you were everything

I 2 I

☂ is that my skirt? ☂ 

For the first time in my life, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror across from the hallway. I would say I appear to be around 15 years old; physically at least. Kinda small, but what would you expect for a stowaway? I am a perfectly contained monster; a harrowed soul trapped within the body of someone much more feeble. 

I trace the lines of my face in the antique mirror, studying every curve. If this is my face, I should at least be used to it. There's nothing beautiful, nothing symmetrical about my inner appearance, so why should there be any such thing in my outward appearance. They say that beauty is subjective; ironic, because I am indeed a subject. 

"How will you introduce yourself to the others?" Vanya asks me, sitting down on the couch. She crosses her legs. Looks at the coffee table  in great thought. Her eyes wander back to my face. 

"I have no idea," I respond dully. "Number 8? Y/n?" 

Y/n was the name Mom gave me when I was finally allowed to see her again. 

Vanya tucks a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "Do you think they'll really believe Dad hid you away from us all this time?" 

"Dad was a monster," I mutter darkly. Reminiscing over the past and the things I've tried to forget lead to a built up dam of Dad's secrets. "It's not that surprising."

"Yeah, but hiding a whole person?" Vanya shakes her head. "That's a whole different story." 

In some ways, I agree with her. My siblings are not the trusting type, that much I've learned from Vanya's many stories. They are not likely to accept me as one of their own, nor will they ever welcome me into the Umbrella Academy with open arms. But at least they will not kill me on sight. Like they could if they wanted to. 

"In any case, they'll believe who I am when I do this—" 

I casually lift my hand up, and a cup floats in the air. With the flick of my wrist, I send it flying at the painting hung over the fireplace. It smashes with impact, crashing to the ground in a pile of scattered glass. 

"Miss Y/n, I would ask that you don't vandalize that painting," Pogo clears his throat. He stands at the doorway. 

"Sorry, Pogo." 

I lift the pieces into the air, blue energy swirling around the white chunks and snapping them back together. The cup lands gracefully on the table.

Yes, I did have some practice with my powers. Dad made me train a couple of times. That was before the medication and subduement. After the unfortunate accident with Mom, he decided I was no longer responsible enough to use them, hence the pills.

"You know, I always thought he would come back," Vanya says sadly, staring at the painting that has always hung over the mantel. 

To be honest, he looks like a bit of a jerk to me, but Vanya always speaks highly of him. "I used to leave peanut butter-marshmallow sandwiches on the floor for him, in case he ever returned." 

Pogo scratches his head. "Ah yes. I stepped in a number of those." 

Did Vanya truly care for Number Five? Or did she just miss the comfort of the Umbrella Academy containing seven members?

"I would always leave the lights on for him, because I worried he would try to come back and not be able to find us," Vanya admits with a small smile.

Hearing these stories always reminds me how much I missed out on. Anger boils in my chest. This is Dad's fault.

"Sir Hargreeves never gave up on him," Pogo says. "He truly believed Number Five would return."

"Where did that leave him again?" I grumble.

Pogo shakes his head. "Try not to harbor too much hostility, Y/n. He only did what he thought was best. Perhaps his judgement was not perfect, but his heart was in the right place." 

I don't answer that. His heart may have been in the right place but now it wasn't beating any longer and it was buried six feet under. 

"I'm glad you're still here," Vanya says with her small smile. "We don't have to sneak around anymore."

"Me too." I reply quietly. Almost unconsciously, I bring a water droplet from the glass in front of me, letting it fall into my mouth.

Vanya sighs. "I've always been jealous of your powers."

"Why?" I glance at her. "They're the reason Dad locked me up."

"And my lack of powers is why Dad locked me up." She answers.

Pogo adjusts his cane. "The others will be arriving soon. You two should get ready."

I nod, standing up. "I'm going to get a fresh uniform."

"Are you sure you don't want to borrow something from me?" Vanya offers gently. "I probably have something that would fit you..."

"It's alright," I say. "Thank you, though." 

I head down to the familiar place. My 'coma box' as I call it is placed in the corner of the room, empty as ever. The early years of my life were the worst. When Dad first bought 'The Umbrella Academy', he tested us as soon as we were able. We were four years old.

My powers caused a hurricane that almost destroyed the house. Thankfully, or un-thankfully, depending on how you look at it-Dad locked me in that cold metal box that put me in a 'frozen' state. I didn't age, nor did I eat or drink for several years. I've never bothered to count the exact amount, but I would surmise myself to be 28 mentally. 

I flick the dim light on in the corner, walking to my closet. The only clothes I own are seven of the exact same uniforms. I don't bother to shower, pulling on the dusty clothing before walking back upstairs.

Voices coming from the entryway cause me to stop.

They're here.

"-going to do this right now?" Number Three, or Alison aka the Rumor. Dad showed me clips of their heroics, which is the reason I know all of them so well without ever having spoken. How kind of him.

"Whatever," Diego's voice says, followed by tense footsteps.

'There's someone you should meet,' Vanya's quiet voice says.

"Oh?" Alison turns around as I walk out. "Who's this? Your daughter?"

I can't help but laugh. "No."

"Then...." Alison looks confused.

'We should wait until the others get here,' I glance at Vanya. 'It's going to be a long explanation.'

An hour later, the entirety of the academy is sitting in Dad's study.

Klaus is perched on Dad's desk, wearing one of Alison's many skirts.

'Is that my skirt?' Alison asks with a mildly amused expression.

'Yeah,' Klaus fluffs the material. 'It's quite stylish and...breathy on the bits.'

Alison makes a disgusted face. 

'So are you going to explain who this random girl is?' Luther clears his throat from his seat.

'I'm Number Eight,' I say. 'Nice to finally meet you all.'