Sarcasm | Five Hargreeves

16 | his name was harold jenkins

17 years ago

The crowd surrounding the grand mansion of the Umbrella Academy erupted in cheers as a sleek black car pulled up to the front entrance. The atmosphere was electric, with fans waving signs and banners bearing the names and symbols of their favorite superheroes. Music blared from speakers, heightening the sense of anticipation and celebration.

The car door opened, and Sir Reginald Hargreeves, the stern and enigmatic patriarch of the Umbrella Academy, emerged first. He was followed by his extraordinary children, each a prodigious superhero in their own right. The crowd's fervor intensified as they caught glimpses of their idols, but the children, well-trained in stoicism, walked forward in silence, their gazes fixed ahead as they ignored the adoring masses.

Y/N and Allison were almost at the entrance when a boy in a homemade costume, his eyes wide with admiration, approached and grabbed Allison's arm.

"Excuse me, I'm your biggest fan," he said, his smile lopsided with nervous excitement.

Luther, towering and protective, quickly appeared behind Y/N and Allison, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're not supposed to be in here," Luther warned, his voice gentle yet firm.

"Get back behind the barricade," Reginald commanded, his voice cutting through the commotion as he quickly assessed the situation.

Y/N glanced at the boy, then at Luther, and finally at the boy's bag, before rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Losers," she muttered, turning away and heading into the mansion.

Reginald's gaze sharpened as he focused on the boy. "And why are you here... with a bag?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion.

The boy's eyes shone with determination as he looked up at Reginald. "I was born on the same day as the Academy kids," he explained earnestly. "I think I'm like them. I must be. I haven't figured out what my power is... yet. But maybe with your help, I can."

Reginald bent down, his face mere inches from the boy's. The glint of his monocle caught the sunlight, momentarily blinding the teenager. "You have no power. You never will have power. Now, go home."

Desperation etched across the boy's face. "No, please. Just... I... You have to let me stay. I came all this way. Please don't make me go back."

Reginald's expression remained stern. "A little word of advice, my boy: not everyone in this world can be powerful. Chasing something unattainable is a recipe for a lifetime of disappointment and resentment. So get off my property," he said, giving the boy a slight push.

The crowd, having eavesdropped on the exchange, laughed at the boy's misfortune. He looked down, dejected but resolute, and continued to approach Reginald. However, the old man's patience had worn thin.

"Number Eight! Ensure this boy leaves the premises. He's becoming a nuisance," Reginald ordered, tapping his cane on the ground for emphasis.

Y/N sighed, stepping over to the boy. She took in his disheveled appearance and let out a dry laugh. "You must be having a hard time at home to be so desperate to join this group of misfits."

The boy nodded, memories of his abusive father flooding his mind. He unconsciously touched a bruise around his eye, wincing at the sharp pain.

Y/N noticed this gesture and bit the inside of her cheek, glancing back at the imposing mansion. "Sorry, but if you ever find yourself within the walls of the Umbrella Academy, you'll realize we're just strangers living under the same roof. You might as well give up on your dreams of being one of us and go on with your life. We're nothing but little brats playing at being heroes," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Now, it's probably best you go. Reginald's already in a foul mood, and he won't be happy if he sees you here again."

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, leaving the boy alone with the jeers and sharp remarks of the crowd. 

His name was Harold Jenkins, and this moment of rejection would haunt him for years to come.

~~~

Present Day

The wound on Y/N's shoulder throbbed with a relentless, searing pain as she struggled to sit up, her vision blurry and her body heavy with exhaustion. Making eye contact with Grace, Y/N let out a groan, her movements sluggish. Turning her head, she noticed the neatly wrapped bandages spotted with dried blood. Grace, ever vigilant, sprang up from her chair and gently but firmly pushed Y/N back down onto the bed.

"Be careful, Y/N. I just stitched it up," Grace chided softly, her tone a mixture of concern and authority. She retrieved more bandages, her movements quick and efficient. "Does it hurt?"

Y/N shook her head, though her mind felt hazy from the long slumber. "What happened? I can't remember anything."

"Don't worry," Grace replied with a warm, reassuring smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N's face. "Memory loss is a common side effect of both blood loss and the pain medication I gave you."

Y/N managed a weak smile, her fingers wrapping around Grace's hand in a gesture of gratitude. She then attempted to rise from the bed, her gaze falling upon her blood-stained clothes. Realizing they were beyond salvageable, she sighed in resignation. Grace, ever the maternal figure, tutted softly and produced a clean uniform from the closet, handing it over to Y/N.

"Why don't you clean up and join everyone else downstairs? I'll bring some cookies," Grace suggested, playfully booping Y/N's nose before exiting the room and heading for the kitchen.

Y/N sighed once more, stretching her sore shoulder cautiously. She stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to wash away the accumulated blood, dirt, and grime from her recent ordeal. The water soothed her aching muscles, providing a brief respite from the lingering pain. After changing her bandages yet again, she donned the fresh uniform, though she couldn't help but feel a twinge of displeasure at the schoolgirl-like appearance it gave her.

Downstairs, the living room buzzed with the chaotic energy of scattered chatter. Arguments and questions flew back and forth, creating a cacophony of overlapping voices. Amidst the din, a specific name repeatedly caught Y/N's attention, triggering a familiar memory.

"Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?" Diego's voice rang out above the clamor, sharp and demanding.

Y/N paused at the top of the stairs, the name resonating in her mind. Harold Jenkins – the boy from seventeen years ago, the one who had been so desperate to belong. She could still see his earnest face, his eyes filled with hope and desperation. Now, his name was on everyone's lips.

Why?

Slowly, she revealed herself to the rest of her siblings downstairs, and the clamor stopped as everyone turned to face her, relief and comfort sprouting over the tense atmosphere. Five was the first to speak, his furrowed brows easing out into smoothness as he scanned her up to down.

"Y/N...you alright?"

The girl nodded, crossing her arms as she looked between Five and the rest of the Umbrella Academy. "Yeah. I'm fine. Wh-what's wrong with Harold Jenkins?" she questioned, her voice stuttering in dryness.

"He's the one responsible for the apocalypse."