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Number Four hated the Umbrella Academy. Well, to be more clear, he hated the violence, the powers, the training, and most of all, Reginal Hargreeves.
Four was only twelve years old, too young to do anything on his own, too young to learn about the violence in the world, but here he was. Four was sitting in class, not paying attention mind you, but up at the front was Pogo talking about something to do with hostage situations. Four didn’t really care about anything his father deemed important. He was old enough to understand that what his father was doing, creating the Umbrella Academy, experimenting on his kids, and a whole lot of other things, that Four didn’t really know a whole ton about, where all bad. That even though they were supposed to be fighting the bad guys, they couldn’t stand up to the one that controlled everything.
What Four didn’t understand is why his siblings didn’t say anything about it. Where they aware, but too scared to say anything? Or were they too blinded by the false promises of their father, to defeat evil, to even notice that everything in the academy was at its core, evil itself?
Maybe Four only knew that his father was bad, because he knew what the real world was like. Well, he didn’t have the personal experience, but he did have the screaming ghosts to provide him with enough context. Or maybe, Four was not completely brainwashed to think that the people in authority were perfect, but instead able to think freely about others. When no one notices what is below the surface, does it not exist? Or does it lay hidden to fester and infect every thought that passes through your head?
Four hates his powers, but would he understand that hate without them? Because right now, most of the hate is directed at his father, cause he is the one forcing Four to use them. Making him just listen to the screams of the dead for hours on end, and to get nothing out of it. No wonder he was a disappointment.
His siblings don’t understand what his powers mean, and Four is too scared if they do get it. Would they be sympathetic and understanding, and try to help him just not be scared of the ghost. Or would they say just grow up, cause it’s your power, all the rest of us can handle ours, why can’t you with yours.
Four walked into his room, holding a pair of Grace’s shoes. They were a bright red pair of high heels, and they were the prettiest thing Four had ever seen. He grabbed Grace’s cause she couldn’t rumor him, like Three did last time he messed with her stuff.
Four slipped the shoes on, and liked how they looked on him. They made him feel nice, almost complete in a way. He glanced over at the mirror across the room and felt confident for once.
Maybe it was the high of stealing and a new look, or just a random burst of mania, but Four quickly ran as fast as he could out of his room, determined to show his siblings how he looked. This decision was not the best idea he had, but it was most likely due to his mind completely blanking.
As Four ran down the hallway, he noticed that all the rooms were empty, and quickly realized that everyone must be downstairs, of course. He made a sharp turn around the corner to the staircase, but Four’s lack of experience in heels was very clear. He was very lucky to have not fallen already, but at that moment he tripped, over what he was sure was nothing. Not that the lack of objects in the way made a difference to his sudden free fall down a flight of stairs, but the thought was the only thing running through his head at that moment.
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Four slowly came to awareness, hearing the hum of a machine in the background as the only clue to his soon coming conscience. The lack of screaming, begging, and crying to him a moment to notice, but once he did realize Four awoke with a start.
He was in the med bay, and was given morphine for a broken jaw from falling down the stairs is what Mom explained to him, but all Four could focus on, what the lack of ghosts that he could see.