Umbrella Academy One Shots

it's our party and we'll cry if we want to

TW: murder, brief violence, mention of drugs

It's his birthday.

Number One, Luther, observes.

He stands on the moon, his too big body crammed in a too small suit, and he's watching for anything odd to write in his daily report. The Earth spins round and round and is so very, very small.

Above it the stars glimmer brightly and he can't help but stare.

The one to his right is red. Bright, blazing red. It reminds him of blood and anger and fierce competition. It flickers sometimes, almost like a stutter, as if trying so very hard to be the brightest but always falling short.

He turns away, ignoring the ache in his chest.

Not far from it is a star so blue it's nearly purple. It's sparkly and mysterious and so, so beautiful. It whispers sweet things in his ear, of home and laughter and first love. It is the prettiest star in the sky and when he goes to sleep he worries that when he wakes up it'll be gone and he'll never see it again.

He tears his eyes away and blinks back tears.

In between them is a star that burns a combination of blue and yellow. As if it couldn't decide what color to be so it just chose both. It makes him think of glitter and frozen waffles and little blue pills. It looks simultaneously weird and colorful and, yet, sad and haunted.

He averts his gaze, a dull ringing in his ears.

In the distance, separated from the others, is a tiny, little blue star. Once upon a time it was bright, shiny, and clever, but now it's faded, faded, faded, having almost disappeared completely. For some reason it makes him think of complex equations, hands on a clock, and porch lights left on every night.

His eyes drift as he pushes back thoughts of a brother who never came home.

Beside the yellow and blue one, there sits an orange star. It splutters and spasms, trying to stay lite, but he knows it's dying. It taunts him with images of a floor covered in blood, a book left unfinished on a table, and a brother he couldn't save.

He shifts his gaze, swallowing the bile building in his throat.

Not quite as far away as the little blue one, but still away from the others is a pure white star. There isn't anything special about it; it doesn't gleam or sparkle or flicker or shine like the others. It's completely ordinary, but he can't help but think it looks lonely. His mind fills with the memories of the high notes of a violin, a book spilling long kept secrets, and a little girl crying to be part of a portrait.

He chokes back a sob.

From here on the moon the Earth looks so very, very small, but he knows it is much larger than it appears. That, once upon a time, it seemed much too big to ever be saved, and it tore seven siblings apart.

He asks the stars if they can ever be fixed.

The stars don't have an answer.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

It's his birthday.

Number Two, Diego, attacks.

Patch told him to stay out of it, but he ignored her. Now he's in a warehouse, fighting a small gang.

Blood, sweat, and knives go flying, the sound of fists against flesh filling the air. A growl builds in the back of his throat, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins allows him to ignore the burning pain in his shoulder.

An opponent charges him and he jumps into action.

The man is more muscle than any thing else, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Diego aims an uppercut at his stupid perfect face, but the man catches his arm with brute strength and twists. Diego hisses as it pops out of his socket, but doesn't stop fighting. Instead he yanks his arm away and kicks the man squarely in the chest, pushing him away.