The paper flutters to the floor, and Luther predictably stoops down to pick it up — stop littering their hotel room, Five — and he transfers it to the wastebin. The look that he shoots his brother, then, is a little doubtful, a little pitying, a little wearily fond.
That's what you said before, he thinks, but doesn't say.
"You're gonna personally fix it. People have been stranded across multiverses for literal years, but you, out of everyone, are gonna be the one to fix it," he repeats. The comment isn't as snide or cutting as it would've been coming out of Diego's mouth, but he sounds skeptical nonetheless.
He's probably grown too tired and complacent. Too comfortable. All of this is like a familiar hamster wheel, which they've been over again and again. Luther and Five have been down this time travel theorising rabbit hole before, back in Dallas; Luther and Allison have been trapped in these worlds for literal years by now.
And even then, while Luther doesn't catch the sudden sharp twinge buried deep in Five's non-reaction (not a clenched jaw, not a blink, not a ripple on the surface), but he does notice Allison's. That flat voice, her unhappiness, is like a rusty saw whittling away at his nerves. A thorn in his paw. If it weren't for Allison and Claire, Luther would probably be fine staying here. Somewhere without the long shadow of the Umbrella Academy's fame and his childhood reputation; somewhere without a Reginald Hargreeves; somewhere they didn't end the world; somewhere he could just be with his family, end of.
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That's what you said before, he thinks, but doesn't say.
"You're gonna personally fix it. People have been stranded across multiverses for literal years, but you, out of everyone, are gonna be the one to fix it," he repeats. The comment isn't as snide or cutting as it would've been coming out of Diego's mouth, but he sounds skeptical nonetheless.
He's probably grown too tired and complacent. Too comfortable. All of this is like a familiar hamster wheel, which they've been over again and again. Luther and Five have been down this time travel theorising rabbit hole before, back in Dallas; Luther and Allison have been trapped in these worlds for literal years by now.
And even then, while Luther doesn't catch the sudden sharp twinge buried deep in Five's non-reaction (not a clenched jaw, not a blink, not a ripple on the surface), but he does notice Allison's. That flat voice, her unhappiness, is like a rusty saw whittling away at his nerves. A thorn in his paw. If it weren't for Allison and Claire, Luther would probably be fine staying here. Somewhere without the long shadow of the Umbrella Academy's fame and his childhood reputation; somewhere without a Reginald Hargreeves; somewhere they didn't end the world; somewhere he could just be with his family, end of.
(But there's Allison. And Claire.)