Real Men Use Knives

This is an oc x canon safe zone.

I mean, dysfunction is, after all, what we do best in this family.

“How could you throw away everything we’ve been through for this?”

“You betrayed me. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

“I never thought it’d be you standing in my way.”

“After everything I did for you, this is how you repay me?”

“I should’ve known better than to trust someone like you.”

“You used me, and I was too blind to see it until now.”

“Funny how you only care when it benefits you.”

“I supported you when no one else would, and you didn’t even hesitate to stab me in the back.”

“I’ve done nothing but clean up your messes, and I’m sick of it.”

“I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

“I should’ve seen it coming. You were never really on my side, were you?”

“You always needed to be the hero, didn’t you? Well, congratulations—you’re my villain now.”

“I stood by you when everyone else walked away, and now I see why they did.”

“You played the victim so well, I actually believed you.”

“You always knew how to hurt me, and now you’ve finally succeeded.”

"Your last act of friendship was stabbing me in the back." "No. That was my first act of honesty."

"I know every dark thing you've ever done." "And I know why you helped me do them." "That's the difference between us. I can live with my sins." "No. The difference is I stopped pretending mine were justified."

"How many others before me?"

She had in fact been following him, that much is true. Sure, it would be easy enough to lie and deny that she’s following him but Cha-Cha’s never been one to back down when confrontation is presented to her. And quite frankly, based off all she has learnt about Diego Hargreeves, it seems that neither is he.

“Oh I’m just returning the favour. Don’t think I haven’t seen you watching us from your car in the motel parking lot.”

She steps into the light, fingers curled tightly around the handle of a pistol, resting it at her side; it’s clear that she’s ready for a fight to break out. Hell, she expects it.

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

"Watching you?" Diego’s voice drips with sarcasm, his lips curling into a smirk. "I don’t need to watch. You and Hazel? You leave a trail a mile wide." He lets the words hang in the air, knowing they’ll hit their mark. Cha-Cha’s type thrives on control, on being untouchable, but Diego’s never been one to let that stop him.

He halts just out of arm's reach, eyes locked on her pistol for a second before meeting her gaze again, unflinching. Her stance, the way her fingers grip the gun like she’s expecting—no, inviting—a fight, tells him all he needs to know. Cha-Cha doesn’t bluff.

"And I stick my nose where I want," he growls, voice low, dangerous. His gaze sharpens, flicking briefly to her hand, noting every twitch, every breath she takes. He’s reading her, calculating how quickly she’ll make her move if he pushes the wrong button. "So what’s your plan, Cha-Cha? Gonna take me out right here in the open? Or is this just a friendly warning?"

The words come out as a challenge, thick with defiance. His hand drifts casually toward one of his knives, not pulling it yet, just resting his fingers on the cool metal, letting her see that he’s ready—always ready. The tension in the air is electric, and for a split second, Diego can’t help but grin, that familiar rush of adrenaline flooding his system. This is what he lives for—moments like these, where every second teeters on the edge of violence.

"Well first of all, we'll have to get you a better outfit," Klaus said, eyeing the all black ensemble from across the table. "I know a thrift store downtown, we can get you a new look before we go. As for participating... If anyone offers you a line, tell them you have a heart problem, they're usually cool about that. They don't really want you dying on site, you know?" Klaus said it all flippantly, as this was a part of his daily life, these days. "Smokeables are easy--you ever had a cigar before? Just draw it into your mouth, pretend to take a breath, and blow it out. But if anyone offers you anything that isn't clearly weed? Probably meth. Just send it my way," he added, only half joking. "Mainly, just act like you're supposed to be there. Feel the music, stick by me, and I'll cover for you." The backup plan, of course, was doing whatever Diego was offered for him.

We'll figure it out.

The words make his heart warm. Out of anyone, after everything he'd put him through, Diego always had his back. Klaus's grin softened a bit, feeling the weight of Diego's words.

"You probably will regret it," he admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty. "But I uh. I appreciate it, Di." Emotions were never a Hargreeves specialty, coming out forced and awkward, but Diego deserved to hear it.

Outfit change? Diego shot his brother a look, eyeing his all-black ensemble. "A new look, huh?" he muttered, half to himself. He could already picture the ridiculous clothes Klaus would pick out—something gaudy or colorful, no doubt. The thought made him cringe, but he knew better than to argue. Klaus was right about one thing: Diego didn’t exactly blend in with his usual dark, tactical getup.

As Klaus continued, casually tossing around advice about avoiding meth and faking a cigar puff, Diego let out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t the specifics of the plan that bothered him—it was the ease with which Klaus navigated this world. The flippant, offhanded comments about drug parties, the way he handled himself like it was just another Tuesday. Diego couldn’t help but feel out of his element. This is what Klaus is used to, he thought, a pang of frustration hitting him. This is his normal.

But when Klaus's tone softened, admitting that Diego would probably regret helping him, it struck a chord. Diego looked up, his expression briefly softening in response to Klaus’s rare moment of honesty. Klaus didn’t often let those cracks show, but when he did, it reminded Diego why he always had his brother's back—why he kept coming back, even after all the chaos and betrayal. Beneath all the sarcasm and the mess, Klaus still needed him.

Diego nodded, not saying anything in return, but the acknowledgment was there in his eyes. He wasn’t one for long emotional speeches either, but Klaus knew. He always knew.

A moment of silence passed between them, both brothers lost in their own thoughts, when Klaus caught Diego’s eye again. His voice had its usual carefree lilt, but Diego could hear the undertone of something else—something Klaus wasn’t saying outright.

"Yeah, I can drop you off," Diego replied, picking up on the vague way Klaus mentioned his place. A few blocks down, real quick. There was always something Klaus wasn’t telling him, but Diego didn’t press. He knew from experience that pushing too hard never got Klaus to open up. It just made him retreat further into his shell.

"Thanks, D," Klaus said softly, almost too quiet to hear. But the smile quickly turned into a more playful grin, as the air around them seemed to shift. Things suddenly didn't seem so heavy, with his brother here.

"Did I tell you about prison?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the Xanax. "Where to start--oh, I was rooming with this guy for a while, big skinhead looking dude--real piece of shit--and I swear to God, he smelled exactly like the hard boiled eggs Luther used to make. It was awful, I couldn't get a good night's sleep for weeks with him stinking up the bunk!"

He tossed the fork down onto the plate, crossing his arms over his chest as he shot his brother a sideways glance. The reality of what they were about to do was sinking in, and it brought him slight unease. "I don’t exactly blend in at these things."

Diego wasn’t wired for this kind of thing. Surveillance? Sure. Punching out the bad guys? No problem. But pretending to fit in with a crowd of people getting high and not looking like a narc? That wasn’t his style.

He glanced up, catching Klaus’s eyes, and gave him a quick, half-hearted smirk. "And don’t tell me to ‘relax’ or ‘just go with the flow’—you know that’s not me." Diego leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. "But regardless, I’m in. We’ll figure it out."

It was a commitment, and it came with the weight of all the things that could go wrong. Diego knew Klaus had dragged him into messes before, but this one? This felt different. He couldn’t let his brother down, not when things were spiraling like this.

Diego sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the tension simmer beneath his skin. "But seriously, if anyone tries to push anything on me, you’d better have a backup plan. I’m not doing that shit."

He shook his head, staring down at the empty plate in front of him. Diego wasn’t used to this kind of discomfort, this uncertainty, but with Klaus involved, there was no room for hesitation. Not tomorrow.

The change in tone got Klaus to look up, but he still didn't meet Diego's eyes. "Yeah, okay," he muttered, setting down his fork. There was no way he was going to finish his waffles, anyway. "No downers, I got it." Hopefully that sounded like a joke.

Sighing softly, Klaus too leaned back in his booth seat. In the florescent light of the diner, he looked exhausted, and worried, even through the Xanax. He'd been running from these people for months. Tonight, they beat him within an inch of his life. Tomorrow, either Diego and Klaus take them down for good, or they do the same to Klaus. As much as he wanted to kid himself, he didn't want to go back to prison. And he would prefer not to die again.

After a long silence, as Klaus picked at a spot on his cuticles, he spoke with a vulnerability that surprised himself.

Without saying a word, Diego reached across the table, grabbed Klaus’s plate, and pulled it toward himself. He stabbed a forkful of waffle and shoved it in his mouth, barely missing a beat. The sugar didn’t exactly fit his taste, but it was better than nothing. Typical Klaus—order food, barely touch it, and then act like everything was fine. Diego chewed thoughtfully, letting the moment pass without the usual biting commentary.

As he stuffed another bite into his mouth, Klaus broke the silence, his voice softer, more vulnerable than Diego expected. The question caught Diego off guard, and he paused mid-bite, the fork hanging in the air as he glanced up at his brother.

"Do you think we can do this?"

For a second, Diego didn’t respond. He just sat there, chewing slowly, processing the fact that Klaus had dropped the usual sarcasm for something real. Something that cut a little deeper. Diego swallowed the bite of waffle, his eyes shifting to Klaus, who was avoiding eye contact, picking at his cuticles in that nervous way he always did when things got too real.

Diego leaned back in the booth, still holding the fork in one hand. He studied his brother for a moment before answering, his voice more casual than the weight of the situation should allow. "Yeah," he said around a mouthful of waffle, "we can do this." His tone was confident, but not overly serious. He wasn’t trying to get all deep and emotional—this wasn’t the time for that. But beneath the casual delivery, there was truth.

They had to do this. There was no other option. They’d figure it out, just like they always did.

"Thank you." Jo grinned. "I'm feeling very adult today." She knew Diego lived most of his life on harder edges but for her he always tried. And she was always grateful.

"I got you a present."

He slid the knife back into its sheath and reached for the box, his fingers tracing the wood, feeling the weight of her gesture more than the object itself. Diego opened it slowly, the hinges creaking softly as the lid revealed the throwing axes. His breath caught, the sharp gleam of the metal drawing his eye immediately. They were perfect—beautiful, deadly, and balanced in a way that only someone who truly understood him would know he’d appreciate. His fingers brushed over the handles, and for a second, he let himself feel something other than the constant need to fight, to deflect.

“They’re… damn,” he muttered, the words sticking in his throat. He lifted one of the axes, testing its weight in his hand. It was perfect. “You didn’t have to do this.” His voice was gruff, but the softness beneath it gave him away. He glanced at Jo, eyes narrowing slightly, not with anger, but something else—gratitude, maybe.

"Thanks," he said, a little more earnestly this time. "These are… really something." He couldn’t find more words, but he hoped she knew. For someone like Diego, this was as close to vulnerable as it got.

@numberforaname

distant booms and sounds of buildings crumbling into the abyss echoed in the evening outside the tall window, the room silent while june waited in the dark.

everyone had somehow forgotten. or perhaps they didn't care since the timeline was falling apart before their very eyes.

it was their birthday. all of them. something diego had said once in the comfort of their bed gave her the idea for it to be just the two of them. not that she didn't care for what was to be her brothers and sister-in-law..she just really wanted it to hit home.

he'd gone to discuss some sort of plan with the others, june squaring herself away claiming to be 'tired'. she never needed a plan. she'd show up, provide the force fields and the ass kicking. simple as that. the room had been decorated with black balloons taped to the wall and ceiling, streamers and gold tinsel on the wall. there were even knives taken from the hotel kitchen strung up as well.

june had snuck back there earlier that day, forcing kitchen staff to allow her to make the best tres leches cake she could. while they watched and dared not interrupt unless she asked for something.

His eyes scanned the room, and for a split second, he forgot about the apocalypse raging outside. Black balloons, gold tinsel, knives—of course, she'd string up knives—hung in chaotic celebration. And there, in the middle of it all, was June. She was lounging in the armchair with a party hat on her head, a party horn dangling from her lips, the ridiculousness of it all almost making him smirk.

"Seriously?" he said, his voice betraying the confusion that slowly melted into something softer. "In the middle of all this, you decided we needed a party?"

But there was a warmth creeping into his chest that he couldn't shake, despite himself. He knew June didn't do things halfway. This wasn't just some random distraction from the end of the world. It was... for him. And that meant something.

He closed the door behind him, glancing at the cake sitting on the table. "You made that?" he asked, his tone softening further. "Or did you just threaten someone until they made it for you?"

He moved toward her slowly, the weight of everything outside momentarily lifting as he looked at her—party hat and all. A small, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

diego wasn't phased. luther wasn't surprised. he stood there in silence, eyes narrowing and smile widening while he held a small wrapped box, his brother not even noticing the fact.

" mhm. " he responded smugly, trailing behind him slowly.

" yeah.. I know. " he twisted his lips, gaze trailing down to his feet. " I think the gift itself is about twenty years late. " he was directly behind his brother now, towering behind him with the smallest box in his hand, wrapped as best he could.

" c'mon man. open it. "

Then came the "please?"—pathetic, almost pleading.

Diego sighed, finally halting mid-step. He stood there for a moment, staring straight ahead, weighing whether or not to just keep walking. But then he shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he spun around. “Fine, whatever, give me the damn box,” he snapped, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

“Twenty years late, huh? Well, let’s see if it’s worth the wait,” he muttered sarcastically, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, almost betraying the hint of something softer underneath all the attitude.

Diego ripped through the wrapping paper with the same impatience he had for most things, his brow furrowed deeper as he pulled the small box apart, eyes narrowing in disbelief when the contents finally revealed themselves—a Tech Deck.

For a moment, Diego just stared at it, the tiny skateboard resting in his hand like some kind of forgotten relic from their childhood. He blinked, completely thrown off by the absurdity of it, and then let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "You’ve gotta be kidding me, Luther," he muttered, holding up the toy between his fingers. "A Tech Deck? This is the big ‘twenty years late’ present?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was something else there too—a hint of nostalgia creeping in around the edges, softening the usual snark.