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Ghosts were cruel in a way death robbed them of their compassion and warmth, leaving them cold to touch, their breath and gurgles icy on the back of his neck, following him around like shadows licking at his heels. A reminder of the horrors waiting in the dark for most, while in blatant sight for him, creeping into the corner of his eyes whenever his gaze would linger for too long. Vying for his attention with screams and tears and shouts until his ears bleed like his eyes, wrung dry from tears.
An attention whore his siblings had called him. For trying to talk over the screaming, to drown them out and distract himself with somebody of the living rather than the dead.
Klaus never wanted attention, only distraction.
“Go away, go away, please, go away.”
Curled up into a ball, shaking in the corner in the dark, he flinches at every little noise, every scream and wail and demand sinking into his mind like sand. His skin is cold and clammy, the back of his uniform shirt sticking to his back, pressed against the wall with sweat.
The dead scream on, harsh and loud, the calls of his name blending into pleas for mercy, shrieks of rage turning halfway into wailing sobs.
His throat is parched, burning and every syllable making it past his dry lips aches and pulls at the lump he can’t swallow down like the bile rising up every odd hour.
Withdrawal didn’t hurt like this, the cramps and carvings not missed but bearable in the face of the horror the mausoleum offers with its unforgiving bloodstained walls and the housing dead of decades ago.
Without the drugs numbing his mind, his limbs and heart, a shield against his ability, a medicine for his illness, there is nothing to chase away the chill, the ghosts and the less pleasant thoughts and worries festering in his head.
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Only a bit longer, hang on just a teeny tiny bit longer and I’m free.
When the terror rendered him huddled into a corner, trembling so hard he knocked his head into the stone wall behind him and cut his lips with his teeth the childish, naïve hope keeping him sane began to shrivel up and sink into his stomach.
They didn’t come for me before, so why should they now?
Hasn’t it been long enough now?
Surely, I’m being silly! Silly, silly Klaus! Give them time. They’ll come.
Except no, they wouldn’t. Not for him. Fearful, useless, disappointing Number Four. Always afraid, never missed. Extra baggage lugged along, not carefully packed out of need. They wouldn’t come looking for him, wouldn’t give it a second thought he disappeared and chalk it up to him getting high. Even if he has been sober for so long now, ever since he came back, and his body is fresh of drugs save for weed and alcohol upon arrival, they wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt.
Otherwise they’d be here and Klaus would be out, breathing in fresh air like a drowned man coming back to life.
But Ben would come. For him, not out of need or obligation but because he cared.
Kind hearted and fierce Ben would never leave him alone by choice.
Ben, Ben, Ben. His heart throbs when his voice fails him after hours of crying.
All he wants is Ben.
His siblings call him selfish for his love, possessive and needy. Shame him for clinging to Ben’s shorter frame, touching to make sure his pulse is still beating, to feel his warmth instead of the cold he came accused to walking through during his bad days.
They want to spent time with him too, Klaus shouldn’t be so greedy, it’s not healthy to depend on each other like this, attached to the hip like they’re incapable to exist without the other.
For a time, Ben had needed him to exist, to be real and not forgotten in the memory of his death despite Klaus pleading for him to go away, to save himself the heartache the disappointment would bring. They blamed him for Ben’s temper, expecting soft-spoken words and obedient agreements out of their long-lost missing Number. Not sass and sharp retorts and being called out on their bullshit without Ben sugar-coating their misgivings.
Clearly, Klaus’ bad influence. Not death’s.
Ben told them to shut it, to suck it up. Had given them his deadpan stare of disapproval to make them backtrack and shrink into themselves. He didn’t want to leave Klaus alone after spending years in his company, worrying and laughing over stupid jokes in dirty alleyways.
“You don’t get to decide who I spent my time with. I’m hanging out with him because I care, not out of some desperate sense of duty. Back off.”
Death had ripped everything away, so Ben wasn’t ashamed to do what he wanted now that he had the chance to get it in life. Consequences be damned. Life was too short to let happiness slip through his fingers.
Ben wouldn’t leave him to rot, wouldn’t abandon him for being himself. Just Klaus being Klaus, he’d say with love, the fondness in the roll of his eyes melting his chest into a shallow puddle of warmth instead of a sinking pool of cold water ready to drown him in misery when he heard Five utter them as a dismissal.
Five wouldn’t care about him being stuck here. Not if it meant getting him out would change the timeline too much. As long as they lived Five wouldn’t bother about their traumas and fears, not if they couldn’t cause another apocalypse.
None of them would see the mausoleum for the horror it was. Skeptical over the ghosts with their rose-tinted glasses as they were, with Vanya thinking he’d prefer their company over theirs the first time around, they’d call him overdramatic and Klaus would shun them because it would prove their cruelty worse than the ghosts.
But Ben knew. Saw and listened and he would come and tear down the metal doors with The Horror to let him out and whisk him away into his room, glowering at the ghosts he could no longer see and read him a bedtime story. Some boring old book having collected dust in the library and he’d nudge him with his cold toes when Klaus would ask him to mimic the voices but he’d do it because between them, embarrassment didn’t exist.
Minutes turned into hours, his fingers going pink from the cold, stiff and numb before bleeding red and throbbing. Hot tears burning against his frozen cheeks as they spilled over.
Benny…Ben, why aren’t you here? You promised. You promised I wouldn’t have to go back here just like I promised to keep you alive.
So, why…
Why aren’t you here?
Ben…
A flash of soft blue lights up his hands, catching his attention. Staring down onto his palms, eyes stinging at the sudden brightness glaring up at him, his spine goes rigid.
“No…” He chokes out, shaking his hands out to turn the blue light off. “No, no…no!”
Not now, not here. Anywhere but here—
Breath hitching at the coldness encasing his ankle, he freezes. Head jerking up to glance down his legs, the half-burnt face of a woman in mid-screech greets him, chunky bits of flesh and spit drippling down her chin into his socks.
Her hand wrapped around his ankle is bruising, squeezing until she can feel his bone, with her sharp nails digging into his flesh. She tugs until he’s forced to uncurl from his tight ball, his legs awkwardly splayed out. She gurgles on a wail and spitting blood onto his face—it trails down his cheek like his tears, a block of ice sludging down to his chin.
She lunges for him; jaw cracking open wide to reveal yellow teeth.
Klaus screams as she sinks her teeth into his shoulder. Hands reach out, groping and grasping at every part of him they could reach, tugging at his clothes and tearing into his skin with relish, like they were starving.
“Get off, get off, get off of me!” He shrieks in terror at the faces crawling up to him, their legs not solid enough to be off use. “Let me go, let me go!”
He kicks and scrambles against the wall, away from the possessive grips and teeth, knocking the woman off him. Head flinching back, knocking into the wall behind him, he hears a cracking noise ring out before everything goes black.
When he wakes up, his hands are bloody and dirty but not blue. His knee was bleeding. Sluggish claw marks left by nails like he’d been mauled by angry cats. A ring of bruises on his ankle and flecks of red scratches going from his calf to under his knee, hidden by his socks. The bite on his shoulder is deep, parts of his flesh missing but the jacket he’s used to cover his legs and shield them from the cold, easily hides his soaked pullover and shirt from sight.
An hour ago, a hoard of groaning disformed figures tried to tear the skin off his legs. Heart leaping to his throat, he’d kicked, flailing with his arms and legs, head slamming into the wall at the hands reaching from the dark and willed them away.
He’d knocked himself out, flinching hard enough his fingers came back glistering wet from the back of his head and rocked back and forth, praying to the little Girl in the afterlife he’d go through the night, until Ben came without making them corporal by accident again.
Ben never came.
Because he couldn’t know. Special training shouldn’t have happened again, not when it didn’t last timeline. Klaus was too old now, thirteen and a half. Reginald had given up on him half a year ago when all he found after training session was a whimpering child incoherent of speech.
Klaus can’t remember what set him off, not with the way his head hurt.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He sobs along with the ghosts, “I want Ben! I want out, let me out, please Dad, just let me out!”
Five had told them it would be better, not worse. This isn’t better, it’s not even worse, it’s a fucking nightmare!
It’s not fair. He had bleed and cried, endured and died. All without complaining, the last timeline. For his brothers and sisters.
Only to end up here again. Alone and cold and afraid with too many ghosts wailing in his ears, reaching out towards him, longing to steal the breath from his lungs. So pitifully afraid Reginald had left him for the night—days, he’ll be gone for days with nobody caring to look for him—to his demons.
I want out.
He can’t breathe.
They don’t care. They never did. I’m sick of this.
The thought cuts through his terror like a hot knife through butter, startling him out of his detached trembling into a hazy sort of clarity. How many times has he fantasized someone coming to get him? Hoping against all odds someone would care enough to notice his absence at breakfast and ask after him?
But his siblings didn’t care to notice, took his absence as a relief to finally get some silence—how he longed for the silence of the dead, yearning so fiercely for a few minutes he’d taken drug after drug, pill after pill until he overdosed and then went to do it all over again—who wouldn’t notice him missing. For hours and days. Stuck in this haunted house of horrors.
He wanted out.
He wanted someone to care.
“Please, Dad, let me out.”
“Another night it is. Try to conquer your fear, Number Four, lest of all you’ll never see the light of the living again.”
His fingers tighten on his uniform shorts, shakily balling his hands into fists. The dead go quieter like someone had taken a remote and turned down the sound of the TV, their tortious grotesque demands sounding like muffled yelling from underwater.
Anger is a foreign concept to him. Being surrounded by it, seeing such a basic emotion twist people into nightmares of themselves, there was little reason for Klaus to ever get worked up enough to start to be mean and press down on landmines and tender nerves where he knew it would hurt the most. Being high had the perk of caring about nothing while enjoying being happy over said numbness. A giddy rush of hot air so to speak of.
Ben called it freaky. The patience of a saint. Even Vanya had exploded after a lifetime of their siblings’ bullshit, attempting to bring the end of the world to squash them like the ants she cried over in her madness. Sure, Klaus got annoyed, exasperated, it was hard to keep cool when everyone accused him of all his flaws, all the damned time.
But his anger was fleeting, burning hot in one minute, fizzling out in the next.
This. The acid bubbling up to the surface of his heart couldn’t be anything else. He was angry. At Reginald for putting him into the mausoleum, at himself for allowing it to happen again and at his siblings for reasons he can’t possible all name with the way his breath comes in ragged hitches of wet gasps for air.
I want out. His blood starts to boil, eyes cracking open, past the hoard of ghosts to focus on where the heavy doors of steal must be. A woman without her tongue slobbers invisible blood over his legs, choking out his name.
Let me out. Let me out!
Screw the timeline. Screw Reginald for daring to lock him away. All he wants is to get out of the dark. Away from the ghosts and the stuffocating walls threatening to squash him.
“Let me out,” His voice cracks, raspy and the taste of metal on his tongue makes him want to gag. “Let me out. Let me out, I don’t want to be here.”
His fingers tingle, twisting the thin material of his shorts until he can feel them cut off his blood circulation in his legs. A pressure builds up in his head, throbbing like a headache as his pulse speeds up in his ears.
There’s a creaking noise, the groan of metal cutting through his heavy breathing. He doesn’t notice the way his chest rises rapidly with each breath, staring unblinkingly through the abyss.
Let. Me—
A scream tears itself out of Klaus’ throat, eyes flashing blue. “—OUT!”
The doors to the mausoleum burst open and light falls into the room, casting off the shadows crawling across the walls.
Something wet trails down from his nose, dripping to his upper lip and he bursts into laughter. Shoulders shaking, the sound his throat wheezes out is a crackle in the night, the cries of the dead spilling out of his mouth in a parody of bitter mirth.
He laughs until his lungs are empty and his vision grows dark around the edges.
I got out, out, out—
He slumps against the wall, eyes sliding shut.
It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up in the night. At least not now when every little noise was like a landmine going off right next to her ears. A ping on her radar, the vibrations of sounds rattling her heart and leaving her unable to rest.
Aside from soundproof rooms, there was nothing she couldn’t hear through the thin walls of her bedroom.
There was someone in the kitchen.
Vanya gets out of bed, silent in her steps and shuffles out into the hall, listening for footsteps wandering around downstairs. It could be one of her brothers or Allison wanting to get a glass of water, but better be safe than sorry. Walking upstairs to get to Five’s bedroom on the third floor, she rasps her knuckles against his door and waits.
A flash of blue lights up behind her and when she turns around, Five is giving her a sullen look, staring down at her slightly shorter frame, clad in baby blue pajamas like her own.
“There’s somebody downstairs.” She says in a low voice, “I wanted to check.”
Five straightens up, eyes darting towards the stairs. “Which room?”
Vanya frowns. “No,” She says, “If I tell you what room you’ll go alone.”
The downside to having a brother that can teleport away from danger is the fact he can teleport into it as well and Five has never been one to care for his health. She’s not going to enable him and sent him off into what could be an attack from the Commission.
Five doesn’t try to deny her accusation.
“I’m just going to check it out,” He says evenly like she doesn’t see his fingers twitch with the urge to jump away into the fray of battle. “You can wake everybody up in case I need backup.”
As far as negotiations go with her stubborn brother, there’s little else she can do, but take his offer. If she waits too long, he’ll search for the intruder himself, leaving her in the dust. That he’s even implied he trusts them to watch his back is enough to soften her into giving in.
She lets out a sigh. “Kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Five flexes his hands and disappears. Alone in the hall, she turns on her socks to knock on Ben’s door.
Whoever managed to sneak in there was no way they could be part of the Commission. Secret agents and assassins don’t break into houses only to leave the lights on, not bothering to be particular quiet as they wander through the space with clacking dress shoes.
Five would know. Being the best of the best.
Which meant it could only be one of his idiotic siblings.
“You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”
Five bites out, letting his hands drop back to his sides as he leans against the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose. Did they not get what it meant to keep a low profile? Reginald could under no circumstances find out about their time-travel stunt into the past. Hadn’t he carved the importance of secrecy into their thick heads the first week they spent back in their teenage bodies?
Obviously, it didn’t stick. Figures, he’d have to play babysitter to make sure none of them fucked up.
Morons. Thank Christ he can jump them back into their room in the blink of an eye lest they’d wake up Reginald.
“Get your goddamned ass over here before the old man comes down here.”
A glass slams down on the counter, making him hiss at the loud clang echoing across the room. Five pushes himself off the threshold, scowling.
“But you’re already here, aren’t you?”
He halts in mid-stride towards the figure swathed in shadows at the sink.
“You’re sick,” Five says, “What are you doing out here, Klaus? Mom told us you were highly contagious. Do you want us to catch whatever you’re having?”
Silence.
Shifting uneasily on his feet at the chill in the room—did Klaus leave a window open despite the freezing temperatures of autumn? —he squints through the dark to get a closer look at whatever his brother is drinking in the middle of the night, willing him to turn around instead of hunch over the sink like he’s going to be sick.
“That better not be alcohol, you hear me?”
Cold sweat slides down the back of his neck into his shirt collar at the prickling sensation fixated onto the back of his head. Like someone was watching him, lurking just out of sight and waiting for their chance to sink their knives into the tender flesh of his throat. His eyes fly over the room, darting around for a glimpse of eyes or skin.
Something was wrong.
He takes another step forward. “Klaus, stop fucking around and get over here.”
His skin crawls. Tiny thousand ants worming their way into his flesh. Just when he’s about to jump to get his brother and then head back to their rooms, Klaus turns around.
Five’s blood runs cold.
In the dim-light of near darkness in the kitchen, Klaus looked like something out of a horror movie. Hair an unruly mess of wiry strands, flopping to shield his eyes, he blended into the dark like one of his ghosts, skin ashen and grey to the point one might accuse him of deadly sickness. But it was the blood, dripping down from his chin, caked and partly dry in a trail leading from his nostrils to his jaw, that made Five cross the distance in a hurry.
“Shit—” He pulls down his sleeve, reaching out to wipe Klaus’s face clean. “—Did you fall down the stairs again? Tripped and hit the counter?”
Klaus’ hand wraps around his wrist making him hiss.
“You’re freezing,” Colder than ice, leaving smudges of red on Five’s powdery blue sleeve. “Jesus, were you outside? Did you sneak out for a smoke? Got attacked?”
“It won’t stop,” Klaus’ hoarse whisper makes him flinch. “It won’t stop. It won’t stop.”
Fuck.
Was this some sort of virus? But Grace would have said something. Five tries not to panic at the glassy eyes of his brother staring past his shoulder, not shivering despite the icy touch of his skin. He tries to pinch his nose, to stop the sluggish bleeding—
His hand is slapped away hard enough for his palm to sting.
“Don’t touch me,” Klaus braces himself against the sink behind his back. “Don’t touch me.”
Five’s hovering hand curls into a fist and he drops it back to his side.
“We need to stop the bleeding.” His jaw strains to swallow the bitter rejection from Klaus of all people, but he doesn’t dwell on the sinking stone in his stomach. “I know you’re scared but get your priorities straight. Did you take something? I need to know if you took something, Klaus.”
Medication from Grace, or drugs. Five would prefer the later to a virus.
Klaus stills, eyes flickering to meet Five’s.
Glass shatters.
Five whirls around at the sound, seeing the painting behind him clattering to the floor, raining shards. He sucks in a breath. “Vanya.”
Heavy footsteps are pounding down the stairs and Diego is the first to catch himself at the door, shoulder crashing into the frame as he hurries inside only to stop. Luther is close behind, almost running into his back and shoving him to the floor.
“K—Klaus?”
“Vanya, you need to calm down before Hargreeves gets here.” Five walks towards her, letting Ben shove past Luther’s tall frame to get to Klaus. “Everything’s going to be fine. Just take a deep breath.”
Vanya gapes, eyes wide as she grabs onto the hem of her shirt. “What?”
“You’re losing control again—” He gestures to the painting. “—you need to relax.”
“But…but Five,” She shrinks into herself, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me.”
“Of course, it was you. Who else could—”
He cuts himself off, whirling around to stare at Klaus. Vanya and Allison follow his gaze, their eyes growing wide with horror at the blood, hands reaching up to cover their mouths. Diego is hovering near while Luther rips off the sleeve of his pajama as a makeshift cloth for Ben to take.
Ben looks seconds away from crossing the distance, a mere foot, between them if it weren’t for the way Klaus’ grip went white around the knuckles whenever he tried to get closer.
“…you aren’t sick,” Ben’s arm held his stomach, a clear sign of danger. “You were never sick, that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Luther and Diego share an uneasy glance. Five bristles, the resigned horror in Ben’s voice rubbing him the wrong way. There was something they were missing. A vital piece of information being withheld.
Ben takes a step forward only to recoil like he’s been slapped when Klaus flinches back.
Away from him.
“I’m sorry, hey, look at me,” Ben says softly sounding on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there, okay? That’s on me, but you need to let me take a look at you. You look like shit.”
Klaus lets out a shuddering breath, sharp angles melting into softness. “Ben.”
“I’m here, c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up—”
“What is going on here?” Reginald’s harsh voice hushes the room into the silence as they scramble away from the door. “What is the meaning of this?”
He glances over each of them, lingering on Luther’s torn sleeve with distain before he catches sight of Ben and Klaus, doing a double take. Surprise flickers across his face, his lips parting in a frown that halfway turns into a look of thin-veiled anticipation.
“Number Four, what are you doing here?”
Klaus cocks his head to the side, looks up at Reginald and grins.
The grin strikes a chill through the room, spine-shuddering with the show of bloody teeth, because there was none of the warmth associated with Klaus’s usual flare of affection—it was cold, spanning too wide across his face, from ear to ear like a stretched out rubber band close to snapping.
“I got out.”
Reginald narrows his eyes. “How?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Klaus giggles, clasping his hands underneath his chin, fluttering his eyelashes at their Dad, who curls his lips into a thin bloodless line of disapproval.
Ben shifts closer, trying to plant himself in between them.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I would,” Reginald says, “And you will give me a satisfactory answer or suffer the consequences of your disobedient behavior.”
Klaus hums, tapping his chin with his finger. “Nah, don’t think I will.”
Allison is making a cut-off motion across her neck to stop talking but gets ignored. Reginald takes a step forward, using his height to intimidate.
“Number Four, you will answer me.” A threat not up for negotiation. “Did you finally manage to make the ghosts corporal? Did they let you out?”
“Out of what?” Five says with dread, raising his voice. “What did you do?”
Reginald doesn’t bat an eye at the sharp tone. “Silence, Number Five—”
“Oh god,” Vanya says, stumbling into Allison, who steadies her. “You locked him up.” She chokes around a sob. Allison’s breath hitches as she rubs her hand up and down Vanya’s arm and all eyes fall on Klaus.
Klaus stands, head lowered and eyes adverted to the floor. Trembling form head to toe with hunched shoulders, he looks the part of terrified schoolboy in his tattered uniform they tried to sell to Reginald and Pogo in the hopes of keeping a low profile. Except this time, it’s not an act. The blood dripping to the floor is fresh. Klaus might be a good actor but there’s no way to fake such body reactions—the tangible fear coiled into every muscle.
“No, no, you didn’t—” Diego stutters out, furious as he rounds on Reginald, reaching for knives that aren’t there. Left in his hurry and the bleariness of sleep in his room. “—you bastard!”
Luther stares at loss for words and Five gets it. Really, he does.
Because Klaus is a lot of things, many good, some bad, but he’s never been a threat. With stick like limbs and the lack of body fat, there’s not a thing small, airhead Klaus could have done to get out of a prison cell—and what reason could their Father have for putting him into a box and throwing away the key? Obnoxious tendencies aside, Klaus as harsh as it sounds, wasn’t useful enough to catch Reginald’s attention. His powers weren’t an asset on missions, not dangerous like Vanya’s had been in his eyes to warrant such a drastic precaution.
And Ben knew. About this and didn’t find it worth mentioning.
Five’s hands flex uselessly at his sides, itching with the urge to spill blood—Reginald’s blood—across the floor. A brilliant red like the fog of hot anger clouding his vision. The tips of his fingers glow blue, sparking across his skin like electricity but he loses his focus.
The sound of laughter shatters his concentration like a bullet through glass.
“The ghosts?”
Klaus giggles, high-pitched and hysterical, swaying away from Ben’s hands, bracing himself on the fridge, so he wouldn’t fall over. “You think the ghosts let me out?”
Reginald’s expression turns steely, the sharp edge to his voice not taking kindly to the incredulity doubting his intelligence. “Watch your tongue, boy.” Or else, hangs in the air, the unspoken blade of an executer ready to fall.
“Or what?” Klaus snaps, glaring up at Reginald in clear defiance. “You’ll shove me in there for another three hours?” His hands ball into fists. Ben doubles over with his arms wrapped around his stomach, gritting his teeth.
“Clearly, while your time spent to improve the control over your powers has improved your pitiful cowering, it has failed to teach you some manners.”
“So, sorry, dearest Papa,” Klaus says, smiling widely, dipping his voice in artifactual sugar. “But y’know, you’ve finally gotten what you wanted, aren’t you glad?” He claps his hands together. “I’m no longer afraid, no—” He bares his teeth, faux cheer falling away. “—I’m absolutely furious now!”
He stumbles towards Reginald, craning his neck back to peer up at the man, twisting away from Ben’s attempts to grab him to pull him away.
“You’re more disappointing than I could ever be.”
Reginald rears back, hand shooting out and moves to strike Klaus across the face with the back of his hand. Klaus throws up an arm to shield his face, flailing and squeezing his eyes shut as he yelps and cowers back. Like a gust of wind knocks into Reginald, the man is shoved backwards hard enough he flies into the dining table, breaking the wood clean in half.
He doesn’t get back up.
Diego’s jaw drops, the butter knife he lunged for at seeing Reginald raise his hand, clatters to the floor as Klaus stumbles backwards and falls onto his ass, hands coming up to hold his nose with a gasp.
Ben darts forward, falling to his knees immediately letting him lean onto his shoulder when he falls sideways, fussing over his bleeding nose.
“Hey—” He gently slaps him on the face to get him to focus. “—it’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Don’t fall asleep just yet.”
“Ben,” Klaus whimpers, “I…he would have put me back, I didn’t want to go back. I made them real, they were real and so, so angry and, and I was stuck—"
“He deserved it.” Ben wipes at the blood with his sleeve, not minding Klaus crying all over him. “C’mon, let’s patch you up.” He pulls him to his feet, carrying most of his weight, wrapping an arm around Klaus’s waist and taking his arm over his shoulder.
Diego hurries over to help, taking the other side while Five checks the pulse of their Father.
“He’s not dead,” Five says, “But he’ll ask questions.”
“He’s not the only one,” Luther says, steps forward and holds up his hands when Ben hisses at him to shut it, “You didn’t even touch him, what the hell did you do?” His face screams impatient frustration, always quick to fall back on old habits and accuse Klaus of messing up on purpose while trying to intimidate him into an explanation. Just like with Vanya. Compensating for his lack of control and uncertainty with an even bigger attitude their Father drilled into him as his Number One.
The near incoherent mumbling cuts off abruptly. Klaus jerks his head up and Diego almost took a step away from his brother at the sheer anger clouding his gaze if he didn’t need the support to stop him from face-planting to the floor.
“What did I do?” Klaus says shrilly. “You’re going to blame me for what? Defending myself? For not standing still when he was gonna hit me? For not staying put in that godforsaken mausoleum for another day, wondering if he’ll ever let me out?” He laughs, harsh and disbelieving as his mouth twists into a disgusted sneer. “Screw you, Luther! What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
“No…no,” Luther’s face was paling, shamefaced and trying to backtrack so fast the words get stuck in his throat. “That’s not…I wasn’t…”
“No, you’re absolutely right,” Klaus says, “I’m sorry—”
Allison’s eyes are bright with tears. “Klaus, please—” She cringes at his words, like they’re physically hurting her to hear. Vanya stares, frozen in horror and eyes stuck in a memory while she shakes, hugging herself.
“—for thinking you would come and get me out.”
Luther flinches, face morphing into the guilty kicked puppy look Allison was so fond of forgiving. Tough luck, Klaus didn’t feel like giving in, brushing it off with another silly joke and letting them get away with glossing this over, forgetting about this like they forgot about him the past few hours. They always accused him of overreacting.
He’ll show them what overacting means.
“I really should have known better and it’s so hilarious to me, y’know. Because you’re so quick to jump on me for every little thing, the drugs and the alcohol, and yet, you’re the ones who never fail to disappoint. Ihr Heuchler! And the best thing is—”
He pushes away from Ben and Diego, their grip all too easy to break and stumbles towards Luther, who backs away like he’s actually scared of small, thin Klaus for once in his life until his back hits the wall. How the tables have turned.
“—you don’t even see what you’re doing wrong. Me? I know. I know when I fuck up so bad even the drugs couldn’t convince me otherwise. That most of the choices I make are shit, but you? You don’t, and what does it say about you, when even the junkie knows better? Fuck this, there’s nothing heroic about you, Number One, so do me a favor and spare me off your self-righteous bullshit.”
He’s breathing heavily through his mouth like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. Klaus steps back, away from Luther’s cornered ape act without an ounce of sympathy to spare. The room is spinning, the floor moving restlessly underneath his feet. His pulse is fluttering too fast underneath his sweaty skin, a warning sign he’s learnt to recognize from his years of an addict.
His fingers feel numb. Strange. They’ve been tingling since he got out of the dark.
He slips, legs buckling and he would have cracked his head open like an egg on the wooden floor, if it weren’t for the warm hands reaching around his waist, catching him and lowering him onto a squirming surface.
Ben’s upside-down face greets him, brows furrowed and lips moving fast. Klaus isn’t paying his words any mind, the sight of Ben’s tears like a blow to the chest.
He made Ben cry.
He tries to reach out with a hand to wipe away the tears because Ben should never be sad—he’d make it a law of the universe punished by death—but the movement is awkward and uncoordinated and he’s close to slapping Ben in the face, if his hand hadn’t been caught.
Ben cradles it close to his face, patting at his cheeks with frantic little slaps whenever his eyes attempt to slide shut.
“—don’t go—”
Ben sounds petrified which is just silly because Klaus has no intention of leaving him—where would he go? The afterlife? The little Girl would just kick him back out —and he tries to tell him as much but his tongue rebels, too lazy to form the syllables.
It’s a horrible time to fall asleep but with Ben holding him close, so warm and alive, there’s not a thing Klaus could have done to resist.
From all the headaches he had to deal with from his hungover days of being an addict and drinking until his liver shriveled into a raisin, this put the other headaches to shame. His skull is throbbing so hard he can feel the vibrations echo across his mind like screams in a cave. Mouth full of cotton, his arms and legs ache like they’d been put through the dryer.
He doesn’t want to wake up, to let the drifting consciousness pull him away from the safety of fuzzy grey lights and the absence of thoughts.
He doesn’t want to wake up only to find himself locked away inside of the mausoleum again.
The thought rattles him and forces his eyes to blink open. He blinks to adjust his vision but the dark doesn’t go away. He whimpers.
A hand brushes against his arm, stroking against his bare skin and Klaus flings himself away.
They’re here, they’re real, real, real!
His legs tangle into something and he falls backwards off something he can’t see. He crashes against the ground, winded for a moment and hears a voice hiss in the dark while he’s trying to crawl away.
“Shit, Klaus—” There’s a ruffling noise, a resounding click of a lamp switching on and the fairy lights hanging above his bed bath the room into a soft yellow light, “—It’s me! Ben. Don’t freak out. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not there anymore.”
“Ben…” Klaus breathes out, drinking in the sight of his brother sitting on his bed with wide eyes, sniffling at the new wave of tears pooling in his eyes. “—Ben.” His breath hitches, holding out his hands and Ben thankfully understands without Klaus spelling out his request because he hurries over, leaping off the bed to interlock their fingers.
Klaus leans onto his shoulder, letting Ben’s soothing voice wash away his worries until his heart is slowing down from its racing pace. Drawing back reluctantly, he stares at his bandaged fingers with furrowed brows. Ben follows his gaze and sighs.
“They did a number on you, so we got Mom to patch you up.”
“How long was I out?”
Ben hesitates. “…a day and a half.”
Klaus’ eyes bulge out. “Almost two days!?” His voice cracks painfully and he winces, cheeks flushing lightly. Tugging at Ben’s hand like a fussy child, his brother grimaces and untangles their fingers to get him the glass of water on the bedside table.
“It’s fine, you needed the rest.” Ben’s voice leaves no room for arguments, so Klaus gulps down the water with a sigh of relief, nodding to show he’s listening. “Mom wants you on bedrest at least for another day and …well, Reginald won’t bother us until we figure out what we’re going to do with him. Allison made sure of that.”
“Luther can’t have been happy with that.”
“It was a unanimous vote, actually.”
Klaus is taken aback. “You’re…not just saying that, so I’m not gonna worry, right?”
Ben snorts. “Please, when have I ever sugar-coated anything for you?”
Thinking back to the closet with Hazel and Cha Cha and the time where he went on a goose chase through every club in the city in his search for Luther, Ben’s got a point.
“Just wanted to check. Still, it’s weird.”
Ben’s eyes soften. “You’ve seen weirder shit while tripping. Chocolate pudding waxing and all that, you know.”
“Sure,” Klaus attempts a smile, feeling it fall flat. “But…don’t the others have questions? Five should have jumped in here as soon as he heard me fall onto my face, demanding to know whatever the fuck that was and…and Diego is such a stubborn bitch sometimes, the softie, I expected him to break my door open with a handful of knives.”
“Do you want to answer questions?” Ben pauses. “Do you even have answers to our questions?”
“…no?” Klaus says sheepishly, scratching at the itching on his shoulder only for Ben to swat his hand away with a frown. The look that tells him he’s doing something he shouldn’t and should stop it immediately if he doesn’t want to listen to another lecture on his health and life choices. He drops his hand back to his lap.
“Then you don’t have to,” Ben says firmly like it’s that easy to get out of a family interrogation about fucking up the timeline. Maybe for him it is, since nobody wants to anger the guy who has wild tentacle monsters in his stomach or the guy who died painfully in the last one.
But Ben went out of his way to ensure the others would keep away, otherwise they’d be barraging through his door like a police team on a drug bust and he doesn’t ask any questions either, wouldn’t think about prying as soon as he gets the chance before he knows his brother is well and up to take on the stress.
It brings tears to his eyes and he rubs at them, tired of all the crying.
“Christ, you’re such a crybaby,” Ben says, “C’mon, the floor can’t be comfortable.”
Klaus lets Ben guide him back to his bed, their legs intertwined with each other and holding on tight. He gets Ben’s pajama shirt gross with his tears, leaning into the hand rubbing circles onto his back and hiding his face in Ben’s chest, wiggling until he’s laying lower. Curse Ben for being such an adorable short boy who lacks the height to be a natural big spoon.
“I was so angry.” He whispers, twisting his fingers into the back of Ben’s shirt. “Angry at him for putting me in there and…and at the others for not noticing I wasn’t there. I know it’s childish but—”
“It’s not childish,” Ben says sharply, “You were missing for dinner and breakfast and from what I heard, Mom didn’t bring you food. That should have ticked us off that you weren’t sick. You’d never refuse Mom’s homemade waffles. Not even for drugs.”
“You have too much faith in me, Benny, we both know I would have taken the drugs over waffles any day last timeline.”
“Well, somebody has to have some faith because it’s clear you don’t have an ounce of self-worth in your body,” Ben huffs, “Now, enough talking and more sleeping. You look like shit and you’re not leaving this room until you’re not in danger of falling down the stairs.”
“Sure, thing, Mom.” Klaus fights back a yawn and closes his eyes. He feels Ben reach over him for the lamp lights to switch it off and makes a shuffling noise of protest. Getting the hint, Ben sinks back into the pillows, pulling the blanket up.
It’s warm and toasty for once, not cold and lonely.
“…Ben?”
A deep sigh. “Yeah?”
“I wasn’t angry at you.”
Ben tenses up in his arms, letting out a shaky breath before tightening his grip to pull him closer. “Good to know. Now, shut up and go to sleep.” As far as bossy orders go, it’s softer than what he would expect. Humming to let Ben know he’d keep his mouth shut and that he was comfy, he breathes in the smell of iron and old paper that seems to cling to Ben’s skin. A familiar but missed scent and lets the soft breathing lull him to sleep.
“I’m not sorry about what I did. I don’t know how I did it, but I’m not gonna kill any of you with my freaky new power, because I don’t want you to follow me around like Ben did and that was kinda Vanya’s thing and I don’t want to steal her thunder.”
Klaus declares upon walking into the family meeting in the living room. Ben’s groans and ushers him to the empty couch, throwing Vanya an apologetic look before forcing him to sit down.
“I can’t promise not to bring the house down if Luther tries to lock me in the creepy basement though, because that kind off set me off in the first place.”
“Nobody is locking anybody up.” Five grits out, pale and looking like a gargoyle with the way he’s perched on the arms of the arm chair instead of sitting on it like a normal person. “Or they’ll deal with me. Personally.”
Luther tries to sink into his arm chair, avoiding eye-contact.
“Are you okay?” Vanya asks, eyes puffy and red, looking like she wants a hug but unsure how to ask for it. “Ben told us about…about you know.” She bites at her lips, wringing her hands in her lap.
Of course, Ben did. Because he’s a terrible gossip and a snitch when he wants to yell at people for their mistakes. That, naturally involves telling them about said mistakes.
“Just peachy—” Klaus pats his chest to prove his point, leaning into Ben’s side. “—aside from you know, apparently turning into the Hulk.”
Diego doesn’t roll his eyes, eyeing his shoulder with a scrutiny unbefitting for him. Probably been there clinging to Mom’s skirt when she patched him up. “Want to share what you mean with the rest of the class or should we just ask Ben?”
Ben nudges him in the side and Klaus lets out a big sigh, pulling his legs up to wrap his arms around them.
“I got angry,” Ben pokes him in the cheek and Klaus grumbles but relents. Curse his soft spot for Ben’s gentle touches. “Fine! I was pissed at everything and took it out on the door. The door lost the fight, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, and I went home. Ta-da,” He claps softly, uncurling and letting his bare feet touch the floor. “End of the bedtime story. Let’s get back to bed.”
He rises from his seat only for Ben to tug him back down.
“You were angry at us.”
Vanya says like she understands and considering her history maybe she does. An apology is written all over her childish face, lips tugging into an upside-down smile as she hides behind her hair.
“No,” Klaus says, wincing when Ben pinches him in the soft side of his stomach. “Yes. Yes, I was, there I said it, you can stop pinching me now!”
“But Dad said you were sick,” Luther cuts in, shrinking into himself when all eyes turn to him, “We couldn’t have known where you were.”
Five nods, almost tentative like he’s afraid he’ll set of a landmine. “As much as I hate to admit it, he does have a point. If you would have told me—us about this, we could have made sure to prevent this from happening again.”
“Alright, I’m done,” Klaus rises to his feet, shaking off Ben’s hand. “Nice chat and all, but this is a waste of time. Gute Nacht.”
“You woke up an hour ago. You’re not going to sleep for the next ten hours at least.”
Ben doesn’t attempt to stop him this time. Just reminds him all he’ll do is sulk in his room, maybe take a bath to let off steam and call him out on a little white lie. When Klaus dismisses him with a wave of his hand and turns to walk out the door Five pops up in front of him.
Klaus squints at him. “Could you move aside?” He asks because now that they’re kids again, Five isn’t that short anymore and Klaus is kind of a pushover in his thirteen year old body.
“What did I say?” Five demands, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I’m right, aren’t I? If you would have said something—”
“Maybe I should open a fortune-teller business. Get a crystal ball and everything. Because as far as I’m keeping count, I’ve been right three times out of three,” Klaus muses, “What’d ya say, Benny-boy? Should I give it a shot?”
“Why must you make this so difficult?” Allison says, turning around on the couch to throw him a look of disappointment. “This is serious, Klaus.”
“What he’s trying to say is—” Ben cuts in, throwing her a sharp look while shaking his head, “—that he doesn’t want to listen to you shove off all the blame onto him when he already knew this would happen.”
“Exactly.” Klaus makes finger-guns at Ben. “Anyway, what’s done is done, there’s no use crying over spilt milk and all that shit. I’m going back to bed.”
“You’re not going anywhere until we sort this out.” Five says, not moving from where he’s blocking the door.
Klaus narrows his eyes. “Move it, brother dear.”
Five raises an eyebrow in challenge, pushing himself upright from where he’s been leaning on the doorframe to stand tall. “Make me.”
That little shit—
A glass explodes from somewhere behind him, the paintings on the wall clatter to the floor and he hears Vanya and Allison gasp in fright. Five doesn’t bat an eye, raising his chin and his lips curve into a smug smile like he’s figured out a difficult equation about time-travel.
Allison rises from the couch, her steps coming closer but stopping a foot away.
“Five, maybe you should move aside.”
“Yeah, old man,” Klaus coos, squaring his shoulders and glaring down the few inches he’s taller than Five. “Maybe you should move. Listen to Mom before she spanks you.”
“Why should I?” Five says lightly like he finds the sight of Klaus trying to burn a hole into his smug face endearing and amusing. “Because you’re getting rid of ugly paintings and renovating the house?”
“Don’t provoke him!” Luther hisses and Klaus doesn’t turn around to flip him off. He can do that just as well with his back turned.
“I threw Daddy dearest into a table,” Klaus says with a smile, “What makes you think I can’t do the same to your light, breakable schoolboy preteen body?” He mocks, glancing Five up and down and twists his face into a frown like he finds him lacking.
“The fact you haven’t tried it yet.” Five takes a step forward, forcing him to step back. “And you won’t. When you went off in your fit of temper, the only person you got violent with was Hargreeves. Even when I pissed you off, you didn’t hit me but the painting behind me, despite the fact I was practically an open target. If you hit the painting, hitting me wouldn’t have been difficult.”
Five inclines his head at the table. “That glass? Harmless. An act of intimidation that worked on those idiots, but that won’t work on me.”
“Didn’t work on me either,” Ben calls out, “Just so you know.”
Klaus deflates, trudging back to the couch. “Fuck you, I have the sad tragic backstory to turn into a super villain. Don’t test me.” He shoves at Ben until there’s enough room to lay his head down on his lap.
Ben snorts. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but out of all of us, you’re the least likely to start a successful super villain career.”
“You can be my sidekick,” Klaus ignores him, a talent he perfected over the last thirteen years, “You’ve already got the perfect name. Together, we’ll be unstoppable. There will be no dress code, because uniforms are stupid and sexistic.”
“As cute as your little fantasy is,” Five sighs, “Let’s get back to the topic at hand. Why didn’t you say anything? Ben got off the hook because he didn’t want to rat you out. What’s your excuse?”
“Assassin with violent tendencies or not, Five isn’t allowed to join, because he’s being a self-righteous and pushy asshole—"
Five’s face twists into a surly scowl. “Better watch it—”
“—who apparently thinks I went along willingly to be locked away for hours and days on end with a hoard of screaming ghosts.”
Five’s mouth snaps shut.
“But Ben said that’s your special training.” Vanya says, a little lost. Taking pity on her teary voice Klaus twists around, so he can face her.
“My special training, which Daddy gave up on half a year ago last timeline.” Klaus points out, melting into Ben’s hand running through his hair, massaging his scalp gently to soothe the growing headache. “No idea what set him off though, my memory is kind of fuzzy. Maybe it was my face.”
“So, you would have said something if you knew he’d throw you in there?” Diego asks, voice hopeful yet still tight with anger.
“I would have told him.” Klaus pats Ben on the knee. “Ben would have run off to Five and Five would have come to pop me out for as long as it took for Papa to come back and then teleported me back in to make it seem like I’ve been in there for the whole time, pleased that he got to one-up Dad like the cocky little shit we know him to be.”
“I wouldn’t have let him put you in there to begin with.” Five spits out, pinning him with a stare of incredulous anger. “What the fuck do you take me for? Do you think I’m that much of an asshole I’d ever consider the option of putting you into a cage with wild animals ready to tear you apart?”
Saying anything but no would make Klaus sound like an asshole. Offending Five was as easy as breathing but hurting him took effort. Looking at his jaw, straining under the force of grinding his teeth, Klaus has a gut feeling if he says the wrong thing know, he’ll hurt him worse than throwing him across the room might have.
“…would there have been another option?” He asks, hurrying to add on as Five’s nostrils flare in his outrage, “I mean, Allison doesn’t really do her rumor thing anymore and anything else could have changed the timeline, right? Right. So, it’s not like you’d have much of a choice.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
He didn’t just manage to hurt one person, but two.
“I would have rumored him.” Allison looks like she wants to hug him, eyes wide and tears spilling over her cheek as she leans into Vanya’s side instead, glass shards forgotten on the floor. “I swear, I would have rumored him in a heartbeat.”
“That’s nice,” He says good-naturedly, “and appreciated, truly, but next to Benny-boy here, I’d be the last person to force someone to use their powers, if they don’t want to.”
Ben sighs long-suffering. “You’re missing the point.”
“Please enlighten me, oh wise one.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Harsh,” Klaus mocks half-heartedly, “You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, ghost-boy?”
“I actually woke up on the floor. Because someone shoved me off the bed.” Ben says flatly.
“You can’t be mad at me for that,” Klaus protests, “I didn’t know it was you. I forgot and thought you were one of them and I freaked the fuck out.”
“Guess I can’t complain too much, considering I wasn’t thrown into a table.”
Ben shrugs, offering him a toothy grin. There’s a throb of affection in Klaus’s chest, vicious and overwhelming and he’s helpless against the matching smile breaking out across his face.
“Brother mine, light of my life, nagging mother-hen of my death, may you never change. I’ve got to hand it to the little Girl, she’s done a fabulous job in creating you.”
“Too bad she forgot to hand you some brain cells,” Ben frowns, the twinkle in his eyes betraying his act of sadness, “Or some impulse control. Or self-preservation.”
“That’s why I’ve got you,” Klaus grins, reaching up to pat Ben’s cheek. “I’m the fun part of our duo, remember? You’re my adult supervision and my conscience rolled into one snarky little shit.”
Ben snorts. “I’m gonna be your worst nightmare if you don’t stop distracting me from drilling that we care about you into your thick head.”
“What?” Klaus blinks, smile dimming, „I know that, obviously.”
“I don’t think you do.” Ben tugs a stray curl behind his ear, pulling hard enough to get the message across he doesn’t want to be interrupted. Klaus’s mouth snaps shut. “Not fully anyway. There’s tolerating you and your antics and then there’s caring. Two different things. Tolerating you is letting you chew of my ear with your rambling and not punching you in the face for doing stupid shit. Caring about you is punching the drugs out of your mouth and kicking Hargreeves in the ribs when Luther isn’t looking while letting Mom move him into his bedroom.”
“Ben!” Luther looks absolutely scandalized by the confession but Ben only shrugs.
“Listen to your conscience,” says Five, cutting off Luther’s incoming lecture. “He’s got a point.” He throws a sharp glance Luther’s way, gesturing to the floor and Luther gets up, mumbling about coming back with a broom to clean up the mess.
Klaus hums, “Speaking of Daddy, what are we gonna do with him?”
“Whatever we want to, aside from killing him.” Allison rubs at her eyes. “That’s not the issue here, though.” She looks tired, they all do, Klaus notices, glancing around the room. Luther cleans up the glass shards, moving the broom back and forth like in the pictures of the poor kids back in the Victorian Era in their history books, who had to earn their keep by getting a shitty job.
Diego scoffs into his hands, bowing his head. “No, it fucking isn’t. The problem here isn’t even Hargreeves throwing him to the wolfs. It’s the fact our own brother couldn’t open his mouth and say anything because he doesn’t trust us.”
“That’s not true.” Klaus jerks upright from Ben’s lap. “I trust you.” Throwing a glance into Luther’s direction, he amends, “Okay, Luther’s on thin ice, but come on, Diego! You’re the one I went to when things got dangerous in the timeline that wasn’t. Remember the rides? The bar? I told you about Dave—” His breath hitches at the name, a pang of hurt sucker punching him in the chest. “—I wouldn’t have done that, if I didn’t think you’d care.”
Luther’s brows furrow. “Who’s Dave?”
“See?”
“You know, I never hesitated about telling you something.”
Diego looks at him, an angry sort of sadness written all over his young face. His gaze is contemplative in a way that makes Klaus want to hide behind the couch.
“Whenever that shit hurt or made me want to punch something. Hell, I cried in front of you, that first time you overdosed in the hospital and I don’t know if you remember what I told you, you were so out of it from getting your stomach pumped—”
Klaus interrupts him, voice smaller than he’d like, “You told me that you loved me.”
“—but I didn’t care. About you seeing that or hearing me. I wanted you to hear it, because at the end of the day, if you wouldn’t make it? You’d know. I didn’t get the chance to tell Ben before his death and I sure as hell wouldn’t make that same mistake again.”
“Look—” Klaus tries to say, but Diego shakes his head, holds up a hand and he swallows the rest of his sentence.
“No, shut up. You had your chance to speak up,” Diego says, “It’s my turn and that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s always my turn because I know you’d listen to what I say. Maybe you’ll laugh if it’s embarrassing or tease me for a bit, but you’d never made me feel worse about myself—never made me feel like I couldn’t come to you and tell you about shit because I knew you’d understand. That you wouldn’t judge me.”
Diego’s jaw clenches, eyes suspiciously shiny. Klaus shrinks under his stare, unused to the praise, the appreciation for lending an ear and tugs the sleeves of his shirt over his wrist.
“You don’t know that,” Diego’s words linger heavy in the air. “You don’t expect that from us.”
“So, it’s my fault?” Klaus’ hands clench, throbbing. “That I don’t come crying to you after you tell me to man the fuck up, it’s not so bad, I’m just being a wimp? That’s on me too?”
Ben’s hand sneaks into his own, interlocking them. “What Diego means is—”
“Diego is a big boy, Ben!” Klaus tightens his grip hard enough to hurt, fingers burning. Ben doesn’t let go. Would never let go off him, no matter how many times he asked him to. “He can speak for himself. He doesn’t need you to translate for him, to take the fall. I wanna hear him say it.”
Vanya glances uneasily between them, face ashen. “What– “
“Tell me, “that shit you do, man? That’s just weakness.”
Diego recoils.
Klaus turns to throw a sharp grin at Luther. “What about you, Number One?” He makes a come forth gesture with his hand, raising an eyebrow when Luther tightens his hold on the broom, face confused and stays silent.
“Oh, right, how silly of me.” Klaus gasps, slapping both of his hands onto his cheeks. “I forgot, you’d rather be Number Four, isn’t that right? You sprung over your shadow and everything with the drugs to copycat me, carefree little old me, I’m so honored.”
“I didn’t know.” Luther can’t meet his gaze, averting his gaze to his chest. “About what Dad did to you. I wouldn’t have said it, otherwise.”
“No, you didn’t,” Klaus’ smile is sweet, his tone bitter. He lets his hands fall into his lap, shakes Ben’s attempt of rubbing soothing circles onto his hand or arm off. “But you still judged me, didn’t you?” He raises his chin, looking Luther straight in the eyes. Daring him to disagree.
Luther turns his head away.
“It might’ve not been something you’ve wanted to hear—” Diego rises from his seat. “—but it needed to be said. I stand by my words. The drugs were a weakness, Klaus, you’re so much better than that. That shit destroyed you inside out.”
Ben makes a strangled noise. “Diego—”
“A weakness?” Klaus leaps to his feet, heartbeat picking up. How dare any of them look down on him for his addiction. Ben, he could understand, Ben did understand, stuck with the horrors of the ghosts. His brother had a right in telling him off whenever he thought Klaus went too far, too close to throwing himself off the deep end. Diego had no right to judge his choices. “My drugs weren’t a weakness.”
“Right, because they’d make you feel nice? Powerful? In control?” Diego scoffs, hitting all the soft spots without even trying. The only talent this family had was hitting hard where it hurt. “Face it, you were poisoning yourself for years to avoid dealing with the shit Dad did to you. We had to watch that, Klaus, you didn’t need them.”
Taking a page out of Five’s book, Klaus says, “I didn’t care.” and watches their faces crumble into a grimace torn between hurt and anger. A sort of desperate need for him to give in and admit to being wrong.
“And that’s just the thing,” Diego spits out, eyes unnaturally shimmery. “You didn’t give a fuck. At all.”
“You were wasting away.” Vanya’s shaky voice joins in following by Allison’s, “You were killing yourself.”
So, fucking what? Better than to let the ghosts get to him first. Better than to let Dad get to him. Anything to silence the voices, the screaming for everything he couldn’t give them.
“I didn’t care.”
Klaus’ admission knocks the breath out of his sisters’ lungs, gets Luther to let go off the broom and Diego’s eyes to grow wide like it’s a revelation, another apocalypse and their reactions only set the fire in his chest ablaze.
“Because to me my drugs weren’t a weakness.”
Five snaps, hands flaring blue. He appears next to him, hand fisting his pajama top tight enough to cut into the back of his neck and shakes him. “You fucking idiot—”
“They were my goddamn lifeline!”
He shoves Five away from him, the pressure in his chest popping like a balloon, hard enough to knock him onto the floor. His brother stares up at him, eyes wide and frantic, not expecting the force and makes no move to get back up.
Klaus sucks in a shaky breath, trembling.
“Klaus,” Luther’s voice sounds odd. Cautious and wary, maybe a little pained. Nervous for sure. “I get it. The drugs…they’re nice. Make you feel amazing. Block your powers, but that’s only a temporary rush. You know that. They were hurting you.”
They won’t get it and for a moment, he’d entertained the thought of getting an apology. What a joke. “Never mind.” He turns to leave, maybe cry into his pillow for another night. He doesn’t need their pitying glances.
He doesn’t get far before a hand wraps itself around his own. Klaus whirls around, ready to lash out, to tell whoever the fuck thought it was okay to manhandle him to back off.
“For him it’s different,” Ben says stern-faced, frowning at the specks of blood soaking through the parts of the bandages around his fingers. “They’re the only thing that ever made the ghosts go away. Except for me.”
And it’s laughable. How a word from Ben catches their attention, gets them to listen while screaming from Klaus never got more than an eyeroll.
“And?” Five picks himself up from the floor, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes. “Not like he can’t tell them to go away himself when he’s sober.”
Ben’s face crumbles and Klaus—
He laughs.
“Jesus Christ,” He wheezes out, legs buckling and he flops onto the couch, holding his chest when he notices the missing dog tag around his neck, curling up sideways, away from Ben’s gentle hands. His laughter trails off into hysteric fits of giggling, cheeks wet from tears. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Five’s unease brings out the grouch in him. “Why the hell are you laughing?”
His side is starting to hurt from stiches.
Klaus gasps for air, arms wrapped around his stomach. “You think they listen to a word I say?” He can’t see Five’s face fall, can’t see the horror flash across his face when the realization finally sinks in, past the blurriness of tears swimming in his eyes. “And you guys call me an idiot.”
There’s no rebuttal. They don’t talk for a minute, letting him calm down and get himself together and then, Vanya speaks.
“You can’t make them go away.”
“Congrats, only took you a lifetime to figure that one out.”
Her wide-eyed gaze falls onto his shoulder. His injured shoulder.
“I think,” She swallows thickly, “It’s your turn now.”
“My what?” Klaus frowns, a little lost. He glances towards Ben for an answer, who gives him a tight smile.
“Yeah,” Diego blinks, falling back into his seat to grip the arm rest. “W—We w—will listen.”
“That’s a first,” Klaus snorts. Ben nudges him in the side, jerking his head towards the bar and gets up to get him a glass of water. Seeing no point in making a run for it, Klaus stretches out on the couch like he’s getting ready for a therapy session and waits for his brother to come back.
Ben taps his legs, forcing the water into his hands and wraps a hand around his ankle, mindful of the bruises.
Silence drags on. When they notice he’s not going to break it, Allison does.
“You really thought we wouldn’t put a stop to your training?”
Feeling bad at the heartbroken look on her face, Klaus sighs, “I thought Ben would come,” The hand on his ankle twitches. “Be my knight in the shining armor, you know? I sat there for hours, waiting and the first time around, I kept trying to give myself a pep talk about telling one of you. Obviously, I’m shit at that, otherwise you’d have known.”
“Why didn’t you?” Vanya asks, “I mean, I get why you didn’t tell me. I was just…ordinary for you then, but surely, Allison would have been a good choice? Diego? Five?”
Klaus shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d believe me.” He bites the inside of his cheek, taking a sip of his water. “I thought maybe, maybe this time was the last one, he’d see that my fear wouldn’t go away, that he’d do more harm than good. And he gave up. I was right and afterwards it didn’t seem important.”
“Because you had your drugs.” Five nods slowly. Thoughtful instead of condescending.
“Bingo!” Klaus winks, playing with the rim of the glass. “And Ben, I guess. He helped too.”
“Thanks,” Ben deadpans, “Had a lot of fun playing nanny for you.”
“Low blow, considering there’s a dead one standing in the corner of the room, asshole.”
His siblings survey the room, a little startled by the admission. Klaus rolls his eyes, sharing a look with Ben.
“I’m not gonna make her visible or anything.” He takes a sip of the water. “Relax. She can’t talk much anyway, got her tongue cut out.”
“How do you know that?” Luther’s eyes flicker around the room. “How can you tell she isn’t simply mute if she can’t tell you that?”
“Uh…because she’s barfing blood all over the floor every time she opens her mouth to yell at me?” Klaus says in a “Duh” like voice, tilting his head towards the corner the nanny is standing in, shooting Vanya dirty looks.
Narrowing his eyes, he glares back, not liking the target of such a stare to be his baby sister.
“Hey, bitch,” Five follows his gaze. “Fuck off.”
Dead nanny number two—there’s actually a bunch around he sees from time to time, but most of them usually hightail it outta the house at seeing one of them—makes a gurgling noise. Clearly unimpressed.
His brother turns around, expression expectant.
“Your death glare doesn’t work on the dead, Fives, they’re already dead.”
Still. It was nice of him to try. Five’s face turns sour.
“Okay,” His brother cracks his knuckles. “Walk me through your powers. I’ll think of something. We can have a conjoined training session with Vanya, help you figure out your telekinesis. Ben can help me out with the works of …ghost sentience and their influence on you.”
Five wrinkles his nose, uncomfortable with the issues of something logic can’t find an explanation or evidence for. He’s earnest though, focusing on Klaus’ answer with rapid attention. Vanya nods vigorously, excited with the idea to have a training partner.
“Uh…,” Klaus says, mind reeling, “…there’s not much to say?”
“Are you withholding information from me?” Five cocks his head to the side. A predator observing prey.
“Ben, a little help here?”
“Lay off, he hasn’t actually got a clue of what he’s capable of.” Ben pats his leg, giving him a fond smirk. “Smashing buttons with dumb luck has gotten him pretty far. He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit to learn.”
Five’s face spasms like he’s in pain and Klaus can’t keep the grin off his face.
“Not now, though, I’m deadbeat.”
He hears Diego groan, the tightness around his chest easing up. Ben’s always got a talent for making him feel better.
“Go back to bed and rest.” Five waves him away. “You still look like shit.”
Not bothering to argue when he actually feels like shit too, he stretches and gets off the couch, Ben following him. He blows a kiss on his way out, noticing the lingering stares on his back.
If his ears weren’t honed to pick out Ben’s voice among the rest of the dead, he might have missed the quiet mumble of “That could’ve gone better.” while trudging up the stairs to his bedroom.
“Really?” Klaus huffs out a breath, amused. “I think it went pretty well. Could’ve definitely been worse.”
“A fight nearly broke out. Like trice.”
“Almost. That’s improvement for us.”
Ben reaches out to wrap his hand around his wrist as soon as they’re on top of the stairs, shoving the other hand into his pocket. “It shouldn’t be,” He sighs tiredly.
“I totally could’ve taken them all,” Klaus says flippantly, tugging his brother down the hallway. “Except maybe Allison and Vanya. I don’t want to hurt them, but the other three? Wouldn’t stand a chance against the newest development of my brain powers.”
“Uh huh,” Ben smiles and humors him. “Sure, you could’ve.”
Klaus stops in front of his room to whirl around on his heels. “I could! I’m serious, Ben.” He puffs out his cheeks, all but pouting. He clings to his offended frown for a minute before letting it fall away.
“You’re gonna be there, right?” He grips onto Ben’s sleeve, back to the door. “You won’t leave me at Five’s mercy during training, will you?”
Ben’s face softens. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Tension bleeding out of his muscles, Klaus relaxes. Ben won’t leave. Not willingly at least.
“Now, come on—” Ben pulls him away from the door to push it open. Marching into the room like he owns the place, he’s tugged over to his bed. “—and take a nap.”
Klaus scoots over at Ben’s shove, letting him rearrange the blankets around them before his brother reaches for the book on his desk. The lights stay on and Ben doesn’t mind him rolling over and fidgeting every few minutes, simply reaching over to pat him on the arm or run his fingers through his hair.
His brother begins to read out loud the third time he flops his pillow around. There’s no annoyance visible on his face at the continuous interruptions and restless movements jostling him from time to time.
Letting out a breath Klaus doesn’t know he’s been holding; he closes his eyes and mumbles a quiet “Thank you.” Into Ben’s shoulder.
He doesn’t need to see to know Ben’s smiling behind the cover of his book.
He’s wearing a matching smile of his own after all.