I do not own The Umbrella Academy.

Chapter One: Do I Know You?

"'It's the start that's difficult.'

'You can start from anything.'

'Yes, but you have to decide.'"

—Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot

It was a cold, cloudy day, and anyone with any sense was inside, bundled under a blanket and maybe a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, Elliott Murphy was among the senseless that day; he walked down the streets of a city he never bothered to learn the name of wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The cold didn't really bother him, nor did his lack of knowledge of the town—he wouldn't be there long, anyway. Elliott had very quickly realized that he couldn't stay in one place for too long. People often got suspicious of the teenager living by himself. Where did he come from? Where were his parents? Did he run away?

Elliott had also very quickly learned the types of places that wouldn't look twice at a lone teenager. That's why, at nearly two in the morning, he found himself wandering to a shitty diner, in the mood for a good cup of coffee. No one cared about who you were at a diner. You gave them money, they gave you food, and then you were on your way.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" The lone waitress asked once he settled onto a stool.

"One cup of coffee with as much cream in it as you can," Elliott replied, stifling a yawn. He forced a small smile as she wrote his order, walking to the back. When she was gone, Elliott slumped against the counter, his bare elbows knocking onto the plastic. Reaching into the bag that hung on his shoulder, he pulled out his battered copy of Waiting For Godot and began reading.

The bell on the door rang, and Elliott jumped, his eyes widening and his body stiffening. He didn't look up, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see a man and a teenage boy enter the diner, the two taking a seat on either side of him, and Elliott stiffened when the boy looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed. For a brief moment, he considered freezing time and ditching, but the waitress came back from the kitchen.

"Sorry about that wait," she said, handing Elliott his cup of coffee before turning to the new patrons. "What can I get ya?"

The man cleared his throat. "Uh, give me a chocolate éclairé."

Nodding, the waitress wrote his order before pointing her pen to the boy on Elliott's other side. "Can I get the kid a glass of milk or something?"

"The kid wants coffee," the boy scoffed. "Black."

Sipping his own coffee, Elliott held back a laugh at the waitress's face. "Cute kid," she said eventually. The boy grinned at her, but something about it made Elliott break out in chills.

As the woman walked off, the kid sighed. "Don't remember this place being such a shithole," he complained, looking to Elliott and the man. "I used to come here as a kid. Used to sneak out with my brothers and sisters and eat doughnuts till we puked. Simpler times, huh?"

Elliott furrowed his eyebrows, frowning at the abrupt comment. The kid just stared back.

The man sighed through his nose, not noticing the exchange. "Eh. I suppose."

"Here." The waitress had come back, holding a coffee, an éclairé, and three checks. She set down the food, and began to pass out the check when the man waved his hand.

"I got theirs," he said, shooting the two a faint smile.

"Thanks," the kid said. Elliott echoed the sentiment, albeit much more warily. He turned his attention back to his book, getting lost in the world of Didi and Gogo. When he finished his coffee, the man had already left, and Elliott slipped his book back into his bag, preparing to follow suit.

"Waiting For Godot, huh?" The boy asked, startling Elliott once again.

Clearing his throat, Elliot glanced at him. "Uh, yeah," he muttered.

The boy frowned at his reply, as if he were expecting something different. He opened his mouth, but the ringing of the bell interrupted him, and several men entered, all holding large guns. Sighing, the boy didn't take his eyes off Elliott, nor did his frown lessen.

"Hmm. That was fast," the boy said, discreetly snatching a butter knife off the table. "I thought I'd have more time before they found me." He looked back at Elliott, barely jerking his head to the side, motioning to the booths. Then, he tapped the watch on his wrist.

Elliott's heart dropped. Did he know? How was that even possible?

"Okay, so let's all be professional about this, yeah? On your feet and come with us. They want to talk." The first man motioned to the boy with his gun, and Elliott tensed.

Just wait for the right moment...

The boy shrugged. "I've got nothing to say."

"It doesn't have to go this way," the man argued, stepping closer. "You think I wanna shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that," the boy said, clicking his tongue. "You won't be going home." With that, he disappeared in flash of blue light, appearing next to the man. He shoved the butter knife into the man's neck before disappearing again. The other men opened fire, and the boy dodged almost effortlessly, only pausing to appear next to Elliott.

"El, get out of the way, now!" He yelled, shoving his knife into another man. Blinking, Elliott raised his hand and took a deep breath. He snapped his fingers, and—

Everything in the room froze, the clock on the wall stopped ticking, and everything fell silent. Elliott crossed the room, pausing to look at the boy, who stood, knife raised, ready to stab another man, who had his gun pointed right at him, a bullet halfway out of it . Glancing around the room, Elliott sighed and grabbed the man's gun, pointing it straight up. Moving around the room, he did the same with the remaining men. He hurried to the booth, securing himself between the seat and the table and out of the line of fire. Closing his eyes, he snapped his fingers again, and everything seemed to happen at once.

Several gunshots fired at once, and the backfire from the guns, which were too unstable in their hands thanks to Elliott, caused them to fly into the men's bodies before falling to the ground unceremoniously. The fighting continued, but after a minute of screaming and stabbing, the room fell silent.

A hand thumped the table by the booth twice. "It's safe now," the boy said. Elliott rose, and the boy nodded at him. "Thanks for that."

Elliott swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest. "Yeah," he muttered, dusting off his pants as he stood. "It's no problem." Then he froze, his eyes widening as he recalled what the boy had said to him. "What did you call me?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"Earlier. You... you called me El. And how did you know I could do that? Who even are you?"

"You still asked too many questions," the boy said, a small smirk on his face. "My name is Five. As for the other questions, that's... a long story." His smirk faded, and he seemed to look at something just past Elliott, something only he could see. But as soon as his smirk dropped, it was back in place. Five busied himself instead with a large knife, rolling up his sleeve and holding it over his forearm.

Elliott frowned. "What are you—holy shit!" Five had shoved the knife deep into his arm before digging into the cut. When he pulled his hand out, he held a small device covered in blood.

Five grimaced, glaring at the device between his fingers. Huffing, he stood up and walked to the door before pausing. "Well?" He snapped, glancing back. "Are you coming or not?"

Blinking, Elliott said nothing. This—this person had come into his life, complete with a weird nickname for him and knowledge about his abilities. All logic screamed not to trust him, but Elliott needed to know more; he needed to know how Five knew him. He swallowed, nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."