Number Eight {The Umbrella Academy} -- [On Hold]

Seventeen

"You just had to say that, didn't you?" Diego asked, and as I climbed up, I regretfully found that I was right.

There were posters advertising the Umbrella Academy everywhere, showing off those of my siblings that had powers. Well, powers we had known about when we were younger. There were shelves full of memorabilia everywhere, from mini umbrellas labeled with numbers to mini-figurines of my brothers and sister. Only, on every iteration of their faces, their eyes had been scratched out.

"All of our faces were burnt off," Allison noted, pointed out that the figurines had plastic dripping from their heads.

"Well, that's not creepy," Diego said, examining the collage of press pictures. "This guy's got some serious issues."

"Yeah, forget what I said about him being an innocent man, this is not normal behavior of good people." I picked up the Ben figurine, wincing at the half-collapsed head.

"This was never about Vanya. This was about us," Allison turned to Diego, shocked.

Between the two, Five let out a quiet whimper, then fell to the ground with a thud.

"Five. What-" Allison stuttered out. I dropped the figurine and hurried over as Allison and Diego knelt at his side. Our sister lifted his hand, which was covered in a red liquid. "Blood? What?" She patted him down, then lifted up his shirt. There was a bullet wound in his stomach, oozing blood.

"Jesus, Five. Why didn't you say anything?" Diego asked.

"You have to keep going." He gasped out. "So... close..." His eyes fluttered shut, and I swore.

"Five." Allison shook him, getting no response. "Five!"

"We need to get him back home." I moved behind his head, and looped my arms under his. "Allison, come on."

"The hospital would be-"

"Whatever, but we need to go, now." She grabbed his feet, and we lifted his limp body into the air.

~~~

"We should have taken him to the hospital."

"A kid with a shrapnel wound might raise some questions," Five reminded Allison as we carried him into our home. He was barely awake, fading in and out of conscious, and was concerning me greatly as Allison and Diego shuffled into the house. I had opened the door for them, and now was jogging beside them, worrying about my brother.

"Yeah, well, so does the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins' attic," she retaliated.

We made it to the couch, and they set Five down.

"He's still losing blood. What do we do?" Allison asked, pulling off her jacket.

"We gotta get the shrapnel out," Diego commanded as she pressed the jacket against the wound. I grabbed a pillow from one of the chairs and stuffed it under Five's head, figuring it would make his life at least a bit less painful.

"Diego, where are you going?" I looked up to find Diego was walking towards the stairs, very much not doing what he had said we had to do.

"Mom?" Allison's jaw dropped as Grace came into view.

"She does live here, you know." I had no idea why they were shocked to see her, as she had been in the house for two decades or so.

"After Hazel and Cha-Cha came, we found her arm cut open, wires cut. She was dead," Allison explained, shocked.

"Well shit. How is she-"

"No clue." Diego and Mom came walking into the room, Grace frowning as she saw the blood that was seeping through Allison's jacket.