briefly hissed conversation on the way to the car.  Luther, Diego, Klaus, and Ben were all furious that Allison had been researching colleges and apparently going so far as to apply to them without telling them.  The children had always operated as a unit and the idea of one of them going somewhere without the others, somewhere distant and for up to four years, terrified them, though none of them would admit that.

Allison defended herself by saying she was only messing around and obviously would never actually do anything or go anywhere without letting them all know.  Pogo gave her several knowing looks; they all knew the real reason her ventures had been in private was because Reginald would not approve.

Pogo might have been Reginald’s primary servant, but he did possess a soft spot, and it didn’t appear as though he intended to rat Allison out.  Reginald did not read their “fluff” interviews and so it was unlikely he’d find out. Pogo’s reluctant agreement to let them get fast food served as yet another indication he was on their side, at least so long as it wasn’t in immediate and direct conflict with a verbal order from Reginald.  Just in case, though, Allison heard a rumor that no one asked about colleges during the interview, and the subject was immediately dropped.

They drove home in high spirits, Allison’s small betrayal forgotten; everyone was fully invested in bags full of chicken McNuggets, instead.  They walked into the grand foyer of their home to find Reginald, Grace, and Vanya waiting for them.

“How was the interview?” demanded Reginald.

“Great,” said Luther.  “...sorry it went long.”

“No matter.  The citizens of the world need to understand that you’re keeping their interests in mind.  We can still have a brief lesson in firearms,” he said.

“Wait, but we need to eat,” protested Klaus, holding up a bag of fries.

“Snacktime is over, Number Four, and you are late for the evening’s lesson.  Grace?”

Grace passed around a waste bin and they all threw their bags of uneaten fried food away.  Vanya had the decency to look sympathetic, even though they’d all forgotten to get her anything.

---

They had all squirreled away their birthday money and still not spent it.  With Christmas fast approaching, they were disinclined to want to, preferring to drop extremely obvious hints to Reginald, Pogo, and Grace about the sort of things they might like, adding that cash was always king and they understood if Reginald was too busy to select six individual gifts on his own.

When their magazine interview was released, they all walked down to the corner store (after telling Reginald they were going to the library) to read it.  The front page showed a picture of the five of them on the couch, grinning and hugging.

“The Umbrella Academy is full of surprises… perhaps the biggest one of all is that they’re normal teens,” read Allison, beaming.

“This is so going up on my wall,” said Klaus, unfolding a poster of Diego in the center of the magazine.

“Ugh, we have to buy five copies to get all the posters?  That is so lame. I thought Jeremy said he’d send us all copies?”

“We should have Mom call him and remind him.  We shouldn’t have to pay for our own stuff.”

“Hey!  Are you kids going to buy anything?  This isn’t a library!” called the clerk.

“Okay, okay.”  Klaus went to go get some Claritin.  “Let’s at least get one to take home,” he added when he returned.

“Find one with me in it,” said Allison.  They all checked the centerfold posters until they found a copy with Allison (her superhero name, “RUMOR,” was emblazoned across the bottom of the poster, and she was smiling coyly at the camera, a finger to her lips), then bought the medicine and the magazine.  Klaus opened the bottle and shook a handful of pills into his mouth as they exited.

A group of kids with backpacks was loitering outside; they stopped and did a double-take as the Hargreeves passed.

“Hey!  Aren’t you those Umbrella kids with superpowers?”

Everyone fumbled to put on their domino masks automatically.

“Yeah,” said Luther, tightening marginally.  One of the kids was smoking and it was oddly reminiscent of Brazil; everyone was ready to get made fun of for their school uniforms.

But the Argyle students seemed excited to meet them.

“Wow!  Cool! I saw you guys on TV a few weeks ago.  Can you really flip over a car?”

“...well, a small car, yeah,” said Luther, relaxing.

“Can you pick me up?”

“...okay,” he agreed after a moment, picking up one of the kids with ease.  She laughed; her two friends grinned, clapping as Luther put her on his shoulder.

“This is so cool!” she said, hugging Luther’s head. 

“Wow!  Is that a real tattoo?” asked the kid who was smoking, pointing to Luther’s forearm.  His jacket had pulled back a little when he reached up to hold the girl on his shoulder in place.

“Yeah, we all got one,” said Allison, pulling up her sleeve to show off hers.

“Whoa.  How did you convince your dad to let you get tattoos?” he asked.

“...Dad chose the tattoos,” said Allison, brow furrowing in confusion at his question.

“Wanna smoke?” he offered, holding out a pack of cigarettes.

Everyone hesitated.  They rarely got one-on-one interactions like these with kids their age.

Klaus reached out to take the pack and took out a cigarette.  Ben gave him a disapproving glare and Diego shook his head a little, but Klaus had the determined look of someone who was not going to be dissuaded.

One of the other boys eagerly lit it for him; Klaus inhaled, then coughed.

“So do you guys live around here?”

“Yeah,” said Luther, setting down the giggling girl. 

“You should come to the arcade on Elm street sometime.  That’s where we all hang out after school.”

It was Friday, Five’s training day.  Since Five was gone, Fridays were used as a free time to make up for any missed trainings or extra special inspections.  Reginald always filled Five’s slot with something and it was rare they got to leave the house. Today had been an exception.

“Maybe sometime,” said Luther, while Klaus coughed harder.

“We have to go home now,” said Allison.

“Wait, wait!  Sign my binder first!”

They all passed around a few articles to be signed in black marker: Spaceboy, Kraken, Rumor, Séance, and Horror.

They walked home, Klaus still smoking, taking off their domino masks after they had rounded the corner.

“If Pogo smells that you’re gonna get in so much trouble,” warned Ben.

Klaus looked worried.  “I’ll take a bath when I get in,” he said, throwing the cigarette into the gutter.

“Pogo has a really good sense of smell.”

“...okay, okay, I was trying to look cool!”

“We’re already cool.  We’re the Umbrella Academy.”

When they got home, Allison went to her room to hang up the poster of herself, and Ben agreed to distract Pogo while Klaus slipped upstairs to throw his clothes into the hamper and wash away evidence of his smoking.

---

The names the children signed for people had come about organically.  They had all been raised by number for the first decade of their life, but had eagerly adopted the superhero names given to them by the media, and later, the “normal” names given to them by Grace.

Within the first year of their going on public missions, the media had begun attempting to name them, finding Reginald’s insistence on using their numbers to be extremely confusing.  Rumor, Séance, and Horror had come about organically, with mild variations depending on region or publication; Klaus had been called Ouija, for example, and Horror had been called Nightmare.  But eventually they got their nicknames, which pre-dated their “real” names, and happily used them in lieu of their numbers in public, though within the walls of their home, they continued to use their numbers.  (Before his disappearance, Five had been dubbed “Vanish.”)

Luther and Diego’s nicknames had a unique history.  Luther had originally been set up to be named either “The Athlete” or “The Golden Boy,” neither of which he liked.  Diego had been “The Knife,” which he complained was unoriginal and stupid.

In 2002, at the age of twelve, they had been invited on to Sesame Street for a segment about Stranger Danger.  They had been surprised to learn it was a children’s show, having done Dateline a week ago, but reasoned that they could teach kids good lessons and that they were good role models.

One had looked over the script, which called him “Golden Boy.”

“I hate this name.  ...what if I wanna dye my hair someday?” he demanded in annoyance.  “I want a new name. ...how ‘bout, like… Spaceboy?”

“That’s dumb,” said Four immediately.  “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you watched Apollo 13 last month when we were in Budapest.”

“No!  It’s ‘cause I jump around, through space and stuff.”

“That’s what Five does,” corrected Three.

“No, I jump between spaces.  One jumps through spaces,” said Five.

“I’ll call you Spaceboy,” said Two.  “...if you call me Stegosaurus.”

“Stegosaurus?” repeated Five, turning to stare at him.

“...better than The Knife.”

“Stabosaurus,” suggested Four.

“No one is calling Two Stegosaurus,” said Five, rolling his eyes dramatically.  “First of all, it’s too long, and so the media won’t use it. Most reporters won’t be able to even spell it.”

“Fine, how ‘bout Kraken?”

“Yeah, Kraken’s pretty cool,” said One.

“I feel like Kraken would fit me better,” said Six.

“You’re already Horror,” said Three.

“...I hate that name.”

“So you’ll call me Spaceboy to the press if I call you Kraken?” asked One.

“Yeah,” said Two.  The two spit in their hands and shook on it.  Later, in press releases, they made a point of emphasizing their new names, and the press got wise to it.

Now on the cusp of legal adulthood, Luther had asked everyone to start calling him “Spaceman,” but no one wanted to.  Luther had argued that it was unfair that he should be stuck with a name he came up with when he was twelve; after all, he pointed out, Diego had very nearly ended up being called “Stegosaurus.”

---

Reginald operated the Academy in many ways like a school, dividing the year into trimesters.  As they edged into December, he began giving them their final exams. These covered a broad variety of subjects, everything from a written physics exam to a demonstration on getting oneself out of the trunk of a car while handcuffed.  Reflection time, often the only “free” period they had, turned into a frantic study hall; Luther began spending more and more time in the chemistry lab on the third floor, panicking over his inability to comprehend stoichiometry, while Ben took up residence in Vanya’s room, struggling through pages and pages of algebra problems.  Diego coached Klaus in hand-to-hand combat while Allison stayed up late at night, hiding a flashlight under the covers to read up on tips for managing hostage negotiations. In the Hargreeves household, typical schoolwork and “superhero skills” ran in parallel, and no one thought it strange that English literature was taught alongside a class on knowing the antidotes for common poisons.

They were allowed a half-day of freedom on Thanksgiving, which was spent eating a huge feast prepared by Grace and then lounging in front of a TV in Reginald’s office to watch the Gimbles Thanksgiving Day Parade.  It was one of the only times a year they were ever allowed in his study and it felt like a very special ritual. They recognized very few of the parade floats, because they weren’t familiar with basic pop culture. The parade culminated with Santa Klaus; none of them knew who Santa Klaus was.  Reginald had told them that it was St. Nicholas and that he was an icon for Christmas, but they didn’t really understand the connection between the two. They were just happy to be allowed in Reginald’s sacred place and to watch television for a few hours.

After Thanksgiving, however, the first three weeks of December were a nightmare of schoolwork; every moment not spent in class or in training was spent studying or practicing.  Allison’s power of suggestion did not extend to Grace, but if Pogo was present, she would often rumor her way out of meals early to go to her room and study; as had been the ritual for several years running, Ben burst into tears four days before their final exams before bed, and Klaus broke a couple of fingers to get pain meds, his stress amplifying his powers.  Diego became quieter and quieter; by contrast, Luther became more and more talkative, reciting his notes dutifully from memory until they’d all-but lost meaning.

Every year had been worse than the last; Reginald said that, as they grew into adulthood, they should cease to expect the world to treat them as children and be prepared for the full brunt of its ugliness.  The threats they faced, he said, were nothing compared to those that awaited them. During the last two years, he’d begun actively sabotaging or distracting them during their exams, because he said operating under stress was the most important skill of all and that he’d been too soft in years prior.

Having successfully whipped everyone into a state of near-panic, their exams began on Monday, December 18th, with a written exam on federal criminal law history, followed by a practical on foreign languages administered by Grace.

When lunch rolled around, no one felt like eating; Ben had been unable to recall the Mandarin word for “evacuation” and the Korean word for “ally,” while Luther was convinced he’d butched his Arabic penmanship.  Diego was hiccupping uncontrollably, and Allison kept asking if it was Title 8 or Title 9 of the US Code that covered Arbitration. Klaus periodically burst into a nervous, hyena-like laugh. He had spent his exam quietly murmuring to an empty space beside his desk.  According to Reginald, this did not qualify as cheating; using their powers to succeed was encouraged. To that end, Allison had attempted to skip her exams entirely, but Reginald had expected as much and programmed Grace not to let her get away with it.

Vanya, as an honorary member of their strange school, had about a third of the workload as the rest of them.  No one cared if she knew Morse code or steer a sailboat or draft an Interpol notice. She sat tersely with the rest of them at mealtimes, watching them panic, remaining silent lest any of them lash out at her for her luck.  Vanya, the normal one, received only the most basic education, and was not burdened with the intense expectations that Reginald heaped onto the rest of them.

By Thursday, everyone had hit something of a wall.   No one was thinking of Christmas even though it was mere days away.  They got three free days for Christmas, but the day before Christmas Eve was usually reserved for recovery from their exams.  (The other two trimesters, they received 48 hours before the beginning of the next segment. The first day that their exam results were posted, they tended to isolate themselves; the second was usually a celebration for another trimester passed, and usually involved a group outing.)   They marched from classroom to classroom with grim determination. Klaus, Ben, and Allison began sleeping together. Diego, as usual, had gone entirely electively mute, and on Friday morning, when the morning alarm rang, no one thought it odd that he was curled up with Grace in her art nook with his stuffed octopus.

At the end of the day, Reginald announced, “Time.  Pencils down,” and everyone set down their essays. Final exam week was over.  Luther’s leg was jiggling manically under his desk; Klaus had pushed aside his pencil but was still whispering in German to someone beside him.

“You are all dismissed.  You grades will be posted tomorrow morning on the door,” Reginald informed them brusquely.

They rose, stretched, and filed out.

In the hall, Allison immediately turned to Vanya.  “Jung and Wolfgang Pauli. Did you say true or false to that question?” she demanded.

“Uh… I think it’s true,” said Vanya.

“Fuh… fuck,” said Diego.

“I’m gonna puke,” said Ben, clutching his midsection.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, you’re okay.  You’re okay. It’s over. We did it.  It’s over,” said Klaus, slinging an arm around him and hugging him. 

“It’s over, guys,” reiterated Vanya.  “That’s it, we’re all done.”

“Okay, but I could only remember four current member of the British Psychoanalytic Council, how many did you guys get?” asked Luther anxiously.

“I’m gonna puke!”

“G-g-get him a… buh… buh…”

Vanya shoved open the door to the classroom, grabbed the wastebin, and thrust it toward Ben.  He dry-heaved into it.

“Thanks, Vanya,” he managed.

“It’s okay,” she said gently, stroking his hair.

“I only got two.  Oh, God, I only got two…”  Ben retched again.

“I made one of mine up,” admitted Allison, hugging Ben’s arm.  “It’s over, okay? It’s over. We’re all fine. We all did great.  I heard a rumor we all passed.”

“We all passed!” agreed Luther, face lighting up.

“Oh, G-g-g-god!” exclaimed Diego, barking out a laugh and pulling Vanya into a hug.

Klaus and Ben jumped up a down, the wastebasket still between them, cheering.

“Okay, alright.  Okay. That’s it.  Let’s go relax,” instructed Luther.

“Aye-aye, Cap!” said Klaus, saluting.

“I mean, I definitely did okay in knot-tying,” said Diego.

“Me, too,” agreed Allison.  “I think we’re all good. And tomorrow we get to sleep in.”

“I’m gonna sleep ‘til one,” said Luther gratefully.

He was lying, of course.  All of them, out of habit, rose at six A.M. sharp, and donning their uniforms, they tore into the third-story wing toward their classroom, to check the grades Reginald had posted on the door.  Vanya and Klaus had both gotten perfect scores; Vanya, with nothing to do with her time but study, had something to prove, whereas Klaus routinely summoned experts in whatever field he needed help in, once asking Jung directly for some clarification on his writings.  Ben struggled to see in the back of the crowd; he had the shortest legs (next to Vanya) and couldn’t hope to beat Luther, and he craned to check his algebra scores over Luther’s shoulder. He had managed a C-, but barely; Reginald included their percentages with their letter grades, and his was among the lowest, along with Luther’s chemistry, Diego’s foreign language, and Allison’s pharmaceutical knowledge.  Ironically, everyone knew Diego was perfectly fluent in all of the languages he spoke; nonetheless, he always narrowly risked failing them during their final exams, because of his stutter.

---

On Christmas Day, they rose early, as most children do, but not because of presents, but because of an ear-splitting scream from Klaus’s room.  He tore into the hallway in a pair of briefs, crying; Diego and Vanya got up to comfort him, while Allison went to get Grace. Klaus managed to fall back into a fitful sleep under Grace’s arm in the portrait hallway, curled against her, whimpering and murmuring in his sleep.  Figuring he needed the rest, and still waiting on Luther, the kids opted to grab their bikes and race them down the halls until Pogo came and yelled at them to stop. They convinced him to let them each pull a candy cane from the tree in the hall to eat in return for semi-good behavior.  (Candy canes were among the only candy Reginald allowed. The tree went up five days before Christmas every year and was decorated in gold tinsel, white baubles, and silver icicles. One year, Vanya had crocheted ornaments with their names and placed them on the tree, but Reginald had removed them.  He preferred the uniformity of their white, gold, and silver decor; getting candy canes had been a hard-won battle in and of itself.)

They were shooed outside to play in the snow; after everyone had gotten a snowball to the face, courtesy of Diego, they voted to go back in and jump on Luther’s bed until he got up.

Klaus, given a few hours, was roused more gently.  Bleary-eyed, he went to get dressed before following his siblings down to breakfast.  They ate at their usual pace; present unwrapping was always at eleven-thirty, every year, and not a moment before.  The presents were wrapped by Grace in the same silver paper; she and Pogo put the children’s names on their gifts, but Reginald always put their numbers.  There was an agreement among themselves that they did not have to get gifts for one another, though they sometimes did. Vanya got everyone a gift every year; she and Allison sometimes exchanged more than one, and Diego always got Vanya something, for reasons known only to him.  The year prior, Luther had gotten Klaus a rabbit foot and a four-pack of Benadryl, which Klaus had proclaimed to be, hands-down, the best gift he’d ever received.

“Do you think it’s a machete?” asked Diego, picking up a long package and shaking it experimentally.

“Careful, it could be a rifle,” warned Luther.

“I doubt it’d be packaged loaded, stupid.”

“Maybe it would be to teach you a lesson about shaking unknown package,” retorted Luther.

Diego shook the box harder at him, but then put it down.  Packing a loaded rifle to teach them a lesson about shaking unmarked packages would absolutely be something Reginald would do.

“The Entropy Institute sent us card,” said Ben; he and Grace were opening mail and sorting it into “must respond” and “don’t bother” piles.  He held up a glossy photo of a man and three children staring in front of a fireplace. The children wore matching green-and-red sweaters that looked out of place with their domino masks.

“Ugh.  I’m so glad Dad doesn’t make us wear stupid matching outfits at Christmas,” said Luther.

“They look so dumb,” agreed Allison, picking up a slender gift that was likely a book.

The photo and the card it accompanied went into the “don’t bother” pile.  The Academy got a lot of mail, which Grace sorted; the important things were served to Reginald on a platter each morning with his tea, while the rest was shredded, much of it fan mail. 

Reginald arrived at eleven-thirty precisely and settled into an armchair; Pogo took a seat, as well, and the two exchanged cigars.  They smoked once a year in the house at Christmas, a ritual indulgence.

“Happy Christmas, children,” said Reginald.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” they all intoned, waiting impatiently for Reginald to light a match, puff on his cigar, and then, finally, give them the go-ahead to tear into their gifts while he watched, with Grace standing at his shoulder, hands neatly clasped, beaming and occasionally returning a hug when one of the kids opened her gifts.

“Wow, thanks, Dad!”

“Oh, this is awesome, Pogo.  Here, I got you something--”

“No way, lemme see that!”

“Cool!  Hey, Ben, look at this!”

They made short work of the pile of gifts at the base of the tree.  They were only given a half-hour to open presents before being expected to clean up, put their gifts away, and sit down for Christmas lunch.  One year, they hadn’t unwrapped everything before noon, and Reginald had thrown out the unopened gifts.

On Christmas day, the record played at lunch was Christmas carols, the only time it was used for non-instructive purposes.  All of the children saw it as incredibly sentimental of Reginald and always grinned through the choruses of “Silent Night” and “Silver Bells.”  Later, Vanya and Klaus played cat’s cradle in front of the fireplace while Allison braided her hair beside Grace, who threaded strings of popcorn with Diego.  The popcorn would be taken out to the courtyard to be hung up in the oak tree by Luther, the tallest; every year, Ben bundled up and went out to sit quietly there, watching the birds.  He said that sitting in the courtyard was one of the most peaceful places in the whole Academy and he liked it there better even that his own room.

---

The week between Christmas and New Year’s was the beginning of a new trimester of school.  The kids were not allowed to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve, though they had anyway every year since they were eleven.  It was a ritual started by Five, and every year they went to his room and quietly counted down, watching the fireworks over the city from his window. 

The next morning, of course, they paid for it; they were sleepy in class and there was less talking than normal at their lockers.  Allison fell asleep in forensic science class and, later, Diego fell asleep during their sound signals class, waking with a start to three short horn blasts.  “Starboard side?” he guessed blearily.

Reginald cracked a ruler against his desk.  “Incorrect!” he barked.

Across the room, Klaus slipped Allison a note, and the two giggled, while Vanya doodled openly in her notes, knowing she wasn’t important enough to ever have Reginald call on or correct her during class.

---

On January 5th, Grace surprised everyone with a strange announcement.

“Allison, dear, you have mail.”

Everyone turned to stare at Allison.  None of them had ever gotten mail before.

Grace held out an envelope.

“Number Three, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Reginald, stepping forward and grabbing the envelope.  He held it up. The official-looking document had an Argyle University logo stamped on it.

Allison looked petrified.

Reginald held out a hand; Pogo placed a letter opener in it.  He opened the envelope, slid out the contents, and let the envelope flutter to the floor, reading the first page of the packet with a pinched look on his face.

He looked up when he was finished.  “Education is an admirable pursuit, Number Three.  But universities are for the layperson. Your education here, as well as your training, is far superior, and uniquely catered to your talents.  You have no need for a common college degree.” With that, he calmly, and with surprising strength, ripped the packet of papers in half.

Allison gasped in horror.

“Grace?” commanded Reginald, holding out the papers in his hand as if they smelled.

She scurried forward with a wastebasket, and he dropped the papers into it.

Allison burst into tears, turned, and ran up the stairs.  She disappeared for the rest of the day, and so did Luther.  Reginald taught the remaining three children as if this were perfectly normal.

That night, Allison showed up at bedtime, eyes red and puffy.  She refused to talk to anyone and went to bed with a slam of her door.

When she woke the next morning, she discovered the papers on her desk.  The two halves had been neatly aligned. Curious as to who had returned them, she nicked a fingerprinting kit from the mock crime lab and dusted the papers.  There were only two sets of prints on them: Reginald’s, and Diego’s.

Chapter 10: New Orleans

Mid-February they were informed that Dr. Terminal had been spotted in New Orleans and that there was concern he was going to take advantage of the Mardi Gras parade to prey upon unsuspecting revelers.

Allison had had a bad run-in with him years earlier and paled a little at his name.  Luther reached over thoughtlessly and put his hand over hers.

They all packed in a rush; Luther nearly knocked Vanya to the ground, he left his room in such a hurry.

“Where are you going?” she asked, looking at the suitcase.

“Huh?  Oh. New Orleans,” said Luther.  “Bye.”

In the main hall, Diego and Ben were waiting; their suitcases by the door, they were kicking a soccer ball around.  It bounced off of Reginald’s portrait and Grace scolded them gently for playing indoors.

“MOM!  I CAN’T FIND MY MOISTURIZER!” yelled Allison over the bannister.

“I PACKED IT ALREADY!” yelled Klaus, sliding down the handrail.  “Laissez les bons temps rouler, mes frères et ma sœur! Time for some shrimp scampi and naked ladies in feather boas!”

“You think?” asked Diego, looking hopeful.

“Why not?  It’s a party!  Allison, did you pack your boa?” asked Klaus teasingly.  He let out a giggly squeal as she chucked her suitcase at him. 

“We’re going for a mission.  I don’t think we’re gonna get much chance to fool around,” she said stiffly.  She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in. “But if we do, I’m going to Tulane’s campus to look around.”

“You’re still goin’ on about that?” asked Diego, picking under his nails with a knife.

Allison gave him an incredulous look, but didn’t comment.

“Our main focus should be the mission,” said Luther.

“And beignets,” said Ben.

“And bei-- no.   No.  The mission,” said Luther.

“Beig-nets.  Beig-nets,” Klaus began chanting.

“Beig-nets!  Beig-nets!” joined in the others.  Knowing he’d been beaten, Luther sighed and relented, joining in the chant at the end.

They stopped when Vanya showed up and tried to chant along with them, too.

“Go away, Vanya.  You don’t get it,” said Diego.

“It’s an inside joke,” added Klaus.

Vanya vanished, but not before Ben asked her to feed his hermit crab while he was gone.  He had begged for one for years and finally received one for Christmas from Allison, much to Reginald’s dismay.  It lived in a small plastic tank in the science classroom; Reginald felt it was better treated as an experiment and had told Ben not to get too attached.  (They had two other lab animals, a pair of white rabbits the kids casually referred to as Shock and Awe.) Ben had already given his crab the honorary title of Number Eight, and a few nights a week, the tank migrated from the lab to Ben’s room.

---

Despite Luther’s insistence that they should be mission-oriented, Klaus’s prediction of a party turned out to be more or less accurate.  They arrived on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to crowds of half-clothed people in a colorful array of beads and feathers, raucously cheering over the blare of jazz music.  The sun was already setting, and the party was ramping up.

Reginald was not staying with them.  He wanted them “on the ground” but had retired to a normal hotel that wasn’t in the heart of the celebration after dropping them off in front of their hotel.  He didn’t get out of the car; he had been glaring disapprovingly at the drunken crowd of revelers since they arrived.

The five teens clustered tightly, closing their pack, huddling together in wide-eyed shock at their surroundings.

Before Luther had even checked them into the hotel, Ben and Diego both claimed to have seen a breast.

(They had, of course, all seen Allison’s, since, as a team, they regularly changed in front of each other.  But they didn’t count Allison because she was their sister.)  (Privacy was not and had never been among Reginald's values.  None of the children had enough social context to think it was strange that they still all shared at locker room at the Academy, even though puberty had hit several of them like a truck years ago.)

“How’re we ever gonna find anyone in this?” asked Diego.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be dark soon, and there’s like a million people,” agreed Ben.

"It's only a few hours 'til the parade starts and our intel indicates Dr. Terminal is going to be on the route, picking off spectators," said Allison, checking her watch.  "We have to find him ASAP."

“Klaus,” said Luther.

“No way,” said Klaus, shaking his head vehemently.  “No, no, no, no.  I can’t talk to the ghosts here. I don’t even speak French.”

“First of all, yes, you do, and second of all, we all know the dead speak a universal language.  You call it Ghoulan.”

“...this is why I don’t like to tell you things.  You throw it into my face later,” said Klaus, crossing his arms petulantly.  According to Klaus, he could understand the dead regardless of their language.  He himself opted to speak to them in their own language when possible; he said it made them more cooperative.  Like the rest of the children, he spoke three languages other than English.  For ghosts whose language he didn't know, he simply spoke English, and as far as anyone could tell, the ghosts understood him just as easily as he understood them.

“Guys!  Guys!” interrupted Diego, pointing frantically.  Luther, Ben, and Klaus turned just in time to see a woman pull up her shirt.

“Oh, grow up,” grumbled Allison.

“You grow up.  There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of the human form,” snapped Klaus.

“Guys, focus.  Klaus, you need to get their help to find--”

“There’s too many here, and they’re all talking at once.”

“If we don’t find Dr. Terminal before the parade starts, there’ll be even more ghosts,” pointed out Diego.

Klaus let out a withered sigh.  “Okay, fine. Fine. Let’s go to the room and I’ll do the stupid thing.  Ben, did you bring my board?”

“Yeah.”

“C’est dommage, I was hoping you’d forgotten it.  Allons-y, let’s get this over with.”

The five of them got into an elevator and rode up to their room on the second floor.  Their hotel was a brick building that sat on the corner of the street and was only three stories; the second and third both had a wide balcony with a railing that overlooked the busy street.  The railing was made of delicate wrought-iron and clearly came from another century. The doors that led out to it were tall French windows that could be covered with shutters.

The second they entered the room, Klaus went pale, whimpered, and turned to bolt.

Luther grabbed him.

“No, please--”

“Klaus, we have to defeat Dr. Terminal or Dad’ll be mad at us.”

“And also he’ll kill a bunch of people,” said Diego.

“Dad?” asked Ben in alarm.

“No, Dr. Terminal, moron.  ...but yeah, Dad’ll kill us, too, if we don’t defeat Dr. Terminal.”

“No, no…”  Klaus fought weakly in Luther’s grip.  He had already made his discomfort in New Orleans known when they passed a large cathedral that was only a few blocks away from the hotel.  Klaus avoided places of worship just as much as he avoided hospitals, if not more; at least hospitals had medicine in them, supposedly. Klaus, like his siblings, had never been a patient in a hospital, or seen a real doctor; all of his medical business was taken care of at home, in the Academy’s medical wing.

“Klaus, once you find Dr. Terminal, we’ll leave the room to go find him,” pointed out Ben.

“I don’t want to,” said Klaus tearfully.

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to,” said Allison, jaw tight.  The prospective of facing Dr. Terminal had etched a determined kind of terror into her features.

Luther gave her a worried look.  “Listen, Rumor… I know you and Terminal have history.  Do you want to sit this one out? ...we’d all understand.”

“No.  You might need me for crowd dispersal,” she said firmly.  “Let’s just get this over with. Klaus, ask--”

“Désolés, désolés, s'il vous plaît, arrêtez--” pleaded Klaus in Luther’s grip.

“I’ll get his planchette,” said Diego wearily as Luther dragged Klaus over to one of the two beds in the room.  He plopped him down on the bed hard enough to bounce him a little. Klaus curled his arms around his knees, eyes wide, staring at the window.

Luther and Allison were already pulling their leather jumpsuits from their bags.

“It’s way too hot for these,” said Ben with a sigh.

“Everything we own’s too hot,” grumbled Diego as he pulled his sweater vest over his head.

“Did you guys bring your bathing suits?” asked Allison.  “This place has a pool.”

“Oh, no!  I forgot mine!  ...oh, wait, never mind, Mom packed it.”

“Klaus, get dressed,” said Luther, throwing Klaus’s suit at him.  Their day-to-day, local, and undercover outfits were school uniforms, but for big, high-profile missions like this one, they wore black jumpsuits.  The school crest that always sat over their hearts was replaced by an umbrella logo. These were their grown-up crime-fighting outfits.

Klaus stripped down and yanked on his suit and his mask, then gestured for everyone to join him on the bed.  They sat in a circle, legs crossed, and all put fingers on the planchette. Luther stood behind Klaus, looking over his shoulder, a notebook and pencil in his hand to write down the messages as they came.  Like all of them, Klaus’s powers often needed directed; the Ouija board helped him focus.

“Bonsoir?  Bonsoir?” The planchette slid violently to “HELLO,” yanking the children’s hands with it.  “Ah, bonsoir, je m'appelle Quatre. Je cherche un homme, un docteur… s'il vous plaît, arrêtez de crier.”

The wooden token on the board in front of them began sliding.

“Y - O - U - R - F - L - Y - I - S - D - O - W - N - 6,” read Luther.  “Klaus.”

“Heh, heh.”

Ben looked down.  His suit had three zippers, unlike the others’.  This was to allow him to let Them out without tearing the suit.  The bottom zipper was still down; he zipped it back up.

“Okay, okay, okay, I’m serious, I’m serious.  Le docteur. Le docteur,” said Klaus, his eyebrow knitting together in concentration.

"(Hello)," read Luther, as the planchette moved to greet them.

"Où est le docteur?" pressed Klaus.

“C - H - A - R - T - E - S - S - T,” read Luther.

The planette twisted suddenly, pointing to the north-east corner of the board.

“Chartes St.?  ...no?  No, no, he’s already left.  He’s waiting.  Now he’s waiting for the parade. ...he’s at some nightclub,” reported Klaus, brow furrowed at the board.  Sweat was beading on his forehead.

“T - H - E - Y - T - O - O - K - M - Y - B - A - B - Y.  (No.)”

“Cross-talk.  Ignore her.”

“O - U - T - G - U - N - N - E - D. - D - A - M - N - Y - O - U - M - U - L - L - I - N - S.”

“Major General Pakenham, not now!”

“T - H - E - W - A - T - E - R - I - S - R - I -S - N -G.”

“Cross-talk.”

“Klaus, focus,” demanded Luther as the planchette slid crazily all over the board.

“I’m trying.  Do you know how many goddamn ghosts there are in New Orleans?”

“Dr. Terminal.  He’s northeast of Chartes St.   Where?” demanded Allison.

“J - A - C - K - S. - 1 - E -Y - E -D - J - A - C - K -S.”

“Where’s Jack’s?”

“It’s off of Chartes St.  That way,” said Klaus, pointing with one shaking hand.  Two slender fingers on his other hand were still on the planchette.  Everyone else had eased off of it and it was now flying wildly across the board.  Luther was scribbling its messages in the hopes it might provide more info on Dr. Terminal.

“T - H - E - M - A - N - O - R - H - O - U - S - E I - S - B - U - R - N - I - N - G.”

“T - E - L - L - H - E - R - I - S - T - I - L - L - L - O - V - E - H - E - R.”

“H - E - L - P - M - E - K - L - A - U - S.”

“M - Y - B - O - D - Y - W - A - S - T - H - R - O - W - N - I - N - T - H - E - R - E - S - E - R - V - O - I- R.”

“T - H - I - R - T - Y - Y - E - A - R - S.”

“M - A - K - E - T - H - E - M - P - A - Y - I - N - B - L - O - O - D.  (Yes.) B - L - O - O - D. (Yes.) B - L - O - O - D.”

“H - E - W - I - L - L - K - I - L - L - A - G - A - I - N.”

“K - L - A - U - S - H - E - L - P.”

“L - E - T - S - M - A - K - E - A - D - E - A - L - K - L - A - U - S.”

“Are we done?  Please?” asked Klaus.

“...yeah, this is good enough.  Let’s go to Jack’s,” said Luther, clearly slightly disappointed that Klaus hadn’t given them anything more useful.  He tossed his notebook on the bed; it contained years of Klaus’s communiqués along with doodles of airplanes and rocket ships.

Masks and suits on, their suitcases sitting on the ends of their beds, they went back to the elevator.

“What floor?” asked Klaus to an invisible presence next to them.

Ben pushed the button for the ground floor and the five of them rode it down to the lobby, filling out into a busy street full of drunken revelers.

Luther led them up the street; as the tallest, he was in the best position to move through the crowd.  Klaus alternatively bumped into people he thought were ghosts and walked through presences no one else could see, reacting to each one as if he were walking through a cobweb.  But no one noticed; it was too crowded and people were too drunk to care.

The roads were narrow and the sidewalks narrower.  Many of the sidewalks were still made of paving stones; the porches of the rows of buildings overhung them, supported by beams, and Ben got shoved into the sidewalk pillars several times, buffeted by the crowd.  Above them, people hung over the railings precariously, waving flags and feather boas and cheering.

They turned north on Toulouse St.  Jack’s was in a two-story building that, like the others, featured a second-story mezzanine packed with revelers.  It was a pale pink color with white shutters.

They moved toward the door; a man at the door stopped them.

“You are definitely not twenty-one,” he scoffed, looking at Ben.  “Sorry, but you guys can’t get in without IDs.”

“We’re not here to drink.  We’re superheroes and one of our arch-nemeses is in there,” explained Diego.

“Your arch-nemesis is in there ‘cause he had an ID.  No ID, no entry.”

“I heard a rumor we already showed you our IDs.  We’re twenty-one,” said Allison, and with that, they moved past the dazed bouncer and into a dim, loud club.

Onstage, a drag queen in a bright yellow dress was singing “Rio” by Duran Duran.  Klaus’s eyebrows raised.

“Don’t get any ideas, Four,” said Diego dryly.

“Too late.”

“Number Three, you flank left with Four and Six; Two, with me,” instructed Luther.  They broke up, easing through the club, searching for their mark.

“He must be upstairs,” whispered Ben.  “...I’ll go first.” He pushed aside a curtain that led to some stairs; Allison and Klaus eased after him.  A few people looked over with mild interest as they slipped off; clearly, they thought they were the next performance.

Away from the sound system and the crowded street party, the upstairs hallway was oddly quiet.  The three broke away from each other and began pressing their ears to doors; “This one!” whispered Ben.

Allison crouched down before the doorknob and pulled out a bobby pin to pick the lock.  It swung open; they were greeted with a terrible gurgling noise.

“How many are alive?” asked Klaus in a shrill voice, drawing back.

“This one is,” said Allison, rushing forward to press down on a stump.  The person tied in the chair in the room was missing both legs; a pool of black-red blood glistened beneath them.  “...he’s in shock.”

The man’s head lolled and he let out another wet, gurgling noise.  Allison pulled out a knife from her belt and severed his ties to ease him down to the floor and elevate what was left of his legs.

“He’s not here,” said Klaus, peeking into the room.

“The parade,” said Ben, checking his watch.  “It’s at seven… it started ten minutes ago!”

“Shit!”

“Allison, you stay here.  Me and Ben’ll go,” said Klaus.

“But I’m the best one at first aid,” protested Ben.  (Ben had a remarkable, almost miracle-like touch when it came to first aid; to date, he'd nursed several pigeons back to health that he found half-dead on their rooftop.  Pogo had helped him.  They had not told Reginald.)

“I know, but you’re also the strongest aside from Luther, and if Dr. Terminal brought any murderbots, we might need Them.”

Klaus grabbed Ben’s arm and the two of them ran out of the room and back down the stairs, where a new drag queen in a pink dress had joined the one in the yellow dress and the two were singing “The Boy Is Mine.”

“How will we find them?” yelling Ben as the two burst out the front door into a massive mob of cheering people.

There was a crash and several screams a few doors down; they spotted Luther being thrown from a parade float and into a trash can.

“I think I got a lead!” yelled Klaus back.

The two of them both began trying to shove their way through the crowd.  But neither was especially tall or wide, and by the time they caught up, the crowd had been whipped into a frenzy.  Atop of a parade float, Dr. Terminal was crackling gleefully, holding a pair of severed hands, his metal helmet splattered with red. 

“...HORROR!” yelled Luther, spotting Ben.

“Got it!” yelled Ben, ripping open his shirt.  Tentacles uncoiled, but a moment later, several drones armed with blades flew forward and, distracted, the tentacles flailed in the air.  The blades nicked them; they sprayed black blood that smelled rich and rank, somewhere between oil and decay.

“SPACE, BEHIND YOU!” hollered Klaus.

Luther had gotten up and was shoving against the hysterical crowd; there were no clear lines of sight anymore.  Klaus was their eyes and Luther ducked at his instruction without question; another drone flew above his head.

Dr. Terminal laughed maniacally.  “You thought I could be contained?  You really are foolish children! I am a brilliant mind, and there is no force of nature more unstoppable than a brilliant mind.”

“Oh, yeah?  How ‘bout knives?” yelled Diego, heaving himself onto the float and throwing three blades.  Two stuck into Dr. Terminal’s chest, and the third in his arm; he yelled out.

Above them, the drones crunched, showering the people below with metal pieces as they were throttled by Ben’s tentacles.

“You think you could kill me, when forces stronger than you couldn’t?” yelled Dr. Terminal, wrenching one of the knives from his chest.  “...but where is the girl? The girl is my favorite.”

Luther threw himself onto the parade float.

“Need a hand?” yelled Dr. Terminal, flinging one of the hands at him.  It smacked him square in the face, just long enough to stop him. “I don’t normally like to utilize such primitive instruments, but I really don’t have time for you brats if you didn’t even bring the girl.”  Dr. Terminal pulled out a gun and pointed it at Luther.

“SPACE!” yelled Diego.  He lunged and shoved Luther off the float; both of them hit the ground and disappeared, undoubtedly being trampled by the crowd.

Dr. Terminal cackled.

“There!” yelled Klaus, grabbing Ben’s shoulder and pointing to the crowd where Luther and Diego had vanished.

The tentacles shot forward and shoved the crowd apart; Luther and Diego jumped back onto their feet.  Luther cupped his hands; Diego stepped back up onto the parade float with an assist from Luther, and Luther bounded after him.  Diego had already unsheathed another knives; he flung them.

These didn’t hit their mark.  Or at least, not the way they usually did.  Both of them landed on the hilt instead of the point, smashing into Dr. Terminal’s helmet with a deafening CLANG !  He dropped, limp.

“Looks like your plans have been... terminated!” yelled Diego, grinning.

“HA!” said Luther.

The crowd burst into applause.

One of the showgirls who had been cowering on the parade float rose and, covered in glitter and feathers and beads, grabbed Diego’s face and pressed their mouths together, prompting even louder cheers. 

Luther looked away in embarrassment, hyper-aware that he and all of his siblings were witnessing Diego’s first kiss. 

When she pulled away, Diego was bright red.

“HEY EVERYONE… THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY SAVED US!” yelled someone.

“LOOK HERE, IT’S HORROR AND THE SÉANCE!” called someone else, flinging an arm around Klaus’s shoulders.  “Here, kid, have a drink!” He shoved a cup into Klaus’s hand. Klaus drank it, then sputtered; it was hard liquor.

“Someone call the authorities to arrest this man!” commanded Diego, pointing authoritatively at Dr. Terminal’s limp form on the ground. 

“THREE CHEERS FOR THE KRAKEN!”

“HIP-HIP--”

“Take a shot!  You earned it!” said someone, pushing drinks into Ben’s and Klaus’s hands.  On the ground, they were getting swarmed by admirers. Ben was actively gagging; his tentacles had retreated but he was looking pale and shaky.  Klaus took his drinks for him and was choking them down because the crowd seemed imminently about to mob them if they didn’t accept their praise.

Luther managed to clear the crowd so emergency personnel could arrive.  Dr. Terminal was arrested; paramedics were directed to Jack’s, and familiar yellow do-not-cross police tape was strung up to block off Toulouse St.

By the time they had shaken hands with the police chief and given all their statements, they had gotten separated.  This had happened before; they followed procedure, which was to go back to the hotel and regroup there.

Diego, Allison, and Ben arrived first.

“Congratulations,” said Ben weakly.

Diego shrugged a little uncomfortably, looking away.

“...what was it like?”

“Oh, y’know, it was-- nice.”

“...did any of Terminal’s victims make it?” Ben asked Allison, changing the subject.  Diego was still clearly processing.

“No,” she said flatly.

The conversation stalled until Luther came in, supporting Klaus’s giggling, limp form.

“He’s drunk,” said Luther.

“I take it back.  I love New Orleans!  ...Deegs! Deegs.  Deegs, did you get smooched?  Huh?” asked Klaus, laughing.

Diego turned red again.  “The hostages didn’t make it,” he told Luther.

Luther pulled a face.  “That’s a shame. How many casualties?”

“Five,” said Allison. “But four were already gone when we made it there.”

“Well, I don’t care, ‘cause guess what?” said Klaus, grinning ear-to-ear.  “They’re quiet. They’re actually quiet now! I can’t hear them. I can’t hear a damn thing.”  He collapsed into the bed, rolling around in glee; a mostly-empty bottle of rum someone had given him fell out of a pocket that was supposed to contain emergency flares and rolled loudly across the wood floor.

The next morning, Klaus spent the day clutching his head and wincing at loud noises.  He swore solemnly he’d never drink again.

Allison was unusually quiet.  She hadn’t had to face Dr. Terminal, instead staying with the last of his victims while he bled out.  Although she told her siblings several times that there was nothing they could have done to save him, it clearly bothered her, and she never ended up visiting Tulane University during their trip.

Reginald commended them on their success and took them out for ice cream, something he used to do after every mission when they were younger but now, as they edged toward adulthood, did rarely.  Diego ordered rum raisin, and at the mention of rum, Klaus ran outside of the shop to vomit in the street.

Chapter 11: Ben's Kittens

The dormitories had started out relatively uniform, but by the time they were seventeen, each of the Hargreeves’s rooms had evolved significantly.  Allison’s was, by and far, the boldest. As the only girl, and one with the power of persuasion, at that, she had successfully managed to create a personal space that was, on the surface, at least, perfectly suited for a normal, teenage girl.  The lamps had beaded shades; there was a large, woven tapestry with brightly colored parrots on one wall; her boudoir was covered in make-up and nail polish. Even though they were not allowed to wear anything aside from their uniforms, and jewelry was forbidden, accessories had begun cropping up: necklaces, scarves, even earrings.  (Allison’s ears were not pierced.) (Klaus had offered to do it; he had done his own, twice, both times being made to let them grow back. Allison had told Klaus when she got it done it would be by a professional. Klaus had protested that he practically was a professional, and was willing to pierce his own yet again to prove it, earning scoffs from everyone.)

Diego’s room was the antithesis: the walls were covered in posters for alternative rock bands, along with dart boards and range targets; Diego’s room bristled a warning to any who entered that Diego was not a person to be messed with (stuffed octopus on the bed notwithstanding).

And then, of course, there was Klaus.  A confused mishmash of everyone else’s style, Klaus’s room had the unsettled feeling of being a place that was more occupied than lived in.  The book shelf was clustered with religious texts and spiritual guides; the walls were covered in a mixture of posters, tailsmans, and charms; the light strings were perpetually on, throwing shadows over piles of pillows on the floor, where Klaus slept increasingly often instead of his bed.

When Diego walked in, Klaus was sitting on one of the pillows, scribbling madly on the wall.  The walls not covered by decorations were covered instead by overlapping, automatic writing; to anyone unaware of Klaus’s powers, he would have passed for certifiably insane.

“Hey,” said Diego.

“Not now,” snapped Klaus irritably, without turning.

Don’t ignore me you brat I need you to send me back please Klaus I’ll do anything I can make your dreams come true just help me please help us Klaus I’m too young to die it hurts please Klaus.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m busy.”

“...c’mon, you can do psychography anytime.  This is really important,” protested Diego as Klaus dug his pencil into the wall.  (It wrote out a strings of threats, pleas, and bargains.)

“Fine.  What?” Klaus still didn’t turn, his hand scribbling out words as fast as he could write them.  His shoes were abandoned by the door; Diego nudged at one. Klaus’s toenails were painted black, courtesy of Allison.

“I’ve been checking the mail before Mom can get to it.  This morning there was another letter for Three Hargreeves.”

(Years later, Allison would later change her name, legally, to Allison Hargreeves.  Diego would discover the announcement in the local paper while scouring the Wanted ads for work; ironically, it was nestled next to an ad by Vanya Hargreeves advertising violin lessons.  In the year following, Diego and Vanya would also have their legal names changed from a number to their proper names. None of the other Hargreeves would ever change theirs.)

Klaus didn’t react to Diego’s report about Allison getting a letter, so Diego added pointedly: “...from UCLA.”

“...okay?”

“She got accepted into another college.”

“...so?”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“Why should it?”

“Because what if she goes to California?”

At this, Klaus finally set down his pencil, put his hands on his knees, and turned around to stare at Diego.  “Are you stupid? Allison’s not moving to California.”

“Well, she’ll have to if she goes to college there.”  Diego crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to a desk; it was cluttered with a pile of what appeared to be trash.

“...she’s not going to college there.”

“Right?  Because obviously, you know.  We have a responsibility to the city.”

“Well, the world.”

“But Argyle is our home.”

“Because Dad dragged us here.  You and me would be on different continents if we hadn’t been adopted,” pointed out Klaus.  “We’re a global team.”

“But we grew up here.  Argyle’s our city. Our hometown,” said Diego, brow furrowing.  He looked over at the desk and rolled a screw across its surface.

“Don’t touch that,” said Klaus sharply.

“What are you building?  A bomb?” This wouldn’t have been unusual.  Klaus had a “friend” from 1918 who was a Scandinavian anarchist and thoroughly enjoyed setting fires.  Klaus periodically set them around the house to get him to leave him alone. He had picked up a fair number of tips about constructing IEDs from him as well.

“None of your beeswax.  Weren’t you here to talk about Allison?”

“Yeah, and how she can’t leave.  This is the best city in the world and it raised us.  We owe it to the citizens to stay here. I know we do a lot of international missions, but they need us here, too.  This is our home.”

“...you’ve been reading too many of your own interviews.  We don’t owe this town any more than we owe the rest of the world.  But don’t worry. Allison won’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah.  ...but could you talk to her?”

Klaus raised an eyebrow.  “Why me?”

“She’ll listen to you.  You guys are close.”

“She’s closer to Luther.”

“But Luther won’t listen to me.”

“You want me to rumor the Rumor because of a rumor she’s leaving?  God, Diego. You’re a moron sometimes.” Klaus turned back to his wall.  “I’m not going to talk to her because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s just messing around with the letters.  It’s not even worth thinking about. Now go away. I’m busy.”

Diego pushed off the wall and left with a bitter look on his face.  He’d expected Klaus to be more receptive. If I were dead he’d listen to me, he thought darkly, shouldering aside Ben as he hurried down the stairs.

“Hey!”  Ben ran after him in annoyance.  “Who peed in your Clever Crisps?”

“Leave me alone,” grumbled Diego as he made it onto the landing.  He paused; there were several police officers and men in suits in the sitting room to the right.  Ben followed his gaze.

In silent agreement, the two walked into the room to see what the commotion was.

Reginald was sitting in an armchair by the fire, the framed boar’s head over the mantle staring ominously outward.  One of Reginald’s passions was big game hunting and the house was covered in his trophies. Recently, Ben had taken offense at this, and burst into tears when Reginald brought home a leopard four years prior following his annual safari.  It had upset him enough to trigger Them to come out and trash the rooftop observatory. Since then, Reginald had brought home no new trophies. Or at least, he hadn’t put any on display where Ben could see them.

“Well, look who it is!” said one of the older detectives, turning and smiling at Diego and Ben.

“Hello, Detective,” said Diego.

“Hi, Mr. Narayan,” added Ben, recognizing one of Reginald’s lawyers.

“Are you boys staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, sir,” they both chimed, hands clasped behind their backs.  Often, Reginald kicked them out of grown-up meetings, but they’d found that if they were sufficiently well-behaved, he might let them stay a few minutes longer, just to show them off.  Getting firsthand knowledge of upcoming missions was always useful.

“Detective Lupo was just on his way out,” said Reginald.  “We were discussing private legal matters.”

“The families of the Hexettes are complaining,” elaborated the detective.

“...am I in trouble?” asked Ben.

“No, of course not.  You were acting in self-defense against grown-ups and trying to save the city,” said one of the lawyers reassuringly.  “Some people just like to sue. Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure neither you nor your father are held accountable for the alleged deaths.”

“Alleged?” repeated Diego, looking over at Ben.

“Oh, no, they’re really dead,” said Ben.

“Allegedly,” corrected Mr. Narayan.

“Definitely,” corrected Ben.

“It was in service to the city, Ben.  No one is mad at you,” said the detective.  “You did as good a job as any of our top officers could have.  Sometimes, things just don’t quite work out the way we want them to.  But you did your best and that still counts.”

Reginald looked like he’d bitten a lemon; in the Hargreeves household, effort did not count at all.  Outcomes did.

“It’s an honor and privilege to serve,” said Diego.

A few of the cops laughed.

“Listen to him… we’ll make a cop out of him yet!” said one of them.

Diego beamed.  Reginald scowled even more.  According to him, policework was beneath them.  Yet all of them had training in forensics. Reginald said that the police dealt with common criminals, and they dealt with uncommon threats.  To Reginald, this was an important distinction.

“Return to your studies.  We have business to take care of, and you have essays to tend to.”

“Yes, Dad,” both chimed, turning and walking out.

“Detective Lupo’s nice,” commented Ben once they were out of hearing range.

“Yeah, I like working with the cops.  They’re great,” agreed Diego. The diversion to the sitting room had temporarily distracted him from his concerns about Allison, and he and Ben went to the lounge to work on their astronomy homework together.  Although Diego’s fears had been temporarily calmed, Ben was clearly anxious about the conversation and had trouble concentrating for the rest of the evening.

---

In early April, the children came down to breakfast one morning to find Grace repairing the screen on a window.  It had been torn overnight. Probably by an opossum, she said. (Diego had already left to get his knives.)

The breakfast nook was in the first semi-basement.  (They had several, and below those, a bomb shelter, and below that, the hangar.)  All of the windows looked out into window wells. Luther and Allison both examined the window thoughtfully.

“So there might be a rabid animal loose in the house?” asked Klaus in alarm.

“No, look.  There’s paw prints facing toward the window.  What it was went back out,” said Allison, pointing to a print on the edge of the sink.

She had barely finished her words when there was a mewling noise under the sink.

Ben was the first to check.  “...KITTENS!”

Everyone was crowded around him in an instant; there were three small, blind kittens nestled into a pile of washing rags.  One was grey with stripes; one was grey with white socks; the other was pure black.

“Ohh, my goodness!” squealed Allison.

“Lemme hold one!  Lemme hold one!” demanded Klaus.

The kittens cried louder.

“We have to break the window again so the mom will come back,” said Luther.

“The mom won’t come back because Ben touched them, idiot,” said Klaus.

“That’s only birds, idiot,” retorted Luther.

“I got my knives!  Did you find the possum?” asked Diego, returning.

“If you lay a finger on these kittens, I’ll pop your head like a grape,” snarled Ben, clutching the two of the kittens to his chest protectively.

Diego held up his hands.  “Whoa, okay, geez. ...kittens?  It’s kittens?”

“Baby kittens,” confirmed Luther, reaching down to pick up the tiny grey one with socks.  It looked even tinier once it was in his hand.

“Can we keep them, Mom?  Please? Please?” everyone began begging.

“I don’t think so.  Your father wouldn’t abide by having three cats running around,” said Grace gently.

“But their mom can’t come back for them ‘cause you fixed the window!  Look at them! They’re helpless!” cried Ben, hugging the kittens to his chest.

“Yeah!  They’re orphans!  They need us!” chimed in Luther.

“We were adopted.  Can’t we adopt them just ‘til the grow up?” begged Allison.

“Oh, I don’t know, children…”

“Please, Mom, please, please, please!” they all begged.

“Can we ask Pogo?” asked Luther.  “How ‘bout we ask Pogo and if Pogo says yes then we can keep them ‘til they grow up?”

Grace relented and Luther tore out of the kitchen to ask Pogo if they could keep the kittens.  He returned with a breathless report that Pogo said they could so long as they stayed in the kitchen.  (Weeks later, Pogo would discover the kittens and demand to know why no one had informed him that they were raising kittens in the kitchen.)

Grace warned Ben that, since the kittens were less than a day old, they might not make it.  Ben ignored her warnings not to get attached and quickly outfitted the kittens with a cardboard box, a hot water bottle, and an alarm clock from Allison’s room.  (“It’ll be like the mother’s heartbeat so they don’t know they were abandoned,” he explained.)

He asked Luther for his birthday money and went to the pet store to buy kitten formula; he hand-fed the kittens between classes.  Their tiny claws, sharp as razors, shredded his hands, but he never complained. Though everyone was more than willing to help feed and pet the kittens, no one wanted to help them go to the bathroom, so this task fell entirely on Ben’s shoulders.

Although Grace said it was better not to name them, the kittens went the way of the lab rabbits and the hermit crab: Nine, Ben Jr., and Licorice all immediately became a major source of entertainment in the Hargreeves household, occupying most of the kids’ freetime.  Their eyes opened after two weeks and they wobbled wide-eyed across the kitchen floor, falling over frequently. All three had made it; Ben had managed to keep to a tight feeding schedule by frequently interrupting classes and trainings to “go to the bathroom.” (Vanya fed them when Ben was at his private training.)  Ben excused himself from class so often that Reginald thought he had a bladder infection and put him on antibiotics, which he took to his room and crushed up and put into plastic bags in case the kittens needed them.

By May, the kittens were using a litter box under the sink and chasing strings around the floor.  Ben had not complained of any stomachaches for a month; his hands were bandaged up heavily but he wore a perpetual look of contentedness.

“If we were normal, you could be a vet,” said Diego one morning at breakfast, as they watched Ben Jr. try to climb up Luther’s pant leg.  (They had determined that Ben, Jr. and Licorice were girls and that Nine was a boy.)

“...I’d like to be a vet,” said Ben.

“You could go to school for it,” suggested Allison.

Diego stabbed the table; the chinaware jumped, and so did Klaus and Vanya, who had not been paying attention.

“Shut up about school!  We’re in school!  We’ve been in school our whole lives!  Ben’s never gonna be a vet; none of us are ever gonna be anything other than heroes.  Okay? That’s what we were born for. The only thing we’re ever gonna do is be in this academy, or the police academy, or a military academy, or some other academy where we fight crime and save lives.”

“I wanna save animals’ lives,” said Ben, holding Licorice against him.

“You think Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are gonna take Sparky to some guy whose nickname is The Horror?” demanded Diego.

“Whoa, Deegs… chillax, man,” protested Klaus.

Diego flung a knife at him; it knocked over Klaus’s bowl of cereal, splattering him with milk.  Diego shoved his chair back and stormed off.

Allison rose.  Luther caught her arm.  “Let him go.”

“He has no right to talk to Ben like that!”

“Just give him space.  You know how he gets.”

Diego spent the rest of the day silent, hunched, and refusing to talk to or look at anyone (except Vanya, who didn’t count).

He thawed a little toward Klaus and Luther, and two days later, toward Allison.  He and Ben continued to give each other the cold shoulder all week. Finally, it broke when Diego asked if he could play with Nine.  Ben demanded an apology first, and to everyone’s great surprise, Diego gave it to him.

Later that evening, Ben asked Allison if he could borrow one of the SAT books she’d acquired from the library, and whether Tulane or UCLA had veterinary medicine programs.  He made sure to ask it out of earshot of Diego.

---

In May, the entire Umbrella Academy was subpoenaed by Mary Cahill, the mother of one of the women they had killed during the confrontation at the dam a few months before.  They (specifically, Ben) were getting sued for wrongful death in the case of Marisa Cahill, one of the Hexettes, who had to have a closed-casket funeral due to what The Horror had done to her. 

(Klaus spent most of the trial with his eyes closed; Marisa Cahill was standing at the front of the room, drenched in red human blood and black tentacle slime, glaring daggers at him.)

The Hargreeves knew their way around a courthouse.  They followed Reginald in order, single-file, standing and sitting when told, hands neatly clasped on their laps.  They called the judge “Your Honor,” and all of the adults “sir” or “ma’am.”

Luther and Allison gave their testimonies: the Hexettes were all armed and had a history of violence and were in the act of threatening the city when they were killed.  It was unfortunate, but unpreventable.

On the stand, Ben quietly and respectfully answered the prosecution’s questions.

The jury deliberation took only four minutes before they returned a Not Guilty verdict.  Marisa Cahill let out an unholy screech that only Klaus could hear; Mary Cahill burst into tears; Luther and Diego high-fived.

Outside, a cheering crowd held up posters with their names on them, and the kids smiled and waved, wearing their court outfits and their domino masks.

“I can’t wait to get home.  I’m starving,” said Klaus in the car.

“Snack-time’s nearly over,” said Allison, checking her watch.

“...can we go through a McDonald’s drive-through?” asked Luther.

“Drive-through!” repeated Ben, bouncing in his seat a little.

Reginald checked his pocket watch, frowned, then relented.  “Very well.”

The teens cheered. 

Knowing what had happened last time, they begged to eat in the restaurant, and Reginald conceded.  He gave Luther money and waited in the car while they went into the restaurant, ordered food, and wolfed it down inside.

When they got home, Vanya was waiting to ask how things went.

“Great!  We got McDonald’s!  Oh, and also, Ben’s not going to jail,” said Klaus.

“...you got McDonald’s?” repeated Vanya.  “Did you bring me anything, or…?”

“Sorry, we ate at the restaurant,” said Luther.

“Snack-time is over, Number Seven.  You should have eaten when the opportunity arose. You will have to wait until dinnertime,” said Reginald.  She nodded mutely and watched everyone else hurriedly finished their shakes, getting brain freezes in their attempts to consume all of it before it was taken away from them.

---

That night, after dinner, Ben made a terrible discovery: while they had been in court all day, the kittens had escaped.  The screen was torn again and the kittens were nowhere to be found.

“They’re only two months old!  They’re too little to be out there alone!” cried Ben frantically.

“I’ll get my flashlight,” said Diego firmly.

“I’m sure they’ll come back.  They know where their food comes from.  This is their home,” said Luther.

Klaus meowed out the window.

“Klaus!  Can one of your ghosts find them?” asked Ben desperately, wheeling around and grabbing Klaus’s shoulders.

“Ghosts aren’t all-seeing, there’s a million stray cats in the city, and I don’t want to disturb the dead over some cats,” said Klaus, brushing Ben off.  His tone softened at Ben’s expression. “Listen, Luther’s right. They’ll come home. They’re just exploring like normal stray cats do.”

“They’re not strays!  They’re mine!  I raised them!” said Ben, nearly on the verge of tears.

Diego returned with a pair of flashlights.  “C’mon, Ben. We’ll find ‘em. They belong at home.  They probably didn’t even go very far.”

“You guys, bedtime is in thirty minutes,” said Luther.

“Kittens are more important,” said Diego sternly.  Ben nodded in grateful agreement. “We’ll just tell Dad we’re going on patrol for a few hours.”

In the kitchen, they moved a magnetic marker on a board of their names from "Home" to "On patrol," granting them an extension to their curfew until midnight, provided they submitted a summary of crimes thwarted to Reginald or Pogo by lunchtime the next day.

They were out well past midnight; when they broke curfew, Allison heard a rumor that they were had already returned and gone to bed so that they wouldn’t get in trouble.

The next morning, they appeared at the breakfast table red-eyed and clearly exhausted, without any kittens.

“What if they got kidnapped?” worried Ben, not touching his eggs.

“I’m sure the kittens are fine, sweetheart.  Cats are very independent creatures,” said Grace.

“They’ve got their claws.  They can defend themselves, Ben,” added Luther.

They put out an open can of tuna by the screen window, which they’d all prevented Grace from fixing, hoping that the tuna might lure the cats back.  The only thing it lured was flies, which Grace went after with a bright pink flyswatter for the better part of the afternoon.

Ben clutched his stomach all day, cringing in pain as his skin rippled.  He fell asleep in algebra class and only woke when a tentacle erupted from his midsection, knocked over Allison’s desk, ripped the chalkboard off the wall, and threw it onto the ground, cracking it.

It reached for Eight’s tank.

“NO!” shouted Ben.

The tentacle actually stopped for a split second, then, instead of grabbing the tank, grabbed a microscope, wrapped around it, and squeezed, crunching the delicate equipment instantly.  It reached up and smashed a light for good measure before slithering back into Ben’s body.

“Number Six!” barked Reginald.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”

Six was dismissed to go to his room and rest.  Instead, he went to the kitchen and fell asleep curled on the floor by the window.

In the months to come, Luther’s prediction would prove to be correct.  The cats did know where they’d come from, and they did come back, but with decreasing regularity.  Ben, Jr. was the first to disappear altogether, followed by Nine. Only the solid black one, Licorice, stuck around permanently; she hung out outside of Ben’s or Klaus’s windows, her wide, yellow eyes staring silently, and refused to ever be touched again.

Chapter 12: Institutional Rivalry

Diego, Vanya, and Allison all enjoyed playing soccer on the roof.  Back when they’d had Five, they had played two-on-two, with Diego and Five keeping goals while the girls kicked the ball around.  Allison was fairly good at football, at least in the Hargreeves household; Luther had been banned from playing since kicking his fifth ball off the roof and into the traffic below.  He preferred to serve as score-keeper and ref, anyway; as leader, it seemed only fair that he ought to do it. Sometimes, Ben and Klaus could be convinced to play, too, and then they had a proper game and could pass the ball around.

With Five’s disappearance when they were thirteen, the rules of the game had had to be changed.  Now, they either had two people trying to score into a single goal, or, sometimes, three people and one unguarded goal.  The unfortunate reality of their isolation was felt in these strange games; they had seen real games at the park with eleven kids on each team.

Allison confessed to Vanya part of the reason she wanted to go to college was to play sports.

“We play sports here,” protested Vanya quietly, kicking the ball over.

Allison stopped it under her foot.  “You know what I mean. Real sports.”

“...why don’t you just go to the park and ask the other kids to play?”

“Maybe you could, but I couldn’t.  They’d all recognize me.”

“I thought the point of the masks was to conceal your identity.”

Allison frowned and looked up at the stormy sky pensively.  “...hm. I guess I never really thought about it.”

They went back to kicking the ball, until a bell summoned Allison downstairs to line up with the others in the front room; they had an interview with Culture Now that afternoon.

Reginald looked over each of them with a critical eye, giving Klaus’s hair a few sweeps to try to get it to lay flatter, then turned to Allison.

“Number Three, where is your mask?”

“Upstairs,” she replied.

“Go retrieve it.”

“...do I really need it?”

Everyone craned their heads in disbelief to stare at her.

“Everyone knows who we are, where we live, even.  After missions, there’s always a big crowd outside.  ...our identities are sort of out there, already… aren’t they?”

Everyone’s eyes widened, and then looked over at Reginald.  (Their masks concealed the trail of their gaze, of course.)

“Do not question my methods, Number Three!” barked Reginald in a raised voice.  He thumped his cane on the floor, then pointed with it. “Now go retrieve your mask!”

Allison turned and hurried up the stairs.  Vanya was waiting at the top, Allison’s mask already in her hands; Allison whispered a thank-you, grabbed it, and ran back down to fall into line.

They passed their second inspection and Reginald took them to the car and drove them to a fancy hotel room where the interview was being held.

“Wow, all the Hargreeves, under one roof!  It’s a real pleasure!” said their interviewer as they all settled onto chairs opposite to hers.

“Well, not all of us are here,” said Allison.

“Yeah.  We’re missing one of our siblings,” said Ben.

“...Five,” said Diego.

“...Five,” they all murmured, nodding.

They felt it was important to remind people that they weren’t the only members of the Umbrella Academy, and just because Five wasn’t there didn’t mean that he didn’t count.

The interview followed a very typical format.  The interviewer was especially interested in two of their most recent missions, which had been in the industrial district downtown; a string of arsons targeting warehouses and storage units containing sensitive tax documents had emerged that spring, and the kids had hurried into several burning buildings to make sure no one was there to get hurt.  (Fortunately, no one had been. The warehouses were quite empty.)

The current suspicion they had was that the fires were caused the The Entropy Institute.  A rather fancy name for a manor upstate that held a single man, three children, and a disembodied AI system that ran their house, The Entropy Institute had been founded at the same time as the Umbrella Academy in more or less the same manner.  Its founder, Wiley Tollhouse Latrick, had gotten three of the 43 children of the phenomenon, dubbing them Students A, B, and C. (Or, as they were known to the media, Shifter, Pyro, and Warp Lass.) Their mission was to create a freer world by fighting "oppressive institutions."  (The irony of their name was palpable.) Unfortunately, Warp Lass had disappeared when they were fourteen and they’d gone on a two-year hiatus, presumably because it was hard to call themselves a “team” when they had only two members. They had re-emerged the previous year with a new companion, Student D.  (Also known as Tilt.) Tilt had been born on October 1st, 1989. On the sixteenth hour. After a normal, nine-month pregnancy.

No one believed Tilt had powers except perhaps Wiley.  He insisted that Wiley’s power was super-intelligence; she had built many marvelous inventions, most notably a pair of magnetic gauntlets with which she could manipulate metallic items.  (Her favorite was ball bearings.) Her name came from her tendencies to throw these small, metal balls in the paths of her enemies to incapacitate them; they’d slip, wobble, tilt, and usually end up falling over.  She could recall the balls and direct them, making her a deadly distraction in battle.

Shifter could alter the states of things, boiling or freezing liquids instantly, and liquifying solids at a touch.  Pyro, of course, set fires, something Klaus secretly thought was very cool. (Unbeknownst to Klaus, Pyro thought Séance was the coolest member of the Umbrella Academy and had a poster of him on her wall.)

The two schools butted heads a few times a year, usually in spring when crime fighting was slow.  This year was no different; the warehouses which had been set ablaze housed tax and mortgage records and, once burned, let a lot of small business and homeowners off the hook for impending bills.  Reginald viewed this a grave and personal insult, as he considered himself proof that capitalism worked.

To the absolute delight of the reporter from Culture Now, they received an alert mid-way through the interview that there had been a break-in at a bank and some familiar characters were there.

When they arrived, the building was already engulfed in flames.  The five of them charged in, leaving Reginald and the reporter to watch from the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically in the flaming lobby.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“You won’t get away with this!” said Diego, shaking his fist and coughing slightly because of the smoke. 

Outside, a worried crowd watched the building and the outlines of the children inside. 

A ruddy-faced, portly man in a derby hat elbowed his way to the front, to stand beside Reginald.

“Reginald,” he greeted him stiffly.

“Wiley.”

The two watched as Luther, Shifter, Ben, and Allison crashed through a front window and rolled around on the sidewalk in front of the burning building as the crowd gasped.

“It took you a rather long time to discover that we were responsible.”

Reginald scoffed.  “I wouldn’t call you ‘responsible.’  And further, I knew from the very first fire you were the culprits.  But we had more important villains to tend to. So sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Did you receive my holiday card?”

“I don’t recall.”

Pyro lit a car on fire and threw Klaus against it.  Klaus rolled away, patting flames off of himself; Diego leaped onto Pyro’s back and tried to stab her.  Shifter reached in and melted the blade of his knife; Luther punched Shifter.

“Say, I didn’t see any of your Thoroughbreds at the Derby this year,” observed Wiley.

“Oh?  Did one of yours race?”

“...yes, yes, placed fifth.”

“There’s hardly any glory in fifth.”

“Well, it’s better than not racing at all.”

“A platitude suited for a man who placed fifth.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve sold Victor’s Lionheart?” pressed Wiley.

“He’s been sent out to stud.”

“Ah.”

Tilt surfed into the street on a wave of ball bearings, one gloved hand outstretched. With a yell she flung another handful of ball bearings on the ground.

“You know, it doesn’t count,” said Reginald, frowning.

Luther ran after Tilt, slipped, fell, and let out a yell, landing on his arm with an audible crunch.  The crowd let out a massive “oooo” of sympathy. The building creaked, threatening to collapse, still aflame.

“My Student D has taken out your Number One,” said Wiley, a bit smugly.

“It doesn’t count,” insisted Reginald petulantly.

Luther struggled to get up, sliding all over the ground.

“Oh!  Did you hear of the Foxtrot cocktail party this weekend?”

“Ah, yes.  I was hoping to speak to Admiral Foxtrot regarding the recent dip in automobile stocks.”

“Dreadful, dreadful.”

The crowd moved at the sound of sirens.  Allison and Pyro throttled each other briefly; Ben and Shifter rolled around in the glass scattered on the concrete sidewalk.

“TILT!” yelled Pyro and Shifter.

Tilt flung more ball bearings, throwing everyone off balance.  Shifter and Pyro ran away, the ball bearings surrounding them parting like the Red Sea for Moses; Tilt recalled her ball bearings, shoving them hastily into a pouch on her utility belt, and ran after her siblings.

The bank collapsed in a massive fireball of smoke and flame.

“Well, ta-ta, Reginald.  You were too late this time.  Perhaps next fire?” said Wiley, as the three children ran up to him panting and covered in soot.

“Enjoy your fleeting success while it lasts, Wiley.  I doubt it will be long,” scoffed Reginald.

Wiley and the three children scurried off to get aboard their rocket-powered hot air balloon.  The crowd watched them fly off as the police arrived in a blare of red-and-blue sirens.

The Umbrella Academy reported what they had seen; their eyebrows were singed off and Luther was cradling his left wrist against his body like a bird with an injured wing.  They found out later it was broken, and he would have to spend the next eight weeks in a plaster.

According to Reginald, they would have apprehended the culprits if they had been on time, and it was Allison’s insolence that had made that particular mission go so badly; most mission failures, he said, were a result of “a lack of cohesion exemplified by Number Three's recent insubordinate tendencies."

---

A week later, another fire broke out, and the kids donned their masks and ran to the car.

When they arrived at the burning building, which was down by the docks, they all piled out and went running in.  (Their eyebrows still hadn’t grown back.)

Their annual spring conflict with the Entropy Institute had been a tradition since they were thirteen.  They’d won the key to the city when they were thirteen and again when they were fourteen. Then Warp Lass disappeared and there were the two quiet years.  Now that their arch-nemeses were back, they were eager to rekindle the tradition of apprehending them. There were several trophy cases around the house that had open slots waiting for another key.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically as he entered the building.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“We’ll see about that!” said Allison, and the eight children lunged at each other.

Luther grabbed a metal trash can and hurled it at Shifter; he ducked, but it didn’t matter, because the trash can froze in mid-air.  Behind Shifter, Tilt had her hands raised, her large armored gloves thrumming. With a flick of her wrists, she flung the trashcan aside, and it plowed into Diego instead.

Pyro flung a ball of fire at Ben, who dove behind a fake potted plant; apparently, whatever synthetic it was made of was highly flammable, because it erupted into flames.

“I heard a ru--” began Allison.

She was interrupted with an unholy, shrill, impossibly high-pitched shriek.  She (and everyone else) clamped their hands over their ears, crying out in protest.

Tilt cackled; she was holding up a small button with a wire that trailed down to a box on her belt.  "How do you like my acoustic nullifier? It's activated by the sound of your voice, Rumor!"

“Séance!  Get that thing off of Tilt!” yelled Luther.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” said Klaus.  “Kraken, cover me!”

“...you could’ve given us earplugs, too, you know,” said Shifter with obvious annoyance.  He and Pyro had been just as disabled by the loud siren as the Umbrella Academy.

Tilt shrugged.

Shifter put his hands to the ground and the epoxy floor instantly turned to goo; everyone yelled and struggled against the sticky floor.  It was too late for Shifter, however; Luther had reached him and placed a hold on him.

Shifter managed to slap a hand on the floor, turning it back into resin, partially immobilizing Luther and Allison.

Diego flung a knife at Tilt; it severed the wire between the button and the noise box on her belt.  “Rumor, now!” he yelled.

Above her head, Pyro grew a deadly plume to bring down upon Allison.

“I heard a rumor that--” began Allison but she was interrupted when a spin kick from behind knocked Pyro to the floor. 

“Wait,” called Luther, pointing.

Luther had Shifter in a headlock, and Tilt had just finished picking up Klaus with an anti-gravity gun and flinging him into Diego, but everyone had paused; a young boy wearing a black balaclava had appeared.

“Go away, Trevor,” said Luther, maintaining a firm squeeze on Shifter with his cast.  (Shifter could have liquefied the plaster but there was a general unspoken rule amongst the kids not to mess with previous injuries, since someone usually ended up needing stitches or a cast after their fights.)

Shifter managed to choke out an agreement with Luther.

“My name,” said Trevor, striking a wide stance and crossing his arms, “is Redeemer.  And we’re here to help with the evacuation.” Several more teens in matching black balaclavas dropped from the ceiling beside him, striking various poses that were clearly meant to impress.

“Everyone’s already evacuated,” observed Allison.

“I wouldn’t set a fire to hurt people,” aded Pyro, sounding offended.

“Well, then, we’re here to help contain the fire to minimize collateral damage.”

“Trevor, you guys are just kids.  It’s dangerous here,” said Ben. “You have to go outside.”

“But we’re honor-bound,” protested Trevor.

The Umbrella Academy and the Entropy Institute had another unspoken agreement that any time the Shōkan orphans showed up, their fights came to a temporary cease-fire until they could shoo them away.

The Shōkan Home for Orphaned Youth (previously the Roy McClintock Foster Center) had somewhere between ten and twelve members, none of whom had any superpowers but who had trained under their headmaster, Master Hiroshi-san (formally Mr. Roy McClintock), in the art of ju-jitsu, and they frequently crashed, uninvited, into important Academy business wearing their ridiculous matching ninja get-ups.  The Academy children felt sorry for them; Roy McClintock was clearly a dangerous man who cared more for glory than his children’s welfare, and the children seemed brainwashed into believing they were actually doing good.  He strutted around in a white gi with a look of smug superiority, as if he weren't playing with children's lives.

“Do you need help gathering evidence?” asked Trevor, their leader.  Behind Klaus, a few support beams crumbled, setting up a spray of embers.  The fire crackled industriously.

“No,” said Luther and Shifter together.

“Even if we did, you guys aren’t cops,” added Ben.

“Neither are you!”

“We’re practically cops,” said Diego, sheathing his knives.  “C’mon, let’s get you out of here…”

“Okay, we’ll escort you out,” said a girl behind Trevor.

Amid much protest, eighteen children escorted one another outside.

The gawking crowd outside cheered, clearly assuming that the Umbrella Academy had saved the rest from the fire.

There were already two police cars on the scene; one of the officers frowned at Trevor and the gang, and said into his walkie-talkie, “The McClintocks are here again.  Get their case worker down here.”

“We’re honor-bound!” protested Trevor.

“Alright, son, sit down,” said the police officer as he attempted to corral Trevor and the others towards a police van. With surprising agility they each jumped onto a nearby fire escape and soon had disappeared onto the roof. "Stop!" insisted the officer, drawing his weapon to no effect. Diego drew a knife instinctively, but Luther placed a hand across his chest. They were already gone.

Diego lowered his knife, frowning.  “Those kids are gonna get hurt someday,” he said, wiping a trickle of blood from his eye.  (An abrasion on his forehead was bleeding.)

The police officer nodded to Diego and touched his hat.  “Kraken,” he greeted him.

“Okay, I think we have another six minutes before the building collapses.  You didn’t use an accelerant, did you?” asked Allison, checking her watch.

“Bitch, I am an accelerant,” said Pyro.

“Language!” called Wiley from the crowd.

The police officer blew a whistle.  “Okay, everyone, step back! This building is going to go in only a few minutes!”

“You heard him.  We’ve only got a few minutes left on the clock,” said Luther.

The orphans safe, the Academy and the Institute ran back inside and went back to battling.  In the brief interruption from the Shōkan orphans, Tilt had swiped one of Diego’s knives with her gauntlets, stripped away the insulation on the broken wires, and twisted together the severed connection; the moment Allison spoke, the siren went off again, temporarily paralyzing everyone, and grabbing her brother and sister, Tilt hurried out of the building to make a getaway.

The Umbrella Academy recovered quickly and ran after them, but they were already aboard the Turbolloon, which rose slowly, almost peacefully into the air until it had cleared all of the nearby buildings, at which point Wiley hit the rockets and jetted them off to safety.

---

One guaranteed method to put Reginald in a sour mood was to interrupt dinner.  Dinner was a quiet, sacred time.

When the alarms went off in the middle of it, everyone jumped a little, and Ben dropped his book onto his plate. 

“Master Reginald.  There’s a fire at the county clerk’s office,” Pogo informed Reginald soberly.

Reginald pulled his napkin from his neck and threw it onto his half-finished meal in irritation.  “Very well. Perhaps this time, you will all be able to apprehend that meddlesome pair of criminals.”

“There’s three,” said Klaus automatically.  (Ben kicked him under the table in warning.)

“Excuse me?” demanded Reginald.

“There’s… there’s three of them.”

“Yeah, they got Tilt.  They wouldn’t keep escaping if they didn’t have Tilt,” said Diego meekly.

Reginald’s eyes widened as far as they could without dropping his monocle.  “Oh, so it’s Student D who is preventing your success, is it?  Shall I send along Number Seven to aid you?  Would that level the playing field?”

Everyone cringed.

“No, Dad, we can take care of it,” insisted Luther.

“Yeah, we can handle her,” added Allison.

“Sorry, Dad,” murmured Vanya.

“Don’t mumble,” snapped Reginald, storming off.

Everyone hurried away from their unfinished dinners to go upstairs to change.  Sensing Reginald’s impatience, they were done in record time, and they piled into the car before even Reginald was ready.  (Diego and Luther had a brief fight over who got to drive, with Luther winning.)

The only one of them who didn’t drive was Klaus.  The last time he had been behind the wheel, when he was thirteen, he had swerved suddenly and slammed into a letter box.  Unbeknownst to everyone else, he had swerved to avoid a man who had walked out in front of the car.

The man had run up to the driver’s side window in alarm to ask if everyone was okay, then reeled backward when Klaus turned to look him in the eyes.

“You can see me?” he said in delight, then snapped his fingers in sudden understanding.  “Oh, hey! You’re Klaus, right? Oh, man, you’re legendary. Hey, listen, I wrote my will out before I died but no one’s found it yet and I want to make sure my son gets ahold of it.  It’s tucked into the Book of Psalms on the shelf in my study. Could you-- hey, where are you going?”

At this point, Klaus had already opened the door, bailed out, and taken off running down the block, leaving everyone (his siblings, Reginald, and the ghost) calling after him.

In response, Reginald had shifted the focus of Klaus’s training to overcome his fear of ghosts, with field trips to mausoleums, morgues, and hospice wards.  The appearance of the Séance in hospital wards led to a slight uptick in deaths from frail patients who recognized him, and Reginald was promptly banned from Argyle Regional Hospital, which was just as well, as he had never once taken any of the children there except Klaus.

The success of Klaus’s “exposure training” was questionable at best, and Klaus never drove again, because no one could trust him not to crash the car.

In any case it didn’t matter because Luther and Diego always fought over who got to drive, and it was rare anyone else got behind the wheel, aside from Reginald, of course.

“I would’ve made that light,” grumbled Diego from the back of the car, crossing his arms and slouching as Luther idled at a red light.  Ahead of them, they could see plumes of smoke rising from the county clerk’s office.

“Okay, team.  Here’s the strategy,” said Luther loudly, ignoring him.  “Number Two, you use your knives to disable Tilt’s acoustic nullifier.  Once she’s out, try to find out where the Turbolloon is, and puncture it so they can’t escape.  Number Three, Four, distract Shifter so he can’t protect Tilt. Number Six, you and me’ll take on Pyro.”

Everyone murmured their agreement to this plan.

Luther hit the gas when the light turned and they arrived with a dramatic squeal of the tires.  Everyone leaped out of the car; the crowd of onlookers cheered.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically as he entered the building.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“We’ll see about--” began Klaus.

“We’ll see about that!” declared Ben over Klaus.  Klaus shot Ben a glare and Ben shrugged an apology.  And then the eight children lunged at each other.

Tilt ripped a water fountain from the wall using her magna-gauntlets and flung it toward Luther.  It slammed into him and he let out a yell. Shifter plunged his hands into the water erupting from the broken plumbing and the water on the floor instantly froze into a slick, flat plane of ice.  Shifter let out a whine of pain as the ice encased his hands, and Pyro hurried over to melt the ice away from them and free him. She had time to spare; Ben, Klaus, and Allison were all sliding comically over the ice, and Luther was clearly still dazed from getting knocked aside with the water fountain.

Diego, unlike the rest, didn’t try to move, nor did he have to.  He stabbed one knife into the ice below him to steady himself and then flung another with his other hand.  It swerved in the air and cut through a pair of wires dangling at Tilt’s side.

“Rumor!” he yelled.

“I heard a rumor that your magna-gauntlets are broken!” she shouted.

“Don’t listen to her, Tilt!  They’re fine!” shouted Pyro.

“Let me check.  I think they might be broken,” said Tilt worriedly, taking off one of her gloves.

“Tilt, no!”

“Horror, now!” yelled Luther.

Ben yanked open the midsection of his jumpsuit.  Nothing happened.

“Horror!”

“...I don’t think They like the cold.”  One tentacle slithered out of Ben’s torso, tentatively touched the ice on the ground, then smashed it and recoiled back into his body.

“Horror!”

“I heard a rumor that-- that you’re tired of Wiley telling you what to do!” yelled Allison.

Shifter, Pyro, and Tilt all froze.

Their shoulders slumped.

“...guys, pause,” said Shifter, looking up at Luther.  He looked down at his uniform. “...I feel ridiculous.”

“Why are we fighting inside of a burning building?” added Pyro.

“These masks are stupid.”  Shifter pulled off his domino mask.

“Yeah, this doesn’t make any sense at all.  Screw this. Let’s go to Burger King,” agreed Tilt, pulling off her mask too.

Shifter reached down to liquify the ice, and the three walked out docily, with the Umbrella Academy following behind them smugly.  On the steps of the county clerk’s office, they waved to the crowd, which cheered and waved posters at them in reply.

The police stepped in to arrest the three students of the Entropy Institute.

“Wait.  What-- what are you doing?” protested Pyro in confusion, still dazed by Allison’s powers.

“Can we go by Burger King on the way to jail?” asked Tilt hopefully.

“Hey.  You fought hard.  But crime never pays,” said Luther, sticking out a hand.  Shifter shook it before one of the policemen handcuffed him.

“We’ll be back before next spring.”

“And we’ll always be waiting at the ready.”

Dozens of flashbulbs went off in the crowd as photographers grabbed pictures of Luther and Shifter squaring off.

Because the members of the Entropy Institute were minors, they always got off with house arrest and parole, which usually lasted one year.  Most of the tourism brochures and city guides for Argyle explicitly advertised late spring and early summer as “superhero season” and advised that this was the best time to catch the Umbrella Academy thwarting crimes about the city.

On the car ride home, they all laughed and talked about how ridiculous those Entropy kids had looked when Allison had rumored them.  They fell silent as they drove past a Burger King; a cop car was pulling into the drive-through, and their three nemeses were waving to them from the back window.

---

Years later, Klaus would bump into Tilt at a local dive bar.

“Séance!”

“Tilt!”

The two would tense, then relax, laughing at the ridiculousness of their reaction to each other.  Klaus would buy her a beer and they’d end up spending the night together, ditching the bar for an EDM house party, where they would sit on the balcony passing a bottle of codeine cough syrup back and forth, and reminiscing about how their fathers had messed them up.

Klaus would offer his condolences that Tilt had never gotten a marshmallow and Tilt would shrug and say that a round, grey marshmallow in the shape of a ball-bearing wouldn’t have been very appetizing, anyway.

Wiley had a brand of breakfast cereal called “Dr. Derby’s Sugar-Frosted Smarties.”  There were three marshmallow shapes: a red-and-gold flame for Pyro, a white-and-blue drop of liquid for Shifter, and a swirling blue-and-purple portal for Warp Lass.  After Warp Lass had disappeared, the cereal had remained unchanged, even when Tilt was brought in to replace her. Tilt marshmallows had never appeared on the market, though Tilt had enjoyed a collectible plastic spoon in 2007.  (Having four spoons instead of three meant more cereal sales.)

Klaus admittedly thought Dr. Derby’s Sugar-Frosted Smarties were an objectively better cereal than Clever Crisps.  Then again, everyone knew that Reginald had only invented Clever Crisps for the purpose of trademarking the mascot “Mr. Monocle.”  Years ago, the Argyle City High School had voted on a mascot and chosen Mr. Monocle. That year, a person in a large foam head in a monocle and a top hat appeared at every game, much to the delight of the crowd.  Reginald was furious at the caricature (adding to Pogo that it ought to be Sir Monocle, as he had a knighthood), and sued the school district for mocking him.  Though they were able to defend the mascot as parody, the legal fees required to go up against Reginald Hargreeves had shut down their marching band program, and they ended up changing their name to The Fightin’ Pumas, even though Dr. Derby offered up his own likeness if they wanted to keep a human mascot.

Klaus and Tilt (who now went by Hui Li) would bid each other adieu at sunrise, and Klaus would never see Hui Li again.  He did not know what became of Pyro (now Padma) or Shifter (now Sven), either. Some said Pyro went off and joined the circus, and Shifter moved to Colorado and was working for a marijuana dispensary.  Others said Pyro had hung herself and Shifter had developed a severe case of agoraphobia that prevented him from leaving the Institute’s manor house. Klaus had been concerned enough about Pyro to try to conjure her, but he hadn’t been able to, so it was his hope that she was off touring with a circus somewhere, after all.

Chapter 13: Zoo Heist

Notes:

To anyone following, sorry for the LONG wait for an update. I'm in a Master's program for journalism and was dealing with end-of-the-term assignments. The quarter is now over and I hope to be able to finish this work over the summer. Thanks for your readership! - Tony

PS: Rhinos are like big grey puppies. In case you are wondering what sound rhinos make, and why Ben should feel extra-bad about scaring one, here's a YouTube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNCC6ZYI3SI

July began with fireworks.

There was a letter in the mail addressed to “Six Hargreeves,” and Diego stormed into snacktime with it in his hand, throwing it onto the table like it was some sort of disgusting evidence of a crime.

Ben looked up from his book.

“What is this?” demanded Diego in a dangerously soft tone.

Ben shifted a little uncomfortably.  “...I dunno,” he mumbled, looking down.

“What,” repeated Diego, even softer and more challengingly, “is this?”

Ben squirmed under the scrutiny.  “ ‘ceptance letter,” he finally mumbled, almost inaudible.

Klaus grabbed his bowl just in time; Diego slammed his hands on the table so hard that everyone’s dishes jumped, and Vanya’s glass of apple juice fell and spilled.

“Diego!” scolded Grace, stepping over with a washcloth to mop up the mess. 

“That’s Ben’s mail!  Give it to him!” demanded Allison, standing up fiercely.

“What the hell is the matter with you two?  Don’t you have better things to do than live in some stupid fantasy world?  We’re heroes and the city needs us--”

“Well, we can go to Argyle City College for the first two years before we transfer to UCLA, and we won’t even need to leave home, we can live here and just go to classes during the day and we can still help fight crime and stuff,” protested Ben.  Clearly, he and Allison had discussed plans. Luther looked like he’d been slapped in the face; apparently, these plans had not been discussed with him.

Diego’s fists were still balled up, and the line of his shoulders was tight, but he no longer seemed imminently about to flip the table.  “No one’s going anywhere,” he snarled.

“I heard a rumor that you gave Ben his mail,” said Allison.

Automatically, Diego extended the envelope.  Ben reached out and snatched it away before Diego could come to his senses.

“I thought you were just messing around,” said Luther in a low voice.

“We turn eighteen in three months.  Aren’t any of you guys thinking about that?” asked Allison.

“No,” spat Diego.

“I think it would be educational for us to go out into the world, have some new experiences.”

Ben nodded.

“If Dad thought we needed--” began Luther.

“We already go out into the world all the time!” protested Diego.  He jabbed a finger at Allison. “You’re playing with fire, Three. It was bad enough before you dragged Ben into it!”

“She didn’t drag me.  I asked her about it,” protested Ben.  Diego ignored him. He and Allison were squaring off and looked imminently ready to fling themselves across the table.  (Klaus had already moved his cereal bowl into his lap and was eating slowly, eyes darting between them expectantly.)

“If you want to stay in this house forever and play soldiers with Daddy, be my guest.  Some of us have lives to live,” hissed Allison.

“Now, really, kids, all this squabbling,” scolded Grace as she moved Ben’s book from the puddle of apple juice on the table; her first towel hadn’t gotten all of it and she’d swooped back in with a new cloth.  “Over a silly little piece of paper. Don’t you think you’re over-reacting, Diego, dear? And Allison, I expect you to be nicer to your brother. You kids are a team.”

The two glared at each other for a second longer before Grace put her hands on her hips and ahem-ed at them; they looked away to mumble apologies, but sat at opposite ends of the table and didn’t speak for days.

---

Though Diego wasn’t speaking to Allison, Luther sought her out during the next available study period.  “Knock knock,” he said gently, leaning in her doorway. She looked up from her desk where she had been writing an essay on the Geneva Convention.

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

“You’re not really going to college, are you?” asked Luther with a pained expression.

Allison’s eyes softened and she sighed, closing one of the textbooks in front of her.  She raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s Argyle City. I wouldn’t be going far, at least not for the first two years.”

“And then what?  You’re gonna move to California?  ...Allison, the team needs you,” said Luther.  He pushed off the door frame and walked into her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, looking up at her like a lost puppy.  “We do everything together. If we needed college, I’m sure Dad would enroll us.”

“Maybe I don’t need college.  But I want to do something other than being a superhero for a while,” said Allison gently, turning her chair to face Luther.  She didn’t get up to join him on the bed.

Luther set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, looking down at them.  “Without me?” he asked.

“...Luther, the college is twelve miles away.  It’s not like I’m going to the moon. I’ll be here for everything except classes.  And it’s not too late for you to apply. The whole Umbrella thing… it was super easy to get in.”

Luther was already shaking his head.  “No. I don’t want to go. ...I could never leave here.  You couldn’t get me to go away for four years. This is our home, Allison.  And Diego’s right. People need us more than we need college.”

Allison offered him a pained smile.  “Well… they’ll always have you,” she said softly.

“And what’ll I have?  ...Pogo?”

“Luther, I promise I’m not leaving for good.  I’ll always come back. I just want to be in a class with more than five people in it for once.”

Luther didn’t look up from his hands, twisting them uncomfortably.  Finally, he said, “And Ben?”

“I’ll look after Ben.”

“What if you guys hate it?”

“Well, then, we won’t go back.  Come on, don’t act like Diego. Taking a few classes away from home isn’t a big deal.  You and Diego go on patrol a couple nights a week. It’ll be like that.”

Luther finally looked up.  He forced a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Allison got up and walked over to wrap her arms around his head.  She hugged it. “Maybe we’ll even foil some crimes on campus. I heard a rumor there’s a lot of campus crime; it’ll be good for Argyle City to have a couple of us keeping an eye on things.”

Luther hummed against her shirt.  “...so long as you come back.”

“Sure, I will.  Ben’ll make me. Don’t worry.”

---

Despite the simmering tension in the household, the six teens were still expected to act as a unit, especially for missions.  When the alarms went off in the midst of their rhetoric class, everyone got up and filed out. (Klaus looked relieved; Allison had been annihilating him in a debate about the handling of the Cuban missile crisis.  He was having difficulty understanding JFK’s ghost because of how badly mangled his head was. JFK seemed overwhelmed by Allison too.)

“The Hitch-Hiker has loosed all of the animals from Argyle City Zoo, and the mayor needs you to capture them before they hurt any citizens!” Reginald shouted in explanation as the teens dispersed into their rooms to change.

“Oh, man, I hate the Hitch-Hiker,” groaned Luther.  The Hitch-Hiker, Madeline Marquette, formerly “The Lockpick,” formerly a Hexette, had been in and out of Shinyview Asylum no less than six times.  She had no discernible M.O. and had been kicked out of the Hexettes for being too volatile; her only real motivation seemed to be chaos. Had Reginald told them someone had let all the animals out of the zoo, most of the Umbrella Academy could have guessed it had been her.

“NUMBER TWO, COMB!” yelled Klaus from his room.  Allison ducked as a a comb came flying out of Diego’s room, turned the corner, flew down the hall, and then turned another corner into Klaus’s room, eliciting an “ow!” when it hit him.

“The animals could get hurt, too,” said Ben worriedly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll round them all up before sunset,” said Luther confidently.  “Most of ‘em are probably hiding, anyway."

No one said it but they were excited to see some exotic animals.  They had never been to the zoo and their only experience with exotic animals was whatever Reginald brought home from safari.

They drove down to the Argyle City Park to meet the zookeeper, who had a list of the missing animals.  The zookeeper was an orangutan named Phil who was clearly aware that being a zookeeper as an orangutan might open him up to cruel jokes and had taken great pains to emphasize his sentience; unlike Pogo, he refused to use a cane, even though it seemed like it would have made walking upright far easier for him, and he had crammed his feet into loafers, even though most apes refused to wear shoes, as they were not designed for ape feet and limited grasping ability.

Phil glared at all of them as he spoke about which animals were missing and emphasized several times that there were no monkeys, even though no one had asked.  Diego seemed relieved by this.

“Should we split up, or do it as a team?” asked Allison when they were done speaking to Phil.  An eager news crew had gathered outside of the gates for Argyle City Park and were eagerly filming them.  The teens ignored them; they had a job to do and Reginald was watching them with a stern expression that clearly communicated that he expected them to behave professionally.

“Well… we can split up for the smaller ones, but we should probably work together for the tiger,” said Luther, examining the list.  He ripped it up into a few pieces and distributed them evenly. Everyone checked theirs.

“Hyenas?!  ...Allison, what did you get?” demanded Klaus, elbowing Ben aside to look over Allison’s list.  “...arctic fox, red pandas, and penguins? Oh my God, switch with me, please!” he begged.

“No way.  I love penguins,” said Allison, clutching her paper to her chest.

“What’s a pangolin?” asked Diego, frowning.  “Klaus, I’ll switch with you. I got pangolins, binturongs, and peacocks.  I don’t knowwhat a binturong is, either.”

“Lemme see yours,” demanded Klaus, trying to swipe at Luther’s segment of the list.  He managed a peek. “Sloths?  You got sloths?  C’mon, Luther, trade with me!”

“Mine has giraffes on it, too,” said Luther defensively.

“Well, I’d rather giraffes than hyenas!  Giraffes eat leaves!”

“Giraffes can decapitate a lion by kicking it,” said Luther.

“I’d rather get my head kicked off by a giraffe than get torn to pieces by hyenas.  C’mon, switch with me,” whined Klaus.

“No.  Everyone has their portion.  ...if there’s a really big one on your list, like tigers or giraffes, we’ll work on those as a team.”

“Do hyenas count as--” began Klaus.

“No.”

Klaus crossed his arms in annoyance.

The team dispersed, and the media hurried after them, yelling questions and waving cameras in their faces, which they stoically ignored.

Klaus made a beeline for the car; he got into the backseat to kick off his shoes and pull out his Ouija board, summoning some ghosts to get tips on where various animals might have been sighted.  He returned with some moderately helpful tips; the giraffes had been spotted, along with a flock of flamingos, moseying down eighth street, and there was a rhino hanging out in the parking lot of a local video store.  Everyone was able to get a few ideas, and they soon dispersed with their lists, as if they were going on some sort of bizarre scavenger hunt. (Diego went to the library to look up what a capybara was, complaining that only his list had such oddities as “gerenuks.”)

“Ben, want to go get some fish at the store?” asked Allison.  “I have penguins, and you have flamingos… we can probably just tempt them with some fish and lead them right back home.”

“Yeah,” said Ben in relief.

“Can I come with?  Do hyenas eat fish?” asked Klaus.

“Hyenas eat everything…”

“Hey, if I help you guys with your birds, can you help me with--"

“No,” they both said.

Klaus sighed and begrudgingly went off on his own.  He decided to start with the smallest animal on his list: the Argyle River Crow.  He kicked off his shoes again once he was out of Reginald’s sight and strolled down the sidewalk, talking to an empty space next to him.  “So, how do I identify this crow?” he asked. He listened for a moment, then frowned. “What do you mean, it’s indistinguishable from a regular crow?  What’s the point of keeping it at the zoo, then?  Are you kidding me?”

Locating the larger animals turned out to be no problem at all.  People were calling into the police to report zebras and polar bears in their yards; with the help of the Argyle City PD, the kids were able to round up most of the zoo animals over the course of only a few hours.  Well-fed and relatively docile, few of the animals gave them any trouble.

Back at the zoo, Luther and Diego bumped into each other; Luther had lassoed several giraffes and was leading them back; Diego was leading a massive goat with huge, curled horns.

“What’s that, some sort of yak?” asked Luther.

“A markhor, apparently,” said Diego bitterly.  “Listen, now that Ben’s gone, let’s talk deets.  There’s a tiger and a rhino loose in the city and Dad has a bunch of big game guns in his study.  I say we just--”

“I don’t think the citizens would like that,” interrupted Luther.

“They won’t like getting trampled by a rhino or eaten by a tiger, either.  It’s our job to protect them by any means necessary.”

“Maybe we could tranq them,” mused Luther.  “Same idea, just less blood.”

“If we just, like, tape some darts onto weights, I could throw them and--”

“Yeah, yeah!”  Luther was nodding. 

Behind them, Klaus walked past, a small murder of crows perched on his head and shoulders.  “Are any of these an Argyle River Crow?” he asked Phil desperately.  (It was his third return; each time he’d come back with more crows.)

“No,” said Phil.

Klaus swore and shooed the birds away; they cawed indignantly, circled, and tried to settle on him again; he had made the mistake of feeding them and they were clearly aware that there was more food in the bag he was holding.

Ben and Allison had agreed to work together for most of the afternoon, much to Diego’s and Luther’s chagrin; they needed Allison to come with them to Argyle Hospital to get some sedatives to use on the animals, but didn’t want to suggest lobbing darts at the animals around Ben, who was clearly having a great time.  (The last they had seen him, he was giggling as lemurs crawled all over him.)

As they rounded up more and more of the “easy” animals, however, it became increasingly obvious that they were ignoring the tiger problem.  Their powers were not really attuned to capturing a tiger, but the Umbrella Academy was dispatched based on when it was needed, not on whether or not a problem aligned with their abilities.

“Okay, guys, we really need to talk about the tiger,” said Luther as they regrouped mid-afternoon. 

“No one wanted to help me with the vampire bats or the hyenas, but sure, let’s all cooperate with the tiger,” grumbled Klaus, trying to brush a crow off his shoulder.  A small entourage of birds was still following him expectantly.

Luther ignored him.  “Obviously we don’t want to hurt the tiger if we can help it, but we also need to be aware that it’s really dangerous.  So what we’re thinking is, Allison, you go to the hospital and pick up a bunch of sedatives, and Diego can throw them at the tiger once we find it.”

“How about we just lure it into a cage with some bait?” suggested Ben.

Luther, Diego, and Allison looked over at Klaus.

Klaus’s eyes widened.  “Why do I have to be bait?”

“Well, you already dealt with the hyenas,” said Allison reasonably.

“No, I haven’t!”

Their discussion came to a halt as screams arose from across the street.  Everyone turned, heads perking, not unlike the group of meerkats Ben and Allison had recently gently shooed back past the zoo gates.

A large silverback gorilla was strutting down the sidewalk.  It walked over to an ice cream cart that had been abandoned by its owner, tried to open the little tray to access the ice cream, and finding it tricky to do so, grew frustrated and pushed the cart over as if it were made of paper.

“You said there were no monkeys!” hissed Allison, rounding on Phil.

“A gorilla isn’t a monkey!”

“How is it not a monkey?!”

“Because it isn’t! I’m the zookeeper; I think I know what constitutes an monkey,” snipped Phil, picking a bug off of his arm and flicking it away.

“Guys, come on!” yelled Luther.

The five teens pelted across the sidewalk and stood side-by-side, blocking the gorilla’s path; it didn’t stop walking toward them.  In fact, it barely seemed to notice them.

“Rumor, can you rumor it to turn around?” asked Luther.

“My powers don’t work on animals!”

“Yeah, but on an ape--”

“He’s not an intelligent talking ape.  He’s just an ape.”

“Well, can you try?”

“I heard a rumor that you wanted to go back to your cage!” called Allison.

The gorilla picked up a bicycle that was laying on the ground and casually threw it across the street; it narrowly missed a cameraman who was filming the superhero/gorilla stand-off.

“Quick, Horror!  Stop it before it comes any closer!”

“I don’t want to hurt him!”

“Number Six!”

“I can’t!”

“Ben!”

The gorilla knuckle-walked over to them.  Klaus shrank back; Diego’s eyes widened. The gorilla rose onto its hind legs; it was about five inches shorter than Luther, who was the tallest, but far wider, and probably weighed about four hundred pounds.  Its arms were pure muscle; its fingers were as wide around as sausages.

It snorted at them.

“Spaceboy, do something!” hissed Diego.

Luther cocked a hand back and punched the gorilla.  It let out a roar, revealing a massive pair of fangs, reached out, grabbed Luther by the arm, and flung him through the nearest shop window.

Klaus grabbed Ben by the collar of his jumpsuit and the two dove behind a news stand.  Diego ran to a tree on the sidewalk and jumped into it; Allison ran to the nearest car, tried to get in, found it locked, and tried the next one, which was thankfully unlocked.

“Diego, you idiot!  Gorillas can climb trees!” shrieked Klaus.

“Shit!  Shit!” exclaimed Diego from his tree.

The gorilla stomped over to the window to find Luther; he was rising, brushing glass off of himself.  He charged and so did the gorilla; he ducked a blow and landed another one on the gorilla’s ear, prompting another roar.  “Guys, will you please help me?” he yelled, jumping onto the gorilla’s back and trying to get it into a headlock.

“You’re getting clobbered just fine on your own!” called Klaus.

The gorilla took several shakes to get Luther loose; one of his legs slipped, and the gorilla snagged Luther by the ankle and slammed his body twice against the pavement; everyone heard Allison’s scream from inside the car.  Luther somehow managed to twist and grab the gorilla’s wrist; he twisted the skin, giving it an Indian burn, something he’d learned from Diego a week prior. The gorilla tried to bite him; he grabbed its jaw and held it open with his hands to keep it from biting down.

“KRAKEN!”

“Ben, you gotta do something!” hissed Klaus.

“I don’t want to kill a gorilla!  They're endangered!"

“So you’re just gonna let Luther die?”

Ben wrung his hands nervously.  Klaus swore, shoved Ben aside, and rose.

“Hey, monkey!  Here, buddy! C’mere!”  He threw a few bottles of water at it from the news stand.

It looked up with a snort and dropped Luther, giving him a solid punch to the back of the head.  He didn’t get up.

“Oh shit,” said Klaus as the gorilla began walking toward him.  “Are gorillas fast?”

“Yeah, they run super fast,” said Ben.

“Shit.  Is Jane Goodall dead yet?”

“No.”

“Shit!”  Klaus turned and ran.  The gorilla broke into a jog after him.  Diego slid down from his tree and ran after them.

The crowd of onlookers who had been on the other side of the street screamed and scattered as Klaus, the charging gorilla, and Diego ran toward them.

“Go to its cage, Four!  Go to its cage!” yelled Diego.

“I don’t wanna die by gorilla!” wailed Klaus, scurrying into the zoo.  The gorilla broke into a proper run just as Klaus reached the gorilla habitat, which was a large pit; Klaus vaulted over the waist-high barrier and the gorilla ran after him. 

Diego ran up to the side and peered down.

The gorilla was pacing back and forth furiously, looking up.  Diego followed its gaze; Klaus was frozen mid-air, levitating above the pit.

“You can float?”

“I don’t know; I guess?!”   Klaus seemed just as surprised as Diego that he hadn't hurled himself to his death.

“Are you wearing a levitation belt?  How are you floating?” demanded Diego.

“Search me.  I didn’t know I could float,” said Klaus, twisting in the air like it was water.

“Stop screwing around and get over here.  We have to go check on One.”

“...I don’t know how to, um, move.  ...I’m stuck.”

“You don’t know how to get down?”  Diego sighed. He removed his shoes, undid the laces, and tied them together, then threw one end to Klaus to grab.  Klaus snagged it gratefully, looking down nervously at the gorilla below him, and let Diego tug him over to the edge.  He grabbed the barrier and collapsed gratefully onto the ground.

“Do you know how useful floating is?  Do it again!” demanded Diego.

“I can’t.  I don’t even know how I did it before," said Klaus with an expansive shrug.  "You know I can't control my powers."

“C’mon, try!”

Klaus jumped up and down.

“...you’re useless," scoffed Diego.

“Hey, I got the gorilla back into his cage!” protested Klaus, padding after Diego.  “I saved Luther’s life… I oughta get a promotion!”

They went back to the street to find the others.  Luther was sitting up, looking dizzy, one eye swollen shut and a large, egg-shaped lump forming on the back of his head.  Allison was crouched next to him, trying to access how bad his concussion was.

“I’m fine.  Where’s Five?  We gotta get the rhino,” said Luther dizzily.

“We don’t have Five anymore, remember?” asked Allison gently.

“...you’re pretty, Three.”

“I know, One.  I know.” She patted his hand.

“Ben, what the hell?” demanded Diego.  “Luther and Klaus nearly got killed!”

Ben wrung his hands.  “I-- I can’t control Them.  I don’t want to kill any endangered animals.  It’s not their fault they’re loose.”

“You disobeyed a direct order, Six.  You can control your powers; you’re just not trying hard enough,” said Luther, turning to glare at Ben.  “Our team needs everyone to work together to be effective.”

Ben looked ready to cry.  “Okay, One. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Guys?  Rhino,” said Allison in alarm.

They all turned; strolling down the street was a rhino.

Everyone looked at Ben.

“But what if I kill it?”

“It could kill us,” said Diego.  “Come on, Allison, let’s go get some sedatives from the hospital.  You three hold the fort.  Until Allison and I get tranquilizers, Ben, you're in charge of rounding up the big ones.”

“Hey!  I give the orders!” protested Luther.

“You’re concussed, Space.  Let Kraken take over,” advised Klaus.  “Also, did you guys know I can float?”

“Not now, Klaus.  Horror?” directed Diego imperiously.

Ben sighed and, shoulders slumped, walked slowly out into the street.

He looked smaller than usual, standing in the middle of the empty street, a rhino plodding toward him.

He pulled open his jumpsuit; six tentacles erupted from it.  Each ropey coil was as thick around as a coffee can; even from the sidelines, the four others teens could see his face screwed up in an expression that was half-pain, half-concentration.

The coils flung out; the rhino snorted and broke into a loping charge, but it was too late.  The tentacles wrapped around it fluidly and tightened, and without ceremony, lifted it into the air.  Its legs flailed helplessly; the coils tightened and the beast let out a high-pitched whine like a dog.

“Great job, Horror!” called Luther.

Ben looked over at them, face shining with sweat, his expression painful as the rhino continued its pitiful, helpless cry.  “Just tell me where to take her,” he said through gritted teeth.

Diego went to lead Ben to the zoo; the crowd gathered at the gates oohed and aahed at the sight of Ben single-handedly carrying a fully grown rhino using the bouquet of tentacles erupting from his chest.  They glistened in the sun, dripping a thick, pale mucous.

“I’m sorry,” said Ben as he set the rhino down into its habitat.  The moment its feet hit the ground, it ran, and didn’t look back.

Diego put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.  “Hey. You didn’t hurt her. You just spooked her a little.  It’s okay. ...come on, let’s get the tiger and the elephants and peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” repeated Ben.

Diego held out a hand; it was covered in small red welts.  “Yeah, they’re really mean. Feel free to squeeze ‘em as hard you want.  ...kidding! Kidding!”

Everyone cheered as Diego and Ben walked out of the zoo together.  They tracked down the the kangaroo, and a couple of pandas.  Allison was able to rumor the hospital into giving them some tranquilizers, but by the time she returned with them, the tiger had returned to its cage on its own, proving to be the easiest of the escapees to handle.  By the time the sun was dipping toward the horizon, they were only missing the elephant and the koala.

“How are you holding up, Benny?” asked Klaus sympathetically as Ben sat on the curb to sip a bottle of Gatorade a reporter had given him.  He had turned an ashy color and looked ready to vomit at any moment. The tentacles that were protruding from his torso seemed to be having an equally hard time; they were flailing furiously, as if being denied blood was a grave offense.

“I’m fine,” said Ben in a voice that betrayed his lie.  “It just hurts my stomach. I’ll be okay.”

“We’re nearly done.  We just got two more,” said Luther soothingly.  He was on his feet but was swaying considerably, and Allison kept grabbing his arm to keep him from falling over.  He had procured an ice pack from another friendly reporter and was holding it over his face, which had swollen to almost unrecognizable proportions.

“Hey, Team Umbrella!  They say the elephant’s that way!” called one of the journalists, pointing.

Diego offered Ben a hand.  Ben reached out and grabbed it with both hands and one tentacle, leaving a trail of slime up Diego’s arm.  Diego made a face when Ben wasn’t looking and tried to wipe it off on Klaus.

They walked three blocks and found the elephant drinking from a water fountain outside of National First Bank.

Ben stepped forward with a weak, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut to concentrate.  The tentacles, which had been whipping around in a violent and uncontrolled manner, stilled in the air.  One outstretched; the elephant raised its head, and then its trunk.

The tentacles gently touched the side of the beast’s face; it ran its trunk over the length of the tentacles with equal grace.  For a moment, the two appendages touched. Then, as docile as a lamb, the elephant coiled its trunk around the end of the tentacle and Ben turned, leaning the creature after him.

“Oh, wow,” breathed Allison.

“Holy shit,” said Diego.

“Did you guys know he had that level of control?” whispered Luther.

“...you told him he did!”

“Well, Dad said he did, but I didn’t know he did!”

“He’d better be careful,” said Klaus.  “Allen Campbell says elephants are prone to sudden fits of rage.”

“Who’s Allen Campbell?” asked Luther.

“Elephant trainer,” replied Klaus. “...who was killed by an elephant.”

They followed Ben back to the zoo; the crowd murmured in awe, parting, as the seventeen-year-old walked serenely through the park’s gates with the elephant following him.

When the elephant had been gently led back to its enclosure, the kids crowded around Ben, as much as they felt they could, considering his midsection was still a writhing mess of pulsing, slippery limbs.

“Wow, Ben!  That was amazing!”

“Great job, Number Six.”

“I told you you could do it, Horror.  You just had to concentrate!”

“I just want to go home,” said Ben, holding his sides in visible discomfort.  “It feels like they’re eating my insides.”

“Well, good news,” said Diego.  “I found the last one.” He pointed.  Everyone looked up. The street lamps had just come on; at the top of a wrought-iron lamp post, a sleepy-looking koala was clinging serenely. 

“I don’t think we need Them for this little guy,” said Klaus.  “We can just throw some rocks at him or something.” (Diego was already picking up pebbles from the ground.)

“Don’t throw rocks at him!” protested Ben.

“Luther, maybe you can hit the lamp post real hard?” suggested Allison.

“Guys, stop!” protested Ben. 

Any further conversation was lost; one of the tentacles suddenly flew out, wrapped itself three times around the iron post, and yanked.  The metal bent with an audible shriek; the koala at the top let out an upset grunt as it was jolted.

Alerted perhaps by the noise or perhaps simply by the promise of a warm body, the tentacle slithered up the pole; a second one reached for the koala with none of the gentleness it had shown the elephant.

Ben let out an ear-splitting scream; a new tentacle sprouted from his stomach and wrapped around the tentacle that was reaching for the koala.  Its coil tightened and it squeezed; the tentacle in its grasp wriggled but, unable to feel itself, began to swell, its grey-pink surface turning a deep, painful purple.  The tentacle that was on the lamp post let go and turned its attention to the two that were fighting, trying to prod them apart, but the newest appendage only tightened its grip more and more, until it seemed like the tentacle it was squeezing would pop.

And that was more or less what happened; the pressure on its pulsing body was too much and it severed, dropping to the ground with a wet splat, spraying everyone with a dark, viscous fluid that smelled like decay.  It flopped around in what could only be interpreted as pain; the other tentacles descended on it like piranhas onto a newborn calf, ripping at it with a gleeful abandoned, sending chucks of discolored flesh and dark, rotting liquid every which way.

Ben let out another yell and they retreated back into him, leaving the torn, blistered, bleeding limb behind on the ground, where it gave a few last twitches before it was still.

Everyone stared wide-eyed behind their domino masks.

“Hey, guys, look, he came down on his own!” said Luther finally, breaking the silence.  In his arms was the koala, fast asleep.

Reginald arrived and crouched by the severed tentacle, pressing his monocle closer to his eye and staring at it in fascination.  He made all the children hose off before getting into the car, but nothing could quite remove the putrid smell from their jumpsuits, which Grace washed five times before finally giving up and discarding.  Reginald had apparently prepared for the possibility of Ben losing a tentacle, and he ordered Luther to retrieve a large containment tube filled with dry ice from the back of the car and load the thing into it.  It was limp by the time Luther hefted it up; about four or five feet long and probably eighty pounds, it spilled more fluid on the ground (and Luther) as he struggled to stuff it into the containment pod. Cold, slippery, and smelling of rot, Luther had to take several breaks to dry heave before he was finally able to fully shove Reginald’s precious specimen into the container.  Ben watched with a bitter, pained look on his face.

Because Luther had gotten all-but coated in the fluid -- whether it was blood, excrement, or something else, no one knew -- Reginald informed him that he would have to walk home, because he didn’t want to get the smell in the car.  All of the children smelled rancid (the heavy smell clung to them even after Phil had hosed them down), but Luther got the lion's share.

He jogged after the car as it drove home.  Allison put down the windows but even so, the reek of putrid flesh, burning metal, and rotten eggs lingered.  Even though they had skipped dinner, no one wanted to eat, and most of the evening was spent fighting over the bathroom. (In the end, they were desperate enough to double up. Luther commandeered Pogo’s private bathroom for several hours, while Klaus and Allison took the first shift in the shared bathroom, and Diego and Ben took the second.)

After everything, Ben had the drawn, sickly look of someone who had survived a war.  He said losing the tentacle hadn’t hurt him, but that wasn’t the point, and went to bed early without saying good-night to anyone.

The next day was Ben’s special training day, but in a rare act of consideration, Reginald let him skip it, and instead spent the day holed up in his lab studying his newest specimen.

Chapter 14: Ben's List

Notes:

Just a short little chapter so that you know I'm back. :) The next one is LONG.

I had a baby but I plan to finish this story within 4-6 weeks. It will be 20 chapters. There is a lot of content to come! Thank you to those who are following for your patience!

(Fun fact: my baby's middle name is Ben.)

Summers were not in any way special in the Hargreeves household; they still had classes and they still had missions.  Most of them preferred autumn and winter to summer, because the wool jackets that were part of their school uniforms were dreadfully hot, and the long-sleeved jumpsuits they wore for fighting crimes were likewise uncomfortable.  When Reginald wasn’t present, they often shrugged off the jackets and, if they were feeling especially daring, took off the sweater-vests, too.  Diego often lowered his socks and loosened his tie in degrees until he got yelled at for looking “rumpled,” and Klaus devised a method for rolling up his shirtsleeves under his jacket.

The Academy had air conditioning but Reginald used it sparingly, preferring to open windows and let a natural breeze cool the manor.  This constituted torture for the Hargreeves, who could hear other children laughing and shouting as they played outside.  Once, one of them had asked why they didn’t get summer vacation, and had been told it was because they were extraordinary and that only boring, common people took vacations.  (This had raised the question of why Vanya didn’t get summers off.  Reginald said it was because idleness bred misbehavior and he wouldn’t stand for Vanya getting into trouble simply because she was unoccupied.)

Everyone agreed that summer trimester was the hardest; in autumn and winter, no one was distracted by the enticing calls of their peers playing outside, and no one was sweating in their stuffy school uniforms.  Luther’s chemistry grades and Ben’s algebra grades plummeted.  Allison took it upon herself to sacrifice homework time to help Luther; Ben bemoaned the fact that Five was gone.  (Five had been something of a mathematical prodigy and before his disappearance, he and Ben had been close, a partnership that had helped keep Ben’s math scores and Five’s ego in check.)

In August, Ben and Allison went to the library together and returned with a copy of the 2007 fall course catalogue for Argyle City College. Despite Diego’s derision, he crowded around them with the others to see what sort of courses were offered to “normal” people.  Some were of no surprise; all of the Hargreeves had language and philosophy courses, for example.  However, they were surprised at the breadth of art thrat was offered, and shocked that there weren’t any basic first-aid classes  Perhaps, reasoned Luther, regular kids were expected to be proficient in suturing by high school.  There were few physical courses, and the ones offered seemed to all be for recreation.  There were no lock-picking courses or outdoor survival classes, either.

“Maybe they’re offered in the winter,” suggested Ben.  

Fall semester at Argyle started at the end of September.  Since their eighteen birthday was in October, Allison and Ben had decided to begin in winter, after Christmas.  This allowed them to delay telling Reginald of their plans for just a little longer.  Neither was looking forward to that particular conversation.

“Nothing on disguises or disabling alarm systems at all,” scoffed Diego as Allison read a course description for something called “Women’s Studies.”  “If you ask me, it’s a scam to get your money.  A good college would teach useful skills.”  He paused and then pointed to a course on digital security.  “This might be useful, I guess.  The Academy doesn’t have a lot of cyber stuff.”

“Maybe all the good stuff is for upperclassmen?” said Allison with a helpless shrug.  She, like the rest, was surprised by the course catalogue, which looked nothing like she had expected.

“It’s okay; Allison and Ben are going to come home in the afternoons for regular training,” said Luther.  “Right?”

“Yeah,” said Ben, fingering a course called “Ethics and Sociology.”  

As far as Luther was apparently concerned, college was a sort of extracurricular that Allison and Ben were opting for and not anything that would majorly disrupt their “real” education.  Diego seemed less convinced, especially after Allison asked for her birthday money to buy a suitcase.

“You don’t need another suitcase!”

“I will if I decide to stay in the dorms.”

“You have a perfectly good room here that doesn’t cost anything!” he raged.

Luther put a hand on his shoulder.  “Listen, it’s her money,” he said in a low voice, even though his expression was pained.  He went to his room to retrieve the money they had saved, but emerged empty-handed a few minutes later.

“It’s gone,” he reported.

“What do you mean, it’s gone?  You lost our money?” demanded Diego, who was quivering with rage and clearly on the brink of a meltdown.

“I didn’t lose it!  It was in my desk drawer and I never took it out,” protested Luther.  “Unless Mom moved it, then I don’t know where--”  Their argument had drawn attention; Klaus was lurking guiltily in his doorway, watching them as he sipped on a bottle of cough syrup.  “Klaus.”

“I was gonna pay it back!” said Klaus immediately.

“Thief!”  Diego lunged; Klaus jumped back, dropping the bottle of cough syrup on the floor, where its sticky purple immediately began seeping into the wood grain.  He opened his window and darted out of it; Diego swiped at him.  “Come back!” he yelled.  “...we’re gonna tell Mom!”

“I can’t believe he stole from us,” said Ben.

“He said he was going to pay it back,” replied Allison uneasily.

“How?  How was he going to pay us back?” demanded Luther.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then shook her head.  They all should have known something was wrong; for several weeks, Klaus hadn’t woken anyone with his screaming.

---

Alliances ran deep in the Hargreeves household.  Klaus’s betrayal of the others was considered heinous.  However, tattling was also a cardinal sin, and despite Diego’s threat, no one intended to rat him out to Reginald or Mom.  (Reginald would have told them to settle it among themselves, anyway.)  Instead, there was a mutual understanding that Klaus would be shunned by the others until they felt he had been sufficiently punished.  At any given time, at least one of the Hargreeves was usually giving the cold shoulder to another for some slight.

It was generally understood that Diego was the worst one to have a grudge with because he wouldn’t hold back in training.  Luther could hold a grudge longer, but Diego’s explosive temper and willingness to sabotage the others made him more dangerous to quarrel with.  Ben, on the other hand, was rarely capable of shunning anyone for more than a day or two.

Even though he was as upset as the others that his birthday money had been spent on cough syrup, he sought out Klaus before dinner.  Klaus had scaled the building and was on the roof, hunched behind the conservatory, smoking and staring at the sun as it dipped below the city skyline, bathing the horizon in reds, oranges, and yellows.  A couple of crows stood as still a statues beside him, as if standing guard.  In the distance, Klaus could see a couple of hyenas in the back alley of a Chinese buffet, fighting over some trash that had been thrown out of the back door.

“You smoke now?” blurted Ben in surprise.

Klaus looked up guiltily, a cigarette pinched between his fingers.  “...sometimes.  Lots of kids our age smoke,” he said defensively, then added, “I didn’t buy cigarettes.  I got them from a fan.  I only bought the medicine and I swear, I was gonna put the money back before you guys noticed.”

Ben pulled up a few loose bricks and sat on them.  “I needed that money for textbooks,” he said accusingly.

“Well, we’ll get more money in October,” said Klaus dismissively, waving his cigarette around.

Ben let out a long-suffering sigh and pulled out a book from his jacket pocket, flipping it open.  For a while, the two sat in companionable silence, the city traffic below and the whisper of the breeze filling in all the unsaid words.  Klaus shifted a little so that he wasn’t blowing smoke in Ben’s direction.  After a while, he said, “So.  Whatcha reading?”

“City of God, by St. Augustine.  Pogo let me take the copy out of Dad’s library,” said Ben, holding up an ancient-looking book.  Looking down, he read, “Now, behold.  Let my heart tell thee what it sought there, that I should be gratuitously evil, having no temptation to ill, but the ill itself. It was foul, and I loved it; I loved to perish, I loved mine own fault, not that for which I was faulty, but my fault itself. Foul soul, falling from thy firmament to utter destruction: not seeking aught through the shame, but the shame itself!” He paused thoughtfully; one hand that had been holding the book curled around his stomach.

“...that’s sort of morbid, isn’t it?” asked Klaus, watching the ribbon of smoke from his cigarette curl up toward the sky.

“I guess.  It’s a good book.  It’s… nice to think about other people feeling the way I do. Nice not to feel alone.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows.  “You relate to that?  Mon Dieu, Ben.  Seriously?”

Ben shrugged.  “Yeah.  Shouldn’t everyone relate to it?  It's a philosophy book. It's about... well, I guess it's about all the questions of the world. Like why do good people have bad things happen to them, and the nature of evil, and... you know, that stuff. St. Augustine was a philosopher from the 1400s. I guess I got into him because he writes a lot of stuff against paganism and I always wondered..." Ben shrugged a little and then gestured vaguely at his stomach. Then, leaning back, he added, maybe a little defensively, "I mean, it's a really important historical work. Augustine wrote rules on just warfare, too. That kind of relates to us, too, you know, with the crime-fighting stuff."

“Didn’t you say you were gonna major in philosophy?”

“Minor.  That, or theological studies,” mused Ben.  “St. Augustine thought the only way to be saved was by divine grace," he continued, coughing into his elbow. He shrugged off his jacket to make a pillow for himself on the ground and flopped back. "I don't know if I agree and anyway it wouldn't matter. You know how Dad feels about religion." (Reginald thought religion was for fools.)

“Why not skip theology and just graduate straight to a major in Pissing Off Dad?” asked Klaus sarcastically.

Ben’s expression shifted into one of unease, and Klaus sighed.  “He’ll get over it,” he reassured him grudgingly.  “You have fun, okay?”

Ben rubbed the palms of his hands over his knees worriedly.  “You think he’ll get over it?”

“Sure he will.  You and Allison are the team’s superstars,” said Klaus, taking another drag on his cigarette.  “It’s not like it’s me or Diego.  You and her and Luther get away with way more than us.  And you guys deserve to fuck around in the real world for a while.  You might learn some useful stuff.”

Ben’s face broke into a hesitant grin.  “I have a list.”

“...you have a list?” repeated Klaus.

“Yeah.  Of stuff I wanna do.”  He waited expectantly.  When Klaus said nothing, he prompted, “You wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” sighed Klaus.

Ben pulled a folded, worn paper from the middle of his book.  It was covered in writing; clearly, it was a long-standing and well-loved project.  “Join an improv team,” he began reading.  “Wear blue jeans.  Get a tattoo.”

“We already have a tattoo,” said Klaus in a bored tone.

“I know, but I want to get it modified.  There’s this famous Magritte painting of an umbrella with a glass of water on it, and I was thinking I could get a little glass of water balancing on top,” said Ben excitedly.

Klaus looked horrified.  “You can’t get it modified!  Then we’d all have to!”

Ben considered.  “...would we?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes!  Or else we wouldn’t match, you idiot.”

“...so?”

Klaus looked scandalized.  Ben turned his attention back to his list and continued reading.  “See a live rock band.  Find out what ‘Ultimate Frisbee’ is (and play it if it’s safe).  Get kissed by a girl.  Come up with a middle name.  Tie-dye a shirt.  Try Hawaiian pizza--”

“Shut up,” said Klaus, perking up.

“What?” asked Ben, his expression turning to hurt.

“Listen.”  Klaus rose, flicking his cigarette butt off the roof.  Ben cocked his head; inside the house, the alarms were ringing.

The two both dashed toward the door and hurried down the stairs.  On the third floor, Luther, Diego, and Allison were already scrambling to get ready.

“Ben, where were you?” asked Luther.

“Hurry up, Ben!” instructed Allison. 

Both ignored Klaus.  Diego walked past, shouldering Klaus as hard as possible without looking at him.

“What’s going on?” asked Ben as he ran into his room to get his jumpsuit.

“The Hitch-hiker let a bunch of goons out of Shinyview, including the Chaos Bandit Brothers,” said Luther.

Ben groaned.  “I hate the Lockpick.”

“She’s the Hitch-hiker now.  But yeah, she’s a pain in the butt,” agreed Allison, running past Diego, who was shoving knives into various holsters all over his body.  He shrugged on a harness and followed her.   

"So we're on a mission to capture the Lockpick?" asked Ben.

"Hitch-hiker," corrected Allison.  "No, we've got to go get the Chaos Bandit Brothers.  I heard Pogo say that they're surrounded by the police in a subway station downtown."  She offered Ben his domino mask; he took it with a sigh.

Luther waited for their footsteps to fade before he went to stand in Klaus’s doorway.  Klaus looked up guiltily as he shoved into the arms of his jumpsuit.  Luther crossed his arms.  “You’re not going to be too high to use your powers, are you?” he asked.

Klaus hesitated for a split second.  “No.”

“We’re counting on you, Number Four.”

“You sound like Dad.”

Luther turned.

“It’s not a compliment!” yelled Klaus after him.

The five teens met in the great hall; Reginald strolled in and, without any frivolous greetings, launched into an briefing.  “The Polansky brothers have been cornered in a subway station on Fourth and Birch.  The transportation system has been temporarily shut down, so the only way out is through the street-level entrance.  You will enter the station, disarm the threat, and retrieve the criminals for the police, who are currently surrounding the station entrance.  A very simple task.”

Everyone exchanged a look.  They had dealt with the Chaos Bandit Brothers twice before and had never found them “easy.”  James and Paul Polansky, also known as Mindfield and the Arachnid, were two of Shinyview’s most well-guarded patients, and their powers were immeasurably powerful.  Or at least, Mindfield’s were.  James, the older brother, was only capable of walking on walls and not blinking.  But Paul did everything he was told, so people tended to treat them as a unit.

Pogo frowned at Klaus as they marched out the front door.  “Master Klaus--” he began.

Klaus shot him a wide-eyed look of worry; Reginald hadn’t mentioned the faint smell of cigarettes clinging to his hair.

“--your board,” finished Pogo, holding out Klaus’s Ouija board.  Klaus’s expression melted into one of gratitude and he accepted it graciously.

On the way out the door, Diego shouldered Klaus again, hard enough to knock him into Allison, who gave him a none-too-gentle shove of her own.

In the backseat of the car, everyone stared moodily out of the windows as they drove north.

Chapter 15: The Chaos Bandit Brothers

As usual, a crowd of onlookers was surrounding the stand-off; they cheered as they parted for the car.  They got out, hands up in a wave of greeting; the teens got out.  Flashbulbs went off.

“Alright, team.  You know the drill.  Three and I first; Two--”

“Back-up,” sighed Diego.

“Remember, Mindfield can get inside of your head, so once we’re in there, don’t take anything for granted.  Anything.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.  Can we go now?” demanded Diego impatiently.

Luther signaled; they fanned out and edged toward the entrance to the subway tunnel.  Luther took one side, followed by Klaus; Allison edged down the other side of the stairs, with Diego following her, a knife at the ready, and Ben behind him, a hand on his stomach, ready to tear open his jumpsuit and unleash The Horrors if necessary.

“Wow,” whispered Klaus as they descended the stairs into the tunnel.  The subway station was eerily empty.  They tip-toed up to the turnstiles; Allison tried to go through, but it didn’t budge.  She gave the stainless steel bar a jiggle.

“Here,” whispered Diego, cupping his hands.  Allison put a hand on his shoulder and he helped her hop the turnstiles, then gestured for Ben.

Luther walked over to the turnstile beside them and gave it a yank; it broke off with a loud metal clang that echoed down the hallway.  Allison, Ben, and Diego turned to stare at him.  Luther gave them an awkward shrug and dropped the broken bars onto the ground with a second clang.

“Hey, look!” whispered Ben as they strolled down the hallway into the station, passing a news stand.  One of the covers showed an old photo of Reginald standing on the steps of a bank, the kids behind him.  They could tell it was an old picture because Five was in it.  The story that accompanied it was about their heroic foiling of the Hexettes’ plan to cut power to the city by sabotaging the hydroelectric dam.

“Stay focused, guys,” whispered Luther.

“We’re focusing, we’re focusing!” hissed Klaus, who had pocketed a pack of Benadryl and some cigarettes from the stand in passing.

They came to the head of a flight of concrete stairs.  Below them, they could see two tracks, both empty.  A lone man was sitting on a bench down there, as if waiting for the train to arrive.  They recognized him immediately: Mindfield.  Still wearing an orange Shinyview jumpsuit, his frame seemed too small for his clothes, which billowed around him like an empty circus tent.  His hair had gotten long and it touched his shoulders; even from a distance, they could see that the ends were split.

Luther looked to Allison and nodded.  She took a cautious step forward and opened her mouth to speak.

Before she could, Mindfield spoke, his voice echoing hollowly through the empty station.  “Is the Horror with you?” he asked.

Everyone looked over at Ben.

“...yes,” said Ben, voice cracking.  He winced and cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said Mindfield.  His elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin.  He didn’t look up.  “There’s six of you, and two of us.  We’re willing to make a deal.”

“Five,” corrected Klaus.  

Luther shot him a glare.  “What kind of deal?” he demanded.

“We’re willing to negotiate.  We’ll come quietly, if you make it worth our while.”

The kids exchanged looks.  Allison mouthed, I don’t trust him, and Luther nodded.

“Okay, what are your demands?” called Luther.

“First, we want to be roommates at Shinyview.  ...surely, you can appreciate the cruelness of separating siblings from one another?”

Crouched behind the railing of the stairs, they conferred in hushed voices.

“We can’t promise that,” whispered Ben.

“We can say we can, though,” whispered Allison.

“That’s lying.”

“They’re bad guys.”

“What are your other demands?” called Diego.

Luther shot him an annoyed look.

“You’re hogging all the negotiations!” hissed Diego.

“You could’ve at least asked before butting in.”

Diego shoved Luther.  Luther shoved back.  Allison heard a rumor that it was Diego’s turn for negotiations, and they stopped squabbling.

“We want time in the exercise yard,” continued the man on the bench.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen,” said Klaus bluntly.

“Number Four!  ...it’s Diego’s turn for negotiations!” snapped Luther.

Below them, the man on the bench sighed.  “I always forget that you’re children.”

“Hey!” all five of them protested in unison.

“We’re practically adults!” said Luther.

“Guys!” whispered Ben.

“Not now, Six.”

“Guys!”

They turned; on the ceiling above them was a dark figure.  They barely had time to yell before it dropped onto Diego.

“Arrgghh!  Get him off!  Get him off!” he yelled, twisting. 

One of Ben’s tentacles flung itself into the fray, coiling around the man on top of Diego and trying to yank him off.  Luther dove in and grabbed one of Diego’s legs; Allison grabbed one of his arms.

Klaus turned and ran for the stairs; Mindfield had risen and turned, hands up, face screwed up in fury.

“Rumor, help!” yelled Klaus.

Allison had half-climbed onto the Diego-Arachnid tangle and was currently clawing at the Arachnid’s face.  “Kind of busy!” she shouted.

Luther managed to shove between Diego and the Arachnid; they were easily distinguishable, one in black and the other in orange.  Like his brother, the Arachnid had grown his hair out; the second Luther yanked him off, Allison grabbed a fistful and slammed him to the ground.

“I had ‘im,” said Diego, staggering to his feet.

“...sure.”

“No, really, I was faking.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ben withdrew his tentacle and hurried down the stairs after Luther; Klaus had engaged Mindfield in hand-to-hand, and the two were tussling dangerously close to the tracks.

The moment he espied Ben and Luther, Mindfield kicked Klaus away, scuttled back, and held up his hands.  “It wasn’t my idea.  It was all James’s,” he exclaimed quickly, eyes wide.

“We’ll let the DA be the judge of that,” said Luther, striding forward to grab his elbow.

With his other hand, he high-fived Klaus on a bad-ass comeback.

Luther and Klaus marched Mindfield up the steps, with Ben following, tentacles poised threateningly over them.  Diego and Allison escorted the Arachnid.  Together, they paraded themselves back through the subway station and up the stairs to the street, where police and reporters were waiting.

When the kids emerged, a cheer went up from the crowd.

The two perps, Mindfield and Arachnid, scowled darkly.

Reginald stood beside the chief of police with both hands over the top of his cane, a faint half-smile on his face.

“The subway station is secure, sir,” Luther reported to the chief as he pushed Mindfield forward.

“Thanks, Spaceboy.  I don’t know what we’d do without the Umbrella Academy!” said the chief as two officers came forward to handcuff him.  

“It’s our duty to the city, sir,” said Diego.

“You must be very proud,” said the chief to Reginald.

“I am,” he conceded.  “Clearly you have all been giving your training and studies the utmost attention, and now you see how your hard work has paid off: with success.  Very good.  ...shall we get ice cream?”

“Yay!” all the kids exclaimed.

They piled into the car with wide grins; the cops waved to them as the car pulled away.  Diego waved back happily.

At the local ice cream shop, they considered their options; Regniald and Luther both got Warm Hug, while Diego got Fireflies, Allison got Bubblegum, Klaus got Ham and Eggs with rainbow sprinkles, and Ben got Acceptance drizzled in Normal.

After ice cream, they returned home.  Reginald informed them that they had done such a good job that their studies for the day were canceled and they could use their free time to pursue whatever extracurriculars they wanted to.

“I’m particularly proud of you, Number One,” he said to Diego.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Diego, beaming.  His smile faded as he stepped into the main hall with the others, stopping in his tracks.  Allison nearly bumped into him.

“Welcome home, children!  Cookies?” offered Grace, smiling and extending a tray to them, her hands hidden in a pair of pale-blue oven mitts.

“You’re not our mom,” said Diego, pointing.

Everyone gasped.

“Diego!” exclaimed Luther and Ben in unison.

“How could you say that?” asked Allison.

“Mom, are you okay?” asked Klaus worriedly; Grace’s face had fallen from its usual red-lipped smile to one of clear hurt.

“No, I mean she is literally not Mom.  Mom isn’t a brunette.  Mom has blonde hair,” said Diego.  “That’s not Mom.”

“Number One, I expect you to respect your maternal figure even if she is not your biological birth-giver!” snapped Reginald.

Diego edged back, shaking his head.  “Wait a second.  Wait a second.  None of this makes any sense.  ...guys, look at our uniforms!”

Everyone looked around.  Luther was wearing their mission jumpsuit.  So was Diego, though his had a badge on it that said #1, and he’d grown a goatee.  Allison was in a college letterman’s jacket; Klaus was in Allison’s plaid school skirt; Ben was a writhing mass of slimy salmon-colored tentacles with compound eyes and gaping, fanged mouths.

“Ben’s jacket is missing,” observed Klaus after a few moments of looking around critically at everyone’s outfits.

“And Dad didn’t say anything!” said Diego triumphantly. 

“I noticed that Number Six’s jacket was missing but I decided not to comment because of what an excellent job you did apprehending the criminals,” explained Reginald.

“Don’t you think Dad’s been acting weird lately?” pressed Diego.

Luther thought for a moment; as they had walked toward the house, Reginald had put an arm around his shoulders and assured him that he was very proud and that Luther was a wonderful son.

“No, Dad seems to be acting normal,” he said with a shrug.

“Number One, I don’t know what fantasies you’ve been entertaining, but--” began Reginald.

“What about the ice cream?  Didn’t you notice anything off about the flavors?” asked Diego.

“...there were forty-one!” gasped Allison.

“And Dad always gets mint chocolate-chip, not warm hug!” realized Klaus.

“None of this is real!” concluded Diego.

Everyone gasped.

A slow clap echoed through the hall; they looked up.  Standing on the mezzanine were the Chaos Bandit Brothers, wearing matching outfits.  They were still the same day-glow orange as their prison jumpsuits, but now, they had been replaced with tailored three-piece suits.  Mindfield was wearing a fedora.

“Very good, Umbrella Academy.  You figured it out.  ...I’m surprised at how quickly you managed,” called the Arachnid.  “Unfortunately for you, it’s still too late.  Currently, we’re all trapped in this shared hallucination, lying unconscious on the floor of the subway.  But, unlike you, Paul and I know how to get out.  And by the time you wake up, we’ll be long gone.”

“That’s what you think, Arachnid!” shouted Luther.

“Does it ever get exhausting to constantly be spewing superhero cliches?” asked the Arachnid with a roll of his eyes.  “Ta-ta, Spaceboy.  Enjoy your cozy little fantasy while it lasts.  Don’t bother to come after us, or we’ll make this dream far, far less pleasant.”

He turned.

The kids all ran for the stairs, Reginald yelling after them.  They took them two at a time, swinging around the landing on the banister, but by the time they reached the second story mezzanine, the brothers had already disappeared through a door, and when Luther yanked the door open, there was nothing beyond it, simply a brick wall.

“Damn it!” he yelled, slamming the door.

“Language, Master Luther,” hummed Pogo.

“Sorry, Pogo,” said Luther.

“Luther, that’s not Pogo, focus!” Diego reminded him.

Klaus frowned.  “So you, like, really want to be Number One, huh?”

Diego looked down at his outfit, then up, scowling.  “You’re one to talk.  Nice skirt, Klaus.”

“Guys, c’mon, don’t fight,” protested Ben meekly.

“Ben… is that how you see yourself?” asked Allison, brows knitting together in concern.

Ben looked down at the whorled, ropey, moist blob of quivering flesh that was his body.  “What?”

“Guys, stop wasting time.  We have to catch the Chaos Bandit Brothers while they’re still in this delusion with us,” said Luther, turning and putting his hands on his hips authoritatively.  “If they come to in real life before we do, they’ll run off.  We have to make sure we all leave this hallucination at the same time.”

“But we don’t know how,” pointed out Allison.

“Which is why we need to find them,” said Luther.  “I have a plan.”

“I think we should listen to Number One’s plan,” said Klaus, grinning.  Diego hit him.  “Ow.  You’re a ruthless dictator, Number One-- ow.  Luther, Number One keeps hitting me!  Ow!”

One of the doors in the hallway opened, and everyone tensed up, ready to fight whatever threat emerged.  Vanya stepped out in her school uniform, her brown eyes cast down.  Everyone relaxed.

“They went that way,” said Vanya quietly, pointing.

“Everyone ignore her.  She’s not one of us,” advised Luther.  “Any advice she gives us is probably worthless.”

“Luther! That’s not the real Vanya!  Focus!” Diego fumed.

“Yeah, go away, Vanya!” added Klaus, making a shooing motion.  “We’re doing important Academy stuff!”

“Not the real Vanya,” repeated Diego.

Vanya nodded with disappointment and disappeared into her room silently.

“The only ones we can trust are ourselves,” said Allison.  “We should split into teams and try to figure out how to get out of here.  ...if they’re in here with us, they must have some sort of built-in exit from this.  It’s a lucid dream that’s a puzzle.”

“And five heads are better than two,” said Ben with a small, wet squelch as he shifted.  Allison frowned as a puddle of slime seeped across the floor and under one of her shoes.

“Okay, let’s split up,” suggested Luther.  “Me and Allison will take the upstairs, and Two, Four, and Six can go downstairs.”

“By Two, do you mean One?  Ow, God, Diego, I’m kidding--”

“Stupid hallucination,” grumbled Diego, struggling to pry the badge off his chest, clearly embarrassed.

“Remember, don’t trust anyone or anything--” began Luther, but he was interrupted by a thumping noise from the stairs.

Everyone tensed.

A torso dragged itself into view, the jagged jaw gaping wetly, moaning as it stretched a hand toward them.

Diego let out a high-pitched scream and jumped into Luther’s arms.

Klaus relaxed.  “That’s just Ryan,” he informed everyone.

“Who the hell is Ryan?” asked Allison in disgust.

“One of the ghosts who hangs out in the east wing,” explained Klaus.  He found Ryan less upsetting during the day.  “...you guys can see him?”

“Get off me!” said Diego, climbing down from Luther’s arms and shoving him away.

Ryan let out a painful, wet gurgling noise, spraying foamy pink blood all over the wood floor.  It vanished within seconds.  Ryan pointed.

“They went that way?” said Klaus.  “Guys… I think we should follow Ryan.”

“What?  We literally just agreed not to trust anyone!” protested Allison.

“But Ryan is a ghost, not a person in the hallucination!  My powers are mental, not physical, so they’d still work in here, wouldn’t they?  I’m almost positive we can trust ghosts,” argued Klaus.

Vanya cracked open her door.  “I pointed in the same direction,” she said quietly.

“Oh my God, Vanya, not now!” snapped Luther.

“How ‘bout me and Ben go after Ryan and you three go check upstairs?” suggested Klaus.

“If Klaus’s powers work in here, we could figure everything out immediately.  We’d have eyes all over the house,” agreed Ben, his compound eyes blinking.

“Okay, fine.  You two go that way, and we’ll go this way,” said Luther.  “Meet back in the main hall in two minutes!”

Everyone turned and jogged off (except Ben, who crawled / oozed).  Ryan had already begun a slow drag down the hall; Klaus and Ben passed him, turning the corner and stopping short.

Before them, the hallway extended seemingly endlessly.

“Well, shit,” summarized Klaus.

“...the pictures on the walls repeat.  Maybe the rooms do, too.  I doubt Mindfield thought up hundreds of individual rooms.  There’s probably duplicates,” suggested Ben.

“Good thinking, Ben.  ...hey, can I ask you a question?”

Ben let out a weary sigh.  Where it came from was unclear; his body did not have an obvious primary mouth.  “What?”

“...are you and Allison really going to Argyle City College?”

The compound eyes blinked wetly.  “Of course we are.  Why?”

“Allison’s jacket was UCLA.  ...that’s in California.”

“We’re not going all the way to California.  I don’t wanna be that far away from home,” said Ben firmly.

“Okay, great.”  Klaus opened another door.  Inside was outside, a sheer drop down the side of a cliff.  The wind was cold.  Klaus closed the door.  “Hey, did you see Diego’s beard?”

“Yeah.  Pretty cool,” said Ben as they tried the next door.

“You could put that on your bucket list.  Grow a beard.  We’d look cool with beards,” said Klaus as they opened the door into a dark, dripping cave.

The boys had begun shaving.  Razors were kept under strict lock and key ever since Klaus had been caught shaving his legs; they now had to shave under the supervision of Mom.  Allison had rumored Reginald to be allowed access to the razors more frequently; she said she didn’t want to end up gross and hairy like the rest of them, which had prompted a friendly fight that had ended with Diego getting kicked down the stairs and breaking a priceless bust that Pogo had only just removed from storage.

“You know we don’t all have to match all the time, right?” said Ben.  “I mean…”  One of his tentacles gestured to himself.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Klaus, people literally call me The Horror.  Not the monsters.  Me.  I’m the monster.”

“You’re not as much of a monster as Luther is.  Ew,” said Klaus, opening a room that appeared to be nothing but the inside of a septic tank and was brimming with sewage.  

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” said Klaus, rounding on Ben.  “You’re not a monster.  Look, me and you got the shittiest powers, but it’s not like it’s the end of the world.  You’re a good-looking guy when you don’t have murder tentacles erupting from your torso!  And they’ve been pretty well-behaved lately.”

“They hurt.  Do any of you guys realize my powers aren’t fun?”

“Mine aren’t exactly a cake-walk either,” said Klaus, opening another door.  Inside was a mausoleum, a silent tomb of damp grey rock.  Klaus shut it hurriedly.  “Welp, that’s enough of that!” he said, dusting off his hands.  “We checked four doors out of infinity, and if you round up, that’s all of them.  I don’t think he came this way.  Let’s go back.”

He turned.  Ben followed, deferring to Klaus’s lower number.

“So that’s really how you see yourself?  As a monster?”

“What’s with the skirt?” retorted Ben.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I just feel… jealous, I guess?  How come Ali gets to wear special clothes?” said Klaus.

“I thought you were all about us matching.  You flipped out when I said I might get my tattoo changed.”  Ben’s tone was accusing.

“I didn’t flip out.  I was just surprised.  And Allison still matches.  It’s just… she also gets to be different.  It seems fun.  I know half of it is rumoring Dad, but even if I could do that, I don’t think he’d let me paint my nails.”

“But she’s a girl.  You don’t want to be a girl,” said Ben.  “...do you?”

Klaus considered the question, and finally decided, “...I wish I were a girl if I could be the only girl.  I don’t really want to be a girl.  I just want to be different.”

“Safely different,” said Ben.  “Not too different.  God forbid we have different tattoos.”

“Lay off the tattoo thing, Ben.  If you want to get your stupid tattoo changed, be my guest.  Hell, maybe I’ll get my own tattoo some day,” said Klaus grouchily.  

They passed Ryan and emerged back into the main hall.  Luther, Diego, and Allison were in a small knot, heads bowed together, arguing quietly, apparently over Allison’s letterman jacket.  Diego looked up when they approached.

“Did you find anything?” he asked.

“Bunch of dead ends,” reported Klaus.  “Emphasis on dead.  You guys?”

“Nada.”

“We need a new strategy,” declared Luther.

“HEY, KLAUS!”

Klaus’s head snapped up.  Leaning over the mezzanine’s carved wooden railing, Luther’s concerned face stared down.

Slowly, horror dawned on Klaus.  He looked up.  The Luther across from him was also looking up; he made eye contact with Klaus.  “What the f--”

“Klaus, don’t talk to him, he’s an imposter!” yelled the Luther above them.  “Don’t move!  Stay right there!  We’re coming down!”

Klaus edged back, one arm out to protect Ben.  Luther, Diego, and Allison stampeded down the stairs.  Luther, Diego, and Allison tensed up at the new arrivals, glaring.

“We shouldn’t have split up,” said the Diego closer to Klaus, casting an annoyed glare at his Luther.

“How would I have known--” began both Luthers, then stopped when they realized they were saying the same thing.

A door slammed across the hall, echoing, and a moment later, Klaus’s voice was calling, “Hey guys!  Did you find anything?  All we found was a bunch of dead ends.  Emphasis on dead.  You--”  Klaus stopped as he walked into the hallway, trailed by Ben.  “...uh-ohhhh,” he sang.

“Yeah, big uh-oh,” agreed the first Klaus, narrowing his eyes.  

“How do we figure out which of them are the real ones?” asked Ben.

“Hey, hold on, how do we know which one of you are the real ones?” retorted Diego, eyes narrowing.

“Listen.  Listen, this should be easy.  We all know each other--” began Luther.

“But this whole hallucination is a combination of our our brains so wouldn’t they know everything we know?” interrupted Allison.

“She’s a fake,” accused Diego, pointing.  “Real Allison is a total kiss-ass.”

“Shut up, Diego.  You’re the fake; you’re trying to make us believe you’re real by casting doubt on the rest of us!” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“I agree with her,” said the other Allison.

“Guys.”  Everyone looked at one Luther, then the other, unsure of which one was their true leader.  “Obviously,” said one Luther, in an even voice, “we need to figure out which of us are real, but we need to remember that we have to figure out how to wake ourselves up, too.  We can’t compromise the mission.”

“The duplicates will try to lead us astray so it’s important that we take this seriously,” added the other Luther.

“Um, question.  What are we supposed to do with the duplicates once we figure out they’re fakes?” asked Allison, raising her hand.

Everyone exchanged an uneasy glance.

“...kill them?” suggested one of the Diegos, finally.

“Wow.  He’s a duplicate,” said the other Diego immediately.

“You want us to kill ourselves?”

“No!  Just the fakes!” he protested.  “So that they don’t distract us!”

“But if we kill the wrong ones, what if we die in real life?” asked one Klaus.

“Yeah, we’ll probably die in real life, right?” asked the other Klaus.

“No one’s killing anyone!” said Allison.

“But he has a point.  If all of us try to track down Mindfield and the Arachnid, half of us will be sabotaging the other half,” said Luther.

“Unless we agree to pick teams and just split up,” said the other Luther.

“Can I be on my own team?” asked Klaus eagerly.

“I think he’s a duplicate!” said Diego eagerly.

“Stop calling people duplicates!” demanded Luther.  “Just shut up, and let me think!”

“That’s probably the real Luther,” whispered one of the Bens to one of the Allisons.

Both Luthers thought for a moment.  The silence in the grand entryway was enormous.  A couple of pale-faced ghosts in heavy dresses and bustles strolled past on the mezzanine; one waved a handkerchief at Klaus, who waved back.  The other Klaus was in the middle of a yawn.

“What if I’m a doppelganger?” blurted one of the Bens.

“What?” asked Klaus, rounding on him.  “I was with you the whole time!”

“But would we know if we were copies?  What if we were convinced we were the real us but we weren’t?” asked Ben fretfully, tentacles waving, compound eyes blinking.

“Other Ben?  What do you think?” asked Klaus.

“I mean, I think I’m the real one, but-- now that he mentions it, I don’t know if we’d know,” admitted Ben.

“So I think it’s me,” concluded the first Ben.

“I think it’s you but I don’t want to--” began the other Ben.

Luther lunged at Ben and put him into a headlock.  (An especially difficult task, since he had no easily discernible neck.)  The two immediately slid to the ground as a result of Ben’s sliminess, and slipped around crazily, upsetting a carved table and several of the taxidermied specimens on it, as well as a large crystal bowl, which shattered.

“Boys!” cried Pogo from the mezzanine.  “Stop that rough-housing at once!”

“Sorry, Fake Pogo!” called up the other Luther.

There was a terribly, bird-like screeching and the Ben that Luther had been pummeling was suddenly still; the slime oozing from it turned dark, then opaque, like ink, and spread around the limp form.

Luther rose, still slipping.  “Okay, so that was obviously the fake Ben, since Ben wouldn’t volunteer to sacrifi--” he began.

Diego pulled out a knife and flung it.  It landed squarely in Luther’s throat; he let out a wet gurgle, reaching up to grab at his neck, eyes wide in shock, and collapsed.

“What the hell, Diego?” yelled the other Luther.

“The real Luther would never kill Ben!” exclaimed Diego triumphantly.

The remaining Luther lunged at the Diego that had thrown the knife, while both Allisons flung themselves at the other Diego.

“Hey, what are you attacking me for?  Don’t be petty!  Ow!” cried Diego as Luther punched him.

“Luther, stop!  The real Diego would totally kill you!” called Allison.

Luther paused, considering.  “You’re right,” he concluded, and dropped a wheezing Diego to help the other two Allisons beat the second Diego into submission.

The two Klauses exchanged a glance.

“Hey, listen, I think you’re the clone,” said one.

“How come?”

“Well, all the ghosts are responding to me, and I trust them to know which one of us is real,” said the first.

“...oh.  Good point.  Yeah, I’m probably the copy then.”

With Diego down, the two Allisons had gotten into a vicious fist-fight that included an undignified amount of hair-pulling.

“Um… I think I’m just gonna go,” said the fake Klaus.

“Probably for the best,” agreed the real one.  “How fast can you run in heels?”

“Super fast.”

“Nice.”

They gave each other a pat on the shoulders, and then the fake one turned and scurried off.

“I heard a rumor that I was the real Allison!” yelled Allison.

“I heard a rumor that you fell asleep!” shrieked the second.  Nothing happened.  Luther jumped in to grab the fake one, smashing her head against the wall.  She crumpled to the floor.

Everyone paused, breathing heavily, surveying the gruesome scene before them.  Ben’s body had turned a dark, putrescent purple.  Luther’s was wide-eyed in death.  Diego’s and Allison’s head were both bloodied.

“Klaus, where’s yours?” asked Luther.

“I, um, fought him off,” said Klaus, miming fisticuffs.  

“Okay.  Okay, so now that we’re--”

“I can’t believe you thought I was fake, you jerk!” said Diego, holding a large bruise on the side of his face.

“Can you two save it?  Come on.  We have to go up.  I saw a door that’s not there in real life.  That must be where they went!” said Allison.  She grabbed Luther’s wrist and tugged.  Reluctantly, Diego, Klaus, and Ben ran after them, up the curving wooden staircase to the second floor, and then up one of the narrow, straight staircases that cut through the dorms.

The Hargreeves mansion was, even in reality, somewhat labyrinthine.  It occupied its own city block and had been made by several individual buildings being merged together, their walls knocked down to fuse together into a single entity.  As a result, different parts of the house had different layouts; not all the rooms or stairwells were equal in their size or design.  None of the Hargreeves children had ever been in a normal, residential home before, so they did not think their house was strange.  The fact that the grand, double-tall entrance featured polished wood balustrades and tiled floors, while their rooms had brick walls and opened onto metal fire escapes, had never struck them as incongruent.  The only thing they thought was strange, in fact, was the kitchen, which had once been an old butcher shop.  They had correctly identified that it had a lot of the old facets of a demi-basement shop, such as display counters that Reginald had simply never bothered to remove.  Eminently practical, Reginald only cared about the designs of the rooms he frequented, such as the dining room.  The kitchen was not his domain, and aside from making sure it was covered in educational posters, he rarely ventured down there.

Allison and Luther led the others to a hallway on the third floor, which was filled with unused rooms for siblings that might have been but never were.  At the end was a plain wooden door.

“There was a big warthog head on this wall, before,” said Allison.

“Hey, she’s right!  This must be the exit!” said Diego, shouldering past Luther and yanking it open.

He stumbled back immediately.

Everyone poked their heads inside.  It was a stairwell, not unlike one of the other stairwells where Reginald drilled them, but the walls, the railings, and most of the floor was covered in needles.

“Oh.  ...so… probably the right way,” said Luther uncomfortably.

“Should we just-- do it?” asked Klaus.  “Is it even really pain if we’re in a dream?”

“No way.  Nope.  Not doing it,” said Diego, shaking his head vigorously.  “We can find another way upstairs.  I’m not wading through a bunch of needles.”

“I vote we go,” said Allison.  “Show him he can’t scare us!”

“Go ahead, sis, but I am not doing it,” said Diego.  “No way.  Not in a million years.  Not for all the--”

“Oh, shut up,” said Luther, grabbing Diego and slinging him over his shoulder.  

Diego squawked indignantly and beat on Luther’s back.  “Let me down, you dick!  Let me down!  Let me go!”

“We can’t split up again,” said Luther, ignoring Diego.

“I don’t like it,” said Ben.  

“None of us likes it, Ben, but it’s the way up,” said Allison.

“No, I mean forcing Diego.  ...that would be like if we made Klaus go through the mausoleum room.”

“What mausoleum room?” asked Luther.

“Who said anything about a mausoleum room?” asked Klaus quickly.  “Come on, guys, chop-chop--”  

He stepped forward; Allison grabbed the back of his blouse.  “Ben’s right.  If Diego’s scared, we should go a different way.”

“I’m not scared!” yelled Diego.

“So you want to go through the needle stairs?”

“... no!”

“Let’s just try another room,” said Klaus cheerfully, turning to yank open a door.

All of them were hit with an intense, rolling wave of heat.  Beyond the door, a rolling, rocky, desolate landscape stretched out for miles and miles, until it met the horizon of a blood-red sky swirling with grey storm clouds, flashing with lightning, a violent electrical storm.  Pools of lava and thick, brown sludge bubbled; flies swarmed, and impossibly long-legged, slender creatures that looked like they should have been in a Dali painting picked their way achingly across the hellscape while smaller, scaley-skinned raptors ran in flocks, whip-like tongue protruding from their squid-like beaks.

Klaus slammed the door.  “What the hell was that?”

“Oh, that’s just where the Horrors come from.  I see it in my dreams all the time,” said Ben casually.

“Can we please pick a room that isn’t someone’s nightmare?” asked Luther in exasperation.  (He still hadn’t put Diego down, even though Diego was kicking him repeatedly in the stomach.)

Allison opened a door.  “This one looks fine,” she reported, stepping aside to reveal her own room, even though, in reality, her room was in a different wing of the house.  But this room was not occupied.  The mirror above her dresser, usually covered in photos, was bare.  All of her personal effects were gone.  Instead, moving boxes were stacked everywhere, each labeled neatly with her number.  The only item on the dresser was a delicate, thin-chained gold necklace.

"So what, we're moving? Swing and a miss, Mindfield!" Allison snickered, walking into her bedroom.

“Looks good to me,” agreed Klaus, following her.  “Hey!  We can use your window to take the fire escape to the roof, and cut them off there!”  He, Allison, and Ben hurried inside and began tugging at the window.

Luther was frozen for a long moment.  Diego exploited Luther's distraction to free himself with a well-aimed kick to Luther's groin. Luther groaned and leaned against the wall to keep on his feet.

“Ladies first,” said Ben, holding open the window with one tentacle.

“Thanks, Ben.  ...are you going to be able to climb up without any legs?”

“Maybe he can stick to the side of the building, like a snail!” suggested Klaus.

“I can climb,” said Ben, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he oozed out of the window after Klaus.

Diego hurried after Allison and Luther drew several deep breaths before following.  The team stomped up the fire escape with a series of loud clangs; Klaus slowed them with his heels, and Ben with his lack of defined limbs, but they made it to the rooftop without much incident.

The wind blew through their hair.

“...he’s not here,” observed Diego.

“So he must still be in the building,” concluded Allison.

“Um, guys?  Does the house seem… taller to you?” asked Klaus, peeking over his shoulder.

Everyone looked.  The mansion, four stories high in some places, and six in others, was now the tallest high-rise in the city.  Clouds moved below them.  The view was dizzying.

Everyone edged away from the drop.

“Do we go back down?” asked Diego awkwardly.

“Down sixty stories of rickety fire escape?” asked Klaus sarcastically.  “I’m glad you’re not really Number One, Diego.”

“Hey, screw you, no one asked you to wear heels in this fantasy!”

“Guys, guys,” said Luther.

Ben squelched over to the edge and peeked, the edges of his gelatinous body sliding down almost imperceptibly.  “What if we jump?”

There was a beat of silence before everyone protested, loudly and simultaneously.

“Are you crazy, Ben?”

“That would kill us!”

“We can’t just jump!”

“Not without levitation belts!”

“Guys, listen,” said Ben.  “If this is like a dream, them-- well, you know how when you have a dream where you’re falling, you always wake up before you hit the ground?  What if there’s no way out and Mindfield is just distracting us with all of these crazy rooms, and the solution is for one of us to wake up so they can wake up everyone else?”

“Cool idea, but counter-point.  What if we die,” said Klaus.

“If I die, I can come back and warn Klaus,” reasoned Ben.

“Ben, that’s a stupid plan,” said Diego.

“Absolutely not,” agreed Allison.  “Luther, tell him no.”

“"Well hold on, this is a kind of dream. I think he might be right,” said Luther. 

“Luther!” she protested.

“Okay, okay.  Ben, we can’t take that kind of chance,” said Luther.  He sat on the ground.  “Okay, let’s brainstorm--”

“Why can’t you just trust your gut, Luther?  I’m not going to get hurt,” argued Ben.  “Come on, you’re Number One.  You liked that plan, before Allison said anything!”

“What if he dies?  It’s too risky!”

Luther chewed his lip.  “The thing is… if he’s right...”

Diego, Allison, and Klaus all protested loudly.

“I trust Luther.  He thinks it’s a good idea, and so do I,” said Ben firmly.

“Ben, no!” cried Klaus.  He lunged, but he was too late.

With a loud, sucking, popping sound, Ben suddenly let go of the ledge.

Everyone screamed and lunged, but they were too late.  They stared over the edge in horror as Ben’s body fell, squirming and twisting, a writhing mass of tentacles, claws, beaks, and antennae, a mashup of unidentifiable and definitely inhuman parts.  He made no sound as he tumbled down, disappearing into a cloud.

“Oh my God!  Oh my God!” said Allison shrilly.

Luther grabbed Klaus by the shoulders.  “Klaus!  Is he dead?  Is he dead?”

“I don’t know!  I don’t know!” cried Klaus, as hysterical as Luther was.

“BEN!  BEN!” yelled Diego.  His voice echoed through the sterile blue sky.

“I thought there were seven of you,” said a cold voice, behind them.

They turned.  On the far side of the rooftop were Mindfield and Arachnid, back-to-back, in their matching, day-glow orange three-piece suits, smirking.

Luther and Allison were running for them before anyone else had a chance to react; Diego unsheathed three knives from his hip holster, flinging them; and Klaus, finally free of Luther’s grip, peered over the edge of the roof, screaming Ben’s name into the endless, empty sky.

Chapter 16: Plans for the Future

The triumphant looks on the faces of the Chaos Bandit Brothers was short-lived.  Their smirks turned to fear as three members of the Umbrella Academy ran toward them.  Luther quickly out-paced Allison and Diego; both Arachnid’s and Mindfield’s expressions shifted as the fury of the three siblings barreled toward them.

It was mostly a silent confrontation; Luther, Diego, and Allison made no noise as they charged.  The only sounds were the wind and Klaus’s keening.

Mindfield threw out his hands and the ground in front of him suddenly collapsed in, crumbling.

Without breaking stride, Diego flung a knife at the hole.  Instead of falling, it pinged off, as if there were some sort of force field.  

Luther skidded to a halt at the edge and windmilled for a moment., not wanting to plunge several floors down into the twisted, labyrinthine bastardization of their home that was below them.

Allison hesitated beside Luther.  “Why did you stop?” she demanded.

“Um, hello?” said Luther, gesturing.

Diego ran past them, seemingly walking on air.

“It’s an illusion, Luther!  It’s all illusions!” snapped Allison, grabbing the sleeve of his jumpsuit and yanking.  He didn’t move, and trying to move him was like trying to move a monolith.

“Number Two, be careful!” he yelled as Diego raced toward the Arachnid.

Bracing for impact, Diego stumbled as he walked right through him.  The air beside him shimmered; the “real” Arachnid appeared with a wave of Mindfield’s hand, and he collided with Diego, tackling him to the ground.  The two fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, struggling near the edge of the rooftop.

But Allison’s eyes were on Luther, confused, suspicious.  She took a step back.  “Wait a second.  You could’ve just jumped over it.”  Her eyes widened; understanding dawned on her face.  “You’re not the real--!”

---

Allison awoke.  Her cheek was pressed against cool concrete.

She groaned and stirred and tried to sit up.  Someone gently pushed her back down.  She squinted; the blur of blue resolved into a kind-looking young man in scrubs.  

“Stay down, Miss Hargreeves.  We’ve got you,” he said.

Behind him, she could see police, and hear radio chatter.

Ignoring the paramedic, she sat up groggily. 

Across the subway station, the police had handcuffed the Chaos Bandit Brothers, who were easy to spot with their bright orange jumpsuits.  Their heads were lolling; they, too, had only just woken up from the shared dream.

Allison looked around.  Diego and Klaus were groaning and holding their heads beside her.

“Where is he?” asked Diego, fumbling for his knives.  Another paramedic swatted his hand down.  

“They’ve been apprehended.  Great job, Umbrella Academy!  Take it easy; you’re all in shock.”

“Ben?” asked Klaus, panic seeping into his tone.

Allison took another look around and found them.  Seated on the steps of the subway station, Luther and Ben were huddled together, blankets over their shoulders, a pair of EMTs fluttering around them.  They had clearly woken up earlier.  Luther was pale.

“Ben!”  Klaus scrambled to his hands and knees despite protests from the paramedics.  He crawled across the floor, not caring if he scraped his jumpsuit on the concrete, scuffed his shoes, or tore his socks.  He reached his brother and wrapped his arms around his waist; Ben patted his back in a dazed manner.

“I’m okay,” he reported.

“What happened?” asked Luther.

“Never mind us.  What happened to you?” demanded Allison.

“After Number Two killed me, I woke up, and I went to get back-up,” said Luther.  “Then I came back down here and Ben was waking up, and they made us sit down.”

“Oh my God, you’re alive,” said Klaus, voice muffled by Ben’s clothes, but the relief clear.

“Oh my God.  I killed the wrong one?” asked Diego, looking shocked.  “But--”

“Yeah, way to go, Number Two,” snapped Luther sarcastically as one of the paramedics pressed a cold compress to his forehead.

“I’m s-sorry.  I th… th…”

“What if you’d died?  How did you know you weren’t gonna die, Ben?”  Klaus’s voice had a note of hysteria; the closest to the curtain that divided life and death, Klaus had clearly been affected the most by the idea of losing his brother, and, worse, of having to see him again on the other side.

“I had a hunch,” said Ben with a nonchalant shrug.

“It’s okay, kids.  You’re all safe,” said Detective Lupo, striding up.  He crouched, elbows on his knees, so he could be face-to-face with Luther.  “Your dad is coming to collect you now.  Just take it easy, okay?”

Luther’s face paled a little more.  Everyone else realized it at the same time as him: Reginald was not going to be happy.  Several uniformed police officers were leading away the Chaos Bandit Brothers in handcuffs.  That was not how missions were supposed to end.  As superheroes, the members of the Umbrella Academy were supposed to be the ones to apprehend the bad guys.

Worse, they had broken ranks.

Of course, only they and the Chaos Bandit Brothers knew what had transpired, but they had grown used to thinking of Reginald as omniscient.  The thought that he might not need to know never crossed their minds; they all took it for granted that he would know that Diego had killed the wrong Luther, and that Ben had sacrificed himself against orders, and that if this had occurred in reality, two of them would be dead.

The idea of a mission being dangerous, let alone deadly, was a novel one, and very unsettling.  

Klaus was practically in tears.  “Ben, you can’t pull shit like that!  You can’t do dangerous, reckless stuff in combat!  You could get hurt!”

“Yeah, fighting crime isn’t some kids’ game, Ben,” agreed Allison.  “It’s not supposed to be risky!”

Ben shrugged again.

From the entrance of the subway station, they heard one of the first responders saying, “Right this way, Sir Reginald.  Don’t worry; your children are safe.”

“Where is my Number One?” he demanded.

Mistaking his tone for concern, the woman leading him repeated, “He’s safe.”

Everyone struggled to their feet.  Diego and Allison clawed their way up one another; Luther rose with a wobble, trying hastily to discard the cold compress and the blanket some gentle police officer had laid over his shoulders.  Ben struggled; Klaus was gripping him.  He was not able to rise before Reginald came stomping down the stairs, cane in hand.

“ Number Six!” he barked.  He plucked the blanket off of Ben’s shoulders, clearly disgusted that Ben would have accepted any help from outside forces.

Ben rose with Klaus draped over him, his expression one of practiced neutrality.  Klaus hastily tried to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

“Sir Reginald, your children have saved the day once again,” said Detective Lupo, striding up to meet him and sticking out a hand.  Reginald shook it stiffly.  “They delayed the Chaos Bandit Brothers long enough for Luther and Ben here to go get our response team to take them in while they were unconscious.  You must be very proud of them.”

“One would think so,” said Reginald in a pinched voice.

“They’re all a little shocked,” said one of the paramedics.  “Nothing permanent, but I definitely think some rest is in order!”

Reginald looked like he was considering whether or not to explain their egregious failure.  In the end, he simply said, “Come along, then.  If you’re done helping the police, and they have no more need for you, then there’s no use in loitering here.”

Despite their unsteadiness, they lined up in order and marched after him.  

When they emerged from the subway, blinking in the sunlight, it was to a crowd of onlookers behind yellow police tape, many of whom had signs.  A cheer went up from the crowd and several reporters shoved microphones toward them, desperately, begging for a soundbite.

They all smiled bravely and got into the car.  The drive home was silent.

When they got home and entered the hall, Luther tentatively began for all of them, “Sir--”

Reginald wheeled around.  “Silence, Number One.  You should be resting.  Didn’t you hear the medics?  I’m sure it took a terrible amount of effort to lie around on the floor of the subway station like a rat over-fed on trash.  This is no doubt why you were all unable to apprehend the criminals yourselves.  But the assist you provided to the police was appreciated, of course.  Go and enjoy some relaxation.  Dinner will be at six.  You are welcome to join me if you feel sufficiently refreshed.”

With that, he turned and stomped off.

Pogo and Grace watched them from the wall.

Needing help from the police was not extraordinary; it was what ordinary people needed.  Everyone was embarrassed, disappointed, and feeling strangely hungover from their shared hallucinatory experience.  

One by one, they wandered off.  Diego was the first to slam the door to his room.  Luther went next, and moments later, everyone heard the muffled sounds of music from the two rooms: “Brain Stew”  in Diego’s, and “Love Is a Battlefield” in Luther’s.

Klaus vanished into the educational wing, making his way toward the chemistry lab.  

“Allison,” whispered Ben as the two of them climbed the stairs toward the dormitories.  “When are we gonna tell Dad about college?”

She looked at him like he was crazy.  “We can’t tell him after screwing up a mission.  We have to wait ‘til we have a good one.”

“But the deadline for turning in all the paperwork is coming up.  Can’t you just rumor him into giving us our birth certificates and vaccination records?”

“And then what?  Rumor him every day for the rest of our lives?” asked Allison sarcastically.

Ben gave her a look that implied he thought that might be a solution worth considering.

“Let’s wait at least a week, ‘til he cools off and has a good day,” suggested Allison.  “Maybe we’ll have another mission we can really win, and then we can talk to him.  But if nothing comes up, we’ll just do it next week.  Maybe at morning briefing.”

“Okay,” said Ben as they paused outside of their rooms.

“...Ben, why’d you throw yourself off the roof?”

“I was tired of looking like a monster.  I was tired of being in a nightmare.  I wanted to wake up,” said Ben simply.

“But you didn’t know--”

“Yeah I did,” he interrupted, and he went into his room and shut the door to change out of his jumpsuit.

Allison lingered outside of it for a little while longer.  She was used to lying, but not used to being lied to, and it felt very different on this end of things.

---

At six, they came down to dinner, all wearing their neatest uniforms, not wanting to give Reginald any more ammunition for his disappointment.  Reginald was capable of maintaining his disappointment in them for long stretches and he could be unforgivably acerbic.  They were always on their best behavior after any sort of public embarrassment.

When Reginald appeared, they sat after he had put on a record and settled himself at the head of the table.  The record tonight was a well-loved copy describing ground-air emergency codes.  They had heard it before and knew they were nearing the end, and when it came to the end and the needle began skipping, Reginald would lay into them about what a waste of training it was for them to need any police assistance and that displays of weakness to the public were demoralizing and insulting to him, personally, after everything that he had invested in their education.

They knew Reginald’s disappointment speech about as well as they knew the ground-air emergency codes.

Consequently, dinner was awkward.  The only one of them who seemed unbothered was Klaus, who had a glazed expression and kept putting his elbows up on the table to prop up his head dreamily.  Thrice, Reginald looked up and barked at him to have some decency and remember his etiquette lessons.  The fourth time around, Reginald set down his cutlery and snapped, “If you cannot behave with basic decorum at the dinner table, Number Four, then you are dismissed!”

Klaus had barely touched his food.  He rose and left the table, and everyone watched him enviously, wishing they had been the ones to be sent away without supper.

---

That evening’s study time was awkward for an entirely different reason.  Luther was desperate to speak to Allison, Diego was desperate to speak to Luther, and Ben was once again helplessly mired in the bog of his trigonometry homework, which hadn’t made sense to him before but made even less sense now, with his headache and post-mission confusion.

“Luther, I d-didn’t know it was you,” whispered Diego in hushed tones.

“Whatever, Two, I don’t care,” he snapped in reply.  “Allison, why were you wearing a UCLA jacket?”

“I told you, I just like the colors!”

“What’s wrong with Argyle City colors?”

“... gray and mauve?” she scoffed incredulously.

Klaus rolled onto his back on the floor.  “I looooove blue,” he sang to no one in particular.

“I s-swear I thought it wasn’t you,” continued Diego anxiously.

“Gray and mauve like our uniforms!” said Luther enthusiastically.

Allison stared at Luther, disbelieving, and then finally said, “Well, maybe mauve looks good on you, but I look better in blue.”

“And fuuuuuschia,” sang Klaus.  Everyone ignored him.

“Well, our uniforms are blue…” said Diego, clearly trying to get Luther to offer some forgiveness by siding with him.

“They’re navy.  They’re practically grey.  I want to wear bright colors.”

“Like greeeeen.”

“Heads up, Mom’s coming!” called Vanya.

Everyone picked up a book and pretended to be studying.  Diego glanced at Klaus, reached over, and turned his book; it had been upside-down.

Grace entered humming and floating around dusting cheerfully.  “It’s so good to see you all so enthusiastic about your studies!” she cooed.  “I know today’s mission was a little bit of a let-down, but I’m so proud of all of you for pulling yourselves back up and applying yourselves.  You have so much potential!”  She gave Luther a loving bop on the head with her feather duster and floated back out.

Klaus turned his book upside-down again with a petulant, exaggerated flare that was clearly meant to agitate Diego.

“Mom’s right,” said Luther after a beat, looking up, his face determined.  “We’re special and even though we really misstepped today, we can make it up to Dad on our next mission.  We just have to apply ourselves and work harder.”

“Daddy’ll forgive us,” said Klaus, then burst into giggles.  Diego silently picked up a throw pillow from the couch and threw it at him; it hit him square in the face.  Everyone knew Reginald did not forgive.  They could not regain what was lost.  They could only try to make up for it in the future.

---

Though Luther, Diego, and Allison all remained at odds about what their goals were, they all agreed on the manner of accomplishing them: they had to work harder and get back into Reginald’s good graces.

This was far easier to conceptualize than to put into practice.  Reginald’s sternness turned into ruthlessness after failed missions; their training got harder, and longer; in the classroom, he was relentless.  The chess board in the main hall was abandoned as they applied themselves to studying.  The music from their respective rooms ceased (except for the pining of Vanya’s violin).  Klaus’s hauntings grew worse, and he stopped washing himself because he hated how they popped out at him in the bathroom; he took up residence in Allison’s room until she kicked him out because he smelled like a skunk, and then he moved in with Ben, who begged Allison for perfume to cover up Klaus’s smell and eventually kicked him over to Luther, who bribed him $10 to go annoy Diego, whose stutter had gotten so bad that he was unable to tell Klaus to go back to his own room.

Four days after their mission, Pogo interrupted them in the middle of an anti-interrogation / stress endurance class to tell them they were wanted in the main hall.

“But I nearly broke him!” protested Diego, who had been shining a light into Klaus’s eyes and throwing things around the room for about an hour.

“No you didn’t,” reported Klaus.

Diego slammed a hand on the nearest table.  “I swear to God, Klaus, I’m really gonna stop being nice if you don’t tell me what the secret word is.”

“He will.  He’ll do it,” warned Luther.

“Fine.  It’s watercress,” said Klaus.

Diego looked at him for a few moments, then said, “You’re lying.”  He looked over at Allison, who was holding a clipboard.  She nodded.  “He was lying,” she confirmed.

Diego gave Klaus a couple of open-handed slaps.

“Children,” said Pogo.

“Five more minutes!” begged Diego.

“Yeah, five more minutes,” mocked Klaus. “...I’m not gonna break.”

“Just tell me what the word is?” pleaded Diego.

“I’ll tell you after you untie me.”

Pouting, Diego peeled the duct tape away from Klaus’s wrists, and everyone neatened their uniforms before following Pogo down the stairs.

“So what was the word?” whispered Diego.

“Flamingo,” whispered Klaus back.

“Did you at least feel kinda threatened?”

“Yeah, definitely, a little bit.”

They silenced themselves as they walked out onto the mezzanine that wrapped around the main hall.  Pogo walked down the grand staircase and they followed, in order, single-file, to the sitting room.  Reginald and another man in a suit were sitting across from each other by the fireplace, sipping tea.

“Well, here they are,” said Reginald, with a wave of his hand.  He looked at Luther.  “This is Mr. Arnold Murray, who is a reporter with…”  He trailed off.

“The Acadia Lancet,” said the reporter eagerly.  He was dressed in a brown suit and was clutching a notebook and a pencil with almost desperate delight.

“The Acadia Lancet,” repeated Reginald.  “He read the police report of your latest mission and was quite eager to interview you. About your most recent success.”

Everyone flinched in unison.

“I thought you might all appreciate getting to tell your side of the story,” said Reginald.  His tone was perfectly polite but all five of them felt their hearts sinking into their stomachs.  This was, very clearly, a sort of punishment.

They all smiled.

“We’re always happy to take some time to discuss matters of public safety with the press,” said Luther.  “Especially since it affects the citizens of our city.”

“It’s our duty to use our powers to protect people and to stop criminals, but also to communicate how we’re doing that,” agreed Diego.

“We can’t speak long.  It’s a school day,” said Allison.  “We try our best to live our lives like normal kids, but if Dad says we can take a quick break, we’d love to answer your questions!”

They all waited.  Allison elbowed Klaus.

“It’s our duty to use our powers to protect--” began Klaus.  She elbowed him again and he quickly changed his statement to, “The main thing is, we always work as a team and we rely on each other.  Plus, we’ve been really lucky to have the guidance our father’s given us growing up.”

“There’s always room for improvement.  We’re always trying to do a better job and to be faster, safer, and more effective at what we do,” finished Ben.  This last statement was meant to appease Reginald, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

“Wow, that’s great!” said Mr. Murray, scribbling furiously.  “Mind if I ask you guys a couple of questions?”

“Sure,” they all said in unison.  Luther looked anxiously at Reginald.  He had still not moved.  Reginald did not typically sit in on interviews or photo shoots with the press.  Having him there made all of them feel like they were the ones in the hot seat, except they weren’t sure of what the secret word was.  Most of them would rather be on the receiving end of a practice interrogation by Diego than to have Reginald staring at them while they spoke to the press.

“Please.  Sit.  Relax,” said Reginald.

They all cringed again and obediently sat: Luther on Reginald’s right, Diego on Luther’s right, Allison on Diego’s right, Klaus in an armchair on Allison’s right, and Ben on a couch on Klaus’s right.  Ben looked very small by himself on the couch and Luther had to draw in his elbows because he was between Reginald and Diego, and didn’t want to crowd Reginald.  Diego and Allison pretended to have enough room.

“So!  Mindfield is a pretty formidable foe, huh?” said Mr. Murray.

Everyone nodded, trying not to look at Reginald.

“Were you scared?”

Everyone looked at Luther, happy that he got a hard one and hoping that theirs would be better.

“We were too busy to be scared,” said Luther.

“How did you actually manage to subdue Mindfield?  He’s telepathetic, isn’t that right?”

“Well, the Argyle Police Department came in to provide us with some back-up,” said Diego.  “They were using Power Suppressant Cuffs, which our dad invented.  They don’t work for too long because they take so much energy, but we were really able to tire out Mindfield in mental combat, so he went peacefully when the cops arrived.”

“Amazing.  Must feel pretty neat to see your dad’s inventions out in the field, huh?” said Mr. Murray.

They all nodded and smiled.

“After the mission, according to the police reports, the paramedics were called.  Were any of you injured?”

“No,” said Allison succinctly.  Then, because it felt defensive, she said, “The first responders were acting with caution because it’s their job.  We’re grateful for what they provide for the city.  But we weren’t in any real danger.”

“So, getting into some background… when did you guys decide you wanted to dedicate yourselves to fighting crime?” asked the reporter.

Klaus looked up at the mounted boar’s head on the wall.  He clearly wished someone would shoot him with a high-powered game hunting rifle.  “Fighting crime was… a natural desire?” he guessed, brow furrowing.  “Nothing else ever really occurred to us.  We’ve been fighting crime for as long as we can remember.  Longer, even.  But as we’ve matured and our powers have evolved, we’ve felt it was our responsibility to try to keep the world safe.”

“What are your biggest regrets, as teens who fight crime?”

Reginald looked as pleased as a well-fed cat.  The kids all looked a little shell-shocked.  Whether Mr. Murray had come up with his own questions or whether Reginald had somehow implanted questions to dredge up the most guilt and discomfort possible was unclear; they wouldn’t put it past him.

“It would be nice…” began Ben very, very slowly, as if he were inching forward on a floor covered in mousetraps.  He stopped, then tried again: “I wish…”  He paused, then gripped his stomach a little with a pained expression, then gritted out, “There’s only six of us.  Well, five, now, since we lost Five.  If there were more of us, we could be more effective.  We wish-- we wish we could do more.”  His voice cracked.

Mr. Murray shook his head in amazement.  “That is so selfless.  Your dad really has raised a remarkable group.”  He looked at Ben for a moment, and his expression turned from awe to sympathy.  Mistaking the sudden fullness in Ben’s eyes for grief, he leaned over and patted Ben’s knee gently.  “I’m sure losing your brother was very, very hard.”

Ben nodded.

Mr. Murray waited a few seconds; Ben composed himself as quickly as he was capable of doing.

“Maybe instead of talking about the past, we should talk about the future,” he said kindly.  “You’re all turning 18 in October, isn’t that right?  You must be excited for your graduation ceremony.  Will that be open to the public?”

Luther stared at him, completely stumped, then looked over at Reginald, who had said nothing about any sort of graduation ceremony.

“What are your adult plans?” pressed Mr. Murray, grinning.

Luther stared at him dumbly.

“Wherever we end up, our lives are always going to be lived in service to the public,” said Allison. “It’s the least we can do with the gifts with which we’ve been born.”

It was the correct answer, but it felt wrong coming from Allison, because it wasn’t her turn.

---

That evening, Klaus went up to the roof to smoke.  Luther had locked himself in their shared bathroom, and happy to have an excuse to get out of bathing, Klaus was looking forward to an hour of slacking off.

When he opened the door to the rooftop, he froze.  A figure was standing at the edge, his jacket, tie, and hair moving slightly in the breeze.

Ben turned.

“Hi, Ben,” said Klaus uncertainly.

“Hey,” said Ben.  He wasn’t standing on the roof and looking over the parapet.  Rather, he was standing on the concrete parapet itself, one step away from the edge.

Klaus was frozen.  “You okay?” he asked after a long moment.

“Yeah.”

“...whatcha doin’?”

Ben shrugged.  “Watching the sunset,” he said, and he turned back to stare over the ledge.

“Hey… Benny… you wanna split a cigarette with me?” asked Klaus slowly, his voice overly-soothing.

Ben didn’t speak for what felt like a very long time.  Then, finally, he turned.  “Yeah, okay,” he said, climbing down.

Klaus exhaled, not realizing that he had been holding his breath.

---

By the weekend, Reginald had thawed just a little.  Everyone had been over-exerting themselves in desperation to appease him, and consequently, they had been excelling in most of their training sessions.

According to Reginald, this was clear evidence that they could do better if they applied themselves, and he told them that he hoped they would take this into consideration moving forward.  They all agreed adamantly that they clearly could do better, and they would, absolutely.  They only needed a chance to prove it.

That Saturday, Grace made lamb chops and green beans with garlic, with blueberry tart for dessert.  Diego and Allison took up their game of chess again.  Everyone let Vanya play an entire sonata of Vivaldi without yelling at her to be quiet so they could concentrate.  Klaus slept in his own bedroom.

On Sunday, Luther told them he had a feeling they were going to have a good week.  “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“It’s been a big week for you, huh?” said Diego.  

Luther punched him and continued.  “We need to get tougher.  We’re nearly eighteen.  We’re not kids anymore.  Dad’s always pushed us to be the best we can be.  On our next mission, it’s not enough just to get it done.  We really need to surpass ourselves.  No holding back.”

“Agreed,” said Diego immediately.  

“We always do our best,” disagreed Ben softly.

“ Do we?” asked Luther pointedly.  “Ben, you hold back.  We all know you do.  And, Klaus, you never take anything seriously.”

“Mean, but true,” agreed Klaus.

“Next mission, I really want everyone’s full effort and attention.”

Klaus let out a long-suffering sigh, accompanied by a dramatic eye roll.  “God, you’re so inspiring, Number One.  Look, I’ve got goosebumps.”

He shoved his hand under Luther’s nose.  Luther pushed it down.  “Klaus, I’m serious,” he said in a soft, pained voice.

“Okay, okay.  We’ll do a really good job next time,” said Klaus.  “Right, Ben?”

Ben nodded.

“Okay.  Great,” said Luther, satisfied.  He went back to his book about a WWII fighter pilot, a book he’d insisted to Reginald was “instructive” and “historical,” though he seemed to be having an awful lot of fun reading it.  Ben waited until Luther was behind his book to grip his stomach and hunch protectively over his midsection, his face screwed up in discomfort.

---

In the first week of September, on a Tuesday, Allison proclaimed that it was time.

She was brushing her hair aggressively while Ben and Diego brushed their teeth; Klaus was peeking between them, turning his chin this way and that, trying to see if there was any facial hair to be reckoned with.

“This morning?” asked Ben through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“We can’t wait any longer.  I got a letter from UCLA yesterday saying if we don’t submit all the paperwork by October 1st, we’ll miss the deadline to attend college in winter,” she said.

Diego tensed.  “What’s the deadline for Argyle?” he demanded furiously, flecking Allison’s face with toothpaste.  

She wiped it off with clear disgust.  “It’s the same,” she sneered.  

Diego probably would have started an argument, but Luther appeared demanding to know if someone had taken his towel, and Diego went quiet.  Perhaps he felt that putting Luther in a bad mood wasn’t worth it. 

They marched downstairs for morning briefing with their hair neatly parted and their shoes shined and their faces freshly scrubbed.

“Today is Tuesday, September the fourth,” Reginald greeted them as they gathered in the main hall.  “Today’s group training will focus on evacuation techniques.  I expect all of you to have finished The Fountainhead for our morning discussion of literature.  A reminder that our annual portraiture sitting will be on Friday, the seventh.”  

He paused.

“Sir,” said Allison, stepping forward.  Everyone’s breath hitched, but Ben and Vanya stepped forward to stand behind her.

“Yes, Number Three?”

“I applied to and have been accepted to the University of California Los Angeles and Argyle City College.  I would like to attend winter semester,” she proclaimed.  (Luther looked like she had punched him in the gut; Diego looked alert; Klaus was trying to hitch up one of his knee-high socks without being noticed.)

“I hope you’re not expecting me to congratulate you.  UCLA has accepted over ten thousand students this year,” said Reginald after a beat.  “However,  I commend your commitment to furthering your education.”

“I would like to attend,” repeated Allison stubbornly.

“I thought we had discussed and resolved this nine months ago,” said Reginald, leaning on his cane.  “Do you not feel as though your education here has been adequate?”

Allison weighed the question, then answered, “It has been as extraordinary as we are.  So, it’s been wanting in exposure to normalcy and to the general public.  Since we regularly deal with them on our missions, I think it would be valuable for me to have more exposure to them.”

Reginald’s mustache twitched and his eye glinted.  It took everyone a moment to realize he was amused.

“So what is it you want from me, Number Three?  Approval?”

“I need a copy of my birth certificate.  And my vaccination records,” said Allison.

“And our transcripts,” said Ben, softly, behind her.

“Our transcripts,” echoed Vanya.

“Ah.  I see.  So this request of yours is transactional.  Well, Number Three, Six, I have always expected you to elevate yourselves.  If you feel that attending a public university would aid in this endeavor, then I will happily aid you.”

Everyone was watching, now, and Klaus had forgotten his slouching sock.

“But I will not simply dole out favors in return for nothing.  Nor will I set you up for failure.  I would only be inclined to release your documents to you if your entrance to the university was secured, and it is my understanding, in corresponding with the admissions office, that your acceptance is reliant on your transcripts.”

Allison looked shocked that Reginald had been corresponding with the admissions office and had known, all along, of her plan.  But she quickly rearranged her features.

“What do you need from us?” she asked bluntly.

“If all of your grades are exceptional this quarter, then I can believe I have taught you all I can, and I will therefore release your birth certificates and your transcripts to you,” said Reginald.

“And our vaccination records,” said Ben bravely.

“And those as well,” said Reginald with a nod of his head.  “You have until your birthday to submit the paperwork, correct?  So, you have until then to demonstrate to me that your studies here have been fully and entirely absorbed.  Since you are a team, I expect all of you to achieve this.”

“Very well,” said Allison.  She shot Diego a look that implied she would kill him if he dared to sabotage her.  “We won’t let you down, Sir.”  She stuck out a hand.

With another mustache twitch, Reginald shook it, firmly, and then told them they were all dismissed for breakfast.  “And pull up your sock, Number Four,” he said as he turned.

“Allison, that was amazing!” said Klaus enthusiastically, holding up his hand.  

She high-fived it, beaming.  “I know!  I was so scared I thought I was going to throw up, but Dad knew all along!”

“I told you Dad knows what he’s doing,” said Luther, who also sounded relieved.  “He’ll let you and Ben go to Argyle instead of taking classes here, and we’ll all still train together, obviously, since we’ve got to stay sharp.  Maybe me and Diego can go on patrols around the city while you guys go to class!”

“Yeah, and I can go to McDonald’s!” said Klaus enthusiastically.

There was a beat, and in the silence that followed, everyone realized that Ben hadn’t said anything about their great success.  They turned to look at him inquisitively.  He had one hand on one of the pillars in the hallway, and was leaning on it, a pained expression on his face, his other arm clutching his stomach.

“Ben, what’s wrong?  Dad said he’d give us all our stuff.  We just need to ace our classes,” said Allison gently.

“...that’s the problem,” said Ben in a soft voice.  He couldn’t stand to meet her eyes, and instead stared at the pattern of the tile floor.  “...I’m failing algebra.”

Chapter 17: The Post-Master General

Notes:

This chapter was planned out a long time in advance. Please note that in my little Umbrella Academy world, "The President" is simply a random guy, and not meant to represent any real person. None of the politicians are meant to be real people, which is why I have opted not to give them names. If the President had a name other than "The President," it would probably be Mr. Johnson or something similarly banal.

Notable exception: Benjamin Franklin is, in fact, meant to be Benjamin Franklin.

Reginald’s expectations for the Umbrella Academy were not merely focused on their superhero training.  They spent mornings in the classroom, and though they spent fewer hours in classrooms than most children their age, they endured rigorous academic instruction.  Unbeknownst to them, they were all operating at a college level; in any normal scenario, they would be considered brilliant students.  But Reginald sometimes graded on a curve merely to pit them against each other and force them to work harder; his grading was arbitrary; his tests were often designed to trip them up.  Academics in the Umbrella Academy were so severely emotionally demanding that all of the Hargreeves had developed a very solid hatred of reading, writing, mathematics, and history.  Only Ben and Vanya read for fun; the rest of them felt that words and numbers were as much an enemy as Dr. Terminal was.

Compared to the classroom, training was practically fun.  At the very least, they weren’t forced to sit still, and could take out their frustration on one another.  Also, although training could be competitive, it was occasionally cooperative.  School had never felt very cooperative.

So Reginald’s caveat that they all ace their summer finals created a curious new dynamic for them.  They all immediately understood the logic, of course.  If Allison or Ben wasn’t getting top marks then surely they weren’t prepared for college.  And if they could offer anything to their siblings in the way of tutoring then of course Reginald would not want them to divide their time.  The Academy operated as a unit, as a team.

Reginald had perhaps not counted on how effectively he had raised them as a hive mind.  No one thought of sabotage. In fact, everyone became immediately deeply concerned with being the weak link.  

Luther and Diego both had their weak spots.  Luther had difficulty grasping chemistry and was still not entirely able to describe the Krebs cycle to Reginald’s satisfaction.  Diego had little patience for books.  He was terrible at history and social studies and could never quite keep the Bill of Rights straight.  Also, despite his understanding of language, he tested poorly in any oral exam, as the stress of it brought up his tics.

Allison, of course, like Ben, had a personal investment in pleasing Reginald and getting his approval.  But her siblings rallied behind her.  In a manner of speaking, they had a personal investment as well, which was not to disappoint their siblings.  

Klaus and Vanya were the only two who seemed mostly unconcerned; he and Vanya were the top-performing students.  Klaus studied little and took nothing seriously, but he had also never taken a test alone; it was not at all uncommon for his whispering to get so irritating during exams that the others would throw pencils at him when Pogo wasn’t looking.

“I think we’ll do fine,” said Allison that night as they settled into one of the studies to open up their textbooks.  “Usually summer exams are only written, right?”

“I don’t think there’s an oral component this term,” confirmed Luther.  “But we should probably ask Dad just to make sure.”

“D-don’t!” blurted Diego, eyes wide.

Over the next few days, Diego became an unlikely ally.  He did not want to be the one to be responsible for Allison’s or Ben’s failure, and in the evenings, he paced the study, reciting speeches he had memorized, his brow furrowing in concentration.  When he got stuck, he would stop pacing, his expression growing distant as he paused, and then he would spit out the next word like a curse.  

“...to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced,” he stated one evening.  “It is rather for us to be here d-d-d--”  He stopped.  His brow scrunched.  “Dedicated! to the great task remaining before us.  That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that c-c-c… cuh…”  He paused again, standing over Luther’s book.

Luther looked up at him with an annoyed expression.  “You’re blocking my light,” he said grouchily.

“Cause!” barked Diego, resuming his pacing, “for which they gave the last full measure of devotion.  That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in v.. vuh… vuh… v…”  

“Vain!  Vain!” snapped Luther, losing patience.

Diego let out a strangled yell of pure annoyance and threw a pen at his textbook hard enough to pierce through several pages and stick upright in the book.  He stormed out, leaving Ben, with a sigh, to go after him to try to calm him down.

In fairness, Luther was struggling under his own burden.  Diego’s fear of being Number Two to Luther was parallel to Luther’s fear of failure as Number One.  The reality of the situation was that, although Luther was generally good in physics and math and sciences that captured his interests, like aviation, he was simply terrible at chemistry.  He enlisted Klaus’s help, which was truly an act of desperation.  Klaus had summoned Marie Curie during a recent test, which was probably why Luther thought of it.

They met in the chemistry lab in the afternoon to work on their homework together.  Klaus was sitting on a lab bench sipping on a glass of juice with a slightly unfocused look.

“Alright.  Chemistry!” he said over-enthusiastically, as Luther flipped open his lab notebook.

“Chemistry!” agreed Luther.

“Let’s start simple,” said Klaus.  Luther nodded agreeably.  “Ethylene glycol can be produced by reacting ethylene oxide with water.  If 50% of the ethylene oxide is pure, how much ethylene glycol will we get?”

Luther scribbled furiously.  “Assuming one gram of--”

“Did you know converting disaccharides into ethanol just needs yeast?” interrupted Klaus.

“Oh,” said Luther.  “So I think--”

“You can also reduce dimethoxybenzaldehyde into alcohol.  If you add sodium borohydride,” interrupted Klaus, flopping back onto the bench with a yawn and dumping his empty juice glass into one of the lab sinks.

Luther frowned and glanced over at one of the chemical racks.  “Klaus, why is the ethanol bottle empty?” he demanded.

“It evaporates,” said Klaus.  His words were slightly slurred.  

Luther’s frown deepened; he reached for the glass in the sink and sniffed.  “Did this orange juice go bad, or did you add ethanol?” he demanded.

“If it went bad, adding ethanol would disinfect it,” argued Klaus.  “Wow, Luther, I’m trying to tutor you.  Do you want to pass chemistry or not?”  He rolled over and fell off of the lab counter with a thud.  Luther peeked around the corner; Klaus was snoring softly.  Luther covered him in his jacket and hunkered down over his notebook, resolving to study alone, and making a mental note that, after exams were over, he should probably organize some sort of intervention for Klaus, whose abuse of the lab chemicals had recently passed the threshold from fun to annoying.

---

While Diego and Luther struggled to elevate their academic deficiencies, it was uniformly understood, if unspoken, that Ben was the most likely to impede their success.  He had struggled consistently with math: algebra, trigonometry, and calculus stumped him.  For several days, he spent hours anguishing over his math book, a fist in his hair, resulting in a permanent crinkle that no amount of brushing would get rid of.  Allison took pity on him and combed in some conditioner in an effort to try to fix it.  

She also made a recommendation: Ben needed tutoring.

Ben had gone to Vanya a few times in the past for help, but their relationship had never been formalized, perhaps because of Vanya’s distance to the rest of them.  She kept to herself and they ignored her.  But everyone’s grades spoke for themselves.  Vanya was good at math.  Really good.  Since Five’s disappearance, she had been catapulted into the position as the Academy’s resident mathematical genius.  

And so on the Thursday following their conversation with Reginald, everyone agreed, on Vanya’s and Ben’s behalf, that Vanya was formally in charge of fixing Ben’s math grades.  Vanya and Ben had little say in this.  Allison demanded it, after which Luther decreed it, after which Diego insisted upon it.  Ben and Vanya accepted that, as the two lowest numbers, they owed it to the rest to follow the prescribed course of action.

Ben appeared in Vanya’s room that afternoon with his math book, looking exhausted.  He had been staying up late trying, desperately, to comprehend the equations that eluded him.

If nothing else, at least, they were united by their mourning for Five.  He had always liked Ben and Vanya.  They were quiet and were good listeners; Five had loved to deliver lofty rhetoric to them while they sat quietly and nodded.  

“Hey,” said Ben.

“Hey,” said Vanya.  She had been sitting at her desk, writing in a journal.  She closed it and reached above her to set it on a shelf, where it blended in perfectly with eighteen other identical volumes.  She scooted her chair aside and Ben sat on the end of her twin bed, opening his book on her desk and leaning forward.

“I got about halfway through yesterday’s homework,” he informed her.  “I’m stuck on number seventy-five, part C.  I can’t concentrate.  I’ve been having weird cramps all morning.”

“Oh,” said Vanya, who had already completed the homework and didn’t remember number seventy-five, let alone part C, since all of the questions had had at least six parts.  “Do you want to start there, or...?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ben, then blurted, “I’m worried I’m gonna be the reason Dad doesn’t let us go.  He has to sign a bunch of paperwork and give us our transcripts and stuff, and without him, we won’t even be able to pay for it, or get loans or whatever.  It’s so complicated, Vanya, and if I can’t even understand basic trigonometric functions or differential calculus, then how am I going to figure out how Ultimate Frisbee works?”

Vanya looked surprised at this candid confession.  No one usually told her that much about what they thought.  “Ultimate Frisbee?” she asked in confusion.

“It’s on my bucket list.  I want to play it.  If it’s safe,” explained Ben.  He winced and wrapped his arms protectively around his torso.

“In the next chapter, there’s a problem with frisbee.  We can start there instead,” said Vanya sympathetically.  She had read ahead out of boredom.  Reginald rarely assigned word problems; he thought the stories were “frivolous.”  Vanya flipped forward to a question about angular velocity; there was a small line drawing of a young man tossing a frisbee.  Ben leaned forward to squint at it.

“That’s frisbee?” he asked incredulously.  “...he’s just throwing a pie tin.  We could do that on the roof.”

“Maybe Ultimate Frisbee is different.  Maybe they put knives on the pie tin,” suggested Vanya.

“Diego would love that.”  Ben bounced his pencil on the page.  “Okay, so…”

“Okay, so, in this problem, we need to find the angle subtended by an arc on the circle,” explained Vanya.  “First, we’re going to calculate the uniform circular motion.  If you put a ladybug on the frisbee, it would move around at a constant velocity.”

“Linear velocity,” said Ben, nodding, putting the tip of his pencil to the paper.  It broke.  “Crap.”

“I got it,” said Vanya, opening her desk drawer to pull out a pack of new yellow pencils, each already sharpened.  She handed Ben one.

“Thanks.  Diego said you’d be able to handle me,” joked Ben, wincing again and clutching his side.

“Diego said that?” asked Vanya in surprise.

“Yeah, he talks about you all the time,” said Ben, equally surprised.  “You didn’t notice?”

“No.  He’s usually just really mean to me.”

“He’s mean to everyone.  He likes you,” said Ben confidently.  He was writing out the equation for linear velocity on the page, so he missed Vanya’s smile.

“Do you like me?” asked Vanya, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I do.  You’re my sister.  Plus, you’re helping me with math, and if I don’t pass, Dad won’t let me go to college,” said Ben, flipping his pencil around to erase an error.  “There’s actually a bunch of paperwork he needs to sign before we can go, y’know?”

“Oh,” said Vanya.  After a moment, she said, awkwardly, “...sounds like you’ve got two problems with co-signs.”

“Cosines,” repeated Ben, then got it and laughed.  “You’re actually pretty funny, Vanya.”

“You think I’m funny?”

“Yeah, I guess.  Is this right?” asked Ben, flipping around his legal pad to show his calculations.

Before Vanya could reply, there was a sudden klaxon from the hallway, accompanied by flashing red lights.  The Umbrella Academy had never had a fire drill; they all knew that sirens were a call to arms, not a warning.

Many months later, Allison would grab a domino mask out of habit when the fire alarms went off at her dorm, and would don her old Academy jumpsuit out of habit.  She would react with confusion when her roommate told her they had to go outside.  There were no bad guys outside, and she had not understood the point of going outside in the middle of the night only to return inside twenty minutes later without having fought anyone.  She had rumored everyone into forgetting that she had attended a fire drill in her old Umbrella Academy outfit, because it had been a moment of mortifying embarrassment in an otherwise smooth freshman year.

The sirens wailed.

Ben shoved his homework away and rose to hurry off to his room to get suited up.  Vanya picked up his notepad after him and ran to the door after him.  “Bye, Ben!” she called.  “Good luck on your mission!”

He disappeared into his room, leaving Vanya clutching his half-finished math homework.

While he struggled into his mission jumpsuit, Reginald’s voice rang out, as hard and clear as polished glass: “Umbrella Academy, report to the Minerva on sub-level two!”

This perked everyone’s interest.  They took the car to local missions and flew on airplanes to international ones, and once or twice, they had taken the Televator, which was very fast but highly impractical and cost a lot of money, and had gotten quite cramped since everyone’s most recent growth spurt.  

But the Minerva, Reginald’s personal aircraft, was reserved for time-sensitive and highly important missions.  They only boarded it once or twice a year and it was always the prologue to a very exciting mission.

Ben hurried out of his room to collide with Luther; he bounced and nearly fell, but Luther caught him.  “Careful, Number Six!” said Luther, his tone full of importance and official seriousness.

“Sorry, Number One!” replied Ben with equal seriousness.

“KLAUS, DON’T FORGET YOUR BOARD!” yelled Luther, breaking the formality of the moment.

A Ouija Board flew out of Klaus’s room in response and would have hit Luther if Diego hadn’t appeared and caught it with a smirk.  “Saved your life,” he informed Luther smugly, tossing the board lightly to him.

“Thanks, Diego,” said Luther, who somehow managed to roll his eyes beneath his domino mask in a way that was visible.

The five teens managed to get dressed and squeeze into the industrial lift in less than two minutes, which put them all in a good mood because it meant they were operating with peak efficiency.  This was a good omen and boded well for the upcoming mission.

They chatted as the elevator rattled its way into the massive, subterranean complex that existed beneath the Academy.  They went down rarely.  The semi-basement of the house included an old butcher shop that had been retrofitted into a kitchen, a pantry, Pogo’s quarters, a wine cellar, and general storage; the first basement, labeled as sub-level 1, included a bomb shelter, a telecom room only Reginald ever went into, Reginald’s valet’s quarters, another wine cellar, a coal cellar, a repair room for the Minerva, and an escape tunnel that included a few isolation rooms that had been used only once when Vanya was five and had had diphtheria.

The entirety of sub-level 2 was the hangar for the Minerva, which sat there like a sleeping dragon under the Academy and was only used in emergencies.

“So what do you guys think it is this time?” asked Klaus from the back, as Luther pulled the grate closed and pressed the button for sub-level 2.  The lift rattled as it descended.

“We haven’t heard from Obscura for a while,” said Diego.

“Dad wouldn’t skip a briefing and have us come straight to the Minerva over Obscura.  I bet it’s the Vulture Wake Gang,” said Allison.

“No, they broke up like two years ago after Rüppell died,” said Klaus.  “Bet you it’s the Knockerupper again.”

“Oh, my God, Rüppell died?” asked Luther, shocked.  

“Yeah, did you not notice that they stopped robbing the credit union?  Geez, Luther, wake up.  Anyway, the Knockerupper--”

“The Knockerupper?  Give me a break.  She’s not gonna be let out of Shinyview for at least six more years,” said Ben.

“Hey, isn’t the Hitch-hiker still out there?” asked Luther.

The lift came to a stop with a jolt, eliciting a groan from Ben, and Luther pulled back the grate.  They stepped out into the hangar that occupied sub-level 2.  It was larger than the living room, grand entrance hall, and sitting room at the front of the house.  The widest part of it was over sixty meters wide; the room was cavernous.  The walls were lit with sconces that did little to reach the upper ceiling of the enormous basement.  Their footsteps echoed as they strode toward the center of the room, where Reginald was waiting with clear impatience by the Minerva’s loading ramp beside his valet, Abhijat.  The Minerva’s engines hummed, sending vibrations up through the poured concrete floor.

Luther nodded to Reginald and Abhijat as he stepped aboard.  Single-file and in order, his siblings followed, also nodding, mostly to Abhijat, who lived in the complex below the Academy and wasn’t seen often.  Once they were all aboard, Reginald turned on his heel and walked after them, and the ramp sealed shut behind him with a pneumatic hiss.

They knew better than to ask where they were going or why; Reginald, who was famously impatient, could not stand impatience in others and would only chide them.  They sat on the benches inside the aircraft, giving each other questioning looks.  Ben was gripping his right side with a scrunched-up face; Klaus had his arms wrapped around his Ouija board.  Everyone grabbed at one of the straps dangling from the ceiling as the craft lurched forward.

The entrance to sub-level 2 for the Minerva was an empty lot two blocks away from the Academy itself, and the moment the doors had pulled away and the Minerva had risen into the sky and taken off, the hum of the engines died down from a roar to a hum, and the shaking of the vehicle subsided enough for everyone to let go.  Ben remained hanging on, face pinched.

“My side hurts,” he confessed.

“Your stomach always hurts.  It’s psychosomatic,” said Klaus.

“You’re excited because this is going to be a big mission,” agreed Diego.

“Remember, Ben, don’t hold back,” advised Luther.  “Dad’s expecting more since you want to go to college.”

Ben sighed.

“I think Diego’s right,” insisted Allison, clearly not wanting to let it go until Ben agreed.  “It’s just nerves.”

“You agree with me?  Wow, the world must be ending.”

“Shut up, Diego.  ...you’re just excited, Ben.  Try to relax,” said Allison.

Ben let out another weary sigh and leaned against Diego, flopping his head onto his shoulder.  “It’s really bad.”

“Well, don’t let Them out yet, or Dad’ll lose his mind,” advised Klaus.

“You’ll feel better after you let Them out and the mission’s over,” Luther reassured him.

Ben stopped complaining but didn’t stop clutching his side until Reginald appeared in the storage hold.  When he did, everyone straightened up, excited to learn where they were going, and why.

“The President and his Cabinet are in dire need of your help, Umbrella Academy.  At a stamp dedication ceremony at the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Post-Master General has taken everyone hostage and is threatening to drown them unless his demands are met.  I expect you to apprehend the miscreants, rescue the hostages, and don’t get any stamps wet.  Oh, and do try to minimize loss of life.”

“Yes, sir,” they all chimed.  

The Minerva powered north, finding a slip-stream and whooshing forward, toward danger, toward excitement.

---

The Post-Master General paced beside the shark tank, his hands behind his back.  “Demand number six.  I want the Pentagon’s budget, resources, and personnel to be placed under the authority of the post office, including the Department of Defense.”

“You’re a madman!” said the President, struggling.  He was tied to his chair, which was dangling over the tank; beside him were the Vice President, the Secretary of Defense, the Treasurer, the Attorney General, and the Surgeon General.  Their chairs were twisting slowly and ominously over the surface of the water, and the shadows of sharks were circling below.

Until the Post-Master had showed up, the stamp dedication ceremony had been a fairly cheerful affair in the aquarium’s main atrium, with a large, colorful banner showing off the new stamp booklet that featured starfish, clownfish, angelfish, and a lone yellow tang.  The banner was still up but the chairs had all been knocked around, and the small stage once occupied by the President was now occupied by the Post-Master General.

“Demand number seven,” continued the Post-Master General, ignoring the criticism.  Behind him, a group of hostages watched silently, their hands tied.  The Post-Master General was a short man who wore a jacket like Napoleon’s and a tall hat like a toy soldier’s, which did not match his plain brown shorts or his sturdy brown shoes.  However, he had brought a small militia of armed goons with him, dressed in strange uniforms that looked like armored mail carriers, so aside from a few brave comments from the President, everyone else was letting him rant.

“Demand number seven,” he repeated, pausing to finger the medals on his chest.  (He had purchased them on eBay.)  “I would like the head of Fed-Ex and UPS to be summarily executed on live, national television.”

“...what about the head of DHL?” asked the President after a moment of consideration.

“He… may live,” decided the Post-Master General.  He resumed pacing.  “Demand number eight--”

A sudden crash interrupted him, and he whipped around to find five teens in matching jumpsuits standing in front of a large, recently broken plate-glass window.

Luther, at the front of their formation, pointed dramatically.  “Not if we have anything to say about it, Post-Master General!”

The timing was off, but the hostages all cheered anyway. 

“Well, well.  If it isn’t the Umbrella Academy,” sneered the General.  “You’re too late, my little ones.  As you can see, I have the situation entirely under my control.  Neither wind, nor rain, nor sleet, nor hail, nor a bunch of bratty teenagers can stop my master plan!”

“That’s what you think.  You’re about to get stamped out!” said Luther.  (Diego slipped him a subtle high-five.)

“Demand number eight,” said the General, turning and resuming his pacing.  “I would like my face on a stamp--”

“Now you’ve gone too far!” shouted Klaus.  “Stamps are for the dead; they don’t honor living people!”

“Get him!” yelled Luther, and with that, the five teens ran forward together.

The General cackled as his goons turned and raced toward them.  But all five had been trained in hand-to-hand since they could walk, and they had no fear of guns.  No one wanted to shoot a child, and the Post-Master General’s small team of henchmen were quickly disarmed.  A few expressed disbelief at the height and accuracy of Allison’s kicks; she could, and had, kicked an apple off of Vanya’s head several times, so a gun was child’s play.

The General seemed unfazed to watch a dozen of his men getting thrown around like rag dolls by Luther, have chairs thrown at them by Diego, take uppercuts to the jaw by Allison, get dropped to the ground by Klaus, and keel over gasping for air after getting elbowed in the throat by Ben.  In fact, he seemed amused to watch the teens struggling with his henchmen.

“Allison, get the President!” instructed Luther as he yanked another henchmen into a half-Nelson.

Allison turned.  “Post-Master!” she yelled.  “I heard a rumor that you let the President and the rest of the Cabinet go!”

The Post-Master General’s eyes glazed.  He pulled a large button from the pocket of his shorts and pressed it.  A moment later, he blinked, and then suddenly laughed.  “A poor choice of words, Rumor!”

“Uh-oh,” said Allison.

The President and his Cabinet screamed as, suddenly, the hooks that suspended their ropes released them.  Six chairs plunged into the shark tank before.  The crowd of hostages gasped in horror.

“Diego!” yelled Luther.

Diego looked up from where he and Ben had been pummeling a henchmen.  His eyes lit up.  “Say the line,” he whispered.

Luther stared at him incredulously, but then, gathering his voice, he yelled: “RELEASE… THE KRAKEN!”

Diego’s face split into a massive grin and he ran.  Two henchmen tried to block him; he skidded under them, righted himself, and kept running.  A third tried to block him.  Ben tackled him, and Diego leaped over them.  He sprinted to the tank, vaulted onto the stage, and dove with perfect form, barely even making a splash; he swam down toward the six people struggling at the bottom, grabbed two, and began dragging them, chair and all, to the surface.

In the atrium, Luther picked a man up and flung him into three who were charging him.  He turned to speak to Klaus, who had grabbed a woman from behind and was climbing all over her back like a spider-monkey.

“Klaus!  Stop goofing off and go get to the General!”

“You can’t hold off all these guys by yourself, Number One!”

“Me and Ben can!  Go!  Before he goes postal!”

“He just tried to kill the President, Luther.  I think we’re past that!” replied Klaus, dropping his elbow onto another assailant.  But once he had knocked down the person he was fighting, he turned and raced after the General, leaving Luther and Ben to do the fighting.

Allison had run over to the tank to haul out the soggy Treasurer and Attorney General, who were still tied to their chairs.  Diego had already dove down to rescue the next two: the Secretary of State and the Surgeon General.  The President and Vice President struggled, small bubbles escaping from their mouths.  The sharks circled closer, drawn by their thrashing.

“There’s too many.  Number Six, you have to unleash the Horrors!” yelled Luther.

“But there are hostages nearby!” replied Ben.

“Do it, Horror!” called one of the hostages.

“Do it!  Do it!  Do it!” they all began chanting.

“Now’s no time to be shy, Ben!  You can control them!  We believe in you!” yelled Luther as a man grabbed his arm; he swung, flinging the man across the atrium.  He hit the shark tank, which cracked.

Under water, Diego turned to give Luther a dirty look.  He was swimming toward the last two prisoners in the tank, who had stopped moving and whose heads were lolling limply.  The sharks had closed in.  Diego grabbed the back of the Vice President’s chair, but had to turn to punch a shark in the nose as it snapped at him.  He twisted underwater, letting go of the chair to unsheathe a knife and slash at a hammerhead.  A tiger shark swung around; Diego elbowed it; a nurse shark glided past and he kicked it in the gills.  

The Post-Master General was taking advantage of the chaos (most people were watching Diego fight sharks and Luther fight the henchmen) to run toward a fire escape, clutching fists full of stamps.

Suddenly Klaus appeared, blocking his path, his eyes glazed over with white.  He raised a hand.  “Stop!” he barked, voice oddly deep.

The Post-Master General stopped.  “I don’t want to fight you, Séance!  Let me leave, or I’ll be forced to--”

“It is I, the first Post-Master General: Benjamin Franklin.  Unhand those stamps!”

The Post-Master General’s jaw dropped.  “Mr. Franklin, is that really you?”

“Verily, it is I, and what regret I feel to see my institution, meant to uphold the freedom of speech, communication, and open discourse to be used in such an uncouth manner as this!” said Benjamin Franklin through Klaus.

The Post-Master General’s shoulders sagged.  “Mr. Franklin, I only wanted a stamp with my face on it and for the entire armed forces to be under my command.  I never meant to disrespect the post office!”

“Your behavior is a self-serving embarrassment!  The post office is perhaps the only American institution meant to exist without ego, meant to serve the people with full humility and in the spirit of service.  For shame.  For shaaaame!” said Benjamin Franklin.

“But I’ve done lots of good things for the post office, too!” argued the Post-Master General.

“It takes many good deeds to build a good reputation, but only one bad one to lose it.  Do you know who said that?  I diiid! ” wailed Benjamin Franklin.

The Post-Master General dropped the stamps in his hands and fell to his knees.  “Forgive me, Benjamin Franklin!”

Across the room, a cheer went up as Diego, kicking a pair of sharks away, finally hauled the President and the Vice President to the surface of the water.  He cut away the ropes tying them to their chairs and pushed their limp bodies over the edge; Allison grabbed the President and began performing CPR on him.

“Call off your militia, General.  Let the stamps go, and turn your sight to some other endeavor!” said Benjamin Franklin.

“Like what?” asked the Post-Master General helplessly.

“You could fly a kite.  Or take a mistress.  Or invent an automated machine for stitching so that your mistress has more time for you,” suggested Benjamin Franklin.

“What, like a sewing machine?”

“...has that been invented?  Very good!” said Benjamin Franklin.  “Now unhand the stamps!”

The Post-Master General’s fists uncurled and about a dozen booklets of stamps featuring sea creatures like the ones Diego had just punched floated to the floor.

The hostages cheered.  The President came to, suddenly, coughing out water; Allison helped him sit up and whacked him on the back a few times to help him clear his lungs.

It seemed like they had won, but one of the henchmen suddenly yelled, “What, we’re just giving up because of a bunch of teens and some old dead guy told us to?  Are you guys serious?  I’m not going to jail over this!  I was promised free stamps!”  He pointed his gun into the air and fired.  The hostages all screamed and covered their heads.

“I’m a founding father!” said Benjamin Franklin in an offended tone, putting his hands on his hips.

“You weren’t even a president!”

“I’m on the hundred-dollar bill!”

“I’ve never seen a hundred-dollar bill!  Do you think I’d be a criminal if I had money?  He pays us in stamps, for crying out loud!” said the henchman.  He grabbed the nearest hostage, a heavy-set woman with glasses and red hair, and pointed the gun at her head.  “I’m in charge now!  It’s a paradigm shift!  The Post-Master General may have surrendered, but I won’t!  Hand over all the stamps or I’ll make this woman into a special delivery!”

“Ben!” hissed Luther.  “Ben!  Now!  Unleash them!  ...do it!”

Ben stared, wide-eyed, frozen.

“Ben!  You can’t be scared; you have to do it!  Let them out!  Don’t hold back!  Now, Ben!”

Ben reached down to pull apart his jumpsuit in the middle, and with a scream, a mass of tentacles erupted.  It was not the usual four or even six, like sometimes; there were at least nine, all different shapes, as if different beasts were jostling to rip out of him, and they were dripping with a black, viscous goo.  The smell alone was disarming; it was metallic and burning and putrid all at once, and at the center of Ben’s torso, where the tentacles emerged, there were a dozen more small appendages, claws, beaks, insect-like mandibles, thrashing, gnashing, squirming, groping desperately to get through the portal and into the human world.

Everyone screamed.  The tentacles went straight for the henchman with the gun; four grabbed his limbs independently and yanked, and a fifth squeezed around his neck.  The tearing noises were unholy; several hostages promptly began vomiting, and Benjamin Franklin shouted, “Oh, bugger!”

“Stop him!  Stop him!” shrieked one of the other henchmen as a tentacle coiled around his torso like a boa constrictor.

Another henchmen ran forward and kicked Ben in the side.  It wasn’t a well-aimed kick and glanced off of his side, but Ben spasmed like he had been shot, and in an instant, the tentacles had vanished, sucked back into his body, which for a split second stood as still as a statue, and then collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

“Holy shit!” yelled Allison.

“Holy shit!  Kid, are you okay?” yelled the henchman who had kicked Ben.  He seemed to forget for a moment that he was holding a gun, and he knelt to check on Ben.  Luther punched him in the back of the head.  

“We surrender!  We surrender!” yelled one of the other henchmen, laying down his weapon, and quickly everyone else dropped theirs and put their hands in the air.

“You did it, Umbrella Academy!” said the President, who was soaking wet and looked a little dazed.  “You saved my life, and the stamps!” 

“And the hostages!” said the Vice President.

“Hey, does that kid need help?  We have the Surgeon General right here,” said the President.

“Naw, he’s fine.  Just shook up,” said Luther.  “Number Six?  ...hey, Six?  ...Ben…?”  He frowned and knelt, giving Ben’s shoulder a small shake.  “Ben?  Wake up.  Ben?”

There was a flurry of activity as the police burst in to arrest the henchmen and the Post-Master General.  

Klaus staggered up, pale and sweaty, looking shook up.  “What happened?  Did we win?” he asked in confusion.  Diego ran over, his shoes squishing with water, soaking wet.  Allison ran after him.  

The three of them clustered around Luther, who was trying to get Ben to sit up.  “Ben?  Ben, you have to wake up.  Dad’s gonna be here soon,” said Luther anxiously.

“Too late!” said Diego, and they all snapped to attention as Reginald walked in, surveying the surroundings imperiously.  It was a disaster: there was water all over the floor, the banner over the atrium had fallen to the ground, there was blood splattered all over the windows, and in the tank, several tiger sharks were floating belly-up.  The police were handcuffing the Post-Master’s goons and paramedics were checking in on the hostages; several men in black suits and sunglasses had already rushed in to surround the President.

“So!” said Reginald, approaching.

Allison knelt hastily next to Ben.  “I heard a rumor that you’re fine,” she whispered.

Ben’s eyes snapped open; he got up stiffly, just in time to see Reginald stride over.

“The Post-Master General has been thwarted, I take it?” asked Reginald.

“Yes, sir,” said Luther.

“A commendable performance,” said Reginald, and everyone exchanged surprised looks.  Reginald had never before told them their performance was “commendable.”  Sometimes, it was “adequate.”

With Allison’s and Diego’s help, Ben was hauled to his feet.  He was somehow paler than Klaus, his skin a clammy grey and shining with sweat.  He looked like he wanted to puke.

“Are you okay?” whispered Klaus.

“Just give me a second.  I’m fine,” whispered Ben back.  

The kids followed Reginald back to the Minerva.  On the ride home, as the adrenaline wore off, they all began noticing their injuries.  Klaus had sprained his wrist at some point; Allison had a massive bruise on her eye.  Luther had a gnash on his collarbone from a knife he didn’t even remember getting that would probably need stitches.  Diego’s hands were raw from punching sharks.  

But injuries aside, they all found each other grinning at one another as they approached home.  Reginald said nothing to them after they had landed; they crammed into the elevator together to go to their rooms and in hushed, excited tones, began reviewing the mission for one another.

“I saved the president!” said Diego excitedly.

“Me, too!” said Allison.

“Benjamin Franklin was there!” said Klaus.

“And speaking of Ben… you did it, Ben, you finally let them out for real!  And they only attacked the bad guys!” said Luther, giving Ben a friendly punch on the arm.

Ben smiled weakly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I did, huh?”

“You earned a night off, Ben.  Give yourself a break from math for the night.  ...no way Dad will keep us from going to college after that performance!” said Allison.

“Dad can be a hard-ass sometimes, but all our training really paid off, didn’t it?” asked Diego.

“Dad didn’t even comment on how you fainted at the end, Ben,” added Klaus.

“I fainted?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, no one even noticed.”

The lift came to a halt and they stepped out into the hall.  They peeled off their jumpsuits, all of which were in need of a wash, and fought over the shower.

Too excited to go back to their homework, they congregated in Luther’s room to recount the mission highlights until Grace rang the bell for dinner.  They all marched downstairs to eat while listening to a record, secretly smiling at each other when Reginald wasn’t looking.  They were all still thrilled and a little jittery, and it made them fairly disinterested in their food.  In fact, when Ben asked to be excused without eating a single bite, Reginald gruffly dismissed him, and he went up to his room to lie down, leaving the plate untouched for Grace to clear away.

Chapter 18: Ben

After successful missions, there was always a sense of elation that lasted days.  Everyone performed better in training, felt more confident in their classes, and got along better with each other.  Though their exams loomed, Reginald’s curt decree of their latest mission being “commendable” gave everyone a certain amount of hope for the future.  The excitement of the mission kept everyone up late that night, even Luther, who played loud music from his room until 1:30 in the morning.

The late night should have made getting up hard.  Usually, they were roused around 5:30 a.m. and expected to be at morning briefing by 6 a.m. sharp.  But their excitement carried over to the next morning, and the bathroom endured its usual stampede of teenagers.  Luther and Diego elbowed each other for use of the sink; Allison ducked back and forth behind them, trying to use the mirror to brush out her hair.  

Vanya rose early with the rest, but because she was the last number, she had to wait her turn, and she stood in the hallway watching the three of them jostling for space.  Klaus wandered from his room last, yawning, his hair a mess.  He sat on the floor of the hallway to wait next to Ben, back against the floor, forearms on his knees.  After five minutes, he said, “Can I at least get my toothbrush?”

Diego flung it at him; it hit the wall.

“Hey!  You nearly hit me!” cried Ben.

“Yeah!  Watch it, jerk!” cried Klaus.  “Also, some toothpaste would be ni-- duck!”

Ben ducked in time to avoid the tube of toothpaste that came flying out of the bathroom.

“I hate being Number Four,” grumbled Klaus, putting some toothpaste on his brush and beginning to brush without water in the hallway.

“You should try being Number Six,” said Ben.

After Luther, Diego, and Allison were finished, Klaus, Ben, and Vanya hurried in to clean themselves up.  Klaus and Ben loped down the stairs for the briefing, leaving Vanya to her own devices; she was present for meals such as breakfast, but was under no obligation to make it to the morning briefing, and as she’d grown older, she was more and more liable to skip it, or at least to watch from the mezzanine like a ghost instead of joining the group on the ground floor as if she belonged.

Klaus and Ben skidded into the main hall with only a minute to spare.  Reginald was already waiting, with Luther on his right, and Diego and Allison on his left.  Klaus and Ben completed the circle.  They all waited.  The grandfather clock in the hall went off, chiming out six tones that echoed in the hall because of the high ceilings and the hard tile floor.

Everyone waited, secretly hoping Reginald would begin by giving them another compliment on their mission the previous day.

Instead, he pulled out his pocket watch, checked it, wound it, held it up to his ear to confirm that it was ticking properly, and then checked it again.

They all looked at each other in confusion.

One hand on his cane and the other holding his watch, Reginald allowed silence to spool out.  He checked it again, then looked at the stairs, then checked the watch a third time.

Allison got Luther’s eye and raised her eyebrows.  Luther offered an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  

After two minutes of awkwardly standing there, Ben finally said, “Sir?  ...what are we waiting for?”

Reginald did not answer.  He checked his pocket-watch again instead, frowning.

“Sir?” prompted Klaus.

“Yes, Number Four?”

“What are we waiting for?”

“For Number Six,” said Reginald, looking increasingly irritated.

“To do what?” asked Ben, looking worried.  He was obviously in trouble.

Reginald continued to ignore him and instead checked his pocket watch, this time punctuating the action with a loud, irritated sigh.

Ben cast a helpless look around at his siblings, searching for an answer, but no one seemed to want to make eye contact.  If they knew what he had done wrong, then they didn’t seem to want to involve themselves.  Perhaps because doing so would be likely to incur Reginald’s second-hand wrath.

“Dad?” asked Klaus meekly.

“What, Number Four?”

“What do you want?”

“For there to be some basic semblance of respect toward the Academy’s schedule, which is well-established and should not need any explanation,” said Reginald furiously.  “Is it not a Friday, Number Four?  Is it not 6:03 a.m. on a Friday?  Have you and your siblings not attended our morning meeting at 6 a.m. every day between Monday and Saturday for the last thirteen and a half years?  And did I not explicitly tell all of you on Tuesday that today would be our annual portraiture sitting?”

“Yes, sir,” said Luther meekly, who felt that, as the leader, he needed to help calm Reginald down after Klaus’s outburst. 

“And you understand, don’t you, that the portraiture sitting will take several hours, in addition to your usual course of studies, which means it is imperative that we maintain a rigorously observed schedule?”

“Yes, sir,” said Diego meekly, who felt that, as the leader, he needed to help calm Reginald down after Klaus’s outburst.

“And it’s unacceptably rude of you to Dennis--”  (Dennis, the portraiture artist, was standing off to the side with Pogo, wearing a jaunty black beret and clutching a fistful of brushes and trying not to look embarrassed on the kids’ behalf as Reginald berated them.)  “--to disrespect his time, especially since he had the courtesy to arrive here at the appointed hour, on time, without being reminded at all?  You do all remember being reminded about the portraiture sitting today, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Allison meekly, who felt that getting Reginald this worked up had obliterated any goodwill they had garnered from the previous day, and was now trying to run damage control to help calm Reginald down after Klaus’s outburst.

“So it’s not unreasonable, is it, to expect all of you to be present at the expected hour on the expected day, just as you have for the last four thousand, six hundred, and forty-eight days?”

“But I was here before the clock rang!” protested Ben, looking devastated that he had caused such a stir, but Reginald was already cutting him off.

“There is no excuse for this behavior.  You must all hold yourselves accountable.  If one of you is absent, then this reflects a failure to cooperate, something with which I shall not abide.”

“But I’m right here,” said Ben.

“He’s right here,” repeated Klaus, gesturing at Ben.

Everyone stared at Klaus, and then their eyes slid over to the space next to him.

Reginald’s eyes widened fractionally, the anger disappeared, and the color drained from his face.  He threw his cane onto the ground and, with shocking dexterity for a man his age, tore up the staircase toward the dormitories.

The kids wasted no time in running after him.  They were all alarmed and confused, but they reacted before they even thought.  They had never seen Reginald lose his composure before, so it was frightening, but they had trained not to be frightened, and to run toward danger instead of away from it.

And perhaps some part of each of them felt that this was a new test, or some sort of special, surprise training exercise.  Because that would be preferable to the truth, to the impending horrible reality which was rushing at them like a charging rhino and could not be stopped.

Reginald ran up the stairs and Luther followed shortly behind; behind him, Diego, Allison, and Klaus jockeyed for second position, leaving Dennis and Pogo calling after them, unable to keep up.

Reginald came to the third floor and strode down the hall in a walk that was closer to a run, grabbing the doorknob to Ben’s room and yanking it open.

Luther skidded to his side and reeled back at the smell.

Ben was in his bed, lying on his back, eyes and mouth open.  His pajama shirt had been torn open and most of his abdomen, as well.  Perhaps aware that its host was dying and this was its last chance to escape, the creature, or creatures, that lived within him had made a final, desperate attempt to leave their world and venture into another; from Ben’s midsection, two massive tentacles had emerged.  They lay on the floor, unmoving, their puce skin rough as leather and covered in a coat of congealed slime.  Ben’s clothes were completely soaked in a black fluid like motor oil, along with the bedsheets and the floor.  The walls and ceilings were splattered with it, too, where it had dripped down in stark contrast to the very human blood, the splashes of red that were already drying dark.  Below the tentacles was a large hump of flesh, a pock-marked, scarred piece of meat with pale, raised, gnarled scars that spoke of an existence of unimaginable, inexpressible pain.  Maybe it was a shoulder, or a knee; the context was lost because it had gotten wedged in the portal between a large, insectoid set of mandibles that were as razor-sharp as a needle and covered in bristled hair, and a shiny black beak that had apparently been broken in the struggle.  The jaws of the beak did not align and it had bitten its own tongue, piercing the fleshy muscle with its cruel hook; beside it was a long, eel-like thing that ended in a hole of razor-sharp teeth, its lips peeled back in a permanent grimace, and two lumpy eyestalks with globs of reddish compound eyes that had already glazed over white, and a pincer-like, chitinous claw that ended in a barbed hook.

The room was completely and supernaturally still, and so quiet that both Reginald and Luther heard the soft drip when a bead of blood fell from the beak’s tongue onto the growing puddle on the floor.

Reginald removed his handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his mouth and nose.

Diego, Allison, and Klaus skidded to a halt behind them.  Klaus clamped his hands over his ears and a second later began screaming.  

His wild screams echoed down the hall; he staggered back, shoving at the air like he was in some sort of terrible, tasteless mime act, fell, scrambled to his feet, and began running.  He didn’t stop screaming when he collided with Pogo and Dennis, not when he practically fell down the stairs; his screams were audible to the entire house, and when he got to the landing, Grace was there to gather him up into her arms and try to shush him.  She only partially succeeded; he was sobbing so loudly that it was impossible not to hear.  (Eventually, later on, she would drag him off to the medical wing to sedate him because he was having trouble breathing.)

“Oh my God.  Oh my God!” whispered Dennis, aghast.

“Number One,” said Reginald.

Luther looked at Reginald in pure shock.  Reginald stared back at him, handkerchief still pressed to his mouth.

Gingerly, Luther stepped into the room, wincing as he delicately navigated the puddles on the floor.  He reached out slowly with one shaking hand and poked the tentacle.

Glacially slow, it slid sideways off of Ben.  The end of it had been perfectly, neatly severed at the base.  When Ben had died, the portal had closed, and all of the things on the wrong side had ended up being sliced cleanly away from the body (or bodies) of the beasts whence they came.  Everyone watched the mass of tentacles, mandibles, and various appendages that had been balanced on Ben’s unmoving body slide slowly sideways, pausing for a split second before detaching for good and hitting the floor with a soft, wet slap, revealing Ben’s stomach, which was wide open and a shining, liquid puddle of viscera: smooth, dark pink intestines, red, raw muscle, black and brown bile, all of it with a smell so thick it could be tasted.

Luther stumbled back into the hallway, gagging, and made it only a few doors away before he vomited.  The sound of the sick gushing violently onto the wood interrupted the silence and drew everyone back into reality.

“What do we do, Dad?” asked Allison.  “...Dad?”

Reginald didn’t speak.  Luther was coughing weakly. 

“D-d-d-dad?” repeated Diego in a small voice.  

Reginald was silent.

“Well, Jesus Christ, don’t just stand there!  Call 9-1-1!” exclaimed Dennis finally, staring at all of them like they were insane.  He turned to Pogo.  “Where’s your phone?  You have to get paramedics in here!”

Perhaps due to shock, or just out of sheer force of habit, Pogo obeyed Dennis’s orders and showed him to the nearest phone.  Dennis dialed and told them they needed to send emergency responders to the Umbrella Academy mansion, immediately, because one of the children was dying.

This was not accurate.  Ben was not dying.  He had passed away during the night and it was clear no paramedic on earth could revive him.  His body was hard and cold, and when an ambulance arrived, they didn’t bother checking him for a pulse, they simply moved his unnaturally stiff, frozen body onto a gurney.

Reginald seemed to come to his senses when he realized there was a parade of strangers in his home.  “That won’t be necessary.  There’s a medical wing in the Academy,” he said as he followed the paramedics through the grand entrance hall.  They wheeled the gurney in front of them; they had covered Ben with a sheet.  Luther, Diego, and Allison walked after Reginald, wide-eyed; Allison and Diego were clutching each other’s hands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hargreeves,” said one of the EMTs.  “I really am.  You can come and see him at the hospital once he’s processed, and we’ll have a social worker who can talk to you about bringing him home.”

“Sir Hargreeves,” said Reginald.

“Where are they taking Ben?” asked Luther worriedly.  Although the paramedics had already told him twice that Ben was going to the hospital, he did not seem to understand why.

“Would you like to ride with him, Sir Hargreeves?” asked the paramedic in the same overly-gentle, sympathetic tone.  “I’m sorry, kids; I don’t think you’ll all fit in the ambulance.  But Detective Lupo here can follow right behind us.”

They all exchanged bewildered looks.  Everyone was acting wrong.  They didn’t know how to respond.

“Where’s your other brother?” Lupo asked Luther.

“Klaus?  He’s-- I don’t know,” admitted Luther, looking around as if checking to see if Klaus were hiding behind one of the pillars.

“He is with Grace, in the medical wing.  I’ll fetch him,” said Pogo, and turned to amble off.

“Hey.  You guys are all being very brave,” said Detective Lupo gently, putting a hand on Diego’s shoulder.  Diego’s lip trembled.

“Where are they taking Ben?” asked Luther again.

“Don’t worry, kids.  It’s going to be okay.  We’re going to take you and your dad to the hospital and make sure we take care of you, okay?”

Pogo and Grace returned, each gripping one of Klaus’s elbows.  His eyes were completely unfocused and his feet were dragging along the ground.  It was clear that, without their support, he would fall over.

“Hey, guys,” he slurred.

“Klaus, come on.  We’re going with Detective Lupo,” said Allison, looping her arm through his.

“Loooo-pooooh,” repeated Klaus slowly, grinning.

The police ushered the kids toward the door.  Reginald insisted on taking his own car and said he would prefer to keep the team together.  The kids were all secretly relieved because riding in a police car sounded scary to them.  They all piled into Reginald’s automobile, with Reginald in the front seat, to follow the ambulance to the hospital.  

“Why aren’t they using the siren?” asked Allison quietly.  No one answered her.

Detective Lupo rapped his knuckles on the window and everyone, including Reginald, jumped a little.  Reginald rolled down the window.

“What about the other little girl?” asked Lupo.

Everyone looked around and then realized they had forgotten Vanya.  Diego was crammed against the door so he let himself out and ran in to get her.  She was standing in the entrance hall with Grace, and seemed relieved that someone had remembered to invite her.

---

In the hospital waiting room they all sat, in order, as they always had done.  Luther first, then Diego, then Allison, then Klaus.  Vanya sat two chairs away, clutching two notebooks to her chest, but then after a few moments of chewing on her lip, she moved over to sit beside Klaus.  It looked all wrong, having Number Seven directly beside Number Four.  

The hospital waiting room was very boring.  The children had never been in a commercial airplane or a public hospital or any other place where they had to wait, except for court.  The carpet was a thin, threadbare green and the chairs were upholstered in a cloth that did not match the carpet and all stuck together with shared armrests.  The drop-ceiling had fluorescent lighting that felt too bright.  They all watched a woman across the room try to put a dollar into a vending machine.  It kept spitting it out; she kept smoothing it and trying to re-insert it, but the machine refused to accept it.

Their curiosity at this strange, limbo-like environment quickly gave way to boredom.  Diego’s leg jiggled impatiently.  Luther drummed his fingers on his armrest.  Klaus’s head had been on Allison’s shoulder since the beginning; she pushed him aside so she could braid her hair, and Klaus’s limp body flopped onto Vanya, who shot Allison a dirty look that Allison missed.

Pushing Klaus back, Vanya reached forward for a small stack of newspapers on the table.  Reginald got several papers in several languages but usually discarded them after reading them.  Not much news from the outside world reached the inner bowels of the Academy.

She picked up a copy of The Acadia Lancet.  On the front page was a color image of the five teens standing together, smiling.  “CHAOS BANDIT BROTHERS FOILED BY UMBRELLA ACADEMY,” read the headline.

Vanya flipped it open to read about the mission.  Her eyes welled up with tears halfway through which began pattering all over the newspaper, smudging the ink.  Allison looked up, and seeing the picture of the front page, snatched it away silently and placed it back onto the table in front of them, face-down.

Unused to sitting around doing nothing, the morning dragged on for everyone but Klaus, who was entirely sedated.  

It was after lunch (and their stomachs were rumbling) when a stout woman with curly hair, pink plastic glasses, and a colorful scarf appeared.

“Hi everyone,” she said, grabbing a plastic chair from the corner of the room and dragging it over so she could sit across from all of them.

They regarded her warily because she was a stranger and did not appear to need saving.

“My name is Felicity.  I’m a social worker here at Argyle Central.  How are you guys doing?”

Everyone (except Klaus) looked over at Luther.

“Where’s our dad?” asked Luther.

“He’s with your brother and the doctors right now.”

“Is Ben going to be okay?” asked Luther.

There was a small beat.  “He’s not in pain anymore,” said Felicity in a very gentle tone.  Diego’s lip trembled again.  Felicity reached out to put a hand on his knee.  He slapped her hand away indignantly and glared at her for trying to touch him.

“This is probably really hard for you guys, isn’t it?” said Felicity.

They all stared silently at her.

“...would he like to lie down?” she asked, looking at Klaus.

“He’s okay.  Mom gave him ketamine to calm him down,” explained Luther.

Felicity looked a little surprised at this.  

“He wouldn’t stop screaming,” explained Luther.

Felicity didn’t look any less surprised.  Luther and Diego exchanged questioning looks.

“K-Klaus n-needs to st-stay w-w-with us,” said Diego firmly.

“Okay.  I just want to make sure he’s comfortable.  Do you guys want me to get you some lunch?  Have you eaten?” asked Felicity.

They shook their heads.

“Would you like to go down to the cafeteria?”

Everyone looked at Luther.

“We should stay here and wait for Dad,” said Luther.

“I can make sure he’s informed,” said Felicity.

Luther didn’t move, but Allison abruptly rose.  “We didn’t have breakfast, either,” she said firmly.  “Vanya, come on.  Dad won’t care if you’re missing.”

Vanya rose, and following her, Diego did, too.

Luther looked over at Klaus.  “I should stay with Klaus, then,” he said.

“I think maybe it would be a good idea if a doctor saw Klaus, don’t you?” asked Felicity.

“Mom already saw him,” argued Luther.

“Do you happen to know his prescription?  His dosage?”

Luther looked mystified.

In the end, Felicity told Luther he could tell the nurse at the front desk if he needed anything, and led Diego, Allison, and Vanya down to the cafeteria.

They clustered tightly together in their matching uniforms, staring in confusion at the cafeteria.  It was bustling with mid-day activity; nurses in scrubs, doctors in coats, visitors wearing all sorts of clothes milled around, helping themselves to a smorgasbord of strange food. 

Allison informed Felicity they had no money, and Felicity said they could have whatever they wanted.

Since Luther wasn’t around, Diego chose, and they all got the same thing: a salmon filet with a side of green beans and mashed potatoes.  After some quiet deliberation, they also got a small cup each of cherry sorbet.

Years later, all three of them would be unable to stomach either salmon or cherry sorbet.

They each grabbed two meals.  Felicity paid for them.  They sat in the cafeteria, opened one Styrofoam box apiece, and ate the contents.  The other three boxes sat to the side.

“I’ve never had any kids choose such healthy meals before,” said Felicity with a smile.  They stared at her, confused by this comment.  “Do you guys all like the same foods?”  They nodded.  Felicity kept trying to talk to them but they ignored her, feeling too intimidated by the strange environment.

They asked to return to the waiting room.  Felicity took them up.  They arrived to find that Luther had moved aside to hold Klaus in his chair, who was half-awake and rolling limply around.

“We got lunch for you and Klaus and Be--” began Allison, then froze halfway through handing Luther the boxes.

After a moment, Luther took the three and set them on the table gently.  “Thanks,” he said.  “...Klaus?  Do you want lunch?”

“Lunch already?” said Klaus faintly, reaching upward toward one of the lights in the ceiling.  “Oh, goodie.”

“Do you guys want to talk for a bit about what’s going on?  Today seems like it’s been pretty overwhelming,” said Felicity.

“When do we get to go home?” asked Diego with a strained looked on his face that implied it had taken a great deal of effort for him to ask, and that he had been practicing saying the words in his head for a while.

“I don’t know,” said Felicity.  “We want to make sure you’re all doing okay, first.  That’s part of my job.”

“We’re fine,” said Allison.  

“Can we see Ben?” asked Luther.

“Is this cherry sorbet?” asked Klaus.

Felicity turned out to be a rather frustrating conversational partner.  She asked a lot of confusing questions, many of which seemed to have no point at all, and eventually paged a doctor even though all of them said, repeatedly, that they were fine.

A doctor arrived in a white lab coat and introduced herself as Dr. Schumacher.  She was holding a clipboard.

“Hi, everyone.  I’m so sorry about your loss.  I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” she said, making a sympathetic face.

“What’s on the clipboard?” asked Allison suspiciously.

“These are just some of my notes.”

“Klaus, what’s on the clipboard?” asked Allison.

Klaus rolled his head up, grinning maniacally.  “She’s telling the truth.  Ben says it’s just boring stuff like our birthday and stuff.  ...measles?  ...he says she wrote we’re gonna get measles.”

The doctor placed her clipboard over her heart, looking shocked.  “Now, hold on, that’s not exactly correct.  I didn’t write that you were going to get measles.  Only that you’re at risk because you didn’t have your MMR vaccine.  But that’s easy to fix--”

“Our what?” interrupted Allison.

“You don’t have any record of vaccinations.  That’s one of the things I was hoping to ask you about, actually.  Have you been seeing another doctor?”

Everyone looked to Luther.

“Well, we see Mom if we need stitches,” said Luther.

“Stitches?” repeated Dr. Schumacher.

“Yeah, like if we get hurt on a mission,” explained Luther.

“Do you get hurt on a lot of missions?” asked Dr. Schumacher, looking at Allison’s black eye.

“Not bad,” she said awkwardly.  “Just a little bit, sometimes.”

“How about that scar?” asked Dr. Schumacher, refocusing her attention on Diego and gesturing to indicate the large, raised, pale scar above his ear.

“I g-got it in training,” said Diego.  

“And your… sorry, your mother took care of that?”

“She’s not our real mom,” said Klaus abruptly.

“Klaus!” barked Diego.

“We don’t know our birth-mothers,” explained Allison.  “Mom is optimized to meet all our needs, though.  She’s got a learning algorithm that adjusts to… to whatever we require...”  She trailed off.  The doctor and Felicity had wide-eyed expressions and Allison suddenly felt a very unusual and unfamiliar feeling: self-consciousness.

“We were born during the Phenomenon seventeen years ago,” explained Luther.  “Our moms got pregnant and didn’t want us, so Sir Reginald adopted us.  And now we fight crime because of our remarkable abilities.”

“...do you go to school?” asked Felicity.

Luther laughed.  “Of course we got to school.  Allison and Ben are going to college next year and everything.”  His laugh cut off abruptly.

Everyone looked at the white, untouched Styrofoam container on the table in front of them.

“Can I have your dessert?” asked Klaus to an empty space beside him.

Ignoring him, Allison focused on the doctor, and her eyes narrowed.  “So you’re saying we don’t have medical records?”

“Well, no official ones,” said the doctor.  “Not at this facility, anyway.  So we were wondering--”

Before she could finish, Reginald strode in.  Despite themselves, all of the kids looked deeply relieved.  “What are you all doing here?” he demanded.  “You should be at home, studying--”

“Sir Hargreeves,” said the doctor.  “I was just trying to figure out where I could get a copy of the kids’ vaccination records--”

“They have no vaccinations.  They don’t interact with the general populace, so they have no need.  They’re not at risk for catching any sort of common disease,” said Reginald dismissively.

Allison’s jaw dropped.

Klaus laughed.  “Oh, no.  Ben is pissed!”

The doctor and the social worker looked as shocked as Allison at this frank admission.  “Sir Hargreeves,” said Felicity sternly.  “I’ve been speaking to your children, and it seems to me like you're putting these kids in danger.”

“Their usefulness to the world occasionally requires risks,” said Reginald with a wave of his hand.

“What about Vanya?” asked Klaus.  His speech was slurred as if he had a mouth full of marbles but he seemed to have perked up considerably over the last hour.  “Vanya’s not useful, she doesn’t have powers.”

“Yes, what about Vanya?” asked Felicity sternly, putting a hand on her hip. 

“Vanya's uselessness precludes her from being put in harm's way,” explained Reginald.

Before Felicity or Dr. Schumacher could recover from their shock, a man with slicked-back hair arrived, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.

“Hi, Mr. Narayan,” chimed the kids.

“What took you so long?” asked Reginald.

“Sorry, Sir Hargreeves!” said Mr. Narayan, producing a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face.  He was a little out of breath.  “I hit some pretty bad traffic on the way here.  What’s the situation?”

“I don’t think we should talk about this in front of the kids,” said Dr. Schumacher firmly.

“Hey!  We’re not kids!” said Luther indignantly.

“And we want to know what happened to Ben!” added Diego.

Despite their insistence on being part of the conversation, Dr. Schumacher, Reginald, Mr. Narayan, and Felicity all went to talk alone.  They turned their attention to Klaus, who was sobering up rapidly and squirming uncomfortably.  He hated hospitals.

“Klaus, ask one of the DNRs to go spy on Dad,” demanded Luther.

“I want to go home.”

“I’ll rumor one of the nurses to give you Valium if you do it,” Allison bribed him.

Klaus let out a loud, dramatic sigh, but obediently kicked off his shoes, sat on the floor, and closed his eyes to concentrate.

“Dr. Schumacher says it was appendicitis,” he reported after a while.

“Appendicitis?” repeated everyone incredulously.

“Uh-huh.  She says his appendix burst last night and he died from sepsis,” said Klaus.

“Oh my God.  Why didn’t we hear anything?” asked Luther.  “...it was me, it was my music, I was up all night playing it--”

“It’s not your fault, Luther,” said Allison.

“I ignored him when he said his side hurt.  He was always complaining about it, so I didn’t think--”

“Luther, you didn’t know.”

“--I told him to use his powers, I made him unleash the Horrors yesterday--” continued Luther, eyes watering.  Allison pulled him into an aggressive hug.  His shoulders shook as he cried quietly into her shoulder.

“The doc says that there’s lots of trauma to his insides.  I guess the portal bruised everything up real bad,” said Klaus, eyes still closed.  “She says he should’ve gotten medical attention earlier and, y’know, not let monsters come out of him, I guess.”

“We didn’t know,” repeated Allison, because Luther was weeping even harder now.

“I encouraged him!  I encouraging him to use his powers, I’m the reason--”

“Luther, it probably would’ve popped even without the mission,” protested Diego weakly, patting his shoulder uncomfortably.

“I told him to let them out, I told him to--”

“We all did, Luther,” said Allison.  “We all encouraged Ben to use his powers…”

“Not me,” muttered Vanya.

“Wow, Vanya!” exclaimed Diego, wheeling around to throw one of Klaus’s shoes at her.  She cried out as it hit her in the head.

“Hey!  Stop rough-housing over there!” called one of the nurses from the station, rising.

“Allison!  My Valium!” whispered Klaus anxiously.

“I heard a rumor it’s time for my brother’s medication,” said Allison.

“His medication?  What?  What medication?” asked the nurse in confusion, turning to flip through some charts, searching.

“You gave Klaus Valium earlier, for his anxiety.  He needs it,” said Allison.  “You already checked the records, remember?”

“Oh, yes.  Yes, that’s right,” said the nurse, turning to get Klaus some medication.

“Thanks Allison.  You’re my favorite sister,” said Klaus, shooting Vanya a dirty look.  She shrank back as if he might throw his other shoe at her.

By the time Reginald returned, it was late in the day, nearly dinnertime.  Klaus was asleep again; the rest of them were sitting around waiting, bored out of their minds, eyes red from crying, looking confused and tired and rumpled.  They all got to their feet when Reginald appeared, trailed by Mr. Narayan and Felicity.

“Academy,” said Reginald.

They all paid attention.

“Your classes and trainings for the remainder of the day are canceled.”

They all looked at each other with a mixture of confusion and upset.  They had already gathered that their schedule was disrupted, having been sitting around in a hospital waiting room all day, but it was still very upsetting because the only thing that disrupted their schedule were very serious injuries.

“What about Ben?” asked Luther.

“Number Six is no longer with us.  He perished bravely in the line of duty,” said Reginald curtly.

“No he didn’t!  He died of appendicitis!” cried Diego indignantly.

“SILENCE, Number Two!” shouted Reginald.  Everyone froze.  “We will discuss the events concerning Number Six’s accident later.  I have to plan a memorial in the meantime.  I expect you to be able to attend to your own needs until then.”

He turned to march off.  Mr. Narayan hovered nearby.  The kids followed him numbly; as they left, Felicity sidled up to Luther and slipped him a card.  “You call me if you want to talk, okay?  Any time,” she said quietly.

“Ahem!” said Mr. Narayan, blocking her from the kids.

Luther put the card in his pocket and followed Reginald.

The car ride home was silent.

When they got home, Reginald handed Pogo his coat, stormed off to his study, and locked himself inside, leaving the five teenagers standing awkwardly in the main hall.

“Why, look at all of your gloomy faces!  And on such a beautiful day!” said Grace, smiling.

“Mom.  Mom, Ben died,” said Allison, voice cracking.

Grace’s smile wavered a little and then righted itself.  “Not a cloud in the sky!” she said.  

“Mom.  Didn’t you hear me?  Ben’s gone.”

“Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?” she asked Klaus, who was nodding off on Luther’s shoulder.

“Huh?  Yeah.  Yeah, I need more ketamine,” slurred Klaus, startling awake.

“I don’t think he needs any more ketamine,” said Luther.

“He won’t stop screaming.  I want ketamine,” mumbled Klaus.

Luther stepped away and Klaus nearly fell; Grace caught him gently.  “Whoopsie-daisy!” she said in a sing-song voice.  “Looks like someone is feeling a little sleepy.”

“Mom,” said Allison.

“Yes, dear?” asked Grace, still smiling.

For a moment, they all stared, but it was clear nothing in Grace’s programming allowed her to fully comprehend or respond to losing one of them.  Whenever they mentioned Five, she simply said she was sure he’d be back soon and that he was a resourceful boy who was surely safe.  As far as death was concerned, she apparently could not conceive of one of them passing away.

They let Grace escort Klaus off to the medical wing, and milled aimlessly around the main sitting room for the rest of the day.

That night, Reginald did not appear at dinner and instead took his meal in his study.  No record played.  No one spoke.  The only sound was silverware clinking against china as the five of them picked listlessly at the food on their plates.  Pogo made an appearance briefly, in between serving Reginald his meal and his tea, and encouraged them to try to eat, but no one was very hungry.  Klaus fell asleep in the middle of his salad niçoise, and eventually, one by one, they quietly excused themselves without eating much, leaving him to snooze into the tuna, tomato, and hard-boiled eggs until, eventually, Grace carried him off to bathe him and put him to bed.

Chapter 19: Diego

That Saturday they were not awakened at the usual time.  In confusion, they woke without any alarm, dressed hastily, and ran down to the hall, out of order, at different times, expecting some sort of explanation.  But the door to Reginald’s study remained closed and he did not appear.  

Around six-fifteen, Pogo walked through the hall, and Luther asked him what they should do.

Pogo hesitated, clearly uncertain; he did not typically give orders unless he was relaying them from Reginald.  “I suppose you are expected to mourn,” he said finally.

“How do we do that?” asked Luther.

“I’ll find a book for you in the library,” said Pogo.

He went searching for a book on death and mourning rituals from around the world, but it was not in its proper place in the library.  They eventually found it in Klaus’s room, and using it as a guide, they covered all the mirrors in the house, stopped all the clocks, threw water out of the vases of flowers in the dining room, and lit every candle they could find.  After some consideration they turned the clocks back on because it confused Grace and made their lunch late.

Once they had performed every custom they could think of, they went to the classroom simply out of boredom and tried to work on their homework, but most of them had already completed it, and Ben’s empty seat was too much of a reminder of his absence.

At lunch, Grace served six plates of food.  They all tried not to look at Ben’s plate.  After they left the table, Grace came and stared at it in confusion for several hours, frozen, until Diego came to ask her if she was okay.

“Ben doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite,” she said, coming back to herself.  Smiling, she cleared the plate away.  At dinner, she served a plate at Ben’s place again, and inexplicably added a handful of hard candy that had appeared out of nowhere.

The whole day passed with the slow trudge of a long, uphill climb, and surprisingly, it left them exhausted.  The emotional energy of having an entire undirected day without any schedule made everyone miserable, and they turned in early, only to be woken an hour later by Klaus’s petrified screaming.

He didn’t calm down until Grace gave him some sedatives, but by then, everyone had been jarred from their rest and had difficulty returning.

On Sunday, once more, there was no alarm, and everyone woke up later than usual and at even more random times.  Diego slept until seven.  The rest didn’t have the energy to be angry at him for delaying breakfast.  In any case, it would have been delayed, anyway, because Grace had had to tend to Klaus instead of making it.  It was a disastrous beginning to the day, but Reginald did not emerge to yell at them, and it became apparent there was no schedule once again.

Taking matters into their own hands, Luther, Diego, and Allison decided to take what money they had and go down to a nearby diner to eat donuts.  (Klaus was passed out cold in his room and could not be stirred.)  After some consideration they reluctantly invited Vanya to fill a seat, worried that only having three people at a table would feel weird.

They returned home as the sun was setting, after spending all day sitting around the diner, quietly talking about anything that could possibly distract them from Ben’s absence.  Grace had made dinner, but they were all full and somewhat sick from eating donuts all day, and when they realized Reginald wasn’t going to come to dinner, they all left.  She had placed a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a plate of crackers down for Ben, and she hovered near his chair, looking confused and a little upset.

“Tomorrow is Monday so we should expect things to go back to normal,” said Luther as they got ready for bed.  They all nodded in agreement.  Sunday had always been a little bit of a relaxation day, without any special trainings and some free time in the afternoon.  They expected the week to begin again normally.

But when Monday came and they all rose, dressed, and met in the entrance hall, Reginald wasn’t there.

“Let’s call the lady,” said Diego.

“Who?” asked Luther.

“Felicity.  She gave you a card and said we should call.  Let’s call her and ask what we should do.”

Luther frowned.  “Why?  Felicity doesn’t know our schedule.  ...maybe this is a test.  We know what’s expected of us, so I think we should just--”

“A test?  Are you serious, Luther?  Dad isn’t testing us!  He doesn’t give a shit about us!  What the hell is wrong with you?  Is Mom giving you the same stuff she’s giving Klaus?  Huh?”

“Huh?” asked Klaus, who was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs with his head on his knees.  His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, his vest rumpled.  His hair was unbrushed and, without shaving, he had noticeable stubble on his chin for the first time ever.  Dark circles shadowed his eyes.  He struggled to sit up.  “S’it time for my medicine?” he slurred.

They all ignored him.

“Maybe Diego’s right,” said Allison quietly.  

“Dad’s just as upset as we are.  Probably more upset, ‘cause he has to make arrangements and stuff,” said Luther stubbornly.  “Ben wouldn’t want us to all fall apart over this.  We have to stick together.  We did all the stuff the book said to, and we ate ourselves sick yesterday.  Now we have to go back to normal.”

“Back to normal?  Without Six?” said Diego incredulously, his voice rising to a pitch that echoed in the enormous, high-ceilinged entrance.

Vanya sniffed a little in the corner.

“Oh, shut up, Vanya!”  Diego wheeled around and stormed off.  Vanya began crying.  

Allison went over to put an arm around her.  “It’s okay.  He didn’t mean it.  He’s just as upset as we are,” said Allison quietly.

Luther looked like he’d been slapped; he was clearly startled by how little control he had over the situation.  He tried to catch Allison’s eye to check with her about what to do, but Allison was speaking with Vanya quietly, and wouldn’t look at him.  Eventually he gave up and went back to his room to spend the morning building model airplanes and listening to Connie Francis records.

---

On Tuesday morning, at 5:45 a.m., they were all awoken rudely by Grace ringing a large bell.  They scrambled from their beds in confusion and peeked out into the hall wearing identical powder-blue pajamas.

“Children!  You’re late!” she scolded them gently as they emerged from their rooms, blinking.  “Your father is waiting for you downstairs.  Hurry up.  You know morning meetings are at six!”

They all hurriedly ducked back into their rooms to get dressed, still groggy and reeling from this very abrupt proclamation.

Luther, Diego, and Allison all used the bathroom together while Klaus screamed and cowered in the hall.  Grace tried to soothe him; the other three stepped over him and walked down the stairs.

Reginald was standing in the hall looking as perfectly crisp as ever, hands on his cane, brow furrowed over his monocle, mustache neatly waxed.  Pogo stood beside him.

“Good morning, Number One.  Two.  Three,” he greeted them.

“Good morning,” they all said in unison, sounding equally uncertain of what to expect.

“Where is Number Four?” he demanded.

“I think he’s with Mom, Sir,” said Luther awkwardly.  (Everyone could hear the screams coming from the dormitories.)

“Be sure to inform him of the day’s schedule,” said Reginald stiffly.  “Today is Tuesday, September the twelfth.  Due to disruptions to our schedule last week, in lieu of classroom activities this morning, we will be sitting for our annual portraiture, which Dennis was kind enough to reschedule for us at seven o’clock this morning.  As for training, today we will instead have a memorial for Number Six in the courtyard.  Afterwards you may retire to the study in the west wing for respectful contemplation of his sacrifice.  Tomorrow, we shall return to our regular schedule.  Number Two, your training will be held in the natatorium.”

They all goggled at him, mouths slightly open.

“Sir.  You said… if we all got top marks on our schoolwork… you’d give me my vaccine records and co-sign all my papers to attend college,” said Allison in a strangled voice.

“Yes.  That is correct,” said Reginald.

“But we don’t have any vaccines.”

“A record can reflect an absence of a thing, Number Three,” said Reginald.  “I made an agreement to release your records.  Not to falsify information on them so that some bureaucrat at a public school can stamp his approval onto them.”

There was a long pause.  Reginald waited patiently, watching her, waiting for her to challenge him.

Finally, she said, “Thank you for explaining that to me, Sir.”

“You are quite welcome.  I will see you all in the sitting room in forty-two minutes,” said Reginald.  He turned on his heel and strode off.

“Allison--” said Luther.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

They went to breakfast and ate it in icy silence.  Afterwards, Luther went to fetch Klaus, who had wandered to Allison’s room and was lying on her bed.  He helped dress Klaus and dragged him downstairs to the sitting room.

Dennis was setting up his easel when they arrived.  He scanned their faces with unabashed curiosity tinged with sympathy.  Reginald stood in front of the fireplace; Allison stood beside him, unflinching.  Luther stood on her other side; she looked away.  Klaus slouched in front of Luther, who kicked him; Klaus ignored the kick and crossed his arms petulantly.  Diego stood in front of Luther, shifting his weight uncomfortably, clearly fighting anxiety.  Normally Ben would be in front of Reginald and beside Diego.  His absence felt like a giant, black hole.

“Do you want me to paint Ben in?  If you have a reference picture, I can add him,” said Dennis kindly.

“There will be no need.  Just paint us as we are,” said Reginald curtly.  

Everyone stood still.  The clock on the mantle ticked loudly.  The only person who talked was Dennis, to ask Diego to hold still and stop shifting his weight around, and to lift his head, because Diego kept moving it.

After several hours they were dismissed for lunch.  Grace served them turkey sandwiches, except for Ben.  At his place, she put a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

“Mommy.  Medicine,” called Klaus, propping his elbow up on the table.

“Hey, Klaus, maybe you should slow down a little.  We’re gonna run out of ketamine,” said Luther.

“Okay, so I’ll take diazepam or whatever.  It doesn’t matter,” said Klaus.

“It does matter.  You’re half-asleep all the time.”

“Oh, do I need to be awake to play statue with Dad so that he can hang another crummy painting in the hallway?  Does my consciousness really contribute that much to art?” sneered Klaus.

“Klaus, be nice to your brother,” Grace chided him gently.

“Where’s my pills?  I can’t fucking eat with him screaming all the time--” said Klaus, slamming a hand on the table and making their dishes jump.

“Number Four!  Language!” exclaimed Grace.

“Why don’t you tell him to watch his mouth?” wailed Klaus, pointing at an empty chair across from him at the table.

In the end she gave him some more medicine.  It wasn’t a full dose, but it calmed him enough for everyone to eat lunch in relative silence.

---

They all walked out into the courtyard to discover a large, dark bronze statue on a concrete block with a small plaque.  Everyone squinted at the plaque.  It had Ben’s name on it.  At that moment they understood how truly devastated Reginald must be.

He and Pogo stood side-by-side.  Grace hovered behind the kids, hands neatly clasped in front of her, heels slowly sinking into the soft soil.

“I think it looks like you,” said Klaus.

Reginald cleared his throat loudly.

Klaus crossed his arms.

“Five days ago, we lost one of the members of our Academy,” said Reginald.  “Number Six-- Ben-- was a cooperative and effective member of our team.  His loss was a devastating blow to the Academy.  However, he died as he lived, in service, and I can think of no more befitting manner for--”

“No, I’m not saying it, shut up!” hissed Klaus.

“Number Four!  --the brave and willing sacrifice made by Ben to keeping the world free of those who would cause it harm is something I hope you will all aspire to as you face future threats and work together to protect--”

“Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!” bellowed Klaus, putting his fingers into his ears.  “Christ on a fucking cracker, it’s your funeral, just shut up!”

With that, he turned and sprinted back toward the mansion, wailing.  

“Oh dear,” said Grace, turning to chase briskly after him.

Reginald sighed in irritation.  “The legacy Ben has left with you is one of selfless sacrifice.  I hope it inspires you all to further greatness, and serves as a reminder of your role in society, and what you have to offer this world to keep it safe.”

They all stood there.

“Where’s his body?” asked Diego suddenly.

“Pardon me?”

“Ben’s body.  Where’s his body?  What did you do with him?” demanded Diego.

“Number Two, such a question at a memorial service is extremely inappropriate.”

“This whole stupid academy is inappropriate!” shouted Diego, turning and storming off.

“Number Two!” shouted Reginald, looking downright murderous.  He strode after Diego.

Allison looked at Luther.  Luther looked at Pogo.  “Are we dismissed?” he asked.

“I suppose so, Master Luther,” said Pogo with a pained expression.

Even though they were allowed to leave, Luther and Allison stood side-by-side, staring up at the statue.  At some point, Luther took her hand, but she left a few minutes later when it started to rain, leaving him and Vanya alone.

---

Grief aside, those who had been present to witness Diego’s explosion were intensely curious to see what would happen to him.  They went to the sitting room so they could keep an eye on the entrance hall, the main stairwell, and the mezzanine, expecting (or rather, hoping) to catch a glimpse of Reginald and Diego.

Their expectations were met within an hour.  Diego stormed out into the hallway, his duffel bag over his shoulder, his jacket open and his tie missing.  Reginald followed after him with the same red-hot fury in his step.

“If you exit that door, Number Two, don’t expect it to open again for you!” shouted Reginald.

“Good!  I hope you nail it shut!” shouted Diego back.  “I never want to come back here!”

“You can’t leave the Academy!  You know nothing of the world!  You have nowhere to go!  Is that what you want, Number Two?  To go back to being unwanted, alone, in the streets?”

“It’s got to be better than this stupid place!” shouted Diego.  He stopped briefly in the doorway of the sitting room.  “Luther!  What’s Felicity's number?” 

“Number Two… calm down...” said Luther meekly.

“Who the devil is Felicity?” roared Reginald.

“Fine, don’t tell me! I don’t need your help!  I don’t need any of you!” screamed Diego.  He stamped his foot on the ground.

“Wait, what?” asked Klaus, looking up in confusion.

He was too late; Diego had already turned and was walking purposefully toward the front door.  He wrenched it open.  Outside it was dark and the rain was pouring.

“Well, go on!” shouted Reginald, pointing with his cane.  “You said you were leaving, didn’t you?  Go!  Go out into the world and see how you like it!  You won’t find it to your liking, but who am I to stop you?  I raised you; I made you.  If you think you know better than me now, go and prove it!”  Pogo hurried up with an umbrella; Reginald flung out his cane to stop him.  “No, no, he doesn’t need that.  He doesn’t need anything from us at all!  Let him figure it all out on his own.  Clearly, he’s planned this all out, and knows just precisely where he’s going and what he’ll do with himself!” said Reginald.

Diego hesitated on the threshold.

On the mezzanine, Grace’s heels clicked.  She looked down in confusion and concern.  “Diego, dear?  ...why is the door open?” she asked.

Diego turned and looked up.  “Good-bye, Mom,” he said, and then turned, stepped out of the door, and closed it behind him.

Chapter 20: Allison

Notes:

If you've made it thus far, kudos to you for enduring the emotional gauntlet of suffering I have crafted! Yes, this fic is DONE, and yes, over the next few days, you will have the final chapters... and yes, it gets worse. You have been warned. :)

No one talked about Diego’s departure that night.  Perhaps they were all in denial about it and expected him to return, soaking wet and sulking, mumbling out an apology for his tantrum.

But when they rose the next morning, Diego was not there.

Luther and Allison took the bathroom, then Klaus and Vanya.  It no longer felt crowded.  They got down to the morning meeting without needing to rush, and ended up being early.

Reginald came walking out at one minute to six.  He surveyed the four of them and then, without preamble, began his usual morning briefing.  “Today is Wednesday, September the nineteenth.  Today’s group training will focus on crime scene investigation.  We have been lagging in pharmacology so today’s usual lesson on natural history will instead be focused on chapter thirty-six of Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition.  This evening I will be assigning you the first half of Sorokin’s Contemporary Sociological Theories.  Expect a test on the material this Friday.  Number Three, your training will be held in the library in the west wing.  Dismissed.”

They all waited a beat, but Reginald said nothing about the previous day’s events.  Luther turned automatically toward the stairs to the semi-basement, looking confused at Reginald’s lack of candor, and the others followed him to the kitchen.

Smiling, Grace set six places at the table.

“Mom…” said Allison softly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I don’t think Diego is going to come to breakfast.”

Grace laughed lightly.  “Well, that won’t do.  Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!  You want to be bright-eyed for your classes, after all.  I’ll go fetch him.”  She turned to walk out, humming.

“Ben says just throw his oatmeal away until Mom’s programming adjusts,” advised Klaus in a low, tired voice.

“Diego might come back,” said Luther, but his voice was tinged with uncertainty, and no one agreed with him.

They trudged off to class.  Luther sat alone, Diego’s empty seat beside him.  Behind him, Allison and Klaus sat side-by-side.  And behind them, two empty chairs in the third row remained unoccupied, giving Vanya, in her seat in the fourth row, a rare, unobstructed view of things at a cost she never would have wished to pay.

Pogo taught them and made no mention of Diego’s absence, apparently having been instructed by Reginald to proceed as if everything were perfectly normal.  Following his lead, the kids worked studiously, except Klaus, who kept up a steady stream of furious whispering to the seat behind him and eventually threw his book across the room, got up, and stormed out to find Grace to beg for some pills.

He apparently got them, because when they were dismissed for lunch, he sat glassy-eyed and grinning at the table, propped up on one elbow.

They ate in silence.  As they got up to go to group training, Luther abruptly said, “Allison…”

“Yes?” she asked.

“...I just want to say… I’m really glad you’re still here.  And taking training seriously.  I know how badly you wanted to go to college,” said Luther sympathetically.  “Listen.  ...you can go next year.  It’s a bad time now, though.  Thanks for… everything you do.” After a pause, he added, “For the Academy”.

Allison looked conflicted for a moment.  Then she reached out to put a hand on his arm, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Yeah.  Thanks, Luther.”

“Hey you two, get a room!” exclaimed Klaus loudly, staggering between them and functionally terminating any chance of further conversation.

Later, in the study, he fell asleep on the floor while Luther, Allison, and Vanya sat in a circle with Contemporary Sociological Theories.   Excited to find herself being included, Vanya’s eyes kept flicking up.  Finally, she blurted, “Can we talk?”

“No,” said Luther and Allison in unison.

Vanya stuffed her face back into her book so they couldn’t see her flushing.

---

After briefing the next morning, Klaus asked Grace for pills, and Grace gently declined.  “Klaus, you have one-on-one training today.  Don’t you want to make sure you--” she began.

“No.  I don’t.  I want my pills,” interrupted Klaus.

“Your father doesn’t want you taking any more medicine for now.  You don’t need it, and it’s important that you succeed in your training,” said Grace.

“Mom.  Please,” begged Klaus.

“Oh, Klaus,” she said with a little laugh.  She ruffled his hair affectionately. 

Klaus swatted her off, looking wide-eyed with fear.  “Mom.  You don’t get it.”

“Get what, my little one?”

“Get what it’s like to constantly be followed around by the spectre of your dead brother who doesn’t know how to shut his big mouth!” shouted Klaus, and then he ran up the stairs.  He turned at the top and pointed downward.  “HA!  Haven’t figured out stairs yet, have you?  Screw you, Ben!”  He turned and ran to his room, slamming the door loud enough for it to echo through the main hall.

“Grace!” barked Reginald from the sitting room, where he was reading the morning paper.

“Sorry, Sir Reginald!” she called, and hurried up the stairs to try to lure Klaus out of his room.

Grace may not have been perfect (the uneaten bowls of oatmeal in the kitchen were testament to that), but she had been optimized to nurture, and she somehow managed to calm Klaus down without giving him any medication.  He spent the afternoon with Reginald and returned looking paler and more jittery than ever.  He declined to join them in the sitting room that evening and went up to his room to be alone.

Vanya excused herself early and went up to see him.

“Knock-knock,” she said softly, rapping on his door.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“Just… wanted to see how you were.  I know it’s hard for you.”

Klaus scoffed.  “You know how hard it is?  Really?  Then give me some of your pills.”

“I can’t,” said Vanya apologetically.  “I need them, for my nerves.”

“What about my nerves, Vanya?  Look.  Look at my hand,” demanded Klaus, holding up his hand.  It shook.

“...that could be withdrawal,” said Vanya uncomfortably after a moment.  “According to Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition, muscle tremors are a common side effect of withdrawal.  And you’ve been taking sedatives almost non-stop for six days now, so withdrawal--”

“Withdrawal?  Are you kidding me?  If Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition, told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that, too?”

“Huh?” asked Vanya.

Klaus grabbed at his hair.  “I can’t fucking think with all of them yelling at me all the time!  How do you like it, Wolfgang?  AHH!  AHH!  AAAHHH!”

Vanya flinched at the yelling.  “Klaus, Mozart is deaf,” she said, but Klaus was too busy yelling German into thin air to hear her.

---

That night, everyone was kept awake by the noise from Klaus’s room.  Sober after a six-day binge, and jittery from his personal training with Reginald, he had very loudly barricaded his door against ghosts, which, naturally, did nothing to stop them from simply floating through the wall.  Ryan crawled in moaning.  Klaus screamed, standing on his bed, cringing into the corner, away from the monstrous, grotesque corpse as it crawled across his floor.

Ben walked after it, hands stuffed in his pockets.  “Brian taught me how to use the stairs,” he reported dryly.  He had been floating through them every time he tried to walk up them. 

“Who the hell is Brian?” asked Klaus shrilly, waving a broom at the corpse as if he could shoo it away like a raccoon or a hyena.

“That’s Brian,” said Ben, pointing to the torso on the ground.  “...you’ve been calling him Ryan.  He’s actually a pretty cool guy.  Can you stop waving the broom around and just talk to us?”

“No!  I can’t!  Because I made my planchette into this cool necklace!” screeched Klaus, holding up a chain that was around his neck.

“Can’t we just point to the Ouija-- wait.  You can hear us.  Klaus, stop being dumb,” demanded Ben.  “I need to talk to you.”

“No!” said Klaus, crying.  He threw the broom; it went through Ben, who shivered.

“Ugh.  Don’t do that.  Klaus, listen to me.  I need you to take care of Number Eight.”

“How can you think about your stupid hermit crab at a time like this?  My brother is dead !” wailed Klaus, flinging his pillow through Ben.

Luther banged on the wall.  “Klaus, keep it down!” he bellowed.

Klaus banged back on the wall.  “NO!” he barked.

“Klaus.  Has anyone fed Number Eight this week?” demanded Ben.

“Go away!  You’re not real!  You’re not real!”

Luther banged on the wall again.  “Klaus.  Shut up!”

Klaus banged back.

A moment later, Klaus’s door was shoved open, pushing his dresser, desk, and desk chair out of the way.  Luther glowered at him.  “Klaus!  I’m trying to sleep!”

“And what does it look like I’m doing?  Mah-jongg?!”  

Luther’s brow furrowed and his eyes swept over the room.  It was dimly illuminated with the ever-present string of fairy lights hung up on the wall.  Night-lights glowed from every outlet.  “Is he here?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” said Ben sourly.

“Yes,” said Klaus, equally sourly.

“Tell him… I’m sorry.  It’s my fault.  I did this to him.”

“Dad did this!  This is all Dad’s fault!” snapped Ben.  “Even if there were no mission, Dad never would have taken me to the hospital.  This place is a death-trap!  Tell Luther he’s got to get out.  All of you should!  You should all get out, before he kills you too!”

“He says it’s not your fault,” said Klaus.

“That’s nice of you to say, Klaus, but you don’t have to try to make me feel better.  I pushed him too hard,” said Luther.

“Are you an idiot?  It was Dad!” said Ben.

“As the leader of the team, I over-stepped.  I misjudged.  His blood is on my hands,” said Luther solemnly.

“I just want someone to feed my crab!”

“Hey, guys?” said Allison, appearing in the hallway and rubbing her eyes.  “What are you all yelling about?”

“Ben is here,” said Luther.

“Ben’s here?” asked Vanya anxiously, leaning into the door frame.  “...is he… okay?”

“I’m dead, Vanya,” snapped Ben.

“Vanya, Ben wants you to take his crab,” said Klaus.

“He does?” she asked softly, eyes welling up.

“Children!”  Pogo materialized in a well-loved pair of flannel pajamas with a banana print on them, a gift from Reginald five Christmases ago.  “What are you doing up after curfew?  Return to your beds.”

“Pogo!  I need my medicine!  Ben won’t stop haunting me!” whined Klaus shrilly.

“Oh my God.  Vanya, I heard a rumor that you loaned Klaus one of your pills,” said Allison irritably.

“Miss Allison!  Don’t mind-control your siblings!  Master Ben!  Stop haunting your brother!” Pogo scolded them.  “All of you, back to bed.  Tomorrow is a school day and Master Hargreeves expects you all to perform to the best of your ability!”

Everyone went back to bed, grumbling.  But shortly after Pogo turned away, Vanya slipped Klaus one of her pills, and they all slept better because of it.

---

That weekend, Allison holed herself up in her room, leaving Luther to wander the halls by himself, crest-fallen.

Vanya split her time between her violin and Klaus.

“Can you tell Ben I fed Number Eight?” she asked him repeatedly.

“Jesus Christ, Vanya.  It’s a crab,” grumbled Klaus.  “Stop nagging me.”

Vanya’s eyes welled up.  “You don’t understand!” she yelled shrilly.  “...Ben and I were close !”  She held up a legal pad with two lines of equations written on it: proof.

Klaus looked over at Ben.  Ben gave him a mystified shrug.

“Is he here?” she demanded, eyes darting around the room.

“Um…”  Klaus looked over at Ben.

Ben shook his head.

“No,” said Klaus.

Vanya looked around Klaus’s room.  Naturally, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  Only posters and crystal balls and bundles of sage and sequined pillows and the usual piles of trash.  “Can you tell him I fed his crab?” she asked again, softly.

“Yeah.  Absolutely.  Uh-huh,” said Klaus.

Recognizing that Klaus was not in a cooperative mood, Vanya’s shoulders slumped a little.  She turned away and walked down to Allison’s room instead.  She rapped her knuckles on Allison’s door.  Allison cracked it open, peeking out.  “What?” she asked.

“Hi,” said Vanya.

“What do you want?”

“...just saying hi.  What are you doing?” asked Vanya, standing up on her tip-toes to try to see behind Allison.  

Allison blocked her view.  “Nothing.  Can you give this to Klaus?”  She closed the door in Vanya’s face, then opened it second later to shove a cardboard box at Vanya.  Vanya peeked in.  It was a treasure-trove of shiny things, filled with nail polish, costume jewelry, and makeup.

“Why are you giving this to--” began Vanya, but Allison closed the door in her face, and so Vanya trudged dutifully to Klaus’s room and left the box outside of it for him to discover later.

---

When Monday came, everyone met, as usual, for the morning meeting.  They attended breakfast, and then classes.  It still felt weird to have Ben’s and Diego’s chairs empty.

When lunchtime rolled around, only Klaus, Luther, and Vanya were present.

“Who’s hungry!” sang Grace, walking in with six expertly-balanced plates and setting them around the table.

“Where’s Ally?” asked Klaus.

“I’ll go get her,” said Luther.  He turned and ambled off.  A moment later, his anguished yell reached the dining room, and Klaus and Vanya ran to the front hall.

Allison was standing between two suitcases in dark denim pants with a flared leg, a bright yellow blouse with a floral print, and a janty pink cap.

“Oo!  Fierce!” exclaimed Klaus.

“Allison, you can’t leave!  We need you!  I need you!  Allison, please!” cried Luther, distraught.

“Luther, if I don’t leave now, I won’t make it for fall quarter.  Classes start next week,” said Allison with quiet, intense earnesty.

“Enrollment doesn’t close ‘til October!”

“Luther.  I need to get myself established,” said Allison with the same controlled tone.  “Fees are already past due, and I want to have lots of time to settle into the dorm.  Besides, there’s a lot of people I have to take to so that all of my paperwork can be taken care of.  It’s a big deal.  There’s a ton to do and--  I’m sorry.”

“Allison!  You can’t!  You-- you said you were going to Argyle!” cried Luther frantically.

“I was.  For Ben,” said Allison, softly.  She picked up her suitcases.

“Allison!  Stop! ”  Luther grabbed one of the suitcases.

“I heard a rumor that-- Luther--”

“Allison,” begged Luther, holding on to the suitcase.  Allison let it go.

“I heard a rumor that you helped me carry my bags,” she said, softly. 

Luther picked up the other suitcase.

“Allison?” asked Klaus,voice trembling.  “...don’t you want to say bye to Pogo?”

“...how about you tell him for me?  See you around, Klaus,” said Allison, and then she stepped out of the door to wait for a cab for the airport.  Luther piled her suitcases into the trunk for her, and then stood in the street, watching the yellow car disappear into the distance.  It took him nearly ten minutes to comprehend what had happened.  The glaze in his eyes from being rumored faded, and was replaced with a different expression, but even then, he spent several more minutes looking down the empty street until he finally moved to go back inside.

Chapter 21: Klaus

Notes:

Actual content warning for this chapter. Klaus falls. Hard.

That afternoon, there was no group training.  Reginald locked himself in his study.  Luther wandered around the house in clear distress, silent anxiety radiating off of him.  It was only after the sun was melting into the horizon and the street-lamps had come on that Luther finally squared his shoulders and went to tell Reginald that Allison had left.  Reginald surely already knew, but Luther got the impression that he was waiting for Luther to inform him officially of her absence.  He was the leader of the team, after all.

Klaus went with him to knock on the door of his study.  Reginald appeared, demanding to know why they were interrupting him.

“Sir.  Number Three left,” said Luther.

Reginald regarded him.  “To where has she gone?” he finally demanded.

“California,” supplied Luther.

Reginald occupied the doorway for several long moments, then moved aside, indicating that Luther could enter.  Luther stepped into the forbidden room with the bearance of a man on his way to the executioner’s block.

Klaus tried to follow; Reginald shut the door in Klaus’s face.

Sighing, Klaus turned and walked straight through Ben.

He screamed.

“God, why do ghosts always do that?” he gasped, clutching his heart.

“What, stand in hallways?  I’m not allowed to stand in a hallway?” snapped Ben, crossing his arms.  Klaus turned to run off.  “Hey!  Wait up!  ...Klaus, stop ignoring me!”

“Go away!  You’re not real!  You can’t touch me!” said Klaus, fingers in his ears.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you do!” yelled Ben.  “I didn’t ask you to conjure me!”

“Well I’m not doing it on purpose!  Go back to where ever you’re supposed to be!”

“There isn’t anywhere else, Klaus!”

“You’re so selfish.  You’d rather haunt me than go to the Void.”  Klaus stormed into his room and dug around in the drawer of his desk.  He didn’t find what he was looking for; slamming it shut, he left, jogging briskly down the stairs.  Ben followed him; he had no choice.  Klaus was like a lightning rod and Ben felt irrevocably drawn to him.  And if he got too far, he ceased to be: an absence that he found unendurable. 

“Where are we going?” asked Ben.

“MOM!” hollered Klaus at the top of the stairs.

“Klaus.  Indoor voice,” scolded Grace gently, stepping out of the sitting room with a feather duster in her hand.  “What do you need?”

“Medicine,” said Klaus, scurrying over to her to stick his hand out.

“Klaus, darling, you don’t need any more medicine.”

“I do.  Ben’s bugging me.”

A flicker passed over Grace’s face.  She looked up toward the stairs with an expression of expectant longing and stood there, gazing off into the middle-distance, silent and unmoving.

“...Mom?”  Klaus tugged on her apron.

“Yes, dear?”

“My medicine?”

“Klaus, darling, you don’t need any more medicine,” said Grace in the same intonation as she had before.

Klaus realized it was a lost cause.  He turned toward the front door.  Reginald and Luther were going to be holed up for a while.  Klaus did not envy Luther; in fact, if he weren’t so enmeshed in his own personal drama, he might have pitied him.  Upstairs, Reginald was undoubtedly asking Luther why he hadn’t stopped her, how he, as Number One, had allowed this to happen.

But Klaus had gotten to bask in the warm embrace of sedation for six glorious days, and he wasn’t about to let it go so easily.  

He had specialized training the next day and he didn’t think he could stand it.

“Klaus?  Where are you going?” asked Grace.

“Outside.  To… study,” said Klaus.

“It’s getting late.  Will you have enough light?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Klaus.  ...you almost forgot your book, you silly goose.”

“Oh.  Thanks, Mom.”

With a copy of Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition under his arm, Klaus walked out of the door and down the block.  It felt very eerie to be alone.  The Hargreeves had always gone out together as a pack.  Klaus’s clothes made him feel self-conscious.  But he was on a mission.

“You can’t just take allergy medicine for the rest of your life!” said Ben shrilly as he followed behind.

“Watch me,” retorted Klaus.

He walked to the convenience store down the block and opened the door.  The bell above it rang.  Inside, the shelves were brightly lit and neatly stocked.

Klaus realized he had no money.

He walked up to the counter.  “Hello.  I’m Klaus Hargreeves but you probably know me as the Séance.  I usually come here with my siblings.  We’re superheroes,” explained Klaus.

“Yeah, I know.  You and all those other kids live in that weird school with the chimp and the rich old guy.  What do you want?” asked the clerk, who was flipping through a magazine and had not looked up.

“I need to buy some medicine but I don’t have any money.”

“That’s going to make buying anything pretty hard, huh?” said the clerk, then snapped her gum.

“Well, since you know who I am, can’t you just give it to me and I’ll pay you back next time I come here?  Y’know, like on credit?”

She laughed meanly.  “That’s not how it works, kid.  I’m not about to let you help yourself just because some rich weirdo adopted you.  Go ask your daddy for an allowance and then you can buy whatever you want.”

“But I need it.  For… school,” said Klaus.  He slid his copy of Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition pointedly across the counter.

She didn’t look up from her magazine.  “Then Daddy Warbucks won’t have any problem giving you cash for it, will he?”  She flipped the page.

“Ha,” said Ben smugly behind Klaus.

Klaus frowned.  He picked up his book, turned, and looked around.  He glanced back at the clerk, who was reading, then at the shelves.

“...you wouldn’t,” gasped Ben.

Klaus edged toward the cough syrup.

“Number Four Hargreeves!  Don’t you dare!  I mean it, Klaus!”

Klaus picked up a bottle.

He’d done this in Brazil.  Why not here?

He put it in his pocket.

The clerk looked up.  “Hey!” she exclaimed.

Klaus swept the shelf with his arm, grabbing an armful of bottles, and bolted, jumping expertly out of the way when the clerk tried to swipe him.  She scrambled over the counter to try to go after him.  Dodging the clerk was child’s play to Klaus, who had years of trained agility techniques specially cultivated from dodging Obscura's disintegrator beam.

He escaped into the street with an armful of over-the-counter drugs.

“Hey!  Hey!  ...you’d better not come back here, kid, or I’ll call the cops!” yelled the clerk after him.

Klaus sprinted down the block in a panic, feet slapping on the pavement.  He didn’t stop until he was in the alleyway behind their home, and then he put his back against the brick wall and slid down, panting, clutching his treasure.

“Klaus.  You have to go back there right now and return that stuff!” said Ben.

Klaus shook his head.  “No.  She said she’ll call the cops on me!”

“She was bluffing.  The cops are our friends.  Go put this stuff back,” demanded Ben, as Klaus struggled to peel off the plastic wrapping that secured the lid of a bottle.  “ Klaus!  You can’t just steal stuff!  What’s your long-term plan here, huh?  Stop opening it!  You can still return it if you don’t open it!  Klaus, once you open it you can’t take it back and then you’ll owe her money--”

“Shut up, shut up!” screeched Klaus, hands shaking as he ripped away the packaging.  He wasted no time in prying the lid off and swigging the contents of the bottle.

“Klaus, don’t!  Don’t send me away!” begged Ben.  “Klaus, stop, stop it!  Help me!  Klaus!”  He swiped at Klaus; his hand passed through Klaus’s arm.  Klaus shuddered and cringed away in revulsion, eyes wide with fear; he downed half the bottle of cough syrup, spilling some on his shirt when he began gagging.  The artificial cherry flavor was sickeningly sweet but did nothing to hide the bitterness of the concoction.

“Klaus!” wailed Ben.  “Klaus!”

Klaus squeezed his eyes shut and curled up in the alleyway, putting his fingers in his ears.

“Klaus!”

The cries faded and soon Klaus realized he was alone.  The ground was gritty and he was in shorts; the pavement had left marks on his legs but he couldn’t feel them.  

He rose unsteadily and gathered up his ill-gotten medication.  His brain felt sluggish and he wanted to lay down.  He searched for his copy of  Medication Action Pathways, 9th Edition but couldn’t find it, and returned home after fifteen minutes, giving it up as lost.

---

Klaus had swiped enough stuff to last for at least a few days.  He did not have a plan for what would happen next, and because of his non-prescription stupor, he didn’t need to think of one.

He had gotten to bask in the warm embrace of sedation for six glorious days, and it wasn’t about to let him go so easily.  

So long as he kept his head down, he could breeze through classes as he always had.  It was a little harder not to be noticed, though.  Diego had sat in front of him, and Diego was gone.  It was only he and Luther, and so, there was more attention on them than ever before.  Suddenly the Academy felt very empty.  Klaus’s siblings had been a shield.  Now, he felt exposed, and he didn’t like it.

He had no plan for how he was supposed to perform if he was high, but the day after Allison left, Reginald announced to the three of them that he had to conduct important research in his study, and their afternoon sessions were canceled.  He advised them to spend that time to study for their upcoming pharmacological test.

Since Klaus had lost his book, he instead went up to his room after lunch to guzzle some night-time cold medicine.  Luther appeared just as he was getting comfortable.  He seemed bothered; along with Klaus’s session, Reginald had canceled their team training in the afternoon.  He said he was “busy.”  Klaus knew he was lying.

“Hey,” said Luther.

Klaus had been lying on his bed and just started to slip away; he jerked awake at the the sound of Luther’s voice.  “Huh?  No, you’re on stolen drugs!” he blurted.

“Listen, Klaus, I was thinking.  About the team.”

“The team?” repeated Klaus.  He reached up and scratched his jaw.  It was rough; Reginald hadn’t given them razors over the weekend to shave and Klaus’s face was showing it.  “It’s not a team if there’s two people.  That’s… a duo.”

“Yeah, I know.  But I was thinking.  Really, there’s three of us.”

Klaus cocked an eyebrow.  “Luther, I know you’re bad at math, but one plus one does not equal three.”

“No, listen.  Ben’s not really gone.”

“He knows I died, right?” asked Ben incredulously from the corner.

“You can summon him.  So he can still be part of the team,” explained Luther.

Ben barked out a laugh and rose.  “Is he fucking serious?  Be part of the team that killed me?  This Academy is a nightmare!  I’d rather stay dead than ever come back here!  The whole thing is a sick, twisted perversion of Dad’s ego!  I spent all night doubled over in pain and then, when the Horrors realized I was dying, they practically ripped me open trying to escape one last time!  Look!”  He yanked up his shirt to show Luther his stomach.

Klaus flinched away, covering his eyes.  “Luther, I don’t think Ben’s really in the mood,” he translated meekly.

“Is he mad at me?  Because I don’t blame him.  I was the leader, and I failed him,” said Luther softly.

“Jesus Christ, Luther.  Dad failed me!” shouted Ben.

“He says it’s not your fault,” translated Klaus.

“It’s nice of him to try to make me feel better, but as Number One, this is my burden to bear,” said Luther solemnly.  “But even if Ben is mad at me, he should still consider what he owes the world, considering we were all born with remarkable powers and there are people out there who need us to save them.”

“It wasn’t even the Horrors!” ranted Ben.  “Like Diego said at the hospital, my stupid appendix would have popped eventually anyway because Dad never took any of our health seriously!  He didn’t even get us vaccinated!” yelled Ben.  “He lied to me and Allison, and he’s probably lying to you guys, too!  Who knows what he’s lying about?  He killed me, Klaus!  I hated being in the Academy and I hated what Dad made me do!”

“Ben says I need more medicine,” said Klaus, reaching for a bottle of cough syrup on his desk.

Luther snatched it away.  “Where did you get this?” he asked suspiciously.

“He stole it,” said Ben.

“Tattle-tale,” snapped Klaus.

“Hey, guys,” said Vanya, appearing in the hallway clutching a notebook to her chest.  

“Not now, Vanya.  We’re talking about Academy business,” said Luther.

“I thought you were talking about Ben,” she said quietly.

“Who is a member of the Academy,” said Luther pointedly.

“No I’m not!” snapped Ben.

“It was hard.  Losing him,” said Vanya, softly.

“Vanya.  Can you please leave us alone?” asked Luther in exasperation.  “This isn’t about you.  It’s about Ben.”

Vanya’s eyes welled up with tears.  “Of course you don’t understand!” she exclaimed, and then held up the notebook she was holding to reveal the equation for linear velocity.  “Only Ben understood what we had!”

Klaus looked over at Ben, eyebrows raised.  Ben offered Klaus a small, confused shrug.  

Luther closed the door so he and Klaus could talk.  “Klaus.  Listen.  I know you’re scared of ghosts but it’s Ben.”

“Tell him I’m not here and I don’t ever want to help the Academy ever again,” said Ben.

“I’ll do you one better.  I’ll make you disappear for real,” said Klaus, swiping the cough syrup back from Luther.

“Klaus!” cried Luther, trying to grab away the bottle.  Klaus ducked under his arm, chugging it ferociously.

“For my next trick… observe.  My lovely assistant will be no more!” said Klaus grandly, throwing down the empty bottle and sweeping a hand toward Ben.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” said Ben.  Twenty minutes later, though, he had faded away, and so had Klaus, leaving Luther alone.  He tucked Klaus’s limp body into bed and searched his room for any more contraband, but all he found was an empty pack of cigarettes and several already-drained bottles of cough syrup.

---

Klaus’s stash didn’t last as long as it should have.  When Klaus discovered he was out of medicine, he trudged down to the convenience store once again, trailed by Ben and three other bored ghosts.  But once he arrived, he stopped, staring into the brightly-lit store, where the clerk was chewing bubblegum and reading a magazine.  

His picture was posted up on the door, underneath the words “SHOPLIFTER.”

“Oh, shit,” said Klaus.  

“Told you,” said Ben.

“Shut up, Ben.”

“Capitalism--” began one of the other ghosts.

“Shut up, Khrushchev.  All of you just shut up and let me think,” demanded Klaus.  He rocked on his heels a little, trying to think up a plan.  But he couldn’t.   An apology wouldn’t cut it; if he came back with money to pay back the store, maybe, but he had no money.  Luther had some, probably, but he wouldn’t loan it to Klaus.  They had been fighting all week, mostly about Ben.  Luther refused to believe Ben wasn’t cooperating and kept trying to talk to Klaus about how Ben’s ghost might be helpful to the Academy.  Klaus had a headache most of the time from Luther and Ben yelling at him.

“Hey, kid, it’s not Halloween yet,” said a young college girl as she and two friends walked past Klaus to go into the store.  They burst into giggles.

Klaus looked down at his Academy uniform, frowning.  

A car parked on the curb nearby and a lady stepped out; she gave Klaus a confused look before entering the store.

“Klaus, let’s go home,” begged Ben.

“Hold on!” said Klaus excitedly as he watched the girls exiting the store holding a bag.  He waited until he saw a man walking toward the entrance, and then jumped in front of him.  “Excuse me, sir?  Are you going into that store?”

The man scoffed.  “What, you want me to buy you beer?”

Klaus blinked.  “Beer?” he repeated in surprise.  “...uh, yeah!  Sure!”

The man looked him up and down, then shook his head a little.  “Okay, but just so you know, if you go to a party looking like that, it won’t matter how much beer you bring.”

Klaus stood impatiently outside as his new friend went in.  A moment later, he came out with a case of beer, which he handed Klaus.  “Don’t party too hard,” he joked with a friendly smile.

Klaus hugged the case, surprised at how easy that had been.  “Thanks, mister.  I’m going to have a great party,” he said earnestly.  “A normal, fun teenage party with all my friends!”

He walked home happily, with Ben following him and demanding, cajoling, begging, and reasoning that Klaus would be better off if he threw it out, and that Klaus could get in trouble.

Klaus smuggled in the case carefully, peeking around the hall and tip-toeing around the pillars in case Pogo was lurking.  The house was eerily quiet and felt emptier than usual.  Klaus snuck up to his room without meeting anyone living.

Ben continued to heckle him, along with a few pro-Temperance ghosts who were clearly scandalized at Klaus’s intention to get drunk.

“I’m glad you and Susan B. Anthony are getting finally along, Ben, but I’m drinking this booze,” said Klaus firmly as he closed his bedroom door.  “I want to sleep tonight.  And you should do whatever the ghost equivalent is.  You can’t just be around all the time.”  He sat on his bed and tore open the cardboard case, taking out a can.  He cracked it open, sniffed it, and sipped.  He made a face.  “Ew.  This stuff is awful.”

“Well he probably bought you cheap stuff.  Klaus, don’t you remember how sick you got in New Orleans?”

“No.  All I remember is the peace and quiet.”

“Oh, yes, the peace and quiet of Mardi Gras in New Orleans,” said Ben sarcastically, crossing his arms.  “Unbelievable.  I die and you make it all about you--”

“I am so sick of hearing about how you’re dead.  Do you ever stop playing the ‘I died’ card?  It was like, two weeks ago, Ben.  Get over it!” said Klaus.

There was a knock on his door.  He shoved the case under his desk and threw a blanket over the can in his hand.

Vanya peeked in.  “Hi.  Were you talking to Ben?” she asked.

Klaus looked over at Ben.  Ben shook his head furiously.  Klaus looked at Vanya.  “No,” he said.

“Is he here?” she asked, looking around.

Klaus looked at Ben.  Ben waved his arms and shook his head.  Klaus looked back to Vanya.  “No,” he repeated.  “And you don’t need to keep showing me the equation for linear velocity.  I understand that that was your Paris.”

Vanya looked at the empty space in the middle of the room with which Klaus was conferring.  “...oh,” she said finally.  “Um, maybe I could come back…?  When he’s here…?”

“Yeah.  Sure.  I’ll let you know when he’s free,” said Klaus, crossing his legs casually.

“...and tell him I fed his crab?  Whenever you see him?” asked Vanya.

Klaus offered her a little salute.

She ducked out again, closing the door.  Klaus pulled the sheet away and took a long drag from the can, smacking his lips as he finished it.  “It’s actually not bad once you get used to it.  So, what’s going on with you and Vanya, Ben?  You’re not ghosting her, are you?”

“Did you seriously just say that to me?  Seriously?”

“Oh my God, here you go again, playing the ‘death’ card… you know, some ghosts are cool and not easily offended like you.”

“Well then summon those ghosts to have your sad little party with!” snapped Ben.  “Oh wait, you can’t, because you’re too busy drinking cough syrup and cheap beer!”

“Just say it, Ben!  You’re jealous because drinking cheap beer and ignoring girls is exactly what you were planning to do once you went off to college, and I’m living the dream and you’re not!” shouted Klaus.

Ben’s mouth fell open.  He stared at Klaus, aghast, and then said, tightly, “You’re right, Klaus.  I am jealous.  You’re living.  And I’m not.”  And then he turned and walked through the wall.

Neither Klaus nor the ghosts themselves had perfect control over Klaus’s ability to conjure them, but they could certainly make themselves more or less accessible to him from the other side.  For the next few days, Ben did not appear, and though Klaus would never admit it out loud to anyone, it hurt his feelings that his brother would rather occupy the Void and let him drink alone than come and keep him company.

---

Diego’s and Allison’s abrupt departures had thrown the usual schedule of the Academy into chaos.  Pogo was now teaching a room that was more than half-empty.  Group training was cancelled; it was too painfully obvious how thin their ranks were when it was just the two of them.

Reginald holed himself up in his study, saying he was busy doing important research, and left them on their own.  No one had any clue what he was doing.  Perhaps simply licking his wounds.

Luther mimicked him by holing up in his bedroom.  Klaus, on the other hand, spent more and more time wandering farther and farther from the Academy.  He discovered that his good luck in getting the beer the first time was difficult to replicate.  Most people would not buy him beer, or anything else, and some had the audacity to tell on him to the store owners, who would come out to shoo him away, threatening to call his parents.

He could pocket medication, but usually after the second or third time, he’d get caught, and have to move on to the next store.

Occasionally people would know precisely who the Séance was and would happily buy him a drink, but without the domino mask or his siblings beside him, most people thought he was just a high schooler from some private prep school, and did not look kindly on his begging.

Shortly after Allison’s departure, Klaus determined that his current method for attaining peace was, in fact, not sustainable.  There was a limited number of convenience stores within walking distance and he was rapidly becoming a notorious figure in the immediate neighborhood.

“Maybe Dad will start paying us for being superheroes once we turn 18,” he mused as he strolled down the sidewalk, kicking a can, hands in his pockets.

“Fat chance,” said Ben.  

“Well, then, how were you gonna pay for college, genius?”

“There’s a program called work-study I was gonna do,” retorted Ben.  

Klaus stopped walking and Ben accidentally walked through him.  They both shivered and slapped at their arms like they had walked through a cobweb.

“Ben.  You might actually be on to something,” said Klaus.  “...I can just get a job since we don’t have group training anymore!”

“What happens when Dad starts it up again?” asked Ben dryly.

“...I don’t know.  I’m a talk-to-the-dead psychic, not a reveal-the-future psychic.  Hey, everyone, listen up!”  He snapped his fingers.  Several ghosts looked up, eager to be noticed and listened to, for once.  “I need to get a job.  Fan out and tell me where the nearest Help Wanted sign is.”

Ben sighed and turned, fading.  A moment later, he reappeared to inform Klaus there was a hand-written sign a few blocks away at a buffet place called Yoo Ching.

Klaus hurried off eagerly.  

“You know, you could save up the money and move out,” suggested Ben, following him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, great idea, Ben.  Shut up,” said Klaus as he approached the glass doors of the buffet.  

He walked in to the foyer, where a hostess standing in front of a large planter full of fake bamboo looked him up and down.  “For… one?” she asked finally, apparently unsure of why Klaus was there.

“I’m here to apply.  For a job,” explained Klaus, beaming.

“Oh.  Are you eighteen?” she asked, looking over his uniform again.  The shorts made him look younger and if he hadn’t been sporting facial hair, she might have turned him away entirely.

“...basically, yeah,” said Klaus.  “I mean, in less than a week.”

“Hmm.  Okay.  Well, here, you can fill out this and I’ll see if Danny wants to talk to you,” she said, holding out a piece of paper to Klaus.  He took it and began filling it out.  

Ben peeked over his shoulder.  “Don’t write that your name is Four!”

“It says legal name!  I have to.  They don’t want to hire a liar,” whispered Klaus, scribbling across the page.  Under work experience, he hesitated.  “Do I put down our missions or what?” he whispered.

“What?” asked the hostess, who had returned.

“What?” asked Klaus.

She gave him a strange look, then said, “Danny works day shift.  He says he can look at your application now, if you want.  He’s sort of desperate for a busboy.”

“Oh.  Just so you know I don’t have a commercial license,” said Klaus.

She gave him another weird look.

Klaus left the work experience part blank but filled up the bottom of the page with every skill he could think of.  Ben suggested several additional skills, and he added those, too.

Danny came out to take the paper and offered Klaus a seat in the dining room, which was mostly empty.  Klaus sat.  He was good at interviews because he’d done so many in his life, though never alone.  He gave Ben a nervous smile as Danny looked over his application; Ben shot him a thumbs-up.

“So,” said Danny finally.  “Your name is… how do you pronounce this?”

“Four,” said Klaus.  

“Like golf,” said Ben.

“Yeah, like that,” said Klaus.

“Okay,” said Danny, eyes scanning over the page.  He flipped it over and then back.  “So your available hours are… weekday afternoons… except on ‘mission days?’”

“Sometimes I have to leave the country on short notice,” explained Klaus.  “But only like, a couple of times a year.”

“Uh-huh.  And your social security number is… four.”

“I mean, that’s my legal name,” explained Klaus, who didn’t know his social security number but figured providing his legal name was good enough.

“Uh-huh.  And under skills, you wrote ‘combat medicine, escape artistry, and occult magic?” read Danny.

“Ben suggested the last one,” said Klaus.  “Obviously I don’t think you’ll need it, though, unless someone dies from food poisoning or something.”

“No prior work experience.  Do you have any relevant skills to this position?” asked Danny, setting the paper down and folding his hands on the table.

“Oh!  Um, sure.  I mean.  I can… you know… I can fend off up to three armed assailants at once.  Four, if it’s on the deck of a ship.  And I can speak French, and German.  Oh!  And I can tell when people are lying to me!”

Danny stared at Klaus for a few long minutes, then said, “Alright.  Well, you know what?  I will go ahead and hold on to this application and give you a call if a good position opens up for you.”

“You’re lying to me,” said Klaus, looking a little pleased that he had gotten to demonstrate this skill.

Danny gave him a pained smile and told him to have a nice day.

Klaus left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk, blinking in the sunlight.  He turned to Ben.  “Maybe mentioning occult magic was a mistake.”

“I think it was because you mentioned food poisoning,” said Ben.

“Now what?” asked Klaus.

“Just try another place,” said Ben.

“What if no one hires me?” asked Klaus.  “Did you see Danny’s face, Ben?  He thought I was nuts.”

“Yeah, he’s making that face right now,” said Ben, pointing.

Klaus turned and looked into the restaurant.  Danny and the hostess were standing at the glass doors, watching him.  He could see his own reflection.  Ben’s reflection was missing.

“This is your fault!  You’re making me look bad!” hissed Klaus.

“My fault?  I helped you fill out the application!  And found the Help Wanted sign in the first place!  You’re welcome, by the way!”

“Forget it.  Getting a job is stupid,” said Klaus, turning away.  “I can get dirt on literally anyone in this city.  I shouldn’t even need to pay for meds!  I’ll just find somewhere with an open bar.  Like a wedding.”

“You can’t crash a wedding!” said Ben, appalled.  “Not without bringing a gift!  It’s rude, Klaus.”

“Or a fancy party!  I don’t know where they have open bars!” cried Klaus.  He had seen open bars at weddings and state dinners before.  He turned to his other side.  “Joplin, help me out.  Where’s the nearest fancy party with an open bar?”

---

Klaus found a party, though it wasn’t a fancy one.  The lights were dim and the alcohol was served in plastic red cups and everyone there was a lot older. 

“Hey, Mr. Business!  Nice tie!” someone greeted him.

“Thanks.  Janis Joplin told me this seemed like a groovy party.  I didn’t bring a gift,” announced Klaus.

The guy who had greeted him howled and slapped him on the back; Klaus smiled awkwardly and laughed, too, and accepted a red cup filled with alcohol.

“Klaus, all these people are way older than us,” whispered Ben.

“They’re not that much older.  They’re college kids,” said Klaus, sipping from the cup and wincing as he walked deeper into the apartment.  It was on the third floor of a large, brick building downtown.  

“I don’t think these people go to college,” said Ben, wrinkling his nose as two people who were furiously making out fell through him.

“Don’t gate-keep college, Ben.  Not everyone gets to go, you know,” said Klaus.

“Klaus, can we go home?  This place is really loud and--”

---

Klaus woke up on a park bench.  He sat up sharply, feeling disoriented and nauseous.  His head felt like it was splitting apart.  He groaned softly and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  His memory of the night was disjointed; he had been drinking, and drinking, and maybe fallen asleep, and then left the party, and then just sat down because he’d been having trouble walking, and now--

--and now the sun was peeking over the horizon.

He leaned to the side to retch softly.  “I’m gonna puke,” he reported.  He looked himself over.  His jacket was missing.

“You already puked a ton last night,” said Ben, crossing his arms.  “Apparently tequila is not your drink.”

“Oh my God.  Dad is going to kill me.”

Klaus got up and staggered home, pausing several times along the way to dry-heave, though his stomach was already empty.

He opened the door to the Academy with trepidation.  Pogo was passing through the hallway; he stopped to look at Klaus as he entered.  “Master Klaus!” he exclaimed in horror.

“Pogo.  I’m so sorry!  I went out and I fell asleep,” said Klaus desperately.

“Are you hurt?”

Klaus shook his head.

“Let me run you a bath, shall I?”  Pogo seemed relieved rather than upset that Klaus had not abandoned the Academy.  In fact, he lobbied on Klaus’s behalf for Klaus to skip morning lessons, telling Reginald that Klaus was ill.  Reginald glowered at Klaus through his monocle like he could peer into his very soul, but eventually gave him a curt dismissal.

Klaus spent the morning in bed, a pillow over his head, because the light hurt his eyes and the screaming of his ghosts made his headache worse than ever.

---

The doorbell rang that afternoon.  Klaus shuffled downstairs to get it, feeling groggy from waking up in the middle of the day but a little better after Grace had brought soup to his room and given him a few tabs of lorazepam.

He opened the door to find Tilt there in a domino mask and a black jumpsuit.

“Séance!  No time to explain!  The Hitch-hiker has taken control of Dr. Derby’s mind and, using his inventions, has commandeered a massive orbital laser system.  We have no choice but to team up to stop him!  ...why are you wearing pajamas?”

“Huh?”  Klaus looked down.  He was wearing powder-blue pajamas and no shoes.  He looked back up.  “What are you doing here?”

“I already told you.  No time to explain.  The leader of the Entropy Institute, my father, Dr. Derby, is threatening to blow up a volcano using an orbital laser system unless he’s given a billion dollars and the secret plans for the Televator because he’s currently being puppeted by our arch-nemesis, the Hitch-hiker.  The only way to stop them will be for the Entropy Institute and the Umbrella Academy to team up to defeat--”

“Oh, no, sorry.  We’re-- no.  We’re not doing that right now.  We’re, um… busy,” explained Klaus.

Tilt frowned and put her hands on her hips.  “Busy?  Doing what, having a sleep-over in the middle of the day?”

“I’ll have you know I was out all night doing… Academy stuff!” retorted Klaus.  “God, why can’t you and Pyro and Shifter just save the world on your own, for once?  I mean, it’s Dr. Derby, not Persius.”

“Hey!  Dr. Derby is a brilliant inventor and master planner!”

“And yet every year we foil your plans.”

“He’s a formidable opponent!  Imagine if The Monocle were threatening the world,” said Tilt.

“Dad’s not a bad guy!” retorted Klaus, a little too quickly.

“Well, neither is our dad!  He’s being mind-controlled by the Hitch-hiker,” said Tilt.  “And if it were The Monocle then it would be equally bad.”

“Reggie would never let the Hitch-hiker mind-control him, though,” said Klaus.

“Whatever.  Look, this time we have to unwillingly team up to save the world.”

“No, sorry, we’re not taking collaborations right now,” said Klaus, scratching the small beard on his chin.  “But good luck with that, I guess.”

Tilt looked utterly shocked.  She reached up to take off her domino mask to look him in the eyes.  “You guys really aren’t going on missions right now?”

“No.  ...like I said, we’re… busy,” said Klaus.

“Oh.  ...okay.  ...well, I guess we’ll go foil his plans ourselves.  ...happy early birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks, you too,” said Klaus, closing the door in her face.

“Good call,” said Ben as Klaus shut the door.

“Hey, who was that?” called Luther, appearing on the second-floor mezzanine and looking down at Klaus.

“No one,” said Klaus.  “...ghosts.”

“You feel any better?”

“Yeah.  Lots better,” said Klaus.

“And you’ve learned your lesson,” added Ben.

“Absolutely.  No more tequila for me,” agreed Klaus.  

“Huh?” said Luther.

“Huh?” said Klaus.

---

“This isn’t tequila!” called Klaus over the pounding bass of the music.  Ben watched disapprovingly as a college kid tilted a bottle into his red Solo cup.

Despite his insistence that he would never again repeat his actions, that night, unable to sleep as the Ativan wore off, he slipped out of his window and went to find a party.  It turned out parties were easy sources of medication and alcohol.  Far better than shop-lifting or begging.  

And Klaus had learned a lot from last time.  He had raided Allison’s room for left-behinds and thrown together a mis-matched outfit of items that, although it didn’t look anything like something a regular person would wear, was still less conspicuous than little schoolboy shorts and a neatly tied tie tucked into a checkered sweater-vest.

Also, this time, Klaus knew better than to lie down once he started getting groggy.  He stayed up all night, talking to his newfound friends, who thought he was weird and hilarious.  (Half the time, Klaus wasn’t joking, but he rolled with their laughs, appreciating being the center of attention, for once, instead of fourth in a line-up of seven.)

“And my birthday’s on Monday!” he yelled at one point, and everyone cheered, insisting there should be another party then to celebrate.  The idea of having his very own party was as intoxicating as the tequila sunrise in his hand.

He finally stumbled home around three, carrying his heels in his hand.  “How did Allison run in these things?”

“Practice?” guessed Ben.

“Why are you still here?” demanded Klaus, waving a bottle through him (He’d swiped one on his way out).  “Scram!  I’m drunk.  I shouldn’t be able to see you.”

“We were close and I’m recently dead.  ...most of the other ghosts are gone.  Can’t you tolerate me?” asked Ben.

“Not when you’re harshing my buzz all the time.  Now shut up.  We gotta sneak in,” said Klaus as they approached the Academy mansion.

He opened the door very, very slowly; it creaked softly.  He tip-toed into the grand hall.  It was dark and silent.

He immediately walked right into the table in the middle, knocking over a large vase full of white lilies and chrysanthemums.  The vase wobbled, fell to the floor, and shattered.  Klaus froze.

The lights all came on and Pogo appeared, furious.

“Master Klaus!” he exclaimed, staring at the bottle in Klaus’s hand.

“It’s not mine!  It’s Ben’s!” cried Klaus, shoving the liquor toward Ben.  Ben reflexively reached out to grab the bottle but it fell through his hands and shattered on the floor as well.

“This behavior is absolutely unacceptable!  I understand that you are mourning, but this is no way to honor the memory of your brother!”

“Yeah, Klaus.  Honor my memory,” sneered Ben mockingly.

“Go to your room this instant!”

“Sorry, Pogo,” said Klaus, and gingerly stepping over all the scattered pieces of glass, he retreated to his room.

The next day he was instructed to stay after morning meeting and, instead of breakfast, was escorted into Reginald’s office, where Reginald went on a loud, furious tirade about his behavior, pacing the room like a caged lion.  Klaus stood stock-still, watching him, not daring to speak, trying to look appropriately ashamed lest he incur more of Reginald’s wrath.

During their morning instruction, Luther and Klaus avoided looking at each other.  Klaus was embarrassed to have gotten in trouble, and Luther was ashamed by his performance as of late.  Klaus had had to make up his pharmacological test and had failed it abysmally.  He didn’t really care.

He had one-on-one trainings on Thursday, but he decided to play hooky and go find a party instead.  He was terrified of what Reginald might have in store for him after coming in drunk after curfew.

He slipped off after lunch and found a party downtown where he smoked a joint, danced with at least a dozen people, drank a drink called a Fuzzy Navel, and made out with a guy named Jason who said he was studying business management at Argyle City College.  It was everything the mausoleum was not: colorful, loud, moving, and packed with living, breathing bodies.

When Klaus came home on Friday morning, Reginald, Pogo, and Luther were waiting for him.

Klaus’s stomach dropped.

“Number Four,” said Reginald.  His voice was quiet and far more dangerous than if he had been yelling.  “If you ever, ever skip your training again, consider your contract with the Academy terminated.”

“...I have a contract?” asked Klaus in confusion.

Reginald responded by giving him a sharp, open-handed slap.

Klaus put his hand to his cheek in shock.  Reginald had never hit him before.

“Okay.  Sir,” he said, meekly.

Without another word, Reginald turned and strode away.  Pogo and Luther gave him a pained look and turned away to follow him.  Later, Grace scolded Klaus for rough-housing and insisted on putting a bag of frozen peas on his cheek.  “I’ll have a talk with Diego later about playing nicer,” she reassured him.

---

That evening, Klaus bumped into the same guy he had gotten the weed from the night before.  

Klaus had gone out and somehow found himself downtown again.  Klaus had vowed to come home even before sunset so that Reginald wouldn’t be mad at him and reassured Ben he would only have one or two drinks, tops, to take the edge off so that he could get a good night’s sleep.  

His pride was wounded more than his face from the slap.  He wished Reginald hadn’t done it in front of Luther.

“Hey!  I remember you!  You’re the guy who wears all the jewelry!” exclaimed the guy, who was sitting on a kitchen counter in a dingy apartment smoking.

“That’s me!” said Klaus, beaming.  “My sister went off to college and left me with like, a ton of stuff.  You’re… hold on, let me think…”

“Matt,” supplied Ben.

“Matt!” repeated Klaus, snapping his fingers.  “Hey, can I have some more weed or something?  That stuff I had yesterday was great.”

“Yeah, sure.  I have ludes,” offered Matt.

Klaus had no idea what that was.  “That sounds perfect,” he said.

“What’s a lude?” whispered Ben.  

Klaus waved at him to be quiet.  “Some kind of pill, shut up,” he hissed between clenched teeth, still smiling beatifically at Matt.

“So, how much do you got?” asked Matt.

Klaus’s smile wavered with confusion.  “...got?”

“Yeah.  It’s not free, you know.”

“I got it for free yesterday!”

“That was just weed, and it was my birthday, dude.  I don’t just give shit out for free to anyone all the time.  Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, is that a tattoo?” asked one of Matt’s friend who was sitting beside him on the counter.

Klaus looked down at his wrist.  He debated whether or not to hide it.

“Are you one of those Umbrella kids?  Oh my God, I know you!  You’re the-- uhh-- the one who can talk to the dead, right?” asked Matt’s friends enthusiastically.

Klaus hesitated.  

He wanted those pills.

“Yeah.  That’s me,” he said, voice cracking.  “...listen, I really need something to take the edge off--”

“Well, we can work something out,” said Matt.  “So you can talk to the dead?”

“Uh-huh,” said Klaus, who felt sick all of a sudden.  Ben was right; tequila did not agree with him.

“So, hey, can you conjure up my grandma and ask her where she left the keys to Pop-Pop’s ‘68 Mustang?”

“Sure,” said Klaus.  He kicked off his shoes and gripped the counter, jaw clenched.  His eyes unfocused a little and, a moment later, he said, “The top of my jewelry box… has a false panel… and I put the key there… beside my engagement ring.”

“Score!” exclaimed Matt.  He and his friend high-fived.

Klaus gasped like he was coming up for air and dragged a shaky hand over his face, which was shining with sweat.  “Can I have some stuff now?” he asked.

Matt took a long drag on his joint.  “Like I said.  I think we can work something out.  How bad do you want it?”

Klaus glowered at him.  “Hey, I just summoned your grandmother!”

“But that’s just like, a thing you do, isn’t it?”

Klaus scratched at his tattoo in annoyance.  “Look, what do you want?  I’ll do anything.  Just lay it out for me.”

“Lay it out for him, man,” said Matt’s friend teasingly, elbowing him.

Matt grinned.  “Anything?”

“Anything!”

Matt hopped off the counter and handed out what was left of his joint to Klaus.  Klaus took a deep, grateful drag.

“Come on,” said Matt, and he led Klaus to the bathroom.  They squeezed in; it was a tiny half-bath with two lights over the sink, but one was burned out.

“What are we doing in here?” asked Klaus.

“You said you wanted some ludes, right?”  Matt undid his belt and put a hand on Klaus’s shoulder.  He gave him a gentle push.  Klaus sank to his knees.  “Hey, my grandma’s not still here, right?”

“...no,” said Klaus softly.

“Okay, cool.  Go ahead.”

Klaus hesitated.

Matt put a hand on the back of his head.

A half-hour later, Klaus walked down the street with a small plastic bag in his pocket.

“Do you want to talk?” asked Ben.

“No,” said Klaus.  “Go away.”  He went back home and made his way to the bathroom to run himself a bath.

Luther appeared in the doorway as Klaus sat perched on the edge of the tub, trailing a hand in the warm water.

“Hey, Klaus.  You missed dinner.  I had Mom save you some--”

Klaus bolted to the toilet and reached in just in time to throw up. 

Luther hurried over to crouch beside him.  “Oh my God!  Are you okay?”

Klaus coughed.  “I’m fine!  I’m great.  Just-- just too much nicotine, probably.  I was smoking earlier.  I’ll feel better after a bath.”  He swatted Luther away.  “Really, I’m fine.  I don’t want dinner.  Tell Mom she can throw it away.”

“You might be hungry later.  It’ll settle your stomach, to have something in it,” said Luther.

Klaus gagged a little.  “No.  No!  I’m okay.  I’m good.  ...really, Luther, I’m fine.”

Klaus had not had too much nicotine.  In fact he had smoked his last cigarette earlier in the day, and he realized he was out that evening.

He went to get some, got sidetracked, and ended up spending night sleeping on a couch in a girl’s dorm.  She said she was their biggest fan and there were Umbrella Academy posters hung up all over the place.  Klaus woke her up screaming several times, and on Sunday, she apologetically told him she couldn’t host him anymore because her R.A. was mad about it.

Klaus trudged home on Sunday morning and tried to open the front doors, only to discover they were locked.  He gave them a rattle, but they didn’t budge.  He pounded his fist against the door for several minutes before he heard a stool move on the other side. The tiny door to the view hole opened and Pogo peeked out.

“Yes, Master Klaus?” asked Pogo in a pained voice.

“Pogo, the door is locked,” said Klaus.

“Yes, Master Klaus.”

“My key isn’t working.”

“...yes, Master Klaus.  Master Reginald instructed me to change the locks yesterday.”

Klaus stared at him in shock.  Then, finally, he said, “But… but… can I at least come in to get my stuff?”

“You have no belongings, Number Four,” came Reginald’s voice from somewhere in the hall.  “The materials you enjoyed use of belong to the Academy.” 

“I’m sorry, Master Klaus,” said Pogo very, very softly so Reginald couldn’t hear, as he closed the door.

Klaus stared at the door in shock, then threw himself against it and spent several minutes banging against it, battering his body against it with all of the fervor and effectiveness of a moth fluttering against a pane glass window.

Realizing Pogo would not open it, Klaus went around to the alley, climbed up the fire escape, and tried to pull open the window to his room.  That too was locked.

He was contemplating breaking it when Luther appeared and pulled the sash up.

“Luther!  They locked me out!” hissed Klaus.  “What, are you gonna tell me I should’ve behaved better?  Should’ve studied more?  Should’ve been daddy’s good little boy, and that this is all my fault?”

“What?  No,” said Luther, eyebrows knitting.  “I was gonna let you come in and get your stuff.  ...hurry up, before Dad sees.”

He moved aside and Klaus fell into his room.  He cast a look around, trying to figure out what to keep and what to abandon.

Luther watched him with a sympathetic expression.

“You could come back.  If you apologized.  Cleaned up your act,” he said finally.

“It’s too late for that, Luther.  I can’t stay here.  ...Ben hates it.  The statue in the courtyard creeps him out,” said Klaus, shoving an eyeshadow palette, a flashlight, and a scarf Mom had knitted him into his duffel bag.  

“Where are you gonna go?” asked Luther softly.

“I have plenty of friends I can stay with.  And fans.  You know, wherever.  I’m very low-maintenance,” said Klaus, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  He cocked his head, then looked down, then up.  “Ryan says Pogo is coming up the stairs.  See you around, brother.”

“Hey!  Wait!  ...Dad gave me our birthday money early.  Here’s your share,” said Luther.  He reached into his pocket and offered Klaus several twenties.  

Klaus took them and pocketed them.  “Thanks.  ...stay safe, okay?”  He hugged Luther.

Surprised and touched, Luther hugged him fiercely back.  He watched Klaus throw his duffel bag out of the window and scramble after it, hurrying away before Pogo could catch him.

Luther closed the window and relocked it just as Pogo appeared.

“Master Luther?  Is everything all right?” asked Pogo quietly.

“Yeah, Pogo.  Everything is fine.  Never better,” lied Luther.  He put his hands in his pockets, trying to look nonchalant, and discovered that the rest of the birthday money that had been there was missing.  It had vanished during the hug.

Chapter 22: Luther

Notes:

Welcome to the end.

Klaus drifted down Brookhurst Avenue like a discarded plastic bag, with Ben trudging behind him.  Klaus may have wandered far from the Academy in the three weeks following Ben’s death, but he was still tied to it, just as the ghosts were tied to him.  In a way, Klaus was just another ghost who haunted the Umbrella Academy mansion, and finding himself no longer connected to it left him lost.  His life had orbited around the Academy, and in doing so, had had some semblance of stability.  Now Klaus could go anywhere, and he discovered, to his chagrin, that he had no idea where to go.

“You need to find shelter,” opined Ben as they stopped to rest at a bus stop.

“I don’t know how to contact Diego or Allison,” said Klaus, putting his elbows on his knees and hunching forward.  “...do you think Allison is in California yet?  Maybe if I call the school they can get her and she can send me some money.”

“How?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know.  Using a bank?” Klaus shrugged expansively.  “Allison would know.”

Ben frowned and paced around in the gutter.  “Luther didn’t give you enough to get a hotel room, did he?”

“No,” said Klaus.  “And I already spent it.”

“Wait, what?”

“I was out of cigarettes!”

“Cigarettes cost sixty dollars?!”

Klaus unzipped his bag and pulled out a large bottle of champagne.  He grinned and waved it at Ben; its contents sloshed.

“Unbelievable.  You blew through sixty dollars in a day ?”

“Hey, that was my birthday money, and this is my birthday present!” said Klaus, hugging the bottle protectively.  “I’ll just find a fan and crash with them for the night, until I figure something more permanent out.  There’s thousands of couches in the city.  Can’t be hard to find one.”

“What about food?”

“I’ll find some.  God, Ben, why do you care?  It’s not like you need food or shelter anymore.”

“Keep your voice down.  You’re scaring people.”

Klaus turned to where Ben was pointing.  A woman was walking with her daughter down the sidewalk; she hugged the girl to her and walked a little more briskly when Klaus looked at her, very pointedly not making eye contact with him.

“I’m not crazy!” called Klaus, rising.  “My brother’s dead!”

She hurried off.

“Smooth,” said Ben, crossing his arms.

Klaus struggled to pull the cork out of the champagne bottle.

“Hey, what are you doing?  You told me that was for our birthday!”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting the celebration early,” said Klaus.  The cork popped loudly; Ben flinched reflexively as it flew through his chest.

Klaus toasted to Ben.  “Cheers.  Go away so I can think in peace.”

“You think?  Since when?” asked Ben.

Klaus drank most of the bottle before Ben vanished.

---

When Ben re-emerged into the physical world, he found Klaus had moved a considerable distance, to the south-eastern part of the city.  The street sign said Oak and Henley.  Ben knew Oak but not Henley.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Klaus was leaning against a wall with three other young men, smoking.  There were two on his right, who were passing a cigarette back and forth, and a third on his left, who looked half-asleep and had vomit down his front.  Klaus had changed; he was still wearing his schoolboy shorts, but his shirt was now a thin, gauzy, pink tank top printed with ladybugs.  It was unclear where it had come from.

Along with Klaus’s new friends was a small murder of crows who did not seem to mind that the sun had gone down and would rather enjoy Klaus’s company than go to sleep.  Klaus was unaware that the only distinguishing feature of the Argyle River Crow was that it was nocturnal.  Since their trip to the zoo, Klaus had simply taken it at face value that crows followed him around regardless of whether it was night or day.

That trip to the zoo felt like a lifetime ago.

“Are you guys ghosts, too?” asked Ben, because the three other men on the wall were very, very pale.

“They’re real,” said Klaus.

“Huh?” asked one of the men on his right.

“They’re real,” repeated Klaus, and gave his chest a squeeze.

The man laughed.  “God, you are so weird.”

“What’s going on?  Fill me in,” demanded Ben.

Klaus sighed, looking upward, then said, “Well, now that we’re not allowed in Sharkie’s anymore, you guys want to find another bar or a party or something?”

“You went to a bar?  How’d you get in without any ID?  You already drank like half a bottle of alcohol earlier!  Why would you go to a bar?” demanded Ben furiously.  He looked around, a little disoriented.  A considerable amount of time appeared to have passed.  It was dark out and the street lamps were on and the businesses around them were all closed.

“My favorite kind of party is the kind that doesn’t judge you,” said Klaus.  “I was thinking I could use an atmosphere that’s more lively and less mean-spirited.”

“You’re an enormous asshole.”

“Honey, the party will come to us,” said one of the men on the right, sticking a hand out.  Klaus passed him the cigarette.

“What’s the party’s schedule?  I’m cold,” complained Klaus.

The three men chuckled.  “It’s a Sunday night.  Trust me, this won’t take long,” said the one of the left.

Sure enough, within a half-hour, a sleek new sports car with tinted windows pulled up.  The two men on Klaus’s right scurried up to the window as it hummed down.

“Hey, there.  You look bored,” said the man in the driver’s seat with a grin.

“We are.  You going somewhere fun?” asked one of the them.

“We like to party,” said  the other.

“There’s a party back at my place.  I’ve got room for three,” he said, peeking past them towards Klaus.

“Don’t go with him.  He won’t call the paramedics when you OD,” said the man on his left.

Klaus’s head whipped around.  He reached out to try to touch the man’s arm; it passed through it.  Klaus shrieked and scrambled back.

The man in the car and the two men leaning against it all looked at him strangely.

“I’ll-- I’ll take the next one,” croaked Klaus, cringing away from the ghost on his left.

“Suit yourself,” said one of the living men, and he and his friend both climbed into the car.  It drove away, leaving nothing but a faint cloud of exhaust and the red glow of tail-lights.

Klaus crouched against the wall and hugging his knees for warmth, took a shaky drag on his cigarette.  “You could’ve told me you were dead.”

“You could’ve asked!” retorted the ghost.  He looked at Ben.  “Cute.  Who’s he?”

“He’s off-limits.  He’s my brother,” said Klaus.  “Go away, will you?”

“After I told you about the back entrance of Sharkie’s and saved you the cover fee?  No way,” said the ghost.  “I have too much unfinished business.”

Klaus grumbled in annoyance, shuffling away a little and trying to ignore the ghost.  Wearing heavy eyeliner, a shimmering crop-top, and a pair of denim shorts, the ghost didn’t look especially different from Klaus, except, perhaps, for the vomit on his shirt.  But Klaus didn’t care.  On principle, he disliked ghosts, especially when they began yammering away at him, which this ghost was, now that they were alone.  He had begun a long, mournful soliloquy about how he had never truly appreciated his older brother and wanted closure for their relationship before passing on.  Klaus didn’t have the heart, or the energy, to explain to him that there was no “passing on” as far as he was aware.  He could not make ghosts go away.  If he could, he certainly would have been doing so from the beginning.

The sports car that had come to pick up Klaus’s new friends had been a strange appearance because there was otherwise no traffic on Henley.  If Klaus didn’t hate the phrase so much, he might have called it a ghost town.  It was very quiet and dark and aside from a small gaggle of women on the opposite corner, there were no people and no night-life.  Klaus honestly wasn’t sure why his new friends (who he’d only met a few hours ago) had come here.  To meet people, they said.  It was an odd meeting spot.

Although the street did have an ATM squished between a pawn shop and a payday loan store, so maybe that was why they liked it.

Klaus was shivering and watching the ATM when a battered white van turned the corner with a screech and stopped in front of it.  The side door slid open and three men wearing red-and-white scarves jumped out.  They ran up to the ATM with crowbars and began smashing it.  It was a hardy machine and barely showed any dents.

“Is that the Peppermint Scarf Gang?” asked Ben.

“Yeah,” said Klaus.

“...should we go stop them?”

“...naw, they’re not really making much progress,” said Klaus.

“Hurry up, boys!” said one of the three, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow.  “This will be our biggest heist ever!  But we have to hurry before the Umbrella Academy shows up!”  They resumed trying to smash open the ATM.

“You should tell him,” said Ben.

“Naw.  He’s getting a good work-out,” said Klaus.

They, and the gaggle of women on the opposite corner, watched as the three scarved men pounded away at the seemingly impenetrable ATM.

Suddenly, without warning, a dozen small black figures emerged from the alley and swarmed around them.

“Oh no!  It’s the Shōkan orphans!” said the gang leader.

The orphans and the criminals engaged in a brief, flurried exchange of exaggerated gymnastic blows before the orphans karate-chopped the gang into submission, tying them up around the ATM, leaving a note for the Argyle City police, and then cart-wheeling off into the shadows.

“Dear God.  Is that what we looked like?” asked Klaus, aghast.  “That was ridiculous.”

“If Luther were here, he’d probably say, ‘Crime doesn’t pay,’” said Ben mournfully.

“Naw, he’d make a mint pun,” said Klaus.  “Like… ‘guess your plans weren’t mint to be!’”

“Oh, that’s awful,” said Ben.  “...I miss him.”

“Shut up,” said Klaus.

“You shut up!”

“No, shut up!  Listen!” said Klaus.

A loud roar was coming from the distance.

They cocked their heads as the rumble of an engine approached.  A motorcycle abruptly turned the corner and came flying down the street.  Its rider was masked; a cape flew out behind him; he stopped a little too fast and the motorcycle wobbled dangerously, almost falling.  He managed to wrestle it to a stop in front of the ATM and put the kickstand up.  His shoulders slumped when he saw the Peppermint Scarf Gang was already tied up.

“Aw, damn it,” he said, pulling a small radio out of the satchel over his shoulder and checking it.

“Diego?” said Klaus in disbelief.

The figure’s head snapped up.  He pulled off his cowl.  “Klaus?”

Klaus laughed and rose to run across the street.  “Oh my God , you got a motorcycle?”

“Well… it’s my roommate’s, but I use it at night for missions and stuff,” said Diego.  “Klaus, what are you doing here?  This is a bad part of town, man.”

He glanced behind him to survey the street.  A feral hyena jogged down the empty stretch of cracked asphalt, giggling to itself.  Another one followed it, a bone in its jaws.

Ignoring Diego’s question, Klaus took a long drag on his cigarette, and then spat, “What are you doing here?”

“Um, crime-fighting?” said Diego, waving the radio at Klaus.  “This is a police scanner.  I’m helping.  ...what’s with the pink top?  You look ridiculous.”

“Said the guy in the cape.  ...what’s the K stand for?” asked Klaus, pointing to the K pinned to Diego’s breast.

“Kraken,” said Diego.  

“And, hold on, you have a roommate?  Why can’t I be your roommate?” asked Klaus, pouting and putting his hands on his hips.

“Well, I didn’t choose my roommate.  I’m staying at the Y and they just sorta… assigned us,” said Diego awkwardly.  “But it’s fine, because he’s got a motorcycle, and it’s only temporary.  I’m going to get my own place soon once I save up some money.”

“And you thought the cape was a good idea?  Do you… fly?” asked Klaus, cocking an eyebrow.

“I did.  I took a Levitation belt from home but I sort of forgot the charger,” said Diego sheepishly.  “...hey, could you grab me one?”

“Dad kicked me out, so no,” said Klaus bluntly.

Diego seemed a little taken aback at Klaus’s response, but quickly regained his confidence.  “So where are you staying?” he asked coolly, as if Klaus’s forcible expulsion from their home were neither interesting nor unexpected.

“...with a friend,” said Klaus.

“Klaus!” hissed Ben.  “Ask him for help!”

“Ben says he likes your cape,” said Klaus.

“What friend?” asked Diego suspiciously.

“...I don’t know.  Just a friend, okay?  I’m waiting for him now,” said Klaus.

“DIEGO!  DIEGO, HELP US!” yelled Ben, waving his hands inches from Diego’s face.

“When is he supposed to get here?” asked Diego, checking a watch on his wrist.

“...I don’t know, he’ll get here when he gets here, okay?” said Klaus testily.  “Don’t you have… villains to vanquish?  Don’t stop fighting crime on my account.  I’m sure you have a very busy schedule.”

“I do.  I’m teaching kick-boxing during the day and prize-fighting at night.  I’m going to get my own place, go to the police academy, and actually live a normal life,” snapped Diego.

“Must be nice,” snapped Klaus back.  “You know kick-boxing has rules and stuff, right?  It’s not like in the Academy, where you can just kick people in the neck and Dad says it counts.”

“In the streets, everything counts,” said Diego cryptically.

“Wow.  Okay.  Sure.”  Klaus rolled his eyes.

Before Diego could respond, another sleek car with tinted windows pulled up, and the driver put his window down.  “Hey there,” he said.

“Hi,” said Klaus.  

“Not you.  How much?” he asked Diego.

“What?”

“...what?!”

Diego pulled a knife from a thigh holster; the man in the car slammed on the gas pedal and his car sped off with a squeal of tires on asphalt.  Diego threw the knife and it stuck into the back of the car’s trunk as it turned the corner.

“I mean, fair question,” said Klaus.

“Excuse me?” demanded Diego.

“You’re wearing a cape, Diego.  On the eastside.  And it’s purple.”

“It’s dark maroon.”

“I think capes are cool,” interjected Ben.

“Everyone knows dark maroon means ‘deeper,’” said the ghost who had overdosed.

“Regardless, it is fabulous,” said Klaus.

Diego yanked off the cape and threw it at Klaus, who caught it.  “You can have it.”  He swung a leg over the motorcycle.  “I’ve got more crimes to solve.”

“More?  But you didn’t solve any crimes, yet,” protested Klaus, clutching the cape, but Diego was already revving the engine.  

“Don’t do anything stupid, Klaus,” said Diego darkly, and then he pulled his cloth cowl back down over his face.

“Said the guy not wearing a helmet!” shouted Klaus after the motorcycle.

He waited until Diego was out of sight to pull the cape around his shoulders.  “Oo.  This is nice,” he said, petting the fabric.  “...oh my God, did you see his outfit?”

“I could’ve pulled off a cape,” grumbled Ben to himself..

“Yikes,” said the other ghost.

Klaus tugged the cape up tighter around his shoulders, and lit up another cigarette to wait.  He didn’t get to finish it; his new friend arrived about five minutes later, and he dropped the cigarette into the gutter and crushed it with his foot as he got into the car.

---

On the morning of October 1st, 2007, Luther arrived at the morning briefing ten minutes early.

It was not because it was their birthday, or because it was, in particular, their 18th birthday.  It was simply because getting ready in the morning no longer needed to be rushed.  No one else needed to use the sink.

Reginald walked into the hallway, checked his pocket watch, put it away, took out a handkerchief, took off his monocle, wiped it off, and then replaced it, scrunching his eyebrow down to hold it in place.  He looked at Luther.  “Today you are eighteen.  You no longer require any sort of academic instruction.  However, I still expect you to maintain a regular training schedule to keep yourself in top physical condition.  Rigorous self-discipline is critical to the maintenance of the safety of humankind.  The world depends upon the Academy to keep it safe.  There will be no shirking of duties.  Now that you are of age, the responsibility that lies on your shoulders is all the more essential.  Treat it as such.”

A pregnant silence followed.  He seemed to expect an answer.

“Yes, sir,” said Luther finally, speaking for everyone.

“Very good.  Please review camouflage techniques this afternoon during your free study period.  For your personal training, Number One, we shall be practicing together in firearms.  If I recall correctly your previous performance in ranged combat was lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” said Luther.

“Dismissed.”  Reginald turned and left.

Luther looked over at Pogo.  “So… we just don’t have class anymore?” he asked.

“Your mornings are unscheduled.  Yes,” said Pogo.

Luther did not seem to know how to take this and went to breakfast with a look of puzzlement.

He sat at the table.

“What type of cake would you all like for your birthday tomorrow?” asked Grace as she breezed over to serve him a large omelette and a glass of milk.

“Chocolate,” said Luther immediately.  He waited a beat, expecting Diego to argue, as he had for the last eighteen years.  

No one said anything.

“Chocolate it is!” said Grace cheerfully.

That evening, Grace presented them with a large chocolate cake.  For as long as Luther could remember, vanilla had been the only flavor everyone could agree on, and the flavor they had every year.  No one’s name was on it; there was not enough room; instead, there were only six candles.  Grace had embroidered each of them a pillowcase with their number on it, and wrapped them, but 2, 3, 4, and 6 sat unopened on the end of the table.  

For a few years after Five had gone missing, Grace had continued to make and wrap seven gifts.  There was a small corner in the attic where a pile of them sat, still wrapped, growing dusty.  Luther stared at the small, neat stack of wrapped presents which would soon join Five’s pile, and his stomach knotted.

Grace beamed, hands clasped expectantly.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Make a wish!” she encouraged him.

Luther stared at the flickering candles.  There were six.  Was this Grace’s wish?  For her other children to return?  Or was this just faulty programming?  A delay in her algorithm’s ability to adjust quickly enough to such a sudden, dramatic change in their routine?

Reginald had officially proclaimed him a man that morning.  Luther should have felt exhilarated, but instead, he just felt empty.

He wished he weren’t alone.

Wishes, though, were for children.

He set his jaw, leaned forward, and blew sharply on the candles, extinguishing them.

---

Ben sat on the end of a queen-sized bed, staring at the pea soup green Berber carpet.  The box springs squeaked rhythmically.  He counted them mentally.  At 324, they stopped with a small gasp.  There was blessed silence for a moment, then the sound of a match striking.

Ben turned.

Klaus breathed out a plume of dark, musky smoke and then reached up a hand to try to tangle it into the strands of vanishing fumes.

Beside him, the digital clock radio clicked loudly as it snapped from 11:59 to 12:00.

“It’s our birthday,” reported Ben mournfully.

Klaus’s heavy-lidded eyes widened just a little bit.  “Hey, it’s my birthday!” he exclaimed sluggishly.

The man beside him rolled over a  little.  “Huh?”

“I’m eighteen!” said Klaus with dulled enthusiasm.

The man beside him sat bolt upright.  “Hey!  You told me you were eighteen!”  He shoved Klaus away, complaining loudly as he pulled up his pants.

“Is this place paid up through morning?” called Klaus as he buttoned his shirt.

“Holy shit.  Yes.  Fuck you,” said the man, as he grabbed his coat and storming out.

Klaus stretched for the remote on the table.  “D’you think this place gets cable?” he asked.

“No,” said Ben.

“I’m gonna try a continental breakfast,” said Klaus enthusiastically, turning on the television so that he wouldn’t have to sleep in the dark.  “Try one of those teeny little mini-muffins.  Yeah.”

He flipped through the channels.  There was, as Ben had predicted, no cable.  Klaus settled on a shopping network, where an orangutan wearing too much make-up was showing off a set of lovely cubic zirconia rings that did not quite fit her fingers.

“...hey, Klaus?  Happy birthday,” said Ben, softly.

Klaus turned up the volume a little so he could pretend not to hear him, and let the joint in his hand burn down to his fingers before he discarded it.

---

Vanya stood at the bottom of the stairs that morning and watched the morning briefing, then retired to her room to write in her journal.

She came down for lunch, and then went to check on Ben’s hermit crab.

With lessons cancelled, the day dragged past at an excruciatingly slow pace, and Vanya spent most of it in an empty classroom, her chin on her hands, her face level with the small plastic container Number Eight lived in, watching him (or her) pick a slow course around the little habitat. 

That evening, she sat at the dinner table across from Luther.  Grace placed a large chocolate cake in the center of the table.  For as long as Vanya could remember, vanilla had been the only flavor everyone could agree on, and the flavor they had every year.  No one’s name was on it; there was not enough room; instead, there were only six candles.  Grace had embroidered each of them a pillowcase with their number on it, and wrapped them, but 2, 3, 4, and 6 sat unopened on the end of the table.  

“Thanks, Mom,” said Vanya as she tore open her gift, fingering the delicate stitching on her pillow.  It featured the number seven with a small motif of music notes around it.  “This is really pretty.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Grace, smiling.  She kissed the top of Vanya’s head.  “I’m so happy you like it.”

An awkward silence followed.  Having a birthday for only two people felt all wrong.

Grace’s smile widened.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Make a wish!” she encouraged them.

Vanya waited, but no one said or did anything, and she realized, with a jolt, that it was only she and Luther.

Every year they had fought to be the first one to blow out a candle, to sneak in an extra wish using someone else’s candle.  

Now there were four extra candles, and four extra wishes.  Vanya could have them all, if she liked.  There were no other numbers ahead of her.  This was already a wish come true!  She could wish to be noticed; she could wish to be happy; she could wish to be closer to Luther now that the others were gone, or wish that they might send her letters and, through mail, they would all become closer than ever.  She could wish that Five would return and somehow fix things, or that Allison would realize she’d forgotten her and return over Christmas break to retrieve her so that they could go to college together.  She could wish anything, and everything; for once, she was not being pushed to the back, only to discover that one of her siblings had blown out her candle.  For once, she was in the front, the flickering flames dancing right before her eyes, and she could blow out not only hers but the others, too, making up for years of lost wishes and disappointment.

A smile lighted on the corner of her mouth.  She leaned forward.

Abruptly, Luther leaned forward, too, and with a single exhale, snuffed out all six of the candles at once.

Chapter 23: Epilogue: Vanya

The week after their eighteenth birthday stretched into an impossibly long thread of time, a curious time dilation that Vanya would later remember as being far longer than a week, perhaps even a month.

She had always been good at entertaining herself, but much of her life was tacked onto those of her siblings.  She could not hold the clipboards or stop-watches at training.  She could not listen in on their squabbles.  She did not have to duck while Diego and Luther threw a ball around on the stairs, and did not have to protect her dinner from Klaus.  The rare and surprising moments of joy she experienced, such as when Allison needed her help getting gum out of her hair or when Ben laughed, were no longer occurrences capable of occurring.  There was nothing to look forward to, no hope to be had.  The Academy was a corpse.  Its spirit had left it.

Luther, Pogo, and Grace were all still present, of course.  But none of them seemed able to adapt.  Grace, in confusion, continued to put out too many plates, and spent long stretches of time frozen before whisking them away to make room for the next batch of food that would go untouched.  Pogo’s loyalties, as always, lay with Reginald, but twice, Vanya caught him outside, staring at Ben’s statue, his wizened old face looking unspeakably sorrowful.

And Luther, without the rest of them, seemed lost.  His life had been the Academy, and now there was no Academy at all.  He began sleeping for longer and longer periods, getting up late and then wandering the house as vaguely as Grace, sans feather-duster.  The only time he seemed to be himself was when he was in the gymnasium, training, an activity Vanya did not feel she could join in on.  When he was not working out, Luther clearly had no purpose.  He was simply waiting for the next mission.  Vanya caught him staring into Allison’s bare room a few times.  Once, she observed him sitting at her dresser, fondling a small gold necklace, his look a combination of bewilderment and anguish.

Vanya witnessed the way the house seemed to suck the life out of Luther, Pogo, and Grace, just as she had always witnessed everything, silently, a ghost, able to spy on others because they never noticed her anyway.  She had no disguise and had never needed one.  She was unremarkable.  She saw everything, absorbed it, and silently carried it with her.

After the weekend had passed, however, she began to wonder why she bothered.

Before, at least, she had felt she supported the Academy.  Granted, her role was miniscule.  But it did exist.  She operated the stopwatches and clipboards and fed Ben’s crab when he went away on missions.  On rare occasions she was used as tie-breaker since Five’s absence had left the team with six members.  

But now, with everyone gone, she was a ghost of a ghost.  At least, before, she’d been an audience.  But with all of her siblings but one gone, there was no play, and so she wasn’t really witnessing anything.  Like Luther, she had no purpose.  Unlike Luther, she had nothing to wait for or look forward to.

Her plan had been to go to college, with Ben, with Allison.  Ben was gone.  Allison had forgotten her.

But she’d been accepted.

About a week after Klaus’s departure (he hadn’t bothered to say good-bye to her and she’d only discovered he was permanently gone because Luther had mumbled something about it when she’d asked when he would return), it occurred to her while writing in her journal that, if Ben were here, surely he would encourage her to go to college.  That was what he had wanted, wasn’t it?  Ben couldn’t go, because he was dead.  But Vanya, despite being a ghost of a ghost, was not.  She could still go.  Her acceptance was pending.  She had no money, and no medical records, but still, she had been accepted, hadn’t she?  Couldn’t she wait one more semester and, in that time, somehow resolve these issues? 

Ben would have wanted that.  And so would have Five, who, after all, had been all about aggressively seeking out his potential regardless of Reginald’s wishes.

Vanya made a decision.

It was a Wednesday morning when she squared up her shoulders, took two pills to steady her nerves, and marched off to Reginald’s office to announce that she, too, was leaving the Academy.

She knocked on the door.

“Enter,” stated Reginald’s gruff voice on the other side.

She grasped the large brass knob and opened the door.  She stepped inside.  Reginald was bent over his desk, writing in a notebook.

“Sir.  I’d like to talk to you about--” she began.

“You’ll have to make an appointment.  I’m very busy, Number Seven,” said Reginald.

Vanya’s resolve crumbled a little.  “Yes, sir,” she said softly.

Reginald reached for a small, leather-bound appointment book and flipped through it.  “You may speak to me on Saturday at nine-thirty a.m.”

“...okay,” said Vanya meekly.

Reginald ahem ed at her.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, remembering her manners.

Waiting for their appointment was agony.  Vanya’s brief burst of courage was not sustainable.  Over the next three days she nearly cancelled a dozen times, but was too scared that Reginald would admonish her for wasting his time in the first place.  

The silver lining, though, was that she was able to write a very eloquent and brave speech explaining her decision to leave the academy.  She was very proud of it and memorized it, practicing it for hours for Ben’s hermit crab until she was certain she would be able to deliver it without any trouble at all.

She also snuck into Luther’s room to fish Felicity’s card out of the wastebin beside his desk.  It was overflowing.  It took Vanya a while to pick through the crumpled tissues, orange peels, and discarded bits of plastic from airplane model kits before she found Felicity’s card at the bottom.  It was slightly damp and the ink was washed out, but Vanya could still make out the numbers.

Grace had stopped emptying the trash in their rooms, apparently glitching when she strode through the dormitories and found them empty.  She had begun occupying only the first story of the mansion, where she traced the same path over and over and over again with her duster, sweeping away nothing in particular and humming tunelessly to herself.

When Saturday came, Vanya packed up a few pairs of clothes, her brush, her toothbrush, her journals, her sheet music, and a few other small items like her coin collection into one of Ben’s old mission backpacks, which Grace had embroidered with a “6.”  She put her violin in its case and emptied Number Eight’s water dish so it wouldn’t spill into his habitat when she moved him.  Felicity’s card was in the pocket of her jumper.

Once she was ready to go, she went to wait outside of Reginald’s office at eight-thirty, holding one of her notebooks and reviewing her speech until it was time to see him.

An hour passed.  He did not appear at the door to call her into the study.

Another forty-five minutes passed before Pogo suddenly stepped out, holding a tea tray with some empty cups on it.

“Pogo.  Is Dad in there?” asked Vanya.

“Oh.  I’m sorry, Miss Vanya.  He has been called out on very important business,” said Pogo apologetically.

“But… we had an appointment.”

“Oh, dear.  I shall ensure he reschedules it at once, at his earliest convenience.”

Disappointed, Vanya thanked Pogo and went to her room to unpack and fill up Number Eight’s water dish.  She replaced Felicity’s card in the drawer of her desk.

That evening, after dinner, Pogo told her their appointment was rescheduled for Monday at three.

When Monday came, Vanya re-packed her belongings, put her violin in its case, and emptied Number Eight’s water dish again.  She opened the drawer of her desk, took Felicity’s card out, and placed it in the pocket of her jumper.

She went to Reginald’s study at a quarter to three to find the door open.  Reginald was seated at his desk, reading.

Out of habit she waited in the hall until a clock chimed three.  She waited another five minutes in the hall, watching Reginald read his book through the open door, before she ventured, “Sir…?”

Reginald turned a page of the book.  “You’re late, Number Seven.”

Vanya did not know how to respond to this, so instead, she launched into her speech.  “Sir, I have decided to leave the Umbrella Academy--”

“You were never a member of the Umbrella Academy,” interrupted Reginald firmly.  He clapped the book shut with one hand and fixed his gaze on her.

She froze.  She could not remember the rest of her speech.  It was not designed to be interrupted.  “Oh,” she said, finally.  “...then… am I dismissed?”

“Yes,” said Reginald succinctly.  He set his book down, pushed his chair out, and rose.  He turned to pull open a cabinet and remove a box, from which he pulled out a small pouch of tobacco and began stuffing a pipe.  He turned to discover Vanya still standing uncertainly in the doorway.  “I thought I dismissed you,” he said.

“I-- yes, sir.  Should I leave my key with Pogo?” asked Vanya.

“No need.  The locks were changed two weeks ago,” said Reginald.  He struck a match and put it into his pipe.

“Oh,” repeated Vanya.  A few more moments passed.  

She turned and went to her room, slinging Ben’s backpack over her shoulders and picking up her violin case in one hand and Number Eight’s small plastic enclosure in the other.

She walked down to the grand entrance hall and to the front door.  Outside, rain was falling at an unhurried pace that implied it would continue to do so for a while.

Vanya considered waiting until it stopped.  But the white noise of the rainfall was comforting, even enticing.  It buzzed with energy like a live wire, a reverberating invitation that was not quite music but that could have been, or perhaps, it was only masking the music that was out there, distantly, calling to her, shrouded notes that would metamorphose into a powerful melody once she got closer.

She realized she was shaking.

She set down Number Eight’s habitat to fish her pills from her pocket and took one to steady her nerves.  She picked Number Eight back up and then, before she could talk herself out of it, she strode up to the doors, opened them awkwardly because of her full hands, and stepped out into the world.  She closed the doors behind her, and their slam echoed through the empty halls of a place that had once been a home.