Umbrella Academy One Shots

ten little soldiers

TW: death, implied suicide, murder, guns, mentions of drugs, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Ten little soldier boys went out to dine

One choked his little self, and then there were Nine

Sir Reginald Hargreeves was dead.

The paper, the news broadcasters, the autopsy, they all claimed it had been his heart, giving out in the middle of the night. He was old, around for longer than any of them could remember, and time had simply caught up with him.

But of course, they were all wrong.

"Are you sure about this Master Reginald?" Pogo had asked, his eyes questioning behind his glasses. "Surely there must be another way."

"There is not," Hargreeves had assured him. "I've seen how this all turns out. This is the only way to bring them all back together, to save the world. It is what they have been working towards their entire lives. It is far too important to give up now."

The chimp had given a resonating sigh but had agreed to his master's wishes.

Reginald took his tea, offering a toast to Pogo.

"Bottom's up, old friend."

He drained the cup in a single gulp, as if it were an ordinary cup of tea.

For a second, he looked normal. Then he began to choke, pounding his chest as his coughing grew more persistent.

He had only enough time to glance back up at Pogo before falling limp against the bed sheets, his death the first move in a game the children didn't realize they were playing.

Nine little soldier boys stayed up very late

One overslept himself, and then there were Eight

I heard a rumor you asked me out.

I heard a rumor you wanted to be my agent.

I heard a rumor that you took me to dinner.

I heard a rumor that I got the part.

I heard a rumor you kissed me.

I heard a rumor you loved my audition.

I heard a rumor you loved me.

Allison forces a smile as the paparazzi scream for her attention, cameras flashing as bright lights shine in her face.

She used to love it, this feeling right here. Ever since her Umbrella Academy days, when reporters would fight each other to talk to her or one of her brothers, each always struggling to have the latest scoop on the world's favorite heroes.

She remembered standing with Five and flipping her hair over her shoulder, the two competing for who could get the most attention.

I win, she thought bitterly, wondering for the thousandth time where he could be. Sometimes, on nights like this, she liked to imagine he was somewhere amongst the crowds, moving through the mob of people to come find her.

It was stupid really. It wasn't like they'd ever really been that close, but for whatever reason, that was immediately where her mind always went on nights like this when the paparazzi become damn near overwhelming.

She didn't understand why she was unhappy. She had the perfect job, the perfect husband, the perfect life. What was there to complain about?

Sure, she only had it because of her rumors. But what was she supposed to do? It wasn't as if she was good enough to get any of those on her own.