Chapter Text
On the twelfth hour of the first day of October, 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. 43 normal, healthy women with 43 normal, healthy pregnancies. There was nothing unusual about this.
Nothing, that is, until a knock sounded at the door of each mother that week, a man behind it offering a great sum of money for their newborn child.
After much bartering and coercing and flying from location to location to proposition each and every mother, Sir Reginald Hargreeves returned home with 7 newly adopted infants. They were given the names One, Two, Three, Four and so on, each assigned a nanny to care for them until they were old enough to be of use for Sir Hargreeves.
Raised as siblings in their early years, the 7 were as well adjusted as the situation allowed. They lived and grew in a mansion with 3 square meals a day, a private courtyard where they could get time outside, and all seven had a room of their own. They wanted for nothing.
The children didn’t meet the man who adopted them until their fifth birthday.
Sat at the dining table for 7 am breakfast, as they did every day, the children smiled and wished each other a happy birthday.
One, a little boy with wide blue eyes and blond hair, tall for his age, sent a smile to Three across the table. She was a pretty girl with the darkest complexion out of her siblings and bouncy curls her nanny had skillfully pinned up away from her face.
Next to her was Four, a thin boy with his own set of brown curls that his own nanny could never tame and a face covered in freckles. His green eyes shone as he chattered to the boy next to him. Six, an Asian boy with a calmer disposition than any of his siblings, listened as his brother switched from topic to topic, nodding and keeping up as best he could.
At the head of the table was Seven, locked in conversation with Five, who sat to her left, across from Six. Seven was a plain girl; pretty, though not as obvious as her sister, with brown hair and brown eyes, and too-pale skin that showed she didn’t go in the courtyard with her nanny as often as she should. Five, easily the smartest of his siblings already, was a boy with olive skin, dark hair and a proud nose.
Between Five and One sat Two, a boy with a brown complexion and thick, dark hair that he preferred short.
Two looked around at his siblings, paired off in conversation. Though he was young, he already struggled with a severe stutter that often kept him left out of meal-time conversation, and so he had learned to appreciate just listening to the voices around him.
Today though, he was less focused on listening in and more focused on the plate and cutlery set at the other head of the table. The place was usually empty, but the addition of a new chair, wooden and ornate, identical to their own, and the place setting made the boy curious.
He brought his knees up under him to kneel on the seat of his chair, using the extra height to peer over the edge of the table and catch a glimpse of the new chair. No extra cushion on the seat like him and his siblings had in order to reach the table. So that meant whoever the table was for, they were tall enough on their own.
Two sat back in his seat as his ears picked up multiple sets of footsteps. All seven nannies flounced into the room, matching uniforms with only an embroidered number on the sleeve giving away which child was in their care. Each nanny had a plate in hand that was set down gently in front of each child.
One’s nanny, who had walked in with two dishes, placed one at the empty seat. A series of thank-you’s rang out, and though Two tried his hardest, he could only manage the first syllable, unable to push out the rest of the phrase. He got a kind smile from his nanny, Thea, a greying woman who had always been kind to the boy.
The nannies all took a few steps back to stand behind their charge with their hands folded in front of them, ready to help if needed. They had taken this position for every meal the children could remember, ready and waiting for their number to call on them.
As the children were about to dig in to their meals, another set of footsteps neared the dining area. Crisp and sure, each step clicked closer to the table until a man stood before them. He stood at the empty place, looking down at the seven children with a scrutinizing gaze.
There was silence for a moment as they studied each other. He was an older man, with eccentric white facial hair and a monocle over one eye. His eyes were piercing as they examined each child before finally he spoke.
”You will stand when I enter them room from now on, understood?”
The man was met with silence. The children looked wearily at one another, none of them quite sure how to react. He turned to the nannies without missing a beat.
”Get out.” When they didn’t move, confused, he raised his voice, “Out! Now! All of you!”
His orders were curt, but they were followed. Quickly, the women filed out of the room, some sending concerned looks to their respective children, who had flinched at the volume of the man. Once they had evacuated, he spoke again to the children.
”Now you see what will happen if you continue to disobey me. Now stand!”
With haste, the siblings scooted their chairs back and hopped down, standing in front of their chairs. At this height, their chins just barely reached the table top.
One was just taller than his siblings so that his neck was visible over the table. Four nervously wrung his hands under the table, frightened by the man. A moment passed, then he sat himself. Another moment.
”Now you may sit.”
Hesitantly the children hopped back up on their chairs, not taking their eyes off the scary man. Three tried to subtlety scoot her chair away so that she wasn’t so close to him.
With one more calculating look across the table, he tucked into his meal, flipping open a notebook he carried with him. His eyes didn’t leave the page as he ate.
To the sound of cutlery scraping against china, the children exchanged looks. None of them knew what was going on. Who was this man? Why was he eating with them? What did he do with their nannies? They needed to know.
After looking around at each other, six pairs of eyes landed on the most outspoken of their group. Four widened his eyes and shook his head so hastily his curls flew around his face. Three nudged him with an elbow, giving a look that said ‘Come on, someone has to do it!’. Four continued to shake his head, looking down at his plate and away from his siblings. Next to Two, One gathered his courage.
”Who- who are you?” His voice wavered, but all six of his siblings looked at him with admiration. Something grew in his chest. He wanted them to look at him like that all the time!
”No speaking at the table, Number One.” The response was immediate and stern, but he didn’t raise his voice. Nor did he raise his eyes from his book.
”But-“ Five paused as the man’s eyes snapped up to look at him. He swallowed his fear with a gulp, “But we always talk at meals.”
”Not anymore!” They’d never heard such a stern voice before they met this man, but so far it was all they had heard from him.
He dropped his silverware on the table in aggravation, the sound making all seven jump in their seats.
”You’re spoiled. All of you. I suppose it’s partially my fault, I let you be coddled for too long.” He took a quick note in his book as he spoke before looking back at the children with indifference written across his face.
“No longer. It’s time you learned to take care of yourselves. Now that your caretakers are gone, I’ll be hiring someone to look after the property while I begin your lessons. She will cook your meals. Everything else you’ll need to learn how to do yourself.”
”What do you mean spoiled?”
”Our nannies are gone?”
”Who are you?!”
The responses from the children overlapped one another, all shouting and tears and confusion.
”Silence!”
Effectively silenced, they looked up at him. Red faced, teary eyed, confused five year olds looked up at him. Maybe it was some kind of pity he felt. Certainly not sympathy, but yes - perhaps pity. Whatever is was, Sir Reginald Hargreeves decided to go easy on his children.
”My name is Reginald Hargreeves, and I am your father. I am going to make you extraordinary.”
He once again picked up his cutlery and began to eat, ordering them to eat as well.
If he had to guess, that’s probably where Diego would say everything started to go to shit.