Theodore lay still in his makeshift pyjamas on the couch in the scullery with his head pillowed by one of the limp cushions that he'd placed between his crown and the arm rest some time ago. With feet crossed at the ankles, hands clutching tightly to the little scrap of paper engraved with coordinates from Ent's Loric box and the little radio rattling out some Loric tune from Mog Watch, Theodore stared up at the illuminated solar system surrounding him. The planetary orbs had to be one of the Human Garde's favourite things that he'd found in there—alongside the healing stone (for obvious reasons) and the diamond-edged dagger that sat tucked inside its velvety sheath—at the bottom of the box.
The floating solar system of Lorien's stars was almost comforting—soothing—in the same way that most mobiles were. Each pocket-sized gemstone orbited each other like they were their own little planets; kept in the air by a magnetism that bounced between the lazily spinning stones and illuminated by the xitharis stone that had been charged & amplified by his own lumen. There was Earth & her moon on one side and Lorien & her two moons on the other. Dotted stars littered the ceiling between the two and twisting galactic colours bounced off of the windows, turning them into stained glass.
Thanks to the few history lessons and books that he had gotten from A'Vera Katerina and the other Garde information accumulated from all over the place; Theodore knew that there was about 300 million miles between the two planets, which was approximately about a year's worth of space travel. Lorien was old—much older than Earth—and even in the planetary system like this, you told such a thing. But that didn't make it any less beautiful. In fact, the twelve year old like to think that that was what made it better.
But despite the clear beauty of the stars, Theodore's mind kept U-turning to the little scrap of paper in his hand and what it meant. In a fit of curious frustration, he had googled the numbers only to discover that they led to some old warehouse out in the Brooklyn area, which was strange. At first, Theodore wondered if these coordinates were that of a safe house/sanctuary, given the fact that A'Doro was a Tavan and therefore had likely seen all this happen beforehand. But then the addition of the date (his birthday) didn't make sense; why would he have to wait to seek shelter? Unless it was a smuggling ring of some kind? Like the ones who had first greeted the Lorics when they had first landed all those years ago.
There was also the fact that he still had not heard from his vera. It had been four days since he had last seen or even heard a peep from her. Four days since he had hugged his vera and he kept playing over the last thing he had said to her; it had been a rushed goodbye on his way to school. One where he had barely spared a glance over his shoulder at her as Milton had hauled him out of the apartment and down to the subway station in time for school. He hated the guilt that stabbed at him whenever he thought of that moment; whenever he thought about what he would have done differently if given a second chance. As it was, it didn't take long for him to become lost in his thoughts as the starry sky dance before his eyes and tears pricked at the corners. Next to him, the radio continued to gurgle.
Klaus lay in his bed, struggling with the strands of multicoloured yarn in his hands as he tried to pick up the stitch once more. After the debacle that was breakfast, he had returned to his bedroom for a little R & R, leaving Theodore to Ben's ghostly clutches back down in the scullery. It wasn't working; in fact, the dropped stitches just kept unravelling much to his chagrin. How ironic. Throwing his hands up in frustration when the yarn entangled itself through his splayed fingers, Klaus only made things worse in his attempts to further untangle them and by the time Five strode into his room, he was about ready to throw one of this knitting needles across the room.
Five's thriftstore ensemble had been ruined in his foray into the Jenkins household only the day previous, which meant that he was back to wearing the Umbrella Academy uniform again (sort of), something that he was clearly enthused about. Dressed in schoolboy shorts and that red-trimmed blazer, Five looked like a picture-perfect replication of the boy who had left them all those years ago. Y'know, if you ignored the blood-splattered polka-dotted sweater that he refused to take off (the one that matched his mannequin and still smelt of Vanya) and the slight limp in his step thanks to the healing shrapnel wound in his side.
"Hey, get up" Five greeted as he strode into his brother's room. "We're going"
"Where?" Klaus asked boredly, still fighting with his yarn.
"To save the world" Five replied as if it were obvious.
"Oh, is that all?" Klaus sighed even as he chucked the ball of yarn & needles aside, before he rolled out of bed and threw some clothes on. "Great"
"So, Pogo said that Dad killed himself to get us all back together, right?" Five mused as he paced irritably back and forth in front of the door.
"Yeah, so?" Klaus hummed as he pulled on a shirt.
"So, it got me thinking. I had to jump to the future to figure out what happened, but Dad, he can't time travel. Theo said that he could see the future, but how far? And how accurate is it? And—and—how'd the crazy bastard actually know to kill himself a week before the end of the world?"
"Well, y'know—" Klaus began.
"—Don't answer. That was purely rhetorical" Five interjected, pausing in his pacing to do so. "Truth is: our whole lives, he's been telling us that we'd save the world from an impending apocalypse"
"Yeah…" Klaus drawled as he shoved his feet into a pair of nearby, mismatched shoes. "But I always though he just said that to scare us into doing the dishes"
"Me too!" Five exclaimed in agreement as he spun on his heel once more, "But what if the old man really knew what was going to happen?"
"Yeah, but how?" Klaus pursued.
"No idea" Five admitted as his shoulders slumped in defeat, "But that psychic theory is sounding more & more plausible and the fact remains that his fakakta plan actually worked! We all came home. Since we're here, we might as well save the world"
"Oh yeah? What? Like the two of us?" Klaus asked as he jumped to his feet and grabbed his military vest on the way out of the door.
"Uh, well, ideally, no" Five sighed, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and followed his brother out into the hall. "But I gotta work with what I've got"
They barely made a few paces up the hall before they ran into Diego; or, more accurately, Number Two hurried down the hall and into his room."Hey" Diego grunted in greeting as he passed. Shedding his jacket and chucking it on the bed, Diego quickly dropped to his knees and pulled out the knives and harness that he had hidden away.
"Where have you been?" Five greeted.
"Jail" Diego replied shortly as he looped his arms through the straps and clicked the buckles into place. "Long story. Where's Luther?"
"Haven't seen him since breakfast"
"Yeah" Klaus chuckled dryly, "Two days 'til the world ends and he picks a great time to drop off of the grid"
"Shit" Diego cursed under his breath, "What about Teddy?"
"Uh, down in the scullery" Klaus replied easily.
"Why…?" Five asked, his eyes narrowed on Number Two who shifted nervously under his calculating stare.
"Allison is in danger"
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
Down on you knees before the umbrella
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
Down on you knees before the umbrella
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
There was a sea of dark splayed out before him and a roar of song all around. He was on stage; he recognised it now! The wooden planks that ran perpendicular to each other beneath his feet, the heavy velvet curtains that framed the elevated pedestal and the empty seats that stretched on for years in the dark. He liked being up on stage; listening to his vera's song, dancing through the air or even just singing his own tunes stood amongst friends. But this time he was alone and they were playing only this one song on repeat.
Harold Jenkins was an unpopular fitch (Mm~hm)
Dull boy, dull boy, loser, plus he was sick (Oh yeah)
That boy was nothing 'til hiccup & hitch:
Hargreeves denied him his academy spot (Re—jec—ted)
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
No! No, no, no! He HATED this song! Hated it with a PASSION! Why'd it have to be THIS one? He knew it was about his father—about his exploits—his NAME was in the bloody lyrics, for Lore's sake! It was like his sadistic little theme tune. He wouldn't sing it! He wouldn't! Not even if they chained him down!
Oh. They had.
The parade for the Umbrella Academy came (Uh huh)
'Twas dear Harry's birthday and the mask was his claim (Uh duh)
'Til gossip stirred, the crowds would name
Harold Jenkins, the deluded pariah (Pet—ty vote)
"Harold" His father said, "You're just a zero,
You'll never be a hero…"
A pair of shackles had been snapped around his wrists and no matter how much he struggled, they just wouldn't come off. The chains were taut enough that he couldn't close his arms, but loose enough that he could still move a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough to pull & yank on the chains and pull & yank he did. Straining so hard, shaking the chains until his wrists bled raw; but there was no escaping. And still the song continued on.
You taste the silver, Harold! You taste the mask!
You thirst for the blood from the umbrella in hand! Whoa!
You spoil for academy acceptance, powers to lance,
As they declare you the Umbrella Man!
Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!
Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!
Between this blink and the next everything changed. He was alone and then he wasn't. Faceless men charged up the aisles, each armed with pulsating sticks of electricity. With feet that thundered like booming drums, they surged out of the darkness like rats fleeing from a sinking ship. Blue-skinned and silver-tongued, these creatures were not to be trifled with—especially when they were on a hunt—these creatures that all knew to be wary of. These creatures who had target HIM as their next meal. They were Keepers.
So obsessed, our Harold near lost his mind,
(Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!)
To life un-Umbrella-related, Harold was blind
(Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!)
He shoved his studies, his father and family behind
Still Hargreeves refused to see (Poor, poor Harry)
Struggling furiously against the chains, he wept shamelessly for his mother. Tears poured down his face, mixing with the snot that dripped from his nose and dirtied his once clean clothes. She was there, he KNEW she was there! She was ALWAYS there when he performed, just as he was ALWAYS there for her! That's how it had always been; just the two of them, a team of two for years on end. So WHY wasn't she answering? WHY wasn't she helping him? Couldn't she see that he was in trouble? Couldn't she hear him cry?
Soon Harold's sanity was hung by a thread.
His classmates proclaimed him socially dead
'Til then, at last, his grandmother called him and said:
"Just leave the Umbrella Academy alone!"
"Harold" His father said, "Get me a beer!
There's just no future for a pathetic milksopper…"
Something was touching him—someone was touching him— and in the blink of an eye, he found himself tackled to the floor as a heap of bodies piled on top. He couldn't breathe! And still he screamed and cried, thrashed and struggled in an effort to get free. It wasn't working, NOTHING was working. Not his Legacies, not his words, not even his pleas seemed to get through to these cold-hearted faceless men.
You taste the silver, Harold! You taste the mask!
You thirst for the blood from the umbrella in hand! Whoa!
You spoil for academy acceptance, powers to lance,
As they declare you the Umbrella Man!
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
Down on you knees before the umbrella
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
Down on you knees before the umbrella
The collar around his neck was tight, but the muzzle that they had shoved over his jaw protruded into his mouth. The jagged claws of the muzzle clung to his tongue, to his chin and clamped down over his nose, making it not only impossible to talk but hard to breathe as well.
Some boys are rational, but Harold was not
He stared in mirrors thinking one single thought:
There's seven reasons this mask's not good as got—
And so the eve of birthday, mercy! Thus went his plot:
It BURNED—no—HE was burning. The scent of bacon filled the air as the skin around his neck broke out in ugly red rashes. He screamed loud and clear, the noise bounced off of the rafters and rushed through his ears but they paid him no mind. Again and again the collar shocked him, zapping him day in and day out until he collapsed lifelessly against the wooden floors.
Zap, scream, zap, scream. On and on it went.
"U" is what Father said when Harold bludgeoned his brains,
"M" is for Grandmother's, mouldy remains
"B" is for Mr Bradley, bashed with a rock
And "R" is for Sir Reginald, sealed behind a lock
But! But! "E" is for Eunice's pieces, spread 'round the block
And "L's" are for the lickety-split way in five minutes tops
A nosy neighbour can bring an "A" for arrête
By calling the cops (What a bitch!)
Why? Why can't they just stop it?! I don't wanna do this anymore! It hurts! Please! I didn't mean it! Please! It was an accident, I swear! Please! PLEASE! WHY WON'T YOU JUST STOP?! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP! STOP! STOP!
You got your silver, Harold! You got your mask!
You got their blood on the hammer in hand! Whoa!
You don the academy blazer with power to lance
As they declared you, the Umbrella Man!
VERA! DORO! HELP ME! PLEASE!
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
God bless the hero! (Down on you knees before the umbrella)
God bless the hero!
Whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh!
The Umbrella Man!
(Down on you knees before—)
Oh, the Umbrella Man!
Black. Dark. Suffocating silence. I can't breathe in here! I can't breathe in here!
Help me! Please! Vera? Doro? Anyone?
They wrapped your wrists in silver, they took your mask
They washed the blood from your fingers and hands! Whoa!
Into a tight straightjacket & small, padded cell
Screaming, "I'm the Umbrella Man!"
Vera's there. She's here! She's finally here! No! Don't go! Vera! Please! Please don't leave me! Don't leave me again! VERA!
At least in your head, you're the Umbrella Man
Oh pity the dead! You're the Umbrella Man!
Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!
Pick Harold, praise Harold, cheer for Harold Jenkins!
"…eddy! Teddy! Wake up!" A voice flittered into his brain as he jolted awake which a choked gasp. Theodore didn't even know he had been asleep until he awoke with his vera's name on his lips, tears that had dried on his cheeks and chest heaving.
"…That was THE UMBRELLA MAN by The Sparrows!" Prattled the toppled radio at his feet. "What a classic throwback commemorating the calamities of the infamous Umbrella Man! Next up is…"
"Oh…" Theodore blinked as he swung his feet around to the floor and bent to retrieve the device from the floor. He only got so far before he felt someone lightly cuff the back of his head in an effort to get his attention.
"Oi…!"
"What was that for?!" Theodore demanded as he followed the feet in the corner of his vision, up the legs and to the faces of the culprits standing nearby—Don Fën and Don Klaus.
"You gonna let Diego down, now?" Don Fën quirked a brow in question, making Theodore glance upwards in confusion. There he found the person in question were currently flattened against the ceiling.
"Oops! Sorry Don!" Theodore apologised sheepishly as he scrambled to let his stab-happy don and the other items in the scullery down.
"What was that for?" Don Fën queried as Don Klaus helped Don Diego to his feet.
"…" Theodore just grinned sheepishly in reply as he scooped up the planetary stones and put them back into the chest, fighting a yawn as he did so.
"Ah, don't worry 'bout it, Five" Don Klaus waved it off. "He did the same thing to me this morning"
"What?" Don Fën demanded, turning to the boy in question.
"I was asleep!" Theodore protested, but was summarily ignored.
"Yup! Flung me right down the hallway like a ragdoll!" Don Klaus smiled as if he were talking about the weather, "Y'know, it's a good thing that Dad likes couches so much, am I right?"
"D—Don?" Theodore yawned, turning to his smallest don as he snapped the Loric chest shut. "What's going—going on?"
"Allison is in danger" Don Fën replied tersely as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Danger?" His brows furrowed in confusion.
"She decided to go off after Harold Jenkins" Don Diego supplied as he eventually slapped away the persistent hands poking at him. "Klaus! G'off!"
"…What?" Theodore balked.
"Alone"
"…Lemme get this straight" Theodore swallowed thickly, "After finding a murder shrine—as you called it—in Doro's attic and nevermind the fact that the he blew up his own house; Ven Allison thought that it was a good idea to go after him alone? Really? That was her good idea? What does a bad idea look like for you?! How are you not dead already—?!"
"—Are you gonna keeping asking ridiculous questions or can we go?" Don Fën interrupted, impatiently tapping his foot like Vera did when they were late. "We still gotta pick up Luther"
"…Lemme put some pants on"