Work Text:
“little boy, six years old,
a little too used to being alone”
Despite his six siblings and the screams all around him, a six year old Four was lonely.
One and Three had each other. Five, Six, and Seven were rarely seen apart unless it was forced. Two even had Mom, but who did he have?
Whenever Mom would hear him use the terms ‘hate’ or ‘stupid,’ she would scold Four saying that those were ‘no, no words,’ but he couldn’t think of any other way to think about the ghosts.
He hates them.
He hates the screaming in his face when all he wants to do is curl up with one of his brothers or sisters, but that could never happen because he was all alone and he hates that too, having nobody to turn to when they got too loud.
He hates Dad for training him One, Two, Three, Five, and Six throughout the day and into the night. For locking him up in a mausoleum and calling it ‘special training.’
He hates his powers. They are useless. Four wishes he could be like Seven. To him, no powers and no training sounds like a dream. The lack of ghosts of people who he has never met would be appreciated.
But more than anything, he hates this house. He hates what it represents. Dad told them that one day they would be heroes, The Umbrella Academy. One and Two are excited, Five and Six seem neutral, and Three falls somewhere in between.
Once again, Four is alone. Four doesn’t want to become a hero and go on missions because going on missions results in killing and killing means more ghosts to follow him around.