Chapter Text
To put it simply, Oakley hadn’t had the faintest clue what was going on, in rather a day and a half now. Somewhere between boarding a plane, one day, in one time zone, with only partial expectations, and landing in a different day, in a drastically different timezone to find those expectations thoroughly shattered had wrenched what control they thought they had over the situation away from them.
To explain this situation justly, and in the most accuracy, we must go back, and tell this story from the beginning.
On the twelfth hour of the first day of October, 1989, 43 children were born. This, of course, would have been perfectly ordinary, had the women who had borne these children been previously pregnant.
The anomaly that caused these births was unknown, but one man, Sir Reginald Hargreaves, had made it his business to track down, adopt and buy as many of these children as possible.
He managed to get his hands on seven of them.
He raised these children, training them and guiding them to make an elite force known as the Umbrella Academy.
Unfortunately, Oakley was never one of these seven.
While the Seven Hargreaves children went through the trials of living within the Umbrella Academy, Oakley survived their own challenges, working their way through life, thinking almost nothing of the strange anomaly by which they’d been born.
This, of course, would all change, not long after Oakley had left home, in the form of a letter delivered to the dingey apartment they had only just moved into. The letter, addressed as being from one Reginald Hargreaves, offered them a place at the Umbrella Academy, citing something about their birthday, and a natural right.
Oakley read through the letter once, and then tossed it away into the trash, dismissing it as some sort of weirdly specific junk mail. This did not stop more of this mail from coming, even as time marched on, but Oakley never found it useful to reply, at first based upon the fact that they hadn’t the money to travel to New York, and then, after many years, the fact that they simply hadn’t the time.
In the time between then, and now, things had changed, people lost, developments made, and books published; Oakley’s life remained strange, though certainly in a different way than the seven Hargreaves children. In fact, one of the only things that seemed to remain unchanged was the arrival of these letters, nearly every other month.
It wasn’t until 2019, that these letters would stop going unanswered. Oakley had figured, seeing as they had time on their hands with the last book release finished and the next deadline far away, and seeing as they had let certain questions sit unanswered for so long, that maybe now, it would be safe if they reached out.
After all, Oakley reasoned, they weren’t a kid anymore, they knew how to keep themself safe. And, with what they had learned about Hargreaves and the Umbrella Academy over the years, a few things began to line up.
So, letters had been exchanged, plans made, tickets purchased, and that was how Oakley had found themself there, wandering through New York City, having received news just before the flight, that the man that was to be their host, was dead.
It was strange, they thought as they worked their way closer to the Umbrella Academy, that even though Hargreaves was now dead, and they had the option of turning around and going home, they had continued their journey.
It was almost like the pull of wanting answers for once, outweighed any strange or off putting feelings that grew in their stomach as they looked up at the huge brick building. They stayed frozen there, on the sidewalk, for a moment before squaring their shoulders and pushing through the gate, moving up to knock on the door.
“May I help you?” A surprisingly friendly voice asked, pulling them from their thoughts as they looked around.
The woman that had opened the door seemed pleasant enough, and they forced a smile, “Hello, I’m Oakley Ulrich. I believe that Mr. Hargreaves had-”
“So you’re the child Reginald spoke of, come in, come in,” She smiled, moving back and waving them in, “My name is Grace. Would you like me to put your things into the guest room?”
“The guest room?” Oakley half frowned, looking around the entryway.
“Of course, you’ll be staying with us for a few days, won’t you?”
“Um-”
Oakley’s confusion and panic was cut off as someone else entered the room, “Ah, Ms. Ulrich, I presume?”
“Mr.- if anything…” They corrected, turning to find a Chimpanzee in a suit addressing them.
“Right, of course. Mr. Ulrich, I am Pogo, if you would come with me, please,” He motioned out one of the doors, and when Oakley began to follow, he turned to Grace, “Bring the bags to the guest bedroom, please, Grace, and then call the children to the foyer, please.”
Oakley looked around the office they had been led to, trying to make sense of it, and the whole house, really.
“You see, on October the first, 1989, 43 children were born as part of an anomaly, this anomaly being that all of the women who went into labor had not been previously pregnant.” Pogo began to explain.
“Yes, I know that much, and I know of Hargreaves' quest to find all the kids,” Oakley broke in, “My parents said he was insane for buying children. I’ve read all the news about the Academy that I can find, and I read Vanya’s book- I just- don’t understand the point of all of this… why bring me here?”
“Well, you're fath- pardon, Master Hargreaves was interested in seeing how many of these other anomaly children were given abilities, and what those abilities would’ve been, he always had his theories, after observing you as he could.” Pogo sighed.
“But what did he want from me?”
“Mr. Ulrich, things will become much more clear in the next few days, and for now Master Hargreaves plans must play out.”
“And you expect me to stay here, while a dead mans plan unfolds?” They frowned.
“If you would be so kind as to be patient, and trust me. Can you do that?”
Slowly Oakley nodded, they needed these answers, they needed some sort of closure.
“Good. Now, you must meet the children.”
“They’re actually here? That's a surprise.” Oakley couldn’t help but scoff.
Pogo frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“The emotional trauma is like- painted on the walls here,” They said, looking around, “I mean- that Luther guy, sure, but Vanya? Oh god- Klaus or Five to, those guys had it real bad.”
“You can feel-”
“The overpour of emotion in this house? Yeah, it’s like a lot, even here, and I doubt any of their issues came from this office.” They shrugged, looking around further.
“So, Master Hargreaves was right, there was an empath out there.”
“More like in here…” They said distractedly before turning back to him, “You're saying you- and Hargreaves knew about this?”
“As I said, he had a theory,” Pogo stood from his chair, “Come along.”
Oakley followed him back down and through the house, and into a large room off of the main entryway, where an odd assortment of people sat around, bickering.
As Pogo tried, and failed, to get their attention, Oakley listened intently to the same voices they had heard arguing earlier, matching each one to the person it came from.
The skinny man in the leather skirt was the first to actually notice them standing there, as he returned to his seat from the bar, glass in hand, “Well, well, well, Pogo, who’s this cutie?”
Oakley raised a judgmental eyebrow as he plopped down into a chair, but said nothing.
“I’m Klaus, who might you be?” He kicked his legs up and over the arm of the chair.
Oakley again remained silent as the others seemed to recognize their presence with the next clearing of Pogo’s throat.
“You know, you are very bad at conversation.”
The giant, Luther, Oakley’s brain supplied, ignored his brother, “Pogo, who is this?”
“Children, this is Oakley Ulrich, your father would’ve wanted you to meet them. The circumstances may not be- ideal, but now is the time.” Pogo explained.
“And why exactly did dad want that?” The other man, who had to be Diego, asked.
“Mr. Ulrich…” Pogo trailed off, giving Oakley the option to speak for themself.
“I was born by the same anomaly that all of you were.” Oakley said simply, shrugging and moving a bit further into the room, “I just wasn’t bought by a shady gazillion-aire at birth.”
The curly haired woman they had recognized from the movies, Allison frowned, almost sizing them up, “And you’re… like us?”
“Once a part of a superhero team because my adoptive father turned me into a fighting machine?” They asked, rocking up onto their toes for a moment, “No, that was just you guys.”
“Great, another sarcastic fuck.” Diego muttered, half turning away.
Oakley sighed, relenting, “Yeah, I have powers- abilities, whatever, just like most of you.”
Everyone but Oakley seemed to miss the way that Vanya shifted uncomfortably from where she sat on the couch.
“And?” Klaus asked, “What is it you can do?”
They squinted at him for a moment, trying to figure out if this was a legitimate attempt at flirting before relenting further, “I’m an empath, I can feel people's emotions, and alter them. I need contact for that, but with people like you, all I needed to do was walk into this house. You guys' feelings are like- seeping through the walls.”
“So you’re… our eighth sibling…?” Luther frowned.
“No. Not sold to a creepy rich guy, not one of your siblings.” Again, they shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
“Mr. Ulrich will be staying here, for a few days, until your fathers final business is finished.” Pogo explained.
“Great.” Diego muttered.
Once Pogo had shuffled away, Luther was quick to make awkward introductions of himself, and the rest of his siblings, and then even more awkwardly giving them permission to help themself to anything in the bar.
Oakley sighed, quietly pouring themself a drink as the others continued to sit awkwardly. Once their glass was in hand, they began to move around the room slowly, examining the various paintings and artifacts that lined the walls.
After a few long moments, Luther stood, “Might as well get this started. So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service, in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at dad's favorite spot.”
“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison scoffed into her own drink.
“Yeah. You know, under the oak tree,” He looked around confused, “We used to sit out there all the time, none of you ever did that?”
“Will there be refreshments?” Klaus asked, shifting to sit somewhere closer to upright and lighting a cigarette, “Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.”
“What? No. And put that out, Dad didn’t want smoking in here-”
“Is that my skirt?” Allison interrupted.
Klaus looked around, before looking down at his legs, “Oh, yeah. I found it in your room. It’s a little dated, I know, but it's very breathey on the bits.”
“Listen up!” Luther said more firmly, and Oakley could hardly tell if he meant it to reign in Klaus, or to see if they were actually paying attention, “We have some important things to discuss.”
“Like what?” Diego frowned.
“Like the way he died.”
“And here we go…” He sighed.
Vanya frowned, “I don’t understand, I thought they said it was a heart attack.”
“Yeah, according to the coroner.”
“Isn’t part of their job knowing that.” Oakley couldn’t help but scoff, looking away from the bookshelf they were scanning through.
“Theoretically.”
“Theoretically?” Allison questioned.
“I’m just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time I talked to dad, he sounded strange.”
Oakley sighed, as Klaus attempted to make some response gurgled by his drink.
Allsion ignored him, “Strange how?”
“He seemed on edge,” Luther shrugged, “Told me I should be careful who to trust.”
Diego stood, “Luther, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles.”
“No, he must’ve known something was going to happen,” Luther said, and Oakley frowned at the wall as he turned to Klaus, “Look, I know you don’t like to do it, but I need you to talk to dad.”
Allison scoffed into her drink as Klaus groaned, pushing himself forward on his seat, “I can’t just call dad in the afterlife and be like, ‘hey dad would you quit playing tennis with hitler for a moment, and take a quick call’.”
“Since when? That’s your thing.”
“I’m not in the right… frame of mind!” He protested.
“You're high.” Allison corrected.
“Yeah- yeah-” He laughed, looking around, “I mean how are you not listening to all this nonsense?”
“Well sober up, this is important.”
Klaus huffed, and Oakley glanced back at the main seating area before taking a long drink from their glass. This was going to be a rough few days.
The siblings went on talking, Luther going off about some missing monocle, and suggesting that someone killed Hargreeves. Oakley almost scoffed to themself at the thought. With what they could tell from his office? The man had enemies sure, but he didn’t exactly strike them as the type that would just let himself be killed.
They had almost worked their way around the outside of the whole room by the time they all walked out, one by one, shocked and upset at Luther’s accusations.
“Well that went well.” They commented, draining the last of their glass, “Better luck next time.”
He frowned, turning to look at them, “Excuse me?”
They shrugged, “Well, you know what they say. If at first you don’t succeed in accusing your family of murdering your father, try, try again.”
Luther huffed, storming out in his siblings' wake, leaving Oakley to look up at the painting that hung above the mantel with a frown.
“What the hell are you doing here you little bastard?”