Work Text:
On Saturday evening, Ben doesn’t show up to dinner. The empty seat feels pretty much like an ominous sign from a lame scary movie – now there are two abandoned chairs still sitting at the table in the Hargreeves dining room, and it fills Diego with a bad, nervous feeling. He glances across at Klaus, and the other boy shrugs, unconcerned; no one dares ask Dad where Ben is, and the meal is awkward and quiet as usual.
The dining room overflows with the scrapes of forks against plates and a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. He’s glad when it’s over, and pushes his chair back roughly even though it makes a severe grinding noise against the floor that makes his teeth ache, not bothering to wait to be dismissed.
Dad and Luther both send him disapproving, irritated glares, but he ignores them and stomps away. He hears Allison snicker and mutter something about a tantrum under her breath, and he scowls darkly, his face getting hot.
Screw Dad, screw Luther, screw manners – he’s worried about Ben.
And after just a few minutes of searching and snooping around the teenagers’ rooms, Diego finds him. He is curled up underneath Diego’s bed like a cat. Relief lifts Diego’s spirits when he spots him, but when he calls out, “Ben!” and there is no response, his good mood fades. That’s right – Ben had his individual training this afternoon, he thinks, with dread. That never goes well.
It’s his foot that gives it away – one shiny black shoe, poking out from between the blue-and-white checked bed skirts.
Diego crouches down and taps on the shoe. “Hello?”
Sniffling. Ah. He’s crying.
Diego shrugs off his harness, hanging it up on its hook, because he doesn’t want Mom to have to clean it up for him later. Then, with resignation, he gets on the floor and shimmies his way under the bed. His clothes are gonna be filthy, he reckons, and Mom will probably be displeased, but if it makes Ben feel better, he’ll do it.
It’s airless and dark – Diego is taller than Ben, so his legs stick out into the open space of his room, when he crawls into the stifling space, elbows jarring against the floorboards.
“Man, it’s d-dusty under here,” he says, cursing his stupid stammer and hoping that Ben will say something back so that he doesn’t have to keep talking. But Ben doesn’t, his eyes squeezed shut, and his arms clamped tightly around his stomach. His cheeks are wet with tears, his face twisted into an expression of disgust. “Ben?”
“He made me do it again,” Ben whispers, fingers clawing at the fabric of his vest, bunching it up. His eyes are still closed.
Diego bites his lip, his neck already complaining from the cramped position he’s in. “With the…”
“Yeah.” Ben gasps and he starts to heave, sobbing dryly, like he’s about to throw up.
“What w-w-wh…” Diego scowls. But Ben doesn’t comment, and he takes a breath and tries again. “What was it today?”
Ben gags. “Deer.”
He winces. That’s a bad one – it’s always way worse when Dad makes him do it on prey animals. Another wave of hatred rises inside him for the old man, red hot and itchy, when he looks at the distress on his brother’s face. God. How could a man be so awful? To make that happen intentionally?
“It was looking at me,” Ben sobs, “with those b-big eyes, and I didn’t – I didn’t want— but Dad…”
“Hey, bro,” Diego says, his stomach churning at the thought. “Don’t th-think about it. I’m s-sorry I asked. Just—” shit, what would Mom say? “Um, keep breathing.”
Ben whimpers.
“You missed dinner,” Diego tries. “Are you hungry?”
“No, no, I’m not,” Ben moans, his knuckles pale and bloodless from how tightly he’s clinging onto his woollen vest.
“Okay, th-that’s ok-kay,” Diego stutters. “That’s fine.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Ben whines, his shoulders shaking, his chin sinking to his chest. Tears stream freshly down his face and run onto the floorboards. “I can’t, Dee. I can’t.”
“But the t-t-team wouldn’t b-be the same without you,” Diego says, in a feeble attempt to be cheerful, even as he is burning with anger towards Reginald, and imagines marching to the man’s office right now and… He gently bumps their shoulders together. He isn’t sure if he’s saying the right thing to make Number Six feel better, but he’s trying.
“I don’t care,” Ben says through gritted teeth. “I hate it here. I hate the team.”
Diego thinks quickly. “What would you do?”
“What?”
“If you c-c-could leave,” Diego says.
Ben’s mouth twists, and he knows that he’s thinking about Five. Five left, and no one knows what he’s doing, and Diego thinks he’s probably dead. Ben says, “Go to university.”
“Ugh. Nerd,” Diego says fondly, and Ben snorts. “Studying what?”
“Maybe literature,” Ben says quietly, and he unclasps one hand from his side in the same way that an overly-cautious driver tears their eyes away from the road for a second, to quickly wipe the snot running down his face. The hand is immediately returned back to its spot. “Or languages.”
Diego thinks that sounds boring. “Cool,” he says without conviction, and Ben opens an eye at him.
“You think it’s dumb.” He sighs shakily. “Yeah.”
“No!” Diego shakes his head and then bumps his skull on the bedframe painfully. That’ll leave a mark, probably, but Diego’s always covered in so many scratches and bruises that he doesn’t care. “If you like it, it’s c-c-cool. Really.”
“Ha.” Ben shuts his eyes again. “Sure.”
Diego drops his head back and wonders if there are any spiders under his bed.
“What about you?”
“Huh?”
“What would you do, idiot?”
Diego startles. “I wouldn’t. I mean, I’d do this.” Helping people, stopping crimes, that’s his purpose. He doesn’t need Dad to tell him over and over – he knows. That’s what he’s good at.
Ben turns his head to look at him sceptically. “Forever?”
“Uh,” Diego says. “Yes?” He thinks about it. “No. Maybe.”
“Covering all your bases, I see,” Ben says, smiling, and then it fades again, his arms tightening around his midsection. He never likes to describe the feeling of the Horror – but one time he said it was “writhing” and that was enough of Diego. He squirms uncomfortably just imagining it. But at least Ben’s not crying anymore.
“I could be a detective,” Diego says to distract himself. “What d-do you think?”
Ben makes a face. “Uh… sure! If that’s what you wanted.”
Diego laughs to cover a tiny twinge of hurt. “Yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” He inhales some dust and starts coughing.
There is silence.
And then Ben says, hushed, “Will you come with me?”
“Where?” Diego stares at him.
Ben swallows. “When I go.”
Diego opens and closes his mouth, already knowing he’s going to stutter. He has to choose his words.
“We could get out together,” Ben says suddenly, imploringly, looking at Diego with wet eyes in the darkness. “When we’re eighteen.” How long has he been thinking about this? “I know you hate living under Dad’s rule – we could take the others, even, and start a new life. A normal life.”
“I can’t even im-im-ima—” he flushes. “Imagine a normal life.”
“Me neither,” Ben murmurs. “That’s the problem. I have to get out.” He’s talking to himself, really. Maybe to the monster inside him.
“Then sure,” Diego declares, his voice coming out rough. “I’ll come with you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. When we’re eighteen we can p-pack up and leave this stupid, goddamn awful house behind,” he spits, suddenly liking the idea. He doesn’t need the Umbrella Academy to fulfil his purpose, to help people. In fact, it’s probably holding him back. The others, with all their speeches about teamwork and plans – it’s all bullshit. He could do better on his own.
“Don’t let Mom hear you talking like that,” Ben says. “But yeah.”
“And we can – grow vegetables or some shit,” Diego says. “And… do normal things. Like… college. And taxes.”
“Hmm.” Ben seems to be holding in laughter.
Diego wonders if Mom would come with him if he asked. If she could – if she would want to. He hopes so – Dad treats her like an object and she deserves better than that. The longer he entertains this fantasy, the more a curious, sparkling kind of hope builds inside his chest, as if it’s buoying him up. Maybe things could get better. Why not? What could be a more effective fuck you to their Dad than to live together out of choice, and to be happy?
Ben says, “I want an apartment. With big windows.”
“And a cat,” Diego says, and then sees the look on Ben’s face and says, “Actually, no cats. I hate c-ca-cats. Th-that idea sucked.” Flustered, he changes the topic. “And there could be bookshelves.”
“Bookshelves?”
“For your books,” he says flatly.
“Right,” Ben laughs. “Not your books.”
“No.”
“And maybe we could have lots of bedrooms, for Vanya and Klaus to come and stay,” Ben muses.
Diego frowns. “As long as they’re not there all the time.” Vanya and Klaus are both so annoying. He already has to share a house with them, their squeaky violins and sickly smell of substances. He doesn’t want them in his fantasy future too.
“They could stay sometimes,” Ben argues. “Like, once a week.”
“Once a month?”
“Once every two weeks, then.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
Ben smiles at him. But he doesn’t exactly look… happy. There is an edge to his smile, like it’s tainted with disbelief or self-mockery. “Thanks for pretending, Dee.”
Diego feels confused, and tilts his head to look at Ben more closely. Clearly the other boy needs some kind of reassurance, so he forces bravado into his voice. “I’m not pretending – this is a good plan. We’re gonna make it out of here, Ben. I promise.”
Ben looks at him for a long, quiet second. “You promise?”
“Of course,” Diego tells him confidently, and he reaches over and puts his hand over Ben’s, warm and comforting, he hopes. He nods firmly, and says; “I promise.”