Dad was dead. Thank fucking Jesus. Or whoever. Thank the Lord Reginald really, because if ever there was a gospel they were supposed to look up to and worship (some took this more seriously than others, cough, cough Luther) it was dear old Dad. That utter tyrannical dickface weeb.
And you know, in a way it was nice to have a family reunion. It was great to see Vanya looking all small and innocent, swathed in oversized clothes like she had never exposed them all and assumed their thoughts and feelings in that stupid book she wrote.
It was a treat to see Luther after all this time, hulked out from spending all that time on the moon, and from the looks of things, eating half of it, or shoving literal moon rocks into his body. Luther was huge now, but Diego thought he could still take him in a fight.
Allison was all swish and starry, a celebrity these days. Diego had seen her on numerous magazine covers. She had got married to someone who was not Luther so Diego applauded her. If it were a competition she would definitely be winning.
“Of course it is a competition, Number 2,” Reginald’s portrait informed him scornfully. Diego snorted. He was getting as bad as Klaus.
Who was kind of the same but different. More eyeliner. Same flourish of the hands. He was very entertaining compared to the others, but Diego had a long practiced poker face. Klaus wouldn’t crack him. Kraken. Haha. Diego was unappreciated and hilarious.
The house was so big. So many rooms. Not enough people for them anymore. Five. Ben.
Diego wondered if things would have been different if the two of them were still here.
Would the family be as splintered, broken?
Not that Diego was remotely splintered or broken. Diego wielded knives. He was a vigilante. He was living his best life.
He saw Mom and he wanted to cry. She looked as unchanged and unruffled as every, her hair perfectly placed, her smile ready. Diego couldn’t believe he’d left her here with him. He sneaked in, yearly at the very least, and she always treated him like no time at all had passed; he was just the very person she wanted to see.
He hugged her and she cupped her hand under his chin.
“You look sad,” she said, then brightened suddenly. “I’ll make pancakes.”
He watched her bustling around for ingredients. He wanted to say so much. So all he said was “thanks mom.”
Klaus entered the kitchen with a spin and clapped his hands in delight when he saw the pancakes. He took Diego’s plate and began eating beside him. Diego turned and fixed him with a murderous stare. He had it on high authority that it was a hard-core and realistic murderous stare. A murderer had told him.
Klaus barked out a laugh, which made Diego’s jaw tighten involuntarily.
“I’m his brother,” Klaus stage whispered. “What’s he going to do, murder me?”
Diego lifted a knife. “Yes.”
Klaus looked surprised at Diego’s input.
“Oh,” he said, looking around furtively. “I mean, well, I’m just in a spin you know.” Klaus wound a finger in the air. “ Because of...”
Because of Dad, Diego thought, but Klaus produced a mirror from somewhere and stared at his reflection, aghast. “My eyeliner.”
Diego thumped his head against the table.