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Luther's eyes crack open. He immediately recoils, the sunlight almost painful at first.
He blinks a few times, taking a moment to gradually come into full consciousness. His bed feels so much softer than it had when he laid down the night before.
Eventually, he stretches with renewed effort, his muscles pulling with a delicious burn. Feeling invigorated, he leaves to wash up.
He attends to his usual routine, scrubbing his teeth a little longer than usual (he honestly can’t remember if he brushed last night), all the while scrutinising his face in the medicine cabinet mirror. He pouts a bit at the stubble and decides to run a blade over his jaw too.
Luther isn’t sure why, but he feels good. Really good. Even cloaked in the mild haze of morning drowsiness, his hands and arms and legs feel solid with every movement, his posture is straight and his actions effortless. His chest feels light, as if he’d been relieved of a pain he wasn’t aware existed before.
That’s stupid, he thinks. How can he be relieved of something he’s never even noticed before? He’s allowed to simply have good days. Isn’t everyone?
He scratches his chest through the threadbare t-shirt and hums a cheery tune to himself as he strolls down to the kitchen.
He’s not even through the entryway before the smells and delectable sounds of a well-rounded breakfast hit his senses. There’s sizzling, crackling, the pop of the toaster, and gentle chatter just ahead. A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he reaches the doorway.
In the kitchen sits Klaus, nestled at the far end of the large dining table with a pad of paper pinned under his wrist. He’s chittering away and waving a pencil around, animated and palpably gleeful.
Across the room, Diego is standing over the retro stovetop, scraping at a pan and nodding every so often to whatever Klaus is saying. It smells amazing, like bacon and eggs, and Luther only now realises how hungry he is.
As he approaches, Klaus looks up at him and Luther is almost taken aback by the glow in his expression. His brother’s eyes are the clearest he’s ever seen them; there’s no dirty smudge of old liner under them and they crinkle a little when Klaus smiles.
‘About time, big guy! Did you plan on sleeping all day?’ Klaus turns toward him and lifts both elbows to rest on the table. He sets his chin in his hands, pencil still poking out from between his fingers on the right. It’s only then Luther catches a glimpse of a detailed portrait scribbled into the paper in front of Klaus. Luther doesn’t recognise who it is, but it’s surprisingly good, and he wonders distantly when Klaus ever took up drawing.
‘Eggs are almost done,’ Diego says, picking up a piece of toast from the counter next to him and taking a bite. ‘I figured you’d want some if you bothered to wake up.’ Diego looks over his shoulder at Luther and glares, but it’s fond and lacks any real sting.
Luther puts a hand to his stomach, the prospect of a full breakfast sounds delightful. He grins and opens his mouth (either to thank Diego or tease him, he’s not sure which) when Klaus interrupts him.
‘Allison was looking for you, you know.’
‘Allison?’ Why Luther’s confused by this, he isn’t sure.
‘Yeah, you should go see her first.’ Diego doesn’t turn back around, focused on plating some food. There is a gentle clattering of ceramic plates, but nothing else.
Neither of his brothers seem willing to offer more than that.
‘Yeah, alright. Save some for me, then.’
It’s odd and unexpected, but he doesn’t want to leave the kitchen. There’s an alluring comfort to the idea of sitting down with his brothers and sharing a meal. He hopes he still can when he returns.
He turns out of the kitchen to find Allison and see what she needs.
It doesn’t occur to him that neither of them told him where she’d be, but Luther figures he knows this house and every dust-filled, rat-infested, secret-harbouring corner. He knows Allison better than she knows herself – he’ll find his sister.
Luther has one foot on the first step of the main staircase when a gentle, lovely tune floats past him. It’s the violin, being plucked and stroked with meticulous attention, a song of sorrow and quiet desperation, lingering in the shells of his ears. Vanya.
He hops up the stairs two at a time, not so much in a rush as his gait simply allows for it.
When he reaches the second floor the song is clear and poignant, swallowing the atmosphere whole. Luther frowns and follows it down the narrow hallway of their childhood bedrooms.
It’s toward the end as he approaches Ben’s old room that it becomes loudest. When Luther appears in the doorway, he’s surprised to see Ben, leaning back against his desk. He’s watching Vanya, who is sat in his bed across the room, carefully teasing the haunting melody from the strings of her violin.
She stops her ministrations at once.
Both Ben and Vanya look up at Luther and the most heartfelt smile curls onto Ben’s lips. It’s Vanya, however, who says, ‘Luther! Good morning!’ He doesn’t know why, but Luther finds himself unsettled by this.
‘Morning,’ he returns, unable to stop himself from mirroring Ben’s grin. ‘Sorry to interrupt, I was--’ he vaguely gestures past the door frame.
‘Looking for Allison, we know. You should find her, she’s waiting on you,’ Vanya says. She glances toward Ben before looking back at Luther, but he can’t read her expression. She fiddles with the bow and when Luther hesitates, touches it to the strings, finding the place in her song she’d left when he’d walked in.
Luther watches how her eyes flutter shut, and looks to Ben, but his smile is ghostly where it was warm just a minute ago. His brother looks away after a moment as well, and Luther figures that’s the most he’ll get out of them too.
He leaves them to it and walks across the expansive second floor, weaving in and out of dusty beams of sunlight pouring in from the tall windows.
This house, once a cage, has become a haven. A nest, wherein he has finally gathered his siblings, piece by piece, until they became whole again. Luther doesn’t want to remember the cold, empty nights anymore; he really can’t bring himself to relive the silence that blanketed the mansion the night Dad finally, permanently threw Klaus out.
(December 19th, 2:45 AM: Luther looked out his bedroom window, eighteen years old and too terrified at the prospect of Klaus never returning - he was the last sibling Luther had left. Luther was no longer Number One without the others; he was the only one, now.
Nothing, prepared him for seeing Allison outside at the gates just below, dark curls spilling out of a knitted toque. She’d had her arms wrapped tightly around herself and tapped her foot impatiently outside an idling car as an inebriated, and barely clothed Klaus stumbled down the walkway.
It was only a second that she looked up toward his window, but it was just long enough to find Luther’s eyes like she knew he’d be watching. She looked away so quickly, but not quick enough, and Luther well and truly broke down for the first time that night.
Without any siblings remaining to his left, and none to his right, down the hall or anywhere, nobody disturbed his heartbroken wailing. Not even Mom came knocking that night, and Luther wouldn’t find the tray with cold tea, carrots and raisins arranged in an eerie smiley until nearly twenty-four hours later.
After that, nothing got better.)
Finding himself face to face with the deep oak door of Dad’s study snaps Luther from his reverie. He had nearly walked right into it and belatedly notices it’s slightly ajar. He doesn’t expect Allison to be in here, of all places, but it’s only a few steps from the attic stairs, and he does wonder – who even has the keys to Dad’s most private room?
The door is already creaking open before he’s realised his actions, and steps forward just enough to peek inside. His eyebrows raise.
Across the sizable study and sat behind the grand, mahogany antique desk is Five. He is scribbling furiously into one of the many notebooks strewn across the desk. He doesn’t seem to notice Luther hovering in the doorway or, if he does, he appears wholly uninterested in his presence.
Five stops writing at once and without looking snatches the mug to his left and downs an impressive gulp of what Luther imagines can only be coffee – even at thirteen Five was already years into his caffeine addiction. In a smooth motion, Five sets the mug back down and his writing continues, hardly a beat missed.
Luther supposes if anyone had reason to be ripping apart Dad’s remaining resources, Five would be the logical conclusion.
Five’s voice comes unexpected, quick and sharp, and Luther’s stomach cramps in immediate response.
‘Allison is looking for you. Now get out.’
Luther recoils a bit, lips parting but unable to get anything out. Five stops writing but doesn’t move his pen from the journal’s yellowed pages. Luther can see where his brother is staring hard into the desk below, hauntingly rigid, and Luther knows right then he needs to leave.
So he does.
He steps away and pulls the heavy door closed with him. Something curdles low in his belly, and for the first time since he’s woken up, Luther feels extremely uneasy.
He’s got to find Allison.
Luther climbs the little, rickety staircase to the attic three steps at a time and the quiet panic that’s beginning to bubble in his chest spurs him into a jog. Without realising it, his breath freezes in his lungs.
There’s no reason to think anything is wrong and yet with each step the possibility is suddenly overwhelming. When Luther reaches the landing, the breath that he is holding expels weakly.
Allison, sits on the window ledge with her back to Luther, the sun crowning her head like a brilliant halo; her tight, golden-brown curls falling down her back, coerced into a lazy, disorganised dance by the cool breeze coming in from the open window.
Luther forgets to inhale again, and doesn’t realise until his lungs spark and the burn begins to spread in his chest. Nestled beside his sister’s bewitching silhouette is the shadowy figure of Patrick, his features a blur and his presence absolutely hateful. Luther knows him immediately.. The way those repugnant fingers brush loose hair behind Allison’s ear, the way she leans into his frame and cups his jaw tenderly just so, makes him sickeningly dizzy.
Allison is leaning into a kiss when her eyes slide open and over to Luther and she has the decency to look properly surprised. Luther wants to leave, right now, but his feet are cemented in the attic, his eyes glued to every detail of Allison’s face. He doesn’t know how or why, but he feels like he had forgotten how beautiful she is.
And yet the sight of her right now is making him sick.
‘Lu… Luther!’ Allison jumps from the window ledge, eyes as wide as Luther’s ever seen. ‘How…How are you here?’
He doesn’t understand. Allison looks shaken, genuinely in some state of shock, and Luther can see the way her fingers are gripping at the sleeves of her leather jacket so hard her knuckles begin to white.
Every muscle in his body feels like ice.
‘Why …wouldn’t I be here?’ It sounds like someone else’s voice to his own ears when he answers.
She says his name again, but it’s broken and incomplete. Allison approaches Luther timidly, and he has a visceral reaction to that; Luther has never, ever seen Allison fearful of him. He wishes the floor would collapse beneath his feet.
‘What do you mean?’ Allison asks, the quiver that was in her voice seconds ago gone. Her posture changes and she takes another step forward, a hairline away from standing toe-to-toe with Luther. She smiles easily and he’s powerless; it’s natural, how readily he falls into the warm liquid pools of her brown eyes. Every glance, every clandestine touch, every last whispered promise of their childhood flickers on the canvas of her corneas like a narrative he’s never seen the ending for.
Allison tilts her head and for a sweet, fleeting moment Luther is sure she is going to kiss him.
Her expression creases, mild irritation knitting into her brow. ‘You’re dead, Luther. On the moon, you died up there.’ There is a lull, and the pink of her tongue peeks out and runs across her bottom lip. ‘You should be dead, anyway.’
Luther can’t take his eyes off her cold, passive expression.
‘I’m not, I mean, I didn’t-’ His brain runs through all the possible logical responses to what he’s hearing but comes up short.
He’s still very much alive, he knows this much. There is no mistaking the way his blood is running quick and cool in his veins.
‘We’ve all moved on. It’s not like we cared much,’ his sister continues, letting her warm, breathy sigh coat his parted lips. ‘But I heard through the grapevine.’
Luther’s heartbeat picks up instantly, but he’s not nearly quick enough to react. He tastes her words on his lips before he hears them.
‘I heard a rumour you slit your own throat on the moon.’
-
Luther was forcefully thrown into consciousness.
His eyes were sealed shut with crust and he attempted to pull them apart. All the strength in the world and he only managed to expose a sliver of each.
Things were blurry. Cold. Quiet. The shallow ceiling above his cot was an excruciating shade of white. His teeth chattered.
There was no sunlight here.
Luther opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again, his tongue cracked dry where it met his teeth, but his voice was absent from his tightened throat. He weakly flung his head to and fro, but his neck was heavy and unmoving too.
I’m still here. I’m still alive.
His breathing was shallow but steady, rhythmic where it lifted his massive, burdensome chest, and for that, he felt the unmistakable urge to sob gather in his lungs.
He should be dead. He wants to be dead.
Allison.
His lips shape around her name.
‘Luther!’
Luther squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of her voice. Every syllable was clear, musical, heart-wrenching. It was his mind, slowly betraying his body; retaliation for the effortless way in which his body already betrayed his mind long ago.
Don’t do this to me.
‘Luther! Hey! Luther-! Are you awake?’
No. He wanted to pronounce this into every cramped inch of Moon Base 001. His voice box disagreed.
‘God Luther, you scared me. I thought – thank god.’ It wasn’t until he felt the pads of those slender, familiar fingers cup over his raggedy, bearded cheek that Luther blinked through the tiny slits of his eyelids.
Through the blur of tears and blood and crust, he saw her, and she was every bit as detailed as his brain would allow to process. Allison was sat on the edge of his bed, the delicate features of her face pinched with pain and concern. He didn’t have the strength, but if he had, he might have cried then and there.
Allison clearly saw the hiccup that rattled his weak body and moved to place a steady hand on his arm. ‘Hey,’ she began more softly this time, cautiously, ‘Luther, it’s okay. You’re okay.’
Am I okay? Is this what okay feels like?
Maybe he was. Maybe this is what Dad needed from him, finally.
Soon. I can rest soon.
Allison’s hair fell in a gentle tumble over her shoulder as she reached behind for something. Luther followed her movements in a daze, barely grasping onto the way her nimble hands moved to pat his face with a damp cloth.
I can see you. I can hear you. I can feel you. I know you’re here.
For a while, it was quiet as Allison fussed over Luther’s sticky eyes and cracked lips. The moisture of the cloth against his aching skin was both a relief and loathsome; a nearly all-encompassing urge to pull it into his mouth and suckle any remaining water from the fibres knocked around in his ribcage.
His sister pulled away, painted lips pulled into a frown. ‘You’re thirsty, I know. We need to get you up, Luther, you need to get to the kitchen.’
Luther didn’t want to imagine what that would entail. He wasn’t sure how his heart was still beating, but he was almost positive it wasn’t strong enough to get him around the base anymore.
Allison smiled weakly, brushing a hand over his forehead. ‘We need you Luther. I need you.’
Luther tried to close his eyes against her longing gaze. Allison has always been able to enchant Luther into doing almost anything without so much as uttering the words I heard a rumour; even now, barely clinging to what’s left of his life, she was an intense and bewitching presence.
‘Be our Number One, just a little longer?’
Luther moved his stale tongue in his mouth, but only a weak groan escaped.
Just a little longer.
-
He had been unconscious for nearly a day.
It took nearly two hours before Luther was able to stand on both his legs. Allison remained a constant, gentle whisper in his ear, always encouraging, tender, kind. Each time his muscles failed him, the artificial gravity crushing him until he collapsed under his own weight, Allison was at his side urging him to keep moving. She never spoke too excitedly, and yet Luther felt nausea roll up and down his oesophagus at her words – a barely perceptible panic pulled him down like an undercurrent beneath everything she said.
By the time he hobbled into the little base kitchenette, his sister’s lilting voice became background noise. Luther ripped apart at the filtered water station, noting hazily through bleary eyes at the angry red warning blinking on the LCD display.
Four days of clean water supply left.
He clumsily pressed an override into the menu and selected two rations of water, and the machine filled an attached bottle with water immediately. Luther did not wait for it to finish pouring the final drops before he ripped it from the nozzle and brought it to his shaking lips.
‘That’s really fucking stupid.’
I know. Luther doesn’t stop guzzling until he’s nursed every last drop from the metallic bottle.
‘You’ll be dead by the end of the week, but you were never cut out for any real work.’
Luther pressed his trembling lips together and turned to find Diego watching him from the far doorway. His brother’s expression was serious and dark, his frown deeper still. Diego’s words hung in the air like a dense smoke, but Luther only breathed them in.
I missed you.
‘If you don’t get those reports out, I hope Dad finally stops trying to make something out of you.’
I think he already has.
‘You’re a garbage Number One. I should have been Number One. I wouldn’t be moping around this base like a little pussy bitch.’
Luther parted his mouth, before remembering how useless it would be to try and respond. He couldn’t.
He stared longingly into Diego’s cool, unflinching expression, willing everything he felt, everything he wanted to say into his brother’s mind.
You’re right. If you took over right now, Dad might respond to the transmissions.
Luther hobbled toward Diego, eyes trained on his crooked visage.
‘You’re a failure, Luther; I know that, Dad knows that,’ Diego continued. His mouth twisted with palpable displeasure. ‘You know it. Allison--’ Diego paused as Luther reached where he stood, and his nose twitched, unfazed. ‘Allison knows it, too. Just give it up.’
Luther lifted a large hand up, grunting with the effort. He gingerly placed it on Diego’s chest. The material of Number Two’s shirt whispered against the gnarled skin of his thick fingers. Luther closed his eyes, unable to take the intensity of both his brother’s unwavering stare and the weak thump of a heartbeat under his hand.
Just a little longer.
Luther ached to press his head against that heartbeat, to cry every apology he could never say into the stitches of Diego’s favourite shirt.
Instead, he lifted his gaze and brushed past his too-warm body.
‘He hasn’t responded in four months!’ Diego called after him, but didn’t follow. ‘You will die here!’
Probably.
-
The laboratory was even colder than the rest of the base.
Luther staggered inside, disregarding the abundant caution signs, and posted warnings about equipping proper protective equipment when inside the confines of the lab and testing facilities.
His filthy, copper-stained pyjamas itched everywhere – Luther wanted to crawl out of his skin. He had always imagined if this moment came he would be in so much more pain; instead, he only felt the creeping of true, honest apathy cultivating in his skin, his blood, his muscles, his organs. The only dopamine left to chase was the concept of finally letting go, to be adrift on the rivers of cosmic dust so, so far away from here.
Luther exhaustedly lifted his arm, the action aborting twice before he was finally able to slam his unwieldy hand into the control panel. A half-dozen fluorescent bulbs blinked to life, one by one, illuminating the largest room in the base.
Oh god, no.
Luther clutched the wall to keep himself upright. Standing a few feet away in the centre of the laboratory was Ben. A weak wail escaped Luther’s throat and he doubled over, pinching his eyes against the sight.
Was being 600 millilitres of water away from death not enough? Was not having eaten in four days not enough? Was three and a half years of being suffocated by impermeable silence in this horrific, unending, lucid nightmare not enough?
Luther bit down on the inside of his lower lip until he tasted iron, and then righted himself as much as his spine would allow. His swollen eyes burned, but through them he realised Ben had already begun approaching him, looking cautious, if not already defeated.
The squelch of his uniform dress shoes planting wet, crimson footprints as he went caused Luther’s jaw to tremble with grief. He shook his head but didn’t look away from his brother’s young face. Ben was exactly as he remembered; every detail was still excruciatingly vivid through the sticky mess of blood coating his skin.
‘You know what I’m going to say, don’t you,’ Ben said, barely above a whisper. In a previous life, when they were seventeen and tragically ingenuous, Luther remembered how small and unassuming his brother had been; seeing Ben’s tiny, mangled figure standing in the distorted shadows of Luther’s oversized form now was suddenly too much. He didn’t think he could handle this much longer.
I couldn’t do anything for you… I let that happen to you!
Luther visibly struggled with whether to listen to Ben, but ultimately hobbled around him.
‘Brother… please. You have to do it,’ Ben pleaded behind him. Luther stood at the LCD display built into the back wall, slowly and shakily punching codes into the monitor. He heard the squelching of Ben’s following footsteps, but pointedly ignored him. Luther was not sure how many times reliving the images of your brother’s violent death was too many, and at what point he’d reached the threshold.
‘Luther…’ When Ben’s voice came again, it was immediately to Luther’s left side. Frustrated, he weakly slammed his fist into the monitor over the green, blinking [COMPLETE].
I’m sorry. This is all I can do for Dad now.
Beside him, Ben withered. ‘Luther it can’t happen this way. You have to send the emergency transmission, please.’ It wasn’t the way his too-young brother’s voice trembled that caused a painful stutter in Luther’s chest, but the cool touch of Ben’s timid fingers against his throat. He shook and let his sight fall out of focus; it was then he made out the vague reflection of his face in the glass of the screen before him. The gory wound had long soaked through the dressings he didn’t remember having applied and was peeking out at either end beneath the sagging gauze. He refocused his eyes on the green text, but was only able to grasp onto scattered details.
[…][…] [RATION FOOD. SUPPLIES SCHED IN TWO WEEKS. […] YOUR REPORTS ARE THREE DAYS LATE – REMEDY IMMEDIATELY. […] [R.H.]
‘Your blood pressure is definitely below 90mmHg, you’re already prone to losing consciousness-’ Ben was interrupted by a wet gurgle in his throat, and a sharp pang of familiarity at the sound sliced its way through Luther’s spine. He reluctantly shifted his eyes leftward, watching as Ben coughed around the blood leaking from his mouth. His expression was written with anguish, communicating to Luther the words stolen from his lips.
With visible effort, Ben placed a pale hand over Luther’s arm, never leaving his gaze.
Luther closed his eyes and once more, slammed the heel of his right hand into the monitor.
[COMPLETE… REPORT 221218 SENT]
[….STANDBY]
[…] […] […]
[EMERG1218 TRANSMITTING… TRANSMITTING… TRANSMITTING…]
[ABORTING… ABORTING… TRANSMISSION CANCELLED.]
-
When Luther turned around, his brother’s harrowing form wasn’t there anymore.
Luther pointedly ignored the chilling wave of loneliness that cooled over his clammy skin.
He limped toward the doorway he had come in from. He didn’t look at the way the blood on his left arm lingered, unnervingly fresh and red against the dried stains of his own making.
A siren blared.
The lights in the laboratory flickered bright red and Luther startled violently where he was. In the several years he’d been on this base, the emergency alarm had never been triggered.
He moved as fast as his failing body would take him, staggering into the hallway and searching for the nearest control panel. The wailing of the base alarm was piercing in his ears, forcibly pushing the voices in his head to the edges of his mind.
[GRID 000326 – O2 SUPPLY 22% -- CODE: SOT-NW 00754]
[…] […]
[IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED] [LEAK DETECTED]
Luther ground his teeth, the sound of the impending crisis punching every partially formed thought from his head as they developed.
Shit.
With purpose, he flung himself off the wall and dragged his body down the hallway and toward the far room. He made quick work of the access code in a pin-pad to his left, bracing himself against the glass door every time the alarm tore through the quiet base. He was seven numbers into the ten-digit access code when a little fist slammed against the other side of the glass.
It happened again.
And again.
Luther angrily input the last three numbers and pressed his thumb into the fingerprint reader.
The first door raised and he stared down Number Seven’s slight figure. She had her hands held up in front of her, and Luther wasn’t sure if she meant to stop him from going, or if it was an act of defence, but her mousy face was void of expression. Luther shook his head.
Along the walls were meticulously organised rows of equipment needed for outdoor excursions, and Luther ripped his blurry eyes from his sister’s apparition. He gingerly stepped into one of the thin bodysuits hanging nearby, and then a heavy outer suit. He squeezed his eyes each time the blare of the angry emergency siren rang, narrowly avoiding losing his balance more than once.
Not far away, Vanya stood stoic, unmoved.
If I don’t fix this, three years of suffering will mean nothing.
He moved to walk past her, but was stopped by a firm hand pushing into his chest. Vanya-
He could feel her small, bony fingers pressing into his solar plexus through his spacesuit. She crooked her face up at him, mouth finally opening to speak, but the sound of her voice was swallowed whole by the reeling alarm overhead.
He lurched forward again but Vanya held her footing and Luther knew if he stayed in place any longer he might not make it to the airlock at all.
He supposed Vanya knew this, too.
Luther let out a muffled scream and launched himself into her, grabbing her slender arm with one hand and flinging her body to the ground behind him. He didn’t look back, didn’t want to see the too-real way she would have hit the ground from the force, and only begged his legs to keep moving forward.
‘L—er!’
He grabbed his helmet from the final hook at the end of the short hallway, turning into the corridor that would lead him to the airlock. Luther shoved his head into the helmet as he went, face twisted with grief. No. Please go away. Please, I have to -
‘L---th-!’
He screamed again as loudly as his damaged throat would allow, whipping his head from the force but refused to stop moving forward. Five was following him in a panic, blinking next to him every few metres and waving his hands in a fervid attempt to get Luther’s attention. He was yelling above the ceaseless alarm, wide green eyes demonstrating a naked distress Luther had never seen Five show before. It was foreign and caused Luther’s stomach to drop into his feet.
‘It—em---y---tr-----n! L---er! S—p!’
You left us! You can’t tell me how to do this!
Five blinked in front of him just before the airlock, slamming both his fists into Luther’s chest. He was yelling, shaking, begging, as Luther input the airlock access code, and only got more violently shaken once the door raised behind them.
Even in childhood, Five had seemed leaps beyond the rest of them in terms of growing up; now, he was reduced to nothing but a small and frightened boy, unable to comprehend the obligations of Luther’s adult choices.
I’m sorry, but you left me first.
He shoved Five’s whimpering body aside and stepped into the airlock, ignoring the shrill fragments of his brother’s pleading as the door lowered between them.
As soon as the door sealed, the mechanisms in the chamber began to stir and hum, preparing.
Luther’s swollen eyelids were heavy and he struggled to keep them open as he waited for the second door to clear. Five was still just beyond the window in the base, soundlessly shouting into the glass. When the interior display read 75%, Luther meant to turn and prepare to exit, but his legs gave out beneath him. The artificial gravity dragged him full force into the door, his helmet smacking into the heavy metal and his head smacking into the glass of his visor, and the last thing Luther saw before blacking out completely was Five, watching him from behind the window in horror.
-
Luther was warm.
Someone was humming.
Luther’s consciousness was fickle, fading in and out and leaving his environment a fuzzy blur. The atmosphere was deathly silent, save for the sorrowful tune being hummed into his ear. The only thing Luther grasped for quite some time was that he wasn’t in any pain. He felt, somewhere beyond his eyelids, the sun must have been shining.
Some time later, in a brief moment of lucidity, he registered the unmistakable squeeze of arms around his shoulders, gentle and earnest. Then, the humming stopped.
‘It’s now or never, big guy. You can’t sleep all day this time.’
Luther inhaled deeply.
‘It’s time to go, man, we can’t stay like this.’
When his eyes finally cracked open, it was to Klaus’ watery, upside down smile. His bright eyes were glazed over but steadily focused on Luther from above.
Where are we going?
Klaus frowned. Luther’s bleary vision betrayed him; the droplet that slid off the outer side of his helmet must have been a figment of this wonderful dream. In his fugue state, he only wanted to focus on the soothing cradle of his head and shoulders in his brother’s safe arms.
I never want to be anywhere without you again.
In the distance, somewhere beyond the recesses of his existence, there was a staccato beep beep beep, but Luther paid it no mind.
Klaus pressed a palm flat against the glass of the helmet, hiding his face from Luther’s searching eyes.
GOODBYE
‘Allison is looking for you, Luther,’ Klaus said softly. ‘It’s time to go.’