Work Text:
Reginald Hargreeves was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a kind man. It could even be argued that he was also not a good man. He was definitely not patronly. He was cruel, indifferent, and definitely never a man suitable to raise a child, much less seven.
One thing he did excel in was manipulation. Where most fathers spread love and compassion amongst their children, Reginald spread competition and perfection.
So it was no surprise that he would use any and every opportunity to drive his lessons home. This was especially true regarding birthdays.
----------------------------
Sharing a birthday with your siblings was not an ideal situation. Seven very different personalities clamoring to seize attention for the day was harrowing at best and a full blown nightmare at worst.
Which was why Luther chose not to bring himself down to their level. He was Number One, after all, and had to set an example for his less experienced siblings.
So when their father announced that, for their twelfth birthday, he would be allowing each of them a single item of their choosing to mark the day of their entry into the world, Luther took the challenge into grave consideration.
The Umbrella Academy had only been active for a year or two now and not only did he have to prove himself as a leader to his brothers and sisters, he had to prove himself being a capable leader to the world and, most importantly, his father. He spent hours after lights out practicing his posture and expressions in the mirror, angling himself in the weak street light creeping in through his curtains to maximize the cut of his jaw and angle of his eyes, wordlessly telling the world he was capable of handling anything that was thrown at him.
By the time his father lined them all up in the austere living room, Luther knew exactly what his request would be.
"Number One?" His father's voice rang through the hall, cutting through the fidgeting and low murmurs. He didn't hesitate.
"A new suit from your tailor," he replied evenly, successfully keeping the pride out of his voice. Judging by the scoff from Diego, he didn't quite succeed, but it didn't matter. Father was looking at him like Luther had given him the right answer and that was truly what he had been after.
"Interesting," Father muttered to himself, a note of surprise in his voice that was not mirrored on his face. "You will have your suit. Number Two?"
--------------------------
Luther puttered around his tiny greenhouse in the house's courtyard. There was a notable chill outside these transparent walls, multicolor leaves dancing on the wind, but inside was cozy and moist.
He carefully bent down to check the leaves of one of his strawberry plants, one of the sicklier ones. He had been diligently plucking off the decaying leaves over the past few weeks and administering mineral solutions in the hopes that it would grow stronger. There were now three small leaf buds poking out from the base of the plant and he smiled to himself.
Returning to his feet, he took one last look at his array of plants. Tomatoes hung low, close to ripe, from stalks he had reinforced with bamboo stakes. Pineapples peaked out from behind long leaves, a hint of color breaking through their green bodies. Cucumbers and peas dangled from the underside of long and stringy vines. Grapes tickled his hair as they swayed above his tall frame.
He smiled fondly as he ducked out of the door, safely sealing his plants from the nearing October chill once more. He shifted the small basket to his other hand as he opened the door to the kitchen.
"So, I have a few eggplants, some carrots, and a carton of blueberries," he announced, spreading his small bounty out on the table. His mother smiled in delight.
"That's wonderful, Luther dear!" She patted his broad shoulder as she scooped up the blueberries. "Would eggplant saute with vegetables sound good for this evening? With a blueberry cobbler, of course."
"That sounds delicious," Luther smiled shyly. "Thank you."
His mother gave him a knowing smile as she shooed him out of the kitchen. He was left hovering awkwardly in the foyer outside of the kitchen, shifting from one foot to the other. He had never been very close to Grace as a child. Their father had constantly berated the other children, especially Diego, for seeking her out as a form of comfort. Luther had taken up his father's derision and repeated it often, widening the rift between himself and his siblings without him even knowing. He had stopped seeking Grace out and had become independent and self-sufficient.
Only now, in hindsight, had he begun to come to terms with the toxicity his father had fed them. How it wasn't healthy that a ten year old was responsible for his siblings and the impossible demands of his father. It may not have been too late to salvage the threads of his relationship with his siblings, but he feared it was too late to salvage who he had been before he stuffed himself full of his father's lies.
"Luther!" Klaus' voice rang through the hall, startling a flinch out of him. He had to count himself fortunate that there were no prying eyes that had seen his momentary lapse, though he immediately had to deliberately correct the momentary flood of shame that overcame him. No one was going to stand there and judge him for his lack of attentiveness to his surroundings, least of all his gentle hearted, gangly brother racing down the stairs and making a beeline towards him. Even if it had been Diego instead of Klaus, Luther doubted his moment of weakness would be held against him.
Not weakness, Luther purposefully told himself. Just a normal, healthy reaction to something that was unexpected. He had been working on discovering the portions of himself that had not developed in a… healthy manner. Ever since the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Luther had begun to take small trips outside of their house and into the world. It was on one of these trips, to the library no less, that he had stumbled upon a self help book about childhood abuse and trauma. To this day he isn't exactly sure what made him pick up that book and begin to read, but he now wielded several notebooks full of his own carefully recorded notes and a better idea of how to help his family heal.
Klaus had launched himself off the bottom step and landed in front of Luther. It would have been impressive, had Klaus not lost his balance and instead barrelled into Luther like a rogue bowling ball, causing Luther to throw his hands up to steady his brother as the box Klaus had been holding was dislodged and flung several feet to the right.
"Ah, danke!" Klaus grinned cheerfully, patting Luther appreciatively on his shoulders with both hands before skipping to retrieve the fallen parcel. Before Luther could even form a response, Klaus had seized one of his hands, the other cradling a battered looking box. "Come on, then!"
Luther had been hoping something intelligent and suave would come out of his mouth, but he was left with a dull, "What?"
"Come on, come on!" Klaus tugged at his hand urgently. Luther found himself following his brother before he could figure out why.
"Wait, Klaus," Luther sputtered, trying to disentangle his hand from Klaus' cool one and not succeeding. Kid had a grip like a steel trap. "Where are we going?"
"Questions!" Klaus flapped the box airily, rattling the contents inside. "Less talking, more moving! Chop, chop!"
Luther continued his ascent up the stairs behind Klaus, inconspicuously looking around for clues.
"Ben won't tell you, I've sworn him to secrecy," Klaus confided in a hushed whisper as he dragged Luther towards the library.
At this point, Luther just decided to let Klaus drag him around. Talking to Klaus when he was like this was akin to putting toothpaste back into the tube; impossible and messy.
Klaus lead him over to one of the bigger armchairs in the library that had been set up in front of a coffee table. Luther sat down when Klaus shoved him towards it and rounded the table to the mirroring chair. He took hold of the box with both hands and held it reverently to his chest, locking eyes with Luther.
"This," Klaus began in a hushed whisper. "Is one of my greatest finds at the thrift store."
Luther stared at him in silence. When it was clear Klaus was waiting on a response, Luther mentally sighed. "Ah."
"Your doubts are well founded, I am sure," Klaus continued, nodding gravely at Luther's puzzled expression. "But are not needed. For today," Klaus paused again, lifting the box high above his head. "Today, we build an airplane." The box is deposited lightly in front of him in one swift movement.
Luther knew Klaus was waiting for his response. He could feel his brother's gaze burning on him. But all Luther could focus on is the battered box sitting before him, a sleek plane printed boldly on the top. It proclaimed "F-14B/D Super Tomcat" in bold letters across the top. Several price tags had been placed over top of one another covering the last few letters.
Silence blanketed the library as Luther traced the plane's outline with one finger. Klaus cleared his throat, snagging Luther's attention once more.
"It's, uh, for your birthday," Klaus said quietly. "Well, our birthday technically. I know you used to really like building those plane models as kids and I was thrift shopping with Ben and, well, he technically found it I guess-"
"It's for me?" Luther asked in a hushed whisper, finger continuing to trace the outline of the plane.
"What? Yeah, yeah, it's for you! Ben said you would sometimes let him watch as you painted your plane models as long as he didn't breathe too loudly. Which, come to think of it, why wasn't I invited to help? I know Benny boy is the quieter of us kids but the paint colors would have made perfect nail polish colors-"
Luther continued to stare at the box, mind utterly frozen. He had enjoyed making model planes when they had been younger, spending hours and hours polishing the plastic and applying the tiny decals. His mind would mellow and he felt the fresh air of calm and focus overtake him. How had he forgotten that? When had he stopped? Why had he stopped?
"-uther. Luther! Hello ! Anyone home? I think we broke him Ben," Klaus was saying, but Luther wasn't really listening. Klaus, his brother, had found something that he thought Luther might like and had bought it for him. Well, he reasoned, obtained it for him, anyhow. And Ben! Ben had seen this kit and remembered Luther and had told Klaus about the significance…
"-and there was this gorgeous pair of converse that lit up! But one of the shoes was broken and Ben said that this was a better use of my money anyways. Plus, it's a plane they used in the Vietnam War! Not that I saw a lot of planes, but I do know a little about them. Dave said I should know, in case I ever-"
Luther enveloped his brother into a hug and cutting off whatever he was saying, tears clinging to his eyelashes but not falling. His brother, brothers, had thought about him and had gotten him a gift. A gift that he actually liked. They had remembered him and bought him a gift. Klaus used his own money to buy him a gift-
"Hey there, big guy, not that I don't love this hug, but I'm not sure I can breathe," Klaus' voice came from where Luther had pinned him to his chest, muffled but cheerful.
"Oh!" Luther immediately let go of Klaus and stepped back, which only caused his foot to catch on the chair he had vacated behind him and fall hard. Klaus froze in an aborted lunge as the chair splintered beneath Luther's weight with a resounding CRACK. Silence again blanketed the library, Klaus looking whiplashed by the sudden tone change in the room and Luther laying stunned and breathless on top of pieces of the chair.
"Oh my gosh, I didn't mean for you to stop I just needed a little room to breathe- are you… okay?"
Luther blinked up at Klaus, shame flooding his body. He hadn't meant to hurt Klaus and now he had ruined the chair and the moment and apparently none of the months he had worked to make himself better mattered because in the end something always-
A cool hand stopped his spinning thoughts abruptly. Klaus was squatting down beside him, his hand laid loosely on his shoulder. It was unusual, Luther thought, for his brother to be so quiet. Klaus' face was solemn as he watched Luther struggle with his thoughts, but he also didn't interrupt. When Luther made eye contact with Klaus, the smile Klaus gave him was so gentle and so haunted it sliced his heart open.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No," Luther cut him off a little forcefully. Klaus flinched, so Luther cleared his throat and tried again, his own hand covering his brother's on his shoulder. "No, Klaus, it's… it's perfect." He choked out the last part, tears swelling once more. "It's more than perfect, it's-" he swallowed thickly. "It… means a lot. A lot to me, I mean." He trailed off, furiously trying to swallow down the rest of his emotions and failing.
Klaus brightened as he gently pulled his hand away and hopped up, holding a hand out to help Luther. Even though Luther appreciated the sentiment, he didn't want unintentionally hurt his brother again, so he waved the hand away.
By the time Luther had regained his feet, Klaus was halfway out the door, the worrying silence hovering around him like a cloud.
"Klaus," Luther called.
Klaus stilled and turned a half second later than he should have. "Yes, brother dear?" The smile that accompanied the response was still full of things other than happiness. Luther wouldn't stand for that. Not when he could fix it, even a little bit.
"Help me?" he indicated the box on the table.
Klaus' eyes warmed and joy radiated from his smile this time when he responded, "It would be my pleasure."