Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Klara Rosenberg likes her life. She has good relationships with her parents and two brothers, she’s entirely comfortable in her bisexuality, and she always looks and dresses exactly how she wants to. She turned twenty-six five months ago, and even if she sometimes wishes she could afford a slightly larger apartment, you can’t have everything in life. Her job doesn’t break the bank or anything, but she really enjoys it, and that’s what matters.

A good chunk of that is due to her coworkers. Andrea acts more like a fussy aunt than a manager, always keeping an eye on their horoscopes and chakra and whatever. Klara doesn’t really buy into that stuff, but considering she works in a pagan supply store, she keeps that to herself. Andrea believes enough for all of them, and she means well enough that Klara’s always a little touched whenever Andrea plucks out a protection amulet or stick of incense and presses it into Klara’s hand to take home.

Klaus, on the other hand, is a bit different.

Klara doesn’t mean that in a bad way. In fact, she’s pretty damn fond of Klaus, enough to call him a friend - maybe even her best friend. He’s the only other employee in the store, so they end up spending a lot of time together. They have wildly different tastes in fashion (he likes colors, ew), but Klara can forgive him for that. As long as they avoid falling into an argument over whose look is better, they get along like a house on fire.

He’s a bit mysterious, Klaus is. For one, she doesn’t know his last name. He refuses to say what it is. Klara isn’t entirely sure how Andrea manages to pay him like that, but that’s not her problem.

For another, he always goes coincidentally deaf when the subject of families gets raised. Although he always has a faint smile whenever she chatters on about her own, so there’s that. Klara resigned herself long ago to knowing almost nothing about his life before he started working at Gaia’s Glade.

And, of course, there’s the fact that he doesn’t even always go by ‘Klaus.’ Sometimes, he prefers ‘Ben.’ It’s easy to figure out when he wants that, because his entire demeanor is….different, when he’s Ben. He’s quieter, his remarks a bit dryer, and he loses nearly all of his flamboyance. It’s like he’s an entirely different person, as Ben.

Klara isn’t entirely sure what the whole deal is, with that. Split personality, maybe, although she’s pretty sure people who have that don’t remember what they do when their other personality takes over. Klaus/Ben has (have?) no indication of memory problems, and seem entirely aware of each other.

She knows Klaus was a drug addict. It’s one of the few things she knows about his life before they met, and even then she mostly worked it out on her own instead of him telling her. He’s (very vaguely) hinted that he’s been through some pretty rough shit, too, so it’s not inconceivable he has some sort of mental issues or brain damage that manifests in personality switches. Klara has toyed with the idea of asking, once or twice, but - well, it’s not really her place to ask, is it? And besides, he’s a good guy, sober for almost four years now, really nice and funny whether he’s Klaus or Ben, and the best guy friend a girl could ask for. She figures it doesn’t really matter what the root of it is. He’s just - him.

Humming to herself, Klara taps her fingers on the countertop. There’s only a single customer in the store, a tall willowy blonde girl poring intently over the crystal section. Klaus is in the back, sorting through a delivery of stock. They’re only twenty minutes from closing, and Klara cannot wait to get back home and take a good long hot shower.

Idly, Klara composes plans for the weekend. She wonders if Klaus wants to go see a movie. Oh, or the spa. Klara could use a good spa day, and Klaus was just complaining the other day that his back felt like it was possessed.

Yes, she decides. A spa day sounds perfect. They can get massages, and have mani-pedis. Klara may be goth, but even she has to bow to the healing power of being pampered. She’s been meaning to try out that one place over on 38th, the one that promises half-off for first-timers.

The blonde picks out a crystal and comes up to the register. Klara straightens up and nods at her. Damn, this girl is fine. Klara doesn’t stare, but she does sneak a glance or two as she rings up the purchase. The blonde either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, smiling perfunctionarily at Klara as the crystal gets bagged.

Okay, Klara does stare as she walks out. It’s a very nice view.

“Tell me she’s going to be a repeat customer,” Klaus says from behind her.

Klara startles a bit and turns. Klaus is hanging out of the back doorway, eyes focused on where hers were just a second ago. He also looks very appreciative.

Another plus in having Klaus as a bestie: they can gush over hot people of both genders together (except Allison Hargreeves, for some reason. Klaus loves her movies, but he’s weirdly squirrelly whenever Klara starts rhapsodizing about the woman’s absolute physical perfection. His loss, Klara supposes).

“Dunno,” Klara shrugs. “I really hope so. Those legs.”

Klaus nods fervently. Then he glances back into the hallway. “I’m all done with the stuff. Andy said we can leave early, she’ll lock up.”

Klara brightens. “Great! I’ll grab my bag.”

After grabbing her bag and tossing out a quick “thanks Andrea!” towards the back, Klara hooks her arm through Klaus’ and they stroll out of the store together. Klaus lives close enough to walk home (Klara is of the opinion that he should probably take a cab in the winter, but Klaus just laughed and said he’s been outside in all kinds of weather, for way longer than it takes to walk to the store. Klara quietly dropped the subject, after that), but Klara has to take a bus. The stop is along the way Klaus walks, though, so they usually leave together.

“By the way, I read that book you recced me,” Klara tells him. “It was pretty good.”

“Really?” Klaus says. “It was kind of boring.”

Then he shifts, body language changing subtly. His gait hitches, then resumes walking. A bit differently, now, more measured and not as bouncy.

“Ignore him,” Ben says, rolling his eyes. “He has no taste. What part did you like specifically?”

Klara doesn’t even bat an eye. She’s used to these switches by now, Klaus changing into Ben and back again. It’s honestly unclear which is the dominant personality, if there even is one at all. Speaking as probably the person who’s spent the most time around Klaus, Klara is pretty certain it’s more of a partnership-type deal.

“Well,” Klara says. “The main character being bi was a pleasant surprise. I can see why you thought I’d like her. The politics were fascinating to follow too, of course.”

Ben nods, eyes bright. “Weren’t they? The gambit at the end was brilliant, I never expected her to do that.”

“Me neither,” Klara shakes her head. “It makes perfect sense in hindsight, though.”

“That’s what makes it great,” Ben says. “I reread it a week ago, and it’s so obvious. She never says Inora means anything to her, but her actions are pretty telling. When she….”

Klara discusses the finer points of the book with Ben as they walk along. The sun is almost totally gone, the last faint rays of light struggling to cover the streets. The air is pleasantly warm, and Klara idly wonders if she should get takeout. She doesn’t really feel like cooking tonight.

Ben looks nice like this, she decides. Whether he’s Ben or Klaus, he’s always quite good-looking (his eyes alone, dear god), but when he’s Ben he’s always a lot more reserved. She doesn’t think he’s unhappy - in fact, both he and Klaus usually give off an air of satisfaction, like they’re quietly delighted just by existing - but it’s rare to see him acting this passionate. She should discuss books with him more often. His enthusiasm lights up his face, and she can’t help but watch the shadows play over his cheekbones.

Truthfully, she wouldn’t say no if he wanted to hook up. They’re good friends, and she’s sure they could keep being such if they added sex to the mix. He’s very easy on the eyes, and she knows he finds her attractive as well. Klara doesn’t really see them ever settling down as a couple, but friends with benefits? That’d be nice.

Like a lot of things about Klaus, though, that one’s complicated as well. She pitched the idea to him a few years ago, back when he was coming up on a year of working at the store. He sort of - twitched, and fell silent for a few minutes.

Then Klaus switched to Ben, smiled a little distantly at her, and politely but firmly turned her down. Very firmly, in fact. She isn’t entirely sure why he reacted like that, but that’s definitely none of her business, so she hasn’t brought it up since. He was a little off around her for the next few days, but returned to normal when she didn’t mention it again.

She can still look, though.

He’s wearing a pink tank top and skinny jeans today - by his standards, positively restrained. He has a cuff around his left wrist, like always, but this one is relatively new, embroidered with a simple picture of a bird in flight. He was very excited when he finished working on it. His necklace clinks as he walks - he wears it all the time, ever since Andrea gave it to him. Klara can’t quite remember what it’s supposed to do, but she thinks it has something to do with preventing possession? He always looks amused whenever it comes up, so she’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe in that stuff any more than she does. Still, it’s nice of him to wear it.

His heeled combat boots slap against the pavement. She remembers he told her once that he prefers to go barefoot, but there are times when good, sturdy shoes are very underrated (Klara suspects Ben is the one who influenced that opinion. It sounds much too sensible to be Klaus).

“Oh, by the way, do you have plans for this weekend?” Klara remembers to ask.

“Hm?” Ben blinks. He thinks it over. “No, I don’t think so. Why? You want to do something?”

“Spa day,” Klara pitches, and sees Ben give a small smile.

“Sounds great,” he says, and then shifts into Klaus, smile breaking out to cover his entire face. “It sounds better than great, it sounds absolutely fabulous! When do you want to go? Sunday? Sunday sounds good. What time?”

Klara laughs. “Sure, Sunday. I was thinking two? I’ll swing by your place, we can have lunch and then head off.”

“Ooo!” Klaus bounces up and down. “I can cook! I’ll make lasagne - chicken. I’ll make chicken, because I do not have the ingredients for lasagne and already ran over my ‘interesting food budget’ for the month.”

“Sounds nice,” Klara says. And she means it. Klaus is pretty good at cooking, which Klara attributes in large part because he takes such manifest delight in it. He has half a dozen hobbies, from needlework to sign language to drawing, but he’s always been especially fond of cooking. There’s probably a story behind why he looks at a food-covered table with a slight hint of awe, but Klara knows she probably wouldn’t get an answer if she asked.

They talk for another minute or so, firming up plans for Sunday, until Klara’s bus stop comes into view. Klara glances down the street to make sure it isn’t coming early, and her eyes catch on a storefront window. It has a few televisions showing the news, and she squints at the picture on the broadcast.

“Huh,” she says. “Isn’t that that billionaire guy?”

It is, she realizes as she steps closer. She reads the captions and tilts her head.

“Oh wow,” she says. “Damn. Well, there goes this town’s only claim to fame.”

She glances back at Klaus -

- who is staring, utterly blank-faced, at the television.

“Klara,” he says slowly. “I think I might have to reschedule our plans.”

Chapter Text

‘Why are we doing this again,’ Klaus says blankly.

Ben stares up at the building in front of them, looming tall. He’s sure it wasn’t this tall in their childhood. ‘I actually can’t remember.’

‘Great. Lovely. Glad that’s settled. Can we go?’

Ben grimaces. ‘No, we can’t leave. We have to do this.’

‘But why?’

‘You know why, Klaus,’ Ben sighs. ‘If we don’t now, we never will.’

Klaus grumbles, but doesn’t actually argue. Instead, he retreats into the back of their shared skull, until Ben can hardly sense him. It’s what he usually does when he knows Ben is right, but doesn’t want to admit it.

Frankly, Ben almost doesn’t want to be right.

It’s been almost four years - technically, about three years and ten months - since Ben and Klaus began sharing a body. Since Ben possessed Klaus in a moment of desperation, praying to whatever gods that exist that he wouldn’t irreparably harm his brother, always so terrified of being taken over. Since Klaus and he came to an agreement to try and build a real life together, instead of Klaus hopping from overdose to overdose and Ben stuck uselessly on the sidelines.

And they succeeded. They have an apartment, a job, hobbies - friends, even. Ben never thought (never dared to hope, really) Klaus could ever have any of that, and he knew he couldn’t. It was a stupid dream, unreachable as the moon. Until it actually happened.

Sharing a body with his brother took some getting used to, Ben will readily admit. It’s not so much that it’s Klaus’ body, because unfortunately Ben got used to seeing all of that by the time they were twenty. Being alive again, however, was hard to relearn. Being alive, having a telepathic connection to his brother, and learning to switch off controlling their body was. A bit of an adjustment.

But. They’re well used to it by now. They can switch off control with ease, and rarely hesitate to do so. They have Andrea and Klara, who both unquestioningly accept their quirks. They’re fed and warm and housed and safe. They’re happy. Ben can’t remember how many times he waited outside some crappy motel room, knowing Klaus was inside with one of his customers who didn’t even see him as human, wondering if tonight was the night Klaus would die. And now - now those memories are distant things. Not forgotten, no, but set aside. Now they have better ones.

Ben would be lying if he said he thought their life was perfect. They still have nightmares and fears and little hurts. They’ve tacitly decided never to have a relationship, because even on top of the whole ‘my brother is right there’ issue, between the two of them there’s enough problems with sex that an army of therapists probably couldn’t fix it all. Very often, they have to get up in the middle of the night to check that all the food is still there, the water’s running, the door is locked, and all their most precious possessions are safely hidden away. Their body still gets hit with cravings, and they have to take turns being the strong one, holding each other back from rushing out the door to find the nearest dealer. Sometimes when they’re out and about they see a familiar face and one or both of them freezes with the memory of leers and touches and money exchanging hands. Every time they undress, they see the scars inscribed into their body, unwanted souveniers that show how unwanted they were.

One of Ben’s greatest regrets, however, is that they haven’t contacted their siblings. Very rarely, before Klaus got sober, but not once since.

There’s a good reason for it, of course. Klaus spent most of his life fearing that he’d be possessed and hurt his siblings. It haunted him throughout his entire childhood, and he dedicated his life to preventing it. No matter that he knows Ben would never hurt them, meeting them again while he’s possessed would be….terrifying, to say the least.

But, well. It’s been long enough. Ben isn’t so sure he’s ready to see them again either, honestly, but they can’t keep putting it off. They’re in a good place, physically and emotionally. They’re comfortable with each other, and Klaus trusts him wholeheartedly. If they don’t take this opportunity to see their family in person again, they never will.

Carefully, Ben reaches out, and

pushes

the

door

open.

It’s quiet.

That’s the first thing Ben thinks. The house is quiet. It was always quiet, always empty, swallowing up any sound they made, laughter and voices and running feet less than nothing in the face of it. They tried standing against it, when they were younger, but as they grew the silence wrapped around them so thoroughly they all became alone, even when they were together.

Ben never realized how much he hates that silence.

He walks across the foyer, footsteps echoing through the room. Klaus is silent, and for the life of him Ben can’t figure out what his brother is feeling.

The staircase is still polished and smooth under their hand. Ben slowly walks up, trying and failing to not think about the fact that this is where Klaus tried to kill himself. Ben visited the Academy a handful of times as a ghost, but Klaus only told him about the attempt after they started sharing a body. Ben has walked this staircase hundreds of times before, but this is the first time he’s walked it knowing his brother flung himself down it when he was twelve, entirely on purpose.

Coming to a halt at the top of the stairs, Ben breathes in.

‘Home sweet home,’ Klaus murmurs, uneasily.

‘Yeah,’ Ben says. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Slowly, Ben walks along the halls. He trails their fingers against the wall, the worn wood cool and smooth. He can’t hear anything, not the slightest whisper of sound, and he wonders if they’re the first people there.

‘You know,’ Klaus says, a spark of life in his tone, ‘There’s a couple things I might want to grab from my room. Left in a bit of a hurry, after all.’

That’s something of an understatement. Klaus ran just two months after Ben died, high out of his goddamned mind and babbling nonsense that Ben only later realized was due to fearing he’d be possessed and end up with another one of his siblings’ ghosts hanging around him, this time by his own hands. He hasn’t been back since that night, not even when the temperatures dropped below zero and Ben triggered more than a few panic attacks yelling at him to go back to the one place he wouldn’t freeze to death.

‘Alright,’ Ben says, changing course. ‘Sure.’

Klaus ends up collecting several records, some posters, and a few stuffed animals from his room. He piles them all by the door, in preparation for taking them home once this whole funeral thing is over and done with.

‘I feel so free!’ Klaus says, lifting their hands and twirling. ‘I’ve missed Miss Darlingheart so much, Ben. My nights have been cold and lonely without her.’

‘Uh huh,’ Ben says. He remembers exactly zero times when Klaus has ever mentioned the ratty stuffed unicorn before. He’s halfway certain Klaus made up that name just now. ‘By the way, I want to get a few things from my room, as well.’

Klaus pouts. ‘Oh, fine.’ He hands over their body, and Ben heads off to his room.

It’s the same as it was when he died. Exactly the same, in fact. Apparently Mom dusts it every once in a while, but other than that, it’s untouched. Ben grimaces as he looks around. He always liked his room, because it was the only place in the entire house that could be his, free from the influence of Dad. They all felt that way about their rooms, honestly. But looking at it now….it’s like a shrine. A tomb. Frozen forever on the day of his death, unable to change or move forward. Pretty much like he felt before he started possessing Klaus.

Ben huffs out a sigh and shakes their head. Well. He may be dead, but he’s not gone. And this room is frankly just depressing. He’s just - going to gather his things and go.

‘Do you think Klara will like the Darkhallow trilogy?’ he asks Klaus, kneeling down next to the bookshelf.

‘I have no idea what that is,’ Klaus says brightly, ‘But I’m going to say yes, just because of the name. We have befriended one very goth woman, Ben.’

‘No argument here,’ Ben murmurs, pulling out the series. He’s fond of Klara. He’s not as close to her as Klaus is, but they’re still pretty good friends. He was a bit wary of her for the first year of their employment, just because he was wary of anyone who showed an interest in Klaus. She didn’t exactly hide that she found him attractive, and Ben has to admit that he….might be a little overprotective in that department.

Then she propositioned Klaus, and his brother was still less than a year away from Ian. Klaus froze, and Ben just knew he was going to accept because saying no wasn’t an option, not when Klaus was forced and beaten and fucking trained into accepting anything people wanted to do to him without protest. Ben took over, and just barely managed to prevent himself from ripping Klara apart as he told her no in absolutely no uncertain terms -

And she accepted it.

No annoyance. No wounded pride. No thwarted entitlement. No looking at Klaus like he’s the filth on the bottom of her shoe, like she cannot believe he would have the gall to deny her what she wants. No offense, or anger, or even confusion.

Just an easy, simple, “Okay,” and then she….never brought it up again. Not once.

Ben thinks he might love her for that. Just a little bit.

‘You might like it too,’ Ben remarks, paging through the first book in the series.

‘Well, I’m probably gonna find out,’ Klaus says, resigned. ‘You’re going to read it again, aren’t you.’

‘Sure am,’ Ben says, setting the books aside and pulling a few more from the shelf.

‘Ugh.’

Ben smirks as he stands and makes a circuit around the rest of the room. He pulls down a few knicknacks, rolls up a single poster, and opens his closet.

“Ooo,” Ben murmurs. “My hoodies.”

‘Only if I can bedazzle them,’ Klaus says.

Ben huffs, pulling down his favorite. It’s black, and extraordinarily soft. ‘No. We wear skirts half the time and I learned to be okay with that. You can learn to be okay with non-colorful clothes.’

‘But what will people think?’ Klaus gasps. ‘Me, being unfashionable?’

‘Probably that you’re possessed,’ Ben snorts.

‘Oh. Yeah. Right,’ Klaus says. He seems to ponder this for a moment, then sends a mental shrug. ‘Okay, fine. But I’m blaming it all on you when people ask.’

‘I’d expect nothing else,’ Ben says, folding up two more hoodies.

“What are you doing?”

Ben makes an undignified sound and jumps roughly ten feet in the air, dropping the hoodies. He whirls around to face the door and sees -

“Luther,” Ben says, clutching his heart. “Jesus, don’t do that. How can you be so quiet when you’re so big?”

‘Holy fuck,’ Klaus says, stunned. ‘You really weren’t kidding. He’s huge.’

And he is huge. Ben knew this, having checked in on him a couple months before he went to the moon and getting a front-row view of what their father did to him. But Luther has paired his new brawn with an oversized overcoat, making him look even larger. He’s frowning, and Ben has to admit the whole picture is a little intimidating.

Still. Still, it’s been years since Ben has seen his brother, and even longer since Luther has seen him. The sight of Luther actually looking at him makes Ben have to swallow once or twice.

He also only catches the tail end of what Luther is saying, and he blinks, only just realizing his brother is talking.

“Sorry, what?” Ben says, shaking his head. Right, he has to keep his cool, Luther doesn’t know this meeting is unusual in any way and he thinks Ben is actually -

“I said, Klaus, what the hell are you doing going through Ben’s things?” Luther growls.

Ben blinks, and - oh. Wow. Luther’s face is definitely not friendly.

It suddenly clicks for Ben, and he feels their eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, no, no,” he says, holding up their hands. “I’m not doing anything, I swear -”

‘Uh, Ben, maybe I should take over -’

“Then what is this?” Luther says, voice low and cold, placing a hand on the pile of things by the door. “Because it looks to me like you’re ransacking our dead brother’s room for drug money.”

Ben blinks, and steps back. The sheer venom in Luther’s voice is what gets him, really. Luther never once spoke to him like that when he was alive - no one did. Ben is entirely aware of his status as the nice brother, the one everyone unambiguously liked, but he never thought to wonder what it would feel like to have that stripped from him.

“I - uh,” Ben stammers.

‘Ben, let me take over.’

Unthinkingly, Ben hands off control to Klaus, and retreats into their head. He rarely denies Klaus when his brother wants control, because Ben is excruciatingly aware of just how little Klaus has, compared to him. Ben can take control whenever he wants, and can only give it up by choice. Klaus doesn’t have that luxury, and far too many other ghosts have taken advantage of that.

Klaus heaves a great sigh, and looks at Luther. “No, I was not going to sell Ben’s things, I do have standards.”

“Do you?” Luther’s face could be carved from stone.

“A few,” Klaus says, waving a hand. “I was, as a matter of fact, going to get a few of his favorite things and pile them by his statue. That way he can be with us for the funeral in spirit. Won’t that be nice?”

Ben would blink if he had control of their eyes. ‘That was a terrible pun,’ he says disapprovingly.

Luther looks like he isn’t buying it. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “Sounds nice. I’ll finish doing that, you can go wait for the others to arrive.”

“Oh, fine,” Klaus says, rolling their eyes. He flounces out of the room and down the hall, and Ben can swear he feels Luther’s eyes on their back the whole way.

Once they’re out of sight, Klaus leans against the wall and takes a carefully measured breath. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I know you said he’s part monkey now, but you forgot to mention that monkey species was gorilla.’

‘It’s - a bit of a shock, yeah,’ Ben admits.

‘Mmhmm,’ Klaus says vaguely, then hesitates. ‘Uh, sorry about - that. Probably not the touching reunion you were hoping for.’

‘It - no,’ Ben says. ‘It….wasn’t.’

‘I mean, it’s understandable,’ Klaus shrugs. ‘Finding me, searching through your valuables? Pretty obvious conclusion.’

‘You wouldn’t steal your dead brother’s things to buy drugs,’ Ben says, appalled. ‘He should know that.’

‘Uh,’ Klaus says, tilting his head and frowning. ‘I would totally do that. I steal from you all the time, and when I was on drugs the only thing that stopped me was that you didn’t actually own anything.’

Ben makes an annoyed sound. ‘That’s because I’m not gone, not to you. You wouldn’t take Five’s things, would you?’

Klaus goes silent.

‘So,’ Ben says, matter-of-factly. ‘He should know that.’

Klaus huffs and shakes his head, recovering. ‘Maybe I should steal something of Five’s,’ he grumbles, pushing away from the wall and smoothing down his shirt. ‘I can’t imagine he wouldn’t pop up out of nowhere and smack me, if I did.’

‘....You know, he really would,’ Ben muses.

‘Then it’s settled,’ Klaus says brightly, heading down the hallway. ‘We’re ransacking Five’s room!’

‘Wait, shit, Klaus, no -’

Chapter Text

It was a mistake to come here, Vanya knows.

It couldn’t be anything else. She was never welcome here, not really, but after publishing her book she can’t imagine any of her siblings would want to see her.

Vanya steps into the foyer, feeling smaller than ever in a house that is so, so large. It’s quiet, and she wonders if her siblings are here yet. She’s not sure she wants to face them - ever, really, but especially not now. Not in the wake of their father’s death, when emotions are going to be running high.

“Vanya?”

Coming down the steps is….Allison. Her sister looks effortlessly glamorous, and for a moment the gloomy staircase looks more like a red carpet. Allison always did have that effect on things, and Vanya feels a familiar flicker of jealousy at how easily her sister draws attention to herself.

“Hey Allison,” Vanya says, hunching in on herself. She can’t help but compare herself with Allison, and the contrast would be funny if it weren’t so painful.

“You actually came,” Allison marvels, coming to a stop in front of Vanya. She hesitates, before pulling Vanya into a hug.

Well. That’s new.

Vanya hugs back, hesitantly. Allison never really gave her much attention as kids, much less gestures of affection. Vanya wonders if this is Allison’s way of saying she’s not mad about the book - but no, Vanya doubts it. It’s probably a side effect of both their long separation and losing custody of Claire. Things will return to normal soon enough.

“What’s she doing? You don’t belong here. Not after what you did.”

Vanya flinches at the words. Diego walks by, not even giving her a second glance. Dismissing her entirely. Funny, it’s been over a decade and it still cuts deep as ever.

“You’re really going to this now? Today?” Allison calls after him, annoyed. He doesn’t stop. “Way to dress for the occasion, by the way.”

“Least I’m wearing black,” Diego calls back lazily, disappearing up the stairs.

Vanya wonders if she could slip away. They’re entirely ignoring her, Diego come and gone and Allison frowning after him. As kids, Vanya could be in the same room as her siblings for hours without them acknowledging her, but she’s a grown woman now. She can just - walk away, declare she’s done with trying to gain their attention.

Then Allison turns back to her, and Vanya finds herself shrinking again.

“You know what, maybe he’s right, I should go -” Vanya says, stepping back.

“No,” Allison says, and from the way Vanya’s feet root themselves to the floor she might as well have used a rumor. “Ignore him. I’m glad you came.”

Vanya kind of doubts that. She can’t detect any insincerity in her sister’s words, but Allison is an award-winning actress. Still, she nods, and quietly heads deeper into the mansion.

**********

After meeting up with Pogo again - probably the only good thing that’s going to happen today - Vanya finds herself summoned to a family meeting in the main living room.

At least they still consider me a part of the family, Vanya thinks, ignoring the faint whisper of barely that follows.

She tries to distract herself by studying her siblings. Not like she doesn’t have a lot of practice at that.

Luther is - enormous. Vanya has always been dwarfed by her siblings, but this is just ridiculous. His bicep might actually be larger than her waist. Vanya wonders what on earth kind of growth spurt he went through after she left. Moreover, she realizes with a blink, just how did he manage to be an astronaut living on the moon when he looks like he’s barely comfortable moving around in his own body?

Diego is wearing some ridiculous leather getup Vanya doesn’t dare laugh at, lest she get a knife whizzing by her ear. He’s sharp and angry as ever, eyes going cold whenever they settle on her. Well, colder than usual, anyways. Out of all of them, he’s the one most obviously chafing at being back here. Vanya doesn’t know for certain what he’s been doing since he left the Academy, but she’s read a few articles about a mysterious vigilante around town that are at least strongly suggestive.

Allison is holding a glass of something alcoholic, which sounds like the most brilliant idea anyone in this family has ever had. Sadly, Vanya can’t mix her pills with alcohol, so the most she can do is shoot longing glances at the glass. Allison looks some mixture of bored and frustrated, probably wishing she was back in L.A., living her perfect life and not being reminded of her imperfect family.

Klaus is….a little unexpected, Vanya has to admit.

Not his clothes, which are as flamboyant as ever. He has kohl around his eyes, and a few pieces of jewelry. One of which is a beaded cuff around his wrist, covering his tattoo. Strange, that. Her siblings have never been afraid to flaunt the symbol of the Academy, the mark of their father’s approval.

What’s even odder is his silence. Klaus has rarely ever been silent, always acting out and striving to be the center of attention. He can’t not, that’s just how he is. But now he’s folded up on the couch next to her, staring around at everyone with a weirdly intense expression on his face. Vanya is surprised to find she can’t tell what he’s thinking. Klaus always wore his heart on his sleeve - he had absolutely no secrets. But here he is, looking surprisingly opaque.

Luther clears his throat, pulling her attention away from Klaus.

“Right,” Luther says awkwardly. “Well, we should probably get this started. So, I figured we should probably have a memorial service in the courtyard, at sundown. Say a few words. Just in his favorite spot.”

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison asks. Vanya is glad to learn this isn’t only news to her.

“Yeah, you know, under the oak tree,” Luther says. When they all look at him blankly, he blinks at them. “We used to sit out there all the time, none of you ever did that?”

The fact that Luther includes Vanya as he glances around at them in confusion is almost enough to make her feel sorry for him. He really doesn’t know anything, does he? Vanya can count on one hand the number of times their father willingly interacted with her one-on-one.

“No, Luther,” Klaus says, and they all glance at him with varying levels of surprise. He doesn’t sound very much like Vanya remembers him, none of his usual over-the-topness. In fact, he sounds a little pitying, and sort of dry. “None of us ever did that.”

Luther glares at Klaus with a surprising amount of heat. “You don’t get to talk right now, Klaus,” and Klaus goes still. “Not after what I caught you doing.”

“What was he doing?” Allison says, frowning between them.

“He was ransacking Ben’s room,” Luther says flatly.

Vanya finds herself gaping at Klaus. Ben’s room? What the fuck.

She knew Klaus had no sense of decorum, not even for their tragically killed brother. The funeral proved that well enough, and Vanya would be lying if she said she didn’t take some measure of satisfaction ripping him apart in her book for that. In the years since, though, she’s wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’s learned to cultivate the slightest measure of decency. Maybe the funeral was a wake-up call, maybe he figured out he couldn’t just go swanning around in a sea of drugs, caring only about himself.

Well. Clearly, she was wrong.

“What the hell, Klaus,” Allison says flatly, gripping her glass tightly.

“I wasn’t ransacking it!” Klaus snaps, but then he falters under the weight of their combined glares. Vanya can see hesitance and wariness, which is only notable because she wasn’t actually sure Klaus could feel those things. Then his body language shifts abruptly, becoming loose-limbed and casual, and he rolls his eyes at them. “Of course, you can believe what you want, o Fearless Leader. I’m sure I won’t be able to change your mind.”

Ah, yes. There’s the Klaus she remembers. He cocks an eyebrow at them, lazy and uncaring, and she presses her lips together and looks away.

Luther glares at Klaus again, before visibly forcing himself back to the matter at hand. “There’s still some things we need to discuss.”

“Like what?” Allison asks.

“Like the way Dad died.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Diego mutters.

“What do you mean?” Vanya says, surprised into speaking. “I thought it was a heart attack?”

“According to the coroner, yeah,” Luther says.

“Wouldn’t they know?” Vanya says. She feels confused, but at least Allison and Klaus look the same way. Diego kind of just looks pissed off.

“Theoretically,” Luther says cagily.

“Theoretically?” Allison echoes.

“Look, all I’m saying is at the very least, something happened,” Luther looks around at them, but ends up focusing on Allison. Par for the course there, really. “The last time I talked to Dad, he sounded strange.”

“Strange how?” Allison says. Vanya can’t tell if she’s buying into Luther’s theory (whatever that is), or if she’s trying to pre-empt Diego from throwing out a cutting remark.

“He sounded on edge. Told me to be careful who to trust.”

“Uh,” Klaus says, raising a hand. “Weren’t you on the moon during this conversation? Who even was there to trust?”

“Exactly!” Luther says, face lighting up with validation, before he remembers he’s mad at Klaus and schools his expression.. “I think he knew - something might happen to him. So Klaus, I think you should try and talk to Dad in the afterlife.”

Allison snorts. Diego rolls his eyes. Vanya feels her eyebrows go up. And Klaus just stares.

“....Well?” Luther says after a moment, as if he expects Klaus to jump up and summon Dad right then and there.

“Uh,” Klaus says, looking like he can’t believe what’s going on. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Luther says, as if he actually expected anything different.

“I mean no,” Klaus says, flicking his fingers and inspecting his nails. “That’s what no means, Luther, it means no. Really, you need to learn that if you ever expect to enter polite society.”

“Why not?” Luther demands.

“Well, I could give an entire laundry list of reasons, really,” Klaus drawls, sprawling on the couch and looking at Luther with half-lidded eyes, “There’s a good book I’d rather read, it’d delay my day at the spa, I’m worried he’d possess me and I’ll start dressing in tweed -”

“You’re high,” Allison interrupts, looking unimpressed. She drains the last of her drink.

Klaus sighs melodramatically. “Not that I expect you to believe me,” he says to the ceiling, “But I’ve actually been sober for a while now.”

This time, Vanya snorts with the rest of her siblings.

Klaus closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. Vanya wonders if he’s riding a high, or pretending to fall asleep to get out of the conversation.

Luther eyes him for a second, before he apparently decides not to bother. “There’s also the matter of the missing monocle.”

“Alliteration,” Klaus mumbles, eyes still closed, at the same time Diego huffs “Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?”

“Exactly,” Luther says, making them all blink. “It’s worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge.”

“Wait,” Klaus says, straightening, eyes suddenly laser-focused on Luther. “Wait, wait, wait. You think one of us killed him.”

Vanya feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. She stares at Luther, waiting for him to disagree….but he doesn’t.

“You what?” Allison says.

“He sure does,” Diego says, eyes boring holes in the side of Luther’s skull.

“How could you think that?” Vanya whispers, mind reeling. Sure, she’s angry at Dad for ignoring her her entire childhood - there are times when she thinks she might even hate him. But murder?

“Look, if I killed Dad, you’d know,” Klaus says.

Everyone looks at him.

Klaus seems to realize what he just said, and opens his mouth. He looks extraordinarily awkward as he closes it again. It’s a very alien look on his face.

“....By which I mean, uh….” Klaus says, before his awkwardness vanishes and he slumps back against the couch. “Look, he was a bastard and we all hated him - except you, big guy. Hell, I’d shout it from the rooftops if I killed him. I didn’t, though, because I don’t want to have him following me around for the rest of my life. Ugh, can you imagine?” Klaus shivers theatrically.

“You wouldn’t see him if you’re high, though,” Luther says slowly, looking at Klaus with a glint of suspicion.

“Wait, are you accusing Klaus?” Diego demands incredulously, looking between them. “Seriously? Klaus?”

“I’m out,” Allison says, setting down her glass and striding to the door.

“You know what, me too,” Klaus says, and the way he stands up is like falling in reverse.

“Wait, I -” Luther says.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna go murder Mom,” Klaus calls back, disappearing through the door.

Vanya decides to leave as well. She hears Diego say lowly to Luther “Great job. Way to lead,” and can’t help but agree with him. Really, Klaus is a selfish irresponsible addict with zero reverence for their lost siblings, but she can’t see him as a murderer. She can’t see any of her other siblings as such, either - well, she knows they have bodycounts from their missions, but cold-blooded patricide is a step too far.

She ends up wandering back to her room. Sometimes, she wondered if she was misremembering how small it was, but no. It’s practically a closet. She rests a hand on the doorframe and looks at the empty walls and cramped space, and feels something in her chest ache.

There’s a sound from Klaus’ room, and Vanya leans back to look through the half-open door. Klaus seems to be rummaging around for something. Drugs, probably. She’s not sure how much of his stash he left behind when he ran (the first to leave, after Ben’s death), but it’s probably not nothing.

For some reason she can’t explain, Vanya goes up to the door and pushes it open.

Sure enough, Klaus is standing in the middle of the room, looking down at a small plastic baggie in his hand. He’s holding a stuffed unicorn in the other. When she opens the door, he looks up at her and blinks.

“....Hey,” Klaus says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Hey,” Vanya says neutrally.

“....Forgot I had this, actually,” Klaus says, looking back down at his hand. His face twists into a - complicated expression. “Knew there was a reason I liked Miss Darlingheart. I’m just sad she turned out to be rotten inside.”

Vanya tries to decipher that, and fails. She settles on a noncommital “Mm.”

“Hey, could you walk with me to the bathroom?” Klaus says, dropping the unicorn and closing his fingers over the baggie.

“What?” Vanya blinks.

“Just - please,” Klaus says, face flickering. “I have one-and-a-half people’s worth of willpower right now but I’m not sure even that will be enough.”

“....Okay,” Vanya says, after failing to understand that either. Maybe he’s hallucinating. But walking him to the bathroom won’t be hard.

“Thanks,” Klaus says, and they start down the hall. He’s still holding onto the baggie, fingers almost white from the pressure, and he stares straight ahead. His breathing is measured and even.

Vanya debates asking if he’s okay, but eventually decides against. It’s Klaus. He’s never really been okay.

They reach the bathroom, and Klaus sends her a quick, tense smile. “Thanks, Vanya.”

“You’re welcome,” Vanya says, a little confusedly.

Klaus leans down, lifts up the toilet seat, and -

throws the baggie inside.

And flushes.

And stays utterly, stock still for five seconds, leaning against the toilet.

Vanya -

Vanya is staring.

And then Klaus breathes in deeply, and straightens. He runs a hand through his hair, and turns back to the door, pausing when he catches sight of her face.

Vanya opens her mouth. Closes it.

“....You’re sober, you said,” she says slowly.

Klaus blinks at her. He brings his hands up to grasp at his arms, and shrugs, a little awkwardly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“....Oh,” Vanya says.

Klaus shrugs again, staring fixedly at the wall, sneaking quick glances at her face every other second or so.

“....How long?” Vanya says.

“Almost four years,” Klaus mumbles.

“....Oh. Oh, wow.” Vanya says. “That’s - that’s great, Klaus. That’s really great.”

“Yeah,” Klaus says, and then he twitches, and his body language becomes less tense. He looks at her. “It was hard. But w-I managed. I have a job now, too. An apartment.”

“Oh,” Vanya says, feeling like a broken record. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“....Maybe we could -” Klaus starts to say, before he twitches again and falls silent, staring into space.

Vanya blinks, and waits. A few seconds pass, then a dozen.

She peers at him. His face looks blank, but there are a few microexpressions surfacing here and there. He looks like he’s arguing with himself, debating something desperately important.

Then he snaps out of it, and looks back at her.

“Maybe,” he says, choosing his words carefully, like each one is a live bomb. “We could hang out sometime.”

Vanya stares at him.

She can’t tell what he’s thinking, his face strangely blank. For that reason, she doesn’t think he’s making the offer facetiously, out of polite obligation that will be ignored if she ever actually tries to take him up on it. She thinks he means it.

“....Okay,” she whispers.

He gives her a tiny smile, so unlike his usual flamboyance. “Okay,” he repeats.

Hesitantly, she smiles back at him.

Then Klaus blinks, and cocks his head. He frowns. “Do you hear music?”

Vanya blinks as well, and turns her head. Now that she thinks about it, she does hear music, muffled and far away. She thinks it might be coming from the direction of their rooms.

“Tiffany,” Klaus diagnoses, and then his entire body lights up like he’s a Christmas tree. “My kind of tunes! Dear sister, will you dance with me?” He holds out a hand, as if he’s a gentleman at a fancy ball.

Vanya is taken aback, but - well, why not?

She takes his hand, and he pulls her into a twirl. She’s clumsy, unsure of how to move, but Klaus doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he seems to be moving in eleven different directions at once, arguably even worse off than she is but completely uncaring of that fact.

It’s - it’s nice, dancing. Vanya isn’t sure how long it will last, Klaus’ interest in spending time with her, but for all his (many) faults he was never directly cruel to her. He seems to be willing to expend at least some effort building a connection, and for all the buried resentment and anger and just plain exhaustion she feels towards her siblings, she can’t deny she still wants that.

She’ll see if it can last.

Klaus twirls her again, and she feels herself smiling. It’s actually kind of fun, being twirled. Finally, something her height is good for.

And then -

there’s thunder.

Or at least, it sounds like thunder. Like a massive piece of sheet metal being struck by hammers, splitting apart the world. Lightning flashes and Vanya thinks I didn’t know there was going to be a storm and since when did lightning flash blue and -

“What the hell? Klaus says, racing to look out the window with wide eyes. “There’s - something in the courtyard -”

Then he takes her hand, and races out of the bathroom. Vanya is too surprised to protest, and she follows him downstairs, through the hall, bursting out into the courtyard to see -

Lightning. A giant, glowing ball of lightning. That’s all Vanya can think of when she looks at it, and it’s coruscating with blue light, bathing the entire courtyard in its glow, and Vanya stares and she knows her siblings are talking and arguing with each other but she thinks - for some reason, she thinks that light looks familiar -

And then a body falls out.

And then the lightning disappears.

And then, for the first time in sixteen years, she finds herself looking at her brother’s face.

“What the fuck,” she hears Klaus say. “It worked?”

Chapter Text

Number Five Hargreeves has had a long day.

First, there was his assignment (Kennedy? Really? It’s not the first President he’s killed, but honestly, at least give him a challenge). Then there was the fact that the last of his equations suddenly snapped into place, and he was so overcome he jumped right away rather than serve out the rest of his time as an agent (not that he expected retirement, because he knows the Handler knows his goal to prevent the apocalypse, and he can’t imagine her allowing him the freedom to do that of her own free will). Then there’s the side effect of his jump, which will not be spoken of (his body feels wrong and strange and vulnerable, child-soft hands and shortened height and rabbit-fast heart).

Then, of course, there’s his siblings.

They’re here. They’re in front of him. They’re alive, they’re alive, and Five has forgotten most of their faces over the last forty-five years but now he’s seeing them again and they’re covered in dirt and dust and blood -

No. No. They aren’t. The only thing on their faces is shock, staring at him like - well, like they haven’t seen him in years.

Well, tough luck. Five hasn’t seen them in much longer, and he’s spent that time with their bodies burned into his eyelids. If he can deal, so can they.

Which is why he flits around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for a sandwich. Peanut butter and marshmallow. He needs the calories, because if he’s figuring it right his transformation has taken a lot out of him and he needs to replenish.

He tries to ignore his siblings, but of course that’s completely impossible. He’s spent his whole life focusing on them, he couldn’t ignore them if the world depended on it (although it kind of does, so he’s going to give it his best shot. He can reconnect with them after he makes sure they don’t die in - damn it, how long does he have?).

“What’s the date?” he says brusquely. “The exact date?”

“The twenty-fourth,” Vanya says.

“Of?” Five says, pushing down his annoyance. Honestly, what part of time-travel do they not get?

“March.” Vanya sounds vaguely stunned, like she’s answering on autopilot. Since she’s his favorite, Five cuts her a little slack. It is a bit of a shock to have him back, Five allows.

More importantly, the date means he has eight days until the apocalypse. Not ideal. On the other hand, being so close to the finish line means he can intervene more directly. It gives the Commission less time to thwart him, as well. Overall, Five thinks the benefits outweigh the downsides.

“Good,” he concludes. He continues making his sandwich. It’s been a long time since he’s had one, so he focuses on getting it just right. Which has the completely unintentional but entirely welcome side effect of letting him not look at his siblings.

They, however, have other ideas.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Luther asks.

Five would really rather not, so he doesn’t answer.

He focuses on making his sandwich. This is going to be a very good sandwich. He can’t spare a moment of inattention if he wants it to taste good.

Luther stands. “It’s been seventeen years.”

No. No, it really hasn’t. Five would give his right arm to have only been gone seventeen years.

He faces Luther and scoffs. “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

He jumps past Luther, testing to see whether his power was messed up by the time jump the same way his body was. It takes a bit more effort than normal, but thankfully Five remembers what it took to jump when he was actually thirteen, and he can adjust his mental trigger accordingly.

“Where’d you go?” Diego asks.

“The future. It’s shit, by the way.” And if that isn’t the fucking understatement of all eternity, Five doesn’t know what is, but he just - he can’t talk about it. Not now. Not with his siblings here, gathered around him, looking at him with wide eyes and empty gazes and slack faces and -

No. No, they’re alive. And he’s going to keep it that way.

Klaus leats out a nervous giggle that cuts off abruptly in the middle. Five glances up, against his better judgement, and -

he blinks.

“You look….good,” Five says slowly, eyeing his brother.

Klaus blinks, hands stilling where they’re tapping on his arm. “Uh, thanks?” Then he twitches, and twitches again. He falls silent, face spasming every second or so.

Five looks away, forcibly dismissing Klaus from his mind. His brother’s condition is - weird, but he just. Can’t focus on that right now. Later.

Vanya helps out with that by leaning forward. “How did you get back?”

Five gives the simplest explanation he can, which of course they still don’t get. And then he has to explain how he can be both fifty-eight and physically thirteen at the same time, which. He’s still a little pissed about that.

But another minute or so sees an itch developing under his skin, the consequence of being with his breathing speaking alive family for the first time in almost half a century. Five knows that for all his determination to save them (he’s made of nothing else now, really), he lost the ability to actually interact with them long ago. It’s a price he’s alright with paying, as long as he can still save them, but it - hurts.

He leaves.

**********

Later, after he’s dressed in clothes that actually fit (which is the one thing they have going for them - he hasn’t worn this uniform for forty-five years, and he’s assiduously avoiding thinking about how he now looks exactly the same as he did when he dropped into the apocalypse), he finds Vanya in the main sitting room.

He pauses, looking at her. She always was his favorite, the only one he would ever admit to liking as well as loving. Their relationship was the bright point in his childhood, and if he's being perfectly honest there really isn't much he wouldn't do for her.

The picture over the mantel catches his attention next. He raises an eyebrow.

“Nice to know Dad didn’t forget me,” he says dryly. The painting smirks down at him, and okay, Five knows he has an ego problem, but surely it doesn’t make him look like that? If so, he may need to learn to school his expression more.

Vanya looks at him uncertainly, which….okay, fair. He doesn’t know how to talk to her either.

“Read your book, by the way,” he settles on saying. “Found it in a library that was still standing. Though it was pretty good….all things considered.”

Because - he’s not exactly happy with everything the book says. It’s very obviously biased, and there are a few spots where he knows the narrative differs rather substantially from the truth. But it’s the only connection to his family he had for three-fourths of his life. For that alone, he can forgive anything.

It weighs heavily on him, tucked snugly against his ribcage, and he has to prevent himself from reaching up to touch it. Vanya looks the same as she does in the picture on the back. It was - nice, having that picture. Unambiguously so.

A lot nicer than having the other one, at least.

“You’d be the only one who likes it,” Vanya says, interrupting his thoughts. She shrugs, a miniscule motion. “They….really didn’t.”

“Understandable,” Five allows. He glances at her, and debates the wisdom of probing at the topic that’s been on his mind since he came back. “I notice….Klaus looks better than you implied, in the book. I expected….worse.”

A pained look crosses Vanya’s face. “Yeah. Um, he actually got clean, about four years ago. None of us even knew until today.”

Five….absorbs that.

“Huh,” he says. “That’s….interesting.”

Vanya looks over at him, a question in her eyes.

Five purses his lips and thinks over what to tell her. On the one hand, if Klaus is apparently clean, there’s no need to dredge up his sordid past. On the other….it is publically available.

Carefully, Five reaches into his jacket. He fishes around inside Vanya’s book, old and worn from his many annotations and rereadings, and pulls out a folded piece of glossy paper.

“I was pretty happy to find your picture on the cover of your book,” he says, holding it out. “But I was mostly just surprised to find a picture of Klaus on another cover, as well.”

Vanya’s eyes bounce upwards in shock, and she unfolds the picture.

She stares at it. Her mouth opens slightly.

Her eyes flick up to meet his, then return to the picture.

“Oh, god,” she says, barely audible.

“Yeah,” Five says, coming around to look at it with her. He has the image inscribed into his brain by now, but seeing it still sends a pang through him.

The picture is large, taking up the full page. It’s faded and old, but the image is perfectly recognizable. Klaus stares back at them, eyes bright and arresting and practically blazing holes in the paper. His hands are held up, ‘HELLO’ and ‘GOODBYE’ on full display, along with his umbrella.

He’s practically a skeleton.

Five knows what hunger is like, the various stages of starvation, but he’s never quite dipped to the point Klaus is at in the picture. His brother’s wrists are so skinny Five is pretty sure a toddler could wrap their hand fully around one, and his waist is practically an hourglass. His skin is stretched tight over his frame, and Five hasn’t been able to think of the phrase ‘skin and bones’ without flinching for over four decades. It’s even more obvious with how little clothing he’s wearing, everything tight and revealing. Five is genuinely amazed (and fairly disturbed) there even exists adult clothes in those sizes. There are bruises all over him, some old and yellow, others new and fresh. Some of them are track marks, while others were clearly inflicted by people.

“Five,” Vanya says, voice shaky. “Five, what - what is this?”

“It’s Klaus, four and a half years ago,” Five says, keeping his voice neutral. “There was - a book. A photographer got it into his head to go around taking pictures of prostitutes, and gathered them all together in a compendium. Not my usual fare, certainly, but he used Klaus’ picture as the cover, so I took notice.”

“Prostitutes?” Vanya says, staring at him.

Five glances at her, genuinely surprised. “Sure,” he says, tapping the picture. At the bottom, in small, neat type, reads ‘Klaus, $15, 10/23/2014’ “How do you think he paid for his addictions?”

Vanya stares at the tag, her face a mask of frozen horror. “I….”

She sits down, although it looks more like a collapse than on purpose.

“I didn’t,” she whispers, still staring at the picture. “I didn’t. Think. About it. I just….”

Five looks away. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”

She flinches, and closes her eyes. “God,” she says, voice thick. Then she looks at the date again, and her face stiffens. “That’s - just a day after my book came out.”

“Is it?” Five says, not all that surprised. “I knew it was the same month….”

“Yeah,” Vanya says, staring at Klaus’ eyes. He’s not smiling in the photo, and no matter how hard he tries Five hasn’t been able to come up with a name for the expression he’s wearing. It’s the eyes, mostly. Five can remember that Klaus used to look at people like that sometimes, when they were really young. Before the drugs and alcohol, before Dad did whatever he did that made Klaus break. It’s like being stared down by the sun, heavy and piercing and knowing. Like he’s seeing your very soul. For all Five knows, that might even be true.

(“I don’t regret this. Not one bit. Understand?”)

Vanya closes her eyes. “God,” she says again, and Five can’t help but agree.

**********

As it turns out, Five did not miss the funeral. He gives serious thought to attempting to skip over it with time travel. There’s only a sixty percent chance he’ll overshoot and end up in the apocalypse again. Surely that’s not an undue risk to take.

But somehow, he winds up out in the courtyard, huddled under an umbrella. Pogo, Grace and all his siblings stand in a circle around an empty spot on the lawn.

Well. Not all his siblings.

Five avoids looking at Ben’s statue. Learning about his death through Vanya’s book was - hard. Especially since she avoided describing exactly how he died, in a way that makes Five suspect it was….bad.

It gutted him, to learn about Ben’s death. Until then, he thought that maybe, just maybe, Ben had survived. He accepted that everyone else died, he had to, with all of them there in front of him, but Ben? What could kill a boy who could easily mow down armies? Who was soaked in blood at the end of half their missions, but none of it was ever his? Who had his own personal protector, able and entirely willing to rip apart anyone that might threaten him? If anyone could survive the violent end to their family, Five thought, it would be Ben.

But, of course, that wasn’t the case. Ben died a month after he turned seventeen, in some way that made Vanya hesitant to elaborate on. Five doesn’t know how. He’s not sure he wants to know.

When he found out, he thought he could fix it. He thought, naively, that it was just a matter of time, just like saving the rest of them. That he could jump back to when they turned seventeen, save Ben, then jump to before the apocalypse, and save everyone.

Except forty-five years chip-chip-chipped away at Five’s certainty, until he realized: he can’t save Ben. He might not even be able to save the rest of his siblings. The Handler, and the revelation of the Commission’s existence, cemented the fact. He can’t do both - he needs to fully commit to one goal, and one goal alone. He can’t be splitting his focus, not now, not when the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

So. Ben will stay dead. Even if he saves them, Five’s family will still be forever incomplete. And none of them will ever see Ben again.

Klaus makes a discontented noise, and they all glance over at him. He’s squinting up at the sky, huddled under a clear bell umbrella with pink trim.

“Of course it’s raining,” Klaus grumbles lowly, and Five is probably the only one close enough to hear him. “Of course. It rained at m-Ben’s funeral, why wouldn’t it rain now? God, I’m going to get a cold from this. I hate getting sick. Fucking lungs.” He glances at Five. “It rained after you left, too. For weeks, actually. Just endless drizzle. It was really miserable.”

Five looks at him blankly. He’s not really in the mood for a weather recap.

Pogo clears his throat, and Five watches boredly as he puts a hand on Luther’s arm. “Whenever you’re ready, dear boy.”

And, of course, things go downhill from there. Five is entirely unsurprised at how things devolve into a fistfight between Diego and Luther. Looks like some things don’t ever change. Five leaves, at that, because he doesn’t want to start wondering why he’s even trying to save these people.

He decides he needs coffee.

Unfortunately, almost two hours of searching comes up with exactly nothing. Not a single bean or bag of coffee. Five would refuse to accept it, but he’s entirely willing to believe Reginald is inhuman enough to not have coffee in the house. Clearly the man strives to be a monster in all areas of life.

Allison is in the kitchen when he stalks in. She raises an eyebrow at what must be a truly pissed-off expression on his face.

“That’s a shame,” Five says flatly. “An entire city block, forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, but not a single drop of coffee.”

“Dad hated caffeine,” Allison says.

Oh, right, Five vaguely remembers something like that. He must have blocked out the trauma.

“Hey, have you seen Vanya?” Allison asks.

“No,” Five says. “She probably went home.”

Allison looks slightly disappointed at that, but honestly all Five can feel is relief. Vanya - she should stay away from all this. Five still isn’t sure he wants to tell her (because if he’s telling anyone, it’s going to be her), but either way he doesn’t want to involve her any more than absolutely necessary. The less contact he has with her, the lower the chances of the Commission going after her.

He scowls again at the coffee-less kitchen. “I’m taking the car,” he announces.

“What?” Allison blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To get a decent cup of coffee,” Five snaps.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Allison says, scrunching up her face.

“I know how to do everything,” Five says coldly. And what I don’t know, I’ll figure out, he adds silently, sending her one last glance (she’s breathing, standing tall, alive, and she’s going to stay that way) before he jumps into the alley.

He fishes out the keys - stolen off the hook once it was clear he’d have to leave the house to find coffee - and looks at the car, grimacing. He wasn’t lying - he does know how to drive. His current body, however, is not exactly optimized for it.

Well, no use waiting around. He’s going to have to get used to it sometime. He steps forward, and -

he hears a sound.

It comes from down the alley, and Five is turning his head before he even really registers what the sound is, his body falling into a defensive stance. Then he runs the sound through his mind again, and realizes it wasn’t a threatening sound.

It was a - groan?

Five frowns at the darkness.

The sound comes again. It’s - definitely a groan, and Five has heard that kind of groan enough to know it’s coming from a person in pain.

Why is there a person in pain in the alley behind the Umbrella Academy?

Five walks down the alley. He’s a master assassin capable of teleportation, there isn’t much that can hurt him. And goddammit, his curiosity is raised.

Five reaches the end of the alley and rounds the corner, to see -

Klaus, on the ground, face corpse-pale, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Chapter Text

Diego can feel the monocle burning a hole in his pocket. It was pure luck he found Mom carrying it before Luther did, because if that idiot can accuse Klaus of murder there’s no telling what he’d do to Mom. Luther has never considered her a person, mindlessly parroting Dad’s opinion at every turn. Honestly, Luther is more of a robot than Mom, sometimes.

Speaking of Klaus, Diego checks around to make sure Klaus isn’t going to bum a ride. Or maybe (just maybe) hoping he will. It’s been over six years since he’s seen Klaus, after all, and Diego has spent many a night having his heart stutter in his chest when he hears over the police scanner that they found a dead junkie. He can’t help but imagine Klaus, alone in a dirty crackhouse, choking on his own vomit or biting off his tongue in a seizure or getting beaten to death by one of his dealers.

Their last meeting didn’t see them parting on the best of terms. Diego’s fingers still itch for a knife when he remembers the guy he found Klaus with, holding his struggling, pleading brother up against a dirty alley wall and promising to pay him after. There are a few people Diego regrets killing, many he doesn’t, and a couple he really wishes could have died slower. That guy is in the last category.

Diego can admit (if only to himself) that he - didn’t particularly handle the aftermath of that encounter well. Klaus was high as a kite and had just nearly been raped, it’s understandable that he’d freak out. But Diego couldn’t think of anything else to do besides dumping him in rehab after his little meltdown. He just needed Klaus to be safe, to know that there were people trying to help him that weren’t as inadequate as Diego felt in that moment.

It’s really not that much of a surprise that Klaus escaped shortly afterward. It’s not even terribly surprising that he apparently injured himself in the process, leaving behind a worrying amount of blood. Klaus has always hated rehab, or anything to do with sobriety. The only thing that’s even somewhat surprising is that it took two nights for him to escape.

He hasn’t seen Klaus since.

It’s almost certainly deliberate on Klaus’ part. Diego found a few trails in the first year, but after tracing one to an abandoned house that had a twenty-foot high ‘FUCK OFF 2’ spray-painted on the side, he kind of got the message.

So. Klaus might still be mad at him. That’s fine, because Diego is mad at him right back. He knows the next funeral at this house is going to be Klaus’, with how his brother carries on. It’s a miracle he’s survived this long, honestly. He looks a little better than he did when Diego saw him last, but only outwardly. Appearances are ever-deceiving.

Diego sighs, and heads for the door. Maybe this is better. Maybe, if Diego doesn’t spend time around Klaus, it will hurt less when he finally gets the news of his inevitable overdose.

Besides, he can’t wait around. He has a monocle to toss.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Diego fishes around in his pocket for his keys. He’ll go to the river, he decides. It’s a favorite place of his, only partly because drowning holds no danger to him (he has what is probably the most useless secondary power ever, and it’s not like Dad’s ‘training’ made him all that fond of it, but he’s the only one who has a secondary power, so he lets himself be smug about it sometimes). Sometimes, it’s nice to just sit by the river and - think. It’s peaceful.

Heading towards his car, Diego opens the door -

and he hears a sound.

He turns his head towards it automatically, because - he knows that tone, even before he consciously registers it. That’s panic, and fear, and he’s too far to hear the exact words but it sounds like pleading.

Diego doesn’t think. He drops his keys and runs towards the sound, knives appearing in his hands. He rounds the corner and -

“No no no, not again, not again, please no not again don’t do this again you bastard -”

It’s Five.

It’s Five making those noises, and the sheer shock makes Diego screech to a halt and stare because what. Five would never make noises like that, not if his life depended on it -

Then he notices the person Five is bent over, their blood staining Five’s child-sized hands.

Diego’s mind whites out, all conscious thought replaced with static.

Five snaps his head up, face pale and white (but not as much as -) and he bares his teeth.

“Diego,” Five barks out, “Get help.”

And -

And whatever mental breakdown is forming, Diego pushes it aside, because that won’t help Klaus. He needs - he needs to help Klaus, he needs to get help, he needs to get Mom, she knows how to give first aid, and triage, and she can fix this.

Diego races back, faster than he’s ever moved before, and throws open the door.

“MOM!” he bellows. “MOM, KLAUS IS HURT! EVERYONE, GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE!”

He sprints through the house, looking in the rooms for a glimpse of Mom.

There’s a clatter behind him, and he whirls to see Allison. She blinks at him. “Diego? What are you shouting -”

“Klaus is hurt,” Diego snaps, because he is not in the mood for Allison’s petty shallowness right now. “He’s in the alley and he’s bleeding, Five is keeping pressure but he needs Mom right now.”

Allison’s face goes bloodless, but Diego doesn’t care, he needs to find Mom. He keeps running.

Then -

“Mom!” Diego says, relief singing through his veins. “Mom, we need you, Klaus is hurt, come on.”

He holds out his hand. She looks at him.

“Hello, Diego,” she says, smiling. “Would you like some cookies?”

And

he

blinks.

“What?” he says, dumbly.

“Oh, you’re right,” she says, frowning and looking out the window. “It’s probably too late to make cookies….what about hot chocolate? Just the way you like it.”

“What - no, Mom, Klaus is hurt, we need you to give first aid,” Diego says, feeling terror bubbling up in his chest. How long has it been since he found Five and Klaus? At least a couple minutes. How long has it been since Klaus was hurt? Diego doesn’t know, but he knows better than anyone just how crucial a few minutes can be.

But Mom acts like she doesn’t even hear him. She hums, still looking out the window. “It’s a lovely night tonight, don’t you think?” she comments.

“Mom!” Diego shouts, and he’s never shouted at his mother before but she isn’t listening. “Mom, Klaus needs help, he’s hurt!”

Finally, she looks at him. “Klaus?” she blinks, “Oh, don’t worry about him, darling, he’s always -” her face twitches, “- hurting himself.”

“No, he’s - he’s outside, he’s b-b-bleeding, Mom, h-he -” Diego’s tongue trips over the words, the syllables crashing into each other and coming out garbled and wrong. No, no, he needs to convince her to come with, he needs to help his brother, he can’t -

“Picture the word in your mind,” Mom says gently, reaching up to cup his cheek.

Diego rips himself away from her touch and sprints out of the room. Fuck it, he’ll just - bring medical supplies to Klaus himself, they all have basic training and maybe that will be enough, maybe it isn’t too late -

When he reaches the infirmary, though, it’s at the same time as Luther, and his largest brother is carrying Klaus, settling him down on the bed. Allison is pressing down on his side, and the fact that Klaus doesn’t even twitch at that is utterly terrifying. Five is blinking all over the infirmary, throwing open cupboards and yanking out medical supplies wherever he sees them.

“Don’t pull out the knife, it’ll just make it worse,” Five snaps brusquely.

“I know that,” Allison snaps back, and oh, Diego didn’t notice the knife before. It’s sticking out of Klaus’ side, looking horrible and awful and wrong. It’s not a throwing knife, Diego can tell that much from the handle alone, but he can’t tell what kind of knife it is exactly.

“Diego!” Five says when he spots him. Five jumps and lands in front of him, and fuck, Diego forgot how startling that is. Five ignores Diego’s leap of surprise. “Did you find Mom?”

“I - no,” Diego says, rather than try and explain what the fuck just happened with Mom. He doesn’t know what just happened with Mom. “I can help here, though, you can look around for Pogo -”

“Children?” calls Pogo’s voice.

“- or he’s right there,” Diego amends, and rushes out the door to see Pogo limping down the hallway.

Pogo blinks at Diego, and Diego knows he’s probably disheveled and frantic-looking but he thinks he has cause, okay.

“Klaus is hurt,” Diego says before Pogo can speak. “He’s been stabbed, lost a lot of blood, he’s unconscious and - Mom isn’t helping,” Diego’s voice breaks on that, but he pushes forward. “Can you help him?”

Pogo’s eyes are wide, but then his face hardens. “Of course,” he says, limping faster. “Show me.”

Diego pulls him back to the infirmary, and some part of him is instantly soothed at how Pogo takes control. He orders them all to stand aside save Allison, still keeping pressure on the wound, wincing as her fingers brush against the knife. He has them all put on scrubs, and they hastily comply.

Pogo, bedecked in scrubs of his own, cuts off Klaus’ shirt (some wild part of Diego’s mind thinks that Klaus is going to be so pissed about that) and inspects the wound.

“Gauze,” Pogo orders. “I need gauze and bandages, quite a lot of them. Miss Allison, I need you to remove your hands - carefully.”

Diego grabs a handful of gauze, and so does Five. Luther grabs more than both of them put together. They all hurry over to the bed.

“Miss Allison,” Pogo says, glancing up at her.

She doesn’t answer, staring down at Klaus.

“Allison?” Luther says.

Allison keeps looking at Klaus, her face frozen. Five makes an impatient noise. Diego grits his teeth. He knows it’s horrible seeing Klaus like this, but she has the same training they do, she knows she needs to listen to Pogo, especially in the infirmary. Diego glances worriedly down at Klaus.

And he freezes.

“What the fuck,” he hears himself say.

Distantly, he’s aware of the others looking down as well. Distantly, he’s aware of Luther’s shocked inhale, of Five going perfectly still. Distantly, he even knows Klaus is still injured, that they need to focus on helping him.

But all of that falls away in the face of the large, ugly, letters that are carved into Klaus’ chest, unmistakably spelling out ‘FAG’.

“What….” Luther says, sounding like he’s been punched, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Diego knows the feeling. He’s - he doesn’t need to breathe, not at all, so why does his chest feel so tight?

“Children!” Pogo snaps.

They all freeze, and look up at him with wide eyes.

“We need to focus, children,” Pogo says, voice cooly professional. “Now, everyone except Master Luther needs to leave. Miss Allison, I may need you to donate blood in a bit.”

“But -” Diego protests automatically.

He’s cut off by a swift glance from Pogo. “Now,” Pogo says. It’s not a request.

They’re herded outside (Diego can’t quite remember how), and even Five doesn’t protest. The infirmary door closes, and they’re left standing in the waiting room.

For the first time, Allison speaks. “What the hell.”

Her voice is shaky, nothing like the poised and polished professional she’s been acting as since she arrived. She’s staring at the infirmary door, like it will have answers written in the wood grain if she looks hard enough.

Diego sucks in a breath. “W-what the fuck was that?” he says, the words like sandpaper in his throat. “What the - who the fuck did that to him?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Five says, still looking pale, but much more composed. “Do you mean the stabbing? Or the tag on his chest?”

“Both!” Diego snaps.

“I would assume he got the scars out on the street,” Five says, straightening his clothes. He pauses when he notices his hands are still covered in blood, and he stares at them for a moment before taking a sharp breath and looking away. “The stabbing….I have no idea.”

“We need to find out, then,” Diego grits out. His fingers itch for a knife, and he draws one. The handle is comfortable in his grip, perfectly suited to him, and he imagines the blade sinking into whoever decided to stab his brother, or whoever decided to hold him down and carve a fucking slur into his skin.

“Why didn’t he tell us?” Allison says, her voice small. “He - why didn’t he ask us for help?”

Five glances at her, and he almost looks surprised. “Why would he?”

Diego opens his mouth, and closes it again.

He can’t - he can’t really say much, in the face of that. It doesn’t look like Allison can either, if the way she flinches is any indication.

“That -” Allison swallows. “Okay. That’s - true….But what happened tonight? Who would just - stab him? I don’t think he had any money on him….”

“I don’t know,” Diego says flatly. “But it’s not happening again. He’s safe now, we can protect him against anything here.”

Five stiffens, and suddenly touches his left forearm. “I have to go.”

Diego blinks at him. “What.”

“I have to do something, I’ll be right back.”

And before Diego can ask what the fuck is more important than waiting to hear news about their injured brother, Five blinks away.

“What the fuck,” Diego says, exchanging a glance with Allison. At least she looks as confused (and kind of offended) as he is.

“Well,” Allison says, sending glances between the infirmary door and wherever Five disappeared to. “I….guess we just have to wait now.”

Diego tightens his jaw, and nods. Then he sits down in a chair, and waits.

**********

Allison does get called in to donate blood. Diego wonders why Luther can’t do it. He certainly has enough of it, probably wouldn’t even miss a few pints. But whatever.

Diego is pacing around the room, bleeding off nervous energy, when Five reappears. His youngest-oldest brother looks cool and unruffled, and the only difference Diego can see is that he holds his left arm a little gingerly and has cleaned off all the blood. Five doesn’t talk, settling into another chair, and soon Allison rejoins them.

It’s only about fifteen minutes later when Pogo and Luther step through the doors.

“He’ll be fine,” Pogo says, and they all relax at that, even Five. “He should stay in bed for a few days, of course, and rest for another several weeks after that, but I don’t see why he can’t make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Diego breathes. “That’s good. So all that’s left is to find whoever hurt him.”

“Which time?” Allison says, glancing at him.

“Either,” Diego says. “Both.”

“I….may be able to shed some light on his older injury,” Pogo says slowly.

They all turn to stare at him, with varying levels of surprise.

“You can?” Luther says.

“Perhaps,” Pogo says, frowning. “Ah, some time ago, the household received a call from a nurse at Northlight Hospital. She claimed that a young man named Klaus had been checked in with extensive injuries. He refused to give his last name, but she recognized his Academy tattoo, and decided to call us. Sir - did not follow up on it, and forbid me from doing so either.”

“How long ago was this?” Diego asks, through gritted teeth. He’s reeling, but - but hadn’t he always known Dad never gave a shit about Klaus? About any of them, of course, but especially Klaus. The ‘failure,’ the ‘disappointment.’ The old bastard probably would have been overjoyed if Klaus died.

“Four years ago,” Pogo says quietly.

“What?” Luther says, eyes widening, as Five makes a small noise of comprehension. “Wait, was I already gone by then?”

“Well, that makes sense,” Five sighs. “I assume the hospital made him get sober.”

Diego isn’t listening to them. Instead, his mind is whirling.

Because - would they have ever known? If Klaus died from his injuries four years ago (and just how extensive were they?), would Dad have ever even told them? Or would they have arrived at the house today and learned of another brother’s death, years after the fact?

That’s exactly how it would have gone, Diego realizes. Dad wouldn’t bother informing them, of course he wouldn’t. He wrote Klaus off years, decades ago, and death wouldn’t change his perspective at all. It would only be making official what he’d always thought, and he wouldn’t consider that the rest of them would even think it was important. Because, to Sir Reginald Hargreeves, it wouldn’t be.

“Diego?”

Diego snaps out of his thoughts, and looks at Allison. She’s looking at him in concern, brow furrowed. Luther, Five and Pogo are gone, he notes.

“We’re going in to see Klaus,” she says, gesturing to the half-open infirmary door. “He’ll probably wake up soon.”

Oh. That’s - good. Seeing Klaus sounds good. Mutely, Diego nods. The bubbling well of anger inside his chest doesn’t run dry, but it does cool, somewhat.

He follows Allison into the infirmary, where Luther and Five are already, and takes a seat. Then, with nothing else to do, he waits.

Chapter Text

Ben has to admit, he wasn’t sure he would wake up.

Alive, that is. He knows better than anyone except Klaus what happens after death, and while it would be really annoying to have to go back to being a ghost, he could deal. Mostly, his concern was for Klaus, because even if he’s OD’d a fairly horrifying number of times, Ben suspects permanent death would still come as a shock.

But, thankfully, they wake up.

‘Klaus?’ Ben asks, as soon as he’s marginally aware. ‘Klaus are you there?’

‘Uuuugh,’ Klaus moans. ‘Did we fall off the wagon?’

‘No,’ Ben says, grimacing at the sharp pain in their torso, radiating outward. ‘We got stabbed, actually.’

‘Wait, what?’

“Klaus?”

That’s Allison’s voice, and hearing it is surprising enough that Ben blinks their eyes open. He’s greeted with a view of the infirmary, blank sterility all around and most of their siblings lined up by the wall.

“Hey there,” Allison says, smiling a little, worry in her eyes. “Don’t move, okay? You were hurt.”

‘We were stabbed?’ Klaus says, incredulous. ‘Who stabbed us? Why?’

“Do you remember what happened?” Five says, jumping closer to the bed. Ben twitches. He still hasn’t grown re-used to that.

“Jesus, Five, give him some space,” Diego grumbles, stalking forward. Ben doesn’t think he ever actually walks like a normal person, just stalks and prowls and lurks. Diego glances at them, sweeping his eyes up and down to check that they’re okay. It sends a familiar pang through Ben, because god, he didn’t realize how much he missed that. “He just woke up, give him a minute.”

Mentally thanking Diego for the reprieve, Ben closes his eyes. ‘I don’t know who stabbed us,’ he reports to Klaus. ‘They came up from behind, whoever it was. I got pushed out of our body from it -’

‘You what?’ Klaus interrupts, sounding shocked and a little scared.

Ben knows why, of course. He’s only been knocked free of their body once before, after tripping and taking a nasty fall that broke their arm. Ben has dealt with feeling far worse pain, but surprise pain can be enough of a shock that he can’t hold onto the possession. Klaus freaked out about that incident, even though it took less than thirty seconds for Ben to reorient himself and possess him again, because in that time he could have easily been taken over by any other ghost. One that’s far less benign than Ben.

‘Yeah,’ Ben says, mentally wincing. ‘Sorry. It was less than a minute, I got right back in, I promise.’

‘I - okay,’ Klaus says, still sounding shaken. ‘Okay. That’s - okay. So, uh, you still didn’t see whoever it was when you were a ghost?’

‘Not well,’ Ben says, frustrated. ‘It took a few seconds to realize what happened, and it was dark, and they ran off right after. I’m pretty sure I could identify their shoes, but nothing else.’

‘Well. Shit.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben sighs.

“Klaus?” Allison asks again.

Ben debates ignoring her, but eventually opens his eyes. “Hey,” he says, and winces at how scratchy their voice is.

“Here,” Diego says, passing him a cup of water and instantly gaining ‘favorite sibling’ status. Ben sips at it gratefully.

“You were stabbed in the side,” Five says brusquely. “It nicked an organ or two, but just barely, and you’ll make a full recovery. You’re pretty lucky.”

‘I don’t feel like it,’ Klaus sulks.

‘We’ve had worse,’ Ben says, although privately he sort of agrees with Klaus.

‘Don’t lie, you agree with me,’ Klaus says.

Ben ignores Klaus and focuses on their siblings again just in time to hear Five asking, “So, do you remember what happened? I have to say, finding you like that was a surprise.”

Diego shoots Five a sideways glance Ben can’t interpret. Slowly, Ben shakes his head. “Not really,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t see the person who attacked me. Guess they must have run off. And - where’s my pants?”

Luther frowns a little, and tilts his head to indicate a bundle on the counter.

“Is my wallet still there?” Ben asks.

Five blinks over and fishes around until he holds up a small leather square. It’s black, with a sparkly skull on it. Klara gave it to them as a present last year.

“Huh,” Ben says, frowning. “Yeah, I don’t think they stuck around long enough to even look for it.”

‘Thank goodness,’ Klaus comments. ‘That’s the only present we’ve ever gotten from Klara that has color on it. It needs to be preserved for prosperity.’

‘You mean posterity,’ Ben corrects.

‘No, I mean prosperity. It has our money in it, Ben, that’s kind of important.’

“Maybe it was personal, then,” Five speculates, which means Ben can focus on listening to him rather than get pulled into an argument with Klaus about wordplay. “Pissed anyone off recently?”

“A dealer?” Luther suggests, eyes darkening. “One of your friends?”

“I did say ‘recently,’” Five says, looking them over clinically. “Well, whoever it was, they won’t get you here, and you’re stable now. I should get going.”

Then, without further ado, Five jumps away.

Klaus nudges Ben, and Ben retreats, swinging his brother into the driver’s seat.

“You know,” Klaus muses, looking at where Five vanished, “You have to wonder if he’d be so shockingly rude if he couldn’t just yeet himself away from any awkward conversations whenever he wants. It’s really an unfair advantage.”

“‘Yeet’?” Luther says in confusion, as Diego snorts.

“Don’t worry about it, big guy,” Klaus says, closing their eyes. Then they fly open. “Wait, wait, you didn’t give me painkillers, did you?”

“No,” Luther snaps, instantly gaining a glare. “We didn’t, Klaus, because we don’t know what the hell you’re on already and it could interact badly. You’ll have to do without.”

Klaus sucks in a breath, and sags bonelessly against the mattress. ‘Christ on a cracker,’ he says, and even his mental voice sounds shaky. ‘That was a close one.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben says, equally shaken. He didn’t even think about the possibility of painkillers. They’ve avoided drugs for so long it’s practically second nature. They don’t even take cold medicine, which makes for some miserable winters but not nearly as miserable as they could be, if a relapse occurred. ‘Jesus christ.’

“Hey, cheer up,” Diego drawls, putting a hand on their shoulder. Klaus startles and freezes at the contact. “I’m sure you can get all the ‘painkillers’ you can handle once you get out of here.”

Klaus tries to give a smile at that, but he doesn’t quite succeed. Ben quietly revokes Diego’s ‘favorite sibling’ status. Then he nudges forward, and once Klaus lets him take control he shrugs off Diego’s hand. Klaus still has trouble with that, but Ben is more than happy to make unwanted contact fuck off.

“I kind of want to rest now,” he declares, leaning back on the bed. He glances at their siblings expectantly.

“Right, of course,” Allison says. She reaches out and touches their arm, and since it’s brief he allows it. She looks at Luther and Diego. “Come on, let’s go. We can look at where he was attacked, see if the guy left anything behind.”

They agree with a minimum of fussing, which Ben never thought he’d see. They keep sending glances at them on the way out, until the lights are flicked off and the infirmary door closes and they’re left alone.

Finally, Ben relaxes. ‘You okay?’ he asks.

‘Well, there’s a big fucking hole in our middle, but otherwise….’ Klaus drawls.

Ben rolls their eyes. ‘I mean mentally. Emotionally.’ He lets out a sigh, nestling down until they’re more comfortable. ‘Gotta admit, it’s a little galling to avoid relapsing because they thought we were already high.’

‘Thought I was high,’ Klaus murmurs. ‘And it’s not like it’s an unreasonable assumption.’

‘We’re in this together, remember?’ Ben says, shrugging slightly. ‘Literally.’

‘Sure, but you’ve never been high, not once. You get all the downsides of having previously been an addict, but none of the fun stuff.’ Like always, Klaus sounds vaguely guilty about that.

‘Klaus, I’m not in the mood for arguing right now, okay?’ Ben closes their eyes. ‘I don’t particularly like it, but you know I don’t blame you for the cravings. And I really would rather have never been high. Not knowing what I’m missing makes it easier to turn it down. And, back to my original point, it sucks that they don’t believe that we’re sober. Don’t deny it.’

‘....I’m not,’ Klaus says quietly. ‘It does suck. Kind of a lot. But - Vanya knows.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben softens. ‘She does.’

‘I’m not -’ Klaus hesitates. ‘I’m still not sure I’ll be okay around her for too long. If we’re going to be around her we should do something short. Let me get used to it.’

‘Of course,’ Ben says. ‘Getting coffee?’

Something that would probably be a twitch if Klaus were in control. ‘There’d be silverware around,’ he mumbles.

‘Right,’ Ben says. Possessed Klaus plus sharp things plus their most vulnerable sibling was a recipe for a Type 3 panic attack if Ben ever heard one. ‘Going to a movie? No, that’s probably too long. Uh….going to one of her concerts?’

‘....Might work’ Klaus muses. ‘We’d be sitting far away from her, and we’d be being all supportive and stuff.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben says. ‘That’s….good.’

He still has some mixed feelings about Vanya. On the one hand, he hasn’t quite managed to forgive her for writing that book, because that was what triggered Klaus’ rather spectacular tailspin that took him through six months as a pimped-out sex slave locked in Ian’s spare room and landed him in the hospital with a slur carved into their chest.

But he also knows what it’s like to repressrepressrepress tons upon tons of anger and frustration and maybe even hate, until it all comes spewing out in the most hurtful way possible. He knows she would be absolutely horrified to hear the indirect consequences her book had on Klaus’ life, that she would probably end up hating herself far more than she could ever hate them.

And he knows that he wants his sister back.

‘You’re being all broody again,’ Klaus complains, giving him a mental poke. ‘Come on, just sleep already.’

‘We’ll have to call Andrea in the morning and tell her we’ll be extending our leave,’ Ben comments, pulling up the blankets and relaxing into the bed.

‘Can we afford that?’ Klaus wonders.

‘I think so,’ Ben frowns in the darkness of the infirmary. ‘If we’re careful. And don’t cook anything fancy for a while.’

‘Awww.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben sighs. They share their hobbies, of course, but they each have their favorites. Ben likes sign language and reading, Klaus likes drawing and dancing. Cooking, though, they both greatly enjoy. ‘Well. Can’t be helped. Good night.’

‘Night, Ben.’

And then they drift off to sleep.

**********

“I want to go home,” Klaus announces.

As they’re the only ones in the infirmary, no one can respond to this.

‘So do I,’ Ben says anyways.

“I’m boooored,” Klaus says, flopping back on the bed. Their torso flares with pain, briefly, but Klaus doesn’t even twitch. His pain tolerance would honestly probably be classified as a secondary superpower if Ben didn’t know exactly how it was earned. ‘Beeeen, why can’t we go hooooome.’

‘Because we were stabbed,’ Ben says.

‘Oh, please, we’ve had worse,’ and Ben rolls his eyes at Klaus using his argument from last night. ‘Why can’t we go home and rest there? I bet Klara would bring us chicken soup if we asked.’

‘....Tempting,’ Ben admits. ‘But we need to stay in bed until Pogo says it’s okay.’

‘Why are we listening to Pogo?’ Klaus whines. ‘I’m very suspicious of his doctorate, it’s not like he could have gone to a university.’

Ben refuses to be drawn further into Klaus’ complaining. He’s learned his lesson. Indulge him enough and Klaus would eventually take advantage of Ben’s lapsed attention span and they would wind up going to work in a women’s bathing suit again.

‘I hope Andrea and Klara are okay without us,’ Ben muses instead. They’d called an hour ago, and while they’d fudged saying exactly why they needed more time off, Andrea clearly suspected something. Nevertheless, like the angel she was, she’d acquiesced.

‘Pff, they’re much more competent than we are, they’ll be fine,’ Klaus says, waving a hand. “I’m more concerned about us, and how we’ll manage to stay sane in this goddamn room. Where’s some stimulation when you need some?’

The door opens, and Diego walks in.

‘I take it back,’ Klaus says immediately. ‘Death would be preferable.’

Ben lets out a mental huff of laughter, but quietly, he kind of agrees with Klaus. He still hasn’t forgiven Diego for that comment last night.

Still, Diego is the one who tried the hardest to keep in contact with Klaus. Or tried at all, really. His efforts were - misguided, at times, but only because he was ignorant of the true root of Klaus’ problems (plus the fact that he’s spectacularly bad at managing his anger issues). Maybe, Ben dares to hope, they might even be able to convince Diego that they’re clean like they did Vanya.

“Hey,” Diego says, assessing their condition. “You look less like shit.”

“Why, thank you,” Klaus says, fluttering a hand up to place over their heart. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

“Feeling better?” Diego says, coming over to inspect their bandages.

“Oh, yes,” Klaus smiles beautifically up at him. “All better. Can I go home now?”

“Where, to your regular dumpster? Not a chance, bro, you’re staying right here where we can keep an eye on you.”

Klaus’ smile doesn’t waver, but for the first time Ben feels the urge to unleash the Horror on one of his siblings. He squashes it ruthlessly, because no, but if he had control of their eyes right now he would be glaring bloody murder at Diego.

Diego peers at them. “By the way,” he says, far too casually. “Saw that little tag on your chest last night.”

Ben feels Klaus’s expression freeze.

“You want to tell me where you got that?” Diego says, and he’s probably not even aware of the way he’s toying with the handle of a knife in his harness. His eyes are dark and heavy, fixed inexorably on their face, and Ben knows he isn’t going to accept anything other than a full and complete answer.

Which, of course, is a problem when Klaus is completely frozen.

Fuck. Fuck. Klaus pushed aside all the trauma he got at Ian’s after getting out, but that didn’t make it go away. Over the past few years, they’ve been trying to work through it, but there’s just so much of it, not to mention the fact that it’s hardly the only trauma Klaus has. It’s hard, making Klaus admit that what happened to him was utterly, completely wrong. It’s hard even getting him to admit it happened at all.

So of course Diego is asking point-blank about one of the most traumatic experiences of Klaus’ life. Of course he is.

‘Klaus, let me take over,’ Ben says - orders, really.

Klaus sinks back automatically, without a word. Ben straightens up and looks Diego in the eye.

Inside his abdomen, in the space between worlds, the Horror twists. Ben pushes it back, with a little more effort than usual.

“No,” he says evenly. “I don’t really think I do.”

Instantly, Diego gets tenser, and against his will Ben starts analysing how far he can push before Diego starts getting violent, before he starts hurting Klaus them. They’re not on the streets anymore, not surrounded by people who will beat Klaus to death given half an excuse, and this is their brother, but currently Diego is ringing every alarm bell in Ben’s mind and he has to struggle to hold in the Horror.

“Why not?” Diego demands. “Klaus, you - you had th-th-that word cut into your fucking chest. Tell me who the fuck did it.”

“No,” Ben says. “And I want you to leave now.”

The Horror surges, and Ben barely holds back a gasp.

“Klaus,” Diego bites out, gripping the handle of one of his knives. His face looks a mixture of desperate and enraged. “Just tell me what happened. They won’t hurt you again, I fucking swear they won’t, just tell me their name.”

“No,” Ben says, a little distantly.

He realizes he’s gripping onto the blanket very tightly. It’s a strain, holding the Horror back. He isn’t exactly sure what he’s feeling right now, but it’s sending the Horror into a near-frenzy. He feels his abdomen ripple, and he knows he needs to get Diego out of the room.

“Klaus, I’m not leaving until you tell me, just let me help -”

“You aren’t taking no for an answer,” Ben forces out.

“No, I’m not,” Diego says, crossing his arms.

“Neither did they,” Ben says, and it takes all his effort to make it sound idle.

Diego

freezes.

Ben would probably appreciate the way all the blood drains from his brother’s face if he were in any state to appreciate things. As it is, all he can do is stare fixedly at the wall. The thrashing Horror and the pain in his their torso is bringing back uncomfortable flashbacks to his own death, which is not helping matters.

“Please leave,” Ben manages.

He hardly notices Diego mumble assent, and leave. He’s focused on restraining the Horror before it rips apart Klaus’ body like it did his.

Eventually, after some interminable length of time, Ben pushes it back into the cracks it slithered out from. He looks around the infirmary, gingerly. They’re alone.

‘You okay?’ Klaus questions, hesitantly.

Ben stares at the wall.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘We can go home tonight.’

Chapter Text

If pressed, Five would have to rate the last twenty-four hours as ‘below average.’ Which, considering he finally got to see his family again for the first time in forty-five years, is kind of impressive in terms of absolute suckage.

Only some of that is due to how extraordinarily fucked up they all are. Five pretty much expected that, so it’s not too disappointing. What’s a bit more alarming is the attack on Klaus. Five doesn’t think it was the Commission, but that doesn’t really leave a lot of options. Five isn’t even sure if it happened in the original timeline or not, because he hardly would have noticed one more injury on Klaus’ body.

Of course, the most pressing issue at hand is the apocalypse, and how woefully unprepared Five is to deal with that.

Five sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face.

No. No. He can’t allow room for doubt. He’ll find out the name of the man who owns the eye, he’ll murder him, and he will save the fucking world, and neither the Commission nor his family’s dysfunction will stop him.

He won’t let them.

So. Now for step one: finding the owner of the eye.

Five manages to keep his cool as he walks into MeriTech. He’s already at a disadvantage due to his - appearance, he doesn’t need anyone questioning his maturity. If he plays this right, he’ll know who the eye belongs to in the next hour.

**********

One hour later, he’s back at the Academy, pacing in his room and debating which of his siblings he can tolerate long enough to pretend they’re his parent.

Luther is an automatic no. There is, actually, a chance he’d go along with it if Five played the ‘Dad would want us to work together to Find The Truth’ card. But he’d want to be in charge, want to know every single detail, and Five is not about to hand over his life’s work to his most delusional brother.

Diego is an even harder no. He’d ask just as many questions as Luther, and doesn’t even have a convenient lever for acquiescence. Plus, Five is pretty sure that if Diego is seen hanging around an apparent child in that outfit he’ll get arrested.

Allison is definitely a no. She’s a world-famous celebrity, there’s no way she could fly under the radar. He’d almost risk it, just because a few well-placed rumors would make things so much easier, but she’d also ask questions, and that tips the balance. He files her away as the back-up plan.

Klaus, of course, is still recovering. Honestly, he would probably be Five’s choice otherwise, just because Five is pretty sure it wouldn’t even occur to him to ask questions. But after finding him bleeding out in the alley last night (broken and torn and red red red and choked gasping and no -) Five is - not really okay being around Klaus right now. He thought he’d put those feelings away, thought that forty-five years was enough to sort out his head, but. Really, he should have known better.

Which leaves Vanya.

Five chews on his lip as he continues pacing. His worries about Vanya still stand - spending time with her will only paint a target on her back, and she is so terrifyingly vulnerable. But she’s the only one he can reasonably get along with, is available, and probably trusts him enough not to ask too many questions.

He runs through it all again, and is displeased to find the variables don’t change. But denying facts is for stupid people, and the fact of the matter is that he needs help and she’s his best bet.

Sighing, Five exits his room and heads downstairs. He knows Vanya’s address thanks to his fairly obsessive indexing of the ruins of the Academy. Reginald certainly didn’t care about them, but he did like to keep tabs on all his failed experiments. Although apparently he missed the fact that Klaus got clean, which is probably for the best but raises a lot of questions.

Questions Five is going to suppress for now, because he just. Can’t think about them right now. He’ll have to dive into them later, because he can’t imagine they aren’t important, possibly even crucial, but right now he needs to focus on the eye, and Klaus has nothing to do with that.

….probably.

Five is surprised to run into Vanya near the entrance. He blinks at her.

“Hey,” Five says. “I was just going to come see you.”

“You were?” Vanya asks, looking startled and slightly pleased.

“Yeah. I need a favor,” Five glances backwards, towards the infirmary. “Although if you were going to visit Klaus first it can wait.”

Vanya looks confused, and shakes her head. “Uh, no, I wasn’t. What do you need me to do?”

Five pauses. “Two things. First is don’t ask questions.”

“....Okay,” Vanya says.

“Second, I need you to pretend to be my mother so I can convince this doctor to tell me who owns this,” he holds it up, “prosthetic eyeball.”

Vanya stares at it. Then at him. He thinks the expression on her face means she’s completely lost, but he’s decades out of practice at reading her, so.

“........Okay,” she says slowly, eyeing him. “I can….do….that.”

“Great,” Five says brusquely, heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

**********

Pretending Vanya is his legal guardian does get them as far as a meeting with the doctor. What it does not get them, however, is a name.

“Like I already told your son,” Doctor Whoever says, looking irritated. “We take patient confidentiality very seriously here. I can’t give you the client’s name without their consent.”

“Well, we can’t get consent if you don’t give us a name,” Five grits out. He’s gone a ways past ‘irritated’ and is currently settling in around ‘enraged.’ This pea-brained jackass has no fucking idea of the sheer magnitude of what he’s doing. Five is this close to resorting to torture, which he can usually do without and doesn’t enjoy one bit, but right now he has a hard time remembering why.

“Well, that’s really not my problem,” the doctor says, and Five is reminded of a much pettier, pathetic version of the Handler. He pushes the thought away, because being reminded of his second-least favorite person (after the man who murdered his family) is not conducive to remaining calm right now. “Now, there’s really nothing more I can do, so if you would just leave, I hope you have a nice rest of your day.”

Five clenches his jaw and weighs the risks of jumping over and torturing the man right here and now. On the one hand, the walls of this office are glass, and absolutely everyone would be able to see what’s happening. Plus, he looks like a screamer. They’d have security on them in two seconds flat, and - well, Five could easily get away, but Vanya would likely get arrested.

On the other hand, Five really wants to hurt him.

“Um,” Vanya says, voice tremulous.

They look over at her, and she shrinks back for a second. But she rallies, and continues talking.

“Could we provide an - incentive?” Vanya says, looking extraordinarily awkward.

“What?” the doctor blinks. Five blinks at her as well.

“Uh,” Vanya says, and now she looks even more awkward. She fixes her eyes on the wall and toys with her purse. “Your dedication to anonymity is - appreciated. But learning who owns that eye would be - uh, even more appreciated. And….compensated.”

….What.

“I - what are you implying?” the doctor says, leaning back in offense. “Are you offering a bribe?”

Vanya’s eyes widen, and she shrinks back in her chair, frantically backtracking. “No! No, I, uh, of course not -”

“Of course not,” Five says smoothly, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the doctor. “That would be very illegal. We’re just saying, we’d be very happy if we could see those records. Grateful. Generous, even.” He tilts his head, unblinking. “But, of course, we’ll leave if it’s really impossible to see them. If there’s really nothing that can convince you.”

Five neglects to mention the part where he’d come back and find it out by any means necessary. Really, it would be much easier for the man if he accepts the bribe.

The doctor looks - uncertain. He wavers, and that’s when Five knows they have him.

The man looks away, and wets his lips. He looks back at them warily.

“It - might be possible for me to look the records up,” the doctor says carefully. “If you were to be in the room at the same time, that’s really just a coincidence.”

“Of course,” Five says, smiling thinly. He feels his blood surge and sing, the tantalizing feeling of soclosesoclosesoclose growing louder and louder. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

They follow the doctor through a few hallways, silently. Vanya fiddles with her purse, looking drawn and tense. The doctor keeps glancing back at them, as if they’re going to reveal a hidden camera that gets him fired. Five can’t really focus very heavily on that, though, because he almost has the name.

Forty-five years - forty-five years - and he almost has it. He’s almost there.

They reach a file room, and the doctor goes looking. Five waits impatiently, fidgeting and suppressing the urge to jump away his nervous energy. Honestly, he’s waited forty-five years for this moment, he can wait another minute longer.

The doctor pauses, and Five’s attention snaps to him, and -

“It’s not here.”

Five blinks. “What.”

“It’s not here,” the doctor says, frowning, checking again. “That prosthetic hasn’t been sold - it was only even made a few days ago. We’re still supposed to have it. Where - how did you get ahold of it?”

No. No, no, no.

Five sucks in a breath, and grips the eye so tightly the bones in his hand creak.

“Oh,” Vanya says, looking between them, wide-eyed. “Um.”

Five feels dizzy. The eye - the eye hasn’t been sold yet. Whoever used it still has both eyes. Murdering every person missing an eye in the city was always the back-up plan, but now even that wouldn’t help. He’s back at square one.

He barely notices Vanya deflecting the doctor’s confusion, or that she pays him with fumbling awkwardness. He doesn’t really notice her guiding him out of the building, either.

He comes back to himself on the outside steps.

“Fuck,” Five breathes, then says, louder, “Fuck!”

“Five?” Vanya asks tentatively.

He looks over at her, nervous and confused and twisting her fingers together.

“I, uh, guess that was bad news,” she observes, looking cautious.

“No shit,” he snaps, and then feels the storm of his emotions abate a little at how she shrinks back. “Sorry,” he says looking away. The word isn’t one he says very often (or at all, really), but he always did have a soft spot for Vanya. “Yeah, that was bad news. I - need to find out who owns this eye.”

“Oh,” Vanya says, and he can tell she has dozens of questions burning in her throat. But she swallows them down. He….appreciates that. After a disappointment like that, he thinks he’d just end up screaming if he tried to explain the apocalypse. “Well, I hope you can do it without more bribery. That was half my rent money.”

Even though he’d sacrifice her entire bank account to track down the man who will get the eye (because otherwise she’ll be dead before she can spend any of it), Five winces at that. “Ah. Sorry.”

“You’re lucky I carry cash,” is all she says, sighing. She looks at him. “So, uh. I’m guessing the eye is from the future.”

“Yes,” Five says. “One week from now, actually. Which means someone loses an eye in the next week, and the pool of suspects is now the entire city.”

“Oh,” Vanya says. “That….sucks.”

“Pretty much,” Five sighs. She has no idea how much it sucks.

“I….” Vanya trails off. “Is there anything else I can do to help? It sounds like you might be under some pressure.”

“....That would be one way to describe it,” Five says after a moment. “But - no, I don’t think you can help. You should go home.”

“Oh,” Vanya says. She wilts slightly, and Five averts his eyes. He knows she hates being dismissed, but his points still stand. She’ll be incalculably safer away from him for the next week, and he can’t afford the distraction. Once he saves her, he’ll have all the time in the world to see if they can retrieve any vestiges of their childhood relationship.

“Thanks,” Five says shortly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say that word much either. “For helping me out. But I’ll be fine doing this next part on my own, and I’m sure you have things going on as well.”

Vanya gives a half-shrug. “Not really, I took a couple days off work and I don’t have any less-” She pauses.

“Oh shit,” she swears.

Five cocks an eyebrow.

“I have a lesson today, I can’t believe - I completely forgot,” Vanya says, fumbling for her purse. “Shit. What’s the time? I have to get back home.”

“Have fun,” Five says idly as she scurries to the edge of the sidewalk and flags down a taxi. She hurriedly waves goodbye to him, and he half-heartedly raises a hand in return.

Then she’s gone, and Five is left standing outside an extraordinarily useless building with only one very boring path available to him.

He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Mentally, he goes over his options. He took out his tracker, which means that anyone who comes after him will be agents instead of assault grunts. Depending on how fast they can gather information on him (and how much information the Commission gave them), he may have anywhere from one to three days before they track him down.

He’ll have to surveill the building, of course. Boring, but he’s used to boring. Anyone coming in about a newly lost eye will have to die, which may end up with innocents dead but that’s hardly a first for him. It’s a coin flip whether he’ll be able to avert the apocalypse before the agents track him down.

He can’t really spend too much time around his siblings. Practically speaking, he wants them to be safe and out of his way as much as possible. Emotionally speaking….he just can’t deal with them. Small doses have been alright so far, but too long and he starts seeing glazed eyes and broken bodies and red red red -

Five digs his nails into his arm and stares up at the sky. It’s a beautiful, unbroken blue, not a cloud in sight.

….He wants to see Delores.

He wants to hold her, talk to her, see that sly look she has and hear her biting commentary, but at the root of it he just wants to see her. He hasn’t seen her in nearly five years, not since he took the Handler’s offer. It’s hardly the longest he’s been away from someone he loves, but the knowledge that she’s here in the city itches under his skin. It wouldn’t even be dangerous to find her.

Closing his eyes, Five gives in. Tonight, he’ll find Delores.

Chapter Text

Harold stands outside the door, waiting patiently. He could wait all day, if need be. He’s learned patience, over the past seventeen years. He’s come a long way from that impatient, needy child who foolishly rushed up to confront the Umbrella Academy.

However, he thinks Vanya Hargreeves might not be coming home anytime soon. That’s irritating. Harold already didn’t like Vanya (her book was fascinating and incredibly helpful, but it was also several hundred pages of relentless whining), but now his opinion of her drops even further. What kind of teacher forgets she has a student coming?

There’s the sound of rushing feet, and then a breathless voice saying, “Hello?”

Harold turns, and there is Vanya Hargreeves.

She’s - very small. Harold blinks. He knew this, of course, she mentioned it in her book and he followed her at a distance a few times in preparation for this meeting. But up close, she really is very short. No wonder her family overlooked her, they’d need a magnifying glass to do anything else.

“Ah, hi,” Harold says, recovering. He smiles at her. “Are you Vanya? I’m Leonard Peabody, your four ‘o clock. Or, well, four-thirty now, I guess.”

“Right, yes, I’m sorry,” Vanya says, fishing inside her purse for her keys. “Sorry, I got caught up in - something, lost track of time, I’m so sorry. Come on in.”

She looks tired and drawn as they enter the apartment and she sets down her things. Harold studies her, discreetly. She looks worn, but not tense. Distracted, but not worried. She doesn’t look like someone who smiles very much, but Harold doesn’t think it would take too long to coax one out.

She doesn’t look at all like someone whose brother was attacked last night.

Harold isn’t sure Klaus Hargreeves is dead. He stabbed the man, sure, and in a deliberately fatal place. But not immediately fatal. He could have been saved if that sound was really someone coming to help. Harold didn’t stick around to find out, which very well may have saved him from going back to prison but also prevented him from watching Klaus bleed out. He’s annoyed about that.

And going off of Vanya’s body language, he can’t tell if Klaus is dead or not. She isn’t upset in the least, unless the way she rifles through her purse for twenty seconds is twice as long as she usually takes (he can’t say, he didn’t watch her that closely). Overall, though, he feels confident in saying she isn’t unduly bothered or stressed today.

Jesus christ, he knew this family was fucked up, but wow. Her brother gets stabbed outside her childhood home and she doesn’t even care.

He may have to step up his game, here.

Catching the way she keeps sending him glances, he smiles again. “I bet I’m a little older than most of your normal students,” he says easily.

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “Well, yes, a little. By about twenty years or so.”

Harold lets the conversation flow, and like so many times since last night, wonders about Klaus. Honestly, he was weirdly hard to find for someone who literally sold himself on a regular basis. Harold had originally planned to buy Klaus for the night with the intention of not needing to pay him the next day, but, well. Plans change, especially when some people don’t have the decency to be easy to find when being easy is literally their job.

Stalking the Academy was more of a back-up plan than anything, really, but he just - couldn’t resist. The funeral would bring all of the Academy together, and he hasn’t seen them since he was a child. The familiar roil of hate-envy-rage that kept him going throughout all his years in prison returned with a vengeance, and he knew he couldn’t push it down anymore.

This is the perfect opportunity to make them all pay.

He’ll have to be subtle about it, though. Even if none of them care about the attack on Klaus, they’ll be wary now, wondering if one of them is going to be attacked next. Which was Harold’s intention, of course. They’ll be looking for a shrieking lunatic with a knife instead of the mild-mannered student of their least interesting sibling.

And dear lord, is she ever uninteresting. Harold resists the urge to roll his eyes as she prattles on, pointing out the different parts of the violin. Coming in as a student was the least-suspicious way he could think of to catch her attention, but he doesn’t have to like it.

She’s powerless, though. She’s powerless, and boring, and ordinary, and thoroughly resentful of that fact. Harold knows those feelings well, that slimy-sour envy and awe when they can’t help but compare themselves to the gods that are the Academy, and find themselves lacking every time. Even if he doesn’t whinge about it like Vanya did in her book, that was one of the most relatable things he’s ever read.

Which means, of course, that he knows exactly how to make her fall for him. She’s powerless, true, but she has access to the Academy he can only dream of, carte blanche to enter Olympus whenever she wants. He can use that, make her love him until she thinks nothing of allowing him to have access to her family and all their wonderfully mortal selves. And then he can use that access to utterly, completely destroy them.

He’ll kill her last, he decides, as a thank-you for that.

**********

An hour later, walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, Harold reviews his lesson and concludes that it went well. Not the violin-playing, which he couldn’t care less about (and being reminded of his father’s love of classical music makes him want to burn that fucking instrument - there’s no way he’s buying one of his own), but the start of his relationship with Vanya. He came off as friendly, kind, and open to a closer relationship but not pushy about it.

Even if it takes a couple weeks to get her to fall for him, that’s fine. If the Academy goes their separate ways he can always murder that butler Vanya wrote about to bring them back for another funeral.

He doesn’t think it’ll take that long, though. Everything about her just reeks of loneliness, of isolation. If she doesn’t cave and visit his shop in the next two days, he’ll be surprised.

It took some doing, but Harold did, in fact, get confirmation that Vanya does know her brother was attacked. She just doesn’t care.

“Family,” Harold says, putting a touch of melancholy into his tone, “It’s never easy.”

“I know what you mean,” Vanya sighs, putting her violin away. “Yesterday there was this thing with my brother, and it was - well, none of us expected it, that’s for sure. But, you know. Life. It happens.”

“Sure does,” Harold replies.

So. Harold is - pretty sure Klaus Hargreeves is alive. Probably bedridden, though. On balance, Harold thinks he’s happy about that. He wants to see the destruction of the Umbrella Academy, witness with his own two eyes as the light goes out of theirs. Klaus being bedridden is actually the perfect situation for that. Maybe he’ll leave Klaus for last, letting him know what happened to the rest of his family and that he’s completely helpless to stop the same from happening to him. The other three can’t know, and their deaths have to be quick, because any of them could take him out in a heartbeat.

But Klaus….he can take his time with Klaus.

Yes, Harold decides, a spring in his step now. Yes, that will do nicely.

As for the others….hm. At first he thought he’d have to kill Allison first, because she has the most pressing reasons to leave the city. But the murder of Allison Hargreeves will undoubtedly spark a media frenzy, bringing in reporters like no tomorrow. Even if he makes it look like an accident, which he’s not completely sure he can do, the attention will be blinding.

So either Luther or Diego. Harold is inclined to go with Diego, just because he’ll be more difficult to handle if his guard is already up. Not that Harold ever plans to get in direct combat with any of the Academy, but in an investigative sense. Luther needs Reginald Hargreeves to hold his hand in everything, while Harold knows perfectly well who the knife-wielding vigilante running all over town is. Take out Diego first, and the Academy will be down their most capable member.

Then Luther. Harold doesn’t know if Diego’s body will be found (because, depending on how he eventually kills the man, disposal may range from easy to impossible), which means it’s variable how long the times between kills will be. But even in the case that Diego’s murder is covered up perfectly and no one suspects a thing, Harold can’t imagine waiting more than a couple days before killing Luther. The thought is just - too intoxicating.

Allison next, of course. Then Klaus right after, because of the aforementioned issues with her death. And then Vanya, perhaps after taking her on a tour to see what he did. She might even be appreciative, considering her current apathy towards Klaus’ situation. It might be a more fitting thank you than killing her last.

He’ll still kill her, of course. Just to complete the set.

Harold hasn’t decided what he’ll do afterwards, and that bothers him, a little. It would certainly be cinematic to go down charging at the cops when they show up, and narratively elegant to straight-up kill himself, but he’s not entirely certain he wants to die. He’d be okay with it, after fulfilling his life’s work, but he isn’t sure he wants to plan for it.

But what would there be, if he does manage to get away clean? He does like his store, but is that really what he wants to center his life around? It’s so….small, compared to the monolith of the Academy. It could never fill such a gaping hole.

Harold looks up as he approaches Bricktown, and huffs to himself. Honestly, there he goes counting his chickens before they’re hatched. Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thinks, heading down the street to his store. You haven’t even killed one of them yet, and you’re wondering how you’ll cope once they’re all gone? Just focus on the next step.

Which is, admittedly, rather boring. He hopes Vanya doesn’t take too long to cave.

But if boredom is the worst thing that happens during this whole plan, he’ll take it. Harold reaches his shop amidst pleasant thoughts of how he’ll torment Klaus before finishing him off. He’s certain to have a lot of ideas for what he can do by then, but it’s always good to start planning early. Maybe cut out his tongue? The book certainly portrayed him as talking too much, and Harold doesn’t want the moment ruined.

Idly, Harold picks up a chunk of wood and weighs it in his hands. Will it be too much if he carves it into Vanya? He doesn’t want her to be scared off….

He’ll make it small, Harold decides. Small and rough-cut, but still clearly her. A good compromise. Though honestly, he suspects that any measure of attention will just about blind her.

Harold searches around for his favorite carving knife for ten minutes before remembering he left it in Klaus last night. Dammit. He’ll have to get that back. After using it on Klaus a few more times, of course.

Taking up his second-favorite carving knife, Harold scowls at it. Well, it’s good he’s doing rough-cut, because this one never gets as sharp as he wants. He has half a mind to buy new knives, but a small, paranoid corner of his mind is afraid of Vanya noticing he’s in need of new knives very shortly after her brother had one left in his stomach.

It’s a small thing, of course. But he can’t afford to mess this up. He needs to be perfect. Perfect boyfriend, perfect gentleman, perfect actor. Absolutely, utterly, perfectly ordinary, and zero indication of anything below the surface.

Humming quietly to himself, Leonard leans over the table and begins to carve.

Chapter Text

“They should have given us more time,” Hazel says.

“Sure,” Cha-Cha says, rifling through the box of their weapons again, “But what are you gonna do about it?”

“Complain to Management, for one,” Hazel says, scowling. He looks at the picture of Number Five and sighs. “How on Earth are we supposed to find a guy so good he doesn’t have a partner and yet rose to the very top anyways? Plus the part where he can teleport! How did they manage that one?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” Cha-Cha says bluntly.

Hazel knows she really doesn’t. He sighs to himself, quietly. He does care about the woman (in an entirely platonic way), but for goodness sake, why does she have to take everything at face value? Why doesn’t she ever get curious or riled up about the utterly bullshit parameters they have to work under?

Then again, she probably wonders why he does. They work quite well together, but it’s very definitely a case of opposites attracting.

“We know he’s in the city,” Cha-Cha starts, turning around with a pistol in her hands.

“No, we know he was in the city,” Hazel corrects. He knows she hates when he’s pedantic, but she’s the one who always harps on about details. “We know he came here when he defected, but his tracker cut out late last night. He could be in Russia now for all we know, they didn’t even tell us if his teleporting has a goddamned limit.”

“Let’s assume he’s still in the city, though,” Cha-Cha says doggedly (Hazel huffs a little at the pun on her mask). “Otherwise we’ll never get anything done. Why here? Why this city?”

“Not for the hospitality, that’s for sure,” Hazel says, eying the ratty curtains of the motel window.

“He might have a connection to this place,” Cha-Cha says, rolling her eyes and checking the pistol with an expert eye. “Remember the manual, section 8, subsection F. Nothing is ever truly random. Maybe he knows someone in the city, or there’s a resource he needs to use. We just need to figure out why here.”

Hazel blinks. “....We should probably keep the Briefcase in that vent,” he says slowly, glancing over to it.

“What?” Cha-Cha frowns. “Why? If you’re trying to get out of carrying it -”

“No,” Hazel shakes his head. He scratches at his beard. “I mean, Number Five probably isn’t planning to stay here long. The world is ending in a week. If he hasn’t left already, that implies he doesn’t have a way out. If we run into him and our Briefcase is right there -”

“- He’s good enough to take it from us,” Cha-Cha says disgustedly. “If the rumors are true, anyways.”

“I don’t think we should bet that they aren’t,” Hazel shrugs.

“Yeah, fine,” Cha-Cha cocks her gun aggressively. Before he met her, Hazel didn’t even know that was possible. “You can keep the Briefcase in the vent. Happy now?”

“Very much,” Hazel says, more cheerful now. He flexes his wrist and rejoices in the fact that it will remain strain-free for the next couple days, at least.

“So you think that’s what he’s going for?” Cha-Cha says, tilting her head as she holsters her pistol. “Finding a way to time-travel?”

“He’s some kind of super-genius, right?” Hazel shrugs. “And if you knew the world was ending in a week and had experience with time-travel, what would be your go-to escape plan?”

“Makes sense,” Cha-Cha says speculatively. Then she nods. “Alright. We’ll search around the city for resources that could allow reverse-engineering time-travel….think he’s trying to build his own Briefcase? Super-genius, he could have figured out how his own worked when he had it.”

“It would be what he’s familiar with,” Hazel nods.

“Alright. Hey, look at us,” Cha-Cha says, clapping Hazel on the arm and smirking. “We don’t even need that tracker.”

“Sure don’t,” Hazel says, smiling back.

He feels pretty good about this. He doesn’t like killing innocents or collateral, but Number Five is about as far from that as it’s possible to get. This job certainly isn’t going to be easy, but Hazel doesn’t think they’ll run into any great moral dilemmas on this one. Moreover, they have a solid lead, and all day in which to follow up on it.

Things are looking up.

**********

“God-damned penny-pinching paper-headed bastards,” Hazel grumbles, fuming his way down the street.

For once Cha-Cha doesn’t call him out on his complaints, which is a neon sign that she’s just as pissed as him. She’s more outwardly subtle about it, but the glint of murder in her eyes and stiffness in her walk is fairly telling.

“Couldn’t point us in the right direction now and then,” Hazel continues, because if he has implicit permission to bitch then he will do so, “No, it’s all fumbling in the dark and winding up interviewing quantum theory professors with no sense of decorum. Why’d we even need to talk to him anyways? If Number Five was going to use his research, I don’t think he would have asked the guy’s permission.”

“We have to cover all the bases,” Cha-Cha says. She would be more convincing if she didn’t sound like she’d just smoked three straight packs of cigarettes. “It’d be stupid of us if Number Five did speak to the guy and we never found out because he’s an insufferable ass.”

“He went a ways beyond that,” Hazel says.

“I. Know.”

“....Want to kill him?” Hazel asks. He’s not normally one for wanton murder, but. Well. Out of sheer necessity, Hazel and Cha-Cha have grown used to the fact that most of history is extraordinarily sexist. That guy, though, he definitely crossed a line. Hazel has half a mind to teach him exactly how to properly respect women, but Cha-Cha probably has an entire itemized list to go through.

“I’d love to,” Cha-Cha says, “But we don’t have much longer to find Number Five. And I’m feeling very motivated now.”

“Fair enough,” Hazel says.

They continue walking down the street, while Hazel reviews their efforts to find Number Five so far. It’s mid-afternoon now, with a charmingly clear blue sky and steady bustle of the city flowing around them. So far, they’ve visited the two libraries in town that might have a sufficiently large section in quantum theory that Number Five might try and access them. No dice, though. They’ve also visited three academics that do work in the field, but none of them have mysteriously missing research or recently met with the man in the photograph Hazel and Cha-Cha showed them. The next step is to look around for the materials that Number Five might need to build a replica Briefcase, but they’re stymied by the fact that - well, they don’t actually know what those materials are.

Cha-Cha seems to be thinking along the same lines he is, because she stops in the middle of the sidewalk and scrubs a hand down her face. “Well, we can’t exactly take apart our Briefcase,” she says. “So unless you’ve been holding out on me, we might have to risk calling Headquarters.”

“I don’t think they’d take a very nuanced view of being asked how to build a Briefcase,” Hazel objects, “Especially right after Number Five broke his contract.”

“I don’t think so either, but what are we gonna do?” Cha-Cha says, tilting her head up to the sky in exasperation. “Just walk around asking complete strangers ‘Hey, do you happen to know where Number Five is and what he’s going to do next?’ Because it’s looking like that’s our best option!”

Hazel sighs. It’s not that he thinks they can succeed in tracking down the Commission’s top operative in one day, but he doesn’t think they should be so quick to call on the Commission. He opens his mouth to argue this, when -

“Number Five?”

They look over to the left, where a man is peering at them. The man is almost painfully normal, bland clothing and nice but unremarkable features and hesitant but friendly body language. Hazel has known operatives who strive for years to reach this man’s level of nondescript.

They were aware of his presence, of course, but didn’t peg him as a threat. Now, their attention zeroes in on him.

“You mentioned Number Five?” the man says, tilting his head. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “The teleporting time-traveller? Or time-travelling teleporter, I guess, he probably did a lot more teleporting than time-travel.” The man chuckles a little.

“....What.” Cha-Cha says.

Hazel would like to concur that sentiment.

“Oh, sorry,” the man says, stepping back, a look of chagrin on his face. “I thought you were talking about the Umbrella Academy. My bad, come on, Leonard.”

The man half-turns to go, but Hazel’s hand shoots out and grabs his arm.

“No, wait,” Hazel says. “Elaborate. Now.”

“Umbrella Academy?” Cha-Cha says, crowding in closer. “What the fuck is that?”

The man gains a look of alarm. He looks at Hazel’s hand. “Uh, I - the Umbrella Academy? The - the kids with superpowers? They were a superhero team about fifteen years ago, based out of this city? It broke up a little over a decade ago, so I guess it’s a kind of niche interest now, but they - they were world-famous. Number Five was one of them, he could teleport. And then he tried time-travelling and disappeared. It’s public information - there’s a book about it! One of his sisters wrote an autobiography a few years ago and it shows everything about their lives and powers and shit. And their father died a few days ago, it was in all the papers. The entire Academy is in town for the funeral.”

Hazel and Cha-Cha

both

just

stare.

“....Huh,” Hazel says. “So that’s why we only got a day.”

**********

“This has to be a joke,” Cha-Cha says, staring at the book in front of them.

“Why would you say that?” Hazel says, tilting his head a little and looking at her. He can’t help but glance at the copy of Extra-Ordinary on the library table in front of them.

After letting the stammering, bewildered, and slightly terrified stranger go, Hazel and Cha-Cha made a beeline back to the nearest library. Asking for the Umbrella Academy autobiography netted them instant recognition and cheerful directions to the place where it was shelved. It took, all total, about fifteen minutes.

Frankly, Hazel isn’t entirely sure this isn’t a joke (or a very odd hallucination) either, but at this point he’s not really willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Cha-Cha, however, seems to have other ideas.

“I mean this has to be a joke,” she says flatly, picking up the book and glaring at the faded photograph like the mousy child has personally offended her. “We run all over this goddamned city looking for a scrap of information on Number Five, and then it turns out he’s a celebrity here? What the fuck, there is no goddamned way he would be this stupid.”

“Stupid?” Hazel says, leaning over and peering at the cover himself.

“Fuck yes,” Cha-Cha says, “Out of all the places he can go, he goes to the one place his name gets instant recognition, his life is well-documented, and he has a fuckload of relatives sitting around ready for the taking? It has to be a joke.”

“Maybe he’s sentimental,” Hazel speculates, tugging the book from her hand and paging through the opening.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Cha-Cha says. “He could have fabricated all this. He’s good enough, by reputation.”

“I think this is a little far to go for a trap,” Hazel says dubiously. “....Also, I’d hope that for someone who pulled off the London Job, Number Five could write better than this.”

He shows her the page, and Cha-Cha reads it. She’s grimacing by the time she’s halfway through.

“Yeah, I guess,” Cha-Cha says, grudgingly. Then, “Ugh, the whole thing is like that, isn’t it. And we need to read all of it.”

“I think so,” Hazel says. “Grab a pen and paper, let’s get started.”

Cha-Cha groans, long and loud, and heads off. Honestly, and she always says he’s overdramatic.

**********

Three hours later, Hazel is very sure of three things:

One: Vanya Hargreeves has some serious resentment issues. And jealousy issues. And anxiety issues. And pretty much all the issues.

Two: No one in this family actually likes each other. Except Allison and Luther Hargreeves, although Hazel gets kind of a weird vibe off the way Vanya describes their relationship.

Three: Everyone with the last name of ‘Hargreeves’ is an absolute asshole.

“Okay,” Cha-Cha says, her voice muffled by the way her hands are on her face. She’s been sitting like that for the past several minutes, and Hazel is kind of tempted to imitate her. She drags her hands away from her face and looks at him. “Okay. So. If we want to go after Number Five’s family, we’ll have to go up against a bunch of superpowered freaks equipped with superstrength, telekinetic accuracy, and fucking mind control. And on top of that, it’s not even clear if the asshole will care if we kill them.”

“I mean,” Hazel says, “if he cares about any of them, it’s going to be her,” he taps the picture of Vanya Hargreeves on the back cover of the book.

“Please,” Cha-Cha says, rolling her eyes. “If I brought over the dictionary from the front desk, that picture would be pasted right next to ‘unreliable.’ Listening to her, you’d think Number Five and Ben were saints and not, oh, the two with the highest bodycounts of the whole family.”

“No argument here,” Hazel says. “But I think she would be the best target anyways. Maybe the ghost guy in a pinch, just because we wouldn’t have to take too many weird precautions, but preferably her.”

“Yeah, fine,” Cha-Cha grumbles. She pulls over the pad of paper. “Okay, so. Strategies for assault?”

“Stab-proof armor for sure,” Hazel says immediately. “Shouldn’t get in hand-to-hand with Luther - I think I could match him, but it’d be close, and we’re outnumbered.”

“Need to take out Allison right away,” Cha-Cha muses. “That or really good earplugs, but they’d be a disadvantage for hearing knives coming at us….”

“And there’s a chance Number Five could be there,” Hazel sighs. “Which adds a whole new level of unpredictability.”

Cha-Cha grimaces. “We pull out if they’re all there,” she says. “We’re good, but we can probably only handle Number Five or his siblings.”

It galls her to admit that, Hazel can tell. He just nods.

“Alright,” Cha-Cha says, leaning back over the paper. “I was thinking for Allison, we use the taser. If Luther’s physiology is anything like yours, it’ll take a lot to put him down, but it should be doable. As for Diego….”

They plot and plan for the next hour or so, until the library closes and they’re sent packing. They regroup at the motel and grab all the weapons they’ll need, plus a few more. Hazel has only been this thoroughly armed a few times before. It’s not like they usually assault strongholds full of extraordinarily powerful individuals trained to kill since childhood. Just twice - three times if Leningrad counts, but Hazel prefers to forget Leningrad.

But, well. They have a limited timeframe, and they’re as prepared as they’re going to get.

So, pulling up to the Academy, street still and dark all around them, Hazel glances over at Cha-Cha and shares a wordless look.

Then they get out, and put on their masks.

The door is unlocked. That’s….well, it wouldn’t have slowed them down much anyways, but it speaks of either carelessness or a confidence that may or may not be justified. Hazel doesn’t look over at Cha-Cha (the masks seriously cut down on nonverbal communication), but he can feel her growing tenser.

The rooms off the entrance hall are uninhabited. Maybe the family turned in early? Or they’re in other parts of the building - which covers an entire city block, because of course it does. It’s really goddamn annoying when they have to go into someone’s home turf blind, unaware of even how many people are on the premises.

Hazel is going to bitch for hours once this is all over with. He’s earned it, dammit.

They edge a little deeper into the mansion, bypassing the stairs. It’s just common sense to secure the entire first floor before going up. They creep down the hallway, covering each other’s backs.

There’s no sound. It’s starting to get on Hazel’s nerves. Surely the family can’t know they’re coming?

They peer inside each room they pass, only staying long enough to check that there’s nobody there. There’s a couple sitting rooms, a room entirely dedicated to hunting trophies, and -

An infirmary?

Well, it makes sense, Hazel supposes. Big operation like this, it would need its own infirmary. Still, it’s kind of annoying. The Commission’s healthcare barely provides them with enough coverage to fix broken bones, and these kids get their own infirmary?

He steps inside, sweeping the area. Deserted, just like all the other rooms. However, it looks like someone was treated here recently. The bed is mussed, bandages are laid out on the counters, and there’s some blood. Not a lot, but enough to determine that someone seems to have gotten on the wrong end of the knife laid out on the metal tray on the counter.

Hazel shares a look with Cha-Cha, and even if they have their masks on he knows what she’s thinking. If one of the siblings is injured, that changes the game significantly.

Looking back at the bed, a piece of paper catches his attention. Hazel moves closer and cranes his neck to look at it.

It reads:

I am going HOME and you can’t stop me. Yes I will take it easy and NO you may not visit. Your worry is appreciated but super annoying, go fuss over Five or Dad’s ashes or something. Sayonara, bitches.

Hazel tilts his head. Cha-Cha comes up next to him and reads it as well. She lets out a low hum.

“Think that’s the ghost guy,” she says, almost inaudibly. “Doesn’t read like any of the others.”

Hazel nods. It would have been nice if one of the more dangerous siblings had been taken out of play, but even just one down is a relief. And it’s probably best that Klaus Hargreeves is out of the picture - Hazel has not forgotten how Cha-Cha ripped out that one guy’s tongue for talking too much.

“At least we have confirmation Five is in contact with them,” Cha-Cha says, touching the name on the paper.

“Good to know we’re on the right track,” Hazel murmurs, then nudges her. “Come on, let’s go.”

She nods, and they pad towards the door.

Then Cha-Cha stops, tense and still.

Hazel follows suit immediately. His hand goes to the extra-strength taser on his hip.

Cha-Cha remains a statue for several seconds. Then, slowly, she turns around. She looks at him, and carefully places a finger over the cartoon mouth of her mask. Then she lifts up her other hand to her ear, and mimes listening.

Hazel holds his breath to cut out unnecessary noise, and he listens.

And then -

he hears it.

Breathing.

Faint, very faint, so quiet it has to be being muffled, because otherwise it’s close, close enough that -

It’s in the room with them.

Slowly, Hazel turns around as well.

There aren’t many places to hide in the infirmary. It’s a mostly-open space. His eyes zero in on the row of counters, where they’re in the exact middle of the wall. The end stops about a half-dozen feet before the wall opposite the door.

The breathing is coming from there.

Hazel looks back to Cha-Cha, and tilts his head. She nods.

Slowly, silently, they circle. They approach the end of the counters, and -

There he is.

Dressed in a hospital gown, holding his side awkwardly, wide green eyes staring at them, curly hair everywhere - yes, that’s Number Four ‘Klaus’ Hargreeves, The Séance.

His eyes go even wider, and his mouth opens -

And Hazel cold-cocks him right in the face.

He puts probably more strength behind it than he should, considering as far as they know Klaus is not supernaturally tough. The guy’s head snaps back and smashes into the wall, and he sags on the floor bonelessly.

They look down at him.

“Shit,” Cha-Cha says. “Did you kill him?”

“No!” Hazels says, probably louder than he should. He lowers his voice again. “No, I just didn’t want him yelling for everyone. He should be fine.”

“Shit,” Cha-Cha says again anyways, which is slightly offensive. She looks around. “Well, we’re gonna have to kill him or -”

She breaks off, staring at the infirmary bed.

“Or what?” Hazel says, looking at her. He knows, of course, that Klaus won’t stay unconscious for long. Movies always get that part wrong - if a person doesn’t wake up within a minute or two, odds are they aren’t waking up at all.

“We take him and go,” Cha-Cha says, whirling back to face him. “Come on, we need to work fast.”

“Thought we were aiming for Vanya,” Hazel says. But he bends down to gather Klaus anyways, because he can follow her train of thought well enough.

“But they won’t notice he’s gone,” Cha-Cha says, confirming what Hazel is realizing on his own. “He literally left a note explaining he’s safe and not to look for him. If we can get out of here clean no one will even suspect foul play, including Number Five. Hurry up.”

“Yep,” Hazel says, arranging Klaus in a princess carry. The man’s head lolls, and he lets out a groan. His face scrunches up.

“Shit,” Cha-Cha says.

Hazel shuffles his hands until one is free, and places it around Klaus’ neck. Strangling him unconscious for as long as it takes to get out of the Academy isn’t particularly elegant, but it’s the best he can come up with.

Klaus’ eyes flutter open, foggy and confused. He blinks at Hazel.

Wincing slightly, Hazel closes his hand around the man’s throat. He doesn’t really have a problem with torture, but he doesn’t really like the more hands-on stuff. Too intimate.

Klaus jerks under his hand, and lets out a garbled noise. Hazel presses harder - not too much, because they want him alive. But it cuts off any noise, Klaus’ mouth opening and closing silently, his face slowly changing color.

This is going to be very awkward to do the entire way out of the Academy.

Klaus jerks again, and it almost feels like his torso, pressed up against Hazel’s own, moves strangely. Hazel glances down, blinking, at the alien sensation -

“Here,” Cha-Cha says, shoving closer. Hazel looks at her in surprise. She’s carrying a few things, and he only just now registers that he was hearing her rummaging through the cabinets for the past minute.

Without further ado, she grabs Klaus’ arm, stabs a needle into it, and presses the plunger.

Between that and the strangling, Klaus is out like a light in the next few seconds.

Hazel lets go of him and tilts his head at Cha-Cha.

She shrugs. “We’re in an infirmary. It has sedatives. I have a few more, he probably has stupidly high tolerance. Come on, let’s go.”

Hazel nods, and repositions Klaus over his shoulder. Silently, they creep out of the infirmary.

They get away clean.

Chapter Text

Ben thinks he is entirely justified in freaking the fuck out.

First is the part where Klaus has been kidnapped. That would be worrying enough on its own, because the last time he was taken captive he spent half a year being drugged into incoherence and pimped out to strangers, but it’s not even clear what these people want. And lacking that information is kind of stressful.

Second is the part where the assholes drugged Klaus. Just stuck him full of sedative with zero care that they’re utterly destroying years of struggle and hard work. It makes bile rise in Ben’s throat, makes him want to unleash the Horror and rip them into bloodsoaked mush because they pumped his addict brother full of drugs.

But he can’t do that.

Because the third part, as a direct consequence of the second part, is that Ben is no longer possessing Klaus.

Ben wraps insubstantial arms around himself and shivers. God, he forgot how cold being a ghost is. Or, well, not cold exactly, but the complete and total absence of warmth. Absence of warmth, absence of feeling, absence of everything. He’s grown so used to being alive again, no matter how much he bitches about physical limitations, that he didn’t realize he’d forgotten the downsides of being dead. Funny, that.

But none of that is as important as the fact that Klaus is drugged unconscious and in the hands of a couple of psychopaths and no one knows. They’d just finished writing their goodbye note when they were alerted to the two’s presence, heralded by several dozen mutilated ghosts. They’d hidden, and Ben tried to stay quiet, he really did, but -

But he wasn’t quiet enough.

And now Klaus is paying the price.

Ben shivers again and looks over at Klaus. They’re in the trunk of the car, and Ben is phased halfway through his brother and usually he hates that, but he needs to repossess Klaus the instant the drugs wear off enough. God only knows what kind of state Klaus is going to wake up in.

That’s scaring Ben nearly as much as all the other factors combined. Klaus is - he’s one of the most resilient people in existence, but this is a scenario of bad that they haven’t even considered before. Relapsing, sure, they’ve discussed that. They knew it was a very real possibility one day. They’ve also discussed the possibility of one of Klaus’ customers finding him and bothering him, which could very well end with someone hurt (not Klaus, though. Ben swore to himself years ago that he would never let anyone touch Klaus without his permission again, and anyone who disagreed would get personally acquainted with the Horror, damn the risk).

(It figures that the first time he gets the chance to fulfill that promise, he didn’t succeed.)

But they never discussed something like this. Kidnapped, forcibly drugged, no hope of rescue on the horizon, no clue what his captors want, and alone in his skin for the first time in four years.

Klaus twitches, a small whine coming from his throat. He’s still unconscious, but it obviously isn’t very peaceful. Ben swallows and scoots closer, until they’re almost fully overlapped. It’s a strange feeling, sort of like a sideways version of pins-and-needles wherever his ghostly flesh intersects with Klaus. Ben knows what it’s like to possess Klaus, but it’s always so fast that he can only sort of recall the actual process. If he pokes at his memory, though, he can remember that this not-quite-pins-and-needles feeling happens first, and then he gets sucked in and his soul explodes into color as he connects to the realm of physical sensation.

Only the second part isn’t happening. It feels like there’s a very dense wall of fluff preventing him from making it past the pins-and-needles. The drugs, certainly.

Well. He’ll just have to wait them out. The fluff will thin eventually, and then he can slip through and repossess Klaus and fucking murder these two bastards for daring to think they could hurt Ben’s brother.

The car comes to a stop. Ben snaps to alertness. Fuck.

There’s about a minute of silence, and then the trunk opens.

The two don’t have their masks on, which means Ben can get a clearer look at them. The woman is dark-skinned, with brutally cut hair and an unpleasant face. The man is white, with curly hair and a face that looks more like he should be smiling and ringing a Salvation Army bell than strangling and kidnapping innocent people. Both of them are wearing suits.

They, of course, don’t see Ben. The man leans down and checks Klaus’ pulse, shoving his hand through Ben’s shoulder to do so. Ben glares at him.

“Still alive,” the man reports.

“Told you,” the woman says, unimpressed. “You worry too much.”

“Well, excuse me for thinking of things that might go wrong,” the man defends, as he gathers up Klaus and pulls him out of the trunk.

Ben grits his teeth and follows. He jumps out of the trunk and straightens up, looking around -

and

his

heart

stops.

A motel.

They’re at a fucking motel.

Not just any motel, either. They’re at the one on 32nd and Walsh, specifically, the one that rents either by night or by hour. The one with the fantastically indifferent desk clerk who prefers to listen to music rather than pay attention to whoever buys the rooms. The one Klaus frequented quite a few times, back when he had customers to entertain.

The two attackers trudge towards the stairs for the second floor, Klaus limp in the man’s grasp, and it takes a second for Ben’s muscles to unlock enough that he can catch up to them.

“Listen to me,” he hisses, and the venom in his voice could make a herd of elephants drop dead on the spot. The Horror writhes and twists inside of his torso. “If you two fucks kidnapped Klaus and brought him here to fucking rape him, there is no level of hell you can run to where I won’t find you. If you so much as touch him I will find a way to manifest and rip you apart with my bare fucking hands.”

The two stop in front of a door, and the woman unlocks it. They go inside.

Ben can’t remember if Klaus has ever rented this specific room, but he vaguely remembers the layout. Two beds, a few dressers and nightstands, bathroom in the back. Nothing fancy, which is to be expected.

Then the man lays down Klaus on the bed, and Ben’s vision briefly whites out. The Horror smashes against his abdomen, frantically searching for its missing door.

“No,” Ben hears, and it’s thin and breathless and scared, faint enough that it gets swallowed up in the silence of the room, and he only distantly realizes it’s coming from him. “Please, no.”

The room is swimming around him and there’s blurry movement that he can’t quite manage to focus on, he doesn’t want to focus on it, please don’t make him watch he can’t watch this again please no no no -

“Don’t put him on the bed, dumbass. Here.”

Ben snaps back into crystal-clear focus, everything sharp and hyper-real, in time to see the woman set forth a chair. She’s holding a coil of rope in her other hand, and raises her eyebrows at the man.

It’s - it’s not much of a reassurance, not much of one at all really, because it’s not like sex acts are necessarily performed on a bed. But Ben claws to keep his focus as Klaus is settled into the chair and restrained. He tries to tell himself that they don’t want Klaus for sex. Why would they? Why would they go to that much trouble, infiltrate the Umbrella Academy of all places, if they just wanted a sex slave? It doesn’t make sense.

That doesn’t stop him from digging his nails into his palms so deeply they would probably start bleeding if he were physical.

After securing Klaus, the two sit down on the beds and regard him. Their expressions….

Well, there’s no lust. That’s enough to make the iron bands around Ben’s chest loosen fractionally. But not too much, because the expressions on the faces of the people who have just drugged and kidnapped his brother are cold and dead, without a spark of humanity or empathy.

“How long ‘till he wakes up?” the man asks, looking at the woman.

“Hell if I know,” she says. She stretches. “I’m not waiting around for him, though. I’m grabbing a shower.”

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” the man says as she stands.

“You’re assuming this place even has hot water,” she calls back as she disappears into the bathroom.

The man’s face falls at her jibe, likely realizing the truth of it. He sighs, and leans back on the bed. He takes off his jacket, and loosens his tie.

“Damn cheapskates,” he grumbles, apparently to himself. “Can’t even spring for decent accommodations, even when we’re looking for their biggest problem. You,” he addresses to Klaus, “had better know where Number Five is, buddy.”

Ben

blinks.

“....Five?” Ben echoes blankly. “You’re looking for Five?”

The man doesn’t answer, of course, but this information is enough to kickstart Ben’s brain into working again.

Five. These people are looking for Five. That….that actually makes a twisted sort of sense. If Five really has been gone for forty-five years, it logically follows that he must have done loads of things none of them have any idea about. And somehow, Ben can’t see those things being small things.

It’s been a long time, but Ben knows his brother. Five is an arrogant bastard. Brilliant, yes, but entirely willing to rub that in everyone’s faces. No humility whatsoever. It’s not only possible but likely that he pissed off a wide variety of people so badly that they’re willing to resort to drugging and kidnapping his brother to learn his location. And….do they have time-travel as well? It’s not like Five was actually in this time period prior to yesterday.

Well, why not. If anyone else did invent time-travel, Five would probably involve himself with them the instant they came to his attention. He was always fascinated with it, wanting to study it closer and figure out its secrets. And if close proximity to Five tends to inspire mild homicidal feelings in his own family, Ben can’t imagine how much these people want to kill him.

Ben sucks in a long, shaky breath.

Okay. Okay. So. These people didn’t kidnap Klaus specifically because he’s Klaus. They did it because they think he might know where Five is. So there’s a chance that if Klaus cooperates, they’ll let him go.

Two problems with that, though. One is that neither Ben nor Klaus has any idea of where Five is or what he’s doing. Two is that, well, even if Five is a jackass who didn’t warn them the fucking time mafia is after him, he’s still their brother. They can’t just give him up.

Even if Klaus’ life is on the line? a small, cool voice whispers inside his head. Don’t be naive, they won’t accept that Klaus doesn’t know anything. They’re going to hurt him, torture him, do everything you were afraid of. The only difference is, now they’ll be doing it for a reason. Now there’s a way to make them stop.

Ben jerks his head to the side, like he can dislodge the thought from his head if he shakes it hard enough. No. No, he is not going to go find Five and convince Klaus to tell these psychopaths where to find their newly-returned brother. He’s going to stay with his original plan. The sedatives are only one dose, and they’ll get flushed out of Klaus’ system soon enough. Then Ben can possess him, rip apart these wastes of air, and spend the next week dealing with the aftereffects of their forced relapse.

It’s going to be alright. It is. It is.

Ben moves to look at Klaus’ face. His head is lolled down, so Ben has to sit on the floor to see it properly. His expression is slack in a way Ben is very familiar with. The hospital gown is new, but if Ben ignores that he could easily believe that the last four years never happened, and Klaus is sitting here like this because some sick fuck wanted to get their rocks off and had enough money to make him say yes.

Ben pushes down the oh-so-familiar well of rage-fear-hate that thought engenders. It’s more difficult than he remembers, and he ends up scowling. For fuck’s sake, that’s not even what’s going on here. Why can’t his subconscious understand that?

Well. Maybe because the things Klaus put himself through for drugs has had the starring role in Ben’s nightmares for the past, oh, twelve years or so. Maybe because Ben was rock-solid certain for almost a decade that he was going to witness his brother’s death. Maybe because no matter how much he tries, Ben can never quite forget the way people looked at him, like he wasn’t even human, like his only use was being a toy for their enjoyment, to be discarded as trash the moment they were done with him.

Maybe because Klaus always seemed to implicitly agree with them.

Letting out a long, slow breath, Ben deliberately relaxes his nonexistent muscles. Fuck, it’s weird not being physical again. Ben tries to focus on that, on the differences between being dead and alive, because otherwise he’s going to keep obsessing over this situation’s similarities to his worst nightmares and that just can’t be healthy.

The man sighs, and Ben shoots him a sharp glance. The man flumps back onto the bed, and stares up at the ceiling.

“We’d better get a bonus for this,” the man grumbles. “‘Terminate Number Five.’ Oh, yeah, we’ll get right on that. Not like he’s the most skilled operative the Commission’s ever produced. Not like he can literally teleport. No, we’ll just have that done for you in two days or less. Fucking bureaucrats.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. So….Five used to work for these people. And if Ben is hearing this right, he was an assassin of some sort.

Not altogether surprising, honestly. They’re all very used to killing, and Five in particular never seemed phased by it. If Five were offered a job as an assassin in exchange for getting a closer look at time-travel, he’d take it in a heartbeat. And then screw this ‘Commission’ over the moment they became superfluous to his goals.

Yes, Ben decides, rubbing a hand over his face. That certainly sounds like Five.

A groan cuts through the air.

Ben’s head snaps around, and he can hear the man sitting up, but that’s not important because Klaus is groaning. He’s groaning, and shifting, and making faces that are primarily composed of confusion.

“Klaus,” Ben says, standing. He steps forward until they’re overlapping again, but the fuzz is still there. Slightly less, Ben thinks, but it still won’t let him through. He grimaces and steps back. “Klaus, can you hear me? It’s okay, Klaus, I promise it’s going to be okay.”

Klaus’ face twists up, and then -

his eyes blink open.

Ben swallows.

“I promise you’re going to be okay.”

Chapter Text

Vanya doesn’t have rehearsal until noon, so she takes the opportunity to sleep in.

Or, at least, she usually does that. Somehow, she finds herself awake at 8 AM, body refusing to sink back into sleep, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom. The blankets have been kicked off and pulled back over herself three times by now.

Sighing, Vanya gives up and gets out of bed.

She takes her morning medication like always, swallowing it down with a glass of water - she can do it dry, but honestly that always sort of made her feel unsettlingly like Klaus, so desperate for a fix he can’t wait a single minute.

At least, he was desperate. She reminds herself again that Klaus is sober now. It’s a strange piece of information, irregular and alien, completely at odds with her previous worldview. Klaus and sobriety are two words that go together like oil and water, that would never get put in the same sentence without the word hates between them.

At least, that’s what she thought before two days ago.

Silently, Vanya starts fixing herself breakfast. Her pills help her, she knows, but they can also be a pain to manage. Taking them on an empty stomach isn’t very fun.

Waffles, she decides, opening her cabinets and spotting the mix. Waffles sound nice.

It isn’t until twenty minutes later, as she’s spreading strawberry jam over her waffles (turns out she doesn’t have any syrup) that she remembers how much Klaus loves waffles. Or he did, anyways, when they were kids. Maybe that’s changed as well.

Changed like his sobriety. Changed like Luther’s massive frame. Changed like Five, who’s changed the most while physically not changed at all.

Vanya sits down at her little table and puts her head in her hands.

It’s not….it’s not like she expected her family to remain carbon copies of their teenage selves, frozen just as they were the last time Vanya saw them. And it’s not like she expected them to become unrecognizable. They aren’t. They’re still - them. The Umbrella Academy. Her family.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Luther is more hesitant about it, more clumsy, but he’s still the Leader, Number One. Still that same boy who fully believes in their father’s goodness when Vanya can’t remember their father having a speck of goodness in the entire time she’s known him. The only thing really different about Luther is his sudden bulk, which is….a late manifestation of his powers? Maybe? If so, she can’t imagine how strong he must be now.

Diego is sharper, colder, angrier, which says a lot considering what he was like in the months after Ben’s death. He hates her, fully and utterly, for writing her book. Deep down, Vanya has the urge to throw that fucking book at him and scream I just wanted you to understand, why can’t you just understand, why do all of you only ever focus on yourselves -

But that wouldn’t really get her anywhere, would it?

Allison is more polished, more confident, more and more like the ideal of everything Vanya wishes she could be. Vanya can’t imagine her sister isn’t already headed back to L.A., and to be perfectly honest Vanya can’t even blame her for it. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a daughter, a child, but surely if confronted with trying to restore either her old family or her new one, Allison would choose the latter.

Klaus is….quite the surprise, she’ll admit. In her defense, when someone has been an addict since the age of eight it’s a little hard to imagine they could ever stop. The fact that Klaus got sober, stayed sober, and actually achieved a normal life all on his own is the second-biggest surprise of the entire funeral.

Now that she’s away from the surprise, though, Vanya has to wonder if his offer to spend time with her really was sincere. It seemed to be, when he said it, but….if he’s been sober for four years now, why hasn’t he ever contacted her before? Why hasn’t he wanted to be around her before being thrown back together by their father’s death? The only reason Vanya can think of is that he’s also mad at the book, and if that’s the case, why would he overlook that now? None of the others have, certainly.

And then there’s….Five.

Number Five, her first brother lost. The boy who never grew up, always a child in their memories, eternally thirteen. She held out hope for longer than any of her siblings, believing that he would come back if she just hoped hard enough. That he’d step back into her life as easily as he left it, smile the way he only ever smiled at her, and everything would be okay again.

Except it isn’t.

Yes, Five is back. He looks exactly like how he did when he ran away. He acts a lot like she remembers, brilliant and arrogant and reveling in every bit (she knows he had those flaws when they were children, but she just - couldn’t pour them on too much in her book. He was the only one who ever made her feel like she might be special, and for that, she can forgive anything). He even asked her for help - her, above any of their other siblings.

But he’s secretive. Angry. Dismissive. Entirely unconcerned that they’ve been waiting for him (she’s been waiting for him) for seventeen years. True, if he really is fifty-eight, there’s….not much reason he would really….care about them.

Vanya swallows, her throat tight.

He hasn’t seen them for three-fourths of his life. He’s probably known other people for decades longer than he knew his siblings. His general air of detachment is something she remembers from when they were children, but back then it always seemed affected, deliberately cultivated because god forbid he actually be caught caring about them. Now it feels….real.

He seemed faintly surprised whenever she spoke, like he didn’t actually expect her to respond to him, like he has no idea how to handle interacting with her.

Vanya knows that kind of surprise. It’s what all her other siblings acted like around her, for her entire childhood.

Seeing it come from Five….

It hurts.

Vanya looks up, and realizes her waffles have gone cold. She sighs, and begins eating them.

Which, really, only serves to turn her mind back to Klaus.

Once again, that photograph flashes across her mind, and suddenly her mouthful of waffles turns to ash. She swallows, nearly gagging, and stares down at her breakfast.

The irony that Five, of all people, was best informed about the state of Klaus’ life prior to sobriety is not lost on her. When Vanya wrote her book, she never once considered Klaus might be - doing that. She thought - she thought he was stealing from their father, maybe, if she thought about it at all. That’s what he did when they were children. She thought he was getting money from someplace, stealing or begging or whatever. She knew, vaguely, that he was homeless, but she never really, truly thought about what his life was like.

Fifteen dollars, Vanya thinks. My brother sold his body for fifteen dollars. He let people - hurt him, for fifteen dollars. All to get drugs.

The stick-thin skinniness of Klaus’ body in that photograph makes Vanya’s gut churn. She’s the smallest of all her siblings, even thirteen-year-old Five, but she has the horrible suspicion that the Klaus in that photograph weighs significantly less than she does. The bruises all over him - god, did he let people do that to him? Or were they from people who just didn’t like the fact that he was a prostitute? Vanya can’t decide which option is worse. And his clothes. Jesus christ. The clothing just made the whole thing that much more horrible. Who the fuck looks at a man looking like that and considers him attractive? The Klaus of the photograph looks like he belongs in a refugee shelter, or an intensive care unit.

Vanya breathes in. Then she breathes out. Again.

When that doesn’t work, she grabs her meds and swallows another pill. It helps, somewhat.

Grimacing, she finishes off her waffles. They aren’t very appetizing by now, but she needs something in her stomach besides pills.

And then, making up her mind, she leaves her apartment and calls a cab to take her to the Academy.

I’ll ask him, she tells herself, hands balled tightly in her lap. I’ll go up to Klaus and ask him if he really meant it when he said he wants to hang out, and if he says yes, I’ll - I’ll ask him about his past.

Her resolve lasts until she’s in front of the Academy doors, where it crumbles like wet paper. Which is about how it usually goes, really. She sighs, looking up at the imposing front, and it’s only after several minutes when she opens the door.

Cautiously, she steps inside.

The entrance hall is quiet - unsurprisingly. For the first time, she realizes Klaus might not even be here. Actually, would anyone be here? Allison and Diego are both probably long gone, Five looked pretty determined to find whoever owns that prosthetic eye (she has no idea why, but he asked her not to ask questions, and she can do that), and Klaus now has a home of his own. The only one she can see willingly remaining at the Academy two days after Dad’s funeral is Luther.

Vanya’s shoulders slump. Right. Well. She doesn’t really want to encounter Luther - they never really had much of a relationship, because he was always obsessed with training his powers and doing what Dad said, which were both definitionally an exclusion of her. She actually can’t remember a single conversation they ever had that lasted more than ten minutes.

So. Klaus probably isn’t here. Which means if she wants an answer to her question (and, on reflection, she does want an answer), she needs to find his address. Somehow.

Vanya frowns. She doesn’t know Klaus’ address, but….Dad probably did. He kept track of her, at least, even if only perfunctionarly. He at least knew where she lives. He probably knew the same about Klaus. So, logically, he should have Klaus’ address somewhere in his office.

Which means she’ll have to search her father’s office.

With only Luther in the house.

Vanya winces.

Well….she can probably convince Luther she’s not out to desecrate Dad’s things. Or cover up his murder.

Which brings his accusations against Klaus to mind, and her list of questions gains another one. What was he doing in Ben’s room?

Answers. She just - she just needs answers. Five refuses to let her ask, the others don’t even want to be around her, but Klaus….she might be able to get Klaus to talk.

Vanya takes a deep breath and straightens. Right. Dad’s office. She needs to look through Dad’s office.

She walks up the stairs to the second floor and turns into the hallway that leads to the office. She remembers that one time after the Academy’s first mission when they banded together to say goodnight to Dad. It was….well, it was a foolish thought, in hindsight. That maybe the wildly successful debut of the Academy would soften him somewhat, make him into an actual father for once. They really should have known better.

Klaus went on a bender that night, Vanya recalls. She remembers because he had to stay home the next day from the televised interview, and he threw a fit when Pogo declared he had to get sober.

It’s been years since she last looked over that memory (she put it in her book, didn’t she?), and most of it is colored by sheer envy, and her annoyance that Klaus had the gall to complain about the necessary sacrifices to be famous. She would have given anything to go out with her siblings, sit with them on plush chairs and laugh about taking down bad guys together, soaking up the attention of millions. She would have given an arm and a leg to be part of the Academy, and Klaus complained because he had to give up alcohol?

But for the first time, Vanya recalls the way Klaus cried and screamed when Mom locked him in his room. The way he dove headfirst into drugs just a few months later, after falling down the stairs. The way he’d look, hollow and dull-eyed and strung-out, for their entire teens.

The way his skin stretched tight over his bones in that photograph, eyes staring her down, $15 emblazoned at the bottom.

Vanya realizes she’s stopped walking, standing in the middle of the hallway and staring blankly at the wall.

She shakes herself and almost starts walking again, before she hears a noise.

It’s a voice, a male voice, and what’s more, it doesn’t sound like Pogo or Luther, it sounds like -

Diego?

“- just tell me, p-please,” he’s saying, and he sounds….upset.

Without thinking, Vanya rounds the corner to where his voice is coming from.

Diego is in a sitting room with Mom, holding her hand and looking at her with the most anguished expression Vanya can ever remember seeing on his face. In contrast, Mom is giving him her usual gentle smile.

“Silly,” she says fondly, “Of course I remember. Yesterday was the funeral.”

“No, the funeral was two d-days ago, Mom,” Diego says, swallowing hard.

Mom’s face doesn’t change. In fact, it stays utterly frozen, her smile not moving a millimeter. “No,” she says, and her voice sounds slightly confused. “No, it was definitely yesterday, Diego. Remember, it was raining so much we had to stay indoors? I made snacks for us all. Klaus didn’t want to eat them, silly boy.”

“Diego?” Vanya says.

Diego notices her and tenses. “What?” He pulls his hand away from Mom and stands in front of her, like he’s shielding her from Vanya. “What do you want?”

“What’s Mom talking about?” Vanya says slowly.

“I wish he would eat better,” Mom remarks, staring into space, sounding a little sad. “He hardly eats at all now, ever since he - fell.”

“Nothing,” Diego snaps.

“It sounds like she’s talking about Ben’s funeral,” Vanya says. “And she’s talking like it was - yesterday.”

“I should have told him to stay healthy, too,” Mom says. “Maybe I should have made it a condition?”

“No,” Diego says. “She’s fine. She’s fine. And you need to leave.”

“I - no,” Vanya says, struck with sudden boldness. “No, what’s wrong with her?”

“No,” Mom says. “No, that - I couldn’t give conditions. Not like that.”

“Nothing is wrong with her,” Diego snaps.

“She hasn’t been acting right since we came back,” Vanya says. “And now she’s mixing up her memory, and she’s not even noticing us -”

“‘Never reuse needles’ was an instruction,” Mom says. “And he followed it, didn’t he? I know he did. I know he did. He’s such a good boy. My beautiful boy. It’s better, isn’t it? He’s here. He’s here. That’s what matters.”

“Shut up!” Diego barks at Vanya, and she takes an involuntary step back when she notices his hand gripping one of his knives. He hasn’t unsheathed it, but from the look on his face he actually might throw it at her if she keeps pushing. “You don’t get to talk about her. Not after what you did. You made it pretty clear you never thought of yourself as part of the family, so you don’t get to know shit about Mom. Fuck. Off.”

Vanya sucks in a breath. “She’s my mom too,” she says, the echo of her words from the funeral coming back to her.

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Diego’s face might as well be carved from stone. The words certainly hit like one - like a punch in her gut, leaving her breathless. She stares at him.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says, and she reaches out and grabs Diego’s hand. He looks down at her in surprise. She looks upset. “Diego, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I thought it would be better, but - I don’t know if it is. Is it better?”

“Is what better?’ Diego asks. He’s entirely focused on Mom now, ignoring Vanya entirely.

“Klaus,” Mom says, her flawless face creased with uncertainty. “After the stairs, I gave him morphine. I thought it was better. I thought - but was I wrong? Was I just being selfish?”

“I - Mom,” Diego says, sighing. “It’s not your fault. You just gave him painkillers, he was the one who decided he couldn’t live without them.”

“I - yes,” Mom says, her face crumpling. “Yes. I couldn’t bear that, Diego. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I know,” Diego sighs, “But it’s not your fault, though, Mom. Understand? It’s not. That’s all on him.” When she opens her mouth again, he says quickly, “How about we make some cookies?”

Mom’s face goes blank, and then she lights up with a happy smile. “Oh, that sounds wonderful, darling. Vanya? Hello, dear, I didn’t see you there. Would you like to make cookies?”

Vanya opens her mouth, and even she isn’t sure what she’s going to say. But Diego pre-empts her and says, “No, Mom, she was just leaving.”

He glares at Vanya, and Vanya can’t muster an objection as he escorts Mom past her and down the hallway to the kitchen.

Vanya stands in the empty room for a few seconds, staring blankly at the wall.

She can hear the faint sounds of Mom talking to Diego, probably about cookie ingredients. Dad’s office is just down the hall, and with a little bit of searching she can probably find Klaus’ address.

Then she sucks in a deep breath.

No. No. She doesn’t want to be around any of her family right now, even if they might want to reconnect. There’s only so much she can take.

Vanya whirls around and marches down the hall, down the stairs, and out the Academy doors. She hails the first taxi that drives by.

“Where you going?” the cabbie asks.

“Bricktown,” she says.

Chapter Text

Ben is this fucking close to reneging on his deal with himself not to track down Five and give his location to these psychos. He just doesn’t care anymore. The only thing that’s stopping him is that he can’t bring himself to leave Klaus.

Because it’s been close to ten hours since he’s woken up. Ten fucking hours of watching as Klaus gets beaten for information he doesn’t fucking have, and Klaus’ reaction is actually even more terrifying than Ben thought it could be.

Cha-Cha (Ben has learned their names - or probable code names, anyways - by listening to their conversations they hold in the bathroom about how fucking insane his brother is) puts out another cigarette on Klaus’ collarbone. He jerks at the sudden heat, and -

He bursts out laughing.

“Repeating ourselves already?” he gasps out, through shuddering chuckles. “Come on, we already did that. Didn’t we?” He peers around at her, and seems unbothered that he can’t get a good look at her face. “I’m pretty sure we did that. Are you going to take my suggestions or not, guys?”

Cha-Cha lets out a strangled scream of frustration, and throws the cigarette on the ground. Hazel, the man, comes forward and crushes it with his heel, looking at the back of Klaus’ head with resigned despair.

Grabbing her partner’s arm, Cha-Cha marches into the bathroom. Klaus and Ben are left alone.

Like always, Ben moves closer to Klaus until he’s overlapping his brother. And again like always, the fuzz is too thick to push through. Klaus hunches his shoulders and tries to lean away.

“Beeen,” he complains. “Stooop. Tickles.” Then he laughs again.

Ben swallows, and moves away. He crouches in front of Klaus.

Klaus blinks at him, pupils blown wide and body trembling all over. His wrists are rubbed raw, and there are cutsburnsbruises over every square inch of his skin. Rivulets of dried blood (and a few fresh ones) are splattered everywhere.

“You look like you’re trying to poop,” Klaus observes, and then he falls into giggling again.

Ben swallows again, and returns to sitting on the bed.

He hasn’t been able to possess Klaus again. Hazel and Cha-Cha haven’t let Klaus get sober enough, instead dosing him again with one of the other drugs they swiped from the infirmary. Cha-Cha apparently thought it would make him more talkative, which….she wasn’t wrong about. It’s just that it also made him entirely irreverent and dismissive of the seriousness of the situation at hand. Ben vaguely remembers Klaus taking this particular drug a couple times before, but not often. It’s pretty expensive.

Honestly, his inability to take this whole thing seriously is fucking terrifying, but it might be for the best. Ben is pretty sure Klaus thinks this is some sort of hyper-realistic nightmare (Ben really wishes it was), and doesn’t understand that Ben isn’t possessing him anymore.

Of course, Ben isn’t looking forward to the comedown.

Ben rises from the bed and phases through the wall of the bathroom. He regards the two assassins conversing.

“- a fucking kink doll!” Hazel says, hands spread out, eyes a little wild. “He’s gotten off nine times, Cha-Cha. Nine goddamn times.”

“I. Know,” Cha-Cha growls, jaw set. “I was there. And for the sixth time, no, that drug was not an aphrodisiac.”

“Can you blame me for asking?” Hazel says. He puts his head in his hands, and his words come out muffled. “What did we do to deserve this?”

“You kidnapped and tortured my brother,” Ben says, entirely unsympathetic. His gut churns at the mention of Klaus’ - reactions, though. God, Klaus didn’t even do it to freak them out, it’s just how his body has been conditioned to react to this sort of thing. How he’s been conditioned to react.

Cha-Cha grimaces in a way that probably means she agrees with her partner’s despair, but she gives herself a full-body shake. “Buck up,” she says, clapping a hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “We’re getting close. Sure, the second drug was a mistake, but it should start wearing off within the hour. And then we’ll have a junkie who’s gonna be pretty desperate for another hit, I’m thinking.”

Ben closes his eyes, even though he was pretty much expecting this. “Fuck.”

“Can we just stay in here until that happens?” Hazel asks.

Cha-Cha pauses. “....For a little while,” she concedes.

That’s all Ben needs to hear. He phases back out into the main area, where Klaus is staring blankly at the wall. He notices Ben after several seconds, and blinks.

“Ben?” Klaus says. He sounds confused. “Hi. What are you doing here? You hate watching.”

Ben can’t help but wince at that. In a probably entirely predictable turn of events, Klaus is under the impression that he’s back in his old profession. Or that he’s having a nightmare of such. Ben is honestly unsure which.

But letting him continue to think so is likely much kinder than letting him realize reality, so Ben nods. “I do,” he says. “But they won’t be coming back for a while. Are you -” well, no, he’s obviously not okay, even if he’d inevitably say he is, “- going to stay conscious?”

“Can’t fall asleep, Benny,” Klaus says, rolling his eyes. “That’s rude. They’d be mad.” He hums. “There’s two of them? Tell me I charged double.”

“You did,” Ben says, the words like ground glass in his throat. He swallows, and plows forward. “Klaus, it’s going to be okay. It’s - it’s going to get bad, pretty soon, but it’s going to be okay in the end. I promise.”

“Mm,” Klaus says, clearly only half paying attention. “Always is.”

“Yeah,” Ben breathes, feeling yet another part of his heart quietly break. “Yeah, I know.”

**********

Unfortunately, Hazel and Cha-Cha return just half an hour later, just when Klaus is starting to hit the comedown.

Ben has managed to keep him calm, but Klaus is increasingly beginning to realize something is actually wrong. He’s tugging on his restraints when the two come out of the bathroom, asking Ben for the third time why he can’t wake up already.

“I don’t want to stay,” Klaus pouts. He looks over to Hazel and Cha-Cha, and jerks his hand like he’s trying to wave at them. “Don’t get me wrong, these are some lovely accommodations, and I’ve had a hell of a time. But I want to go home now, please. ‘M not feeling so good. Upset tummy, and all.” He smiles at them, split lip breaking open again.

“You think we’re gonna let you go just because you ask?” Cha-Cha says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m told I look very attractive when I’m all bloody and bruised,” Klaus says cheerfully. “Highlights my best features. Right?” he asks Ben. Ben looks away.

“Sure,” Cha-Cha says flatly. “It suits you. But you’re not getting out of here until you tell us where Number Five is.”

Klaus groans. “Again? Come on, I told you, you got the wrong number for that. Easy mistake to make, I know, one plus three does equal four, but I’m not the incest-y one! I have told you this!”

He has, actually. It was kind of hilarious to see Hazel and Cha-Cha discover just how truly fucked up the Umbrella Academy is. Hazel doesn’t really give off the impression of a soprano.

True to form, Hazel grimaces. “Cut the crap,” he says. “You’re hitting the beginnings of withdrawal, aren’t you?”

“That little itch in your veins, scratching at you for more drugs,” Cha-Cha picks up. “Don’t you feel it? You want more, don’t you?”

Klaus blinks at them, slowly. “Huh?” he says. “Withdrawal?”

“That’s what’s happening to you,” Cha-Cha says. “You do know that, right?”

“I….” Klaus trails off. He glances over at Ben. “What? I’m not - I can’t go through withdrawal. That’s bad.”

Ben takes in a long, fortifying breath, and stands up. “Klaus,” he begins.

“Like it or not, it’s happening,” Hazel says, plopping down on the bed and crossing his ankles. Cha-Cha stalks closer to Klaus, the glint in her eyes like a shark scenting blood.

“No,” Klaus says, like he’s testing out the word, like he can’t understand why they’re saying this. “No, I - can’t. I can’t get sober. I’m not safe.”

“You’re not safe now, you idiot,” Cha-Cha says, rolling her eyes.

“What?” Klaus says, his eyes going wide. He looks wildly around the room, before his eyes land on Ben. “What? Ben? I don’t - Ben, I’m safe, aren’t I? I’m safe, I’m high, I am.”

“Isn’t Ben the dead one?” Hazel murmurs to his partner.

“Klaus,” Ben says, moving closer to his brother, only to stop when Klaus flinches at his approach. He steps back and holds up his hands. “Klaus, listen to me. Can you listen to me?”

“Yeah,” Cha-Cha tells Hazel, frowning at Klaus. “But the book was pretty sure he either lied or hallucinated about seeing him.”

“You said yourself, she’s not the most reliable author,” Hazel counters.

“Okay,” Klaus says, his attention rapt on Ben. “Okay. What’s going on, Ben?”

“I need you to not be scared, Klaus,” Ben says, keeping his voice low and hopefully comforting. “Because this is real. You’re stuck here, and you’re going through withdrawal. But it’s going to be okay. I promise you’re going to be okay. Once you get sober enough I’m going to possess you and get you out of here. Do you understand?”

“He’s high, though,” Cha-Cha says. “Can’t see ghosts when he’s high. That’s just a fact. Even if he’s coming down, he’s not sober yet.”

“What?” Klaus says, staring at Ben. He looks very small, all of a sudden.

“Klaus, I need you to trust me,” Ben says, hands still held up, looking his brother in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

Klaus blinks at Ben, biting his lip. He looks uncertain, standing on the edge of a pit of fear, inches from tilting over. Ben, of all people, knows just how deep that pit goes, and his heart hammers with terror at the thought of being unable to prevent Klaus from falling in.

Slowly, Klaus gives a single, tiny nod.

“I promise,” Ben says, swallowing. “I promise it’s going to be okay. Trust me on that.”

There’s still a spark of fear in Klaus’ eyes, but he nods once again. “Okay,” he says, so softly Ben almost misses it.

“Hey,” Cha-Cha says, stepping between Klaus and Ben. Klaus jerks and looks up at her with wide eyes, complete incomprehension on his face. “Hey, are you seeing your brother’s ghost?”

“Tell her no,” Ben says, moving around her. “Or, wait - tell her you’re seeing two of me, one where I am and one over by the bathroom door. And tell her you’re seeing Santa Claus as well.”

Klaus nods, and dutifully repeats this.

Cha-Cha raises an eyebrow and shoots a look over at Hazel. He shrugs. “Well, you can’t blame me for wondering,” he says.

Klaus giggles, and even if it’s roughly 90% nervous energy Ben can’t help but be glad he isn’t completely falling apart. Klaus pulls at his bonds, and seems surprised to discover them. He stares down at his wrists, and his breathing picks up.

There’s a flash in the corner of Ben’s eye.

He jerks his head around, because no one should be there, but when he looks there’s nothing.

Except that’s not true, is it? He knows that flash, that shadowy flicker at the edge of perception. It’s a ghost, and it’s coming nearer to visibility.

“Well, back to business,” Cha-Cha says, and Ben’s head snaps back around because fuck.

Wordlessly, Hazel hands over a bottle. It’s small, and has an official-looking label wrapped around it. Ben recognizes it as the drug they gave Klaus earlier. Cha-Cha picks up the needle they used and twiddles it in her fingers.

With a sinking heart, Ben realizes Klaus’s eyes are fixed inexorably on the bottle.

“You liked this, didn’t you?” Cha-Cha says, shaking the bottle. She smirks. “Want another dose?”

Klaus whines, and - and there’s a faint, low burst of staticky murmuring that follows it. Ben flinches, and he’s not even sure which sound prompted the response.

“Just tell us where Number Five is,” Cha-Cha says. She twists off the top of the bottle, and fills up the needle. She sets the bottle down and holds up the needle. “Just tell us where he is, and you can have this.”

“I,” Klaus says, staring at the needle. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

“Course you know,” Hazel says genially. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t - I don’t,” Klaus says. Cha-Cha makes like she’s going to drop the needle on the floor and Klaus yelps, jumping in his chair. There’s another flicker, this time from multiple points around the room. “I don’t know! No one tells me shit, and I just got fucking stabbed! He didn’t tell me his travel plans! He’s barely spoken two words to me since he got back! I don’t know where he is!”

“Are you sure about that?” Cha-Cha says, dangling the needle closer.

Klaus leans forward, closer to it. “Yes,” he croaks out desperately. “Yes, I promise, I promise I don’t know, please, please just give it to me, I swear I don’t know, please, I need it, I need it.”

Cha-Cha - frowns.

She glances over to Hazel. He’s also frowning.

“Shit,” Hazel says. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

There’s another round of flickers across the room. This time, Klaus notices them, and he goes stock-still, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

“Please,” he gasps out quickly. “Please, please, I need it, I’m not safe.”

“You are,” Ben says, crouching down slightly to meet his eyes. “Klaus, I promise you are, I’m right here, I won’t let them possess you.”

He’s not sure Klaus hears him. Klaus whines again, tucking his chin against his chest, and screws his eyes shut. “No,” he mutters. “No, no, no, no, no….”

“Fuck,” Cha-Cha says. “Fuck!”

“Are you telling me we went through all that for nothing?” Hazel says.

The flickers gain definition, and Ben winces as he starts making out broken forms and bloody clothes. Well, it’s not like he thought Hazel and Cha-Cha were inexperienced at this. The murmurs increase.

Cha-Cha throws the needle on the floor and stomps back into the bathroom. Hazel shoots one more exasperated look at Klaus before following her.

Klaus moans again. His eyes open into slits, and Ben winces at the terror he sees there.

“Can you hear me, Kl-bro?” Ben says, remembering at the last moment how most ghosts react to hearing Klaus’ name. “Just listen to me. Can you do that? Just focus on my voice.”

Klaus is shaking now, holding onto calm by the skin of his teeth. He looks at Ben hazily, and his pupils show he’s in that horrible spot where he’s just drugged up enough to not have full control of himself but sober enough to realize the danger he’s in. Ben is pretty sure he’s not going to get through this without at least one panic attack.

Well, Ben can at least try to mitigate that as much as he can.

“That’s right,” Ben says, keeping his tone quiet and calm. “It’s going to be alright, bro. I told you, I won’t let anyone possess you. Once you get sober enough, I’m going to do it. And then no one else can. You remember how that works?”

Klaus’ face creases in confusion, before he hesitantly nods.

“I know you’re scared,” Ben says. “But we’re going to get through this, okay? Once you’re sober enough, I’m going to possess you, and then you’ll be safe. You’ll be completely safe, I promise.”

Klaus swallows, and stares at Ben like he’s a life raft in shark-infested waters. The metaphor only gains strength with all the ghosts around the room, which are starting to become fully-formed people. Ben could probably make out their individual words now, if he wanted, but he ignores them. Klaus’ eyes dart around the room, and Ben is reminded horribly of a trapped, cornered animal.

“It’s alright,” Ben repeats, feeling like a broken record. But his voice seems to be keeping Klaus at least marginally calm, so he keeps going. “We’ll get out of here, and go back home, and get all those injuries treated. Maybe Klara will bring over soup. That’d be nice, right?”

Klaus makes a small sound Ben is going to characterize as agreement. Encouraged, Ben continues.

“We can sit at home and not worry about anything at all for the next several weeks or so. Just resting and relaxation. It’s just going to be a little longer, and then I can possess you and kill these guys and we’re home free, alright? It’s going to be okay.”

Ben manages to smile encouragingly at Klaus. The ghosts are fractionally more solid, but Klaus is only looking at him, which can only be a good thing -

That is, until Ben notices the expression on his face.

It’s frozen, blank stillness the only emotion visible. Klaus’ body is suddenly slack, lacking any of his previous tenseness. He’s staring at Ben with large, stunned eyes. He’s not breathing.

Ben blinks, tensing. “Klaus?”

“....no,” Klaus whispers, still staring at Ben.

“What?” Ben says. “No, wait, hey, it’s alright, Klaus, it’s going to be -”

“No,” Klaus interrupts, jerking back with such suddenness, his eyes suddenly the largest Ben’s ever seen them. The shades in the room pulse. "No, I won’t, I won’t, I can’t, please, no, please -”

“Shit,” Ben says. “Klaus, please calm down, you’re going to bring them back in -”

“Klaus?” one of the ghosts echos.

Ben

freezes.

Klaus makes a high, panicked sound, eyes swiveling around the room wildly. He yanks at his restraints, opening one of his welts. “No,” he babbles, “No, no, no, please no, don’t please not please I don’t want to hurt anyone please no please no no no -”

And Ben -

Oh god, he realizes. Oh god, I did this. I told him I’m going to possess him and kill people when that’s literally been his worst fear since he was eight. How could I be that stupid?

“Klaus,” one of the ghosts says, a woman with slightly blurry features that doesn’t disguise the bullet hole in her forehead. She steps closer, cocking her head. “You can see us, Klaus?”

Klaus lets out a strangled scream, and yanks his body away from the ghost. It’s enough to tip the chair over, and he crashes to the ground, his head smacking against the floor.

He doesn’t even notice it. He just keeps babbling, pleading no no no please no, straining against his bonds with no care for the welts that break open and drip blood down his pale skin. Ben curses and falls to his knees and scrambles forward, mentally apologizing to Klaus because he needs to repossess him right now -

Only when he reaches out, there’s still that slightest fuzz of resistance, so thin and yet unbreakable. Fuck, fuck, it has to clear up within the next few minutes, it has to, but -

Klaus screams, yanks himself backward with as much force as he can muster. He’s crying now, big ugly sobs that roll down his cheeks in a mess of snot and tears.

(The bathroom door cracks open for a moment and Hazel throws out a “Will you shut up?” and Cha-Cha adds “Or you’re getting a bullet to the head, trust me, I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” but Ben doesn’t pay that any mind because nothing is as important as his brother right now.)

Shit, shit, shit. Ben knows this kind of reaction. He should have seen it coming. It’s a Type 3 panic attack, the kind where Klaus is driven crazy with terror of being imminently possessed and tries to hurt himself, kill himself even, so the ghosts can’t use him to hurt anyone else.

Klaus is hyperventilating and thrashing around, eyes a thousand miles away, and he’s definitely hurting himself, breaking open his wounds and fuck, the bandages on his side are stained red, he’s opened up his stab wound again, god Ben needs to stop him, he can see Klaus trying vainly to yank up his wrist to his mouth to bite it open, just like last time. The only good thing about this situation is that Klaus is bound enough that he can’t kill himself, but if he keeps thrashing he’ll eventually bleed out regardless, the bandages are growing redder -

And then Klaus opens his mouth wide, wide enough that Ben can see all the way down his throat. It looks like he’s going to scream, and Ben surges forward again, because he’s outlived his usefulness to Hazel and Cha-Cha and if he annoys them he’s dead, Ben can’t let him scream again -

Only Klaus doesn’t scream.

Instead, just as Ben reaches out for him,

Klaus

snaps

his

jaw

shut.

Squelch.

Ben stops, hand just above Klaus’ shoulder. He stares at Klaus, confused.

What was that? a small part of his brain asks. What was that noise?

Three things happen next:

Klaus swallows. He swallows, and immediately starts gagging, coughing, choking, choking -

- Blood spills over his lips like a tide, dark red and heavy, puddling on the floor immediately, washing over his skin, spilling everywhere, everywhere -

- And Hazel and Cha-Cha come out of the bathroom and spot Klaus on the floor.

“Jesus fuck!” Cha-Cha says when she notices the blood. She hurries over to Klaus and lifts his head by the hair. Klaus is still choking, thrashing, and his face is slowly turning red, red like the blood still gushing out of his mouth, red like an oversaturated sunset, the only color in the room, everything else is strangely grey and distant, and Ben thinks he should be doing something, something important, but it’s all so hard to remember when he’s looking at that redredred and he can hardly feel the sharp edges of the scene in front of him and all the sounds he’s hearing are coming from so very far away.

Cha-Cha pries open Klaus’ mouth, ignoring his thrashing and how his face is growing purpler by the second. She crams her fingers into his mouth and grabs at something. She pulls it out, and it’s slick with blood and she looks absolutely disgusted and throws it on the floor and looks up at Hazel and says, voice full of disbelief, “He bit off his fucking tongue!”

And then, finally, finally, Ben breaks free of his paralysis and lunges forward at Klaus -

and

he

sinks

in.

Chapter Text

Ben has been covered in blood before.

Many times, in fact. His training sessions started with small animals like mice and birds, but Dad worked him up to goats and sheep and even cows by the time he was nine. The Horror gleefully ripped them all apart, guts and bones and chunks of meat strewn across the floor.

He got used to the blood. It was unavoidable. It got absolutely everywhere, walls and floor and furniture and, of course, him. In his more fanciful moments, Ben sometimes thought he attracted most of the blood, that the majority fell on him because the world needed to know how much he shed. He could never really scrub it off, layers and layers accumulating with every session.

Then - well. Then the Academy debuted, and the blood started coming from people.

Ben is ashamed to admit that it didn’t really feel all that different from training.

He hated it, of course. God, he fucking hated it, letting the Horror loose and watching people get ripped apart until they were just chunks of meat (and he has never, ever looked closely at how there always seemed to be slightly fewer chunks than would be expected).

But he’s always hated it, always felt angry and helpless and sickened, and it turns out desensitization does work out somewhat because even though he could never stop feeling those things he still kept releasing the Horror when ordered. Never disobeyed, hardly even hesitated, never stopped letting it kill and kill and kill -

Until it turned around and aimed for a target Ben could never, ever let it hurt. Even at the cost of his own life.

(He knows Luther doesn’t know. It’s better that he doesn’t, really. In the grand scheme of things, it’s….not really important, and Ben is pretty sure he would have died that day anyways. The Horror was really just waiting for an excuse by then.)

Ben has been covered in blood before. Not in a long time, not for over a decade, but he remembers. He can’t ever forget.

The Horror rumbles inside his stomach. Reflexively, he pushes it back, but for once it doesn’t take too much effort. The Horror slides deeper into the lightless corners it came from, unprotesting, and Ben doesn’t have to reach back into his memory to understand that the way it twists back upon itself means that it’s feeling satisfied.

He keeps his their eyes closed.

‘Klaus?’ he says wordlessly.

There’s no answer.

‘Please,’ Ben says, not moving a muscle. He can feel lightning bolts radiating out from the reopened stab wound, all-over aches and hurts from what Hazel and Cha-Cha did, the clawing need for drugs, and an almost blinding well of pain where their tongue used to be, but none of that can quite disguise the telltale cold wetness of drying blood all over their body. ‘Please, Klaus, just say something. Anything. I - I need to know you’re not - gone. Please.’

Gone as in broken. Gone as in done. Gone as in permanently catatonic, driven insane by seeing his body commit horrific carnage like he’s always feared.

Gone as in gone.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben says. It sinks deep into the darkness of their skull, disappearing without a trace. Just meaningless words. ‘I’m sorry, Klaus. I’m so fucking sorry.’

‘....Ben.’

Ben stiffens, which sends a fresh round of pain racing through their body, but that’s not important. ‘Klaus? Are you there?’

‘.....Yeah,’ Klaus says. It’s slow and uncertain, but Klaus’ mental voice is still there, and it’s probably the sweetest fucking thing Ben has ever heard. ‘I’m here.’

‘Oh, thank fuck,’ Ben breathes. ‘Klaus, are you - how are you feeling?’

There’s the mental equivalent of a flinch.

‘Okay,’ Ben says quickly. ‘Okay, you don’t need to answer that.’ It was probably pretty redundant, anyways. ‘Klaus, I….do you remember what happened?’

‘....Yes.’

Fuck. Ben squeezes their eyes tighter, and feels moisture in the corners. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘....What?’ Klaus says. ‘Why?’

Ben stills, at that. ‘Wha-why? Klaus, I just killed them. I possessed you and killed them. You’ve been terrified of that happening for decades.’

‘That - you didn’t have a choice,’ Klaus says. His voice is still shaky and small, so unlike him, but there’s a spark of his trademark stubbornness that shines through. ‘It was - them or us. You didn’t have a choice.’

Ben would probably believe his brother more if Klaus wasn’t practically radiating miserable terror all throughout their shared skull. It’s very, very faint, but the fact that it’s there at all means a lot. They can usually only share emotions with each other on purpose, so for Klaus to be leaking even this much must mean his mind literally can’t contain it.

‘And anyways, I should be the one saying sorry,’ Klaus continues.

‘What.’ Ben says.

‘I fucked up,’ Klaus says, retreating back in their head, his voice going smaller. ‘You kept telling me to stay calm and trust you and I - didn’t. I freaked out and fell apart and….I didn’t imagine that, did I? I hurt - us.’

As if on cue, their mouth surges with pain. There’s a sudden blockage, and Ben swallows reflexively.

He gags at the taste of thick, hot blood going down their throat. The wound is still bleeding, sluggishly. Ben falls to coughing, bringing up a hand to massage their throat. He coughs up a glob of bloody phlegm, then another. The pain intensifies.

‘Oh god,’ Klaus says faintly.

‘Klaus,’ Ben says, still coughing. ‘Klaus, it’s - it’s okay.’

‘No,’ Klaus says, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice. ‘No, I don’t think so, Ben. Our tongue is gone. I bit off our fucking tongue, Ben.’

‘You were scared,’ Ben says, finally coming to an end to the coughing. He breathes in, raggedly. ‘You were having a panic attack, Klaus. It’s not your fault.’

‘Oh my god, I bit off our tongue,’ Klaus says. ‘Oh god. Oh god.’

From the sound of it, Klaus is heading straight into another breakdown. Ben winces. ‘It’s alright,’ he tries. ‘Klaus, it’s alright -’

‘No it’s not!’ Klaus shouts, and the hysteria is more pronounced now. ‘Ben, I bit off our fucking tongue! It’s gone! I fucking crippled us when there was no reason to, and now we don’t have a fucking tongue anymore! We can’t fucking talk! I - I - oh god -’

‘It’s not - all bad,’ Ben says weakly. ‘I mean….we’re almost fluent in ASL now….’

Klaus makes a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a sob. Ben suspects that if he had control of their body right now, he’d be curled up into a ball and rocking back and forth.

Ben swallows, and tries to ignore the taste of blood. He can feel their heart beat-beat-beating away, probably too fast. Their injuries pulse in time with it, and Ben knows that they should really get medical attention. There’s the familiar clawing in their veins, demanding drugsdrugsdrugs, more pronounced than it’s been since the last time they went through withdrawal. Klaus sounds like he’s going through a breakdown yet again, continuing to mutter ‘ohgodohgodohgod’ in the back of their head.

It’s hard to stay focused when three different situations are demanding his attention, but Ben forces himself to. He has to be the strong one here, he has to be the one to help his brother because no one else can.

‘Klaus,’ Ben says sharply. He regrets the way Klaus breaks off and sort of freezes, but, well, ‘We can freak out later. Right now, we need to stay calm and think. Do you understand?’

There’s a few long, breathless seconds, before Klaus says, ‘Y-yeah. I can do that. Calm. Okay.’

Ben breathes out. ‘Okay. That’s good. We - we need medical attention. Since I just killed two people, we should probably avoid hospitals, which means we need to get back to the Academy.’

‘We need to warn the others, too,’ Klaus murmurs.

‘Yeah, we do,’ Ben says. And probably punch Five in the face, but he keeps that part to himself. ‘Okay. So I’ll just - see how hard it is to move around. Brace yourself.’

Ben breathes in, breathes out, and then opens their eyes. He blinks up at the ceiling.

Or. Well. What used to be the ceiling.

‘Uh,’ Klaus says.

Slowly, Ben turns their head around, taking in the rest of the room.

It’s….demolished would probably be something of an understatement, but that’s probably the best word to describe it. Broken, shredded furniture is strewn all over the room, not a single stick of it intact. There are several holes in the ceiling and walls, letting the afternoon light stream in, and part of the roof is actually collapsed, over near the corner. The bathroom wall has been mostly ripped down, and the furnishings inside given the same treatment as the rest of the room. A thin coating of blood covers the room, with scraps of meat here and there, and Ben is disturbed to find that the largest pieces are no larger than a baseball.

‘....Well,’ Klaus says weakly. ‘Looks like someone enjoyed their day out.’

‘I kept it locked up for over a decade,’ Ben says, swallowing again as he twists his head around to take in the full extent of the devastation that surrounds them. ‘It prefers living targets, but - there were only two of them. It’s not really a surprise it kept going after they were dead.’

His memory of the event is a little hazy, mind clouded by shock and anger and the terror of letting out the Horror for the first time since his death. After Hazel and Cha-Cha were torn apart, he wasn’t really able to focus on what the Horror did, just trying to stuff it back inside before Klaus’ body was ripped apart like Ben’s was.

Slowly, Ben sits up.

That alone nearly makes him black out, and the room tilts dangerously. Ben stops halfway, propping himself up on their elbows, and gasps for air.

‘Fuck,’ he says, mouthing the words as well. ‘Jesus fuck.’

‘Sorry,’ Klaus says, probably reflexively.

‘Again, not your fault,’ Ben says, sliding their eyes shut and forcing their lungs to fucking behave.

‘Mm,’ Klaus says, vaguely, which means he doesn’t really agree but knows they can’t afford to be distracted by an argument right now. Ben, however, makes a note that they will be having a more in-depth discussion later. He doesn’t care how long it takes, but Klaus is going to understand it’s not his fault.

(If anything, it’s Ben’s. Of all the things to say to his terrified, panicking brother, why the fuck did he have to promise to enact Klaus’ worst nightmare? It’s no wonder Klaus reflexively tried to kill himself, jesus christ.)

Ben has just leveled out his breathing when Klaus says, ‘Do you hear that?’

Jerking their head a bit, Ben listens.

….Sirens.

Faint, but it’s definitely sirens. Ben takes another look around the room, wide-eyed, and realizes that no matter how apathetic the front desk clerk is, people will have noticed part of the motel collapsing on itself.

‘Fuck,’ Klaus says.

Ben levers up into a full sitting position. Their torso pulses with pain, and he brings a hand to cover it. The injuries Hazel and Cha-Cha inflicted - all designed precisely for maximum pain - light up. Their gut churns, and nausea surges.

They need to not get arrested, though, so Ben forces himself to keep going.

(Later, he’ll realize that they probably wouldn’t have been arrested. The sheer extent of their injuries alone would convince anyone that they were the victim. But terror and adrenaline keep him from realizing that until it’s too late.)

It takes another minute to be capable of standing without almost blacking out, and Ben curses the delay. The sirens are closer now, probably just a couple blocks away.

‘Let me drive,’ Klaus says. ‘I have a better pain tolerance.’

‘...Alright,’ Ben says, wincing. Klaus may be better at handling pain, but Ben will still feel it. But they do need to get out fast, and Klaus won’t be slowed down by a little searing agony. He retreats, and Klaus takes control.

Sure enough, Klaus straightens, and ignores the way their torso screams at them. ‘Okay, so we probably shouldn’t go out the door,’ Klaus muses, looking at it. The door is splintered in half, hanging from a single hinge. They can see the parking lot through the hole, and Klaus ducks to the side as the first patrol car comes into view.

‘We’re on the second floor,’ Ben says, ‘We can’t go out the window.’

‘Ruin my fun,’ Klaus huffs.

‘Always,’ Ben says, pushing forward the sensation of rolling eyes and feeling relief at the same time. If Klaus is joking around with him, their relationship can’t be unsalvageable. ‘Maybe go through the wall to the room next door?’

Klaus goes over to the collapsed part of the room. Being barefoot, he has to step gingerly to avoid the splinters of bedframes, and the bits of mangled rebar. He peers through the hole to look into the room next door.

It looks unoccupied, for which Ben thanks every god he can remember. He doesn’t doubt that the Horror would have eagerly gone after the motel’s other guests, if it was capable of reaching them.

The sirens cut off outside.

‘Hurry,’ Ben says, bracing himself for more pain.

He’s not disappointed. Klaus hoists himself up into the hole, sending pain crackling over their entire body. Their vision greys out, and Klaus lets out a strained sound. But he continues pulling himself through the hole, and scrambles through.

He can’t quite catch them as they fall to the floor, though, and they hit it with the force of a freight train. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Klaus lets out a mangled scream, and Ben couldn’t say anything coherent if he tried.

They lay on the floor, panting, and Ben can feel Klaus swallowing back bile and blood.

‘Reminds me of that time I escaped from rehab,’ Klaus says after a moment.

‘Which time?’ Be says, although he’s pretty sure he knows.

‘When you found out,’ Klaus confirms.

‘Don’t tell me you were in this much pain back then,’ Ben says. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘Well, no,’ Klaus admits. ‘But stabbing myself in the leg wasn’t fun, you know.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Ben says.

Before Klaus can say anything back, they hear footsteps outside the door. Klaus tenses, and turns their head.

‘Think they’ll find us?’ Klaus asks.

‘I think they will, yeah,’ Ben says.

‘Shit,’ Klaus says, just as a woman’s voice rings out with a, “This is the police! We’re coming inside!”

Klaus blinks, and squints at where he’s staring at the destroyed wall. ‘Huh.’

‘Huh what?’ Ben says, trying to figure out if they can sneak out of this room while the police are searching the destroyed one.

‘Was that briefcase in the vent?’ Klaus says.

‘What?’ Ben says, and he starts paying attention to what their eyes are looking at.

It is a briefcase, bulky and black and sort of retro-looking. It’s lying on its side, right in front of the destroyed vent. It looks like it was slammed against the vent grate from the other side so hard it just - popped out.

‘You’re wondering about a briefcase?’ Ben says, exasperated.

‘Well, I think I have cause,’ Klaus argues, as the police start talking to each other next door. ‘It must have belonged to those two psychos, right? And if they hid it, it must have been valuable to them.’

Klaus levers them up into a sitting position. Ben hisses at the fresh round of pain this brings. ‘Klaus,’ he says.

‘Maybe it has their weapons,’ Klaus argues, reaching out for the briefcase. ‘We have to get out of here somehow.’

‘Oh my god, Klaus, we aren’t going to shoot at police officers.’

‘Of course we aren’t, but they don’t know that,’ Klaus says, snagging the briefcase and pulling it closer.

‘No, Klaus,’ Ben says, unable to believe he even has to say this. ‘Do not make plans, you make horrible plans. What we need to do is sneak out of here while they’re distracted, and not threaten to hurt anyone, because I just killed two people and the last thing we need is -’

But it is at that moment when Klaus flips the clasps on the briefcase and opens the lid.

And

without warning

the world explodes with blue light.

Chapter Text

David Katz is woken up by a flash of blue light, and a mostly-naked man appearing next to his cot.

He blinks. The man blinks back, his eyes huge and green and mesmerizing.

“Uh,” Dave says.

God? Dave wonders. If this is Your way of saying it’s alright to be gay, I’m not complaining, but what the fuck?

However, in the next moment, Dave notices something that he really should have seen before getting trapped in the man’s eyes. Namely, that this guy is covered in a fine mist of blood, with larger splotches dotted all over.

“Shit,” Dave says, scrambling out of bed. The man’s face suddenly snaps out of the expression of shocked incomprehension it was wearing, and he jerks backwards. Dave notices he’s holding onto a bulky black briefcase, which is - weird, but not the most pressing matter here.

The man opens his mouth and lets out a - sound, like he’s trying to speak but can’t manage it. Actually, a worrying amount of the blood on him seems to have originated from his mouth.

Realizations blooms over the man’s features, and he freezes, stock-still. He stares at Dave.

Dave has - no idea what’s going on right now, but he stops moving and holds up his hands. He opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, but before he can speak -

Boom.

The bomb rattles the tent, and the rest of the squad wakes, and Sarge starts barking out orders, and the man looks completely lost and Dave -

Well, Dave always was too charitable for his own good.

As the rest of the squad scrambles out of the tent, Sarge notices the man. In the low light of the tent, Dave thinks he doesn’t even notice the blood.

“You got mud in your ears, boy? Get dressed!”

The man’s eyes widen and he skitters back, opening his mouth and trying to say - something. After the first wheeze comes out, he stops, and looks stricken all over again.

“Katz, get this man operational! Get him a pair of pants!”

In any other situation, Dave would probably say no to that, because this guy is clearly injured and in some kind of shock and looks like he has no idea what’s going on, but right now there is a bomb and Charlie is inbound and they can’t afford to be distracted. Dave throws him a pair of pants and does his best to look apologetic.

The man fumbles with the pants, dropping the briefcase as he does, and - oh shit, his side has a bunch of bloodsoaked bandages on it. Dave looks wildly back at the middle of the tent, but Sarge is already ducking out through the tent flap.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Dave - Dave thinks this guy might actually be a POW who just escaped from Charlie, made his way back to the Americans just as they’re being attacked and don’t have the time to deal with him. Dave darts in closer, and the man practically jumps out of his skin as Dave touches his arm. He flinches back, eyes wide and terrified.

“Listen,” Dave says, snatching his hand away and holding it up. Damn, that was stupid of him. “Listen, I don’t know what just happened to you, and I promise we can help you in a little bit, but right now we’re being attacked and we need to move. I’ll cover you, okay?”

The man blinks, face still lost and scared, but after a second he nods jerkily.

“Boss,” Dave says, glancing to the tent entrance. Nearly everyone is out now, and he winces. “Quick, put on those pants, and here’s a shirt - fuck, where’s a helmet -”

The man mouths something, and if Dave pays attention it looks like he’s saying ‘Boss?’, which, hey, at least he’s looking on the bright side.

Dave gets the man dressed and kitted out quickly enough that they can catch up with the rest of the guys, and if Sarge glares at them, well, at least it’s not too much harder than normal. The guy sort of flinches at it, though.

The light isn’t much better outside, swinging from darkness to flashpaper brightness with every bomb that hits, but even a few seconds of light at a time are enough for Dave to get a better look at the man.

That….is definitely blood all over him, yep. Dave was kind of hoping he wasn’t seeing that correctly, but no, the guy is absolutely coated with a fine layer of blood. It’s only half-dry, too, smeared in places where he pulled on his clothes. There’s a veritable waterfall spilling out of his mouth, and from the way the man keeps swallowing and grimacing Dave thinks whatever wound he has in there hasn’t quite stopped bleeding. He’s keeping pace without issue so far, but Dave can’t help but remember the wound in his side and wonder how long he can keep that up.

He’s holding his gun awkwardly, like he’s never seen one before, much less touched one, and sends terrified glances at it every few seconds. Not that that’s any different from how he looks at anything else, his eyes darting around like an epileptic pinball. His face seems locked on ‘bewildered terror.’

Damn it. His sister was right, his soft heart is going to get him killed out here.

But, well, he can’t just leave this poor guy flailing.

Dave leans over and says, just loud enough to be heard, “Just stick with me, okay? Do what I do.”

The guy’s eyes lock onto him like a drowning man on a life preserver, and Dave has to catch himself before he trips. Dear god, his eyes are incredible, and Dave no longer has to wonder why the blood was the second thing he noticed.

Then the squad reaches the sandbags, and Dave has to shunt aside any gooey feelings before they get him killed. He crouches down, motioning for the guy to join him, and can only spare a quick smile before another bomb lights up the night and they’re thrown into the engagement.

Dave vaguely remembers hearing, from one of the old-timers back home who fought in WWII, that war is 99% boredom and 1% sheer, balls-dropping terror. In his time deployed, Dave has learned the truth of that statement. And as much as Dave doesn’t like to be bored, he has to admit it’s a lot better than open combat.

The engagement goes on for about forty minutes, although it feels three times as long. The guy keeps his hunted, haunted look the whole time, but eventually he takes a bit more initiative in moving around, following Dave without prompting and even pushing Anderson down when he notices a gun barrel before anyone else. Dave shoots, and the VC goes down.

Then Lieutenant Black is shouting for a retreat, and they’re all shuffling back, and usually Dave would help cover them but he can’t risk the man (whose name he still doesn’t know, which he kicks himself for. Not like he can just call the guy Beautiful Mysterious Stranger.)

They’re rushed back to the tents, where a bus is waiting. The guy startles at the sight, looking between the tents and the bus, before looking at Dave with a pleading expression.

“We’re, uh, heading out,” Dave says, looking at the bus. “Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”

The man looks panicked, and doesn’t answer. Instead, he races back to the tents, ducking inside.

Dave blinks, and looks around. No one is really paying attention. Dave debates with himself, and takes a hesitant step towards where the man disappeared.

However, the man comes right back out, with -

Well. Makes a certain amount of sense. That briefcase must be important to him, if he brought it all the way from wherever-he-came-from (which Dave still half-suspects is a POW camp).

The man notices Dave staring at him, and clutches the briefcase tighter. Dave holds up his hands and steps back.

The blood on the man’s face has dried by now, and Dave grimaces slightly as he gets closer.

“Do you want to wash your face?” Dave says. He unhooks his canteen. “You sort of look like someone just - bled all over you. We should get on the bus first, though,” he amends, glancing over to it.

The man blinks, and nods hesitantly, still clutching at the briefcase.

They squeeze onto the bus, and Dave guides them to the very back. He slides into the seat, and motions for the guy to sit next to him. Dave offers his canteen.

The guy pauses, briefly glancing between it and the briefcase, before slowly setting the case down on the floor between his feet. Then he takes the canteen, and uses his shirt as a rag to wipe off his face.

Dave resists the urge to offer to help with that. Not the time, Katz, he tells himself.

Now that the blood is getting removed, Dave thinks his earlier assessment might have been wrong. The guy is injured, because Dave hasn’t forgotten that bandage on his side, but it can’t be as bad as all the blood implied. Reviewing memories of the engagement they just went through, the guy didn’t move like he was injured. Either he has an absolutely inhuman pain tolerance, or he’s not as hurt as Dave thought.

Once the guy is looking a little more human (and his expression has gone from bewildered terror to merely disbelieving nervousness, which Dave counts as a definite plus), Dave takes back his canteen and clears his throat. “So,” he says. “I’m Dave. You are?”

The guy gains a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

Dave waits patiently.

The guy swallows, and his eyes dart sideways. Then he grimaces, and looks back at Dave, and taps his throat before making a slashing motion.

Dave straightens slightly. “You can’t talk?” It could be voluntary, a response to trauma, but Dave is willing to bet it’s a throat/mouth injury. That blood, Dave remembers, looked a lot thicker than the mist.

The man nods, face tight and miserable. Then it flickers, and smooths out into cool blankness. He purses his lips, and gives Dave a sideways glance.

[Thanks,] he signs, quick enough that it could be mistaken for a twitch of the hand.

But Dave blinks, and feels himself relax. [Oh, you know sign language?] he signs back. [That’s pretty lucky.]

The man does a frankly hilarious double-take, and Dave wishes he had a camera. He feels a smile spread across his face.

[My aunt is deaf,] Dave explains. [So I grew up with it.]

[How - fortunate,] the guy signs back, still wearing the vestiges of that expression.

[So what’s your name?] Dave asks again.

[B-E-N,] the guy spells out, and then he freezes. [No, K-L-A-U-S.]

Dave blinks. “Uh, what?”

[My name is K-L-A-U-S,] the guy says firmly. He stares Dave straight in the eye, unblinking, daring Dave to say something. [K-L-A-U-S-H-A-R-G-R-E-E-V-E-S.]

“....Okay,” Dave says. “Well, nice to meet you, Klaus.”

Klaus relaxes slightly, and Dave is pretty sure he made the right decision to go along with what the guy said. Besides, if Klaus really did come from where Dave thinks he did, he doesn’t need an interrogation right now.

Speaking of, Dave switches back to sign to say, [So I couldn’t help but notice you’re probably not fresh from boot camp.]

There’s that deer-in-the-headlights expression again.

[Did the VC have you?] Dave asks, as gently as he can. [POW? Did you escape?]

Klaus’ face goes blank, and there’s a long silence.

“Sorry,” Dave says, when it’s stretched on too long. “I - sorry, you don’t need to answer that. But if you are, you can go up to the Lieutenant and he can take care of you. Find your papers, get you discharged, shipped back to the States and your family - I can translate, if you want, or he’ll have some paper, probably.”

There’s an even longer silence. Klaus glances down at the briefcase between his feet. Then, abruptly, he picks it up and lays it on his lap.

[One minute, please,] he says to Dave, before starting to inspect the case. Now that Dave is seeing it up close, it looks like there are - dials? - embedded next to the clasps.

Feeling a little lost (okay, more than a little), Dave glances out the window. The jungle rolls by, and like always, Dave can’t help but marvel at the untamed beauty before him.

Although it would look a lot more beautiful if none of us were here, probably, Dave thinks wryly, catching sight of a blackened burn scar cut into the landscape. He doesn’t regret serving his country, but honestly, it really doesn’t feel like they’re doing any good here.

Dave and Klaus sit in silence for the next ten minutes or so. Dave can’t help but cast glances at Klaus every so often, but Klaus is fully engrossed in examining the briefcase. Several times, he fiddles with the dials, and once he undoes one of the clasps, only to immediately reclasp it.

It’s more than a little bewildering, but Dave decides against asking about it, because he doesn’t know what Klaus has been through but it’s pretty obvious it was some heavy shit. The last thing he needs is some random guy nosing into his private business.

Although the first thing he needs is probably medical attention. Dave resolves to ask for a medic once they stop, because even if Klaus is moving around okay and not showing any sign of pain, Dave can’t quite get the image of those bloodsoaked bandages out of his mind.

Then the bus stops. Dave snaps to attention, tapping Klaus’ arm for him to do the same, because Sarge can get testy when he thinks the men aren’t paying attention. Klaus jerks, and looks up.

“Alright, ladies!” Sarge barks. “We’re taking a quick detour, stopping to clear out a bunker a half-mile from here. Don’t give me that look, Anderson, we’ll be back on the bus in an hour! Let’s go!”

Klaus winces, and his face spasms for a few seconds, before shoving the briefcase under their seat. Dave is thankful he doesn’t have to suggest Klaus leave it here, because it’s clearly important to the guy but nobody would like him carrying it around when they’re supposed to have their hands free.

“Clearing shouldn’t take long,” Dave reassures Klaus as they file off the bus. “Hell, it’s probably going to take less than half an hour, we’ll be right back.”

Klaus gives him a smile that’s primarily composed of nervous tension, but it still makes his face light up like a firework. Dave has to remind himself to breathe, and also that being attracted to a fellow soldier is a bad idea because they are literally all carrying guns. Getting shot is a very real possibility.

They make it to the bunker quickly enough that Dave feels pretty confident in his estimate, and sweep through the area. No sign of Charlie, for which Dave is thankful. He’s roughly 98% sure by now that Klaus was a POW, and two engagements with the guys who captured him this close together probably wouldn’t be good for the poor guy’s head.

The bunker is cleared, and Sarge yells for a bit, but that’s just how he is. The squad marches back out into the morning sunshine, and starts making their way back to the bus.

“You should probably get to a medic soon,” Dave says to Klaus in an undertone. “I don’t want to push, but - I think you need it.”

Klaus shoots him an unreadable look. [Thanks for the concern,] he says. [I will. Soon.]

“All I’m asking,” Dave says, holding up his hands. He looks back ahead, estimating how long until they return to the bus -

But up ahead, he sees smoke rising from the treetops.

Dave straightens, and he knows exactly when Sarge notices the smoke as well, because the curse that comes out of the man’s mouth would make Dave’s mother wash his mouth with soap.

“Ah, shit,” Anderson says, seeing the smoke as well. “Is that the bus?”

As they jog closer, weapons out, they can see that it is, indeed, the bus. It’s a smoking, blackened wreck, and shit. Dave feels his heart sink, and his feet ache pre-emptively. Marching until they reach the base is going to be just great.

A small sound catches his attention. Dave stiffens, and belatedly remembers that shit, the bus didn’t just hold their easy transport out of here.

Dave looks over to see Klaus, staring at the bus in frozen horror, like his entire life has just gone up in smoke.

Chapter Text

‘Don’t stare,’ Ben says.

‘I’m not,’ Klaus lies, tearing their eyes away from the sight of Dave and a few others loading up the truck.

Ben sends a mental groan. ‘Klaus, we are in the sixties and everyone around us has guns. Keep it in your damn pants.’

‘You share these pants too,’ Klaus says indignantly. ‘And that’s the only way I’m managing to tolerate them, by the way, they are absolutely hideous.’

‘Yeah, see, that’s the kind of thing that makes me almost happy we can’t talk anymore, because you’d definitely get us shot. And stop staring!’

‘Ben,’ Klaus says, although he at least does stop staring. He crosses their arms and forms their face into a pout, aiming it at the jungle. ‘I have been kidnapped, tortured, thrown into a fifty-year-old war with no way home, and rendered incapable of handing out pithy remarks. Let me ogle the sweaty soldier men.’

Ben sighs in the back of their mind, because….he can’t really respond to that.

It’s been a week. A week since killing Hazel and Cha-Cha, a week since opening that fucking briefcase, a week since appearing in the Vietnam Fucking War.

A week since they lost their only way home.

Ben isn’t sure it’s really hit either of them yet. That they’re stuck here, stranded, with no way out. It’s been sort of like a dream - or, well, a nightmare - but like it isn’t really real. Like any moment they’ll wake up back home, ready to make breakfast and head off to work, planning their next discussion with Klara about books or nail polish or whatever.

The past week certainly hasn’t felt all that real. After seeing the charred bus, after realizing the briefcase was on there, Ben can’t really remember much of the next few hours. He knows Dave covered for them, guiding them as the rest of the squad set out marching. By the time they started to come back to themselves, they were just in time to have Sergeant Wheeler come over and ask who the hell they were and why the hell they weren’t answering promptly.

Dave covered for them that time, as well. Said they just arrived (which is true), that they had a little shell-shock (also true), and their name was Klaus Hargreeves (half-true). The Sergeant eventually bought it after a minute or so, walking away grumbling about how the higher-ups couldn’t have had the decency to fucking inform him when they were sending new meat.

It’s a little scary just how few questions were asked, after that.

They’ve been slotted into the 173rd Airborne Brigade, specifically the platoon of Lieutenant Black. The platoon is comprised of three squads, and they’ve been somehow added to the one commanded by Sergeant Wheeler. The details make very little sense to Ben, but he supposes they shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth too closely.

They haven’t seen combat since that first day, thankfully. Instead, the platoon has been stationed in some valley that may or may not be strategically important, waiting around and mostly just sitting on their asses. Not that Ben is complaining about that. Their stab wound isn’t completely healed, but the relative downtime has allowed them to progress to walking around without….overly much pain.

Taking care of the stump that was their tongue was….a little more tricky. Especially around mealtimes. But they got antibiotics (even if the med tent only actually knows about the stab wound, and they sort of pissed all the medics off because they refused to remove their shirt, but Ben is not letting anyone see the slur carved into their chest because that would not end well), and they can usually scrimp up enough salt to make saltwater to wash out their mouth a couple times a day. Ben is pretty sure that’s what they’re supposed to do, anyways. And, well, it hasn’t grown infected yet, so the blinding pain must be helping some.

Honestly, if Ben discounts literally every single thing about the situation, they’re doing surprisingly well so far.

Klaus flinches as a scream splits the air. The ghost it came from stumbles around, half its face missing, holding its guts in with both hands. That particular one has been following Lee around like a lost puppy, and considering Lee’s general disposition Ben is pretty sure it doesn’t want to convey any warm sentiments.

A few other ghosts stumble around the perimeter of the camp - American and Vietnamese both, some unidentifiable at all. It doesn’t really matter. Death pretty much overshadows petty things like war.

Ben feels Klaus hunch his shoulders a little, and draw back into their mind. Ben steps forward to fill the void, and takes control. Instantly, the ghosts vanish from their sight.

Useful, that.

“Hey, Klaus,” Dave says, done with loading. He lopes closer, giving a little wave and a half-smile.

Ben waves back, and gives a measured nod. Klaus likes smiling at Dave (‘it’s just rude not to smile, Ben, come on,’) but Ben doesn’t really want to encourage Dave when he probably only wants to get in Klaus’ pants.

The guy is helpful, sure - but he’s been a little overly helpful. After Ben made it clear that they just can’t go to the Lieutenant and ask for a discharge (he has no fucking idea how that would play out, but somehow he doesn’t think it would end well for them), Dave has helped them cover up the fact that they’re mostly mute. He’s not precisely happy about it, but Klaus pulled out the puppy-eyes and he caved within seconds.

Which is - pretty much the reason Ben doesn’t trust Dave. He knows very well what people look like when they’re attracted to his brother, thank you very much, and Dave is fairly good at hiding it from others but not from Ben. The helpfulness, the quick glances, the little smiles….yeah, Dave is very definitely attracted to Klaus. And with just how much he’s been helping over the past week, Ben knows he’s going to start expecting some reciprocation soon enough.

The thought is terrifying. Because normally - normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. They could just walk away, and Ben has no problem with the concept of inflicting violence on someone who doesn’t understand what ‘no’ means. But here? They’re stuck here, in the middle of the jungle that gets bombs dropped on it every hour, in close proximity to a bunch of people who like Dave more than them, and they’re heavily relying on him in order to fit in and not raise suspicion. It’s like splinters in Ben’s mind, and he knows even Klaus is getting a little uncomfortable with how far in Dave’s debt they are.

Doesn’t help that Klaus finds Dave attractive as well. Ben is pretty sure that if he weren’t around, Klaus would have already propositioned Dave in order to pay him back. The thought makes Ben’s soul bubble in rage, because he promised himself he’d never let another scumbag touch Klaus, he fucking promised, and now he’s barely managing to keep their head above water.

So. No, he doesn’t really plan on smiling at Dave.

Dave’s own smile shrinks at Ben’s coolness. His hand falls back down to his side, and he coughs a little. “Uh, I just heard Sarge and the Lieutenant talking - we’re headed out in a couple hours.”

Ben tilts their head and frowns a little. [Where to?] he asks.

“Not sure,” Dave admits. “But we’re getting a bus, so it’s gotta be at least half a day away.”

Ben nods slowly. He’s - well, he’s not sure a change of scenery will make the reality of their situation come crashing down, but it might. It might hammer home the fact that they truly aren’t getting out of here, that they’re never going home. He sighs, and rubs the bridge of their nose.

Klaus gives him a mental nudge. ‘I want to talk to Dave,’ he says.

‘Why?’ Ben says.

‘Because you’re going to scare him away and then he won’t help us anymore,’ Klaus says bluntly. ‘You need to stop that.’

A wave of exhaustion washes over Ben. ‘You know what he wants, Klaus.’

‘Sure,’ Klaus sends a shrug. ‘And I promise I won’t say yes, I wouldn’t do that to you. But - we need his help, Ben.’

‘If you flirt with him long enough he probably won’t take no for an answer,’ Ben points out.

‘And then you’d pull out your tummy tenant and we’d get shot a bunch, yeah, I know,’ Klaus says, and Ben makes a mental note to discuss with him later that that’s not exactly his primary concern. Then Klaus’ voice gains an edge of uncertainty, and he says, ‘But….Ben, he’s pretty nice. Almost like Klara. He might - he might actually take no for an answer.’

‘You thought Ian was nice, Klaus,’ Ben says tiredly.

‘Not really,’ Klaus says, subdued. ‘I just thought - he was the best I could ever get.’

Ben really doesn’t have anything to say to that.

After another couple seconds, Klaus nudges him again, and Ben pulls back silently. He doesn’t really have faith that Dave will react well to their eventual turn-down, but Klaus is right. They do need him.

For now, anyways.

Klaus sends a smile at Dave, who’s looking fairly awkward after what from his point of view has been a long stretch of silence. [Thanks for telling me,] Klaus says, rocking back and forth on their heels. [I could use a change of scenery. No offense to this place, but the decor gets a little samey.]

Dave lights up a little, like he always does when Klaus takes over. And okay, Ben knows it’s fairly obvious which one of them is in control at any given time, but as far as Dave knows they’re a single person. He should have noticed by now that ‘Klaus’ quietly loathes him half the time.

Or, well, he probably has. It’s just more evidence against Klaus’ idea that Dave isn’t only interested in sex.

“Yeah, sure does,” Dave says, glancing around. “We’re scheduled for downtime in about six weeks, and honestly it can’t come fast enough.”

“Oooo,” Klaus says. They can still vocalize a wide range of sounds, and even say a few recognizable words. Ben is thankful for that, because that way the other guys in the squad just think Klaus is quiet rather than literally incapable of speaking.

(It’s a real trip to be around people who easily overlook Klaus. Ben is so used to Klaus effortlessly drawing the spotlight that it’s just weird to realize that a couple guys on the squad still don’t know his name.)

[Do you know where we’re going?] Klaus asks.

Most of the rest of the squad seems to be under the impression that Klaus and Dave have bonded over their shared knowledge of ASL. They’ve gotten a couple cracks about ‘you better not be talking about me over there, Katz!’ and ‘Hargreeves, how can you be so quiet and such a chatterbox at the same time? Makes me glad I don’t know sign.’ over the past week, and Ben supposes it’s a decent cover. He’s a bit annoyed how the squad has lumped them together with Dave, but that was probably inevitable.

[Heard whispers about Saigon, but I don’t know if that’s true,] Dave says. [I’m hoping it is, the place is boss.]

Right, that. Ben knows that the slang is a very low annoyance compared to everything else going on, but that doesn’t stop him from sighing to himself. Sometimes, it feels like the people around them are speaking an entirely different language.

Klaus, however, has gleefully taken to using every bit of sixties slang he can get his hands on. It’s probably a coping mechanism, and since it’s possibly the healthiest one Ben can ever remember his brother using Ben hasn’t said a word about it.

[Boss!] Klaus says gleefully. [Well, with a glowing recommendation like that, my expectations are up now. We’ll see if it lives up to the hype.]

Dave grins. [I bet it will.]

Ben nudges at Klaus before he can reply. Klaus pauses for a second, and Ben momentarily wonders if he’s not going to hand over control. Ben could take over without permission, in theory, but he promised himself years ago that he’d never do that. Dave isn’t quite at the point where he’d force Ben’s hand on that.

However, Klaus sinks back into their skull, automatically causing Ben to swing around into the driver’s seat. Ben relaxes fractionally, at that. Klaus still trusts him.

It was hard-earned, that trust. Ben doesn’t ever take it for granted.

He blinks and looks at Dave. [Thanks for telling me,] he says. Polite. He doesn’t like the man, but he hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet. Ben can be polite. [I should get going now, I didn’t get lunch yet.]

[Sure,] Dave says, his eyes lingering on their hands. He does that a lot. [I didn’t either, actually, mind if I come with?]

Ben pauses at that, but he can’t figure out a plausible way to say no. “Okay,” he says out loud, lingering a little over the word. Okay is probably the most useful of the few words they can still pronounce.

Dave gives a half-smile at that, and walks alongside Ben to the mess tent. Not within arm’s reach, which is a concession Ben is glad of.

“You must have been really dedicated to learning sign language,” Dave remarks.

Ben glances at him and blinks. “Hm?” His drive to learn ASL was mostly rooted in the desire to stave off their body’s cravings, so it was fairly driven, but they hadn’t exactly shared that with Dave.

“Well,” Dave says, looking at them and tilting his head. “I mean, you switch dominant hands pretty often. Left to right and back again. You said you only started learning it a few years ago, so you must have put in a lot of practice to become so comfortable with that.”

Ben stops.

‘....Oh,’ Klaus says.

‘Fuck,’ Ben says.

‘Hey, it’s alright,’ Klaus says hurriedly. ‘I mean, people are ambidextrous. It happens. That’s what he thinks is going on.’

‘Yeah, but we didn’t even think of that, Klaus,’ Ben retorts. ‘Something as big as you being left-handed and me being right-handed, when ASL is literally our only method of communication? How did we miss that?’

‘I think you might be overreacting.’

‘I don’t think I am,’ Ben says, a little testily. ‘Klaus, we’re stuck here. We’re stuck here. We’re stuck with these people in a literal life-or-death situation for the forseeable future, and even that might be preferable to what happens when we get discharged - I’m not looking forward to trying to find work back in America when we have no legal documentation. We can’t afford to miss these kinds of details. If we fuck up on something just as obvious but with more people able to notice it than Dave, we will probably die. Do you understand that?’

‘Yeah, I do, bro, but right now I think we should say something to Dave? He’s looking kind of awkward about our sudden extra dose of muteness.’

Ben refocuses on Dave, who is indeed looking awkward. Ben winces internally. Getting (literally) lost in their own head is not really a good trait for a soldier to have, and it draws attention.

[Sorry,] he says. [Yeah, I’m ambidextrous. Decided to make use of it.]

“That’s - nice,” Dave says, eyeing him.

Klaus pushes, and Ben hands over control. Klaus gives Dave a brilliant grin, and ushers him into the mess tent. After a couple seconds he’s drawn Dave into an entirely unrelated conversation about Sarge’s increasingly creative use of profanity.

‘I can feel you brooding back there,’ Klaus says. ‘Stop that right now, I will not have that sort of negativity inside my brain box.’

‘It’s a legitimate concern, Klaus,’ Ben says.

‘I think this one, tiny, little slip is okay,’ Klaus says dryly. ‘Considering, you know, Dave is the only one who knows about it and doesn’t think it’s important.’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Ben says.

‘Oh my god, you sound as paranoid as Dad,’ Klaus says. ‘Benny, I think Dave will stay firmly convinced that we’re ambidextrous rather than start to wonder if I’m being possessed by a ghost. That is not a conclusion most sane people would jump to. And when I’m the one reassuring you, I think it’s time to put our conspiracy theories in the drawer for a while.’

Ben hesitates, but he has to admit Klaus has a point. ‘.....Okay, fine. I’ll stop nagging.’

‘That’ll be the day,’ Klaus says cheerfully.

Ben sends him a mental middle finger, and they spend the rest of lunch time bickering pointlessly. In an unfamiliar land, around unfamiliar people, with no chance of ever seeing anything familiar again, it’s….nice.

At least they have each other.

Chapter Text

Dave is pretty sure that Klaus is being possessed by a ghost.

It isn’t a conclusion he came to lightly. In fact, it took weeks of observation and confusion and questioning himself before he started to seriously entertain the prospect. Even now, he’s not entirely sure he’s right. But all the available evidence fits, and Dave is pretty sure that Klaus is being possessed by a ghost.

A dybbuk, to be precise. Dave really wishes he paid more attention to his grandma when she told him about the actual history of dybbuks, but in his defense he never really expected to encounter one himself. He barely remembers the film, and never saw the play. Small towns like the one he grew up in didn’t really cater to Jewish beliefs.

He’s always been fairly secular, anyways. He believes in God, he does, but more in an abstract way than in a worshipful way. And in his defense, dybbuks are pretty niche. So it took a while for him to accept that he might be serving with someone possessed by one.

Klaus is - Klaus is pretty amazing. It’s not just his looks - although good lord do they deserve a mention - but his presence, his personality, his energy, his everything, they all shout out to the heavens just how alive he is. Dave doesn’t know how nobody else on the squad seems to see that. Sure, Dave is the only one who can really talk to Klaus, but surely they should have noticed by now? It’s been almost five weeks, and Dave just finds himself drawn to Klaus more.

He doesn’t think he’s flattering himself that Klaus likes him back. Maybe even in the same way, although Dave is going to reserve judgement on that for now. But Klaus seems to enjoy being around Dave, has even sought him out a couple times. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, just shooting the breeze. Dave likes those times, the easy familiarity that’s developed between them. Even if Klaus doesn’t return his feelings, even if Dave’s crush doesn’t go away, Dave is very sure he’d want to keep what they have now. Dave is friendly with most of the other guys in the squad, but if pressed he would really only call Klaus his friend.

The dybbuk, though.

The dybbuk is the sticking point.

Dave is entirely sure that if there is a dybbuk possessing Klaus, it absolutely hates Dave. And that ends up sending some wildly mixed signals.

Fairly often, Klaus will slide into a cooler, more reserved personality. That wouldn’t be so unusual on its own, because honestly, they’re in the middle of a war zone and some fluctuating emotions are more or less expected. But Klaus specifically grows colder towards Dave, in those times. Never crossing the line over into rudeness, but he turns frigidly polite and distant in a way that’s entirely at odds with his usual self. He always watches Dave with an expectant, critical eye, like he’s waiting for a misstep. Some days, Dave would swear on his grandma’s grave that he sees Klaus plotting his murder. When Klaus is like that, any friendship Dave might have fostered with him essentially becomes smoke in Dave’s grasp.

It hurts. Dave won’t pretend it doesn’t. Sometimes, in his darker moments, Dave wonders if those moments are actually Klaus seeing through him, seeing his crush, and reacting - pretty much the way any normal guy would at the thought of a male friend wanting to kiss them.

Dave….can’t rule that out completely. But he doesn’t think that’s it - he really doesn’t. Klaus let slip a while ago that at least one of his past partners was male, and even if it was accidental Dave can’t deny his heart skipped a beat at being trusted with that information. And Klaus doesn’t really strike Dave as someone who does things he’s ashamed of, so Dave doesn’t think he has a problem with homosexuality. His idiosyncratic dislike of Dave must have another root.

There’s also the fact that Klaus refuses to elaborate on any personal information. Dave really hates prying, and it turns out he’s a total pushover when it comes to big green eyes, so he hasn’t tried pressing very hard, but he knows absolutely nothing about Klaus’ life before he came to the 173rd. Not why he was injured when he came here, not exactly why he can’t speak (although Dave has some disquieting guesses about that), not why he refuses to gain the attention of the officers in any way, nothing. Dave thought he was dreaming or crazy when Klaus first appeared out of the (literal) blue, but now that’s only the, like, fifth most mysterious thing about the man.

All of that - the polar opposite personalities, the abrupt switches, the undisclosed origins - all of that could be explicable. But put all together, and add in one final garnish to complete the set….

It’s that one last little thing that really cinches it, in the end. Because, while Klaus might pretend he’s ambidextrous, the fact remains that he consistently uses his left hand, and the dybbuk uses his right.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Dave has watched Klaus. He tries not to be creepy about it, although Klaus has caught him staring a couple times. All his observations, however, have borne the same fruit: when Klaus uses his left hand, he’s Klaus. He’s lively and vibrant and damn near the sexiest man Dave has ever seen. When Klaus uses his right hand, however, he’s far more solemn and cautious, and treats everyone with the same polite distance. Except for Dave, who he treats with barely-hidden loathing. Dave can’t swear before God that his feelings go away when Klaus is like this, but it’s kind of a turnoff when your crush looks like he would gladly shoot you in the face if you tried to touch him.

Not that Dave ever touches Klaus, besides what’s strictly necessary for teaching him how to use his gun and pack his kit and such (Dave has no idea why Klaus doesn’t know how to do any of those things. So far his only two theories are ‘being a POW was so traumatic he forgot everything about being a soldier’ or ‘he literally didn’t exist before five weeks ago and I witnessed the exact moment God placed him on Earth.’ Both theories have some holes). Dave doesn’t know what’s going on with Klaus for sure, but it’s not too hard to deduce that he wouldn’t really be completely onboard with the idea of Dave touching him too much. Even as Klaus, left-handedness and all, there are times when he looks uncertain if Dave gets too close or moves too fast.

Dave has never been accused of being perfect, but he’ll be damned if he ever touches someone who both doesn’t want to be touched and isn’t actively attacking him. People - people say a lot of things about men who want other men, and one of those things is that they don’t care if the other men want that. Dave hates that idea, he hates it so much, and he swore to himself a long time ago that he won’t ever lay a finger on anyone he’s attracted to without their say-so.

So Dave keeps his distance from Klaus. He’s not sure if Klaus knows it’s deliberate, but it does make him more comfortable around Dave, which is always good. It does rather drive down his chances of ever getting reciprocation, but Dave is coming to terms with that. Honestly, as long as Klaus keeps throwing him a quicksilver smile now and again, those green eyes flashing, Dave will be pretty much set for the rest of forever.

….God, he’s hopeless.

Back to the dybbuk, though. Dave doesn’t know what to do about it. It doesn’t seem to be directly hurting Klaus that he can see, at least, so Dave can take his time in figuring out how to approach this.

Grandma said that dybbuks usually left the host once their business was finished with. The problem is that Dave doesn’t know what the dybbuk even wants. Or who it could be. They’re in a literal war zone, the dybbuk could be anyone. It could want to take revenge on someone, or find lost family, or send final sentiments, or ensure someone’s survival, or, or, or….

Dave sighs.

He’s sitting on his cot in the squad’s tent, his boots half-unlaced. He’s the only one there, everyone else in the mess tent. Dave didn’t feel like eating, so there’s only a small portion of stew sitting next to him on the bed. He’s only managed a few bites.

The tent is quiet, silent as the grave, which is a rare enough event that Dave keeps looking around for someone to pop up out of nowhere and do something. No one does, though, and Dave frowns down at his boots before finishing putting them on.

Frankly, Dave doesn’t really like silence too much. It makes him start dwelling on things - and, with increasing frequency, those things end up being Klaus.

Not that Klaus doesn’t deserve dwelling. But Dave has done so enough that his thoughts just end up repeating themselves, chasing around in circles and never coming up with anything new.

Dave stretches, and picks up his stew. As terrible and unidentifiable as it is, it’s food.

A few bites in, though, there’s the faint sound of the tent flap being opened. Dave glances over, and -

Oh. Well. Think of the devil, and he shall appear.

Klaus blinks at Dave, momentarily thrown off-guard, before letting the tent flap fall closed. Dave swallows his stew and waves awkwardly. Klaus probably wanted some alone time, and it’s not like there are terribley many places deemed safe enough that he can go there.

“Hey,” Dave says.

Klaus’ expression wavers for a moment, before smoothing out into neutral blankness. Dave knows, even before Klaus raises his right arm, who he’s looking at right now.

[Hi,] the dybbuk says.

He’s standing statue-still, hands tense at his side. He’s looking at Dave like Dave is the one with a malicious entity that may or may not desire murder inside of him.

Dave tries not to take it personally. He’s pretty ticked off with the dybbuk for possessing Klaus, but Klaus doesn’t seem too worse off for it. Dave can just….shelve that rise of protective instinct for now. Not the time, Katz.

“It can get pretty loud in the mess tent,” Dave offers, repositioning himself on his cot and facing Klaus/the dybbuk. “All the people….sometimes it’s nice to be alone. You know?”

Dave watches the dybbuk carefully. Sure enough, there’s a slight thinning of his lips. Dave can’t be sure that means he realized the comment was referencing the possession thing, but it’s at least possible.

[I do,] the dybbuk says. Dave wishes he knew their name. It’s a little hard to remember this is a person when he doesn’t know their name.

Suddenly, Dave remembers their first conversation, back on the bus those five weeks ago. That….Klaus said his name was something else at first, didn’t he?

Dave reaches back in his memory, and looks -

Ben. That was it. Klaus said his name was Ben, at first. And he used his right hand for that, didn’t he?

Okay. Okay, so the dybbuk’s name is Ben. That’s…. very humanizing.

[If there’s nothing else, I’m going to go, then,] the dybbuk - Ben - says, glancing around and edging back towards the tent flap.

“Wait,” Dave blurts out.

Ben freezes. His eyes fix on Dave like lasers, and narrow slightly.

[What,] he says. Dave can see the lack of punctuation.

“Uh,” Dave fumbles. “I, uh, Saigon.”

Ben blinks. [What?]

“Saigon,” Dave says, and as he speaks, the idea comes in clearer, sharper. “We’re going next week, for R&R. You remember? I’ve been there before, I could show you around. The best places to see, and eat, and shop, and all. If you want.”

Dave holds his breath and looks at Ben. He’s not….entirely sure he can get on Ben’s good side. He’s not even all that sure he wants to, even if it would make things a lot easier. But spending more time with him will give Dave more opportunity to figure out what Ben wants, what will get him to feel like his goals are fulfilled enough that he can move on and leave Klaus alone.

(Klaus doesn’t deserve this. No one does, having their body taken over against their will and used to do things they can’t consent to, but especially not Klaus - funny, vibrant, amazing Klaus. It’s probably the crush talking that gets Dave’s blood so riled up, but so what? It’s still true. The only reason Dave is keeping himself under control is the fact that as far as he knows, Ben hasn’t done anything damaging or traumatic or unforgivable to Klaus.)

(Yet, anyways.)

(Which is, of course, why Dave needs to figure out what Ben wants soon.)

Ben is hesitating, though. Dave can tell he doesn’t really want to accept the offer, and is trying to think of a way to refuse that isn’t too conspicuous. Damn, how can Dave get him to say yes….

“Mick is always talking about this one bar, and Bryant is talking about organizing a drinking competition - not that you have to join in on that -” the one thing Klaus and Ben seem to have the same opinion on is a vehement dislike of any intoxicating substances, from grass to alcohol to opiods, and although they don’t judge anyone else for using Dave has found himself subconsciously lessening his own intake. Probably for the best, he doesn’t want to wind up with a real addiction, “but it’d probably be fun to watch everyone trying to dance while they’re drunk off their asses.”

Ben stills again. Dave curses to himself. Damnit, he’s been scared off. Dave really wishes his grandmother was here, because he could really use a frigging manual for this.

[There’s going to be other people?] Ben asks.

“...yes?” Dave says, before backtracking. “I mean, there doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want to, it could just be us -”

[No,] Ben says, so forcefully Dave thinks he hears his knuckles crack. [No, other people are - good. A bar, you said?]

“Y-yeah,” Dave says, feeling himself perk up slightly. Is Ben agreeing? And - apparently he enjoys being around other people? Could’ve fooled Dave, although it might be due to the fact that he can’t talk to most people.

Subtly, Ben shifts his stance. His expression lights up like it’s aglow from within, and Dave feels his own smile widening in automatic response.

[That sounds great, Dave!] Klaus says, using his left hand. [Do you think Martinez will join in? Man is a total lightweight, I bet seeing him get wasted would be hilarious.]

“Bryant is definitely trying to rope him in,” Dave says, relaxing as he subtly looks Klaus over. Klaus hardly ever seems worse for wear whenever Ben lets go of him, even apparently aware of whatever went on while he was shunted aside. Dave wonders, once again, what being possessed by a dybbuk is actually like. It doesn’t seem overly distressing, unless Klaus is a master actor or just so used to it he doesn’t care anymore, but then again Dave doesn’t know all that much about Klaus.

He wants to, though. He wants to learn all about Klaus, about his family and hopes and fears and dreams and life. He wants to know why Klaus is here, in this hellhole, dropped down into their camp with nothing but a briefcase and a bunch of wounds all over him. He wants to know if Klaus might feel the same way about Dave that Dave feels about him. He wants Klaus to look at him and smile automatically, entirely on instinct, the same way Dave does when seeing him. He wants to touch Klaus - not like that. Well, okay, yes, he might have had one or two (or ten) fantasies about what Klaus looks like under those fatigues, but Dave mostly means that he wants to just….hold Klaus. To be trusted enough to hold him, and touch him, and care about him, to know that Klaus knows Dave is rapidly starting to consider him the center of the universe.

[Excellent!] Klaus says, and Dave has to forcibly bring his mind back to the subject at hand. [I look forward to our sojourn, then. This should be fun.]

Dave smiles again, and gets off the bed. “Should be,” he says.

He takes a couple steps towards the tent flap, where Klaus is standing, before noticing the movement makes Klaus tense. Very subtly, but he does. Dave stops.

Then Klaus switches into Ben again (the flatly dismissive expression is kind of a giveaway), and he leaves the tent without so much as a goodbye.

Dave looks after him, and can’t help but run a hand through his hair.

Goddamned dybbuks.

Chapter Text

‘I still don’t like this,’ Ben says, for the seventh time.

‘Noted,’ Klaus says, also for the seventh time. ‘But, as before, discarded.’

Ben knows he’s starting to sound like a broken record, which is why he swallows back his mental retort as Klaus weaves through the streets. Saigon is bustling and bursting with life, in a way they haven’t seen for a month and a half. There’s ghosts around, of course, and plenty of them, but not really more than there are in the jungle. The few who do notice Klaus can see them can’t keep up with their pace, and fall behind in the throng of people.

It’s not that part Ben doesn’t like. They’ve grown used to ghosts over the past four years, and while Klaus still hates the very idea of actually interacting with them he can mostly tolerate their existence. No, the part of this situation that Ben doesn’t like is just a dozen feet ahead, leading them around people and through the streets.

Dave glances back and grins when his eyes meet theirs. He slows a bit, and Klaus catches up.

[I know what you’re going to say, and yes, it’s always like this,] Dave says.

Klaus smiles, and Ben wants to smack their hand on their face. Instead, however, Klaus uses their hands to say, [What if I was about to ask something else?]

[Like what?] Dave says, tilting his head.

[Dunno,] Klaus says, turning their head to look around. [What about - oh, there, have you had that candy? How much does that cost? Is it good? Or over there, is that a tattoo parlor? I might want to get some ink after this, what do you think would look best on me?]

‘What,’ Ben says. ‘Klaus, what, no. We’re not getting a tattoo.’

‘Don’t be a debbie downer, Ben,’ Klaus says. ‘This old thing could use some festive decoration!’

‘The fact that you still refer to our body like that does not inspire me with confidence that you’ll pick anything near appropriate to put on it.’

[I don’t know,] Dave says, responding to Klaus’ last question. [But I have faith in your judgement, your palm tattoos are pretty cool.]

Yet more evidence that Dave is a terrible person, Ben decides.

[Maybe we can visit the place after the bar,] Klaus says cheerfully.

‘Klaus, no,’ Ben says.

‘Klaus, yes.’

[Alright!] Dave says, with a disgusting amount of enthusiasm. [Speaking of, here’s the bar.]

They duck into a bar that looks like a knockoff disco - is disco even a thing yet? If not, Ben’s opinion of this time period may rise significantly - and join up with a few of the other guys from the squad. Anderson, Bryant, Martinez, Hanson, and Freeman wave.

“Good thinking, Katz, we’ll need an impartial judge,” Bryant says, grinning at Klaus.

“How is Hargreeves impartial?” Anderson objects. “Katz is the only one who knows what he’s saying! Hey, if you want to start talking in complete sentences anytime soon, tonight’s the night,” he adds to Klaus, leaning closer.

Klaus snorts a little, and waves a hand. He sits down, and Dave follows suit across the table.

Ben relaxes very slightly. This is good. They’re not particularly close to the other members of the squad, but being in a public place with a lot of people means that Dave will be less likely to try anything even if he’s inebriated. And as far as Ben is aware, none of the other men at the table are attracted to Klaus in the least, and they’re all reasonably friendly. He doesn’t think they even want to try anything.

He’ll still be keeping an eye on them, of course. But that’s become second nature by now.

“Alright!” Hanson says, slamming a hand down on the table, grin plastered across his face. “Let’s get this started! Waitress, three rounds! And two dozen shots!”

Ben can feel the itch in their veins as the waitress brings over the drinks. Alcohol was one of Klaus’ lesser addictions, but it was also his first. Not even thirty, and he took his first swig over two decades ago. Even living in the same body, Ben knows he doesn’t fully understand the hold alcohol has over his brother.

‘You going to be okay?’ Ben says quietly, as Klaus eyes the drinks in front of them.

‘Yeah,’ Klaus says, tearing their eyes away and fixing them on the wall opposite from them. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to relapse.’

‘How can you be sure?’ Ben says, before he can stop himself.

‘Because,’ Klaus says easily, ‘I’m too much of a coward.’

‘....What?’ Ben says. He tries to figure out what the fuck Klaus is talking about.

‘Possession, Ben,’ Klaus sighs, propping up his chin on one hand and watching their fellow soldiers start guzzling down drinks. ‘It’s always about possession.’

….Oh. Oh, right. Alcohol would shove Ben out of Klaus - Ben’s not sure how much would do it, but it’d happen eventually. And then there’d be that window where Klaus is coming back to sobriety, where Ben might just be slow enough, that someone else could slip in. Yet another opportunity for Klaus’ worst nightmare to come true.

Ben forgets, sometimes, that it really, truly is always about possession with Klaus.

‘Ah,’ Ben says, which is kind of lame, but sue him, it’s hard to find a decent response to that kind of realization.

Klaus sends back a mild wave of amusement and affection, and a smile ticks at the corners of their mouth. Then he leans forward and nudges a couple more shots towards Dave.

The drinking contest wears on. True to prediction, Martinez goes down hard and fast, and is the first one out. He turns out to be a clingy drunk but thankfully not a belligerent or weepy one, so they’re treated to the amusing spectacle of Hanson trying to push Martinez off of him when Martinez seems to think his shoulder is a particularly comfy pillow and Hanson is barely capable of seeing straight himself.

Bryant is the next one out, downing three shots in the span of five seconds, grinning like a madman, and then unceremoniously passing out. They transfer Martinez to him, and Ben really wishes there was a camera around to capture the image of Bryant being used as a giant teddy bear. The sheer potential of such blackmail….

Anderson puts his big mouth to good use, but in the end he’s out next. This is less amusing than the others, because he starts crying and talking about someone named Donny (who, from the sound of it, ended up on the wrong side of a landmine) and cussing out the army higher-ups for sending them into this meatgrinder shithole. After a few minutes, though, his words become too slurred to make out, and shortly afterwards he’s as much of a lump as Bryant.

Freeman, Hanson and Dave all stare each other down, a fresh round of drinks set equidistant between them. It would be more dramatic, Ben thinks, if they weren’t all blinking heavily and some bouncy pop song wasn’t blaring over the speakers.

‘I think Freeman’s going to be the last one standing,’ Klaus says, looking between the three men.

‘I don’t think any of them are going to be capable of standing for a good long while,’ Ben says.

‘But Dave might be a contender too,’ Klaus muses, ignoring Ben. ‘It’s probably going to come down to them. Unless Hanson wasn’t lying about being half-Irish, of course.’

‘I don’t think Hanson knows how to lie,’ Ben says.

‘Hm,’ Klaus says. ‘This is going to be close, then.’

However, just as the three all reach for the drinks, Dave locks eyes with Klaus. He pauses.

Klaus blinks at him, and tilts their head. Ben can’t quite tell what Dave is thinking, but the man’s eyes slide from Klaus to the alcohols at his fingertips, and Dave frowns slightly.

“I’m out,” Dave announces suddenly, pulling back.

If Ben had control of their eyes, he would blink. Klaus, however, does it for the both of them.

[Really?] Klaus says, [I think you have a chance at winning.]

Dave squints at their hands, and it’s ambiguous how much he can understand. He shakes his head. “I’m out,” he repeats, more surely.

It’s unclear whether Hanson and Freeman notice this. They continue chugging, and Ben marvels at how they can actually manage to drink even more. He’s fairly certain Klaus could outdrink everyone here put together, but Ben hasn’t ever actually seen that, thanks to drugs being Klaus’ addiction of choice.

“Hey,” Dave says, leaning forward and almost falling off his chair as a result. “Do you - do you want to get out of here?”

Klaus glances around, before saying, [Sure.]

‘Klaus,’ Ben says.

‘You said it yourself, Ben,’ Klaus says, sliding out of their chair and watching with amusement as Dave stumbles out of his. ‘He can barely walk. I don’t think my virtue is in any danger. Not that I have any virtue to speak of, but you know what I mean.’

‘....Fine,’ Ben says grudgingly.

He’s not all that pleased when Klaus wraps an arm around Dave to help keep him steady, but pushing any further would probably bring out Klaus’ stubborn streak, so he keeps quiet. They duck out into the street, and it turns out they’re just in time to catch the last fading rays of sunset. The shadows stretch over the street, and the throngs of people have thinned out. There’s still people around, but probably not for much longer.

Dave hums against their side, squinting up at the sky.

“It’s dark out,” he says, with the air of someone imparting a great truth.

“Mm-hm,” Klaus says, letting out a snort.

“You talked!” Dave says. He blinks at Klaus. “You hardly ever do that. Why not?”

Klaus shrugs the shoulder Dave isn’t currently leaning on, and sends him a sardonic look.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Dave says, his eyes going wide. “Sorry. Quiet is very nice, even if you aren’t actually quiet if you know sign language. Which I do!” He looks very proud of himself for that.

‘We have to get Dave drunk more often,’ Klaus says gleefully, letting out another snort.

‘I wouldn’t be entirely opposed,’ Ben admits. The whole situation still kind of has him on edge, but Dave is being fairly hilarious right now.

“I like knowing sign language,” Dave says cheerfully. “It lets me talk with you. I like talking with you.”

‘At least someone does,’ Klaus says primly.

‘If Dave had direct access to your deepest thoughts, I guarantee you he wouldn’t be so enthusiastic either,’ Ben says.

Klaus huffs good-naturedly, and repositions their hand looped around Dave. Dave sighs, and puts his head on their shoulder.

“I like you,” Dave says, voice suddenly a few shades softer.

Ben stills. Klaus hums, and squeezes Dave slightly.

‘Klaus,’ Ben says.

‘Ben,’ Klaus mimics.

Ben swallows the first three retorts that come to mind. Klaus isn’t a child, he reminds himself. He’s never taken well to being treated as such. So Ben makes his tone mild as he says, ‘You’re sure you know what you’re doing.’

It’s half a question and half a statement, as pointed as Ben can get away with without provoking Klaus. His brother stays silent for a few seconds, ambling along the street with Dave hanging off them, apparently content to let the quiet brew for the moment.

‘I don’t think he’s going to try anything, Ben,’ Klaus says at last.

‘Are you talking about tonight?’ Ben says slowly, ‘Or….’

‘Tonight, or any other night,’ Klaus says. ‘Not if I say no. I really think he’d listen, Ben.’

If Ben had control over their eyes, he would close them.

‘Why do you think that, Klaus?’ he says, trying to keep his voice even. Since it’s a reflection of his thoughts, he’s not sure how well he succeeds.

Klaus stops. Dave tries to keep walking, before realizing they’ve switched to standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He makes a slightly confused noise, but neither Klaus or Ben are paying him much attention at the moment.

‘Think about it,’ Klaus says, ‘Ben, he could have - he could have forced the issue a long time before now, and you know it. Threatened to tell the Lieutenant we aren’t actually on the records, asked payment for teaching us army shit - for fuck’s sake, he got us antibiotics from the med tent and could have easily slipped something else in the dosage. He’s done so fucking much for us, Ben, and sure, most of it’s because he likes me, but - I think he might like me enough to respect a no.’

‘I think differently,’ Ben says, and he feels that familiar clawing panic in the back of his mind. The kind he hasn’t felt for four years. The kind he swore he’d never feel again. ‘I think yeah, he’s done so fucking much for us, and that was entirely intentional. We owe him, Klaus, we owe him everything, and you think he won’t want to collect? He’s been eyeing you since day one, and it hasn’t stopped. Do you even remember Ian? He played you until you came to him willingly, Klaus. He pretended like he wasn’t a monster, like he had at least the slightest shred of decency, until he had you right where he wanted you and dropped the act.’

‘Don’t compare Dave to Ian,’ Klaus says, their face forming into a scowl.

‘Why not?’ Ben snaps, ‘You were so strung-out you barely even remember what he did, but I do! He played you, Klaus, just like Dave is playing you now! He pretended to be nice, he saved you from getting beaten up, and offered you a bed and a meal, and you were his! You were a fucking pet, and he raped you and drugged you and sold you to strangers and I’m not letting that happen again!’

‘Fuck off,’ Klaus snarls. ‘You’re not my nursemaid, Ben. We’re sharing a body, but that doesn’t mean you get to decide my life for me.’

Before Ben can fire back a retort that will probably see them devolve into a straight-up screaming match, Dave shifts and says, hesitantly, “Klaus?”

Kalus looks at him.

Dave looks uncertain. “You’re mad?” he says, squinting at Klaus.

Klaus screws up their face in a ‘well….’ expression. He raises their free hand and wiggles it a little.

“Oh,” Dave says, blinking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad. Are you mad at me?”

Immediately, Klaus shakes their head.

Agree to fucking disagree, Ben thinks, but only barely manages not to say ‘aloud.’

“Oh,” Dave says, looking pleased. “That’s good. I’m glad I didn’t make you mad. I like making you happy. You’re pretty amazing, you know. I like you a lot.” He pauses. “Do - do you like me, Klaus?”

The night is absolutely still. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath.

‘No,’ Ben says. ‘Klaus, no.’

But, slowly, carefully,

Klaus

gives

a

single

nod.

And Ben -

Ben can’t seem to form entire thoughts at the moment.

He can’t -

This isn’t real, is it?

It can’t be. It can’t be real. He promised himself this wouldn’t happen again, didn’t he? He promised that there’d never be another Kyle, another Chloe, another Ian. Never another person who looked at Klaus and only saw him as a thing, a pretty body they could use and abuse to their heart’s content.

Except - except Dave is looking like he was just given the world on a platter, like all his dreams have come true, and he says a small, soft “Oh,” and he’s reaching up and his fingers touch their face and Klaus isn’t moving and their heart is racing and Dave is leaning in and -

Ben surges forward, pushing Klaus aside, taking over their body by storm, seizing their limbs and bringing up their arm to shove Dave away. Ben is breathing too hard, heart roaring in his ears, and he feels the Horror twisting inside his abdomen, and he bends over, gasping, and there’s too many sounds and he wants to cover his ears except he can’t let the Horror out, he can’t, one of his siblings is nearby he can’t let it hurt them, he can’t let it, he’ll die first - but are they okay, he can’t remember but isn’t one of them in trouble?

He needs to protect them, he needs to, and oh god he remembers now, it’s Klaus, it’s Klaus who’s going to be hurt and that drives him into even deeper panic because he can’t help Klaus, he can never help Klaus, all he can do is watch and try to hold his brother’s fraying mind together with his bare hands, watch as people hurt him over and over again, and Ben wants to killkillkill those people and the Horror agrees but he can’t he never ever can and he just has to fucking watch -

‘BEN, STOP!’

And

Ben

stops.

Just for a moment. Just for a single moment, jarred to the bone by the shout that echoes through his - no, their skull.

‘Ben,’ Klaus says quickly, ‘Ben, listen to me. Just listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice. Nothing else, just me. I’m okay, Ben, I’m okay. Just focus on me. Please tell me you’re hearing me, can you hear me?’

‘....Y-yeah,’ Ben says, stuttering. The Horror pushes against their abdomen, and he hisses, curling up. Vaguely, he notices they’re on the ground.

‘Oh thank fuck,’ Klaus says. ‘Uh, if our many-limbed friend is as close to an appearance as I think it is, I think I should take over?’

‘I,’ Ben stutters, ‘I, uh - yeah -’

He grunts as the Horror slams against their stomach, and under their arms he feels their skin ripple. The Horror pushes, presses, reaches -

And then Ben retreats into their skull, swinging Klaus to the forefront, and the pressure vanishes. The Horror rages, slamming against its prison, but the door is gone, and all it’s doing now is throwing a tantrum inside a box.

Ben relaxes.

‘Okay,’ Klaus breathes. ‘Okay. That was - okay. Fuck.’

‘I….’ Ben says, slow realization tricking through his mind. ‘I had a panic attack.’

‘Yeah, no shit,’ Klaus says tiredly.

“Klaus?”

Their head snaps up to see -

Right.

Dave sits on the sidewalk half a dozen feet away, hands half-raised and eyes wide. He has to be still drunk, but there’s no trace of it in his face. His body is tense, and the moment their eyes connect he shrinks back a little.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and they’re too stunned to do more than blink. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking and I was drunk - well, obviously, but that’s an excuse and you deserve more than that so I’m just so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, not ever. I don’t really understand everything that’s going on with you and Ben or your dybbuk or whatever but I should before I try to kiss you, that’s the sort of thing you should know before you try to kiss someone. And if you don’t want to tell me that’s okay too, I can just leave, I’m not actually sure I’ll remember this in the morning so you might have to tell me to go away again tomorrow but that’ll be the last time, I promise, I’ll be sad but you shouldn’t put my feelings above yours, I’ll cope. I’m sorry.”

They blink at him again.

‘Uh,’ Ben says eloquently.

He’s not - entirely sure he’s taking in everything that’s happening. Maybe it’s the panic attack. Or the Horror almost getting out. Or the lingering adrenaline buzzing through their veins. Or how Dave spoke way too fast and tripped over his words in some places. Or all of those things together.

‘Oh,’ Klaus says. ‘Oh.’

Carefully, Klaus brings up their hands.

[If I told you I don’t want to sleep with you,] Klaus says slowly, enough that Dave can follow the movements, [what would you do?]

Dave looks stricken. “I - I’d say alright? You don’t have to - oh, god, Klaus, did - did you think I - oh my god.”

[Would that be okay?] Klaus says. [If I don’t want to sleep with you?]

“Yes,” Dave says, snapping into ramrod-straightness. His eyes are wild, but not with anger. With horror. “Yes, of course, yes, always, you never - oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Klaus, I swear I won’t ever touch you again, I promise.”

Klaus breathes out.

‘I told you,’ he says. ‘Ben, I told you.’

Ben considers this.

‘I need to fucking sleep,’ he decides.

Chapter Text

Returning to consciousness is, bluntly speaking, terrible.

Dave groans, and brings up a hand to cover his face. He tries cracking open an eye, but even the meagre light filtering into the room is enough to stab directly into his brain. He closes his eyes and groans again.

What happened? Where is he? Dave reaches back into his alcohol-soaked memory and dredges up the knowledge. Right. Saigon. Bryant’s little contest. The bar.

….Klaus?

Dave frowns under his hand. Klaus was there, wasn’t he? Dave distinctly remembers bringing him to the bar. He can’t remember much about last night, but he has a feeling Klaus featured prominently.

That doesn’t really narrow it down, unfortunately. Klaus has featured pretty prominently in Dave’s life ever since he showed up.

Dave focuses on breathing, slow and steady. He’s had a few hangovers in his time, although not many this intense. Why had he agreed to Bryant’s proposal, again?

“Mm,” someone says.

Not just someone, though. Dave knows that voice, for all that he rarely ever hears it. But of course Klaus would have to resort to vocalizations, Dave isn’t looking at him.

Wait. Klaus is here? In the same room?

Blinking open his eyes again sees the light once again stabbing into his brain, but Dave squints against it. For the first time, he gets a good look at where he actually is.

It’s a motel. Or hotel. Or whatever the Vietnamese equivalent is, Dave doesn’t really know. The room is bland and soulless in the way most hotel rooms are, though there’s at least a vase of flowers on the nightstand to spruce things up a little. The curtains are closed, but it’s probably close to noon outside. Dave is on the bed, tucked underneath the sheets. For the first time, he notices that he’s overly warm.

Klaus is sitting on the side of the bed, looking down at Dave. When their eyes meet, he gives Dave a small smile, and raises the hand with ‘Hello’ tattooed on it. He wiggles his fingers a bit.

[How are you feeling?] Klaus asks - and it is Klaus, left hand taking the lead. Not that Dave couldn’t have figured that out, because Ben would never smile at him, but it’s nice to have confirmation.

Dave just groans again.

[Yeah, I know the feeling,] Klaus says, with a sympathetic expression. Which is very interesting, but not entirely unexpected. You don’t get to be as much of a teetotaler as Klaus is without some serious principles or diving in too deep in the past, and while Dave would be the first to say that Klaus is an amazing guy he doesn’t know that he could be called principled.

“God,” Dave says - or, well, more like croaks. He swallows a few times before he tries speaking again. “What happened?”

Klaus sort of - twitches, at that. He breaks eye contact, and glances around the room. [You don’t remember?]

“Going to the bar, yeah, and the contest,” Dave says, carefully levering himself upright. His stomach protests, but not enough to threaten real rebellion. Good, that’d be just what he needs, throwing up in front of his crush. Real attractive there, Katz. “But not really anything after that. Where are we?”

[Hotel a few blocks away from the bar,] Klaus says, still not looking at him. [You insisted. Didn’t actually have enough money left for better accommodations, though.]

Dave blinks at Klaus. Frowns, and glances around the room again.

There’s only one bed.

Suddenly, Dave is extraordinarily, excruciatingly aware that he’s only wearing a t-shit and boxers. Klaus is wearing more, but he looks rumpled, like he hasn’t slept at all. Dave can feel his heartbeat quickening, and his mouth opens slightly as he stares at Klaus.

Did -

Did they sleep together last night? And Dave doesn’t remember it?

What could he have possibly done for the universe to hate him that much?

“I,” Dave says, still staring. “I, uh.”

Suddenly, Klaus looks at him again, and this time there’s uncertainty painted on his face. [Look, I know you’re fighting a hell of a hangover right now, but I want to ask you something. About last night.]

Oh god. Oh god, they slept together. Dave had sex with Klaus Hargreeves, the man he’s been crushing on for a month and a half now, and he can’t even remember it, and now Klaus wants to ask him something about whatever they did. What the everloving fuck.

“Uh,” Dave manages, through some miracle. “Uh, okay?”

[Do you remember what happened at all?] Klaus says, fidgeting a little. He looks away, and then back at Dave. [I mean, not just how I reacted, but what you - said.]

Dave blinks.

“Uh,” he says. He frowns.

Well. That sounds….ominous. Dave has a feeling he might have misjudged something.

Dave strains harder, closing his eyes, and -

- he remembers -

- Klaus, moonlight tangled in his hair, looking at Dave, their bodies pressed close, and god he’s so beautiful -

- Klaus, on the ground, eyes fixed on Dave, also on the ground, and his hands are moving carefully, left hand dominant, [If I told you I don’t want to sleep with you, what would you do?] -

- Klaus, curled up, arms wrapped tight over his abdomen, eyes squeezed tight, shaking all over, a soft keening sound filling the air, he’s crying -

- Klaus, tense under Dave’s hands, holding absolutely still as Dave leans in closer, bringing their faces together -

- crushing, overwhelming horror, drowning him in a bottomless pit of oh god oh god what have I done what have I done what have I DONE -

Dave’s eyes fly open, and he snaps his gaze onto Klaus, still looking away.

“What?” Dave says, and it’s strange that it sounds so far away. “Klaus, what - what did I -”

Klaus shoots an uncertain look at Dave, and curls up a little. He doesn’t answer right away.

Dave - Dave’s mind is spinning, whirling, crashing, because he doesn’t - he doesn’t remember what happened, he only remembers pieces, shards of time, bits here and there. But - but one of those pieces is Klaus saying he doesn’t want to sleep with Dave, he doesn’t, and one is leaning forward to kiss Klaus, so still and tense he has to be suppressing any reaction, and one is Klaus curled up on the ground, crying and terrified and oh god what did I do WHAT DID I DO -

There’s a ringing sound in Dave’s ears, and the room is wobbling all of a sudden, and Dave is - Dave feels his stomach turn over and twist and bile rises up to his throat and Klaus is sitting on the edge of the bed looking small and uncertain and completely unlike himself and Dave did that to him, he remembers their bodies pressed against each other, how warm Klaus felt, how much he wanted even though he knows Klaus doesn’t like being touched, he knows that, but he did it anyways and the image of Klaus crying on the ground resurges and -

Dave throws up. He couldn’t stop it if he tried, and Klaus jumps off the bed with a startled yelp but Dave is slightly occupied elsewhere. The nausea from the hangover was manageable but this - this isn’t. Dave would puke up all his organs, if he could. Disgust and horror are churning inside of him and Dave thinks, for one very long second, that it would have just been better if he got shot before they ever went on leave.

And then there’s -

there’s a hand on his back.

There’s a hand on his back, and then another on his arm, keeping him from tipping over. The hand on his back starts moving in circles. He hears - humming. Someone is humming.

Klaus is humming.

Dave flinches, and coughs, and twists to look up at Klaus. He blinks.

Klaus looks back, and tugs up the side of his mouth a little. There isn’t any actual humor in the gesture, but the little shrug that goes with it seems intended to convey the sentiment of yeah, those hangovers, am I right?

Dave blinks at him again.

There’s no blame on Klaus’ face.

Klaus is - Klaus is touching him, completely casually, and he doesn’t seem upset at being so close to Dave, and he doesn’t look angry, or scared, or - or anything like last night. He doesn’t -

He -

“Klaus?” Dave says, his voice still scratchy and the taste of bile still coating his mouth, but he needs to know. “Klaus, did I - what happened last night? Are you okay?”

Klaus blinks at him, a faint look of surprise on his face. Then his expression melts into something softer, fonder.

[Yeah,] he says, and he has to take away one of his hands to sign, and even though leaving the other on Dave makes talking awkward he doesn’t seem to mind, [I’m just fine. You got really drunk, and we left the bar together. Came to this place because you thought you offended me, and wanted to make it up by paying for my lodgings. Only you sort of collapsed when you tried to leave, so I put you in the bed to sleep it off.]

Dave stares at Klaus.

“I tried to kiss you,” he says.

Klaus stills for a second.

“Huh,” he says. [Remember that, do you.]

Dave feels his heart stutter in his chest at the confirmation.

“I tried to kiss you,” Dave says slowly. “I remember that. And I also remember that you said you didn’t want to sleep with me, and - and I remember you on the ground, and you were terrified, and you - when I tried to kiss you you weren’t holding yourself like you were enjoying it and you’re acting normal now but I remember you panicking and scared and I know you don’t really like being touched but I was holding you and I - Klaus, did I - did I hurt you?”

The question comes out small, small and scared, and Dave almost hates himself for that. Not because of any macho bullshit, but because his feelings shouldn’t matter in the least if he actually - if he did -

Klaus’ eyes widen, and his mouth forms into a nearly soundless “Oh.” He stares at Dave for the span of several heartbeats, and if Dave tried for a hundred years he wouldn’t be able to describe the expression on his face. Revelation, perhaps, or disbelief. Joy, maybe. All of those things and more.

Then he hugs Dave.

Dave squeaks, and rocks back on the bed slightly. He almost tries to push Klaus away, because there’s vomit all down Dave’s shirt and he’s probably leaning into the puddle on the bed and he’s going to smell for ages but then Dave’s mind catches up and -

Oh.

Oh.

Carefully, slowly, Dave brings up a hand and places it on Klaus’ back. If Klaus notices it at all, his only response is to tighten his hold.

The horrible, horrible weight in Dave’s stomach evaporates like dew under the morning light. He takes a deep breath, then another, and then starts crying into Klaus’ shoulder.

**********

Some time later, after Dave has composed himself and Klaus has reassured him that no, he definitely didn’t take advantage of him, they sit on the bed, facing each other. Dave was appalled to learn that Klaus’ rumpled appearance was due to him sleeping on the floor, although he has to admit that sharing a bed would probably have muddled the part where Klaus doesn’t want to sleep with him.

A pang goes through Dave’s heart at that thought, but he hides it. Klaus isn’t his, no matter how close they’ve gotten over the past six weeks. Dave has always sworn to himself he’d never fall into that disgusting stereotype about gay men playing fast and loose with consent, and in retrospect, the lurking fear that he might fall short one day probably contributed to how quickly he jumped to the conclusion that he took advantage of Klaus.

Dave can deal with the fact that Klaus doesn’t like him that way. He can. He told himself weeks ago that if Klaus turned him down, their friendship would remain intact, and he’s determined to keep that promise. Crushes can fade - will fade, Dave will make sure of it, even if it seems impossible at the moment.

Even now, Dave’s heart skips a beat at the sight of Klaus, sitting with his legs crossed at the foot of the bed. Even like this, Klaus is breathtaking. A few shafts of sunlight filters through the curtains, illuminating Klaus’ curls, and it’s absolutely unfair how his shirt exposes a strip of his midsection. In comparison, Dave feels borderline indecent, having had to take off his shirt and throw it on the floor with the blanket and bedsheets.

Dave quickly averts his eyes. “So,” he says, after clearing his throat. “Thanks for - setting me straight about that. But I - I’m still concerned? Because I do still remember you being pretty terrified last night. If it’s not too personal, can I ask what happened?”

The whole thing where Klaus only communicates in sign language has its downsides, Dave discovers. In that he has to actually look at Klaus to see his reply. Before last night, Dave usually considered that a plus, but now that he knows Klaus will never reciprocate it just feels cruel.

But. Nevertheless. Dave looks back at Klaus, who is - oh dear Lord, he’s biting his lip. Dave manages to strangle the thread of desire that curls in his gut at that, but it’s a near thing.

It means he nearly misses it when Klaus says, [Actually, it’s kind of related to what I wanted to talk about, earlier.]

Dave blinks, brought out of fighting his own personal war. “Earlier?” he echoes, and thinks. “Oh. Right, that. Um, okay. Something about….something I said?”

[Yeah,] Klaus says, slower now. [See, you did this big apology when you kissed me and I turned you down, and during it you mentioned - Ben.]

“....Oh,” Dave says.

Klaus looks deeply uncertain. He starts to move his hands, and then stops, and puts them on his lap. Then he lifts them up halfway, and drops them back down. He looks at Dave, confused and pleading.

“I, uh,” Dave says. “I didn’t know if you could actually talk about him. I’m not actually sure that’s his name, it’s just what you - or he, I guess - said was his name, the first time we met.”

Klaus pauses. [Right, I remember that. But - what exactly do you….know about him?]

“Well,” Dave says, suddenly uncertain. What if he’s wrong? What if Klaus laughs in his face? Granted, Dave can’t actually see Klaus doing that, especially after he just spent fifteen minutes patiently telling Dave that he wasn’t a rapist. But still. “I, uh, I’m not completely sure, but I think he’s a - ghost? That’s possessing you. Sometimes. Um.”

He closes his mouth before he can start spouting off evidence that seems so flimsy now, and looks at Klaus with a wince.

Dave….can’t really decipher the expression on Klaus’ face. It’s blank enough that it’s entirely possible Ben is in control, although the way he’s staring at Dave is pretty new. Dave subtly flexes a few muscles to make sure he hasn’t grown another arm or something, but nope. Entirely the correct number of limbs. Klaus keeps staring anyways, though.

Slowly, Klaus raises his hands.

[How,] Ben says, [the everloving fuck did you realize that?]

Dave blinks.

Then he blinks again.

“Uh,” he says. “I - your hands?”

Ben looks at his hands, then returns his half-befuddled, half-outraged gaze to Dave. [I said I was ambidextrous! No, you said it! Who goes from ‘ambidextrous’ to ‘possessed by a ghost’? Who does that?]

“You hate me, though,” Dave says, the words coming out automatically, most of him reeling at the thought of I was right? echoing through his head. “You really hate me, and Klaus likes me well enough. And even on top of your hands, the way you talk is different, everyone has their own distinct way of talking in sign language. You’re right-handed and don’t like me, but you also move your hands efficiently and often leave out some of the finer points of facial dialogue - which you shouldn’t do, you know, that’s basically like grammar in ASL. Klaus is left-handed and likes me, but he’s also a lot more expressive and uses a lot of flourishes when speaking, and has a wider range of motion - also he vocalizes more than you, you hardly ever try to speak.”

Dave realizes Ben is staring at him, and quickly closes his mouth. He blushes.

[You didn’t think I might just have DID?] Ben asks, expression slowly sliding into quiet bemusement.

Dave blinks. “What’s that?”

Ben blinks back, and opens his mouth. He closes it.

Then he rolls his shoulders, and switches back into Klaus. [Right,] he says. [Right. So….okay. You figured out there’s two people in here, and a possession plot was the most likely option. And you were right! Really, I applaud your deductive skills, no one’s ever actually figured it out before.]

“Really?” Dave says. “Why not? You’re not exactly….subtle.”

He gets an enormous grin. [People see what they want to see. One of my coworkers basically knows, and probably my boss, but everyone else just thinks I’m weird. Which is okay, I’m pretty cool with me just living my life, and together I’m pretty awesome.]

It takes Dave several seconds to realize he’s misunderstanding Klaus. Pointing at yourself in sign language is, naturally, used to refer to yourself in a singular sense, but Klaus’ sentences aren’t structured that way. Dave - Dave realizes that when Klaus points to himself, he’s actually saying us and we. Has he always done that?

“So….” Dave says hesitantly, “So you’re - it’s consensual? The possession?”

“Oh!” Klaus says, straightening. [Yeah, yeah, completely consensual. Ben’s the only one I trust to possess me, I really don’t react well to the idea of anyone else doing it. Not a pretty picture, let me tell you. But Ben’s been sharing a skull with me for four years now, and he’s a very well-behaved roommate. Last night notwithstanding, but everyone gets to be stupid and panicky sometimes. God knows I have. So we’re all good.]

“Oh,” Dave says, and there seems to be a lump in his throat for some reason. “Oh. You must be - close, then.”

Klaus’ face seems to twitch for several seconds. it looks like he’s having a fierce internal debate - which, Dave supposes, is literally what’s happening. He tries to make his heart stop hurting. Why is it even hurting, anyways? His worst fear - that Ben is taking advantage of Klaus - has been proven false. Klaus and Ben are on entirely good terms. Excellent terms, even. Really excellent terms. That’s - good. That’s good.

[Dave,] Ben says.

“Hm?” Dave says, trying to fight back the lump in his throat that’s somehow gotten larger.

[We’re brothers,] Ben says.

Dave stares at him.

“What?”

[We’re brothers,] Ben says, rolling his eyes. [I died when I was seventeen, and followed Klaus around for the better part of a decade. He’s always been able to see ghosts, and they’ve always been able to possess him, and he was always terrified of that. It led to some - bad situations. But we came to an agreement four years ago, and he trusts me enough to split the use of his body with him. I know it’s kind of weird, but it works for us, mostly.]

“....Oh,” Dave says. “Oh. I - I’m sorry you died.”

It’s all he can really think to say, and Dave winces at it. Really, though, what do you say to someone who’s died and yet is sitting right in front of you because he’s possessing his brother?

Ben’s lip twitches, likely thinking the same thing. [Thanks,] he says dryly. Then his face sobers. [It was me who had the panic attack you’re remembering, by the way. Klaus has had some bad relationships in the past, and I’m….kind of protective of him. We had a fight over if you’re really as nice of a guy as you seem. I wasn’t willing to give you a chance, and that was….unfair of me. We talked about it last night, and since Klaus likes you and is his own person, I have to accept that instead of - not.]

All of the air seems to suddenly be sucked out of the room. Dave’s heartbeat roars to life in his ears, and he stares at Ben, mouth hanging open, and he knows he probably looks a bit like a concussed cow but that doesn’t matter because what.

“Klaus likes me?” Dave says faintly.

Ben looks highly amused, which melts into a much fonder smile as Klaus takes over. [Yeah,] he says. [I like you, Dave.]

“You said you don’t want to sleep with me, though,” Dave says, and even though his brain is still stalling it has enough presence of mind to dope-slap him for trying to talk Klaus into retracting those beautiful, beautiful words.

[No,] Klaus says, grinning wider. [I asked you what you would do if I didn’t want to sleep with you. I definitely want to sleep with you, let’s be very clear about that. I really like you, Dave.]

The heavens have opened. The angels are singing, the light is shining down, and Dave Katz is the most blessed human being on Earth. There’s a fizzy, tingling lightness all over Dave’s body, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Or maybe happy isn’t the right word, unable to encompass the fullness of what he’s feeling right now. Euphoric, maybe.

Then Klaus shifts into Ben again. [The trouble with that,] he says, [is that I don’t want to sleep with you.]

Aaaand Dave falls back to Earth.

“....Oh,” he says.

[Don’t get me wrong,] Ben sighs. [After last night, I….realize that you’re a genuinely decent person. I didn’t think so before, but now I’m willing to learn to accept you. But even if you two got into a relationship, I’d always be there, and that puts a cap on how far you could ever go. We’ve avoided having relationships, ever since I started possessing Klaus, and this is - something we haven’t really prepared for.]

Dave swallows. “Oh,” he says, unable to come up with anything else.

Ben has a pained look on his face, and it doesn’t really change as he shifts to Klaus. [I’m sorry,] he says. [I’m not - I really do want to be in a relationship with you, Dave. But Ben and I are a package deal - literally. He can’t stop possessing me, bad things happen if he does. And I’m pretty kinky, but having a threesome with my brother is where I draw the line.]

“Of course,” Dave says hastily. “Of course, that’s - yeah, no.”

Then he pauses. He frowns.

“Is that - the only obstacle, though? Because I’d be okay if we were in a relationship without sex.”

Klaus blinks at him, and he looks - shocked?

The silence stretches out, long enough for Dave to feel uncomfortable. He ducks his head slightly, and coughs. “Um, forget I said that,” he says - mumbles, really. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I won’t push. I won’t bring it up again, I’m sorry. No chance of a relationship between us, final say. Sorr-”

[Stop,] Klaus says.

Dave stops.

[Do you mean that?] Klaus says, and he looks dazed, like he can’t believe what’s happening. [You’d be okay if we didn’t - if we never had sex? Just because I asked?]

“I -” Dave blinks, “Of course.”

Klaus stares at him.

The seconds tick by.

[Shit,] Klaus says. [You’re serious.]

“Of course,” Dave says, frowning. “Klaus, I - I like you, and sure, I’d love to sleep with you, but that’s not - I like you. I like how you stumble around for twenty minutes after waking up because you’re not a morning person and how you’ll only drink coffee that’s loaded with sugar even though sugar is a bitch to get way out here and how you’re strong enough to not drink or take drugs when we’re practically swimming in them both and how you smile at me when I tell you what some piece of slang means and how you’re so amazing and vibrant and alive out here where everyone else seems to be half-dead. I like you for you, Klaus, not for your body.”

Dave closes his mouth, embarrassed at how all that just - spilled out. He’s been wanting to say it for weeks, but really, now, of all times?

Klaus keeps staring at him.

Several more seconds tick by.

Dave swallows again. “....Klaus?”

Klaus doesn’t respond, but then there’s a slight shift in his body language that signals a switch.

“Huh,” Ben says, and there’s an appraising look in his eye and a look of - approval? - on his face. [Dave, I think we might be able to make this work.]

Chapter Text

Ben hasn’t ever been as touchy as Five about being proven wrong, but it would be safe to say he doesn’t usually like it. When it comes to Dave, however, he can be a graceful loser. Mostly because it’s the first time he’s ever predicted something terrible would happen and it didn’t.

It’s a strange feeling. Ben thinks he might like it, though.

Dave has kept to his promise, this past month. Ever since declaring his willingness to be with Klaus sans sex, he’s followed through with perfect obedience. Ben knows Dave wants sex - it’s a little hard to miss, especially when both he and Klaus are so experienced at noticing tells. But Dave, as far as they can tell, never even considers breaking his promise. He never touches Klaus with more than mild flirtatiousness, never drops hints about getting tired of celibacy, never brings up the question of how far Ben could go with a man before getting uncomfortable, even as a hypothetical.

Hell, he barely even kisses Klaus, and never without asking permission from both of them beforehand. It’s always very chaste, too, which Ben is grateful for.

Ben wasn’t entirely sure, at first, if it wasn’t some kind of trick. Pretending to be a decent person wouldn’t exactly be a new con. It was possible Dave was just a phenomenal actor and his reactions in the hotel room were a show. Ben isn’t sure why someone would go to such lengths to gain Klaus’ trust, not when he could have easily taken whatever he wanted (well, as far as he knew, because they haven’t exactly mentioned the third tenant in their body yet). But it was possible.

One month and two days later, though, Ben is forced to admit that either Dave is a consummate actor playing a hopelessly long game, or….he’s actually genuine.

It says a truly depressing number of things about Ben’s life that while he’s happy about that, he’s also caught completely wrong-footed.

Not that Klaus is much better. Being the object of someone’s non-lecherous affections is something he has roughly zero experience in, and hardly a day goes by without Klaus fretting that Dave will get tired and break it off because ‘who the fuck would be okay with never having sex with their boyfriend? He’s going to get sick of it, I know he is, why is he acting like this is okay? This is not okay, Ben.’

It’s getting kind of annoying to parry those questions, especially when Ben doesn’t actually know the answers.

It’s not like he has any relationship experience. He died a month after he turned seventeen, for crying out loud, and the only people he ever said more than two words to in life were all related to him. Ben’s never really had to look at what he might want in a relationship, much less had the opportunity to put it into practice.

Ben is aware that he doesn’t have the….healthiest views on sex. He had zero experience before he died, and after - well, after was spent following Klaus around, which really says it all. Ben has to remind himself sometimes that consensual sex is the norm. All participants are meant to enjoy it. Degradation and use of force and treating your partner as subhuman is wrong.

You know. Little things like that.

So he’s not exactly weeping over the fact that Dave and Klaus’ relationship is sexless, even aside from the part where he has a very personal stake in that state of affairs continuing as-is. Ben doesn’t tell that to Klaus, though, because being satisfied over something his brother sees as a problem, when Ben is the one causing the problem, would be in pretty poor taste.

He retains the right to be annoyed when Klaus gets on his nerves about it, though. Such as now.

‘I just don’t think it’s sustainable,’ Klaus is saying, and Ben has regretted his inability to tune Klaus out quite a few times over the years, but never quite so much as this moment. ‘It’s not - why would Dave deny himself sex? He’s a freaking Adonis, he could easily get some other guy, in fact I don’t know why he didn’t before now, but the fact of the matter is that he could have his pick of guys who are all willing to let him fuck them. Sooner or later he’s going to notice that, Ben….Ben? Ben, are you listening?’

‘Yes,’ Ben says. ‘Much as I dearly wish otherwise.’

Klaus huffs. ‘So sorry my romantic woes are boring to you, I should have remembered you have no heart.’

‘Not for the past thirteen years,’ Ben says, pushing forward the sensation of rolled eyes. ‘And focus on the march, Sarge looks like he’s just waiting to yell at someone.’

‘He always looks like that,’ Klaus grumbles, but does as Ben says. They’re slogging through the jungle, and thankfully they’re out of the knee-high mud of half an hour ago but are still getting accosted by the neverending clouds of midges and mosquitoes and various other insects that never seem to run out. Ben isn’t entirely sure they were ever told where they’re going, but Sarge seems to know what’s going on and that’s good enough for him.

However, the march has given Klaus the opportunity to fall into yet another spiral of romantic angst. Not that he doesn’t take everything as an opportunity to do such these days, but Ben can’t help but fantasize about unleashing the Horror on Sarge and possibly Dave for the hell Klaus has made of the last two hours. Ben is this close to taking over and shaking Dave until the man makes Klaus stop questioning their relationship, whatever form that may take.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Or, rather, he’ll draw back from where he’s marching to fall into pace beside Klaus. Dave smiles at them (mostly Klaus, but Ben is enjoying the fact that there’s someone besides Klaus and Klara who knows he exists, so he’ll take what he can get). “Hey there. I heard Sarge radio in a few minutes ago, it’s only another half-hour before we get to base.”

“Oo!” Klaus says, smiling at Dave. From the way their face is moving, it’s that stupidly dopey grin he gets whenever Dave just sort of….exists at him. Ben knows exactly what it looks like, because Dave has the same one. Ben is used to being invisible (literally), but honestly, would it kill them to have some situational awareness in the middle of a war zone?

Dave bumps his shoulder against theirs, which is as much as they can get away with surrounded by the other members of the squad. Although if they don’t put away those smiles that’s going to give the game away all on its own.

“Can’t wait to take a damn shower,” Dave says, sighing and repositioning his pack.

[Tell me about it,] Klaus says, rolling their eyes. [Maybe we’ll get lucky and have some decent food, even, although that’s probably wishful -]

BOOM.

The explosion is close enough that they’re thrown off their feet, tumbling to the ground and rolling across the leafy undergrowth. Ben brings up their arms to shield their head becasue fuck, they’re getting attacked, the last thing they need is to get knocked silly. There’s a lot of brightness, and loud noises, but surprisingly little pain, so, you know. Silver linings.

Ben lowers their arms (and notices he must have seized control on instinct, he sends a quick ‘sorry’ to Klaus) and looks over to where the entire right side of the forest has suddenly decided to be on fire. Fuck.

Well, from the looks of things, they were closest to the explosion, and they’re fine, so the rest of the squad is all mobilizing quickly. Sarge is barking out orders machine-gun fast, and Ben scrambles up and -

“Klaus? Ben? Klaus!”

Ben steadies himself and looks around for over at where Dave’s voice is coming from, a reassurance on the tip of his tongue -

Wait.

His tongue?

And then he sees Dave, and the person Dave is crouched next to, pale and still and staining Dave’s hands with red.

“No,” Ben breathes out, entirely on instinct, and then flinches because that - that was his voice, that was his own voice, and he hasn’t heard it for four years.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck no. Klaus is - Klaus is lying on the ground, too-still and too-quiet, entirely unlike himself, and Dave is pressing down on his abdomen but there’s blood, too much blood, god it puts Ben back in the alley behind the Academy nearly three months ago when Klaus got fucking stabbed out of nowhere for no fucking reason, and it’s the same thing, isn’t it? They never wanted to be here, were never meant to be here, and it’s all just random fucking chaos and carnage and they’re just hoping it can pass them by but they can only rely on luck for that, and today’s the day it ran out -

Klaus’ eyes flutter open.

Klaus’ eyes open, and he wheezes, and coughs, and whines as he paws at Dave’s hand on his abdomen, and Dave apologizes and looks close to tears, and Klaus whines again, looking around -

and he locks eyes with Ben.

Ben can see the exact progression of Klaus’ realizations clear as day, because he knows his brother better than anyone else on the planet, alive or dead or yet-to-be-alive.

First: Klaus realizes that the person he’s seeing is Ben.

Second: Klaus realizes that Ben is no longer possessing him.

Third: Klaus realizes that he is neither high nor drunk, merely injured.

Fourth: Klaus realizes, at the same time Ben does, what that means.

Ben’s head snaps up, and for the first time he realizes just how many ghosts there are around them. They’ve become almost background features over time, even out here in Vietnam where everyone has one or two corpses trailing after them. More nuisances than anything.

But now - now several have turned to look at Klaus, lying helplessly on the ground, their eyes dark and greedy.

Klaus screams.

And Ben is rushing, scrambling back over to his side, cursing just how far the explosion threw him because he’s fucking immaterial, how the fuck did that even happen, and one of the nearer ghosts reaches out to Klaus and Klaus twists and Dave jerks in surprise and presses down harder, pinning Klaus, and Klaus is still screaming and his eyes are locked onto the bloody ghosts with its head tilted down at him, looking curious, and it leans down and -

Ben throws himself forward, hands outstretched, and the angle is awkward but he reaches Klaus and then

he

sinks

in.

Immediately, immediately, he hands back control to Klaus, because fuck if he didn’t learn that the hard way. But he follows it up with a ‘Klaus, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m back, I got you. I got you.’

Klaus jerks and thrashes for a couple seconds, before freezing, possibly realizing he still can jerk and thrash around. The ghost is still leaning over them, and it passes its bloodied hand through their face, causing Klaus to flinch.

Nothing happens, though, and the ghost moans in what might be disappointment, and seems to lose interest. There’s still gunfire coming from where Ben last saw their squad, but less of it, so he assumes the engagement is winding down.

Klaus blinks, their breathing rapid and shallow. ‘B-Ben?’

‘Right here,’ Ben says. ‘I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I promise.’

Klaus stops breathing entirely for roughly four seconds at that, and then lets out a long, shaky breath. ‘Oh. Oh, okay. That’s - good. That’s good. Okay.’

Their side is a knot of pain, especially with how Dave is pressing down on it, but as he evaluates it, Ben realizes it’s actually not as painful as their previous stab wound was. Hopefully, that means the damage is similarly smaller.

“Hey,” Dave says, and Klaus blinks up at him. Dave smiles, and if it’s a little shaky Ben thinks that’s probably justified. “Klaus, you with us now?”

Klaus swallows, and nods.

“Okay,” Dave says, looking over to where Ben assumes the rest of the squad is. “Okay. Looks like we’ve all but driven off Charlie, so we can get you a medic soon. Just stay with me, alright? Stay with me.”

Klaus blinks, and Ben can feel their eyebrows coming together a little bit. Slowly, Klaus nods, but he says to Ben, ‘Dave’s being a little dramatic, don’t you think? We’ve totally had worse.’

‘Sure,’ Ben says, realizing. ‘But he doesn’t know that. And he doesn’t know I got knocked out of you, so he’s probably putting down your little freakout to pain.’

‘...Ah,’ Klaus says. ‘Right.’ Ben can feel their frown deepen. ‘Well, that’s just embarrassing. I know my pain tolerance is higher than normal, but seriously? Anyone who whines about this is just a baby.’

Considering Ben is currently pushing away vivid reminders of being torn apart by his own powers, he decides not to answer that, in the interests of keeping the peace.

He might end up drifting a bit, for the next several hours. Klaus’ stupidly high pain tolerance means they don’t actually pass out, but Ben has to focus on keeping ahold of the possession. He has, actually, managed to stick with the possession through worse pain, but he doesn’t want to take chances so shortly after being thrown out.

Klaus keeps up a steady ramble that Ben can’t actually tune out, but eventually it all sort of blurs into white noise if he relaxes his filters enough. Ben doesn’t interrupt or ask Klaus to stop, because even if it’s a little annoying he knows Klaus well enough to know when his brother is running his mouth to keep a mental breakdown at bay.

Since Ben isn’t sure they can afford one of those right now, he lets Klaus use his coping mechanisms. Honestly, he’d like nothing better than to go home, curl up under a blanket, let Klaus’ panic attack be as long and drawn-out as he wants, and then call Klara over for a movie marathon weekend. Maybe, just maybe, then Klaus would be able to deal with the fact that he was a split-second away from being possessed by a malevolent, non-Ben ghost.

But. Well. They aren’t home. They can’t ever go home again.

The concept finally sinking in is surprisingly more painful than Ben thought it would be, and he already thought it would be pretty damn painful.

“Klaus? Ben?”

Klaus looks over, at where Dave is sitting by their bed. They’re in the medical tent, being sent straight there after everyone regrouped after the attack. Dave came along with them, justifying it to the medics and Sarge as being the only one who can communicate with them but pretty blatantly mostly because he couldn’t bear to let them out of his sight. It’s….pretty nice, Ben has to admit. He can only remember one other time when he was covered in blood and anyone was concerned at all.

“Hmm,” Klaus says, reaching out and taking Dave’s hand. They do that a lot, and Ben is surprised by how much he doesn’t mind - likes it, even. Roughly literally the only physical contact he’s had with another human being in over a decade has been with Klara, and that’s never been so unthinkingly casual as this. The sheets hung up around the beds give them privacy, and it almost feels like they’re in their own little world.

Dave gives them a slightly watery smile. “You’re not in any danger. Back up in a few days, even - light work, but still. I know you hate hospitals. Oh, and I made it clear you don’t take medications.”

Klaus beams at Dave, and Ben is halfway to kissing him himself. Their stabbing at the Academy is still fresh in his mind, how they came perilously close to having their sobriety forcibly broken by their siblings, and then when Hazel and Cha-Cha went all the way.

Dave is the first one to actively defend and support their sobriety. Oh, Ben knows Klara would, if the situation arose, and - maybe Vanya, now that she knows. But they’ll never see Klara or Vanya again, Ben reminds himself once more, so Dave really is their only ally.

Klaus is unwilling to let go of Dave’s hand, so their subsequent conversation is somewhat one-sided. But none of them really mind very much. They spend a couple hours like that, talking about what the squad is likely to do next.

It’s only when a nurse comes by and informs Dave that he has to get going that they stop holding hands. As Dave stands, Ben decides on something.

He pushes forward a little, indicating he wants control. Klaus hesitates for a heartbeat longer than usual before giving it, but that’s only to be expected after today. Ben makes a small noise to catch Dave’s attention.

“Yeah, Kl-” Dave looks over. “-Ben?”

Ben twitches their lips up slightly, but lets it fade. He motions Dave to come closer. [I want to try something.]

Dave cocks his head. “Alright,” he says, coming closer. “What?”

[Sit, please?] Ben says, pointing at the side of the bed. As Dave sits, Ben hoists himself up, wincing at the not-really-faded pain in their abdomen.

‘Whatcha doing, bro?’ Klaus says.

‘Testing something,’ Ben says. He frowns at Dave for a moment. [If you don’t want to do this, just say so, and I’ll stop.]

“Do what?” Dave says, frowning.

In response, Ben leans forward and kisses him.

It’s not a particularly intense kiss. More just pressing their lips together for a few brief seconds. Not really what Ben would expect his first kiss to be like, if you asked him while he was still alive.

….Kind of boring, actually.

Ben leans back, disengaging from the kiss. Dave seems stunned into silence, blinking at Ben in confusion. Ben can feel the same confusion practically radiating out from the back of their skull.

‘....What,’ Klaus says at last. ‘Wait, what. Ben, are you trying to steal my man? You can’t do that! If you think you can steal Dave, mister, you have another think coming. I will challenge you to a duel, don’t think I won’t. I am willing to do things to myself those two psychos would outright balk at.’

At that, Ben can’t help but roll their eyes. ‘I’m not trying to steal Dave, Klaus.’

“Uh,” Dave finally says, blinking rapidly. “Ben?”

[I wanted to see if I could be attracted to you,] Ben says.

“....Oh,” Dave says. “And, uh. Are you?”

[No,] Ben says truthfully. [I’m a little annoyed about that, actually.]

‘I’m not,’ Klaus volunteers.

‘Quelle surprise,’ Ben says. ‘I’m not trying to steal him, Klaus, I promise. I was just trying to figure this out. Figure myself out.’

“Oh,” Dave says again. “Then - can I ask why you’re annoyed? I assume you’d still be in the same boat about sex while possessing your brother even if you were attracted to me….”

[Yeah, I would,] Ben nods. [But I’m beginning to like you, and it’d be convenient if it was -] he waves a hand, vaguely.

‘How so?’ Klaus asks, just as Dave hesitantly says the same.

[Well, literally the only meaningful relationships I’ve ever had in my entire life and death is with mom, my siblings, and Klara, and Dave doesn’t feel like any of them,] Ben says, unable to keep a measure of frustration from leaking into his signs. [That just leaves romantic attraction, but it doesn’t feel like that either! It’s just - annoying.]

Dave appears to be thinking. In that time, Klaus pokes at Ben.

‘So you like Dave?’ he asks.

‘I do,’ Ben frowns. ‘But not like you do. Honestly, at least half of why I like him is because of how he treats you.’

‘Glad you finally came around,’ Klaus says dryly.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Ben says. ‘It’s just - look, I never really expected to have relationships, or even friendships, after I died. And that’s been mostly borne out even after possessing you - Klara is great, but you know she’s more your friend than mine. I just….I want to build something with the first person who really, genuinely knows I’m here.’

‘....That’s fair,’ Klaus says. ‘You just don’t know what kind of something?’

‘Exactly,’ Ben says.

Dave clears his throat. Ben looks at him.

“Well,” he says. “I don’t think I’m all that attracted to you, either, but I - think of you as important as well. So….this is pretty new territory for me, but, uh, all of this,” he waves a hand between the three of them contained in two bodies, “is pretty new territory period. If Klaus is okay with you and me getting closer, maybe we can spend more time together, and - see where it goes?”

Ben thinks that over. He can feel Klaus doing the same.

‘Would you be okay with that?’ Ben says.

‘....I think so,’ Klaus says, sounding vaguely surprised at himself. ‘I mean….I want you two to get along. That would be - really great. And I felt how much you emphatically weren’t into that kiss.’

‘I was broadcasting?’ Ben says in surprise. ‘Sorry.’

‘Tiny bit,’ Klaus dismisses. ‘Don’t worry about it. It at least tells me you categorically aren’t into men, if you aren’t into Dave. Which, really, Ben, if we didn’t share the same eyes I’d suspect you of being blind, because dear god -”

‘Klaus.’

‘Right, right,’ Klaus says. ‘My point is, whatever you guys build, I know it’s not going to be like me and Dave. So I think you should see what you and Dave will look like.’

‘Really?’ Ben says. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Ben,’ Klaus gives a mental eye-roll. ‘Out of necessity, this was always going to be something of a three-way relationship. I don’t mind if that’s formalized a bit. Having it be concrete would actually be something of a relief. Make it more - real. You know?’

‘....Yeah,’ Ben says. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Slowly, he gives a nod to Dave.

[Klaus is onboard,] Ben says. [So - I think I’d be up for that.]

Dave gives a quicksilver smile, and reaches out to squeeze one of their hands. “Okay. Thanks for - trusting me.”

Dave really has no idea just how much Ben is trusting him with. After Klaus, everything else is just semantics.

He lifts up the side of their mouth, and nods.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Dave promises, standing back up and letting go of their hand. “First thing. See you two then.”

[See you,] Ben says, and then Dave is gone.

Silence reigns for several seconds.

‘I wonder how soon till the end of the world,’ Klaus says idly.

‘Hm?’ Ben says.

‘Well,’ Klaus says. ‘I just gave you permission to court my boyfriend - who you actually approve of, by the way! - complete with romantic advice, and was all mature and reasonable and generous. I think that counts as one of the portents of the apocalypse.’

‘We just agreed Dave and I aren’t romantic,’ Ben points out.

‘Potayto, potahto,’ Klaus says. ‘I doubt that makes a difference to Armageddon.’

‘Oh, no argument here,’ Ben smirks. ‘I just hope it doesn’t happen until we get something to eat. I’m hungry.’

Chapter Text

It’s been not quite eight months since getting together with Klaus, seven since sort-of-getting-together-but-we’re-not-calling-it-that-because-it-doesn’t-sound-quite-right with Ben, and Dave couldn’t be happier. Sure, they’ve had a rough patch or two, like that time when Dave got paranoid after a close call and tried to distance himself from Ben and Klaus under the mistaken impression that would make it hurt less if they died (he got his head on straight when he realized that no, it really wouldn’t), or that time when Dave first said ‘I love you’ and Klaus had a panic attack that lasted for several hours and then refused to explain anything (Ben took his side, and even though he said it wasn’t Dave’s fault Dave can’t help but wonder sometimes, and hasn’t said it since), or the time Dave found out about their lack of tongue and they had an enormous argument because Klaus and Ben refused to just tell him what happened (Dave still doesn’t know, but after seeing them fall into a hell of a panic attack and spending nearly a week unsure if their relationship would survive, he finds his curiosity drastically reduced), or the time Reynolds decided to be an asshole and hound them for a couple weeks with homophobic comments and insinuations until he got himself shot (and Dave isn’t one to celebrate a fellow soldier’s death, but from the looks of things Ben was halfway to taking matters into his own hands, and Dave isn’t all that sure he’d have held out much longer himself).

But. The fact of the matter is that Dave is pretty damn happy with his life right now. Sure, they’re still in the middle of a deeply unnecessary war and their comrades are dropping like flies and they might be next, but he has Klaus, and he has Ben, and he’s content. Plus, he just found what is probably the best present for his partners, and is feeling pretty pleased with himself in general.

Dave makes his way over to the truck, where Klaus - no, where Ben is unloading supplies. He’s grown much more capable of distinguishing the two, and he was already fairly good at it beforehand, if he does say so himself.

“I have something for you,” Dave says, coming to a stop and unable to prevent himself from grinning like a loon.

Ben glances up, and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he says.

“It’s back in the tent,” Dave says. He looks at the truck. “Want some help?”

Ben hums and nods. Dave gets to working.

There’s not that many things left to unload, so it doesn’t take long. Dave finds himself admiring Ben as they work. They aren’t more attracted to each other than they were seven months ago, but it can’t be ignored that Ben is currently possessing one very beautiful man. Klaus’ body has gained a decent amount of muscle since he arrived here, and Dave, for one, is entirely appreciative.

Which is as far as it’s going to go, of course. Dave wasn’t entirely sure how he’d handle a completely celibate relationship, just that he was willing to try. But thankfully, he’s gotten a handle on it, and now he can truthfully say that while he wouldn’t say no if Klaus and Ben were suddenly okay with having sex, Dave is genuinely okay that that probably won’t ever happen. Even if he can’t say it without triggering another concerningly mysterious panic attack, Dave loves Klaus and Ben. If they don’t want sex, Dave doesn’t either.

They finish up with the truck, and Ben stretches. Dave hears a few pops from his bones, and grins at him.

“Feeling that old age creeping up on you?” Dave teases.

Ben rolls his eyes. [We’re only two years older than you.]

“But there’s two of you in there, so you’re actually sixty altogether,” Dave points out, grinning.

Ben pauses, and Dave knows from the microexpressions on his face that he and Klaus are having an internal conversation. Then Klaus takes over, and snorts a little. [I could say many things to that, but most of them require so much context it would stop being funny if I had to explain it all to you.]

“Eh, say them anyways, not like you aren’t a walking mystery already,” Dave says, starting back to the tent.

[True!] Klaus says brightly. [Okay, so one of them is ‘actually, you are, technically, quite a bit older than me,’ and another is ‘I wonder if this makes us older than Five,’ another is ‘being literally a century older than our siblings when they’re born would be half-cool and half-horrifying,’ and the last is ‘I think that means we’re older than our Dad and I kind of want to find him and laugh now.’ - To which Ben just replied ‘well, we’ve always been older than Mom, so it’s not an entirely new concept.’]

Most of those are pretty puzzling (or, well, outright nonsensical), but Dave laughs a little anyways. Klaus and Ben don’t talk about their family much, but Dave has gotten pieces over the last several months. Their Dad was a real asshole and had a lot of money but is dead now, their Mom is nice but basically powerless, and they have five siblings but aren’t really close. Not much else. Dave wants to know, but he knows better than to pry.

And anyways, that’s not important right now. What’s important is the surprise Dave has waiting for them, hidden under the blanket of his cot. Dave can’t help but smile wider as they duck into the tent, and he sees the bulky mass.

[So what’s this surprise you have for little old us?] Klaus says, bouncing on his heels and giving Dave an eager look.

“This,” Dave says, striding forward and throwing off the blanket. He grins, and turns to look at Klaus.

Klaus is currently doing his best impression of a horse hit in the head with a hammer, stunned into silence. Dave basks, a little. It’s rare that he can actually manage that.

“Found it in a bunker a ways from here,” he says, glancing at it. “I guess Charlie must have ransacked the bus before lighting it up, and gotten flushed out of the area before they could transport all the goods.”

Dave looks at Klaus, still stunned. The seconds stretch out.

“....Uh,” Dave says, looking back at the bed. “Klaus? Ben? You - this is what you arrived with, right? The same briefcase?”

It certainly looks the same, at least. Dave only saw it for a bit, but he remembers those weird dials near the latch, the oversized bulkiness of it. It’s a little worse for wear, now, but not by much. As far as Dave knows, nothing has really disturbed it as it sat in the bunker, until Dave came along and recognized it earlier today.

Dave reaches out to brush away some dust, but before his fingers can touch the black leather -

Klaus lets out a noise, high and sharp and terrified, and he lunges forward and grabs Dave’s arm and yanks it back from the briefcase so quickly Dave overbalances, falls onto Klaus and sends them crashing to the ground.

They’re a tangle of limbs, and Dave takes a moment to remember how to take in oxygen. Klaus’ breathing is sharp and shallow, and - fuck, Dave is starting to think his present isn’t as amazing as he thought.

“Klaus,” Dave says, maneuvering himself until he’s separate from his partners and grabbing Klaus by the shoulders. “Klaus, look at me, please.”

Klaus stares at him, and opens his mouth a little, and starts to say, “You fouw -” before snapping his mouth shut and grimacing.

“I’m sorry,” Dave says. “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d be happy. I thought - fuck. I’ll get rid of it, I promise, you won’t have to -”

There’s another sharp sound, and Klaus frantically shakes his head. Dave cuts himself off and blinks.

Then Klaus becomes Ben, and Dave can feel the tenseness in his shoulders but he seems to have a better handle on his emotions than Klaus does. Ben closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, before opening them and looking at Dave.

[I think we should probably tell you something,] Ben says.

**********

“The briefcase is a time machine,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says.

“Which you two used,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says.

“To travel to here, Vietnam in 1968, from America in 2019,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says.

“Because your brother has time-travelling assassins after him,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says.

“Because he himself is a time-traveller,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says.

“Which he can do without a time machine, because each of you has powers like Klaus does,” Dave says.

[Yes,] Ben says. Then he pauses, and clarifies, [Well, except our sister Vanya. She’s the odd one out.]

“Right,” Dave says, not particularly taking that in. “Of course.”

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose, and thinks about this for several minutes.

“Okay,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at B-Klaus. “Okay, that answers a surprising amount of my questions about you two.”

Klaus looks taken off-guard. [Wait,] he says. [You believe me?]

“Yes, of course I do,” Dave says, blinking. “I saw you literally appear out of thin air, Klaus. Your brother is a ghost who’s possessing you. You clearly never went through basic. And you know absolutely no slang, politics, pop culture, or anything about the current times. Honestly, time-travel makes a refreshing amount of sense.”

Klaus appears to be struck dumb. Doing that twice in one day has to be a record. Dave makes a mental note.

“Oh,” Klaus says. [That was easier than I thought it would be.]

Dave shrugs, and looks back over at the briefcase lying on his cot. They’re on Klaus’, sitting cross-legged facing each other, and Dave is really hoping Sarge doesn’t barge in with barked orders or Charlie starts attacking or one of their squad decides they need something anytime soon.

“I mean, I’ve been wondering since day one, I figured you’d tell me if you wanted….oh, god, you lost the briefcase on day one. You - you thought you’d -”

[Thought we’d never get to go home, yeah,] Klaus says, looking at the briefcase with an expression of….awe? Incredulity? Relief? Dave can’t decipher it, and can’t even begin to guess what either he or Ben are thinking right now.

“Oh,” Dave breathes. “Oh, that’s….I’m sorry.”

[Not your fault,] Klaus says, a look of melancholy flickering across his face. [God, Dave, you’re the only thing that made this entire shitshow bearable. The only thing that helped us get over it, let us think it would be okay.]

There’s a heavy lump in Dave’s throat, and he has to swallow several times.

“Oh,” he says again. “I’m - I’m glad. But you’re - leaving, now that you have it back?”

He doesn’t mean to ask it. Doesn’t mean to let the words out, let his partners know how much he doesn’t want them to do that. And that’s - that’s pretty selfish of him, isn’t it? Klaus and Ben have an entire life, back in 2019. They have their family, their job, friends - they have all of that. They were never meant to be here in the first place, just a twist of fate and bad luck that put them here. They have no real reason to stay, in a foreign land in a foreign time in a war that ended before they were born.

Klaus doesn’t answer, staring at the briefcase.

Dave closes his eyes, and tries not to cry. Of course Klaus and Ben will leave. It’s not - he knows they care about him, he does. But they’ve only known him for less than a year. There are people they’ve known their entire lives waiting for them in 2019, people they thought they were never going to see again. Of course they’ll want to go back.

Dave always secretly suspected this was too good to last. He should be grateful that it’s ending this way, instead of down the barrel of a gun.

There’s a feather-light touch on Dave’s arm, and he opens his eyes.

Ben looks him in the eye, steady and calm. [Dave,] he says. [Do you want to come with us?]

The

world

stops.

“What?” Dave says faintly.

[I’m not certain,] Ben says, frowning at the briefcase, [But I don’t think it should be difficult to take you as well. We were just touching it, it’s probably as simple as that. Assuming you want to, anyways.]

He shifts to Klaus, who looks pleadingly at Dave. [Please say yes, Dave, it would be - amazing. 2019 isn’t perfect or anything but we could be in public, we could get married if we wanted, not that you have to marry me or anything but it’s an option, one we don’t have here and never will -]

He shifts to Ben. [But,] he says forcefully, and Dave gets the feeling he’s directing it at Klaus as much as him. [If you say no we won’t push. You have your entire life here, it wouldn’t be fair if we pushed you to come with us and leave it all behind.]

Klaus comes back. [Right, you don’t have to, of course not. No pressure.]

“Wait,” Dave says, holding up his hands. “I - wait. You want me to come with you? Why?”

Klaus looks at him in stunned surprise. [Why wouldn’t we?]

Dave….can’t really find a response to that. Which is good, because he doesn’t think he would be capable of saying it. He swallows down the lump in his throat.

Klaus switches to Ben. [Dave,] Ben says, almost gently. [We care a lot about you. And we trust you. A lot. I don’t think you really know how much. And you trust us, and care about us as well. There haven’t been many people in our lives like that.]

Shift to Klaus. [So obviously we wouldn’t want to let you go that easy.]

Dave takes in a deep breath. Breathes out. Blinks rapidly.

“I find it hard to believe you don’t have many people like that,” Dave deflects weakly, scrubbing at his eyes. “You’re both - pretty damn easy to care about.”

Ben is looking at him with a solemn expression. It flickers, slightly, and his eyes get that slightly distant look they get when he’s engrossed in a conversation with Klaus. Dave takes the time to compose himself better.

It must be a pretty big conversation, because a minute later (which, when you’re talking at the speed of thought, is enough to fit in a lot of conversation), Ben blinks and looks at Dave.

[Dave,] Ben says, and well fuck, this looks serious, so Dave straightens up. [You know I’m pretty protective of Klaus.]

Dave blinks. “Yeah,” he says hesitantly. “You, uh, you said he was in bad relationships, before you started possessing him.”

The thought makes Dave’s stomach lurch unpleasantly, because it’s - hard, knowing that Klaus has been with people who didn’t treat him right. Klaus is high-maintenance, sure, but Dave can’t imagine treating him badly for that.

Ben briefly closes his eyes, then opens them. [Yeah. You could say that. The thing is, Dave, that Klaus was a hardcore drug addict. It - wasn’t entirely his fault. His powers don’t work when he’s high, and he was always terrified of getting possessed and hurting people. It’s his worst nightmare. So before we worked out this arrangement the only way to protect himself and other people was through getting high and staying high. Literally 24/7, he couldn’t ever come down.]

“....Oh,” Dave says softly. It makes his heart twist, the thought of Klaus so scared like that.

[So,] Ben pauses. [So he had to prioritize drugs above anything else. And drugs are expensive. So he did things that I really didn’t approve of, but was pretty much the only thing he could do, under the circumstances. He was a prostitute.]

Dave -

Dave realizes he isn’t breathing.

He takes in a shaky breath.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh. I - oh, fuck, is that why you didn’t like me? Because you thought I just wanted sex, like - like -”

Dave can’t bring himself to say like his customers, because oh god, Klaus had customers, he had customers who paid to have sex with him and didn’t care that he was amazingvibrantalive, customers who didn’t care that he was a real person and just saw a pretty face, customers who couldn’t have all been nice, who couldn’t all have bothered to care about not hurting him, because surely humans haven’t changed that much in fifty years.

Ben gives a small nod, eyes solemn. [Yeah. I was - not a big fan of anyone who clearly saw Klaus as attractive. It hasn’t gone well for him in the past, and they tended to get mad if he said no.]

“I wouldn’t,” Dave says immediately, eyes widening. “I would never - never -”

[I know, Dave,] Ben says, face softening. [I know. You convinced me back in Saigon, and you haven’t broken that trust. I know you’d never force Klaus.]

Dave feels - he doesn’t know what he feels. Horror - relief - fear - nausea - anger -

“People forced him?” Dave says, and a part of him notes that his voice is very, very quiet.

Ben’s eyes go distant again. This time, the silence stretches out for about thirty seconds.

Then Klaus takes over.

[I should probably tell you about Ian,] Klaus says, his hands shaking slightly.

**********

Klaus tells Dave about Ian.

Dave listens.

Klaus hands back control to Ben right after finishing.

Dave stares.

Ben presses his lips together, and looks away.

Dave can’t move.

The silence stretches out, unspooling between them.

Dave -

Dave realizes he isn’t breathing.

It’s not really important, his not breathing. Really, it’s hardly a side notice. He doesn’t have any strong feelings about it.

He’s not sure he has any feelings at all, at the moment. This is surprising, or it would be if he was capable of feeling surprised. Dave’s mind feels like it’s encased in a thick layer of glass. He can recognize the fact that he ought to be feeling things - even, perhaps, notice that some part of him is reacting with a frankly unseen-before-now level of emotion - but it’s all very distant. His mind is perfectly untouched.

Dave wonders if this is what enlightenment is like.

[Dave,] Ben says.

Dave looks at him. He’s not sure what his face looks like, but it makes Ben hesitate for a second.

Then Ben squares his shoulders and looks him in the eye. [Could you please tell Klaus you’re upset because he was treated like that, because he’s scared you’re upset because you think less of him right now.]

And that’s enough to bring Dave crashing back down to Earth.

“What,” Dave says, snapping upright so fast he almost falls over. “No, no, no, oh god, Klaus, no. I’m not - I would never. Never. That was - you - that was not your fault, and Ian is - oh god, I - can - can I hold you -”

Dave reaches out, but almost immediately snatches his arm back, because he promised himself months ago he would never touch Klaus without permission but what if he fails, what if he touches Klaus without thinking and Klaus remembers Ian, what if that’s already happened, if Dave got used to how casual they’ve become and he grabbed at Klaus without asking weeks ago and Klaus remembered being drugged and locked up and sold and raped and Dave made him think of that and didn’t notice -

Ben switches with Klaus, and from the expression on Klaus’ face he didn’t expect that, and Klaus’ eyes are huge and uncertain and he looks scared, Dave scared him, oh god, oh god, oh god -

And then Klaus is scrambling forward to hug Dave, and Dave instantly closes his arms around Klaus, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his body against his own, and he sucks in a deep breath and starts murmuring apologies into his hair as it tickles his nose. Klaus is shaking, or maybe Dave is shaking, but they both sit there and Dave can’t tell which of them is the first to start crying.

They cry for a good long while. Long enough that Dave loses track.

Long enough that when they finally run out of tears, when both of them are no longer able to stay upright out of sheer emotional exhaustion, the sun is noticeably dimmer. It’s almost setting. Dave can’t quite remember when they entered the tent, but he’s pretty sure it was a couple of hours ago.

Klaus shifts a little in Dave’s arms, and Dave looks down at him. They’re lying on the bed, spooned together, and if anyone came in there’d be quite a few raised eyebrows, but to be quite honest Dave does not give a single fuck.

Dave loosens his grip on Klaus (he doesn’t want to, he wants to keep holding Klaus close to him, wants to make sure no one can ever touch him again, aches to make him understand that Dave will never, ever let anyone hurt him again), and Klaus brings up his hands.

[You haven’t said if you’ll come back with us,] Klaus says, motions small in the cramped space between them.

Dave’s breath catches in his throat.

“Oh,” he says. And -

And he thinks of his family back home, of his parents and sisters and aunt and uncle and cousins, of the house he grew up in and the streets he played in, of the neighbors who gave him their dogs to walk and babies to watch, of the garage where he worked before getting drafted and couldn’t wait to get back to, of his old Mustang waiting for him to return and hop back in.

He thinks of home.

And then - then he thinks of Klaus. Of Ben. Of how Ben’s face looks when he’s smirking at a particularly clever joke he just made, how Klaus lights up whenever he sees Dave, how Ben thinks perpendicular to everyone else and Klaus doesn’t even think on the same plane, how much they trust Dave, more than he ever realized, how right it feels to hold them when everyone Dave has ever known would say it’s not right at all, how he just vowed to himself that he’d never, ever let anyone hurt either of them again.

He thinks of home.

“Yeah,” Dave breathes, and it feels like letting go, it feels like holding on. “Yeah, I want to.”

“Oh,” Klaus says, eyes wide and staring. “Oo -” [You do?]

“Yes,” Dave says, feeling light and almost giddy. “Yes, I do.”

Klaus stares for another second longer, before grinning, face brightening like the rising sun. He buries his face in Dave’s chest, and laughs.

Dave laughs too. He can’t not. Here he is, agreeing to travel fifty years in the future, with his partners who Dave is pretty sure haven’t worked out a plan beyond that, with no chance of coming back. But - it’s worth it, he knows. It is so, so worth it.

“Okay,” Dave says, a little breathlessly. He twists halfway to look at his own cot, at the briefcase sitting on it. “So, uh, how exactly do you work this thing?”

Klaus hums, and disentangles himself from Dave so that he can sit up. [No idea,] he says thoughtfully, looking at the briefcase. [We should probably figure that out before we open it again, huh.]

Dave lets out another huff of laughter, and props himself up as well. “Yeah, probably. How long do you think that’ll take?”

Klaus shifts to Ben. [Not sure,] he says. [I don’t think it’ll be too long, though. It’s in a code, but between the three of us I bet we can work it out soon enough.]

Dave grins. “Yeah, bet we can.”

**********

Ten days later, when they think they’ve probably worked out most of the code but want to wait longer to check their work, Dave gets shot.

At least, he thinks that’s what happened.

It’s all sort of blurry. But - there’s a pain in his chest, and he can’t breathe, and he’s looking at the sky for some reason, and Klaus is - he can hear Klaus -

“Meh-ic! MEH-IC!”

Klaus is screaming, and Dave is - Dave thinks he’s hurt, and - oh, oh, no, no, he promised, he promised himself he’d never hurt them, but - but Klaus is screaming, and it’s getting louder and louder, and there are -

Other screams?

There’s -

- Dave can’t see very well but there’s -

Something? Something big, and loud, and -

- a lot of people are screaming, actually, and -

- Ben? Ben is there, Dave knows it’s Ben, but he’s -

Why is he covered in blood?

The world is dimming, and Ben looks terrified, and -

- Dave feels himself hauled upwards and -

- the world is spinning, spinning out of control -

- but why is it so quiet, where did everyone go? -

- they’re moving, fast as Klaus can go and -

- the world is almost gone now but -

- the last thing Dave can see is

the

world

turning

blue.

Chapter Text

Ben was panicking, before now. When Dave got shot, he freely admits he sort of lost it. Along with Klaus, of course, but he’s supposed to be the levelheaded one here. Ben barely even remembers releasing the Horror, the entire sequence a haze of terror rage pain, the knowledge that if he didn’t get Dave help immediately he would die bright and blazing in his mind. He barely thought twice about letting out the Horror, because for some reason no one was helping, no one was stopping the fighting, and they all kept insisting on getting in the way.

So Ben defaulted to doing what he does best: clearing away the obstacles.

Now, in the quiet of the waiting room, Ben just feels numb.

Klaus is entirely silent. Ben never thought he’d see the day, and now that he has he doesn’t want to.

The nurse at the station keeps sending them awkward glances, but Ben doesn’t bother to try detangling why. Dave was whisked away to surgery at least - he checks the clock, and it takes longer than it should for him to understand it - half an hour ago. Since then, Ben hasn’t had much higher cognitive function.

He should probably be horrified with himself for tearing apart their entire squad. They weren’t all that close with anyone besides Dave, but none of them deserved to die. Certainly not like that, ripped apart by an unfathomable alien force released by one of their own.

He should probably be grateful that Dave even managed to live long enough to get to a hospital. From the looks of it (the sound of it) Dave got hit in the lung, and it’s not like that can just be walked off. Getting dragged back to the blessedly close camp, time-travelling, weathering the chaos that comes from suddenly appearing next to a half-demolished motel, and clinging onto life for the torturously long minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive….Ben doesn’t know how Dave lived through that.

He should probably be concerned about Klaus’ continued silence. Ben learned long ago that whenever Klaus is upset - truly upset - he goes quiet. He’d happily march up to God and demand recompense for a papercut, but he wouldn’t - well, he didn’t say a word to anyone when he was literally dying in the gutter.

Ben can’t really feel any of those things, though. He just….sits.

After another interminable length of time, the nurse at the desk finally takes a deep breath, stands up, and comes over to them. She plants herself in front of them.

“Sir,” she says firmly. “You should really wash that off.”

Ben blinks, and looks down at himself.

Oh. Right. They’re still covered in blood.

That’s probably why everyone else in the waiting room is giving them a wide berth.

Ben opens their mouth to acquiesce, remembers their lack of tongue, and nods instead. The nurse looks relieved at that. He vaguely wonders if she thought he was a serial killer or something, but abandons the train of thought because it’s hardly important either way.

As he follows the nurse to wherever they’re going, Ben pokes gently at Klaus. He doesn’t get much of a response, so he tries words instead.

‘They would have come out and told us if he died,’ Ben says.

‘There’s a lot of wiggle room between okay and dead, though,’ Klaus says. He sounds….Ben doesn’t actually know how he sounds. He hasn’t really heard that tone before. It’s numb, yes, similar to how Ben himself is feeling, but there’s also an undercurrent of - joyless irony? If that’s even a thing. Ben doesn’t think his mind is up to the task of deciphering it right now, so he just responds to the words alone.

‘He’s still alive, though. We got him back in time,’ Ben says, for lack of anything better.

‘We should have come back days ago,’ Klaus says.

Ben can’t argue with that, because, well. They should have.

‘Do you want control?’ he asks instead.

‘We’re in a hospital.’

‘Right,’ Ben says. Vietnam had a lot of ghosts, but the one time Ben saw how crowded the average hospital is was not a pleasant day for either of them. Klaus taking over right now probably wouldn’t end well.

To say the least.

Ben washes up, and it’s probably a good thing that Klaus refused control because he has no experience with….this. There’s a technique to cleaning yourself when you’re drenched in blood, and unfortunately Ben mastered that technique before he hit double digits. He does it mechanically, and feels Klaus shrink back deeper into their skull.

….Oh. Right. Ben took over his body and killed people. Again. He remembers Klaus shouting at him to do something!, but he doesn’t think this is what his brother had in mind. He doubts Klaus had anything in mind, and to be honest Ben didn’t either, and that never does end well, doesn’t it?

Ben closes their eyes, feeling the water sluice down their back. ‘I’m sorry I killed them.’

Klaus doesn’t answer at first. Then, quietly, ‘They didn’t deserve that.’

‘I know,’ Ben says. He leans against the tiled wall of the shower. ‘I know. I’m so sorry.’

‘...I know.’

Ben can’t think of anything else to say. More apologies would just sound cheap, and it’s not like he can fix it. He can’t undo it, bring their squadmates back to life, pretend it never happened. Just like he can’t wave his hand and make Dave better.

He opens their eyes, and continues washing.

**********

It’s two hours later when a doctor comes out and tells them that Dave is now in a coma.

“It’s too early to tell how long it’ll last,” the doctor cautions. “But the good news is that we managed to stabilise him. With a little luck he’ll recover with minimal scarring in his lung, and he’ll be entirely capable of breathing on his own. That wasn’t guaranteed, with this kind of wound, but the prognosis looks good. His body is directing all its efforts towards healing, and once we see improvement we’ll have a better idea of when he’ll be waking up.”

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

The word comes out slightly slurred, as always, but still comprehensible. Over the last couple hours, Ben has been regaining his wits, and the realization that they’re going to have to explain things reared its head. Ben has….very little idea how to do that, but step one is probably not claiming time travel, massacres, or active warfare has anything to do with why they’re here. They’re going to have to evade like crazy if they don’t want to end up in a straightjacket.

Which, of course, is going to be kind of difficult, considering they can’t talk.

And sure enough, the doctor looks up at them from his clipboard with a businesslike expression. “Now, if you would follow me, we just have a few questions we’d like to ask, Mister….”

Ben smiles awkwardly. “Bao,” he says at random, just because it’s the first one that comes to mind that he can pronounce.

The doctor pauses. “....Bao?”

‘...Ben,’ Klaus says, a hint of dryness in his tone. ‘You’re possessing a white guy.’

‘.......I know,’ Ben says, fighting down the blush threatening to creep up their neck.

Klaus snorts a little, but Ben refuses to let their face betray any embarrassment. Instead he just stares at the doctor until the man blinks and looks down at his clipboard self-consciously.

“Right,” the doctor coughs. “Of course. Mister, uh, Bao. Please follow me.”

‘This is not helping our goal of being unmemorable, you know,’ Klaus remarks as they trail after the doctor, passing through hallways that all look the same.

‘Shut up,’ Ben says. ‘Besides, I think that was off the table the moment we came in covered in blood, wearing military fatigues, and holding onto a guy who’s the same but plus a bullet to the chest.’

They’re brought to a small room and invited to sit. Ben does so, and frantically combs through his mind for which words he can use comprehensibly.

“Now, Mister Bao,” the doctor says, and to his credit he hardly stumbles over the fake name. “I know you must be in a lot of shock, but you can probably guess we have a few questions about the man you brought in. Ah, for one, the dog tags he’s wearing, are those his? We assumed so, and gave him the blood type they specified, but only later realized no one had confirmed they actually belonged to him.”

“Mm-hm,” Ben says, nodding.

The doctor looks relieved. “Good. That’s good. So that’s another question answered - his name is David Katz?”

For no reason, Ben suddenly has a lump in their throat. He nods, and feels Klaus shift inside their skull.

“Alright,” the doctor says, writing something down. “So, Mister Bao - can you tell me what happened?”

Ben blinks dumbly at the man, and all his meager vocabulary has suddenly deserted him. “Uh,” he says eloquently.

“We know he was shot,” the doctor says quickly, apparently misreading Ben. “That’s not in doubt. But if you could tell us how that happened, the police would probably be able to find the person who did it. One of the other doctors is drawing up the report now, whatever you have to say would be very useful.”

‘....Forgot about those guys,’ Klaus muses, with entirely too much calm. ‘They would come down and stick their noses into a perfectly innocent gunshot wound, wouldn’t they?’

‘Klaus!’ Ben says, and he is not panicking, no matter what anyone says. ‘Focus! What the fuck do we do?’

‘What, you think I know?’ Klaus says.

‘You’ve always been the one who can smooth things over, so yes!’ Ben says.

‘What?’ Klaus says, sounding like he’d be blinking if he had control of their eyes. ‘That was with, like, customers who were annoyed with the shade of amethyst available, or whatever! Not explaining to a bunch of cops why we brought a freshly injured Vietnam War vet to a 2019 hospital!’

‘You wrangled our siblings when Luther accused us of murdering Dad,’ Ben protests. ‘And when Luther accused us of ransacking my room. And after we got stabbed. Cops have to be way easier than our family.’

‘....True,’ Klaus says. ‘Okay, fine, hand it over.’

Ben does so with only a minimum of hesitance. The moment he does, a ghost springs into existence in the corner of the room. It looks like she died during heart surgery, and while it’s certainly not the first time Ben has seen the inside of someone’s chest he winces internally at the way she glances over at Klaus.

Klaus ignores her so deliberately Ben knows he’s scared she’ll take an interest, maybe call other ghosts. Fuck, Ben hopes this doen’t take long, for Klaus’ sake.

“Uh,” Klaus says, and rubs at their forehead. It takes Ben a moment to realize the gesture is a show for the doctor. “We were….we were walking.”

The end of the last word is slightly mangled, but hopefully the doctor doesn’t notice. Klaus glances at him, and he smiles encouragingly and makes a ‘go on’ gesture.

“Um,” Klaus says, rubbing their forehead again. “A guy, an’ a gu- a gu-”

Klaus lowers their head further, so the doctor can’t see their expression, and hunches their shoulders.

“A gun?” the doctor says, voice soft. Klaus nods. The ghost in the corner moans.

“Mugger,” Klaus rasps out.

“I see,” the doctor says. “I’m sorry, but do you have a physical description?”

“White,” Klaus says, breathing out the word to avoid pronouncing the ‘t.’ “Uh, coppery hair. An’ a -” Klaus looks up at the doctor and snorts a little, motioning his hand in front of his nose.

“A large nose?” the doctor says, eyes lighting up a bit. He makes a note on the clipboard.

Klaus nods. “Mm-hm.” Then the slight smile falls off his face, and he looks back down at the floor.

“Alright,” the doctor says after a moment. “Caucasian man, large nose, reddish hair. Thank you, Mister Bao. This will be very useful for the police….er, if I may, why were you two wearing military fatigues?”

Klaus sighs, and lets out a broken laugh that Ben knows is real. “Came home a few….”

He trails off, either because he can’t pronounce ‘days’ for the lie or wants to say ‘minutes’ for the truth.

“Oh,” the doctor says. “Oh, I’m - I’m sorry.”

Klaus closes their eyes, and shoves Ben back in the driver’s seat.

“I’ll just - I’ll hand this to the reporting doctor,” the man says awkwardly. “Um, if you could follow me, I can take you to Mister Katz?”

Ben silently gets up, and follows the doctor.

‘That was pretty phenomenal,’ he tells Klaus.

‘Yeah,’ Klaus says tiredly. ‘Sure. Do you think we can get Dave transferred to the Academy? Mom can look after him.’

‘I don’t know,’ Ben says, thinking. ‘We’d definitely have to request it through writing, and it might be suspicious….’

‘Screw suspicious,’ Klaus says. ‘I can’t stand this place. We need to get him out.’

‘....Alright,’ Ben acquiesces. ‘Yeah, we’ll get him transferred.’

‘Thanks.’

And then they’re there.

Ben hardly notices the doctor ducking out of the room. Instead, all his attention is focused on Dave, lying on the bed in front of them, and he knows Klaus’ is as well.

Dave looks….pretty terrible. His skin is waxen and pale, the lights making it look even worse. The blankets are pulled up to just below his chest, revealing the thick swaths of bandages that cover it. Ben can’t help but think he looks smaller than usual somehow, even if that shouldn’t actually be possible. There’s an IV in his arm, and a tube down his throat. Ben swallows reflexively, at that, mind flashing back to how he sounded as he choked on his own blood, the sound -

Ben rips himself away from the memory before he collapses. Instead, he staggers forward and falls onto the chair next to the bed.

‘Take his hand,’ Klaus says urgently. ‘Ben, take his hand.’

Ben does so immediately, and -

It’s warm.

He tenses, then relaxes a little, feeling a small part of the storm in his mind abate. Shakily, he breathes in, and then breathes out a little steadier.

Dave’s hand is warm, and Ben brushes their fingers across it until they reach his wrist. He presses a few fingers to it, and feels the steady beat of Dave’s heart.

‘....He’s alive,’ Klaus says softly, and it hits Ben for the first time that Klaus didn’t fully believe it until now. Ben’s not so sure he did, either.

‘Yeah,’ Ben says. ‘Yeah. And he’s going to stay that way. We’ll make sure of it.’

Klaus doesn’t bother responding with words, just sends a rush of agreement-determination-love that nearly cracks their skull from the force of it. Ben closes their eyes, and focuses on breathing.

They sit there, in the quiet of the hospital room, and just focus on the only important thing in the world, the feeling of Dave’s heartbeat under their hand, steady and slow and alive.

Chapter Text

Luther doesn’t like this.

He really doesn’t like this. It’s bad enough that Dad was murdered (oh god, he was right, Dad was murdered, and Luther has never wanted so badly to be wrong), but in all his wildest imaginings he never thought the culprit could be Mom.

Sweet, gentle, perfect Mom. Mom, who made their meals and gave them lessons and washed their clothes and always, always had time for them. Who read to them and hugged them and encouraged them every step of the way. Who literally couldn’t hurt them, or Dad.

For fucks sake, Luther suspected Klaus before he suspected Mom!

Luther puts his head in his hands, and sighs.

“Hey,” Allison says, and he feels her hand on his shoulder (not very well, through the layers of fabric and toughened skin he hates to think of, but he does feel it, so that’s something). “We’ll figure this out.”

Luther glances up from his hands, and drinks in the sight of her. Once again, he’s thrown by how beautiful she looks. She hadn’t fully grown into her looks when she left the Academy, and even though he’s watched every one of her movies there’s something different about seeing her in person. It makes her more….real, he supposes.

He sighs again and straightens up. As much as Allison is the only person he can let down his guard around, he can’t tell her everything. A leader has to remain strong, never showing doubt or hesitance. He’s bent that rule with Allison on quite a few occasions, but never outright broken it.

“We will,” Luther says, making his voice sound surer than he feels. He feels lost, confused, but he can’t show any of that to his siblings. They’ll be arriving soon, and he needs to be ready to deal with them. They constantly question him even when he does have a plan, he can’t let them know he doesn’t know what to do.

Allison gives him a small smile, and gives his shoulder one last squeeze before dropping her hand to her side. Her touch lingers, and Luther has to consciously force his mind to return to the matter at hand.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway has them swapping glances with each other, and Allison’s face sets into one of determination.

“In here,” she calls out, and after a couple seconds, Diego walks into the room.

“What’s with the get-together?” Diego says, eyes dark and intense, flitting between Luther and Allison.

Luther doesn’t know how he feels about Diego. Unlike Allison, Diego’s presence has never brought him peace. But there was a time, when they were younger, when their rivalry was much less intense. When they were united in the idea of protecting their siblings, helping people, saving the world. Back before Diego began to chafe at his place in the hierarchy, before his words grew as sharp as his knives, before Luther started to mean it when he threw a punch at his brother.

But. Well. Those days have been gone for some time now. Luther would get them back if he could, but it’s like Allison said. Some things just stay broken.

“We all need to talk,” Allison says, answering Diego’s question. “Do you happen to know where Five is? Or Klaus, his note didn’t mention.”

Diego works his jaw for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. Luther can’t decipher his expression, but that’s nothing new. “Klaus is probably shooting up somewhere, and I haven’t seen Five since yesterday. Don’t worry, though, he’ll probably come back within the next decade, this time.”

“Shooting up?” Luther says, ignoring the jab about Five. “He got stabbed two days ago!”

“Like that’d stop him,” Diego scoffs. He glances around the room. “So, what’s this meeting about, then?”

“We’re waiting on Vanya,” Allison says.

“Why? She’s probably getting a camera to film this whole clusterfuck right now, sell it to the news.”

“Diego,” Allison says warningly.

“Allison,” he mimics with a roll of his eyes. Then he goes over to the couch and stretches out on it, pulling out a knife. He starts cleaning his fingernails, clearly bored.

Luther suspects that won’t last long, once he finds out the purpose of the meeting. Diego always was the closest to Mom, avidly defending her personhood. It….probably counts as a really horrible kind of irony that if he’s right about her being a person, that means she deliberately let Dad die.

Luther doesn’t know what to think. He almost doesn’t want to think about it.

But he has to. That’s what a leader does, they deal with hard truths and harder decisions. He has to prove to his siblings that he hasn’t lost the ability to do that.

After another couple minutes, they hear the front door opening.

“Hello?” Vanya’s voice filters in.

“In here,” Allison calls, and Vanya walks in.

“I got your message,” Vanya says, frowning a bit as she takes them all in. “Uh, but it didn’t say much….”

“Yeah, uh,” Allison sighs. “It wasn’t really something I could say over the phone. It’s about Dad….and Mom.”

Predictably, that catches Diego’s attention. He sits up. “What about Mom?” he says, a note of warning in his voice.

Allison shoots Luther an uncomfortable look. He looks down to avoid grimacing, and instead moves around the couch to the small television they have set up on a cart.

“Look, we found out, late last night, that Dad had started up the surveillance systems again before his death,” Allison says, as Luther preps the video player. “And we - we found the footage from the night he died.”

“Oh god,” Vanya says, nearly soundlessly.

“Well, that’s morbid,” Diego says, and there’s a thin thread of tightness in his voice. “You brought us all here to watch that? Little family bonding moment?”

“Just watch,” Luther says, pressing play.

They watch.

“....What?” Vanya says, eyes fixed on the screen. Luther looks away. He’s rewatched it dozens of times, and it still hurts, seeing Dad just - fall like that.

Diego doesn’t move, staring down the screen like it’s personally offended him.

Once the video is done, though, he slowly turns his head to look at Luther.

“You think Mom killed Dad,” Diego states, face blank but eyes promising murder.

Luther doesn’t answer, and wonders if they’ll start fighting again. If Diego will throw out barbs until Luther’s fist flies of its own accord, or if this is the thing that will finally cause Diego to move first. He never liked how easily Diego baited him, how easy he is to bait, and Luther is almost looking forward to the idea that Diego has finally gotten angry enough to throw the first punch.

“We don’t know what happened,” Allison says firmly, stepping between them and throwing warning glances to both of them. “That’s why we’re here, to figure things out.”

Vanya has rewound the video, and presses ‘play’ again. She looks at the television and swallows. “You really think Mom would hurt Dad?” she asks.

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya,” Luther says. “Maybe you don’t know Grace any more.”

Luther hasn’t been home in a long time either, but more recently than anyone else, at least. It’s been well over a decade since everyone else has left, but only four years for him. Luther is the one person here who has actually spent any time with Mom in the past decade.

It wasn’t - he didn’t spend a lot of time with her. He had training to do, and missions, and - other things. Important things. So he couldn’t spare too much time for her. But she cooked the meals for everyone in the house, and usually stayed in the kitchen while he ate, so they had a few conversations here and there.

It’s hard, remembering she’s a machine. When he was younger, he found himself thinking guiltily, once or twice, that it sometimes seemed like she loved them more than Dad did. But he knows better now. Dad loves - loved - them, of course he did, he was just the kind of man who didn’t show emotion easily. And even if Mom acts like she loves them, she’s still a machine. An incredibly lifelike, realistic machine, but a machine nonetheless.

A leader has to face the hard truths. Luther accepted this one a while ago.

And now there’s another one, waiting to be acknowledged.

Diego, of course, refuses to. “If he was poisoned, it would have shown up on the coroner’s report,” he says tightly, glaring at Luther.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a report to show me what I can see with my own eyes,” Luther says, moving closer to the television and tapping the screen.

“Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision,” Diego replies, and moves forward before Luther can tell him low gravity doesn’t work like that. “Look closer. Dad has his monocle, Mom stands up - monocle’s gone.”

Luther blinks and looks closer. But - yes, now he sees it. He stares.

“She wasn’t poisoning him, she was taking it,” Diego continues, “To clean it.”

“Then where is it?” Luther demands, frustration resurging. He spent ages searching for that monocle - at first, because he wanted to have a small part of Dad to remember him by, but then with growing suspicion as it failed to appear. “I searched the house, looked through all of her things, she doesn’t have it.”

No one has an answer to that. Diego looks at him from the corner of his eyes, but doesn’t speak.

“I -” Vanya says, and shrinks back a little when they look at her. She looks nervous, and glances at Diego. “Diego, earlier today -”

“Don’t,” Diego snaps suddenly, straightening and stepping closer to her. “You just stop talking now, okay?”

“What about earlier?” Allison frowns, and Luther would really like to know that too. He and Allison spent most of the morning discussing what to do, arguing about the likelihood of Mom committing murder, and neither of them saw Diego or Vanya.

“I -” Vanya says, looking smaller than usual.

“Vanya, don’t,” Diego snaps.

“Back off,” Allison orders, stepping between them and staring Diego down.

“Vanya? What did you see?” Luther says.

Vanya swallows, and then straightens. “I came by earlier this morning,” she says, glancing at Diego. “And I found Diego and Mom talking, but she - wasn’t making sense. She was talking about the funeral, talking about how it went, but she was describing Ben’s funeral. And then Diego and I got in an argument and she didn’t even notice, just kept talking about things that happened years ago.”

“What?” Luther whirls to look at Diego, feeling his heart beating faster. “She’s degrading? And you knew?”

“She’s not degrading!” Diego snarls.

They all look at him in disbelief.

Diego’s face twists up in - pain? Along with several other emotions. Then he clears his face and presses his lips together, glaring at them. “Okay, fine. She’s - hurt. But we just have to help her, figure out how to fix her.”

“What?” Luther blinks. “Diego, if she’s really degrading, we have to turn her off.”

“What the hell!” Diego snaps. “No we don’t! She needs help, not to be thrown in the closet like a vacuum cleaner! She’s a person, she feels things, I’ve seen it!”

“She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father die!” Luther shoots back, feeling his temper bubble up.

It’s just logical. Dad is the one who built Mom, the only one who actually knows how she works. But Mom losing her function has already led to Dad’s death. If it was Pogo who died instead, Luther knows Dad wouldn’t allow her to continue being a hazard. There’s always the chance that she might cause more damage, that someone gets hurt and she just stands there and doesn’t do anything -

Wait.

….Oh god.

“Did you really not find her?” Luther says abruptly, cutting off whatever Allison is about to say. Usually, he’d apologize for that, but right now he’s staring at Diego, unable to look away.

Diego blinks, thrown. “What?”

“The night before last,” Luther says, the words slow and heavy on his tongue. “When Klaus got hurt. You went looking for Mom, but said you didn’t find her. Was that true? Or….”

Diego’s face -

freezes.

“Oh my god,” Luther hears Allison say, but it’s very distant. “Diego, what the hell.”

“Klaus got hurt?” Vanya says, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Diego hid Mom’s broken hardware, that he risked their lives, risked their brother’s life, for - for what? A machine that never really cared for them? A machine that everyone was so eager to see as better than their father, the man who actually built her?

“Look, I didn’t know anything was wrong before then,” Diego insists, rallying. “But I’ve been trying to figure it out, and if we just figure out how to help her -”

“She doesn’t care if we help her!” Luther snaps, feeling rage coating his throat. “She’s a machine! Five days ago she stood in front of our father and watched him die, and two days ago she was all set to repeat it with our brother! She’s a danger now!”

“Shut up!” Diego shouts, pulling out a knife, eyes bright with fury, face set in a snarl. “You don’t know shit about her, don’t you dare -”

“Klaus what?!”

Vanya’s outburst is enough to cut across Diego’s delusional denials and the words building in Luther’s throat. Even Allison, hands raised and likely about to enter the fray herself, stops and looks at Vanya.

Their smallest sister is staring at them, her face pale and wearing an expression of shock. Luther blinks.

“Klaus what?” Vanya says again, looking between them. “He almost - what?”

Luther frowns, and looks between his other siblings. Diego is staring back at Vanya, looking as confused as Luther feels, but comprehension is dawning on Allison’s face.

“Wait,” Allison says, stepping forward. She looks at Diego, and then Luther. “You didn’t know? Did - no one told you?” She rounds on Luther. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I -” Luther says, stepping back.

“No,” Vanya says, and her face is slowly darkening. “No, no one told me. What happened?”

“He was stabbed,” Diego says, lips thinning. “Outside the Academy, the night Five came back. Five’s the one who found him, actually.”

“He’s okay now, though,” Allison says reassuringly. “Pogo stitched him up, and he’s going to be just fine -”

“So none of you thought it was important for me to know,” Vanya says, and Luther has never seen her face so cold. “Because he’d be just fine.”

“No, Vanya, that’s not it,” Allison says.

“There was a lot going on,” Luther says. And there was. The horror of seeing his brother (another one) on the ground, feeling the sticky sensation of blood seeping into his clothes (he had to burn all of them afterwards), how it felt to watch Pogo work on his too-limp, too-pale brother (he hardly even helped, just kept watching the rise and fall of Klaus’ chest, praying that it wouldn’t stop, please don’t let it stop).

“I just didn’t want an exposé to show up in tomorrow’s paper saying how jealous you are that you didn’t get stabbed,” Diego says flatly.

“Diego!” Luther snaps.

“No, no, forget it,” Vanya says, and her words are familiar but the tone is not. “I understand. I’ll just get out of your hair, then. Is he still here?”

“No, he left last night, we think,” Allison says. She steps forward. “Look, Vanya, we should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Vanya says. She pauses, and her brow furrows like she’s remembering something. Then, suddenly her eyes widen. “Wait, did you give him painkillers?”

“No,” Luther says, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t know what he was on already, couldn’t risk a bad reaction. He’s probably off shooting up right now anyways -”

“He’s not,” Vanya interrupts. Luther blinks. He can’t remember Vanya ever interrupting him before. “He’s clean, he has been for years, he told me.”

Luther rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he did, Vanya, but -”

“He threw away drugs,” Vanya says.

They

all

blink.

“....What?” Diego says.

“I found him in his room,” Vanya says, eyes cold, staring them down. “The day of the funeral. He’d found one of his old stashes, and I walked him to the bathroom where he flushed it down the toilet, and he told me he’s been clean for almost four years now.”

Luther -

Luhther doesn’t know what to say.

“He got clean,” Vanya repeats, working her jaw. “He got clean, even though he’s been an addict since he was eight, and he got drugs by - did you know he was a prostitute? That’s how he got drugs. That’s how much he needed drugs. But he got clean years ago, he got out, all on his own, and none of us believed him when he told us.”

Vanya takes a deep breath.

“He also told me he’d like to hang out sometime, and you know what, I think he’s the one person in this family who actually means that. So excuse me, but I’m going to go and see if my brother is okay.”

Then she walks out of the room, leaving them all blinking in her wake, the patter of rain outside the only sound.

Chapter Text

Five never liked reconnaissance. He is, quite literally, a creature of movement - staying still does not come naturally to him. Even worse when he usually has a much broader range of options available to him, so actual stakeouts are vanishingly rare.

But. This is not a normal stakeout. This is what he’s been working towards all his life, what he’s planned for for nearly half a century. What’s going to save his family.

He can wait around for one measly day. Two, even.

None of the men coming in are missing an eye, though. Five might be in this for the long haul.

‘Have you been drinking, Five?’

Five scowls at Delores, propped up next to him in the passenger seat. “No, I have not. I need to be clear-headed for this, and unfortunately I’ve lost my alcohol tolerance.”

‘I did tell you the equations were off,’ Delores says, amused.

“Yeah, yeah,” Five says, hunching his shoulders a little. “I know, you can go ahead and gloat.”

‘You say that as if I wouldn’t anyways,’ Delores chuckles slightly. Then her tone sobers. ‘So. Six days.’

“Six days,” Five agrees, and suddenly he feels very tired. The next week stretches out in front of him, and if Five were a more emotionally honest sort of person he’d almost call it daunting. Six days. So little time, but simultaneously, far too much time for everything to go wrong. He’s already wasted two days, already flushed away precious hours on useless things like the funeral and talking with his family.

Interacting with them wasn’t - it wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was stilted and awkward and so, so wasteful. He isn’t going to avert the apocalypse (their deaths) through family bonding.

‘You’re sure this is the best use of your time?’ Delores says.

“It’s not like I have any other leads,” Five shoots back, but there’s no heat in it. They’ve discussed this to death years, decades, ago. “Once I find the man who’ll buy this eye, I’ll finally be able to get some answers.”

‘Five,’ Delores says. ‘You know he wasn’t - it’s not guaranteed your information is accurate -’

“Don’t,” Five interrupts her, staring fixedly at the entrance to MeriTech. “Please.”

There’s a short silence.

‘Very well, Delores murmurs, and drops the subject. Five is thankful for that.

There are people on the street, walking around without a care in the world. Not for the first time, Five is grateful to the Commission (not too much, of course, he knows any benefit to him was incidental) for letting him get used to human interaction again before he came back to avert the apocalypse. His first year at the Commission was - fraught, to say the least. He barely managed to stay functional those first few days, the sheer amount of stimuli overwhelming and spiraling into more than one panic attack that he probably didn’t hide as well as he hoped. If he came back here straight from the apocalypse, he’d be just as useless as the rest of his siblings, and completely fail his mission.

Even now, Five’s eyes catch on a group of teenagers kicking around a ball. The movement of their bodies is - strange, alien, the way their arms wave and weight shifts and heads tilt - is that really what humans look like, move like? Shouldn’t they be - frozen, still, empty eye sockets and broken limbs and dripping red and -

- there’s snow in the air, drifting gently down, but wait, that’s not -

- but it can’t be ash, it can’t be, the ash stopped falling a few years in, he hasn’t seen it in decades, why would it fall down now when his bones are old and skin is sagging -

- except he’s not an old man, he’s not, he’s small and scared and wearing his Academy uniform and the world is fiery and desolate and he stares around and there’s only ruins as far as the eye can see, strewn with bodies, and he can’t look, he can’t turn and look because he knows what he’ll see, he can’t see it again he can’t watch no please no -

A car horn blares.

The sound cuts through Five’s panic, making him jerk in place. He looks around, wildly, images not making sense at first, an overlay of the apocalypse settled over his vision -

But no. No, he’s not in the apocalypse. He’s in - he’s in the ugly van he stole, parked on the curb, within easy eyeline of MeriTech’s entrance. The sky is clear, buildings are standing tall, and people are walking obliviously by. Not a hint of the apocalypse in sight.

Five breathes out, staring blankly at the scene in front of him.

‘Has this been happening often?’ Delores says neutrally.

“No,” Five lies, tightening his grip on the wheel.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Delores says.

“Never asked you to,” Five says.

‘Five,’ Delores says warningly, because in the end they really are too much alike.

Wanting to head off the argument (it’s inevitable, of course, but he just got her back after nearly five years of separation, sue him if he wants a little time before it happens), Five leans over and flicks on the radio.

“-a change of pace. But it’s starting to warm up, so you can all begin putting away your coats and taking out your dustpans, because spring is coming!”

No it’s not, Five thinks.

(“I don’t regret this. Not one bit. Understand?”)

The radio doesn’t listen. “We’re expected to have sunny skies for the rest of today, but we all know what that prediction is worth in this town, the headache of meteorologists everywhere! So keep an eye on the sky, folks, we might end up seeing another surprise shower or two today! Otherwise, everything looks clear, and -”

Five grimaces to himself. The voice is grounding, true, a reminder that he’s not in the apocalypse anymore, but it’s also incredibly grating. Five weighs the odds that he’ll have another panic attack against the odds that he’s pushed to eventually taking a hammer to the radio, and concludes the latter is higher than the former. He reaches out to turn it off.

“- and now back to our coverage of the events of what reporters have already dubbed the ‘Motel Massacre’ that occurred earlier today.”

Five’s hand stops. He blinks at the radio.

Massacre? What massacre?

Five researched the days before the apocalypse obsessively. He gathered newspapers, magazines, television transcripts, anything he could find. He knew the date of his father’s death a month into the apocalypse, knew about Luther’s foray to the moon another month after that, knew of his niece’s existence within the first week. He’s managed to construct an entire timeline of all the notable events in the city that happened in the week before the apocalypse, and there was absolutely nothing that could be described as a massacre.

“Police have stressed that they are unaware of the number of victims at this time, but it is likely fewer than four. I, for one, am not convinced, because if you could see the pictures our guy on the scene snapped, you’d probably be as close to losing your lunch as I am.”

That’s unlikely. Five has seen far, far more carnage than anyone on Earth. The carnage of everyone on Earth, in fact.

“As a recap for those of you newer listeners out there: Earlier today, at about eleven AM, police were called to the motel on 32nd and Walsh. When they arrived, they found half the place in shambles, roof caved in and the remains of several people scattered around. As of yet, none of the bodies have been identified or even fully catalogued. No suspects as of yet, although one of the motel guests claimed the culprit was Cthulhu risen from his slumber,” the announcer chuckled.

Five’s mind is going at a million miles an hour, analysing and dissecting this - anomaly.

‘That didn’t happen before,’ Delores says musingly, looking at the radio.

“No it did not,” Five says slowly.

‘You’re going to investigate it, aren’t you?’

“Of course I am,” Five says, flipping off the radio and turning over the address in his mind.

‘Well, then,’ Delores says. ‘Lay on, MacDuff.’

**********

Twenty minutes later, after pulling over and interrogating a very confused dogwalker about how to navigate the city through street addresses instead of apocalyptic landmarks, Five arrives at the motel.

Looking at it, Five estimates that the radio rather exaggerated the damage. There is, indeed, a hole in the motel, and a portion of the roof is gone, but even looking at it from across the street it’s clear the damage is limited to one room. Five has seen worse even before he went to the apocalypse - it’s not like the Horror had much respect for structural integrity.

There’s a police cordon around the building, of course, and the place is crawling with law enforcement. Five’s lips thin as he goes over his options.

Frankly, the most likely explanation for what happened here is Commission involvement. The motel is just the type of place agents would be stationed for the duration of their mission, and a toddler could figure out that the mission those agents would be assigned to is him. Which means….well, for one, there’s no way he’s going to leave without finding out what happened here, but for another, he has no idea what happened here.

‘I’m not a mindreader, you know,’ Delores says mildly. ‘Care to share your thoughts?’

“Right,” Five says, scrubbing a hand over his face and scowling at the motel. “So. I’m pretty sure this is where the Commission agents after me were stationed. But I’m going to have to get closer to find out what happened, and with so many people around even teleportation has limited utility.”

‘Don’t go in without a plan of attack, then,’ Delores suggests. ‘Rather, formulate a few theories and see if you can confirm one with what you can gather before you’re forced to leave.’

Five grimaces. “I don’t know what kind of theories to formulate, though” He looks over the motel again. “The radio said there were bodies, so it’s possible the agents abducted people to learn of my whereabouts and tortured them to death, but that wouldn’t explain the property destruction - or the fact that no one actually knows of my whereabouts or even existence besides my siblings.”

‘Could the bodies be the agents themselves?’

“....Theoretically,” Five says, glancing at her, eyebrows raised. “But only I or maybe my siblings could actually fight trained agents and win. So unless the agents - I don’t know, managed to blow up their Briefcase or something, I don’t think the bodies are them.”

Delores hums thoughtfully. ‘Well,’ she says, after a short pause. ‘You won’t learn anything by sitting around not doing anything, and you still need to stake out MeriTech. If you can’t come up with anything better in a few minutes, I say you risk going in and seeing what you can find.’

Five sighs, but nods. Delores alway was the more practical of the two of them.

He can’t come up with a better plan of attack with a few more minutes of brainstorming, so he hops out of the infuriatingly oversized driver’s seat, bids Delores goodbye, and walks closer to the crime scene.

There’s a small crowd of gawkers outside the tape, which means Five can go reasonably unnoticed. He peers at the broken door and half-collapsed wall, weaving around to get a better viewpoint of the inside. They’re quite a ways away from the room, but the late afternoon light and his sharp eyes (returned to their peak acuity, one of the very few pros to his mistake - he wore protective eyewear in the apocalypse, but his eyesight, like the rest of his body, couldn’t help but age faster than it should have) allow him to catch glimpses of the room.

There are a few people in the room, and they’re all wearing - hazmat suits? Okay, then. Must be a messy scene. Five vaguely recalls the aftermath of the Horror’s carnage necessitating hazmat suits amongst the cleanup crew a few times. It was always a detail Reginald kept away from the press, preferring to let Ben’s powers get sanitized and idealized by the public’s imagination. Criminal circles talked, though, and by the time Five left they’d already had two groups of criminals that surrendered the moment Ben looked ready to join the fray.

Five shakes himself, breaking out of his memories. Now is not the time for reminiscing, especially not about the brother he’ll never be able to save.

Looking at the motel with a critical eye, Five concludes he should probably survey the entire area before attempting to go into the room. Jumping in without knowing the lay of the land is just stupid - he’s had to do it plenty, in emergencies, but he likes to think he’s smarter than to neglect reconnaissance just because he doesn’t like it.

Slipping away from the crowd of gawkers, gently deflecting a man who asks where his parents are and shouldn’t he be in school (he didn’t stab the guy, so it counts as gentle), Five heads around to the back of the motel. There are a couple police officers here, as well, but far fewer. The damage is lesser, but still apparent from this angle. He can’t see inside the room, though.

Interestingly enough, there’s bloodstains on the ground. Did one of the bodies fall out of the window? Five frowns up at the back of the hotel, but the one broken window facing the street doesn’t look large enough to fit a person.

He sweeps his eyes over the rest of the scene, noting the debris strewn across the street, the large puddle of freshly dried blood on the ground, the two officers speaking in hushed tones to each other, the cordon at each end of the street, the briefcase lying half-under a parked car, the crushed vegetation that -

What.

Five blinks.

He looks at the scene again.

He looks at -

At -

At the fucking Briefcase that’s lying on the ground twenty feet in front of him.

What.

“What,” Five says.

The Briefcase has no comment. It just sits there, defying all expectations of reality or casualty or sanity.

The police officers, however, notice his utterance. One of them, a woman, looks over at him and frowns.

“Hey, kid,” she calls, and if Five weren’t baffled by the impossibility in front of him he would probably stab her for that. He’s been called ‘kid’ or ‘young man’ entirely too many times in the past couple days. “You shouldn’t be here, this is a crime scene. Where are your parents?”

Okay.

Okay, that’s enough to raise his ire enough to snap out of his bewilderment. He glares at the cop, the kind of glare that communicates ‘I’m sure I’ve seen your dead body sometime before but I’ve seen so many dead bodies they all just blur together and you’re not nearly special enough to warrant the slightest hint of recognition, so you should just back the fuck off before I decide to relegate you back to being a dead body.’

It’s a skill, communicating that much with only a glare. The woman steps back in alarm.

Five takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the Briefcase. His hand closes around the handle that until now he wasn’t sure was a hallucination or not, and he sets off at a dead run.

“Hey!” The cop shouts, probably reflexively. Then, “Hey, kid, come back here - shit! Beaman -”

Five doesn’t bother listening to the rest. He darts around the nearest corner, checks that no one is in sight, and jumps.

He lands in the back of the van, because he doesn’t quite think he’s accurate enough to land in the front seat while carrying something so bulky. But he has it, he has it, and he has no fucking clue what the hell happened to the agents it belonged to but that doesn’t matter because he has a fucking Briefcase.

‘Five?’ Delores says from the front seat. ‘What happened? What did you find?’

For the first time in - ages, probably - Five smiles, sharp and smug and wild.

“Leverage.”

Chapter Text

Leonard (Harold) is having a pretty good day so far.

Vanya crumbled even sooner than he thought she would, and he was prepared for a fairly quick game. Coming to his shop less than eighteen hours after his lesson, though? If he wasn’t the one trying to seduce her, he would advise her to sit down and seriously rethink her life if she’s that desperate for attention.

But it works well for him, so he doesn’t say a word. Leonard stretches as he steps inside his house. His glance lingers for a moment where he murdered his father, like always, replaying the memory over in his head. He’s done it hundreds, thousands of times by now, but he doesn’t want to forget it. Can’t forget it.

He makes himself relive the memory of meeting the Academy, of being belittled by Reginald Hargreeves and dismissed by his heroes. He can’t forget that either. The two memories are inextricably twined together, the best and worst of his life, the realization at just how far he’s willing to go and just how little he has to get himself there with. An ordinary mortal against the gods.

But even gods can fall. He’s going to prove it.

Starting tonight. Leonard runs over his clothing choices for tonight. He wants to impress Vanya, show he’s putting effort in for her, but being too dressy could come off as too pushy. Though honestly, Leonard suspects that with a couple more days’ acquaintance he could break into her apartment and she wouldn’t bat an eye.

He’s already chosen the restaurant they’re going to tonight. It’s classy, but not overly formal. Affordable. Good dessert selection. This date has to be perfect. If he plays his cards right, he might get access to the Academy before most of the siblings go their separate ways. He kind of doubts they’ll stick together even for their poor injured brother, considering Vanya’s impressively lukewarm reaction to the subject, but he can hope.

Leonard starts heading up the stairs, debating whether he should put on cologne. A slight dab, maybe? Or maybe she doesn’t like cologne. Surely she’d overlook such a minor thing if so, she’s the most desperate person he’s ever seen (bar his thirteen-year-old self), but he wants her to think of him in solely positive terms.

He’s interrupted from his musings, however, by his doorbell ringing.

Pausing on the stairs, Leonard looks at the door and frowns. He goes back down, and looks out the window.

Vanya stands outside.

….Okay, then. Leonard doesn’t have to fake the confusion on his face as he opens the door. “Hey, Vanya,” he says. “I thought we weren’t on until an hour and a half from now? Not that it’s not great to see you, of course, I just planned on being a little more impressively dressed for our date.”

“Yeah, um,” Vanya makes an expression like she’s trying to smile, but she clearly doesn’t have a lot of practice with it. It winds up looking awkward and uncomfortable on her face. “I’m really sorry, I just - it’s been a long day, and I’m not sure - I don’t want you to think this is at all about you, I just don’t think I can go out to dinner tonight. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t, but -”

“No, hey, it’s alright,” Leonard says, raising a hand, mind racing. “Um, you look - upset. Do you want to come in?”

Vanya wavers, and Leonard holds his breath.

“Yeah,” she says eventually, and swallows. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Leonard says, moving aside. Vanya comes in, and he directs her where to put her coat and scarf. Then, both to give himself thinking space and her the impression of a caring possible-boyfriend, he retreats to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea.

Okay. So. When Vanya came to his shop earlier this morning, he’d asked her out just before she had to leave for practice, and the apparent spontaneity of it was probably what cinched it. But he didn’t ask without planning what he’d do if she said no. He didn’t actually expect this exact turn of events, but he just needs to alter his approach a bit. She trusts him enough already to accept token gestures of comfort. Now all he has to do is ease her into accepting slightly less token gestures.

Leonard returns to the living room with two full mugs of steaming tea. He smiles at Vanya. “I figure we can either talk, if you want, or pretend to be deeply interested in my musty old chamomile and drink so it won’t turn awkward,” he says lightly. “Whatever you prefer.”

Vanya takes the mug and shoots him a grateful look. “Thanks,” she says, not quite wryly. “I….maybe in a bit.”

“Of course,” Leonard says, and sits himself a comfortable distance away from her on the couch. He lifts up the mug and sips. He isn’t much of a tea drinker, but this brand is alright in his book.

It’s almost five minutes and half their mugs later when Vanya sighs and leans back against the couch, staring at the opposite wall.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asks.

Leonard carefully finishes sipping his tea. “No,” he says after a moment. “Only child.”

“You’re lucky,” Vanya says, and she’s probably unconscious of the bitter edge in her voice. Or maybe just uncaring.

“I was kind of lonely, actually,” Leonard says slowly. “Always thought if I had a big family, maybe I wouldn’t be.”

Vanya lets out an ugly snort. “Trust me, you can still be lonely in a big family. Makes it that much worse, even.”

Leonard mulls over his response to that. “I’m sorry,” he offers.

“I just -” Vanya sucks in a sharp breath and leans forward, putting her mug on the coffee table. She stays like that, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “I thought - god, I don’t know what I thought. But a few hours ago I learned that my - one of my brothers was….” She closes her eyes and runs a hand through her hair. “He was hurt. A few days ago. And no one - no one thought to tell me.”

Leonard blinks.

“....Oh,” he says eloquently.

Well. That….explains some things.

“Oh, god,” Leonard says, trying to sound like this is new information to him. Which, well, part of it is, so he leans on that. “No one told you? That’s horrible, I can’t imagine. Is he okay?” he remembers to add just in time.

“Yeah,” Vanya says, sounding a little choked. “Yeah, he’s going to be fine. He went home yesterday, in fact, though that was probably against medical advice. But he was - he was stabbed - a mugging, I think, I don’t know. Right outside our house. And everyone knew but me. It’s been pretty chaotic these last few days, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask that someone maybe think to tell me about something like that.”

“Yeah, there’s really no excuse for that,” Leonard says. “I just - god, I’m so sorry.” Not enough to not stab your brother in the first place, but. You know. In the abstract.

“Thanks,” Vanya says, her breath hitching a little. Then she lets out something that might be a sob. “God. You know, I just realized? They didn’t even say that. Didn’t apologize. Not once.”

Briefly, Leonard wonders if the Academy is trying to drive Vanya Hargreeves straight into his arms. It’s honestly starting to look like a real possibility.

“....I really hope you don’t mind me saying this, but they all sound like dicks,” Leonard says.

There’s a short silence, and Leonard is afraid he’s overstepped - people can get weirdly touchy about other people slinging insults at their family, even when they themselves say those very same insults - before Vanya lets out a short laugh, and her shoulders relax a fraction.

“Yeah, they kind of are,” she says. “Or - well. I don’t know about Klaus - he’s the one who got stabbed. If anyone has an excuse, it’s him. I actually - we haven’t seen each other in years, any of us, but about a week ago our father died.”

It takes Leonard a second to remember that 1) he shouldn’t know that already, and 2) he should act sad about it. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That sucks.”

“Well, we hadn’t seen him in years either, so,” Vanya gives a limp shrug, still staring into space. “He wasn’t - the best father. But he was our father, so we all came for the funeral.” She pauses, and lets out a faint huff of laughter. “All of us. One of our brothers, he ran away when we were kids. Then suddenly he just - popped back up at the funeral. Doesn’t sound like it was completely on purpose, but he’s back now. It’s a lot to get used to.”

Leonard

blinks.

He just barely stops himself from saying ‘What.’ Or ‘What the fuck.’ Or ‘What the actual living fuck.’

Because - she’s talking about Number Five. The boy who vanished shortly after he turned thirteen, whose disappearance generated mass conspiracies and media attention, who hasn’t been seen in almost seventeen years. Reginald Hargreeves was always famously tight-lipped about the disappearance, only saying that Number Five ran off of his own volition and that he definitely wasn’t dead (which would have sounded incredibly sketchy under different circumstances, but with the Seancé around Leonard supposes you can afford to be sure about that sort of thing. It still sounded kind of sketchy, though).

Vanya’s book shed a certain amount of light on the subject, which is probably most of the reason it even got to be so popular in the first place. According to her, Number Five ran off after an argument about expanding his space manipulation to include time manipulation, and her best guess was that he got stuck in another time period. It dripped of desperation, the wild hope that maybe there was one person who didn’t abandon her on purpose, but it was nevertheless a decent theory.

And….if he’s understanding her right, that theory was right.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck, Number Five is here. He’s here in the city, and that’s - that’s - holy fuck.

Leonard needs to replan everything.

“That does sound stressful,” Leonard manages, voice only betraying a little bit of his shock.

Fortunately, she doesn’t notice it. “Yeah,” she sighs. “Yeah, it - it was. We were pretty close as kids, but now he’s -” she cuts herself off, and looks uncomfortable, shaking her head. “Nevermind. Just. The point is, I’m not close with any of them. But Klaus, he - well, he had a rough life, but he got himself back on track a while ago, and he offered to - hang out. With me. He actually sounded sincere about it, too. So I was looking forward to that, but then I learned two days after the fact about him getting stabbed and it’s just….”

“....Fucked up?” Leonard offers, mind still recalculating. The information that Klaus Hargreeves is apparently sober now is hardly a blip in the radar next to Number Five’s return.

“You could say that, yeah,” Vanya says. She swallows, and picks up her tea again, but doesn’t drink yet. “I spent the last few hours trying to find him. Our Dad didn’t have his address, no one knows where he lives or works….I’m sorry I’m dumping all of this on you, really, I just couldn’t think of anyone else I could talk to -”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Leonard says, holding up a hand and giving her a reassuring smile. “It’s a lot to take in on a first date, yeah, but - I think you’re a pretty great person, Vanya. You deserve someone in your corner.”

“You’d be the first,” Vanya says, giving him a tiny smile. Leonard feels fairly confident that he’s making a good impression, so he gives her a slightly warmer smile in return.

Her smile fades after a couple seconds, and she goes back to her tea. Leonard does the same, letting the quiet unspool between them. If he plays this right, he can probably convince her to stay the night - hopefully that will be chivalrous enough he won’t have to throw in an offer to use his bed, the couch always gives him a crick in the neck.

“I still want to find him,” Vanya says after a few minutes. Her voice is soft, and for the first time in the conversation she looks at him directly. “I want - need to see that he’s okay. I need that, at least. Even if he’s not actually sincere about wanting to connect with me, I still….”

“Hey, no, I get it,” No, he doesn’t, but he can parrot the right words. “He’s family.”

“Yeah,” Vanya breathes, looking away again, a melancholy look on her face. “Yeah, exactly. Like you said, it’s never easy.”

Leonard tries to summon up a smile at that, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. He drops it. She’s not looking anyways.

Going back to his tea, Leonard pauses as he gets a look at the clock. Hm.

“Hey, Vanya?” he says.

“Hm?” she looks at him.

“This might be a little forward,” Leonard says slowly, “but you don’t look like you should be alone tonight. Or at least not for the next couple hours. How about we repackage our date tonight? I can make something, and we can just eat here.”

“Really?” Vanya blinks, straightening. “I don’t want to put you out….”

“No it’s no trouble, really,” Leonard says, standing and sending her a smile. “I like cooking - well, some things. Do you like alfredo?”

A slow, tiny smile spreads across Vanya’s face. It does make her look a smidge more attractive, Leonard is surprised to note. Well, it is a seduction, no one said he couldn’t enjoy himself.

“Yeah, I do,” Vanya says. “You’re sure? I - could help -”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself,” Leonard says. “You’ve been through a lot, you deserve to just stop for a while. I, uh, have some books over there, if you want to browse,” he points, “or if you want to lie down for a while that’s fine too.”

She’s giving him a dewy-eyed, grateful look, the kind that thirteen-year-old Harold imagined receiving from all the people he saved with his powers, the kind he imagined the Academy might give him when he swooped in at the last moment and pulled them out of a tight spot.

Leonard has to turn around abruptly before he spits in her face.

“Okay, so I’ll just get on that,” he says, and thankfully his voice comes out as normal. He hopes Vanya didn’t catch anything off about his behavior, but he can’t be in a room with her for any longer right now. It’s all he can do not to shout at her that being useless and ordinary is a choice she made for herself, that if she really hates it so much she should shut up and do something about it, like he is.

But it’s clear she still has some amount of (misplaced, unreciprocated, but still existent) affection for her siblings, so he can’t. Maybe - maybe later, once he’s had longer to drill into her head that the world really would be better off without her siblings in it, but not now.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Time doesn’t mean very much when you work for the Commission.

Or, to put it another way, time means everything. But when your entire life becomes saturated with something, it inevitably becomes the mundane, and receives shockingly casual treatment as a result.

The Handler has devoted a lot of resources - a lot of time - to solving the problem that is Number Five. But however rebellious and irritating he is, he is only a single part of the machine. A faulty one, one that must be removed and discarded for the Commission to return to peak efficiency, but still just a single part. There are other matters that the Handler has to devote herself to as well.

Such as the rather thorny issue in front of her. In all honesty, Herb really has done the best he can with the Lusitania. It’s not actually his fault that the case went through four other case managers before him, each with their own idea of how to fix it that never quite played out how they thought it would. Now the entire event is comparable to a tangle of Christmas lights, except already plugged in and likely to electrocute anyone that tries to fix it.

Not that she’s going to give Herb more slack than she already has. It’s a big problem, yes, but they’re the Commission. High standards are the norm around here.

“Madam Handler?”

The Handler looks up at Carla. She’s a recent hire (‘recent’ used loosely, there, as all temporal terms are in this business), but she’s a whiz with secretarial work. The Handler honestly doesn’t know how she coped without her, before.

“Yes?” she says.

“There was a call, Madam,” Carla says. “On the agent line. It was Number Five. He requested - well, demanded - a meeting.”

The Handler feels her eyebrows go up. “And what makes him think he gets to demand that?” she muses, tapping her pen on the desk.

“He, ah, claims he is in possession of Briefcase 22. He’s holding it hostage.”

The Handler’s pen stops tapping.

“Twenty-two,” she says slowly.

“Yes, Madam,” Carla says. She looks a little nervous. “Do you think he’s bluffing?”

“It would be an amazing coincidence if he was,” the Handler says. “Briefcase 22 is assigned to Hazel and Cha-Cha. They were dispatched to terminate Number Five.”

“....Ah,” Carla says. “That does pose a problem. I stopped by the logs on my way here, Briefcase 22 just made a round-trip to 1968.”

“What,” the Handler blinks.

“I assume that’s bad?” Carla says.

“I have no idea,” the Handler says, rising from her chair, mind racing. “Number Five is a very intelligent individual. I’m sure it served some purpose, but I don’t know what.”

The thought - doesn’t unsettle her, but it does make her frustrated. The Handler is not a woman who enjoys mysteries. Especially when they occur in the organization she’s supposed to know most everything about.

“I suppose I’ll have to meet with him, then,” the Handler decides. “Bring me the time-stop prototype, would you?”

**********

The Handler knows she won’t be able to surprise Number Five with her appearance, but she does take a certain amount of pleasure at how intrigued he looks by the time-stop. She’s always felt a sort of kinship with him - beneath the decades of traumatic isolation, she sees a lot of similarities to herself. Ruthless, stoic, perfectionist, controlling….that ability and willingness to pick apart the universe just to see how it works.

And, of course, an irrepressible love of the dramatic.

It’s just after dark on March 26th, 2019. The last fading rays of light turn their shadows into giants - although Number Five’s is significantly shorter than it should be. The Handler has seen far more surprising things than age regression, but she can’t help but feel a flutter of surprised delight at Number Five’s appearance. It has to be on accident, she decides. He looks utterly ridiculous. And adorable.

Nevertheless, his mind has always been his sharpest weapon - followed closely by his powers, of course. And neither of those rely on his physical appearance. So when Number Five’s eyes zero in on hers, the Handler gives him her full attention.

“You came,” Number Five says, stilling. Briefcase 22 is nowhere in sight - hidden, of course, so she doesn’t double-cross him. She expected nothing less. “I’m a little surprised at that, actually.”

The Handler gives a tight smile. “Well, you caught our attention. It took some time to clean up that mess you made in 1968. Really, Five, what did that platoon ever do to you?”

She’s actually very annoyed about that. None of the men who died on either side of that engagement were individually very important, but their death was - quite thorough. The Handler is almost tempted to call it a homage to Number Five’s poor dead brother, it was so brutal. Once noticed, the massacre would have had several snowball effects, including the Doctor Who revival coming three years earlier and the artificial heart never being invented, but that was all being managed by the time the Handler left headquarters. Not by undoing the deaths (see: Christmas light situation), but by making sure no one ever found the scene. It shook out to basically the same thing.

Five’s expression goes blank for a few seconds, and the Handler’s smile widens. She wags a finger. “I’m sure it was a brilliant failsafe, Five, but we have been doing this for quite some time,” she chides, amused.

“....My apologies,” Five says at last, face still perfectly blank. “I should have remembered that.”

The Handler eyes him, and makes a mental note to tell the analysts to keep an eye on 1968 for a while longer. If she was in Number Five’s place, she would - have the massacre as a cover, probably, and do something perfectly innocuous like send a letter that would later usher the fall of the Soviet Union ten years before its time.

Fuck. God save her from twisty-minded genii.

But, of course, she can’t let on that she suspects anything. “Well, no one is perfect,” she says. “A concept I think you might have some trouble grasping.”

“I never claimed to be perfect,” Number Five says instantly, eyes cool and unruffled. “Just superior.”

“Of course, my apologies,” the Handler shoots back. “I should have remembered.”

She sighs to herself. She’s missed this, the back-and-forth between them. Their first meeting was lackluster in the banter department, but he rather had an excuse. They haven’t interacted many other times since, but when they did it was always very entertaining. For the both of them, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

“Now, normally,” the Handler says. “I would ask what you want out of this little confrontation. But I think I already know that, don’t I?”

“The apocalypse,” Number Five says. “I want you to stop it.”

“I thought you were going to do that yourself?” the Handler raises an eyebrow.

“I’m aware of the disparity between our resources,” Number Five says.

“Yes,” the Handler muses. “You are, aren’t you? You know we have more resources, more manpower, more time, and yet you’re still trying anyways. It’s interesting to watch, I have to say. The most fascinating blend of realism and idealism. Only you, Five.”

She taps her chin. Number Five says nothing.

“You know what you’re asking is next to impossible, even for me,” the Handler says, employing a bit of creative license. Sure, she could stop the apocalypse - it would only take murdering Vanya Hargreeves. But that would go against what Five is really asking: stop my family from dying. It’s a bit of a mutually exclusive situation.

“...Then I want to make a deal,” Number Five says, after a moment. “I’m going to keep trying to prevent the apocalypse, I won’t pretend otherwise. But in exchange for this Briefcase, I want my family to survive.”

The Handler pauses. “What makes you think I’ll take that deal?”

“You have no reason not to,” Number Five says, arching an eyebrow. “Just keep five people safe, and in return I have a very significant advantage taken away from me. Who knows what I would do with it otherwise - it’s much more precise than my own jumps. As you can see. The deal is entirely weighted in your favor.”

….Shit. The worst part, the Handler realizes, is that Number Five’s logic makes sense, given the information he has. Leaving the Briefcase with him is not an option. The 1968 trip was probably a demonstration, showing how much chaos he can cause with a single use (she ups the amount of resources they’ll have to divert to look for his subtler changes). Operating on the information he has, she would be an idiot not to take the deal.

It really is entirely weighted in her favor - that is, if things are the way he believes them to be.

But she can’t take the deal. The Hargreeveses are the cause of the apocalypse. If they’re taken out of the equation, it doesn’t happen. It might be possible to preserve a few of them past the death of the planet Earth, but certainly not all of them.

But refusing would look so suspicious, Number Five would probably figure the entire thing out before morning.

She can’t take this deal. But she can’t refuse it, either.

Fuck.

“Well?” Number Five says, eyes narrowing.

“My, my,” the Handler says, trying to buy some time. Time, time, time, it’s always about time. “You’d think forty years would instill some patience in you.”

“It instilled plenty,” Number Five says flatly. “I’m just not inclined to extend you any.”

“Why so hostile, Five?” she says, smirking.

“I’m trying to prevent my family’s deaths,” he says tightly, glaring at her.

“Oh, yes,” the Handler says. A plan is forming in her mind - she just needs to keep him off-balance for a little longer, keep him from demanding an answer immediately. “That was very upsetting to stumble upon, I assume. A horrible scene. Especially that one in particular, which was it - the middle one?”

“Shut up,” Number Five hisses, eyes suddenly wild. Ah, good to know the trauma hasn’t dulled. Although she has to admit, that was a gruesome scene. Very - spread out. That’s why she always thought powers are more trouble than they’re worth.

The Handler raises a hand. “Peace, peace,” she says, and Number Five freezes, clearly berating himself for losing his cool. She smirks internally. She has control of the conversation now, and they both know it. “Here’s the scoop, Five,” she says, the last of her plan falling into place. “You’ve impressed us, back at Headquarters. Standard guidelines are no negotiations with enemies, but it would be different if we were negotiating with an employee. We want to offer you a job. In Management.”

For the first time, Number Five blinks at her. “A job,” he says flatly. “Was my last resignation not pointed enough?”

“You wouldn’t be in the Corrections Department, though,” the Handler says. “No more running around to and fro, getting grimy and exhausted. You could put your considerable intellect to good use from the comfort of our home office. You’d fit right in, and we have all the best toys - I think you’d especially like the Coffee Machine. Plus, we have the technology to restore your body to what it was. You could be - you again. A distinguished professional shouldn’t have to wear schoolboy shorts, Five.”

He’s tempted, she knows. For goodness’ sake, she’s surprised he’s not perpetually distracted by the dysphoria. It’s got to be wearing on him - less than anything else, probably, but still there.

“What about my family?” he says abruptly, and the Handler carefully hides a smile. She has him.

“In exchange for the location where you’ve hidden the Briefcase and your employment, they’ll be spared from the apocalypse,” she says. “I give my word.”

She sticks her hand out. Number Five eyes her, but after a moment, he cautiously reaches out his own.

They shake.

“In the name of good faith, of course, you’ll have to tell us what other changes you made in 1968,” she adds before she releases the time-stop. “The platoon was a good cover, but you went overboard. Try to make your distractions less blatant next time.”

“....Of course,” Number Five says, blank-faced again. “I’ll do that.”

“Good,” the Handler says, smiling. “Glad to hear it.”

And then they’re gone.

Chapter Text

Reluctantly, Five has to admit that the Commission outclasses him in….pretty much every way possible.

It’s not something he likes facing. But it’s like the Handler says (he hates how she’s right just often enough that he can never afford to discount her words): Five lives by a strange mixture of realism and optimism. The goal he’s chosen is enormous, daunting, impossible, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to do it anyways, and damn anything that gets in his way. He knows the odds. He’s assessed every single one.

He’s still going to avert the apocalypse, or die trying.

The Commission is his most immediate threat. There’s still that pesky issue of not knowing who the eye belongs to or how the world ends, but that mystery isn’t actively trying to thwart him. The Commission is, and thus has to be taken care of first.

It’s admittedly a little disorienting to be doing that by joining it. Or re-joining, anyways.

Management. Five didn’t expect that, and he’s grown very used to expecting the unexpected. Sure, Five knows he’s intelligent enough to cut it in the higher levels of the Commission, but he didn’t expect anyone to actually trust him enough to offer it.

Five isn’t stupid. He knows the Handler can’t trust him that much. She’s playing a different game, she has to be. He isn’t going to fall for it.

He can, however, appreciate a well-run organization when he sees it. In the abstract.

They walk through the suspiciously spacious halls, weaving through the crowds of people. Five suppresses a grimace. Forty years alone has not given him a high tolerance for crowds. There’s too much - motion, talking, people -

He pushes down the faint flutters of panic, though. He can’t afford to be anything less than poised and polished, here in the heart of the Commission. The slightest hint of weakness could lead to disaster.

The Handler natters on, and despite Five’s usual irritation with her neverending flow of words, this time he’s slightly more appreciative than not. It helps keep him focused, helps him keep the crashing waves of panic at bay. She shows him around Headquarters, and Five solidifies his opinion that there’s some kind of space-warping in play to fit all of this in one building. He’s honestly almost more intrigued about that than time-travel, because space-warping has always made much more intuitive sense than time-warping. If he could just get his hands on the equations they used….

But no. He can’t get distracted. He came here with one goal - well, one goal, and a side goal he’ll fulfill if he can, but he doubts he’ll be staying long enough to get his body back.

Probably for the best. Any kind of gift the Commission gives would probably have a kill-switch installed in it as a matter of course.

It sort of boggles the mind somewhat to see so many Briefcases all in one place - looking for all the world like a collection of library books waiting to be checked out, no less. Five feels that familiar itch under his skin, the indignation that the Commission can effortlessly achieve what he spent forty-five years working out. He’s not upset when they don’t linger.

The Tube Room is interesting, he has to admit. He always wondered what this place looked like. The Handler doesn’t explain why pneumatic tubes, though. That always felt like the more pressing query.

He doesn’t, however, use the opportunity to ask that question. Instead, he asks about the case manager for the apocalypse.

A case manager. For the apocalypse.

Every so often, Five has to stop and remind himself that yes, this is his life.

The case manager for the apocalypse is called Dot. Five isn’t all that good at reading his own family, much less total strangers, but as far as he can tell Dot is friendly, cheerful, and even less able to read the mood than he is.

“No hard feelings,” she says, apparently sincere.

Five just….stares. He can’t actually think of how to respond to that.

Well, he can, actually. He doubts murdering one of his coworkers less than an hour into his new position would be well-received, though.

Idly, Five wonders how much he hates Dot. Not as much as the man who murdered his family, of course - no one can really take that spot. More than that one prosthetics doctor Vanya had to bribe, certainly. But where does she stack up next to all the people who thought they had the right to touch (hurt) Klaus just because they had a bit of cash? It’s an important question.

Speaking of touching, he doesn’t remember the Handler being this - tactile. She keeps reaching out to him, encroaching on his personal space, and practically caressing him. Five finds himself hoping this is some sort of mind game, because if his boss is a pedophile this is going to get awkward.

To be fair, if it is a mind game, it’s sort of….working. Five can’t remember the last time he was touched gently by someone other than Delores. And he does love Delores, very much, but bless her heart, plastic isn’t exactly soft. It’s unsettling to be in direct physical contact with another living human again. Not like he went out of his way to touch people as an assassin, and….Five is pretty sure the only time he’s touched his siblings since coming back was when he found Klaus bleeding out in the alley, and that wasn’t traumatic at all, seeing him like that, limp and pale and gushing red red red all over the ground smearing his hands spilling everywhere just like before oh god oh god please no no no -

Five snaps back to himself. Breathes in. Breathes out.

(He doesn’t think about finding Klaus in the apocalypse. He doesn’t think about how Klaus was all but torn apart, practically in pieces. He doesn’t think about how Ben might have died similarly, considering the way Vanya edged around descriptions in her book.)

(He’s grown very good at not thinking about it.)

He follows the Handler to his new desk. It’s right in front of Dot, because of course it is. The Handler smiles as she gives him a folder, eyes as dead as ever.

“Now, I know you’re ready to dive right in, Five, and trust me, I have a few cases for you that are going to be right up your alley, but first things first. Here’s our report on your little jaunt to 1968 - you can clean up any loose ends left lying around.”

“Of course,” Five says neutrally, feeling his heart speed up again. God-fucking-dammit, the 1968 trip. Not for the first time, Five curses whoever the hell killed the Commission agents and apparently went for a joyride through time, probably without even meaning to. If he ever finds them, he is going to rip out a few organs.

“Good,” the Handler smiles. “Once you’re done with that, come see me and we’ll get started on the good stuff. I’m right down the hall.”

That is not as reassuring as she thinks it is. Or maybe it’s another mind game, Five doesn’t know. His specialty is quantum-temporal theory, not people. He just nods mutely, and takes a seat as she leaves.

At least he has a reference for the 1968 situation. He flips open the incident report and reads.

It’s….conflicting. There were no witnesses (which is probably beneficial for him; he has no idea how they’d react if they knew he hadn’t done this), so they’re baffled as to how the damage was actually inflicted. Looking at the photographs (if he hadn’t spent forty years with bodies rotting away at every corner, his stomach might have even made a mild protest), Five has to push away the immediate thought of obviously it was Ben, you idiots.

Because this definitely resembles Ben’s - or, more accurately, the Horror’s - work. Blood and viscera paint the ground, the entire barricade is torn apart, actual trees are uprooted, and apparently out of an estimated 48 people present only seven of them had all their limbs. Five has to blink away memories of his quiet, shy brother coming out of silent rooms covered in blood, eyes haunted even behind his mask.

The platoon (under the 173rd Airborne Division, headed by Lieutenant Anthony Black) was comprised of three squads. Thanks to a filing error, there’s some ambiguity exactly how many people were in the platoon. At the scene, roughly half the bodies were American, and the other half were Viet Cong guerillas. There were quite a few bodies so thoroughly mutilated and mashed to bits that there isn’t actually a concrete number for how many were killed.

Five pauses. Then he looks back at that ‘filing error.’

It isn’t much. Just a single digit off. The Commission barely noted it, apparently chalking it up to human error. But….

Looking at it from Five’s position of knowledge, it’s hard not to see that this ‘filing error’ must have been the person who used the Briefcase in the first place. Depending on how much they knew about time-travel, that was probably something of an adventure.

Five wonders what the hell happened. Did the traveler massacre their platoon and the insurgents? They must have at least survived it, considering they managed to get back.

Abruptly, Five remembers the mysterious pool of blood near where he found the dropped Briefcase. Briefly survived, then.

But what the hell killed everyone, then? Five frowns at the pictures, eyes roaming over the scene. If the traveler wasn’t the one who killed everyone, then….

Wait. No. Five doesn’t need to work that out. He shouldn’t be working that out. He has a job to do, a family to save, and he can’t get distracted by mysterious massacres and random time-travelers. Five pulls himself away, and flips over to the report on the Commission’s cover-up. Thorough job, it looks like. Good for them, but inconvenient for him. Five rereads a few things, looking for something he can plausibly claim as a hidden backup for a gracious surrender.

**********

Twenty minutes later, Five sends off a tube and hopes his hasty calculations are correct. He couldn’t have stalled much longer in sending out fixes to a problem he should already know, but it was a bitch to work out something he could change while not affecting the timeline too much. He hopes it’s convincing.

“Five!”

Well, fuck. Is the Handler stalking him? She’s probably stalking him. Five sighs quietly to himself before turning to face her.

“I take it everything is taken care of?” the Handler says, raising an eyebrow and looking at the tube.

“Sure is,” Five says, trying to act casual as he hands back the folder. “I marked the changes in the report. Now, I believe I was promised some challenges?”

The Handler briefly looks like she wants to ask for a more in-depth report, but Five breezes past her and heads back to the case room. It itches to turn his back on her, but needs must. And it works, too, as he hears her huff out a half-laugh and start walking after him.

“Of course,” she says, easily catching up. Five represses the extremely immature urge to make his stupid tiny legs march faster. He’d just end up looking ridiculous. “I actually have a treat for you, it should prove to be quite stimulating.”

Five is extremely hazy on all forms of human contact, including (especially) flirting, but that lilt on the last word sounded suspiciously innuendo-like. He gives the Handler a side glance.

She just smirks.

Five glumly ups the chances that she’s a pedophile.

He gets back to his desk, and is given a different folder. On….the Hindenberg. Huh. Five skims over the report, listening with half an ear as the Handler once again gives her offer of an open door. Five suppresses the urge to ask whether the door will be closed and locked once he enters the room so no one else can interrupt.

She’d probably find it funny, anyways. Five wonders if this place even has an HR department. He’s not actually sure what an HR department does, but he hears it’s useful in this sort of situation? Maybe?

Whatever. Five breathes out a sigh as the Handler leaves the room, and he relaxes slightly. Not very much, because he’s still in the heart of enemy territory, but at least the Handler is gone. Five sits down and begins working.

Of course, Dot has to try and butt in. Five cannot actually think of anyone he would want to talk to less. He would be eager to talk (well, ‘talk’) to the man who killed his family, perfectly content to have some very drawn-out conversations (well, ‘conversations’) with the people who thought they could buy, abuse, and mutilate his brother, and would even prefer (well, ‘prefer’) to speak with the Handler over Dot. It seems she’s slotted into a very specific type of hatred in his head. Interesting.

He rebuffs her, because this case is….actually interesting, dammit. Five knows he needs to discuss the logistics of his family’s safety (because he doesn’t trust the Handler or the Commission one bit, but if there’s even a chance they’re sincere about keeping their end of the deal he’ll need to re-evaluate his own intentions), but it’s been a long time since he’s actually had an intellectual challenge that isn’t deciphering time-travel equations. Which was very important and complex, of course, but spending forty-five years on something is pretty much guaranteed to end up monotonous.

Five allows himself one hour to work on the case before he makes himself take a break. He neatens up his desk a bit (the concept is a weird one, because it’s not like there was anyone to judge him for messy workspace in the apocalypse, but when in Rome) and leaves to wander through the halls.

Thankfully, the Handler doesn’t seem to be stalking him 24/7 (or however the saying is expressed here). Five explores a few other hallways and floors the Handler didn’t cover on her tour, noting the location of the cafeteria and bathrooms. He takes several minutes to engage a scientist in conversation about the space-warping properties of the building, and gets enough of an understanding to feel satisfied that teleporting while inside it won’t shred him into spaghetti. That’s nice to know.

He visits the laboratories briefly, though only in the public areas. Genuinely sensitive spaces are passcard-protected, and he’s not going to pick a fight this early. He wanders and opens other doors at random, finding an exercise room, the place where field reports get sorted once they come in, a closet full of spare suits and uniforms, a stash of cleaning supplies, a courtyard, an interrogation room, three filing rooms, the medbay, a room full of analysts valiantly trying to calculate the events of all of human history, and the break room.

Five’s eyes zero in on the one thing he’s been trying to find as it reveals itself to him at last.

“Finally,” he hisses, marching up to it and glaring. “You know, if I have to sell my soul and work for the people who are trying to wipe out all life on Earth, make an incredibly shaky and desperate deal for my family’s lives that probably won’t be honored, and find out I have to deal with my boss being a closet pedophile stalker, you’d think the benefits package would include directions to the one fucking coffee machine in the entire place.”

Honestly, he’s pretty sure massacring them all is the only reasonable response.

….After he gets his coffee.

Chapter Text

Finding out Number Five has left his desk is not altogether surprising. Finding out where he’s gone is even less surprising.

“I would like to note, for the record, that if you break that the entire building is going to be quite angry at you,” the Handler says.

Number Five shoots her a look. He’s perched on top of the Commission Coffee Machine, so capitalized because it’s the size of a refrigerator and capable of supplying the entire building with a steady stream of caffeine presented in a staggering number of ways. It might actually be quantum-based in some way, she’s not really sure.

“I’m not going to break it,” Number Five says. A large cup is clutched in his hands, and as she watches he downs the last of whatever’s inside. “It’s the only thing that dispenses caffeine in this entire place. You know, I’m not sure I would have accepted if I’d known that.”

“I’ve had several reports from some very concerned employees saying that you were trying to dismantle it,” the Handler says, raising an eyebrow.

Number Five looks….annoyed? Embarrassed? She can’t quite tell, this isn’t his usual face.

“I found my coffee - displeasing,” Number Five says, sounding like he would really rather not explain. “I wanted to find out why. It took a while before I remembered younger bodies have a more sensitive reaction to bitterness.”

The Handler doesn’t bother to stop the smile that spreads over her face. “Oh, my,” she says. “That is unfortunate. Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know your new body is only a few hours away from being completed.”

“That is relieving,” Number Five says, blinking down from the top of the Coffee Machine and throwing out his empty cup. He straightens his tie and comes over near her. “Is there a reason you sought me out?”

“I need a reason?” the Handler says.

He doesn’t react all that visibly. Pity, that. She almost misses how openly emotional he was in their first meeting, but only almost. That was like shooting fish in a barrel; it’s much more fun if she has to work for it. He has an enormously impressive amount of emotional control, but an equally enormous amount of trauma, so it’s always fascinating to watch the struggle.

The Handler sighs. “In a manner of speaking. I realize I didn’t outline the standard length of breaks in my little welcome speech - which is on me, I admit - but you must have realized you can’t take one this long, Five.”

Number Five blinks. “Oh. No, I didn’t.”

The Handler pauses. “Pardon?”

Number Five shrugs. “I didn’t realize, no.” He thinks for a moment. “Is that normal, when working a desk job?”

The Handler’s brain, after processing that, takes the opportunity to remind her of the entirety of Number Five’s life history - and, more saliently, his work history - to date.

“....Ah,” she says. “Yes. It is.”

“Alright,” Number Five says. He looks mildly disgruntled. “Well, I can live with that. Are there any other rules in that vein?”

“It’s generally not allowed to dismantle company property,” the Handler says, glancing at the Coffee Machine.

Now Number Five looks genuinely puzzled. “Why? It still works.”

“....Why don’t we retire to my office, and I can explain a bit more.”

For some reason, he looks suspicious of that, but he gives a grudging nod. The Handler goes to the Coffee Machine and punches in a double - no, triple - of her usual order, mentally going over how to explain office etiquette to a man who has literally never been inside an office in his life.

She’s starting to regret this plan of hers.

**********

“That’s just ridiculous,” Number Five says flatly.

“I can see how it would seem that way to you,” the Handler says slowly, “But believe it or not, Five, not everyone is a polymath like you. It would take far more time and effort than most people are willing to put in to learn about all the technology we employ here, much less how to construct it themselves.”

Number Five looks unnerved. The Handler supposes that when your life depends on understanding the mechanics of every contraption around you in exact detail and at least the basics of nearly every discipline the standard university would care to name, specialization would seem like an absolutely insane idea.

“I….see,” Number Five says. He clearly doesn’t.

The Handler resists the urge to rub at the growing tension between her eyes. Instead she smiles, and nudges forward the dish on her desk. She needs a subject switch. “Care for a dessert?”

“I had a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once, it kind of put me off desserts.”

“Please,” the Handler smiles, feeling herself relax as they slip back into more familiar territory. “Indulge me.”

He gives in, like she knew he would. That curiosity (maybe better known as arrogance) is going to be the death of him one day.

The Handler lights a cigarette as she watches him eat. “What’s that taste like to you?”

His face is fascinating to watch when he’s encountering something unexpected. When he’s not deliberately trying to hide his emotions, they’re shockingly honest and clear on his face. She’s half-tempted to take him on an in-depth tour of the Metaphysics Division, just to be able to see that expression again and again.

He is, at least, being sincere in his admiration of the candy. When she has the suit brought in, he shuts down harder than Alcatraz. Which is also fascinating in its own right, of course. The Handler quietly sighs to herself as she looks at him, staring down at the suit sized for his adult body. Provoking these reactions from him….she could do this for ages.

The banter is nice, too. When he asks about her little trophy collection, she can’t help but show off a bit. Slightly unprofessional, yes, but she just had to explain the concept of office mixers. She can indulge a bit.

He excuses himself shortly afterward, which is to be expected. She’s surprised he managed a conversation this long. By all accounts he was terrible at social interaction even before he went without for four decades.

He takes more candy before he leaves. The Handler smiles.

Then, though, she has to return to work. Much as she would like to focus on Number Five for as long as he’s around, she can’t neglect her duties.

A couple hours pass. The Handler puts out a few fires, starts a few others (a fraction of them are even literal), arranges people to go where they need to go and do what they need to do. She pines for the thrill of being in the field, sometimes, but administrative work is a different kind of exhilarating. The sheer power is intoxicating sometimes, ending lives and rearranging reality with a few strokes of a pen.

Although the research part can get tedious, she admits. Quite often, she has to look through the shelves and shelves of books in her office to figure out what event, exactly, she’s meddling in. Making corrections to all of human history is all well and good, but it does mean she has to have a ready reference for all of human history.

Eventually, the Handler looks up to a knock at the door.

“Ma’am?” Dot says. “You told me to clear any actions about the apocalypse with you….”

“Yes, of course,” the Handler says, gesturing. “Have a seat, Dot.”

Dot sits, clutching the incident report of the apocalypse to herself. She looks uncertain. “The odds of the fulcrum incident happening has gone down three percent.”

“Hm,” the Handler narrows her eyes. “I see. Not very much, but we don’t particularly want a reduction. What do you think we should do, Dot?”

“I think we should send more agents to keep an eye on things,” Dot says at once. “Who knows what sort of ripples Number Five has made - he pretty much recreated the Vietnam massacre with Hazel and Cha-Cha, although I guess technically he killed them first….but anyways, it’s gained attention. Enough that it might impact his siblings’ behavior, or Harold Jenkins’.”

That’s why the Handler likes Dot. Not particularly interesting, but she’s decisive, and knows how to get the job done. Good qualities, in the Commission.

“Alright, that sounds reasonable enough,” the Handler says. “I assume you’ll have the agents focus on Jenkins?”

“Yes,” Dot says.

“Well, motion approved,” the Handler says with a smile. “I think….Spinner and Lace would do nicely, don’t you think? Not the top guns, but with Number Five out of the picture they should be capable of handling things.”

“Of course,” Dot says. “I’ll write up the instructions.”

The Handler nods, mind clicking through Spinner and Lace’s current whereabouts. The 1860s, if she’s not mistaken. She pulls out a few forms to direct them to their next assignment, dismissing Dot.

Dot nods, and leaves. Another good quality - she’s not at all brilliant like Number Five or the Handler herself is, but she never needs to be told something more than once.

The Handler stretches, and looks down at the forms in front of her. She’s filled out enough of them that she can do it in her sleep - but there’s no rush. She quite literally has all the time in the world. And she has been working for several hours now.

Picking up her empty coffee cup, the Handler meanders through the halls to the breakroom. She’s pleased to note that the ebb and flow of crowds around the Coffee Machine is at low tide, the standard late afternoon rush just tapering off (it is, of course, always late afternoon here, but metaphorically speaking).

The Handler’s stomach gives a mild lurch, and she grimaces. That’s what she gets for burning her rugae. Ugh, she can’t wait to be able to eat food again. A liquids-only diet does not agree with her.

Mingling with the lower levels never really appealed to her, unless they’re a shining star like Number Five. So the Handler doesn’t stay in the breakroom long, instead heading towards the cafeteria so she can daydream about what she’ll eat once she’s off this infernal diet.

This is, of course, when everything starts to go wrong.

The Handler is passing by the Tube Room when she sees the faintest hint of blue light. She stops, and zeroes in on it.

There’s nothing there. But then, there wouldn’t be.

Quickly, she steps into the room, searching around for Gloria. Nothing, not even the woman’s charmingly annoying habit of humming showtunes as she files. The Handler steps in further, and -

Ah.

Well.

That’s a rather blatant declaration, then.

Stepping back from the body (because there’s certainly no helping Gloria now, is there), the Handler marches quickly back out of the Tube Room. Her mind chews over Number Five’s likely goals - getting back to his family, naturally, embarking on his insane quest to stop the apocalypse, but what will he do here, before he goes?

The answer comes just as the alarms start blaring, and she hears a far-off explosion.

Chaos.

Dropping her coffee, the Handler curses to herself. Of course he’d want to throw them all into chaos, make sure their entire organization is gummed up so he can have enough freedom to work. She’s such an idiot - she thought this was a long game, and played accordingly. She forgot that while he is capable of that, Number Five always was a creature of impulse.

Well, she’s paying for that misstep now.

Hurrying through the halls, the Handler tries to triangulate the location of the explosion. It sounds like it was near the labs, so….the medbay. Of course. If he’s going for chaos and injury, the logical thing to do is remove the sources that could alleviate that.

The Handler feels an uncommon fury arise in her as she shoves her way through the panicking crowd. Another explosion rocks the building, and the alarms double. The Handler grits her teeth.

She thought - she doesn’t know what she thought. She hoped, however, that Number Five could truly be brought over, that he’d set down his stupid, childish fantasy of saving his family and the world, of being the hero, that he’d snap out of his delusions and realize there wasn’t anything to fix.

Que sera, sera.

What will be, will be.

Is it too fucking much to ask that people understand that?

Apparently so. Yet another explosion rocks the building as the Handler makes it back to her office. She grabs her favorite pistol, and rushes towards where she’s sure Number Five will be headed: the Briefcase Room.

Sure enough, the place goes up in flames the moment she turns the corner. Her brain shrieks at the sight of it, but she can’t stop because she catches a glimpse of Number Five from the corner of her eye and sprints after him. Her heart is pounding in her ears and she feels faintly nauseous and she hopes the bodies dotted here and there in the halls aren’t particularly irreplacable but she’s so fucking angry anything else is a background concern.

She catches up to him in the hall, and points her gun.

He stops. They look at each other.

“Why?” the Handler says. It’s not the only thing she wants to say, but it’s the first one out of her mouth. “Why won’t you just let go of this stupid fantasy of yours? You can’t stop it, Five.”

“Why are you trying so hard to stop me, then?” he says, eyes dark and cold.

“I saved you,” the Handler snaps. “I saved you from a lifetime of loneliness. You owe me.”

“I do owe a debt,” Number Five says, and for one wild, breathtaking moment she thinks he’s agreeing with her, understanding, but then he says, “But it’s not to you.”

She can’t let that go. She can’t. She fires, and she’s an excellent shot, always has been, but Number Five jerks up the Briefcase and the bullet impacts it, and her eyes can’t quite follow the exact chain of events but the Briefcase glows, or maybe Five does, but either way he vanishes in the space between heartbeats and her next bullet whizzes through empty air.

Slowly, the Handler lowers her gun, the alarms still blaring around her.

“Madam!” Carla runs up to her, limping. From the looks of her pupils, she has a nasty concussion. “Madam, I engaged the Exodus Protocols, but a lot of the exits are blocked, and the medbay was very thoroughly destroyed, and there’s a lot of casualties, and what should we do? Who did this?”

“Number Five,” the Handler says, quietly. “He went rogue. Again.”

“What?” Carla looks shocked. “I - oh. Oh. That’s - horrible.”

“Indeed,” the Handler says.

“But I thought you -” Carla cuts herself off and looks nervously to the side. “I’m sorry, I thought you had a contingency? To stop that?”

“I did,” the Handler says. She breathes in, breathes out, straightening her spine and reasserting the iron will that allowed her to climb so far in the Commission in the first place. “I did. But, sadly, the poison in the candy I gave him takes a couple days to become fatal, and he ended up moving sooner than that. My mistake, I admit.”

The Handler turns to face Carla.

“But,” she says. “We should focus on the immediate concerns at the moment. Let’s clean up this mess.”

Chapter Text

Diego has just about had it with Luther’s bullshit. Allison’s too, but she’s just doing what she’s always done and siding with Luther. Of course, in that light, it could be argued Luther is doing the same thing, parroting the same words Dad would say if he were here. But Diego isn’t feeling all that generous right now, and in the end, it comes down to the fact that Luther is advocating for murdering their mother.

“Stop calling it that!” Luther snaps, arms crossed and tense. He looks a few more taunts away from throwing the first punch, and Diego can’t think of a single reason why that would be a bad idea. “She’s malfunctioning, she’s a danger, and we need to turn her off!”

“Yeah, she’s malfunctioning, which means we need to help her instead of throwing her away like trash!” Diego snarls, his blood simmering away, ready to boil over. He’s this close to pulling a knife.

In comparison to her brothers, Allison is perched on the arm of the couch, a glass of something alcoholic in her hand. The morning light filters in through the parlor windows, illuminating her like she’s in a goddamn photoshoot or something. She looks tired, and bored, and completely uncaring of the fact that they’re discussing their mother’s possible death. Diego always knew Allison was self-centered, but jesus christ.

“You want to weigh in here?” he says to her. He knows she’s going to back up Luther, because of fucking course she will, but he can’t stand looking at her absolute apathy.

“I don’t really see the point,” she says, which, big surprise. “You two have been screaming at each other for the past twenty minutes, going in circles the whole time. Besides, we can’t decide to do anything definite without the whole family deciding. One way or another.”

Well. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it’s surprisingly less of an outright opposition than Diego expected. He sets his jaw and looks at Luther. “She’s right,” he says. “This is a family matter - family, not Academy. Get your head out of your ass and stop expecting us to follow your lead. Although if you haven’t stopped yet I don’t know what’s going to convince you.”

Luther flushes, blotchy and uneven, and opens his mouth to respond, and Diego shifts slightly, fingers going automatically to the handle of one of his knives -

And then there’s an explosion of blue light, and Five drops onto the bar.

“What the fuck?” Diego hears himself say, echoed a second later by Luther. Allison stands up, hurrying forward to Five.

“Five?” she says, grasping onto his shoulders. “Five, are you okay? What -”

“I’m fine,” Five snaps, jerking away from her and sliding off the bar. He glares at them, uniform rumpled, holding a briefcase of some kind.

“Oh yeah?” Diego says, moving forward and breathing in. “Why do you smell like smoke, then?”

Five glares harder. “Unimportant,” he says flatly.

“Why is that sparking?” Luther says in alarm.

They all look down at the briefcase Five is carrying, and Diego is surprised to see that it is, in fact, sparking. Most of the sparks are coming from the side, from a small round - bullet hole? What the hell?

But Five’s eyes widen, and he blurts out “Shit,” and then hurls the thing out into the front hall, where -

It explodes.

“Jesus!” Diego shouts, jumping back. He can feel the heat from here, and inching forward shows the thing is well and truly destroyed, bits of leather and - machinery? - still gently smoking.

“What the fuck,” Allison says, eyes wide. “Five, what the fuck? What was that?”

“Why did you have a bomb?” Luther demands.

Five doesn’t seem to hear them. He’s staring at the remains of the briefcase, face twitching with a range of complicated emotions. Diego generally considers himself to be at least decent at reading people, but he has no idea what’s going on in Five’s head right now.

Finally, Five’s face settles on a slight grimace, before blanking out completely. Only then does he deign to look at them.

“You wanna tell us what that was about?” Diego says, raising his eyebrows and leaning back against a pillar.

“Not particularly,” Five says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at them in disinterest.

“I think we have a right to know,” Luther says, using his ‘leader’ voice. Diego rolls his eyes, because clearly Luther doesn’t remember (or never figured out in the first place) that using that voice on Five of all people provokes the exact opposite reaction than the one he’s going for.

Five’s expression doesn’t change, which is just typical. “I’m working to prevent the end of life on Earth as we know it,” he says, deadpan, staring Luther in the eye without blinking. “That briefcase was a very valuable time machine I stole from what is essentially the time mafia. I was one of their enforcers, but I decided to defect and prevent the apocalypse for reasons that are probably not worth it but compel me anyways.”

There’s a short silence.

“Did you just make a joke?” Allison blinks. “Where did you learn humor?”

“I don’t think that counts as humor,” Diego says, peering at Five. “Unless you’re Kafka or something. Points for trying, though.”

“I don’t think you could fit an entire time machine inside a briefcase,” Luther says uncertainly.

“Well, you can fit one inside a thirteen-year-old, at least,” Diego points out, gesturing towards Five.

“Look, Five,” Allison says, ignoring them and using her ‘I’m a reasonable person and I’m concerned about you’ tone. “We’re just worried. You only came back a few days ago, and we’ve hardly seen you. You’re going out and doing things we don’t even know about, and with the attack on Klaus and the situation with Mom we’re all a little high-strung. We’d really appreciate if you could stick around for a while?” She pauses. “We’re going to try and bring everyone here for a family meeting to decide what to do with Mom, probably tonight. Please be here?”

Diego bites back the instinctive rise of protectiveness that rises at the subject of Mom, and limits himself to a small glare. Really, they should be happy for his restraint.

“What’s going on with her?” Five says. He doesn’t sound all that interested in the answer, face blank and unruffled.

“She killed Dad,” Luther says.

“No she didn’t,” Diego says, glaring.

“She might have killed Dad,” Allison says. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“Mm. Well.” Five says. “I’d say I’ll be there, but I have more important things to do.”

“Five!” Allison says, sounding shocked, but Diego can’t actually speak through all the rage clogging his throat.

Five doesn’t bother sticking around, jumping away and leaving them in the parlor, staring at where he was just standing.

“Jesus christ,” Luther mutters. “Was he always like this?”

Diego turns and stalks out of the room.

He can’t - he can’t deal with this. Any of this. These past few days have been a whirlwind of shitty events and awful revelations. First there was Dad’s death, which is an unambiguous good except for the part where he has to see all his fucked-up family again and come back to this nightmare of a house. Then there was Five coming back, which should be good but somehow isn’t, exactly, not in any of the ways they imagined it would be as kids. Then Klaus gets fucking stabbed, and that’s not even the worst of it because apparently people have - they thought they had the right to - to - god, he doesn’t even know what they did, not really, but his previously nebulous nightmares from the past thirteen years have suddenly gained a frightening amount of weight. And now - now Mom is in danger, and only part of it is from his siblings because even if he convinces them not to hurt her she’s still falling apart.

It’s not like it’s news to Diego that he has anger issues. He fucking knows that, okay. But for fuck’s sake, he thinks he’s justified in feeling this constant, simmering well of rage-horror-helplessness that’s tangled up his insides for the past several days. The frantic urge to do something, fix it, or else it’ll all come falling down around his ears and he’ll just be standing there, staring at the ruins, completely fucking useless.

Except he can’t do anything. No one is letting him.

Abruptly, Diego turns and punches the nearest wall.

It’s plaster instead of wood, which is probably a good thing. His fist breaks through it, creating a gaping hole. Diego pulls his hand out and flexes it, staring at the hole. He’s breathing hard for some reason, and he stops, holds it in.

His hand throbs a little, but he’s wearing gloves, and it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. That’s nice.

Diego turns and marches away.

When he rounds the corner, however, he sees Klaus, leaning out of the infirmary door with a frown on his face.

“There you are,” Diego says. Once again, he remembers that little ‘neither did they’ comment that’s been playing on repeat in his head for the past day, but even so, he can’t entirely keep the bitterness out of his voice when he says, “Finally decided to come back, huh?”

Klaus looks at him blankly for a moment, before blinking. “Oh,” he says, and his hand twitches towards his side. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Good of you to join us,” Diego says, flexing his hand again. He looks away, then back at Klaus. “We’re having a family meeting tonight. About Mom. Be there.”

“....Okay,” Klaus says.

Diego looks at him, and forces his eyes to stay for once. It’s….actually not too hard to see that he’s clean, now that he knows. There are no track marks in his arms, his cheeks are round and full instead of sunken in, and he’s standing reasonably still instead of constantly jittering and twitching. And - did he have that tan a couple days ago? That hint of muscle? How did Diego miss that?

Regardless, it’s easy to see that Vanya was telling the truth. And how fucked-up is that? Diego always thought of himself as - well, not really all that close to Klaus, but they were literally the only ones who ever interacted after leaving the Academy.

Klaus was always, always high whenever they met, pupils blown huge and perpetually manic. Diego’s thoughts always skirted around the edges of how Klaus had to be affording all the drugs he was perpetually on, but deep down it wasn’t all that much of a shock to hear Vanya’s assertion. It was really more of a confirmation to what Diego had always known, but just didn’t want to think of.

Because. Well. He didn’t - he knew he wasn’t ever going to save Klaus from himself, but he thought that nothing could save Klaus. He thought Klaus would be an addict till the day he died, that it’d be what killed him, and that there was no use hoping otherwise. He thought he, of all people, knew that better than anyone.

But, well. It turns out Vanya, of all people, was the first to know otherwise.

The surge of anger-helplessness-inadequacy is familiar as his own name (more, even, because there’s times when he’s tired or distracted and forgets to turn his head when someone says Diego instead of Two, but he can never, ever forget what’s it’s like to feel small and slow and utterly ineffective). Diego rides it out, looking at the brother he always thought he’d find dead in a dumpster one day.

He should be happy that that’s not going to happen.

Instead, he thinks about that fucking scar on his brother’s chest, and how Klaus reacted to being asked about it, and that small, quiet acknowledgement that even if Diego murdered that one scumbag about to rape Klaus, there’s a lot more than one scumbag in the city, and Klaus was working in a terrifyingly high-risk profession. He hates thinking about that, always pushed it away because it made him sick to imagine that it could happen and Diego wouldn’t come across the scene and interfere, but.

But.

(‘neither did they,’ he said)

“How are you?” Diego asks. It’s abrupt and brusque, but Klaus doesn’t look offended. Instead, he tilts his head to the side and gives Diego a long look. After a few seconds, he raises one shoulder a bit, then drops it.

Diego frowns. “You should still be resting.”

A mildly amused look, but no real response.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Diego notes, raising his eyebrows. Surely sobriety hasn’t changed his brother that much. Diego refuses to believe it. “Cat got your tongue?”

Klaus jerks a little at that, and gets a weird look on his face. He looks startled. And - appalled? And maybe a little darkly amused, and several other emotions Diego can’t name.

Then his expression flickers, and he doubles over laughing.

“Uh,” Diego says, staring.

Klaus keeps laughing. It doesn’t actually sound all that much like a happy laugh, but more like one born out of stress and trauma and the hollow absurdity of the world in general.

….Not that Diego would know from personal experience. Obviously.

“Uh,” Diego says again, and moves forward to - what, exactly? Hug Klaus? He doubts Klaus would object, because he always was the most cuddly of them all (the most openly cuddly, anyways), but Diego can’t help but remember the last time he touched Klaus, six years ago - and how Klaus freaked out and thought Diego was going to hurt him. It was obviously a bad trip, and he was just rescued from a terrifying situation, but Diego can’t quite shake the memory of the look in his brother’s eyes.

(“I’m sorry,” Klaus said, and his face was empty and hollow, eyes lost in despair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I tried not to. I’m sorry.”)

(Diego didn’t even know what he was apologizing for.)

Klaus’ laughter slows down, and he takes a couple deep breaths, hands on his knees. He doesn’t seem to be planning on standing up straight again anytime soon, instead staring down at the floor. Diego can’t see the expression on his face, but then again he probably wouldn’t be able to read it if he could.

Diego rubs a hand over his face. He has a hard enough time handling Klaus when he’s high off his gourd, there’s no way he can figure out what to do when the guy is sober. Diego breathes out and glances around -

And blinks.

Stares.

Rubs his eyes.

Stares again.

“Klaus,” Diego says, and he thinks he does a reasonably good job of making the question sound civil as he asks, “who the hell is that man and why is he in the infirmary?”

Klaus stands up immediately, and moves to stand more fully in the infirmary doorway. The motion blocks Diego’s eyeline of the man, and Klaus gives an innocent look, as if to say ‘what man?’

Diego stares.

“Klaus,” Diego says, more slowly this time. “Who the hell is that man and why is he in the infirmary.”

Klaus stares at Diego for a moment, before pressing his lips together and craning his head back to look behind him. He looks back at Diego and raises his eyebrows, pressing his lips together until they practically disappear.

They stare each other down for about a minute, before Diego starts to realize -

“You’re not going to tell me?” he says. He can’t keep the incredulity out of his tone, but then again he’s not trying very hard.

“Mm-mm,” Klaus says, with a quick shake of his head. His posture shifts slightly and he gives Diego an apologetic look, but still stiff with resolution.

“What,” Diego says. “What. That - you just - brought some guy to the infirmary and refuse to explain? At all?”

Klaus seems to think it over, then gives a nod.

The sheer audacity is enough to leave Diego dumbfounded. He just stares, and he -

He -

No.

No. Okay, just - no. Diego has - way too much on his plate to get involved in whatever the fuck Klaus is up to. If Klaus doesn’t want to explain, that’s fine. That’s fine. No one in this goddamn family explains a single goddamned thing, so Diego really should have seen this coming.

Without saying anything else, Diego turns on his heels and marches away.

He feels the well of anger bubbling up again, and he lets it. He doesn’t punch the wall again, but he slams his feet down on the floor probably harder than is strictly necessary. He imagines he’s trampling over his father’s dead body.

Diego doesn’t really have a destination in mind, so it’s more chance than anything that sees him ending up passing by Five’s room. He’s going to pass by it, he really is, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to resist taking a swing at his younger-older brother if he sees that flat, bored expression again, but the door opens all on its own.

Five steps out into the hall. He notices Diego, and raises an eyebrow. That doesn’t really help with Diego’s mood.

“Working out how long you want to run away for this time?” Diego snipes.

That actually gains a glare from Five. Huh, Diego was starting to wonder if Five had actually uploaded himself into a robot body like Mom’s. He’d certainly consider the control over what he emotes to be worth it.

“For your information,” Five says, “I’m currently working on a way to save you all. Although once again, I’m questioning exactly why I’d want to do that.”

Diego doesn’t know what the hell Five is talking about - something brainy, probably, that he’d scoff at Diego if he expressed incomprehension about. Whatever. Five can set out on his weird mission that takes him out of the Academy on mysterious errands. Diego’s priority, as it’s always been, is Mom.

“Are you coming to the meeting tonight?” Diego asks.

Five looks irritated. “I told you, I have more important things to do.”

Diego grits his teeth, and resists the urge to throw a knife at Five. Bastard would probably just dodge it.

Then he notices the piece of paper clutched in Five’s hand. His grip on it is strong, probably unconsciously so. Five never did like to let people know what he valued.

“What’s that, you battle plan?” Diego says, motioning towards it.

Five looks down at it. “In a way.”

Diego reaches down and plucks it from Five’s grasp. Five lets go, probably more to avoid tearing it than because he wants Diego to see it, judging by the bitchy expression on his face. Diego doesn’t pay him any mind, glancing at the paper -

“What.” Diego blinks. He looks at the paper. Reads it again. “What the - Five, are you going to do this?”

“No, I’m not,” Five snaps, snatching back the paper. “I’m going to do the exact opposite, in fact.”

Diego tries to work that one out, but almost immediately gives up. “Fine. Whatever. Be there tonight.”

“Mm,” Five says, and jumps away.

Diego grits his teeth again, and spins around, marching down the hall.

“Idiots,” he mutters, his words echoing through the dark empty halls. “God, no one in this fucking family explains themselves. ‘No, I’m not going to explain the guy I’ve dumped in the infirmary.’ ‘No, I’m not going to explain why I’m carrying an order to terminate some guy named Harold Jenkins and have instead decided, apparently, to protect him instead.’ Fuck, I need a drink.”

And so he wanders through the Academy, looking for just that, pushing away all thoughts of his goddamn family from his mind for hopefully the next several hours.

Chapter Text

If, one year ago, Ben was told he’d have one of Klaus’ paramours unconscious and helpless in front of him, his only question would be ‘how long can I draw this out before Klaus can’t forgive me?’

Now that it’s actually happened, Ben isn’t thinking anything of the kind.

Of course, putting Dave in the same category as those fuckers would be completely unconscionable. He’s only comparable to them in the very, very loosest sense, in how he’s attracted to Klaus as much as anyone who’s even vaguely interested in men seems to be.

But in all other respects? God, Ben can count on one hand the number of people who have treated Klaus like an actual person in bed. He still has nightmares of Klaus being tortured and degraded and raped and broken, and it’s even worse because they’re not nightmares but actual memories. One year ago, the number of people Ben would have trusted in a room containing Klaus and a bed was precisely nil - he even got nervous allowing Klara into their bedroom.

Dave, though.

Dave has actually made it onto that list. Hell, he is the list.

Carefully, slowly, Ben reaches out and loosely grasps onto Dave’s hand. They’re sitting in the infirmary, next to Dave’s bed, and Ben thinks he should probably be a bit more worried that Diego is going to come back with the entire Spanish Inquisition (i.e. their siblings) in tow, but he can’t really worry about that right now.

Klaus nudges him, and Ben hands over control. Klaus presses their fingers to Dave’s pulse one last time, before reaching up and carding a hand through his hair. It’s soft, Ben notes. The hospital must have washed it. That’s nice of them.

‘We probably can’t climb into bed and cuddle him, can we,’ Klaus says mournfully.

‘I don’t think so,’ Ben says, with a certain amount of reluctance himself. Considering Ben isn’t attracted to Dave, it’s honestly kind of baffling how nice it is to cuddle with him. Ben can’t remember doing anything like that in life. Clearly he was missing out, though, because being held is….very nice.

Klaus leans forward a bit, and for a moment Ben thinks he’s going to clamber up next to Dave anyways, but he just resettles on their chair. He rubs their thumb over Dave’s forehead, smoothing out the faint creases there. In the quiet of the infirmary, the only sound are their breaths and Dave’s, keeping time with the ticking clock.

‘Ben?’ Klaus says.

‘Mm?’ Ben says.

‘....I love him.’

Ben lets out a mental sigh.

‘Pretty sure I do too,’ he admits.

‘Oh?’ Klaus says, a small smile sneaking onto their face. ‘Finally dipping your toe into the mysterious waters of non-heterosexuality?’

‘I think I already did that when I agreed to semi-date a man half a year ago,’ Ben says dryly. Then he gives another sigh. ‘It’s not sexual, and I’m still fairly certain it’s not romantic, but. It’s love.’

‘Yeah,’ Klaus says, mental voice dipping into a murmur, and Ben knows Klaus doesn’t need any more explanation. ‘Yeah. It’s love.’ Klaus blinks away a few tears. ‘We’ll have to tell him, when he wakes up.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben says, remembering the mildly disastrous occasion when Dave told them those words. Both of them - he made it clear he was speaking to both Ben and Klaus when he said I love you, and Ben honestly hadn’t known what to say.

Klaus, on the other hand, hadn’t reacted well. As far as Ben can determine, it was a combination of traumatic memories and his rock-bottom sense of self-esteem. After the initial panic attack, he spent nearly a day convinced Dave was playing some sort of game or joke on them, and trying in vain to be okay with that. Then, once Ben finally convinced him of Dave’s sincerity (oh, how times change), there was the second panic attack, which Dave will hopefully never know about. Then they hung around in an uncomfortable limbo until Dave had to sit them down and apologize for making them uncomfortable, he wouldn’t do it again without their express permission, and that it was okay if they didn’t feel the same way.

Ben regrets that the only thing they could say in response to that was a thank-you.

‘We’ll tell him,’ Ben says, a promise to all three of them. ‘Definitely.’

‘Good,’ Klaus says. ‘Good.’

Then they sit in silence, watching Dave breathe.

**********

Eventually, they have to leave the infirmary and search the house for Mom. It was a bitch and a half to get Dave transferred to the Academy (Ben still isn’t sure how that worked), and it would kind of defeat the purpose if they gave him substandard care. As much as they both kind of flinch at the thought of allowing anyone else access to Dave when he’s like this, they certainly don’t know how to monitor a coma patient.

‘If I were Mom, where would I be?’ Klaus hums, looking into various rooms as they pass by.

‘With Diego, probably,’ Ben says.

‘No, that’s the other way around,’ Klaus says. ‘Where would Mom go, on her own? You know, I kinda want to hang out with her more, now that Dad’s dead. She was - she helped. A lot.’

Ben mentally winces a bit. The type of help Klaus is referring to is introducing him to drugs, after Klaus’ not-even-slightly-accidental fall down the stairs. The effects of that….well, it’s still shaping their lives almost two decades later, even through a few layers of remove. Ben doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully forgive Mom for that.

But he does understand. Practically speaking, it was literally the only route open to her if she wanted to keep Klaus alive. Ben knows perfectly well that if drugs didn’t work to keep ghosts from possessing Klaus, his brother never would have lived to see their thirteenth birthday. Mom was stuck in an impossible situation, and she had to choose the best of two horrible options.

Put like that, Ben thinks he might not mind too much if they were to try and connect with Mom. He thinks….he thinks they should probably let her know that Klaus is okay now, that she didn’t just condemn him to a slower death than he would have otherwise.

‘Okay,’ Ben says. ‘Yeah, that sounds nice. She’ll probably be thrilled you brought a boyfriend home, even if he is in a coma.’

‘We brought a boyfriend home, Benny dear,’ Klaus corrects.

‘Sure, but….’ Ben trails off. ‘You think we should tell her? About me?’

‘I mean,’ Klaus says, raising their shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. ‘Maybe? Everyone else would just dismiss it out of hand, but she….I don’t know if she actually explicitly knows I can get possessed, but it wouldn’t be much of a surprise to her. She’s seen it a lot, more than anyone else. She has enough evidence to believe it, and all it would take is giving her the answer. Telling her about you in particular….might work.’

‘....Huh,’ Ben says. He doesn’t really know how to feel about that.

‘It’s just an idea,’ Klaus says, with a touch of defensiveness.

‘No, no,’ Ben rushes to say. ‘It’s a good idea. I just - want to think it over.’

‘Oh,’ Klaus says. ‘Okay.’

They walk through a couple more hallways - if Ben didn’t live here his entire life, he’d probably get lost - before they find Mom. However, they also find Pogo with her.

‘Ah, shit,’ Klaus says as Pogo looks up at them.

“Master Klaus,” Pogo says, straightening up from stooping over next to Mom. She doesn’t look up to greet them, which is a little weird, but Ben’s attention is mostly on Pogo. “So good to see you. How is your injury?”

“Uh,” Klaus says. “Okay.”

As thankful as Ben is that they can still pronounce that very useful word, he knows Pogo will be a lot more suspicious than Diego about their sudden limited vocabulary. They’ve had nearly a year to grow used to it, but from everyone else’s point of view they (well, Klaus) were chattering away as normal just a couple days ago.

They discussed it, during the time they spent conning the hospital into handing over Dave. If they’re going to reconnect with one or more of their siblings, they will, eventually, have to admit what happened. But neither of them have any illusions that their family will take it at all calmly. It’ll practically be a circus.

They can’t handle that. Neither of them. Not right now, not with Dave in a coma and them fresh off the battlefield and scrambling to remember the exact things they said and their interactions with their siblings from almost a year ago. And everyone will want to know what happened, and Ben doesn’t think that line he used on Diego will work twice.

Pogo raises an eyebrow when Klaus doesn’t continue. “Well,” he says, “I’d like to take a look at it later, if you don’t mind. Just to see if it’s healing well.”

‘What am I supposed to say to that,’ Klaus says.

‘I don’t know, make something up?’ Ben says. He would throw up their hands if he had control. ‘We just stole a coma patient from the hospital, surely Pogo isn’t more of an obstacle than that.’

‘It’s Pogo,’ Klaus says.

‘....Okay, true. Just - I don’t know, agree now, and we’ll duck out of it later?’

“Okay,” Klaus says out loud after only a couple seconds of silence, sending a close-lipped smile at Pogo. Then he looks at Mom. “Uh, I wanna….”

He gestures between them and Mom, hopefully indicating they’d like Pogo to leave. Unfortunately, Pogo doesn’t get the message. He sighs, and looks at Mom.

“The damage is quite extensive,” he says, which, wait, what?

Klaus makes a confused noise. Pogo apparently takes it as interrogative, though, and his face creases in sadness.

“Quite a few of her systems seem to be failing,” Pogo says, taking her hand. “I know it’s very difficult for you children, but I don’t know how much of her will remain after another week - or even another few days. I think you had best make your decision quickly.”

‘....The meeting,’ Ben whispers, horrified. ‘The one Diego told us about. It’s about - we’re going to shut her off?’

‘Did we know about this?’ Klaus asks, just as stunned. ‘Before we got kidnapped, did we know about this? Any of this?’

‘No,’ Ben says. ‘No, we would have remembered this.’

‘Jesus fuck.’

‘Got that right,’ Ben says. ‘God.’

‘God,’ Klaus agrees. Then, ‘Oh, god. Dave.’

Ben would suck in a sharp breath if he had their lungs at the moment. ‘Fuck. Who’s going to - we can’t take care of him.’

‘No,’ Klaus says. ‘No, but - we can’t give him back to the hospital, Ben, we can’t. Please.’

It’s the logical choice. It was one thing when they thought they could rely on Mom, but it’s another thing entirely to be completely responsible for Dave all on their own. Ben gives a mental grimace. ‘We can’t risk him, Klaus.’

‘We can - hire a nurse, or something,’ Klaus says desperately. ‘Dad’s dead, surely we can use his money now. Or even if we don’t get anything in the will, we can just sell a bunch of shit from around the house. That could work, right?’

Ben pauses. ‘We could do that,’ he admits. ‘But that’s going to take - I don’t know, at least a day or two? I don’t think Dave should be left unmonitored that long.’

‘We can get Pogo to do it,’ Klaus says. ‘Just - he’s a doctor, he must know enough to make sure Dave is okay long enough for us to bring someone in. We’ll think of something to tell him.’

Ben hesitates. The revelation that Mom’s systems are failing still hasn’t entirely worn off, but he just. Can’t think about that right now. He has to push it away, save his horror for later, because they have to focus on immediate concerns, and that means Dave.

‘Please, Ben,’ Klaus begs.

He knows why Klaus can’t stand the idea of Dave in a hospital. He doesn’t blame his brother. No matter that they’re okay now, the hospital is where Ben first possessed Klaus, entirely against his will. He did it to stop any other ghosts from taking advantage, but that doesn’t make it okay. They’ve made much happier memories elsewhere, but hospitals will forever only hold bad ones for Klaus. The thought of Dave being in a hospital shouldn’t logically be alarming, but tell that to the rising tide of panic Ben can feel pressing against the boundary between their minds.

‘Okay,’ Ben says. ‘Okay, we can do that.’

The faint sense of terror emanating from Klaus collapses into relief. ‘Oh,’ Klaus breathes. ‘Oh. Okay. Thanks.’

One day. One day, Ben will get it through his brother’s head that he doesn’t need to thank Ben for these things. For just giving him what he asks for.

It’s probably a day pretty far in the future, though.

‘Go ahead, work your magic,’ Ben just says.

‘Of course!’ Klaus says, bouncing back in a heartbeat. ‘Watch and learn.’

“Pogo?” Klaus voices, and Ben is not jealous that they can pronounce Pogo’s name but not his.

Pogo looks up from where he was staring at Mom, apparently lost in thought. “Yes, Master Klaus?”

“Uh, my -” Klaus presses a hand gently to their side.

“Oh!” Pogo blinks. “Now? Well, I suppose sooner is better. Follow me.”

They trail along after Pogo to the infirmary. Ben wonders what kind of story Klaus is going to whip out this time.

Pogo pushes open the infirmary door, glancing back at them. “Now, if you could just lie down on -”

He cuts off as he looks into the room, as Ben knew he would. He stops, blinking at the sight of Dave on the bed.

“Er,” Pogo says. Ben can’t remember him being struck speechless in his entire life. It’s kind of entertaining. And it lets Ben take his mind off the sight of Dave lying on the bed, entirely too still, for at least a couple seconds.

From the small wave of amusement Klaus sends, he feels the same. He doesn’t let it show on their face, though, instead moving into the infirmary and approaching the bed.

He tilts their head at Dave, and carefully reaches out a hand. He pokes Dave in the cheek.

Ben blinks (mentally speaking).

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Wait, are you….”

Klaus sends an even larger wave of amusement, but physically, he just looks up at Pogo with a frown.

“Uh,” Klaus says. “Who….”

“I,” Pogo says, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know. He’s not - I certainly didn’t put him in here. Did one of your siblings happen to mention expecting a - guest?”

‘Oh my god, Klaus,’ Ben says.

Klaus shakes their head, still maintaining an expression of bafflement. “Uh-uh.”

‘Oh my god, Klaus,’ Ben says. ‘He’s going to figure it out, you know.’

‘Well, yeah, what were you expecting?’ Klaus says. ‘I’m not a miracle-worker. But you know if he knew Dave was associated with me he’d drag his impeccably-groomed feet a lot more. This way Dave gets checked up right away.’

He pokes Dave again for good measure.

Sure enough, Pogo attempts to wake Dave (and Ben can feel their heart clench when it doesn’t work), and conducts a physical examination when he can’t. He’s baffled and appalled by the gunshot wound, and distractedly sends Klaus out to go question their siblings about which one of them smuggled a coma patient into the Academy.

Honestly, if Pogo weren’t so distracted, he’d probably be able to see through Klaus’ acting just by asking himself that question.

‘Well,’ Klaus says cheerfully, waltzing into the front hall. ‘That went well.’

Ben has to grudgingly admit it did, but he’s not going to tell that to Klaus. ‘We’re staying with him until he wakes up, right?’ he says instead.

‘Obviously,’ Klaus says.

‘We should probably make a trip back home, then,’ Ben says. ‘Grab a few things.’

‘Oh, that should be fun,’ Klaus says ‘Staying at the Academy again! Just like old times. Those awful, terrible, depressing times.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Ben sighs. ‘The things we do for love.’

‘Yep,’ Klaus says, slipping into their shoes and bouncing out the door. ‘Got it in one.’

Chapter Text

Klara is, currently, absolutely terrified for her best friend(s).

It was weird when he suddenly said he couldn’t go to the spa with her, but Klara is a grown-up. She wasn’t offended. It was weird when he had to take several vacation days on short notice, but that wasn’t really any of her business. It was weird when he acted squirrelly and nervous on the 22nd, the day Klara saw him last, and barely acted like either of his usual selves, but he brushed her off when she asked and it’s not like she’s asshole enough to pry. It was really fucking weird when he asked Andrea for more vacation days when Klara knows how tight his budget is, and she waffled for a long time after that before deciding to try and give as much silent support as he wants to take.

But she probably should have done it sooner, because right now she’s standing in the dinky little kitchen of her best friends, rooted to the spot, staring in horror at the stupid little calendar she gave him on New Year’s. It’s a quote-a-day calendar, 365 quotes taken from iconic queer media. Both Klaus and Ben were delighted with it. They never fail to tear off the newest page, keeping careful track of the date and informing her of the current day’s quote.

Now, however, the calendar is staring her down, informing her that as far as it’s concerned, the date is March 24th.

Klaus and Ben haven’t been home for three days.

Klara’s breath catches in her throat, and she has a hard time making the air go where it’s supposed to go. Her legs suddenly feel wobbly, and she staggers out into the little living room and sits down.

She tries to calm her racing heart, and scrambles to think. She needs to think, damn it!

Okay. Okay. Ben called (at least, Andrea is pretty sure it was Ben, even if she’s not as good at telling them apart as Klara is) and asked for more vacation time on Monday. That’s the 25th, so logically, the calendar should have shown at least that far, right? But it doesn’t. Andrea said the request was weird, because it is, but she didn’t say Ben sounded like he was under distress or being threatened or anything. Would she notice, though? It’s not like that’s something most people’s minds would jump to, if their employee just sounded a little weird on the phone.

Klara realizes she’s breathing too fast. She tries to stop, but she can’t quite manage it.

I need to call the police, Klara realizes. That’s what you do when people - that’s what you do, you call the police. I need to do that.

She tries to stand, and manages it on the second attempt. She tries to remember where Klaus’ phone is, but her thoughts are all slippery, racing around inside her head too quickly to grasp.

Finally, she remembers where the phone is, and hurries to it -

Only to hear the click of the front door behind her.

Klara whirls around, heart surging inside her chest, eyes wide. Oh god, oh god, what if - what if someone hurt Klaus, kidnapped him or whatever, and now they’re coming here to ransack the place and they think it’s empty but it’s not and oh god they’re coming in -

And then -

She’s looking at Klaus’ face.

He stops, blinking at her. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open slightly. He’s looking at her like he hasn’t seen her in weeks.

Klara regains awareness of her body just in time to catch herself from falling to the floor in relief. And then she basically throws herself at him, feels him startle as her arms wrap around him, and she can’t help the “Where have you been?!” that bursts out of her mouth.

He catches her probably on autopilot, tensing under her grip, and Klara all of a sudden remembers how nervous he gets whenever anyone touches him unexpectedly or intrudes on his personal space. She feels her face flush in realization and is just about to detangle herself from him and back off, but -

He hugs her back. His arms wrap around her and squeeze, and dear god either he’s gained some serious muscle in the last couple days or he’s even gladder to see her than she is to see him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and buries his face in the crook of her neck. Since she’s several inches shorter than him, that position can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Oh, Klara realizes, and then her brain goes offline for a while as she hugs her best friend(s).

They stay that way for several minutes, swaying on the floor, and Klara feels her heart rate settle back down. Her breathing returns to normal, and slowly, slowly, her earlier panic recedes.

By the time they finally separate, Klara has enough presence of mind to take one look at Klaus (and she’s pretty sure he’s Klaus right now, but then again she’s never seen quite this expression on either of them, so she’s not entirely sure) and drag him over to the living room couch. She sets him down, takes one of his hands in hers, looks him in the eye, and says in an impressively level voice, “Could you please tell me what’s going on with you?”

Klaus’ face tightens briefly. She can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking, but he’s obviously upset.

“It’s,” Klara says, then closes her eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she says, forcing out the words. “You don’t have to. I just - I’m really scared for you. So if you can’t tell me what’s going on, can you at least tell me if you’re - safe?” She blinks at him, feeling her eyes water.

Klaus looks vaguely stunned, staring at her like she’s suddenly started speaking Hebrew. Klara bites her lip as the silence draws out.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s not - he’s not answering, which means he’s not safe, which means - god she doesn’t even know what that means, but it’s not good, and Klara is halfway through hysterically wondering if she’s going to be going to her best friends’ funeral within the next week when Klaus gently works his hand out of hers.

She lets go, even if that - hurts. But he holds up one finger, and gets off the couch to go over to the table. He rummages around on it for a moment, before going to one of the shelves and looking through it. He pulls out a coloring book she’s pretty sure he got at a garage sale a few months ago, and comes back over to the couch, snagging a pen along the way.

He opens up the coloring book. There’s only one drawing per sheet, so the backs are completely blank, and it’s on here that he writes, in Ben’s slanted letters, Our full names are Klaus and Ben Hargreeves.

Klara blinks at the writing, before the name fully hits her. She jerks her head up to look at him, startled.

Ben gives her a thin-lipped smile. And then, silently, he tugs down the edge of the cuff that’s always around his wrist, revealing a mostly-bisected umbrella tattoo.

Klara stares.

“....Huh,” she says. “Well, that explains a few things.”

There’s a faint snort, and she looks up to see Klaus is in control now. He gives her a smile that hangs awkwardly on his face.

“So,” Klara says, working through the implications that have just been revealed to her. “You’re the kids from the Umbrella Academy. I wasn’t a serious fan, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say Ben was the one who died, but because Klaus is the - Medium? - he can channel you? Or you’re possessing him, or something?”

Klaus looks briefly amused, and nods.

“Huh,” Klara says. It’s interesting, knowing that Klaus and Ben really are two separate people. Not because of mental illness, but because of some weird-ass supernatural shit. “Okay. And - that was your Dad that died last week. Uh, my condolences, if you want ‘em.”

This time, the snort is strong enough that it makes Klaus’ shoulders shake.

Klara raises an eyebrow, but continues. “Well, alright then, may he rot in hell. But - what happened? The papers said the funeral happened on Sunday. Was there some family thing that kept you away?”

Klaus grimaces, and switches to Ben. He writes on the coloring book, There were a few things. For one, our missing brother came back, if you remember him.

“I - oh,” Klara says. “I think so. That’s….wow.”

Turns out he time-travelled, Ben writes. We were never really sure, but it was always the most likely explanation. And we were right. It’s been almost seventeen years for us, but a lot longer for him.

“Wow,” Klara repeats. She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine. That’s - well, it’s understandable why you needed some time to deal with that.”

Ben pulls in a breath and looks somewhere between ‘amused’ and ‘annoyed.’ Then Klaus takes over, and his expression lands more solidly on ‘amused.’ He switches hands and writes, in loopy bastardized cursive, Actually, we barely got any time to deal with that. Five doesn’t seem inclined to do any family bonding, which is fair enough because none of us are all that good at it. But it turns out that our prodigal brother made a few enemies whilst on his vacation, and they can time-travel too. Very unsporting of them. Ben and I ran afoul of a couple of them, and long story short, we took an unexpected jaunt to the past and it’s been nearly a year since we last saw you. By the way, it’s good to see you again, we should have mentioned that right away.

Klara blinks at the paper. She looks at Klaus.

“Uh,” she says. Then she figures out how to produce words again, and says, “Do you mind if I ask for some proof of that? I trust both of you, I do, but both of you can be trolls sometimes and that’s a lot to take on faith. And why are you writing all this out, by the way?”

Klaus gets a weird expression, grimacing in - reluctance? He nods, though, and opens his mouth.

Klara blinks. “What -”

Then she sees what’s inside his mouth.

Or, rather -

what’s not.

**********

Forty minutes, one panic attack, several pages of explanation, and a lot of repressed hysteria later, Klara is once again sitting on the couch. Ben is sitting opposite her, regarding her with a probably-justified hint of wariness.

“I’m sorry about that,” Klara says. She takes another large gulp of her tea, hastily made by Ben to calm her down. She doesn’t even really like tea, but it’s probably the only thing keeping her grounded right now. “You, uh. You guys have a lot to deal with right now, I shouldn’t be adding to that. I was just. Surprised. And alarmed. And retroactively terrified, of course.” She takes a deep breath. “But. You’re safe now? And Dave, he’s stable?”

Ben’s face softens, which seems to be a theme whenever the topic of Dave comes up (Klara already likes the guy on that basis alone), and he nods. He pulls the coloring book from the coffee table and writes, We’re going to hire a nurse to look after him until he wakes up. Even if Dad cut Klaus out of the will, there’s still plenty of expensive things around the house we can sell to cover the cost. He pauses for a second. Klaus wants it recorded that that was his idea.

A laugh startles its way out of Klara’s throat. “Well, it involves theft and fraud,” she says. “I never thought otherwise.”

Klaus takes over with the sole aim of pouting at her, which just makes her chuckle again.

She sobers after a couple more seconds, though. Klara looks at her best friends, and sets her tea (mostly gone now anyways) down on the table. She turns to face them more fully, and reaches out to place a hand on their arm.

“How are you, though?” she says. “All jokes aside.”

Klaus blinks at her, evidently not expecting that. He gives a small, awkward laugh, and half-shrugs. He’s not looking her in the eye.

“Klaus,” she says softly. “Ben. Please.”

Klaus goes still, at that. He darts a glance at her, from the corner of his eye. He swallows.

Klara waits. Her heart is hammering in her throat, but she keeps her nervousness off her face. She doesn’t know the right answer - god, she doesn’t know if anyone would know the right answer here. There might not be a right answer. But even if Klaus and Ben’s family is probably more used to the sheer weirdness in their life right now, Klara is pretty sure she’s the only one (or, well, only one conscious) that they might feel like they can confide in.

She can’t mess this up.

Klaus swallows again, and his face looks - it’s flickering between several emotions too fast to catch, and for the first time Klara realizes he’s probably talking with Ben when he does that. He looks away from her, then back again.

Klara waits. The silence unspools between them.

Then, slowly, hesitantly,

Klaus leans forward

puts his arms around her

stays very still for several seconds

and then

he

starts

crying.

Klara brings up her own arms automatically, almost before she registers what he’s doing. As soon as she does, he starts crying in earnest, and she can feel him shaking against her.

Oh shit, Klara thinks hysterically. Oh shit, my best friends who were kidnapped and tortured and thrown into a war and saw the love of their lives get shot and had to kill a fuckton of people are breaking down on me, what the fuck to I do.

Then common sense reasserts itself, and Klara doesn’t do anything but hug them tighter.

Klaus is a messy crier, apparently. Sometimes he shakes and twitches, and the cadence of his breathing changes, and she’s pretty sure Ben takes his turn. He’s not as messy, but he’s actually louder, which she wouldn’t have expected. But they’re both clearly grieving, clearly struggling to process the sheer shitstorm they’ve both been put through for the last - god, ten months. Klara doesn’t think she’d be half as functional as them, under the same circumstances. Maybe that’s Dave’s influence - she’s liking this guy more and more.

As weird as it is, it’s very fortunate that both of Klara’s best friends are in one body, because it means she can hold them easily enough as they cry themselves out on her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, because honestly, she doesn’t need to. She just needs to hold them. That, she can do.

Eventually, they stop crying. Klara isn’t sure how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but she wouldn’t bet on it.

They’re leaning against her, practically boneless, and she isn’t actually sure which of them is in control. That bothers her surprisingly less than she thought it would.

After a few minutes, they sniffle, and slowly detach themselves from her. They look at her, and they look like - well, they look like they’ve just been crying for the better part of an hour after going through hell on earth.

Their eyes catch on her shirt, which she’s sure must be a total loss by now. They wince, and okay, Klara is pretty sure that’s Ben, because Klaus wouldn’t be nearly that apologetic about ruining her shirt.

“It’s fine,” Klara dismisses. “I have a dozen others like it at home, you know that.”

A faint smile flickers across Ben’s face. He nods, conceding the point.

“Okay,” Klara breathes, settling her hands on her legs. “Okay. So. What are you planning on doing next? Specifically?”

Ben takes up the coloring book again. We’re going to grab some things from here and stay at the Academy with Dave until he wakes up, he writes.

“Okay,” Klara says. “Mind if I join you?”

The look of sheer surprise on Ben’s face (she knows technically it’s Klaus’ face, but she can work out the logistics of how to address them once the drama levels have gone down a bit) is actually kind of hilarious. Klara doesn’t need to hear it out loud or see it written down to know he’s saying What.

Klara raises an eyebrow at them. “If you think I’m not going to be there to support you, misters, you’ve got another think coming. Unless you tell me you want me to leave, I’m sticking right by your side.” She pauses. “Do you want me to leave?”

Instantly, Ben shakes his head, and a heartbeat later Klaus does as well.

“Well, then,” she gives them a small smile. “There you go. I’ll try not to take up too much space.”

I think we can find you a spare bedroom, Klaus writes dryly. She didn’t even know it was possible to write dryly, but she’s not surprised Klaus managed it.

Klara smiles wider. “Okay,” she says again. “Well. Do you need some help packing?”

Klaus nods. Thanks, he scrawls.

“Of course,” Klara says. She blinks, and then scowls. “I was going to say you can tell me about Dave while we do, but. Damn it. Guess I’d better start researching ASL classes.”

Klaus looks startled and pleased, though she’s not entirely sure why. But he’s not sobbing on her shoulder any more, so she counts it as a win.

Packing up doesn’t take too long with the both of them, and thirty minutes later they’re ready to head out the door with a couple bags.

“I’ll go back to my place and get my own things,” Klara says as they tromp down the apartment stairs. “I think I’ll get to the Academy in a couple hours. Try and survive without me.”

Ben shoots her an amused glance. She’s not entirely sure, but she’s pretty sure he’d be saying ‘hurry up, I don’t know if I can keep him out of trouble on my own for that long’ if he could. She smiles back at him.

When they reach the curb, Klara pulls them into another hug. She feels them sag against her slightly, and squeezes them tighter for a moment before stepping back.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Klara says, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll get along great.”

Ben suddenly looks slightly worried, and she laughs as she gets into the taxi.

“See you at the Academy!” she calls, and waves. Ben waves back, even as he’s clearly starting to reconsider introducing Klara to Dave. Well, too bad. She’s invested, now, and she isn’t letting go.

Chapter Text

Leonard is in the middle of applying stain to a chair arm when the store door opens. He glances up, and smiles when he sees Vanya.

“Hey there,” he says. “Just one minute, I’m almost done with this.”

“Of course,” she says, and wanders around the store, looking at the works waiting to be refurbished.

Leonard lingers a bit over the chair, drawing out the wait. Partly to make Vanya get accustomed to doing things his way, but also to give him some time to think.

He managed to persuade her to spend the night at his place, and didn’t even have to give up his bed. He walked her to her orchestra practice in the morning, making boring smalltalk and seeing her off like a good boyfriend.

He’s spent most of the rest of the day - well, doing some work, but mostly thinking of what to do about the return of Number Five.

It doesn’t change his ultimate plan, of course. But this is a golden opportunity to kill all of them, and Leonard can’t mess this one up. Killing a teleporter is going to be….ridiculously difficult. At least the others have no natural defense against a gun. He’ll probably have to resort to drugs or something - Vanya’s book was vague on the topic but it seems like drugs dulled Klaus’ powers, so ideally that will prove true for Number Five as well. And even if not, Leonard can’t imagine it won’t be easier to kill the guy if his reaction time is shot to hell.

Leonard hates to do it, but he’ll probably have to target Five first. The guy is a total unknown, and Leonard doesn’t know what he’s been up to since his disappearance. He’s pretty sure even Vanya doesn’t know, after some light probing last night. Which means Five could possibly be even more of a problem than Diego, if he notices something is up.

So, sadly, Leonard has to kill either Five or Diego first - probably doesn’t matter which one, and he’ll have to see which opportunity presents itself first. Then the other, and then he can proceed with his original plan. He’ll improvise if issues arise, of course - which they probably will. That’s why his plan is so bare-bones.

He hopes he can torture at least one of them before their death, though. It’ll probably end up being Klaus, but honestly any of them would do. Just the sheer thought of one of them on the ground in front of him, completely helpless, looking at him in fear and knowing there’s no escape, of everyone knowing he’s the most powerful person in the room now, him and no one else….

“I like this one,” Vanya says.

Leonard snaps out of his thoughts and looks over to where Vanya is examining a cabinet. It is, actually, a very beautifully carved cabinet, but he’s pretty annoyed with her for interrupting some very pleasant (thrilling, intoxicating) daydreams.

He should probably finish up, though. Leonard moderates his tone and says, “Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it? Pretty sure the owner said it’s Dutch, dates back to at least the 1920s.” He looks over the chair arm one last time and starts cleaning up. “So, you just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Vanya blushes. “I, well, I got done with practice a while ago, and I went home, but I didn’t actually go in because it’s - quiet, there. It always is, I mean, unless I’m practicing, but I just spent several hours doing that already and then I thought of you and I -” she closes her mouth and looks frustrated with herself. “Sorry. I can go, if you want.”

“Never said I wanted you to leave,” Leonard says with a smile, although he kind of does. But he swallows that down before the slightest hint of it can show on his face, because he’s already got her interested in him, he just needs to play the part for a while longer. “You’re always welcome here, Vanya.”

She looks startled at that, and then her face melts into a disgustingly sappy expression. “Thanks,” she says softly, like she can’t believe it. If Leonard were a more altruistic person, he’d tell her not to.

Instead, he smiles at her, and mentally gives himself another few points. At this rate, he’ll have access to the Academy in a couple of days at most. Although he’ll probably have to manufacture a reason for visiting, he doubts she’ll want to go there and see her siblings of her own free will -

Leonard blinks.

….Now there’s an idea.

“Hey,” Leonard says, keeping his voice casual. “Did you manage to get in contact with your brother? Klaus, right?”

Instantly, Vanya’s face falls. “No,” she says, sighing. “And, well….I still want to check if he’s okay, but honestly, I’m not so sure about hanging out anymore. He’s not - obligated to, but it’s been three days since he was injured and he hasn’t tried to contact me, so I think his offer might have just been - being nice.”

It’s clearly painful for her to say. Leonard could offer comfort, say that he’s sure Klaus is just dealing with his recovery (and wow, three days after getting stabbed and she just takes his radio silence to mean he doesn’t want to hang out with her. He knew she was self-centered, and it’s not like his earlier assumption that she was completely apathetic, but still), but he doesn’t think he will. To be perfectly honest, if Klaus doesn’t want to hang out with Vanya Leonard can’t blame him.

But he does need to say something similar if he wants this to work. So Leonard adopts a comforting tone and says, “You know, I can’t speak for your brother. But you sound like a pretty good sister, wanting to check up on him. You said you don’t know his home address - but is there any chance he could be back at your father’s place? Or visit it, or something?”

Vanya blinks. “I - don’t think so? Or - maybe. I don’t know. None of us really like it there, aside from Luther.”

Leonard hums. “Well,” he says, picking his words carefully. “It might be a long shot, then, but maybe you could leave a message there for him, in case he does visit again. Is there someone who’s usually there who could pass it on to him?”

“....Yeah,” Vanya says slowly. Leonard briefly panics, before he realizes she’s looking thoughtful rather than suspicious. “Yeah, that could - that could work.”

Everything is put away now, and his workspace is clear. Leonard looks around him, and molds his expression into a considering one. Then he nods to himself, as if arriving at a decision, and turns to Vanya. “You know what,” he says to her, “I skipped my lunch break, just ate a sandwich while I was working. The store won’t fall apart if I close up for an hour or two. Do you want some moral support delivering that message?”

“I -” Vanya looks startled, but not hostile. That’s good. “What, really?”

“Yes, really,” Leonard says. He looks away and shuffles his feet. “I mean, I know it’s not technically any of my business, but - last night, you didn’t seem too gung-ho about interacting with your family again. If there’s a chance you’ll have to when you leave that message, I don’t like the idea of you having to do it alone.”

As always, ‘alone’ is the magic word for Vanya. Her face softens again, and she gives him a small smile. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. “I’d - really, I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Leonard smiles. He finishes locking up, and they head off.

“So, um,” Vanya says, once they’re in a taxi. “I might have neglected to mention a couple things about my family.”

“Oh?” Leonard says lightly. “Are they supervillains or something?”

Vanya lets out an involuntary laugh. “No, they’re not.” Leonard would agree to disagree, without the ‘agreeing’ part, but he doesn’t say so, instead looking politely curious. Vanya looks out the window at the city passing by. “They, uh, actually, they’re - superheroes. The Umbrella Academy.”

Leonard furrows his brow, and then allows realization to play across his face. “Oh! That Umbrella thing, right. With the powers. But - that only had one girl, and I don’t think you’re secretly Allison Hargreeves. Right?”

“Yeah,” Vanya says. “I was kind of the fifth Beatle of the family.”

“Always more of a Stones guy, myself,” Leonard says. Which is true, but the real aim of it is getting Vanya to give him another tiny smile. A line in her shoulders disappears, and Leonard congratulates himself. Appearing to prefer her over her family - even showing a highly understated reaction to her family - has probably earned him more affection than everything else up to this point.

They sit in companionable silence until they reach the Academy, and Leonard finds himself grateful for that when he looks up at it, because he’s suddenly breathless. So long - he’s waited so long for this. He swallows quickly, before Vanya notices anything off about his reaction, but he still can’t keep his eyes off the front door.

“Imposing,” he says, hoping to play off any nerves he might be showing.

“Yeah,” Vanya sighs next to him. “Dad always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

They walk up to the door, and Vanya leads the way inside.

The front hall is - the only word Leonard can think of that suits it is opulent. Polished floor, looming arches, open to the above level, grand staircase at the other end, carved doors along the walls, actual pillars - the entire thing just screams wealth. To a guy who spent his childhood watching his Dad piss away most of his meagre paycheck on booze (the only reason they kept the house at all was thanks to regular donations from his grandmother, who of course couldn’t be bothered to actually interact with her son-in-law or grandson), the sheer excess almost makes him gag.

Leonard has never hated Vanya more as she just walks through the hall, not even giving the disgusting extravagance a second glance. God, she doesn’t even realize what she has here, does she? And she has the termity to complain about growing up in this house?

“Pogo should be around here somewhere,” Vanya says, glancing back. She pauses. “Um, he’s the butler. But he’s not….he doesn’t look like most people. It’ll probably be pretty surprising to see him, but just try not to react - weirdly, okay?”

Leonard blinks at her, but he supposes that makes sense. Vanya only talked around the edges of Pogo in her book, but Leonard always wondered about him. If Pogo is disfigured or whatever, and Reginald Hargreeves hired him anyways for such a prestigious position, that makes his loyalty towards the man a bit more understandable. Not forgivable, of course, but it’s nice to have an answer to that question.

“Okay,” Leonard says. He forces a small smirk onto his face. “You’re not going to give me the grand tour, though? I feel like I’ll get lost if I lose sight of you.”

Vanya lets out a soft huff, looking around. “It is pretty big,” she says, as if just realizing that. “You know what, sure. This is the front hall, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Over here is the parlor - oh, if you want a drink you can take one, it’s all high-quality - and that’s the picture of our brother Five over there….”

He does end up pouring himself a drink, half because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get through the rest of the tour without it and half because that really is some high-class stuff. He barely even recognizes most of the brands, but the ones he does cost five hundred dollars a bottle at minimum. His Dad would probably shit himself, and it’s with that in mind that Leonard takes a generous pour and mentally toasts his old man with a silent fuck you.

They meander through the house (mansion), Vanya pointing out random features and narrating non-chronological stories from her childhood. Leonard keeps up a pleasant smile and nods at frequent intervals, mentally rolling his eyes.

Vanya seems to think he wants to see places that are of particular emotional importance to her, so he spends an awkward five minutes being shown around her childhood bedroom, which is about four minutes and fifty seconds longer than the room really deserves. He wondered if she was exaggerating in her book when she described how small her room was, but no, that detail was actually correct. It’s practically a closet.

Which just means he doesn’t want to linger in it longer than necessary. Leonard breathes a silent sigh of relief when they leave, because dear god, that room is almost as depressing as the picture of her brother at the height of his drug days (and prostitute days) that’s currently in Leonard’s attic. That’s honestly an accomplishment.

A couple minutes later, though, they run into one of Vanya’s siblings.

“Vanya!” Allison says, smiling her movie-star smile. “Oh good, you got my message. Who’s this?”

“What message?” Vanya says, looking puzzled. “Uh, this is Leonard, he’s a - friend.”

“Hi,” Allison says to Leonard briefly, and then dismisses him from existence. Leonard barely refrains from punching her. “My message? I left you a voicemail, we’re having a meeting tonight, about - about Mom.”

Vanya’s eyes widen. “Oh. I didn’t check, I haven’t been - okay, then. Um, is everyone going to be there?”

“We’re aiming for it,” Allison says, and her eyes flick uncomfortably to Leonard. “Look, I hate to be rude,” she tells him, “But this is family business, so -”

“That is kind of rude,” Vanya says, frowning.

“Oh, no, hey,” Leonard says, holding up his hand and giving them both a smile. “It’s fine, I totally understand. I have to go to the bathroom anyways, I can just leave you guys to talk.”

Vanya sends him an apologetic look. “Okay,” she relents. “If we end up taking too long you don’t have to wait around, okay?”

“I think I can remember the way to the door,” Leonard says agreeably. He likely won’t use it, but he does remember it. “If I leave, I’ll call tonight?”

“Okay,” Vanya says with a small smile, and then turns back to Allison, who’s giving him the side-eye. Damn. Galling as it is to be dismissed, the last thing he needs is the most high-profile Hargreeves to take notice of him.

Leonard turns and walks back down the hallways, making sure to take the turn that will lead him to the nearest bathroom.

Then, of course, he goes in the opposite direction.

There are, Leonard decides, far too many rooms in this damned house. It’s only through finding a few windows that look out into the courtyard that Leonard can keep track of his position. Honestly, he’s half-certain that if he decided to set up camp in one of the bedrooms, none of them would notice his presence until they’re all dead.

….Which is. An interesting idea. Leonard bookmarks it for review.

He takes a couple more turns through the house, keeping an ear out for any of the siblings. He ends up in one of the hallways he thinks is off to the side of the Academy bedrooms, and stops to take stock of where he is.

Which is when Klaus Hargreeves rounds the corner and draws up short, blinking at him.

Leonard freezes, then deliberately relaxes. He didn’t see you, Leonard reminds himself. You attacked him from behind, and it was dark, and he didn’t see you at all. You’re free and clear.

“Hey,” he waves. “Uh, you must be one of Vanya’s brothers? I’m a friend of hers. Nice to meet you.”

Klaus blinks at him a little confusedly. He’s holding a half-unzipped duffel bag, but he shifts it to one hand and waves. “Hey,” he says.

The duffel bag yawns open, and a - shirt? - dangles out of it. “Uh-” Leonard says, gesturing to it, but when Klaus lifts up the duffel slightly to look the shirt falls out. A couple more articles of clothing follow it.

They both bend down to get the clothing, Klaus because it’s his and Leonard to get a closer look at him.

Well, he’s definitely sober, Leonard thinks. The man in front of him is leagues away from the battered, starved, junkie whore shown in the picture in Leonard’s attic. Leonard feels a pang about that, and consoles himself with the thought that he might be able to bring Klaus back down to that level if he plays his cards right.

“Nice shirt,” Leonard says lightly, picking up one of the items on the floor. Frankly, it doesn’t look like his clothing choices have changed from his prostitute days, but Leonard isn’t going to raise a fuss about it. “Where’d you get it?”

When Klaus doesn’t respond to the idle chit-chat, Leonard looks up at him.

Only to see Klaus kneeling on the floor, frozen stock-still, staring at Leonard’s shoes.

Leonard frowns. “Uh, are you okay?” he ventures.

Klaus’ eyes snap up to meet his, and there’s - on his face, in his eyes, there’s -

recognition.

“You,” Klaus breathes, his hand going to his side.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

There are, Five decides, far too many Harold Jenkinses in this goddamn city.

Five is an old hand at recon, so it’s not too much of a chore to break into the post office and find the addresses of all the Harold Jenkinses currently living in the city. However, he found addresses for six of them. Five plans to work out the math that proves that is statistically impossible and thus the universe and/or the Commission is fucking with him on that one, right after he prevents the apocalypse.

At the moment, however, he’s headed back to the Academy, files gripped in his hand, staring out the window of the taxi. He has some basic information on all the Harolds stolen from City Hall, and his brain is working overtime to catalogue and connect the facts. But he’s always worked best when he can write down his conclusions, see it all laid out in front of him. He’s missed the chalkboard walls of his childhood bedroom many times over the decades (the only thing he missed from the Academy, aside from his siblings), and his fingers itch to write on them again.

The taxi driver is blessedly silent. The glare he gave the man earlier thankfully cut off any attempt at small talk. Five doesn’t like his de-aged body at all, but it does make his more adult actions far more unnerving, which is useful for discouraging human interaction. Five cannot actually remember why people would want that sort of thing.

They reach the Academy, and Five pays the man without looking. He’s not sure if he overpays, but it’s not like he has any concept of the value of a dollar. Selling a few of Reginald’s trinkets has netted him a couple thousand dollars, and if that’s not enough spending money to last him through the week he’ll just repeat the process. He has far more important concerns.

The front hall is deserted when he goes inside. Unwilling to bet that the route to his room will be the same, Five jumps.

“Delores,” Five nods.

‘Hello, Five,’ she says. ‘You have the information? Did you have to kill anyone to get it?’

“Murder isn’t my answer to everything,” Five says, placing the files on his bed.

‘Just most things.’

Five has forgotten just how much of a nag Delores can be. He loves her, he does, but he could hardly go a single day in the apocalypse without her checking to see if he ate or slept or looked over his newest equations for accuracy. Worse, she was usually right. He’d probably be dead a dozen times over without her, and she knows it.

“I found six Harold Jenkinses in the city,” Five says, electing to take the high road and not respond to her comment. From the smirk on her face, she knows very well that he can’t actually deny it, and he sends her a scowl as he keeps talking. “Various ages and professions, and one may or may not be dead, it’s unclear. I have to narrow down which one the Commission was trying to focus on. It’ll probably take a couple hours.”

‘What about MeriTech?’ Delores says, raising an eyebrow. ‘You were quite convinced it held the answer just a couple of days ago.’

Five presses his lips together. “Obviously, if any of them have any connection to anyone who’s missing an eye, I’m going to assign them more weight. And I’ll keep up some surveillance of the place. It’s the most I can do right now, honestly.”

He doesn’t like admitting that. His own skills have gotten him this far, and that’s objectively impressive any way you look at it. But he can….admit that he’s being pulled in quite a few directions right now, and it would probably improve his chances to have someone (someone with legs of their own, that is) to help him out. Protection jobs are much more intensive than termination jobs.

Of course, that likely won’t be happening. Five didn’t expect his siblings to believe him when he admitted the apocalypse to their faces, but their instant dismissal was - surprisingly painful. He’s not sure why. They have no reason to believe him, and it’s not like he has much in the way of proof.

‘Well,’ Delores says. ‘Alright then….Five, you look a bit pale. Have you eaten?’

“Yeah, yeah,” Five waves a hand negligently. “Just some mild nausea. You know, I think there was something wrong with the Commission coffee.”

‘Five,’ Delores says, rolling her eyes.

“Mm,” Five smirks, turning back to the files. He taps a finger to his lips and frowns. “I hate having to incorporate people into my equations,” he sighs. “It’s always so - messy. Inexact.”

‘As you’ve mentioned many times,’ Delores says. ‘Just start working, Five, you know things always come easier when you get into the swing of things.’

“You’re right,” Five nods. He picks up the chalk.

‘I always am,’ Delores says.

“Don’t rub it in,” Five mutters. But he starts working anyways, and within moments his mind is filled with calculations, numbers and symbols blurring and shifting in his vision. He writes down his train of thought - his main train of thought, that is, because it branches every few seconds or so into dizzying fractals of possibilities, none of which can be discarded because this is new territory and he can’t afford to miss a single thing -

There’s a muffled thump from outside.

It’s enough to make Five’s concentration trip, and the chalk breaks in his hand. “Shit!” he says, scowling at it. He also glares at the door for good measure.

‘One of your siblings, I presume,’ Delores says, looking at the door.

“Definitely,” Five says. “They’re the only ones capable of being this inconvenient.”

‘Well, perhaps you need a break,’ Delores says. ‘I’m not all too sure I believe you about eating earlier.’

“I did!” Five protests, and then is immediately betrayed by his stomach growling. He weathers Delores’ unimpressed look. “Okay, maybe I didn’t. But that’s not important -”

‘Yes it is, Five,’ Delores says, and shit, she’s using her stubborn tone. ‘Now, we can either argue about this for the next twenty minutes, thereby wasting valuable time, or you can give in now like we both know you will and go get something to eat. You’ll be back up here in ten minutes, and you know you need the nourishment.’

Five spends twenty seconds trying to come up with a rebuttal that doesn’t make him sound incredibly childish, and scowls when he can’t find one. “Fine,” he says. He puts the chalk down.

‘Thank you,’ Delores says, satisfied.

Five grumbles something even he’s not sure the contents of, and leaves his room. He doesn’t bring Delores with, because he can be a petty asshole on occasion (or, as she would put it, all the time).

He walks past a couple hallways, and as he’s turning he glimpses -

“Klaus,” Five says, unimpressed. “Was that you?”

Klaus blinks at him. There’s a trickle of blood running down his temple. Fell down, probably.

“Uh,” Klaus says.

“If you have a concussion, I’m not looking after you,” Five tells him.

“I, uh,” Klaus says. A weird look crosses his face. “Uh-uh.”

“Good,” Five says. “You’re okay, then?”

Klaus stares at him for a second, and then he smiles, and -

- for some reason, it’s just like -

- like -

The air is thick and hot, flakes of ash drifting down through the breeze. Five gags on it, feels it filling his lungs, and he puts his sleeve over his mouth. God, what happened here? Is the entire city like this?

He staggers away from the ruined entrance to the Academy, his legs shaky and weak. He blinks to clear his vision, but fresh tears spring up instead. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn’t be crying, he can’t be crying, he needs to think. His power isn’t working, he can’t go back - he’ll figure it out, of course he just needs to - recharge or something, that’s all, that’s all - but right now he needs to calm down and think.

Something - something bad happened here. Something terrible. That much is obvious. He doesn’t know what, but if he can figure it out he can calm down and jump back home and prevent it. The death toll has to be - thousands, hundreds of thousands, and that’s assuming it’s only limited to this one city -

But his family - his family is safe. They have to be safe. Of course they’re safe, it’s - it’s the future, years in the future, there’s no reason for them to be in the Academy when this happened. They could have easily been in another city - another country, continent, even - and missed this devastation entirely.

Five coughs again, and staggers a bit. He straightens up, clenching his fists and looking around.

He can’t look at the ruined Academy entrance head-on. That’s fine. That’s fine. He just - he needs to find someone. Anyone. He hopes he can find one of his siblings - hell, he’ll even take Dad at this point - but it’s far more likely that he’ll first encounter emergency services. Or, if they’ve written off the entire city as a total loss (not unreasonable, considering the sheer devastation surrounding him), he’ll have to travel to the nearest city himself. Then he can - figure out what to do next.

The sky is a dull orange, ominously overcast. Five looks up at it nervously. There’s so much ash in the air he’s not sure whether it’s from the buildings around him or the sky itself. If it’s the latter, he might have to travel for quite a while before he reaches the end of the devastation.

Hesitantly, Five tries to gather the energy for time-travel again, just as a test. His fists fizzle, sputter, and - wink out.

Even though he expected it, Five still flinches. He looks around himself, hunching his shoulders. He - probably shouldn’t try to teleport, because he knows what it’s like to overdraw his powers and he’s currently trying to regain enough energy to time-travel, which seems to take a lot more out of him than teleporting. He shouldn’t waste a scrap.

So, instead he should - look around. Right? He can’t remember what they were taught to do in a disaster situation specifically, but that seems like a good first step.

Five takes a few small steps forward, his shoes pushing debris and ash out of the way. He turns his head, trying to look for - he doesn’t even know what he needs to find first, but he’s thinking maybe he should prioritize making some sort of breathing mask, this ash can’t be good for his lungs -

And then -

- a ways away -

there

comes

a

groan.

Five freezes, muscles locking up. There’s - he definitely heard that. That was definitely a person, and that means - that means someone is alive.

Suddenly, Five is scrambling through the debris, rushing past the mountains of broken buildings, and he just barely prevents himself from jumping because he still needs to preserve his energy but it’s so hard because someone is alive.

He rounds a pile of debris, and he sees movement in the corner of his eye, and he whips his head around and -

He stops.

He stares.

And his heart stutters to a halt in his chest.

Because the scene in front of him is a fucking massacre.

There are a total of four - no, five bodies. They don’t really look like a cohesive group - there are two women and three men, and they all seem to have varying injuries. The man nearest to Five is enormous, and he has a lot of stab wounds. Most of the blood painting the ground seems to be his, but there’s also a lot from the dark-skinned woman whose throat was ripped out none too cleanly. The other woman has had her skull bashed in, and while it’s gruesome she makes comparatively little mess. There’s a man who’s not quite as dark as the first woman, and his clothes are weird and might make his injuries look less severe, but either way he’s also dead.

Then the final man lets out a quiet groan, and Five nearly staggers back in shock. Because this man - this man has more injuries than all the others combined.

Five is fairly sure most of his limbs are broken - his right arm and leg certainly are, the latter showing bone and the former all but ripped off, and Five can’t actually look at that directly without wanting to throw up. He’s covered in so much blood Five can’t tell where his other injuries are, but from the way his chest hitches and moves weirdly there’s definitely damage to his lungs. His face is painted with blood and gore, absolutely caked with it, because - because - oh god, both his eyes have been torn out.

There’s a high-pitched, strangled noise, and it’s only when the man (corpse, he has to already be dead, oh god) jerks and floppily turns his head around to face in Five’s direction that Five realizes he was the one who made the sound.

“Uhn?” the man slurs. “Who’s - who’s there?”

The man has curly hair, Five realizes. That’s - it’s a weird thing to focus on, amidst the absolute carnage that covers the rest of him, but that’s what Five’s attention latches onto, and it’s what makes him realize that - god, oh god, this is a person. This is a person who actually has those injuries, and he’s still alive, and - and -

“What happened?” Five says, the words coming before he can think. “What - what happened here, why - how did you get - what happened?”

The man’s head lists to the side, and the - holes in his face look like bottomless black pits. He lets out a wheeze, and another, and it’s - oh god, oh god, it’s laughter.

“The gods,” he says, breathlessly. “The gods, they fell. They all fell. And now there’s a new one. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“What?” Five says stupidly. And then - then he realizes that this guy is heavily injured - mortally injured, probably - and if Five wants answers he should probably make sure the guy can live long enough to give them. Five scrambles forward (even as he flinches at the sight of those two pits in the middle of the man’s face). He reaches the man and then realizes he has no idea which of the injuries to focus on first, and his voice comes out small and scared as he asks, “Where are you hurt most?”

The man laughs again, although this devolves into harsh coughing. Blood dribbles out between his lips. “Everywhere,” the man says. “But that’s okay. That’s - okay.”

“I don’t think it is,” Five says.

“No,” the man says, smile spreading across his face. It looks like another wound, the way his mouth is dripping blood. “No, it is. They’re dead. They’re all dead. Ha - my head’s quiet. He finally shut up. Basically dead. It’s okay if I follow.”

Five’s heart nearly stops.

“Who’s all dead?” Five demands. “You mean - everyone?”

The man laughs. His head flops again, and if he still had his eyes Five would describe him as looking around. “They survived,” he says, a hint of confusion in his voice. “We survived. The wave. We survived the wave. I don’t know why. Ground zero, maybe. Affection? Probably. Probably. Always so disgustingly soft. But not ordinary, never really ordinary. Right?” He laughs again. “The true god. Dead now. Went down surprisingly easy. Probably - tired. The wave - the wave. It was beautiful.”

“I,” Five stutters. “I don’t understand.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the man dismisses. “You’re not real. Everyone’s dead.”

“No,” Five says, straightening in alarm. “No, I’m real, I am, and listen, you have to tell me what happened, you have to tell me, I can - I can go back, I can fix it, I can -”

He grabs at the man’s unpulped arm, loosely curled into a fist, dust and blood streaked across pale skin. The man’s fingers open at the pressure, and a small object falls out onto the ground.

“What’s that?” Five says, reaching for it. He picks it up, and sees it’s a -

At first Five thinks it’s actually one of the man’s eyes, but no - this is a prosthetic. Covered in blood and bits of viscera, clearly plucked right out of someone’s head.

“Is this yours?” Five asks, looking at the man. “This eye - is it yours?”

“I plucked it out,” the man giggles. “If he can gouge two I can pluck one, right? They’re all mine, after all. Possession is nine-tenths of the law!”

Five isn’t quite sure how to interpret that, but it sounds like it - belongs to whoever ripped out this guy’s eyes? He looks down again, opening his mouth to ask -

but then he sees the man’s forearm.

His wrist.

The -

The -

The umbrella.

“What?” Five breathes, the word barely a whisper, lost beneath the wind.

The umbrella. The tattoo. It’s - it’s faded, and scarred, and almost coated in blood from the man’s injuries, but it’s undeniably an absolutely perfect match to the one on Five’s own wrist.

Slowly, Five looks up at the man.

The curly hair (matted with blood). The lanky limbs (broken and pulped). The angular face (empty pits in the middle).

“....Klaus?” Five whispers.

The man lets out a jagged bark of laughter, like broken glass. “Yes! Yes! That’s what - that’s what they said! Oh my god, oh my god, that exactly.”

“Klaus?” Five repeats, and his brain - his brain -

The others, his brain says. Look at the others.

Five turns his head, and sees -

- the big man, blonde hair, huge muscles, stabbed a hundred times, Luther -

- the darker man, empty knife sheaths, athletic, something important broken, Diego -

- the dark woman, beautiful, elegant, throat ripped open, Allison -

- the small woman, pale skin, curled up, head caved in, Vanya -

“No,” Five breathes. “No. No.”

- in front of him, mangled, broken, mutilated, hitched breathing, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, -

Klaus laughs again.

Five snaps back into awareness, the world crystal-bright and clear, and nothing is - it doesn’t feel real, it’s all wrong, like he’s watching a movie, his mind behind a screen and his body is moving, his hands reach out of their own accord and press down on Klaus’ leg, his arm, and Klaus jerks under his touch and his laughter turns into hisses, and his eyebrows draw together and -

“Don’t,” Five begs, and his voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “Don’t, please, Klaus, please don’t -”

Klaus laughs again, stronger. “They said that too!” he says. “They said - they didn’t understand - it worked, of course it worked, this fucking family, they couldn’t hurt - ha -”

“Klaus,” Five begs. “Klaus, it’s me. It’s Five. Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, don’t die, please.”

Under his hands, Klaus -

stills.

He frowns.

“Number Five?” Klaus says slowly, like he’s testing the words. “What - what do you mean? Number Five is….gone. He ran away. Years and years ago.”

“No,” Five says wildly. “No, no, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to, I’m here, I came here, Klaus, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have - who did this, tell me who did this, I can fix it, I promise, I’m sorry, just tell me who did this.”

“....You’re here,” Klaus says slowly. “You’re….here. You came here.”

“Yes, and I need to know who did this, Klaus, who hurt you, who ki-killed -” Five breaks off, and realizes he’s crying. He angrily swipes his face against his shoulder.

“Heh,” Klaus says, his smile growing. “A powerful man, Number Five. The most….most powerful man in the world. He killed the gods.” Klaus flops his head around again, ‘looking’ across the battleground. “He killed them.”

Five flinches. “Who? Who, Klaus?”

Klaus laughs again, and it shortly turns into a hacking cough that sprays out a fine mist of blood. Klaus’ uninjured hand scrabbles around on the ground, encountering bits of broken concrete and glass. He turns his head to face in the direction of Five, and even without eyes, Five feels like his very soul is being inspected.

“Number Five,” Klaus says, sounding like he’s weighing the name. “You’re the last. The last one left. I didn’t expect that.”

Five didn’t either. He just - he just wanted to time-travel, he didn’t want - he never wanted this -

“Come closer?” Klaus murmurs, sagging back against the rubble.

Five leans in closer. Klaus is - god, he’s obviously fading, obviously about to die, Five is going to watch his brother die, oh god, he can’t do this, he can’t -

“Who did this, Klaus?” Five asks, voice small and wavering.

Klaus smiles at him.

“I don’t regret this,” Klaus breathes, every word clearly a strain. “Not one bit. Understand?”

Then there’s -

- Klaus’ hand lunges up and -

- it’s holding a shard of glass and -

- his arm moves blindingly fast and -

- the glass sinks into Klaus’ neck and -

- the pits where his eyes were grow wider and -

- his mouth drops open and -

- there’s blood, so much blood and -

- Five is screaming, screaming, and -

- his hands are on Klaus’ neck and -

- Klaus’ hand jerks up and -

- the glass scores a thin line on Five’s arm but -

- the shard falls out of his hand and -

- his arm falls and -

- and -

- Five is -

- Five is -

alone.

Five blinks.

He’s not - he’s not there. He’s not in the apocalypse. He’s at the Academy, days before it happens, staring at his brother who isn’t dead, isn’t insane, isn’t a broken mess lying in front of him.

Five sucks in a breath and turns away. “You should get that looked at,” he says, as dismissively as he can.

“Mm,” Klaus says noncommittally. The cut on his head slowly oozes more blood, trickling down his brother's face.

“I have things to do,” Five says, glancing at Klaus. “Tell the others not to wait up.”

Klaus smiles again, and it’s still - it still looks wrong, there's still that un-Klaus-like look in his eyes, but Five jumps away before he can drown in memories again. He lands in the kitchen and takes a deep breath.

Right. Now, back to finding the right Harold Jenkins, and preventing his death, which will - ultimately - save the goddamned world.

Five nods to himself, puts Klaus’ unsettling smile (of then and now) out of his mind, and gets to work.

Chapter Text

Leonard is having the weirdest fucking day.

‘Don’t do this,’ Klaus begs, and his voice is inside Leonard’s head, echoing strangely, but it doesn’t distract from the sheer terror in the man’s voice. ‘Don’t do this, just let me go, please just let me go, please.’

Leonard hisses and presses his palms to his head - well, technically they’re Klaus’ palms and Klaus’ head, the proportions all wrong and catching Leonard off-guard, but they’re Leonard’s now. Finder’s keepers.

‘Will you shut the hell up,’ Leonard snaps. He doesn’t say it out loud, because apparently Klaus Hargreeves doesn’t have a fucking tongue, but he’ll just. Put that on the backburner. He has enough to deal with right now. He’s not totally sure he’s got this telepathy thing down right, but Klaus’ screeching is going to get old very fast, he can tell.

‘No,’ Klaus says, a note of hysteria in his voice. ‘No, no, I won’t, get out of me, get out of me right now I won’t stop I won’t get out of me -’

Leonard groans as Klaus keeps babbling, God, he can barely hear himself think. He staggers into the nearest room and nearly trips over his own body.

Grimacing down at it, Leonard shoves away the rising panic of looking down at his own body. His own dead body. What the fuck. What the fuck.

His body is splayed out on the floor, and if it wasn’t for his empty eyes Leonard might think he was sleeping. His neck is - slightly off, but not enough to realize it’s broken on first inspection. Looking back, Leonard isn’t entirely sure how he managed to keep enough presence of mind to drag it into the nearest room, but it’s a good thing he did, because he doesn’t think Number Five would have been so dismissive if he saw a dead body in the hallway.

The last ten minutes are all - something of a jumble. Leonard can’t quite recall the exact sequence of events. It’s mostly a blur.

He remembers - attacking Klaus. Or Klaus attacking him. Honestly, he’s not sure who made the first move. But Leonard knew he had to prevent Klaus from bringing his siblings, had to stop him from revealing Leonard’s attack, had to kill him immediately.

There was a scuffle. A short scuffle, barely more than a couple seconds. Leonard can’t remember it all that clearly - but he can remember the two of them shoving at the exact same moment, watched Klaus’ head strike the wall a split-second before -

Well, presumably before Leonard’s own landing was less fortunate. Leonard doesn’t remember the impact. He just remembers getting up, feeling oddly free of pain, and attacking Klaus again, only to sink into him instead.

It was a bit of an adjustment. Hell, it still is, that was barely ten minutes ago.

‘Let me go, let me go, I swear to god if you don’t let me go I’ll kill us, I will kill both of us I am not bluffing if you don’t let me go I swear -’

Leonard growls to - well, himself, technically, but it’s directed at Klaus. ‘If you could take back control you already would have,’ he says, trying to work through the reasoning. ‘Which means - you can’t. You can’t take control, and you can’t force me out. Right?’

For the first time, Klaus hesitates. Blessed silence.

That’s a relief, but Leonard doesn’t show it. It’d probably just make Klaus start screeching again.

‘I’m a ghost,’ Leonard says, and the words are enough to make him blink, his eyes returning to his dead body in front of him. ‘I’m - I’m dead, and I’m a ghost, and I’m possessing you. That - I didn’t know you could get possessed. How come nobody knew that?’

‘Obviously I didn’t let anyone know,’ Klaus snaps. ‘Now get out of me.’

‘No,’ Leoanard says automatically, and then he feels indignation creeping in. ‘You killed me. You fucking killed me!’

Leonard feels lightheaded. This is - what the fuck? What the fuck? Years of planning, years of dreaming, days of subtle manipulations and ingratiation, and he dies at the hands of Klaus? He wasn’t even worried about Klaus, barely even saw him as a threat, and thirty seconds into their second meeting and the fucker kills him?

‘No, Ben was the one -’ Klaus shoots back, before he abruptly cuts himself off.

‘Who -’ Leonard starts to say, before the words falter. Because -

Holy shit.

‘You can be possessed,’ Leonard says slowly, putting the pieces together. ‘You can - you can be possessed, and it’s easy. That was really easy. I did it on accident. But you - you can’t make ghosts stop possessing you, so you would - you’re usually possessed? By - you have a dead brother. You’re usually possessed by Ben Hargreeves.’

‘Give the man a prize,’ Klaus says, but Leonard can feel the faint pressure of terror emanating from whatever corner of his skull Klaus is currently pushed into. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, directly sensing another person’s emotions, but Leonard knows in his bones that Klaus is absolutely terrified right now.

And -

He should be, Leonard realizes. Klaus should absolutely be scared. Somehow, Ben Hargreeves got knocked out of him (during the fight?) and Leonard slipped in instead. And now that Leonard is dead (god, he’s dead) there’s no way he’s letting go of Klaus’ body. It’s the least this fucker owes him. There’s no way Leonard is just going to meekly accept being a powerless, intangible ghost. He’s not done with life yet, not done with his plan to kill the Umbrella Academy -

Leonard’s thoughts stutter to a stop.

Because -

‘Holy shit,’ Leonard says, probably sending it to Klaus, but that doesn’t matter, because -

Holy shit.

He’s possessing Klaus Hargreeves.

‘They don’t know,’ Leonard says. ‘They don’t know you can be possessed, you said. Your family doesn’t know?’

‘I -’ Klaus says, caught off-guard, but Leonard can feel the man’s terror swell and has his answer.

Leonard feels a grin spreading across his (stolen, but it’s his, it’s his now) face.

The family doesn’t know. They don’t know Klaus can be possessed. Leonard has no fucking idea how Klaus managed to hide it from them, or why he wanted to, but that doesn’t matter now. Because if he goes and interacts with them right now, they’ll think he’s Klaus. It won’t even occur to them to think otherwise. They’ll trust him automatically, unthinkingly, completely. They’ll think nothing of being alone with him, showing him their backs, drinking what he gives them - oh god, the possibilities.

‘Don’t hurt them,’ Klaus says. This time, his voice is shaking slightly. ‘Don’t hurt them.’

Leonard laughs.

It’s different from his own laugh, sharper and a different pitch. But that only makes Leonard laugh louder, because he’s possessing Klaus Hargreeves.

‘You have no idea who I am, do you?’ Leonard wonders to Klaus. ‘I’ve been planning to kill the Umbrella Academy for years. And now - god, it’s going to be so much easier. They’ll never see me coming, not when they think I’m you. Oh god, this is going to be great.’

And it is. Even with the apparent obstacle of being tongueless (and he really needs to get the story of how that happened), Leonard can’t help but imagine just how incredible it’s going to be to see the faces of the Umbrella Academy when they think their own brother is killing them. God, if he plays it right, he might be able to draw it out, take advantage of the surprise, see the confusion and terror sink in. They’ll die horribly, every single one, and they’ll go to their graves thinking Klaus is the one who killed them.

The thought is downright intoxicating.

Leonard is so busy fantasizing about the looks on their stupidly perfect faces, so busy thinking about how he can best draw this out, that he doesn’t notice -

- his hand -

- lashing out -

- against his will -

- darting to his other hand -

- seizing two of his fingers -

- and bending them back with a -

snap.

The pain hits immediately, and Leonard lets out a howl that he stifles instantly. He grabs onto the possession, reinforcing it, reclaiming control over his stolen body. His fingers curl and cradle his broken hand, and he breathes heavy, ragged breaths.

‘....That should have worked,’ Klaus says, sounding dazed. ‘Why didn’t that work?’

“Fuck,” Leonard hisses. “Fuckig….” The stump of his tongue mangles the word, and Leonard scowls harder to himself.

‘Get out,’ Klaus says tremulously, his voice shaking more than before. ‘Get out, get out, get out, dammit, why didn’t that work?’

“Wha….” Leonard says, but he can’t complete the word. He clenches his jaw and does the telepathy-whatever. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘You can take over when I’m distracted? That’s nice to know. And - pain kicks me out? Or should kick me out? Ha. Listen, I’ve had a lot worse than this.’

And he has. His father’s fists, breaking bones and splitting skin even when he was a child. The sheer brutality of prison, where Leonard was nowhere near top dog. The steady, unwavering burn in his chest ever since he was thirteen, reminding him with every breath the sheer humiliation the Umbrella Academy heaped upon him.

Compared to that? A few broken fingers is nothing.

Although it still hurts. He’s not too happy about that.

Leonard cradles his hand and tries to move the broken fingers. They’re the last two on his right hand, pinky and ring finger. The breaks don’t feel perfectly clean, but they should heal alright. He keeps his breathing deliberately even.

‘No,’ Klaus says, and the terror has grown even larger, seeping through the boundary between their minds. ‘No, no, no, get out, get out, get out of me let me go get out no no please no get out -’

‘No,’ Leonard says coldly. He drinks in the feeling of Klaus’ terror, and feels a spark of satisfaction. Good, the bastard should be scared. Leonard has worked so goddamned hard for this opportunity, and Klaus thinks he can just take it away? He thinks he can just murder Leonard, deprive him of his revenge, and Leonard will just let him? ‘I’m not leaving. I’m not going to stop possessing you. And you know what? I’m going to murder your entire goddamn family, and they’ll think it’s you.’

‘No,’ Klaus says, rising hysteria in his voice. ‘No, no, no, don’t don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare please no no no god don’t please no -’

Klaus keeps babbling as Leonard leaves the room, casting one last glance at his dead body. He doesn’t really want to just leave it here, but it’s not like he can carry it away to a suitable dumping ground. That would probably be suspicious. At least this room looks abandoned, dust cloths over all the furniture and a gloomy, lost atmosphere. He doubts it’ll be found for a while, and even when it is, it doesn’t look like foul play. They’ll just think he went exploring and fell wrong.

It’s a very strange feeling, working out how to cover up his own murder, but. It’s necessary. He can avenge himself later on all of the Academy. At length.

Klaus keeps up his pleading and useless threats all the way to the infirmary. Vanya only pointed out the door, but he’s pretty sure he got the right one. Sure enough, he pushes it open and smiles at the sight of a room with bandages and medical instruments laid out on the counters -

Along with a guy. An unconscious guy. Lying on a bed. In the middle of the room.

Leonard blinks, and stops. “Wha?” he says, forgetting the Tongue Situation once again in his surprise.

He moves forward, making a note that Klaus has suddenly gone completely silent. The guy on the bed is….well, he’s a guy. Caucasian, wavy hair, pretty fit. He doesn’t seem to be wearing a shirt, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders instead. One of his arms lays across the top, a couple IVs stuck into it. He’s certainly not one of the Hargreeves, and Leonard doubts that this is Pogo either, so who….

Actually, Leonard realizes, Klaus is emanating some intense terror in the back of his skull.

‘You wanna tell me who this is?’ Leonard says, tilting his head. A curl of hair drops into his eyes, and Leonard frowns and swipes it away. He’s probably going to need a haircut.

‘I don’t know who that is,’ Klaus says. The lie would be obvious even without the absolute fear dripping off every word. Fear for the man on the bed.

‘Really?’ Leonard raises his eyebrows. ‘He’s not….important to you?’

‘No,’ Klaus says. His voice shakes.

‘Oh,’ Leonard says mildly. ‘I see. So you wouldn’t care if I just put a hand over his mouth and smothered him right now.’

There’s an absolutely blinding surge of terror, and Leonard isn’t prepared for it to be so intense. He rocks back on his feet and catches his breath.

‘No!’ Klaus shouts, and Leonard winces at the volume. What the hell, this is literally talking without sound, there shouldn’t be anything like loud volume. ‘No, no, don’t hurt him, don’t touch him, please don’t hurt him no no please no don’t hurt him.’

‘Why not?’ Leonard snaps, and there’s a surge of satisfaction in his chest so sharp it’s almost painful. ‘You literally fucking murdered me, and now I have two broken fingers because of you. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill him.’

‘Don’t hurt him,’ Klaus begs wildly. ‘Don’t hurt him, hurt me. That was me, he didn’t do anything, it was me, hurt me.’

‘But this will hurt you, won’t it?’ Leonard says. He reaches out his unbroken hand and places it, gently, on the man’s face. Idly, he wonders who the man is. A lover? That’s the most likely option. Leonard doesn’t really care, though.

‘No, no,’ Klaus begs. ‘Please, no,’

Leonard makes sure he’s keeping tight hold on the possession - Klaus’ earlier threats of suicide probably hold some weight, if the sheer amount of emotion Leonard can feel right now is any indication. It’s incredible, that feeling. Intoxicating. Leonard flashes back to his fantasies of having a member of the Umbrella Academy helpless in front of him, seeing the fear on their face, and he wants to laugh at himself. How could he have ever thought that could be enough, next to this? Actually feeling that terror, that horror, that absolute helplessness, having it all resonate through him so strongly he can taste it?

Leonard has never been happier.

‘Please,’ Klaus says - or, well, it can’t really be described like that. His terror is so strong he isn’t really sending words anymore, just jagged, broken bundles of emotion. ‘Please, don’t no, please, I’ll do anything, please, please, please -’

Leonard stills.

‘Anything?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ Klaus says. He’d probably be sobbing if he had a physical body anymore. ‘Yes, god, yes, please, just don’t hurt him, please.’

Leonard considers. On one hand, he’s pretty pissed about the whole murder thing, along with the broken fingers. Klaus needs to pay for both of those. And god, his fear is incredible, feeding some part of Leonard’s soul he didn’t even know was starving. He wants to kill this man, whoever he is, because it will hurt Klaus and Leonard wants to hurt Klaus more than anything right now.

But. But. Leonard didn’t get this far without looking at the long term. If he kills this man, Klaus will get desperate. Irrational. Probably he’ll do everything he can to inconvenience Leonard, and…..considering the delicacy Leonard will need to kill the rest of the Academy, one distraction in the wrong place could prove disastrous.

Leonard presses his lips together. Fuck. He doesn’t like it, but….it’s the more rational course of action.

‘Okay,’ Leonard says, ‘Okay, I won’t kill him. As long as you behave.’

Klaus’ presence stutters and sparks in the back of his head. ‘W-what?’ he says, small and pitiful and weak. Everything Leonard despises.

Leonard curls up his face in a sneer. ‘You don’t talk,’ Leonard says. ‘You don’t shout, or scream, or try to distract me. You definitely don’t try and force me out, or hurt me. If I ask you a question, you tell me the truth, and that’s it. Aside from that, you shut up and disappear. Or else I come back here and smother this guy and make you watch. Understand?’

There’s a second’s hesitation. ‘Y-yes,’ Klaus says, still small and broken.

‘I’m not joking,’ Leonard says flatly. He moves his hand to gently cover the guy’s mouth, feels the faint exhalations from his nose tickling the side of Leonard’s hand. ‘If you don’t fucking behave, he dies. It’s simple as that. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ Klaus says, hurried and frantic, and Leonard revels in the fresh surge of terror at the sight of his hand covering the guy’s mouth. ‘Yes, I’ll behave, I swear I’ll behave, I will, please.’

Leonard lets out a breath. ‘Then stop talking.’

Klaus does.

He’s still there, fear bleeding, hemorrhaging out from his mind and spilling over the boundary between them, but he isn’t talking. Not a peep.

Slowly, Leonard takes his hand away from the man’s mouth.

‘Good boy,’ Harold says, and turns to the supplies on the counter to bandage his fingers.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand, Diego,” Mom says, tilting her head, a puzzled look on her face. “You just had breakfast.”

By now, the icy pit in his stomach is a constant thing. This comment barely drops it a couple degrees. Diego swallows, and forces himself to say the words slowly, so he doesn’t trip over them, “Mom, it’s almost dark out.”

Mom frowns, uncomprehending. She turns her head, looking out the nearest window. She stares, for several seconds, and then her face twitches and she regains her smile. “Oh, of course. How silly of me.”

Diego knows better than to count this as a victory. His hand clenches into a fist, even as his other hand gently takes up Mom’s. They’re sitting in a side room Diego honestly can’t remember the use of, but it has chairs and a couple couches and it’s out of the way enough that Diego doesn’t think his siblings will find them without putting in effort.

And god forbid anyone in this family put in effort. Unless it’s for hurting each other, of course. Then they’ll go to the ends of the fuckin’ earth.

But. The point is. Diego has been trying to get through to Mom - really get through to her - for hours now. And no matter how much he wants to deny the extent of the damage, he can’t. Sometimes she’ll look like she’s coming back to herself, to reality, like now. She’ll realize what she’s been saying doesn’t make sense, and correct herself with a self-deprecating expression. But she always slips back into saying what she was before, or something entirely new, but either way it’s clearly wrong, or just nonsense.

“Mom,” Diego says, quietly. “I….fuck.”

“Language,” Mom chides. She tilts her head and frowns at him. “Diego? What’s wrong?”

Everything. “Nothing,” Diego says roughly, swiping at his eyes.

“Diego,” Mom says, sounding clearer than she has in hours. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m your mother, it’s my job to take care of you children.”

Blinking furiously, Diego looks at her. She’s sitting straighter now, and her expression is intent. He knows that expression, seen it a hundred times growing up. It’s concentration, focusing all her attention on him, her child in front of her. It’s worry, wondering what sort of trouble he’s gotten himself into now. It’s resolve, deciding that whatever he needs her to do, she will do, to the absolute utmost of her ability.

It’s love.

Diego takes a deep breath, and squeezes his mother’s hand. “Just worried about the family meeting tonight,” he tells her, and it’s not even a lie. He’s absolutely terrified, petrified, because he’s spent the last several hours learning just how deep Mom’s damage goes and he doesn’t think they can fix it even if they do decide to try.

Sure enough, Mom’s face melts into a softer expression. “Oh, darling,” she says. She hasn’t called him that since giving him his name - before then, she always called them endearments instead of their numbers. He knows it’s because she didn’t want to dehumanize them the way Dad did. “I know things will work out just fine.”

Somehow - Diego doesn’t know how - he manages to give her a smile. “Yeah,” he says, the lie rough in his throat, but it comes out whole and steady. “Yeah, I know. It will.”

Mom gives him another smile, and then her gaze drifts away to stare at the wall.

He….can’t. He can’t stay here. Diego is on his feet before he realizes it, his hand slipping out of Mom’s and she doesn’t even notice. Diego sucks in a breath and leaves the room.

He clenches his fists over and over again. He wants to punch - something. Someone. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care, but he needs to expel some of the roiling mass of anger inside him before he fucking explodes.

God. It’s just - too much. He’s thought it before, but it really is just too much. All his training and skills are completely fucking useless in the face of everything that’s been cropping up the last few days. Not that there exists a force on this Earth that could mend his family’s problems, but that just means Diego would much prefer it if they stayed tucked away in the dark corners where they belong.

Luther is just as much of an idiot as ever. Allison obviously wants to go back to her movie-star life, without any of them there to distract her. Klaus is apparently living a full and sober life, and clearly doesn’t need them. Vanya touted to the entire world how much she’d like to disown them. And as far as Diego knows Five literally hasn’t had an actual conversation with any of them since he came back, and seems to regard them all as particularly irritating furniture. So if none of them want to come together and be an actual family again (if they ever were in the first place), Diego doesn’t either.

Mom, though.

Mom is the sticking point.

Diego would be perfectly happy to never see any of his siblings again. He could easily walk away right now, leave this entire goddamned dumpster fire behind. He’d prefer it, actually. But as long as Mom is in trouble, he can’t.

Once again, Diego thinks about Dad’s stupid monocle. Throwing it out was a decent distraction - kept suspicion off of Mom for a couple days. But that was only putting a band-aid on a bullet wound, he now knows. Even if Dad hadn’t managed to tape his own death, even if no one noticed her increasingly bizarre behavior, it wouldn’t have fixed the underlying cause.

A cause Diego isn’t actually sure of the nature of.

Rounding the corner, Diego nearly collides with another body. He steps back, hand going to a knife automatically at the sudden appearance of another person in his personal space, but he relaxes when he sees it’s just his brother.

“Klaus,” Diego says, subtly scanning him up and down. He frowns a bit at the thick glove on Klaus’ right hand, but then again he’s never been able to understand his brother’s fashion choices. “You okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Klaus says, smiling at him a little and rocking back on his heels.

“Mm,” Diego says. “Still not gonna tell me who the hell that guy in the infirmary is?”

Klaus pauses for a moment, and his face flickers. Diego almost gets his hopes up for a moment before Klaus slowly shakes his head. “Mm-mm.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Jackass,” he says. Then he regards Klaus for a moment before grabbing his arm. “Come on.”

Klaus makes a surprised, questioning noise. Diego continues pulling him forward.

“You got anything going on?” Diego says, glancing back. “No? Then we’re going for a drive. Just this one time, so don’t get any ideas.”

He only gets a confused blink in return, but no actual protests, so Diego continues hauling his brother through the hall, out the door and to his car.

It’s stupid of him, he knows. Almost Luther-level pathetic. But Diego’s entire world has been flipped upside-down multiple times in the last week, and he needs some goddamn normalcy. Driving Klaus around town won’t be the same, of course, but it’ll give Diego an opportunity to actually get to know the new and improved sober version of his brother in a way that might help it sink in.

Once inside, Diego frowns at the sight of Klaus pulling on the seatbelt. “Since when have you used the seatbelt?” he says, openly staring. Klaus freezes for a second, and another piece of information rises to the top of Diego’s mind. “You probably shouldn’t anyways, it might irritate your wound. How’s that doing, by the way?”

“Okay,” Klaus says, and then blinks. A look of confusion crosses his face. He presses a hand to his side, gently, and the look deepens.

“Careful,” Diego says, tugging his hand away. “Let me have a look.”

He gets ahold of Klaus’ shirt but doesn’t manage to pull it up before Klaus smacks his hand, hard. “Oh!” Klaus snaps, and smooths his shirt back down, firmly placing his arm in front of the wound. He still looks confused (Diego has no idea why, but honestly Klaus has sort of looked mildly confused his entire life, so Diego’s not too worried about that), but he also looks stern (which is something Diego can’t remember seeing before). The juxtaposition is kind of strange.

Diego raises both his hands and his eyebrows. “Alright, then,” he says. “Just trying to help. I happen to know a thing or two about stab wounds, you know.”

The Klaus Diego remembers would respond to that with something like ‘yeah, how to inflict them and how to threaten to inflict them,’ but apparently Klaus has changed more than Diego thought. He doesn’t respond, instead staring off into space with a blank but still slightly confused and - incredulous? - expression, apparently dismissing Diego from existence entirely. Well, then.

Diego decides to take the high road (ha, like he ever does anything else with Klaus) and puts his car in gear. They drive away, and being away from the Academy loosens the tightness in Diego’s chest just the slightest bit.

It takes a couple more minutes for Klaus to snap out of whatever mental reboot he’s going through, but even once he starts paying attention to Diego again….he keeps acting weird. Diego would almost say he’s high, but there are no track marks on his arms and his eyes aren’t dilated and he always got more chatty on drugs, not less. Right now, he’s acting like he can’t hear Diego half the time and the other half he only answers basic, yes-or-no questions with varied grunts. Diego only manages to pull a single-digit number of words out of him, and never an entire sentence.

Not exactly a bonding experience. Not that Diego was hoping for something like that, obviously, but he thinks he’d like a more complete answer to the question of whether Klaus has a steady job than an apathetic shrug.

He’s sober, Diego reminds himself. Klaus is sober, and he has been for four years now (and it doesn’t escape Diego’s attention that that’s just around the time Klaus got that fucking scar on his chest, but Klaus already made his opinion on Diego asking about that one very clear, so he doesn’t bring it up again). Surely he’s on top of things by now. He doesn’t, in point of fact, owe Diego anything, because he has actually managed perfectly well without any of his family for quite some time. There’s no reason he should have to tell Diego anything.

It doesn’t stop the sour well of emotion in Diego’s chest from bubbling up inside, making him clench his jaw to avoid snapping at his recalcitrant brother. He knows, from extensive experience, how much that would help.

Instead, he takes the next turn and drives in silence for a couple minutes. He eventually pulls up in front of the police station, and looks over at Klaus, frowning at the building.

“I’m going inside to talk to someone here,” Diego says. “You gonna be here when I come back?”

Klaus looks at him for a second, before a slight smile flits across his face and he nods.

Diego isn’t sure whether to believe him, but figures that’s probably as good as he’s going to get. He gets out of the car and heads into the station.

Finding Eudora is easy enough. She’s doing paperwork at her desk, and the sight is painful for several reasons. She’s beautiful as always, and Diego wonders once again how in the hell he was so lucky as to ever have her (it’s not surprising he couldn’t keep her, of course - he knew, deep down, that it was never going to last, even when they were together). But there’s also the fact that seeing Eudora doing paperwork, when she’s so much more suited to action out on the streets, physically pains his soul.

She looks up as he slides down into the chair next to her desk, and Diego is actually kind of proud at the way she rolls her eyes so hard it ends up moving her entire head.

“Diego, what do you want?” she says.

“What do you have on the massacre at the motel?” Diego asks.

He hasn’t been able to investigate, not with Mom taking up his attention, but Diego really wants to get in on this one. From the snippets he got off the police radio, it was messy, brutal and bloody and unlike anything a large fraction of the force has ever seen. Diego itches to go look at the scene himself, but it’s bound to be wrapped up tighter than Fort Knox by now.

Predictably, though, Eudora groans. “No, Diego,” she says, leveling an impressively unimpressed glare. “You’re not wriggling your way into this one.”

“Aw, come on, Eudora,” Diego says.

“Don’t call me that,” she says.

“Right, Detective Patch,” he says, smirking. “So what do you have?”

“Nothing you get to see,” she says, stretching out her arm to more fully cover a file on her desk.

“I might be able to help,” Diego cajoles, fingers dancing along a few of her desk ornaments. He picks up a pen.

“By stabbing all the suspects before we can bring them in?” Beaman says, stopping next to the desk and looking down at Diego with an eerily accurate twin of Eudora’s current facial expression. “I think we’ll pass.”

“Oh, come on,” Diego says, and then he flicks the pen in the air and pushes, sending it whizzing through the air and clipping first Beaman’s ear, then Eudora’s.

They both instinctively raise their hands to the side of their head, expressions startled, and Diego scoops up the newly liberated file from the desk and flips it open.

And pauses.

And stares.

“Diego, what the hell!” Eudora says, sounding genuinely annoyed. She pulls down the file and glares at him. “You know, I have half a mind to call that assaulting an officer of the law.”

“Please do,” Beaman says, rubbing his ear and grimacing.

“....This is the motel?” Diego says, faintly.

Eudora’s face softens a bit as she sees his. Diego isn’t actually sure what expression is on his face right now, but if it’s making Eudora soften he must look….interesting. She glances down at the photos and grimaces. “Yeah,” she says. “Pretty gruesome, right? We have no idea what happened.”

“Ben,” Diego says, without thinking.

Eudora blinks, and looks at him. “What?”

“Wait,” Beaman says, craning his head to look Diego in the face. “You know who did this?”

“I,” Diego blinks, then shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Diego,” Eudora says warningly.

“I don’t,” Diego says, probably more testily than he should. “It just - reminded me. Of my brother.”

“Which one?” Beaman asks.

“Ben,” Eudora repeats thoughtfully, and Diego almost flinches at the name. She blinks, and realization enters her eyes. “Oh. Oh, the one who - the Horror?”

“Yeah,” Diego says tightly. He glances down at the photos again, then looks away. “The room ended up looking pretty much exactly like that whenever he cut loose.”

“Seriously?” Beaman says, and when Diego looks up his expression is disturbed. “I never saw anything - I mean, I knew it got violent whenever he was called in, but….”

“Yeah, well,” Diego says. He shuts the file with a snap. “Dad never let it get out how bloodthirsty the thing was. It never left survivors. Ben hated it.” Diego blinks, and shakes himself. Why the fuck is he talking about Ben? He might - might - feel comfortable enough to discuss the topic with Eudora, but Beaman? Ha. They’re acquaintances, at best. “Anyways, I doubt it was Ben, because he and that tentacled monstrosity have been dead and gone for years, so.”

He replaces the file on Eudora’s desk, unwilling to look at it again for some reason. When he looks up again, however, he sees Eudora is frowning, and Beaman is blinking.

“Tentacled?” Eudora says, shooting a glance at Beaman. “Really?”

“There was an eye-witness,” Beman says slowly. “He only saw the destruction of the room from the parking lot, but he kept saying it was the work of Cthulhu.”

Diego stares at the man in disbelief. “So - so what?” he says, words catching in his throat. “You’re saying someone is - what, they’re playing copycat? Recreating what the Horror used to do?”

“I don’t know,” Eudora says, frowning down at the file on her desk. “It would be an awful lot of effort to go through just for a copycat - we’re not even sure if there were two victims or three, we found - bits - that suggest three, but only most of two, blood results aren’t back yet….”

Diego stands up and leaves.

He doesn’t pay attention to how Eudora and Beaman call after him, because he just - can’t. Not on top of everything else this week has thrown at him. He just can’t sit there and discuss how someone might be dredging up his dead brother and recreating all the worst things he’s remembered for.

Getting back to the car reveals Klaus is still there, which is the first thing to not go wrong in days. Diego slides in and starts up the engine. He can feel Klaus’ eyes on him, but he doesn’t explain himself as he revs the car into motion.

They drive in silence for a little bit. By some miracle, Klaus seems to sense his mood and stays quiet. Diego drives aimlessly, but eventually he finds himself automatically gliding to a stop in front of the riverfront. It’s dark out by now, the last fading rays of light slipping over the horizon.

They should probably head back. The meeting about Mom should be starting soon.

Instead, Diego twists the keys and turns off the car. The engine shuts down, and silence falls.

Klaus still doesn’t speak. Diego finds himself grateful for that.

Diego sighs, and leans back against his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

After a few seconds, he gets out of the car. He walks up to the side of the river and stares down at the water.

It’s dark, reflecting the night sky. Diego remembers many a time when he came here just to….think. It’s easier, here. It feels calm, and quiet, and….almost peaceful. As close to it as he can get, anyways.

He hears the click of the car door as Klaus gets out of the car, and the soft footsteps that come up behind him. Diego huffs and stuffs his hands into his jacket.

“I come here a lot,” Diego says conversationally, really just wanting to fill up the silence. “Every now and then, just to clear my -”

Klaus grunts. It sounds involuntary, and Diego half-turns to check on him, breaking off his words, and he sees -

Klaus, knife in his hand, a cut running down his temple, hissing and reaching up to touch it.

“What the hell?!” Diego boggles, hands automatically reaching out towards his brother. “Klaus, what the hell, did you find one of the knives I hid in my car, you have to be careful with th-”

And then -

- without warning -

- Klaus’ face goes icy cold and -

- his hand reaches out -

- grasps the back of Diego’s neck -

- as his other hand swings up -

- knife glinting -

- then there’s -

- burning pain -

- a line of fire across Diego’s throat and -

- Klaus is staring at him and -

- he’s smiling and -

- Diego is -

- there’s wetness running down his neck and -

- the world is suddenly silent and -

- Klaus is still smiling and -

- his hand is on Diego’s chest and -

- he pushes -

- the world is tumbling and -

- Diego hits the water and

he

sinks

down.

Chapter Text

Klara takes the last of her bags from the taxi and lets out a breath.

“Thanks,” she tells the cabbie, and gives him a nice tip (not too generous, she’s still flirting with poverty now and again, but a nice tip nonetheless). He nods amicably to her, and drives off.

Leaving her to stare up at the Umbrella Academy. Klara stares up at it, a low churning in her gut.

She was never a serious fan of the Academy, but she caught the edges of it. It would have been impossible not to. She knows about their weird-ass births, how the six of them have fantastical powers, the disappearance of one and the death of another (Ben, that was Ben), and she thinks she remembers one of them releasing a tell-all book a couple years ago. It’s really the only thing this crummy city has ever produced that ever brought in attention. Honestly, though, she never paid it much thought beyond the fact that it produced Allison Hargreeves, Klara’s primary celebrity crush.

(Which, Klara only realized an hour ago, means that Allison Hargreeves is Klaus and Ben’s sister. Suddenly their deep discomfort whenever Klara started rhapsodizing about the woman’s face or legs or - other areas makes so much more sense. Wow, she owes them one hell of an apology.)

(Not, like, an enormous one. They could have told her before now. But Klara is a decent person. She can take the high road.)

Regardless. Klara is here now, in front of the Umbrella Academy, and she sets her shoulders and stares down the (custom stain-glass? Rich people, man) doors. She’s Klara Rosenberg, dammit, and she’s not going to be intimidated by some rich old guy’s idea of an urban castle.

Klara resettles her bags in her arms, and marches up to the door. Thankfully, it’s unlocked. Klaus and Ben must have left it open for her. That’s nice of them.

They aren’t, however, waiting inside for her. Klara looks around, eyebrows rising at the conspicuous display of wealth. Wow. Throw in some cobwebs and organ music, and this would be just her style.

She inches a little further into the front hall, peering around. Fancy sitting rooms branch off from the hall, but there’s no one in sight.

“Hello?” Klara says. Then, a little louder, “Hello? Klaus? Ben?”

No answer.

Klara frowns, and debates with herself. On one hand, it would probably be best to wait here until Klaus and Ben come down and find her. If she goes looking for them on her own, there’s no telling where she’ll end up in this maze. On the other hand, though, her bags are really kind of heavy.

Right. Well. Rich people are pretty insane, but surely the bedrooms and stuff will be clustered near-ish to the door? Probably? She can’t imagine how inconvenient it would be if the bedrooms were all the way on the other side of the block. What the hell is most of this space used for, anyway?

Wandering a little further into the house reveals that it mostly seems to be used to show off fancy furniture and hunting trophies. Wow, riveting. Klara opens doors left and right, grimacing and shifting her bags as they seem to get heavier and heavier with each passing moment.

Then, she opens one door to reveal an unconscious man on a hospital bed.

She freezes.

….Oh.

Klara hesitantly steps into the room, closer to the man. He doesn’t stir, and even as she gets close enough to touch him he just keeps breathing, even and slow.

Carefully, Klara sets her bags down on the floor. She leans over him, a little, examining him.

“Hey, Dave,” she murmurs. Hesitantly, she touches the back of his hand. It’s warm, but there’s no response. She keeps her fingers there anyways. “I’m Klara. It’s nice to meet you.”

He’s handsome, there’s no denying that. Klara feels a brief burst of humor, because of course Klaus would drop into a war zone and zero in on the guy who could easily pass for a model. But she knows better than to think that’s all he has going for him. Klaus and Ben didn’t manage to get into the nitty-gritty of why they fell for Dave, but they did, in fact, fall for him, and she has faith in her friends’ judgement. They’re both absolutely, deeply in love, she can tell, and that would take more than a pretty face.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” Klara says quietly. Dave’s face is peaceful and lax, and she wonders what he looks like when he smiles. “They’re so troublesome, aren’t they? But they tell me you came through for them, every time. That means a lot to me.”

She moves her hand to grasp his, and squeezes lightly. Part of her is kind of hoping he’ll squeeze back, like a cheesy Hallmark movie where she gets him to wake up and she can bring down Klaus and Ben and there’s a tearful reunion and everything is magically okay, but she’s not surprised when that doesn’t happen.

“You know, I think you’ve even managed to test out of receiving the shovel talk,” she says, smiling slightly. “Which is really very rude of you. I’ve been preparing that speech for years now, it had spiders and everything. I was really looking forward to it. For shame, Dave.”

Dave doesn’t answer, but she imagines he’d be amused. Or maybe bashful? Teasing? Klara wishes she’d sat Klaus and Ben down and gotten at least a rough outline of Dave’s personality. It’s weird to be so fond of a guy while knowing absolutely nothing about him.

Well. That’s easily remedied. She can just go through the house and find Klaus and Ben, and then they can spend the night giving the less-abridged version of what’s happened to them since she saw them last. She suspects it’s going to be - rough, recounting all of that, so she should probably organize it like one of their sleepovers. Comfort food and pillow forts and all that jazz.

Maybe they can camp out here in the infirmary, actually. This place doesn’t have much of a cozy feeling, which means Klara gets a little itchy thinking about leaving Dave all alone in here. And she’s not even in love with him. Klaus and Ben would probably go spare if they had to just let Dave stay in here all by himself.

Right. Klara nods to herself. That sounds like a plan. She can find her friends, and they can all come back here and keep Dave company until he wakes up. Because he will wake up (Klara doesn’t want to think about what will happen to her friends if he doesn’t).

She looks down at Dave’s sleeping face, and gives his hand one last squeeze. “You’re a good guy, Dave,” she tells him. “You took care of them when I - couldn’t. You saved their lives. You love them. So you’re just - a really good guy, in my books.”

Klara takes a deep breath, and slips her hand out of Dave’s. She blinks a couple times.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, and leaves the room.

Klara wanders through the halls, slower now that she isn’t weighed down by her bags. She doesn’t find anyone on the first floor, but she does find the kitchen. She pulls out a few things from the cupboards that look like they’ll be good and stashes them in the infirmary.

When she ventures up to the second floor she does find the bedrooms fairly quickly. It’s fairly obvious which one is Klaus’, but her friends aren’t there, and after peering around it in interest for a couple minutes Klara moves on.

She hears voices a couple of turns later, and heading forward reveals yet another sitting room, only this time it contains four people - three women and one man. One of the women is, unmistakably, Allison Hargreeves.

Instantly, Klara feels her face flush. Dear god, the woman is even more glamorous in person, just standing there in casual clothes. That should be illegal.

And then Allison Hargreeves notices her. She frowns, flawless face creasing in confusion. “Uh, who are you?”

Two of the others turn to face her in surprise. As Klara blinks away the deer-in-the-headlights feeling of having Allison Hargreeves looking at her dead-on (Klara makes a mental note to try and not call her by her full name every time, but it’s kind of difficult when the woman practically radiates star power), she notices more things about the other people in the room. The man is - seriously huge, not in an overweight way but in a bodybuilder way, she’s pretty sure. There’s another woman standing up who’s the guy’s complete opposite - Klara doesn’t think she’s a hair above five feet. And there’s also a blonde woman sitting down, dressed in some sort of 1950’s housewife getup, who doesn’t seem all that interested in Klara’s entrance.

Actually, now that Klara is looking at all of them, she notices that they’re all quite attractive. She never really went for the muscley type, but the man’s features are quite pleasant to look at. The blonde woman has the kind of face so perfect it almost looks like it was sculpted by an artist. And the shorter woman has an understated kind of beauty that makes Klara think she probably has an amazing smile. And, well, Allison Hargreeves.

Goddamnit, guys, Klara bemoans, resolving to shake Klaus and Ben until their teeth rattle when she finds them. You could have warned me all you stupid miracle kids literally look divine!

“Hey,” the man says, and Klara abruptly realizes she didn’t respond to Allison Hargre-Allison’s question as he steps forward. “How’d you get in here?”

“Uh,” Klara says, and then shakes herself. “I, uh, sorry. The door was unlocked.”

They all look confused, except for the blonde woman. “It was?” the small woman says.

“Oh,” the man says, looking dumbfounded. “Uh, okay. This is a private residence, though, so I’m going to have to ask you to….leave.”

Klara shakes her head, regaining her balance. “No, yeah, I know that. I’m Klara, I’m a friend of your brothers?”

“What, Diego?” the man says.

“I’m going to go with Klaus,” Allison says, looking Klara up and down.

“Yeah,” Klara says. Then she frowns. “Klaus and -”

“What’s he doing inviting friends over?” the man interrupts, frowning. “We’re having a family meeting tonight.”

The blonde woman still hasn’t given any indication she’s aware of Klara’s presence. It’s a little creepy how she’s so….still. Klara refocuses on the others, though, and she shrugs. “I didn’t know that. I’m just gonna crash here for a while, I thought he’d be here to show me around.”

“You’re what?” the small woman says, clearly surprised. Allison’s eyebrows go up.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the man says, and he steps towards her. Klara has to consciously stop herself from stepping back. Wow, he’s really big, and could probably snap her in half like a toothpick.

That rings a dim bell in the back of Klara’s mind. Didn’t one of the Umbrella Academy have superstrength? What was his name….Spaceguy? She can’t remember his actual name, and she isn’t sure that’s his codename either.

“Listen,” the man says. His eyebrows are knitted together. “I don’t know what Klaus told you, but you can’t - stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Klara says, raising an eyebrow. “Why not? And they both -”

“This isn’t his house,” the man cuts in, looking firm. “He can’t just go around inviting strangers to come and live here.”

“I’m not a stranger,” Klara says coldly.

“Alright, calm down,” Allison says, stepping forward and raising her hands. Somehow, she manages to draw every eye to her (aside from the blonde woman) with just that much. Must be some sort of movie-star superpower. “Luther -” Luther! That was it! “- I’m sure Klara wasn’t aware of everything that’s going on here. And -” Allison looks at Klara, her face softening fractionally. “Am I right in assuming you knew him - before?”

Before? Oh, before the time-travel. Right, that’s going to take some time to get used to.

“Yeah,” Klara nods, biting her lip. God, that really is the right terminology to use now, isn’t it? Klaus and Ben’s entire lives have changed in the past few days - which has been a lot longer than that, from their perspective. They’re always going to think of it as Before and After. She’s already seen a few of the changes their time in Vietnam has wrought, and she’s sure there’s a dozen more lying just below the surface.

“Oh,” the small woman says, openly staring.

Klara resists the urge to hunch her shoulders a little and reminds herself that this must be just as weird for them as it is for her. It’s fairly public information that the Umbrella Academy went their separate ways years ago (and she certainly hasn’t seen any evidence that Klaus and Ben have been in contact over the past several years), so it’s natural that they’d be curious about Klara. Hell, she’s curious about them as well. Both Klara and the group in front of her have different pieces of Klaus and Ben’s lives, and Klara probably has the more recent one.

“Did you, um,” the small woman winces slightly. “Work together?”

“Yeah,” Klara nods, rocking back on her feet. “Mostly with Klaus, we handle the customers together. He’s fantastic with them, and he always takes on the worst ones so I don’t get bothered. Real charmer, too - he always knows just what to say, I have no idea how he does it.”

Klara falters as she remembers that Klaus can’t say anything anymore. She looks down at the floor and carefully breathes through her nose.

When she looks back up at the group, she sees they all have - weird expressions on their faces, which are suddenly varying shades of pale. Except, of course, for the blonde woman. Klara is halfway to deciding that woman is a statue or something. Is she even breathing?

“Uh,” Klara says, peering at the others. “Are you okay?”

Allison snaps out of her trance first. “Of course,” she says, and for a world-class actress she isn’t actually doing a very convincing smile. “We just didn’t expect to hear that - much - about his - work.”

The small woman is staring at the wall and blinking heavily, and the man is clenching and unclenching his fist, glaring a hole in the carpet. The woman Klara is now fairly certain is a statue continues to stay still.

“Okay,” Klara says, a little puzzled. But she shakes it off. “Yeah, he’s a great worker,” she says, more lightly, “I know my boss will want to know if he’s coming back anytime soon, but I think I can fend her off for a while.”

“What,” Luther says, his head snapping up. Allison and the small woman look similarly surprised.

“I’m not stupid,” Klara says, holding up her hands. “I know it’s been - some time, for him, since he’s been with us. And he absolutely shouldn’t come back until he’s ready. He deserves a break. I think it would help if he started working again sometime soon, though, it can’t -”

Klara’s sentence was going to continue on to say it can’t be good for him to just sit by Dave’s bedside day after day, but she doesn’t get to finish it. This is because Allison Hargreeves punches her in the throat.

Klara immediately doubles over, wheezing for breath. She brings up her hands to grasp at her throat, but her right wrist is suddenly seized and her leg kicked out from under her. Klara gasps as her knees hit the floor, and she finds herself staring up at Allison, flanked by Luther. The small woman hovers in the background, but by the cold look she gives Klara, she won’t be any help.

“You,” Allison says flatly, eyes like chips of ice, “Stay the fuck away from my brother.”

Klara stares at her, eyes wide and breathing shallow, heart beating way too fast in her chest all of a sudden. “What?” she croaks.

“Do not make me use a rumor,” says Allison Fucking Hargreeves.

Maybe - maybe this is a hallucination? Klara tries to get her breathing under control “I don’t - I don’t understand -” she says.

Allison bends Klara’s wrist back until Klara yelps. Her bones feel like they’re on the verge of snapping, and Klara has the surprisingly cognizant thought of Oh my god, my best friends’ family is going to literally fucking kill me.

“Stop.”

Allison pauses, and she and Luther look back at the small woman.

She hunches her shoulders, and the look she gives Klara is still devoid of any sort of warmth, but she says, “Don’t hurt her. I think she got the message. Right?” The last word is directed to Klara.

Klara actually has no fucking idea what message these fucking psychopaths are trying to tell her, but it takes her less than a fraction of a second to nod frantically at the woman’s words. “Right, yeah, of course,” she babbles. “Message received and understood, gotcha, absolutely.”

Lips thinning, Allison regards her for a moment. Klara tries her best to look utterly harmless, which isn’t too difficult considering she’s pretty sure if she twitches she’ll break half the bones in her arm.

Finally, Allison lets go. Klara snatches back her arm and cradles it to her chest, hunching over. She tries to remember how to breathe as an endless loop of oh god oh god oh god plays through her head.

Suddenly, massive hands are grasping her shoulders, and she’s lifted off the floor as easily as if she’s made of styrofoam. Klara freezes as Luther settles her back onto her feet. He doesn’t let go of her as he gives her a stern glare.

“If you ever come back here, or try to contact Klaus again,” he says, face deadly serious, voice quiet, “We’re going to have words. Understand?”

Klara is too terrified to speak. She just nods.

Luther lets go of her, and steps back. “Leave,” he orders.

Klara doesn’t waste a moment in complying. She stumbles out of the room, vision oddly dizzy. She staggers through the halls, trying to remember which way she came from. By some miracle, she reaches the staircase to the first floor, and goes down it on shaky legs.

When she reaches the front hall, though, she stops.

She looks back, fearfully, half-certain she’ll find the three staring down at her from the second floor bannister. but they’re nowhere in sight. Apparently, they’re confident enough that their little display was enough to scare her off. And honestly, Klara is feeling pretty fucking terrified right now.

But.

But.

They want her to leave. More than that, they want her to literally just - abandon her best friends. They want her to leave Klaus and Ben alone with them, people who apparently think nothing of dispensing violence and death threats at the drop of a hat. They want her to leave Klaus and Ben and Dave alone with them.

Klara feels her heart stutter at the thought of Dave. God, Dave. Klaus and Ben apparently survived an entire childhood with these people (well, half-survived), so they probably have some way of managing these psychos. But Dave is comatose. Completely helpless. Who knows what they’ll do if they just randomly decide to attack him.

Without thinking, Klara’s feet turn and take her back to the infirmary.

Going inside reveals Dave’s situation is unchanged. Klara feels some of the worry in her chest lighten at that, and she goes over to his side and picks up his hand again.

“Hey, Dave,” she says, and her voice is wobbly, still a little scratchy from getting injured. She wraps her other arm around herself and tries to smile at him, but she doesn’t think she manages very well. “I - I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to barricade us in here. Real tight. Until Klaus and Ben come back. It’s - it’s probably not the best plan, but it’s all I can come up with. Okay?”

Dave doesn’t answer, of course. Klara swallows, and her vision blurs slightly.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

The morning light is streaming down on the city, people are waking up and starting their day, and Ben’s brother is dead.

Ben hasn’t been able to really focus since last night. He knows he has no right to lose himself in that memory, not when Diego was the one who actually died and Klaus was the one who - yeah. But he can’t seem to help himself. Every time he blinks he sees Diego’s look of uncomprehending shock, the redredred spilling down his throat, Klaus’ face set in a cold, mad smile.

Shuddering, Ben puts his head in his hands.

It doesn’t really help. The soft sounds of Leonard moving around the room still filter in through his ears. He woke up just a few minutes ago, and Ben knows from experience that it takes a moment to reassert control after coming out of sleep. If there were any ideal time for Klaus to make a grab for control, that would be it.

He didn’t.

Ben wishes he didn’t know what that means.

Against his will, Ben’s head lifts itself out of his hands, and once again he flinches at the sight of Leonard. He can’t - can’t - be mistaken for Klaus. The way he moves, how he acts, even his facial expressions are completely wrong. The man in front of Ben is a mad caricature of his brother, barely even a passing resemblance.

The cut on his forehead has been bandaged, thanks to the first-aid kit in Diego’s car. Ben is only thankful for that because otherwise Leonard would have ventured into the infirmary again, and he doesn’t know if he can keep hold of his sanity if Leonard saw Dave and decided he’d outlived his usefulness.

Because Ben isn’t stupid. He knows what kind of deal Leonard made with Klaus in there - or, well, it can probably be more accurately described as a threat. Ben can’t shake the memory of Klaus’ hand pressed over Dave’s mouth, a look of mingled rage and glee on his face. Even though Ben doesn’t have a heart anymore, he swears that moment made it outright stop. It only started again once Leonard stepped back.

Ever since Diego hit the water, there’s been nothing inside Ben’s chest but an endlessly collapsing hole.

Leonard finishes getting dressed, and opens the door to peer out into the hall. He’s in one of the spare bedrooms, apparently having decided Klaus’ old room didn’t suit his tastes. Deeming the coast to be clear, Leonard slips out of the room, wearing the most boring clothes Klaus had available, and saunters down the hallway. He trails his fingertips along the wall.

And. Well. They really are his fingers now, aren’t they?

Ben feels his throat closing up as he walks behind Leonard. He’s been staying close, never more than an arm’s reach away, ever since Leonard possessed Klaus. Waiting, hoping, praying, for Klaus to drive him out so Ben can slide back in and make his brother safe again. Even after threatening Dave, Ben knew it was just a matter of time before Klaus found an opening.

But now….

Now, Leonard moves with confidence instead of calculation. Now, the perfect moment to seize control has come and gone with no sign of rebellion. Now, Ben can’t dredge up even the smallest spark of hope inside his chest, just that empty endless hole.

Now, Klaus is really, truly broken.

What would it be like, Ben wonders, if, thirteen years ago, instead of him managing to restrain the Horror, make it focus on himself, he failed and Luther died instead? It’s likely the best analogy for this situation, so how would he feel if he failed and directly caused his brother’s death? If he watched as Luther was torn apart, felt his brother’s blood splatter across his face and coat his hands, saw the light leave his eyes?

….He’d probably break too, Ben admits.

It’s even worse, he knows, because Klaus has always been afraid of this. Exactly this. A hostile ghost taking him over and slaughtering their family with his hands, forced to watch helplessly from the back of his own skull. Ben thought he understood that, but until he saw the knife slice through Diego’s throat, he realized he never actually did. Not really.

Ben remembers Klaus’ junkie years, prioritizing drugs above everything - food, shelter, health, freedom, safety. They all couldn’t hold a candle to the high. He knew, intellectually, that Klaus’ main reason for that was to avoid possession. He’s even made his peace with it. Accepted that the prostitution, the abuse, the slavery, were all the better options in Klaus’ eyes. Ben understood that his brother would rather die, rather suffer all of that over again, before consenting to being possessed by anyone other than Ben. He understood that.

But he didn’t truly understand why. Not until last night.

He’s gone, Ben thinks. The thought echoes around his head as he watches Leonard wander through the halls, the first time he’s allowed it access to his mind. Klaus is gone. He’s never - never - going to be able to come back from this. He’s gone.

Something orthogonal to calm settles over Ben as he thinks that. Not peace, no. Nothing like that. Closer to….acceptance.

He stares at Leonard as the man comes to a halt outside of the room holding his actual body. The man nudges the door open and ducks inside, securely closing it after him. Ben phases through it, always just a step behind.

“Klaus,” Ben says quietly.

He knows Klaus can’t hear him. Klaus can see ghosts if he’s in control, but Ben is fairly sure that even if he were he wouldn’t be capable of listening to Ben. Or anyone else. But Ben keeps talking anyways.

“I’m sorry, Klaus,” Ben says. He swallows. “I’m so fucking sorry. That doesn’t actually change anything, so you don’t have to forgive me. I know I won’t.”

Ben blinks, and Diego falls into the river once more.

“He’s not here yet,” Ben says, biting his lip and looking around. “So I don’t know if he actually became a ghost. It’d be just like Diego to be a contrary bastard and decide to move on instead of staying. If he does show up, though - I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him it wasn’t you. I’ll make him understand, I promise.”

Leonard kneels down and stares at his body for a few seconds, face blank. It hasn’t started rotting yet, but it’s pretty obvious it’s dead. It’s skin is mottled and paper-white, the limbs askew and eyes clouded. Ben gets the extremely immature urge to spit on it, and only refrains because he can’t actually spit anymore.

Abruptly, Leonard stands up. He looks around the room, idly, eyes passing straight through Ben at one point. Then he hums a little, and goes over to a desk in the corner. He rifles through a few of the drawers, before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. He sits at the desk, pulling over an over-gilded chair.

Then, holding the pen carefully so that it doesn’t put strain on the fingers Klaus broke, he writes Hello, Ben.

Ben

stares.

Klaus tells me you’re probably watching, Leonard continues to write. It occurred to me that you probably don’t know much of what’s going on in here. I thought you might want to.

He should stop reading.

He should stop reading this, stop watching Leonard use Klaus’ body to write this out. It’s not going to be anything but awful, not meant to inflict anything but pain. This man (this thing) has already enslaved one of his brothers and murdered another, it’s not hard to figure out that he likely doesn’t want to ease Ben’s mind.

But Ben finds he can’t stop watching. Can’t turn away.

He’s been very helpful, Leonard writes, with a small pleased smile desecrating Klaus’ face. After I set some ground rules, of course. But he’s a quick learner. I didn’t expect that, actually, but I probably should have. Doing what you’re told is a necessary job skill for a whore, isn’t it?

The word barely hurts, even though it’s probably meant to. Ben has heard that thrown at Klaus many times, that and much worse. Klaus even said it himself sometimes. Next to the horrific, unthinkable violation Leonard is and has been committing every second for the past eighteen hours, calling Klaus a whore is hardly a blip in the radar.

Anyways, Leonard continues. I wanted to explain myself a bit. You’re probably wondering who I am, why I’m doing this.

“No,” Ben says coldly. “I don’t care why, I just care that you are. I don’t care who you are, just what you’re doing. I just care that you’re -”

Ben breaks off, eyes stinging, because he was going to say that you’re hurting my brother, but that can’t fully encompass it. Nothing can, not even if he tried for a decade. The kind of words that describe what Leonard is doing to Klaus don’t even exist.

It takes a couple minutes for Ben to regain enough calm to look back at the paper again. It’s gained some more words, and Leonard is still writing.

My name is Harold Jenkins. I was born on October 1, 1989. Funny, right? I wasn’t one of the miracle kids. But I should have been.

Even though the date on the paper claims that Leonard - Harold, apparently - is almost thirty years old, the words sound like that of a child. Ben grits his teeth.

I grew up idolizing you guys, you know. The Umbrella Academy. You were my heroes. You were everyone’s heroes, of course, but especially mine. I used to imagine that if I could just meet you, explain that I was born on the same day, you’d realize I was special too. You’d let me join the Academy, and I could be a hero.

I got my chance when I was thirteen. I ran up to you guys after you came back from the Denver thing. I tried to get Reginald Hargreeves to take me in. And he humiliated me. I’m sure you remember. Everyone laughed at the stupid kid in the homemade Academy costume who thought he was special.

Ben….does not remember that. That was well over a decade ago, and he kind of had bigger issues to worry about, like whether he’d be forced to commit gory massacres whenever they went out. He’s not even sure the Denver thing was before or after Five left.

And honestly, he’s not all that interested in Harold’s tragic backstory.

They were right to, though. I was pretty pathetic.

Wow. Ben never thought he’d find himself agreeing with this shitbag, but here he is.

I deserved that scorn. That humiliation. That stupid, lonely kid was so desperate for attention that he didn’t realize what he could do without powers, all on his own. He didn’t realize that you aren’t heroes, you’re a disease. And you need to be wiped out.

I know better, now.

A chill runs down Ben’s nonexistent spine. He thought….he doesn’t know what he thought, but somehow he never thought beyond Diego’s murder. Killing Diego was obviously on purpose, but Ben couldn’t tell whether it was planned. For all he knew, this psycho could have just wanted to kill someone, and Klaus couldn’t manage a bargain for Diego’s life like he could for Dave.

But instead, Harold is - he’s targeting them. All of them, specifically. The whole Academy.

Oh, god.

And so, Harold is writing out, pen scratching on the paper, my master plan. It took some time for me to start it, because I was unfortunately imprisoned for a little over a decade - trust me, he deserved it as much as you guys do. But a couple days ago, I finally put it in motion, and I signed up to take violin lessons from your sister.

Ben freezes.

Vanya. Oh, god Vanya. Ben scrambles to remember whether they’ve seen her at all since the day of the funeral, and his ribcage shrinks three sizes as he realizes they haven’t. Oh god, did he -

Harold has paused in his writing. He tilts his head to the side, and looks amused, staring off in the distance. After about a dozen seconds, he snorts.

Klaus wants to know if I hurt her, Harold writes. I haven’t. I was just going to use her to get access to you guys. And, well, it sort of worked, if not in the way I intended.

Ben shakily puts his hand on the desk, propping himself up. Oh, thank god. Vanya is - she’s safe. She’s safe. Even if - the worst happens, Harold has no reason to go after her. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? Ben doesn’t know if there’s much difference between being forced to murder four siblings or five, to Klaus, but it has to matter that at least one of them is safe, right? It has to.

Harold is staring into space again, and for a moment Ben has the entirely random thought that if he and Klaus usually look like that when they’re conversing, it’s really no wonder Dave figured them out.

After a few seconds, though, a slow smile spreads across Harold’s (Klaus’) face. It makes him look - evil, malevolent, and the change in Klaus’ features is stark enough to make Ben step back. The pit in his chest grows deeper, colder. Instinctively, Ben knows he doesn’t want to know what put that smile there.

Klaus, however, does know. And he doesn’t have a choice about it. The thought makes Ben’s blood boil, very briefly, but it rapidly sinks back into the endless storm of horror that’s been the background of his thoughts since Harold took Klaus over.

Picking up the pen again, Harold writes down, You know, Vanya isn’t really useful to me now.

Ben

goes

utterly

still.

I just had a conversation with Klaus, Harold writes casually, how can he be fucking casual about this, about the life of Ben’s sister?

“No,” Ben whispers. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Harold doesn’t listen to him, instead writing, Klaus didn’t have a very good argument for why I should keep her alive. Of course, he hasn’t really been all there since last night, so it’s no wonder he fucked up. I want you - and him - to know that I would have spared her if he’d been more convincing. I really would have.

“You’re lying,” Ben says, voice shaking. “Klaus, he’s lying, it’s not your fault, he’s saying that to hurt you, this is on him and no one else, do you understand me? It’s not your fault.”

Klaus can’t hear him, though. Ben doesn’t think Klaus will ever be able to hear him again, possessed or no.

Harold leans back and waits for a few minutes, idly toying with the pen. Then he stands up, pulls the papers off the pad, and shreds them into eighths. He throws them in the trash, and walks out of the room. Heading for the stairs.

“No,” Ben says again, but his voice is small and weak and swallowed up by the silence of the house around him, unheard by a single soul. “No, please, no.”

He wonders if Klaus is saying the same.

Chapter Text

Harold was actually never planning on sparing Vanya, but Klaus and Ben don’t need to know that.

That is, assuming Ben is even here. But Klaus seemed certain he was, so Harold hopes he saw that little rant. It was probably kind of indulgent on his part, Harold admits, but he thinks he deserves to indulge in a bit of dramatis when he’s talking to the person who literally murdered him. Fuck, he hopes Ben saw Diego’s death.

Once again, Harold replays the memory over in his head. The bite of the knife through skin, the warm blood spilling over his hands, the sheer confusion and shock on Diego’s face. It was even better than he imagined. Harold wants to engrave that scene in his mind, even deeper than the one where he killed his father.

Almost as good is Klaus’ reaction. Harold has to admit, he was all ready to kill the guy in the infirmary for Klaus’ attempt at defiance (the cut on his temple throbs again, and Harold grimaces), but his despair after Diego’s death was just too gratifying.

It hasn’t let up, that despair. Harold thinks he might have broken Klaus completely. He can’t exactly classify the emotions that are bleeding through their separation, but he’s pretty sure they aren’t going to let up anytime soon.

He thinks Klaus probably wants to die. Maybe. That emotion is a little hard to identify, considering Harold has never felt suicidal. But it fits with the rest of his general emotions Harold can identify, the despair and hopelessness and….grief? He’s not sure about that one.

Well, whatever Klaus is feeling, it sure does taste sweet. Harold finds himself grinning as he skips down the stairs. Even his broken fingers and last night’s cut don’t dampen his mood much, and for the first time the Tongue Situation seems like a distant concern (Klaus’ story about that is weird as fuck, but, well, his stab wound is completely healed, so….apparently he went to Vietnam for a year. Okay).

And speaking of Klaus….

‘Don’t hurt her,’ Klaus says. ‘Please, don’t hurt her.’

It’s obvious he doesn’t expect to be listened to. His tone is flat and dead, every word soaked in utter hopelessness. Harold drinks it in.

‘It’s not my fault you’re bad at convincing me to spare her,’ Harold says reasonably.

There’s a quick burst of sharp pain that flashes up from Klaus, before it fades back into his general mire of depression.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Klaus says, an edge of desperation in his mental voice.

‘I want you all to die,’ Harold says at once, smile slipping off his face as he comes to a stop. ‘Didn’t you look at what I wrote? I want you all to die, broken and alone, scared and in pain, knowing that all your power couldn’t save you from one little boring ordinary man.’ Harold reflects. ‘Well, I guess that last detail isn’t really possible anymore, so I’ll settle for thinking that their own brother is killing them.’

Another flash of pain. ‘Vanya isn’t part of the Academy,’ Klaus says. ‘She didn’t have anything to do with us.’

It’s the same argument he tried earlier, and Harold raises an eyebrow. He can tell Klaus doesn’t really expect his words to have any impact, and they don’t.

‘She’s your sister,’ Harold says once again. ‘That’s enough.’

‘Please,’ Klaus says brokenly. ‘Please don’t.’

Harold presses his lips together, his earlier good mood ruined. Is it too much to ask to enjoy this moment in peace?

After debating with himself for a couple moments, Harold turns and heads down the hall, deeper into the Academy.

‘You know,’ Harold says. ‘I distinctly remember making a deal with you that you wouldn’t talk unless I asked you a question.’

Klaus freezes. It’s an interesting mental sensation.

‘I’m sorry,’ Klaus says quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t -’

‘I also remember,’ Harold says, interrupting him, continuing to stalk down the halls, ‘that the deal included a part where you wouldn’t try to hurt me. You broke that deal, Klaus. You didn’t hold up your side, so.’

He comes to a stop in front of the infirmary doors.

‘I don’t see why I should hold up mine.’

‘No,’ Klaus begs. ‘No, no, please.’

Harold doesn’t bother answering. Besides, the despairing horror Klaus is radiating makes it pretty clear Klaus knows he won’t be able to change Harold’s mind. Smirking a little, Harold pushes on the infirmary door.

Which….fails to open.

Harold blinks. He pushes harder. It still refuses to open.

‘....Does this lock?’ he asks Klaus.

‘N-no,’ Klaus says. Harold isn’t so sure Klaus is a decent source of information right now, considering his mind seems to be collapsing in on itself in suicidal despair, but Harold decides to take his word on things for now.

“Huh,” Harold mutters. He pushes on the door again, and bangs on it a couple times. “Heh-oh?” he says, before rediscovering the Tongue Situation. “Hey?” he tries instead.

“Klaus?” a female voice says from inside the infirmary.

Harold feels Klaus freeze again.

Oh, this is interesting.

“Uh-huh,” Harold calls back.

“Oh, thank god,” the woman says, and there’s the sound of something - several somethings - being dragged across the floor. After a bit, the infirmary door opens.

The woman looks to be in her mid-twenties, with dyed black hair and mostly-black clothing. It looks like she hasn’t slept all night, dark rings under her eyes and a nervous, hunted expression on her face. Immediately after opening the door, she throws herself on Harold and hugs him.

Well.

‘You want to tell me who this is?’ Harold says mildly.

‘She - she’s my friend, she’s just a friend, please don’t hurt her, she has nothing to do with any of this, god please don’t hurt her,’ Klaus babbles.

“Fuck,” the woman says, letting out a shaky breath, tucking herself agains Harold’s chest. Harold figures he should probably hug her back to avoid suspicion, and does so. “God, you guys, your family - your fucking family. They’re fucking psychopaths, did you know that?”

Huh. Harold thinks he might like this woman.

“I was just - I came by last night and ran into them and we were talking and then they just - fucking attacked me,” the woman’s voice wobbles, and she leans back from the hug to look at him. “I’m being literal, your sister, Allison, she punched me in the throat.”

The woman lifts her head so Harold can see, and - yes, that’s certainly a fresh bruise on her throat.

‘What?’ Klaus says, sounding vaguely stunned.

‘What, you’re surprised?’ Harold asks. He inspects the bruise. It’s definitely nasty, and he can see a few more on the woman’s wrist.

The woman steps back out of the hug, and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t know - why.” she says, shuddering a little. “We were just talking.”

Harold nods slowly. It’s not all that surprising to him that Allison engaged in random wanton violence - from what Vanya’s book says, Allison has never been hesitant about doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants, with no care for consequences. It’s only surprising she didn’t rumor this poor woman into forgetting it ever happened. He peers past her into the infirmary.

The woman - he should probably ask Klaus her name - notices this and starts a little. “Oh, yeah. Um, I locked myself in here with Dave, because frankly I don’t trust your siblings to be alone with him. Speaking of, where were you two last night? I thought we agreed to meet up here?”

She’s looking at him more intently, now, and - shit, wait, did she say ‘you two?’

‘Does she know Ben possesses you?’ Harold demands. ‘I thought you said no one knew that!’

‘I - she only found out a while ago, she -’ Klaus stutters.

Harold ignores him (goddamn useless son of a -) and gives the woman an awkward smile. “Uh….”

Thankfully, the woman seems to register the bandage on his head for the first time. “Oh, god, are you guys hurt?” she says, stepping closer and reaching up a hand to hover over the injury. She scans him up and down, and her eyes widen as she notices his hand. “Are those broken fingers?”

Grateful for the reprieve, Harold nods solemnly, and he gets rushed into the infirmary by a horrified goth.

‘What’s her name?’ Harold asks idly, as she’s pulling out various medical supplies from the cabinets.

‘Klara,’ Klaus says. ‘Her name is Klara, and she’s never hurt anyone in her life, please just leave her alone.’

‘Did I ask for more than a name?’ Harold says, resting his eyes pointedly on the man (Dave, was it?) lying in the middle of the room. Klaus gets the message, and shuts up, terrified misery oozing through.

Watching Klara gather together a group of medical things, Harold starts to get an idea. He turns it over in his head, inspecting it for flaws.

“Here,” Klara says, bringing over a few things. She looks at Harold closely, seems briefly confused for a second, and then shakes her head. “Um, I don’t know if all of this stuff will help, but some of it probably should….”

‘You know,’ Harold remarks to Klaus as he picks through the pile. ‘I think I like her.’

Klaus pulses with mostly-terror, but a couple other emotions.

‘Maybe enough not to kill her, even,’ Harold says.

‘....please,’ Klaus whispers, barely there.

‘Although,’ Harold says idly, ‘she does know you can be possessed. That’s not something I really want her to go around telling people. Even if I don’t kill her, I need her out of the way.’

Carefully, gently, he picks up a tiny bottle.

‘You know your way around drugs, right?’ Harold says.

There’s a long, long silence.

“....Klaus?” Klara says, frowning at him. “Ben? You’re being….I can’t tell which of you is in charge right now. Is something going on in there?”

‘If she figures it out, I’m probably going to have to kill her,’ Harold remarks.

‘I,’ Klaus says.

‘Decide, Klaus,’ Harrold’s voice hardens. ‘Now.’

Klaus pulses with horror and despair again, so intense Harold raises an eyebrow.

‘Okay,’ Klaus says, his voice shaky and miserable and full of self-hatred. ‘Okay. You - you need five milligrams of that other bottle, the green one. No more. It’ll knock her out for at least twelve hours.’

‘Good boy,’ Harold says, and picks up the other bottle and a syringe.

“Guys,” Klara says slowly. “What’s going on?”

Harold shoots her an apologetic look and holds up a finger. She looks even more confused, with a dawning edge of suspicion. He quickly twists the top off the bottle.

“You -” Klara says, frowning at him. Harold quickly fills up the syringe, and sets down the bottle. Five milligrams, right? “You never touch drugs. Klaus, Ben -”

Harold turns to face her, syringe in hand. Klaus is obviously trying to suppress sobbing in the back of his skull, and failing pretty badly at it. There’s a hefty dose of self-hatred in the storm of his emotions now, which makes Harold smile a little.

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“You’re not them,” Klara says, her eyes widening, fear rising on her face. “You’re not either of them.”

Harold smiles at her, shrugs slightly, and lunges.

Klara yelps and twists away, evading Harold’s grasp more out of luck than skill. She staggers to the side, and Harold reaches for her.

He forgets about his fingers, though, and hisses when they collide with her arm. Klara stumbles back, fear emblazoned on her face. He clutches the syringe in his hand and lashes out with it.

Instantly, Klara ducks to the floor, letting the syringe swing through empty air. Before Harold can step back, she crashes into his legs, sending him falling down.

Reflexively, Harold tightens his grip on the possession. He can’t lose it now, he can’t. Klaus starts screaming inside his head, and Harold jerks at the sudden ‘noise.’

Klara grabs his wrist, terror still dominating her expression, and squeezes until his fingers open and the syringe falls to the floor. Harold snarls and shoves her off of him.

Klaus gained some serious muscle during his little jaunt to Vietnam, so it’s easy enough to send her skidding along the floor. Harold scrambles to his feet, and notices a metal tray a couple feet away full of -

Oh, excellent.

Klaus screams louder as Harold grabs at the tray, closing his fingers around a scalpel. He whirls to face Klara as she pulls herself to her feet. She sees the weapon in his hand, and her eyes widen.

She’s closer to the door, though. Her eyes dart to it, and Harold knows they both realize the same thing at the same time - she can reach it before he can catch her. Her muscles tense, and he sees her make the decision.

So, naturally, he does the logical thing and leans a little to the side, extending the scalpel to rest against the pale skin of Dave’s throat.

Everyone

freezes.

Even Klaus stops screaming, which is nice. Klara stares, stock-still, her foot frozen in the middle of taking the first step towards the door. The only sound in the room are the rapid breaths of Harold and Klara, and the slow, unaware ones of Dave.

“Don’t,” Klara says, her eyes fixed on the scalpel. “Don’t hurt him.”

Harold huffs out an incredulous laugh. Why do they keep saying that like it’ll stop him?

Klara flinches minutely at the sound. Her eyes flicker up to him, then at the scalpel, then at him again. The horror in her face deepens.

“Is Klaus in there?” she whispers.

Harold smirks a little. He nods.

She looks sick. Harold considers her.

He jerks his head to the side. Klara looks at him, and Harold jerks it again. She looks uncomprehending.

Harold growls a little, and pointedly looks at the floor. She follows his gaze, to see -

- the syringe.

Klara looks uncertain. “You want me to pick it up?” she clarifies.

He nods.

She bites her lip, but one more glance at Dave and the scalpel has her hesitantly stepping forward and doing so. Harold tenses, because it brings her almost within arm’s reach of him, but she doesn’t do anything except raise her hands and step back, holding the syringe between her thumb and forefinger.

“What now?” she says quietly.

Harold raises his eyebrows. He looks pointedly at her, and if this idiot he’s possessing still had his fucking tongue he’d say I think you can guess.

Klara’s face flickers in realization, and she looks at the syringe. Harold can feel Klaus going still in frozen horror.

‘Don’t say a word,’ Harold warns him, tightening his fingers on the scalpel. ‘Not one word.’

Klara swallows. Her eyes flicker between Dave, Harold, and the syringe.

“....Is this going to kill me?” she says, her voice shaking a bit.

Harold considers lying, but eventually shakes his head.

There is a long, long minute of silence. Klara looks at Dave, lying on the bed. Her eyes travel from the scalpel up Harold’s arm to meet his eyes.

She takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says quietly, looking him right in the eye.

And then she - smiles.

“It’s okay, Klaus,” she says. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Harold looks at her, unimpressed, but she doesn’t stop smiling. She readjusts her hold on the syringe, and looks down at her arm to find a vein. Once she does, she slides the needle in with barely a wince. She looks back up at him.

“It’s alright, Klaus,” she says. Her face is open and soft, and her voice is gentle. “It’s not your fault, okay? Not at all. It’s okay.”

She presses the plunger.

Whatever drug Klaus picked out, it works fast. A few seconds after, Klara’s expression clouds over. She blinks a few times, heavily.

Harold keeps the scalpel pressed steadily against Dave’s throat. Klara takes a deep breath, and pulls out the syringe. She drops it on the floor and sways a bit.

After another dozen seconds or so, she has to sit down, stumbling a little. Her eyes try to focus on Harold’s, and when they do, she smiles a little, one last time.

Another couple minutes, and she slumps over, unconscious.

Harold slowly lifts the scalpel up. Cautiously, he inches his way over to Klara.

She is, however, genuinely unconscious. Harold finally relaxes, and lets the scalpel slip through his fingers. It clatters on the floor.

Klaus doesn’t say anything. Harold idly wonders if he can, because he’s not entirely sure Klaus’ mind is all….there, still.

But whatever. Harold bends over and picks Klara up in a fireman’s carry. He peeks outside the infirmary, deems the coast clear, and scurries along the hallway until he comes to a sufficiently abandoned-looking room. There are a couple fancy ropes that are apparently used to tie back the curtains; he takes them and binds Klara’s hands and feet, and stuffs some kind of doily in her mouth for a gag. He stashes her behind a couch - if anyone were to come in and find her, that’d be a loss less explicable than finding Harold’s body.

Then he saunters out of the room, hands in his pockets and feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Now, off to Vanya’s.

Chapter Text

Five pushes back another bout of nausea, and grimaces.

Unfortunately, Delores catches it. ‘You’re getting sick,’ she says.

“I am not,” Five says, inspecting the equations on his wall again.

‘You are,’ Delores says. ‘I know the signs, Five. How many times did you brush me off in the apocalypse, and how many times did you immediately fall sick a day later?’

Pretty much every time, and they both know it. Five scowls and erases a number, neglecting to answer her.

She sighs. ‘I know this is important,’ she says, gentling her tone. ‘But you aren’t going to be able to work if you keel over. At least get something to eat.’

….The galling thing is, she’s right. She’s always right, annoyingly. Five is very tempted to ignore her and keep working (he’s already ruled out three of the Harold Jenkinses, and another is looking fairly unlikely, so he just has to figure out these last two -), but he knows better. You don’t survive four decades alone in the apocalypse without learning your own limits, learning how to take care of your body.

He wants to ignore that. He wants to keep going, so much, because he’s almost there, he’s almost at the end, and if this stupid child body gives out on him after he’s completed his life’s work that will be fine, he doesn’t need to work out how to survive the next month, the next year, the next decade. But he does need to survive the next week, and assuming he can make it through on determination alone is what will make him collapse hours from the finish line. He refuses to let that happen.

“Fine,” Five grumps. He sees Delores smirking at him from the corner of his eye and deliberately turns his back to her. Then, just to be rude, he jumps out of his room into the kitchen.

There’s food there, lots of it, and Five is briefly hit with a wave of disorienting need to grab all of it and stash it away, eat the most perishable things first, figure out how to ration it so it’ll last him as long as possible. He stands still and lets it pass, clenching his jaw. This is nothing, next to his breakdown upon first seeing the Commission cafeteria at their training center.

After a minute or so of beating his head back into order, Five gathers a few things, trying to strike a balance between ‘nutritional’ and ‘interesting.’ As much as Five shouldn’t be focusing on anything besides the apocalypse right now, he really wants to have peanut-butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches again. It was frustratingly difficult to make them while working for the Commission, because well over half his assignments took place before peanut butter was invented.

But he digresses. Five quickly fixes up a plate of food, rediscovers the absence of coffee in the house, curses out the old man for the one billionth time, and grumpily decides to go without this morning.

He probably shouldn’t jump back with all of this. He learned the hard way that jumping while holding something might cause him to drop it. Unimportant with clothes or tools, unacceptable with food.

Maybe he should have risked it, though, because on his way back, he runs into Luther and Allison. They’re walking down the hall, talking in low tones, and break off when they see him.

“Five,” Allison says. She looks upset. “Have you seen Diego? We can’t find him.”

“No,” Five says. “Why are you looking?”

“We had that family meeting last night,” Luther says, glowering at him. Five is unfazed. “About Mom. Which you didn’t come to, even though we told you about it. But Diego didn’t come either, which is unlike him.”

Yeah, no shit. Five’s memories of Diego are seventeen (forty-five) years out of date, but he can’t imagine Diego ever brushing off anything relating to Grace. Five frowns slightly.

“Well, did you check his home?” Five says reasonably.

“I was just going to call there,” Luther sighs. He runs gloved fingers over his head. “Not actually looking forward too much to finding him, honestly. We decided - we decided to turn off Grace.”

Five blinks. “What? Why?”

“Why?” Allison blinks at him, and Luther looks incredulous. “Five, you - seriously? Her hardware has been degrading for days now - probably a couple weeks. She was getting worse, so….”

“She killed Dad,” Luther says roughly, clenching his fists and looking away. Allison sighs and nudges him in the side, and he relents. “Or as good as. She was there when he died, and didn’t give him medical help. Same with Klaus - Diego found her after the attack, but she wouldn’t come. That’s why Pogo fixed him up.”

“Huh,” Five says, processing this. It’s not….particularly interesting to him. From his perspective, Grace has already been ‘dead’ for decades, and he never really had the same bond with her that some of his other siblings had. Still, it’s another variable in the timeline to consider. “Well, Diego’s not gonna like that.”

“You think we do?” Allison says, pressing her lips together.

“I should go call Diego,” Luther says. He touches Allison on the shoulder, briefly, and Five internally rolls his eyes. Really, that was one aspect of his pre-apocalypse life he really would have preferred to forget, or find out it was actually a fabrication of his overworked mind. “Allison, you good here?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling a little. Ugh.

Luther leaves, and Five is just about to slip past Allison when she moves in front of him. “Five.”

Five glares at her. “What.”

She looks….upset. Frustrated. Maybe even sad. “What have you been doing these past couple days?” she says, point-blank. “You just came back from who knows where and who knows when, and you’re ducking in and out at all times and avoiding all of us and acting like - like you aren’t even a part of the family anymore.”

Five glares at her. “Of course I’m a part of this family,” he says tightly, and his voice is rougher than he intends it to be.

“You are,” Allison says, her face going soft. “Of course you are. But Five - you haven’t even had an actual conversation with any of us since you got back.”

That’s untrue. He has had an actual conversation with Vanya. Two of them, even.

“I’ve been busy,” Five says.

“With what?”

“None of your business,” Five snaps, and for a brief moment he sees an overlay of her dead body in front of him, throat ripped out, before he blinks and shoves it away. He tightens his grip on the plate to remind himself why he can’t just jump away. Although much more of this and he might risk it.

“Then what is?” Allison asks. At his confused frown, she spreads out her arms. “If what you’re doing isn’t our business, how can we connect with you? How can you become part of our lives again if you never interact with us?”

“Bold words for someone who hasn’t interacted with her siblings for - what, twelve years?” Five raises an eyebrow.

Allison’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. Twelve years. So I know what I’m talking about. It’s been a long time for all of us, Five, which just means we should be working that much harder to come together again. For god’s sake, Klaus got stabbed less than a week ago and still no one’s seen him in days. If we want to be an actual family again, we need to make an effort. I’m - actually planning to go over and visit Vanya, in a bit.” She looks at him. “Do you want to come with me?”

Five’s immediate response, to his surprise, is not a no. He does want to go and hang out with his sisters. He wants to learn about them, not from a book or a grimy magazine cover but from them, directly. He wants to talk with them, get to know them, understand them. Build actual relationships with them that are based on more than decades-old memories, long grown blurry and worn.

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to work on this.”

Frustration settles on Allison’s features. “And what is this, Five? What’s so important that you have to spend all your time on it? What’s more important than our family?”

Nothing, Five doesn’t say.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says instead. Because, well. They didn’t.

Before Allison can respond, Five’s stomach gives a lurch, and he grimaces. Great, more nausea. He’s had worse, of course, but he’ll probably have to look through the infirmary and see what kind of medicine they have.

He notices Allison break off whatever she’s about to say, and look at him more closely.

“Hey, are you okay?” she says, frowning slightly. “You look kind of pale.”

“It’s nothing,” Five dismisses.

“Are you sure?” Allison presses. She steps closer, and Five gives her a look as he steps back. She thankfully gets the message, but her frown doesn’t waver. “Was it something you ate?”

“No, it’s -”

Then he stops.

His stomach lurches again.

He remembers -

“Care for a dessert?”

“No thanks. Had a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once, it kind of put me off desserts.”

“Please,” the Handler smiles at him, sharp and cold and deadly. “Indulge me.”

Five sways on his feet.

“Oh,” he breathes. “She’s good.”

“Five?” Allison says, blinking at him. He doesn’t pay her any mind, though, and instead pulls out the extra candies he took from the Handler’s little bowl. They sit in the palm of his hand, tiny and innocuous.

Stupid. So fucking stupid. Of course it was poison. Didn’t he even think to himself that any gift from the Commission would have a kill-switch as a matter of course? And then he went and just - god. He probably deserves to die, just from the sheer stupidity he displayed.

Five clenches his fist around the candy, mind racing. How long does he have? Not long, certainly. His symptoms have only really become noticeable in the past twelve hours, but there’s far too many poisons out there to determine whether he has hours or weeks more. It all depends on what she gave him.

“Five.”

He blinks, and looks at Allison. She looks - concerned.

“Are you okay?” she says.

He stares at her.

“...Yes,” he says.

Before she can call him on it, he jumps away.

He doesn’t end up dropping the plate, which is nice. However, he doesn’t seem to have an appetite anymore. He drops the plate, and the candy, on his desk, and sinks down onto his bed.

‘Five,’ Delores says, immediately alert, because she knows him, she knows him better than anyone on the fucking planet, past and future, and she knows when something’s wrong. ‘What happened.’

He takes a deep, deep breath, and slowly breathes out. It quiets the churning in his gut. For now.

“I was poisoned,” Five says. Blunt. Straightforward. Deal with the facts, don’t get distracted by emotions. “At the Commission. I don’t know how long I have.”

There is a long few seconds of silence.

‘Ah,’ Delores says quietly. ‘But you certainly don’t have enough time to both avert the apocalypse and find a cure.’

Five lets out a rough laugh. “Likely not.” He breathes in deep again. “I guess I’d better get this right, huh?”

‘Yes,’ Delores says. She doesn’t sound pitying. He appreciates that. ‘I suppose you’d better.’

“Knew I could count on you, Delores,” Five mutters.

‘Always, Five.’

“How sweet,” another voice says, a voice he knows.

Five whirls around to see the fucking Handler standing in his doorway. For the first time, he can see the motes of dust suspended in the air - time is frozen again. He shifts onto his back foot, eying her warily.

Although she….doesn’t actually look like much of a threat. She’s looking at him levelly, and that means he can see that her skin is more sallow than normal, her hair less than perfect. Her clothes look like they’ve been put on with less than her usual attention to detail, and he doesn’t think the way she’s leaning against his doorframe is entirely for show.

A small, grim smile slips onto his face.

“How are things at Headquarters?” he asks.

She presses her lips together and gives him something that’s technically a smile. “I’m sure you can imagine it,” she says. “That was….quite something, Five.”

There’s an edge of reproach in her tone, and he raises his eyebrows to hear it. “Did you honestly ever expect me to do anything different?” he asks. “I hate you all. You made me into a killer. You’re trying to kill my family. Do you honestly think plucking me out of the apocalypse forty years after the fact could make up for that?”

“You were already a killer, Five,” the Handler says flatly. “And your family is going to die no matter what you do. I admit, I thought maybe - maybe you could let go of this obsession of yours, but I see now that that was naive of me. You’ll be fighting this battle until you die.”

Five grimaces. “You’re right about that one,” he concedes. He glances over at the candy. “Out of curiosity, how long do I have?”

Her eyes follow his to rest on the candy. A look of mild surprise flickers across her features. “Huh,” she says. “I admit, I didn’t expect you to figure it out so quickly. I probably should have. I probably should have done a lot of things differently.”

“Like remember your comment that I remind you a lot of yourself?” Five asks. He smiles, and he knows his eyes are flat and his grin is sharklike. “How did you like your coffee, Handler?”

The Handler breathes out a long, tense breath, and leans against the doorframe a little more. She looks at him with tired anger.

“I didn’t expect that,” she admits, and he knows it pains her to say it. “Poisoning the Coffee Machine? I never, ever expected that from you, Number Five.”

“That’s why I did it,” Five says.

It certainly went against every instinct he’d ever cultivated in the apocalypse. Everything inside him screamed against poisoning a source of hydration. He doesn’t know how he managed to do it without a panic attack. But - that worked in his favor. There’s no way anyone would suspect someone with his history to treat food or drink as anything less than sacred.

So he did it. And the practical side of things was honestly much more of a concern. Stealing the cleaning supplies was easy, but mixing them in the supply closet was difficult and tense work. Forty years is more than enough time to become your own pharmacist, but it’s not like he knows how to mix the perfect poison out of random cleaning supplies off the top of his head - it took time to figure out the right ratios. It’s really a wonder the Handler bought the idea that he didn’t know breaks don’t go on for hours, and he was so certain she saw through his lie for taking apart the machine, up until she drank from her cup. He’s very lucky she didn’t look at his face in that moment.

He doesn’t mind her looking now, though. Triumph is sweet, even if it turns out she used his own move against him.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that logic,” the Handler says. The expression on her face is sour.

“By the looks of you, and with how early you drank the coffee,” Five muses, looking her up and down, “It hasn’t been that long - for you - since I left. That right?”

“Just a couple hours,” the Handler confirms, her lips twisting. “A few others have succumbed first. The guzzlers. But I should be dying soon enough. It was quite ingenious of you to take out the medbay, we’re swamped. Not to mention the medical professionals all downed coffee in order to stay alert enough to deal with all the bombing victims.”

Five smirks. “Did they now.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your victory, Number Five,” the Handler says. There’s hate in her eyes now, real hate. Five used to wonder if there was anything he could do to put that look on her face, and he feels a probably-disproportionate amount of satisfaction at finally seeing it there. “I really do. Because it’s the only one you’re going to get.”

“I know how to avert the apocalypse,” Five bares his teeth. “Harold Jenkins. Dear old Gloria didn’t manage to send off the order to terminate him. You lose.”

The Handler looks at him.

And then

slowly

she smiles.

“No, Five,” she says, voice soft, eyes bright as diamonds. “We both do.”

Fear.

That’s what’s in Five’s chest right now. it’s fear, closing in on him and cloaking him in a familiar embrace and worming its way into his heart to devour it whole. He knows this kind of fear.

“What did you do?” he demands.

“I didn’t do anything, Five,” she says. She tilts her head. “That order? That was just a failsafe. Urging along the natural course of events. It wasn’t necessary. Harold Jenkins is already dead. He died yesterday afternoon, and you didn’t even notice.” She gives a cold, joyless smile. “The apocalypse is right on track, and you’re already down two siblings.”

The breath freezes in Five’s lungs.

“What?” he demands.

But his mind is already spinning, spinning, remembering -

“Have you seen Diego? We can’t find him.”

“For god’s sake, Klaus got stabbed less than a week ago and still no one’s seen him in days.”

“No,” Five breathes, staring at the Handler in terror. “No.”

She smiles, small and grim. “Yes.”

“They were there, though,” Five says faintly, his head spinning. No, no, no. “They were there, at the end. They were there - I saw Klaus die.”

“You saw someone die,” the Handler mutters, and it sounds like she’s speaking more to herself than to Five.

“What?” Five says stupidly.

It’s a reflexive question, and he doesn’t actually expect an answer, and most of his brain is still consumed with a screaming storm of how how why when how why how what where how how HOW -

But the Handler -

jerks.

Just a little. Just slightly. Just enough to tell him that she didn’t - she didn’t mean to say that out loud. And from the way she deliberately stills herself right after, she’s angry at herself for doing so.

Which means it’s a clue. It’s important.

Five - Five tries to think. Tries to shut out the shrieking inside his brain because no no no he can’t think of that. He focuses on the words that - that don’t make sense, because of course he saw Klaus die, of course that was Klaus, he wanted it to not be Klaus for so long because he saw his brother die, he saw his brother kill himself, and even if he was already dying he just left Five alone like that, but as the years wore on Five had to accept it, had to come to terms with it, because Klaus was already dying and in so much pain and completely fucking insane and -

- and -

….why was he insane?

That’s -

That feels important. Why does that feel important?

Because. Because Five thought - he thought that Klaus was much worse off than he is, right now. After finding that picture - that fucking picture - Five realized that Klaus really couldn’t be blamed for how fucked-up his brain was, not after more than two decades of heavy addiction. Reading Vanya’s book, looking at that picture, it was easy to imagine Klaus as half-insane already, brain chewed to holes by drugs and drink, and the apocalypse and the massacre of all his remaining siblings just giving him that one last push.

But he’s not half-insane. He’s sober. He’s sober, and sane, and he has been for years, and the apocalypse and massacre would have been traumatic but not enough to make him turn into the babbling lunatic Five found.

So - what happened?

You saw someone die.

That emphasis. Someone. Why emphasize that?

Unbidden, the memory surfaces again.

“Number Five?” Klaus says slowly, like he’s testing the words. “What - what do you mean? Number Five is….gone. He left. Years and years ago.”

Klaus….doesn’t say ‘Number.’

He never did. Not even when they were kids. He said ‘Two’ and ‘Seven’ and ‘Five,’ but he didn’t add the ‘Number’ part. Five never really wondered why. That’s just the way things were.

Except he said ‘Number Five,’ then. As he was dying and ranting and laughing.

And -

And -

“Ha - my head’s quiet. He finally shut up.”

Five is -

His head is spinning and -

He’s looking at the Handler and -

“Yes! Yes! That’s what - that’s what they said! Oh my god, oh my god, that exactly.”

It’s only been a few seconds and -

She’s straightening up and -

Five can’t move and -

“They said - they didn’t understand - it worked, of course it worked, this fucking family, they couldn’t hurt - ha -”

The world is frozen and -

Memories are layering on top of each other and -

Five remembers - he remembers -

“Number Four has started sleepwalking lately,” Grace says with a plastic smile. “We always have the most interesting conversations! But it’s not good for him to be wandering about at all hours, so that’s why I had to lock his room last night.”

“You can have conversations when you’re asleep?” Five looks at Four inquiringly.

He shrugs, uncomfortable. “I - I guess?”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law!”

“That wasn’t Klaus, was it?” Five whispers. “He was - he was possessed.”

The Handler stares at him down the barrel of a gun.

“Congratulations, Five,” she says coldly. “You figured it out. I’m afraid I can’t let you do anything about it, though.”

Then she fires.

Chapter Text

Vanya is starting to get worried.

She tries to tell herself that she’s being overdramatic. Clingy. Needy. It’s the last thing she wants to be, especially since this is the first meaningful connection she’s made with - well, anybody, really. She should not be acting possessive and invasive, wanting constant reassurance and care.

But she really is worried about Leonard.

It’s stupid, of course. She saw him last night, and she explicitly told him it was okay if he left before the family meeting ended. So he did. And that’s fine. The fact that the family meeting ended in the death of her mother is something he couldn’t have known. She knows he would have stayed and comforted her if he had.

It was quick, at least. They managed that much. They asked her to power down, and then - and then she didn’t even know it happened. Vanya knows Diego would rage, spit poison and probably attack them, but they had to. There was barely enough left of Mom to recognize them.

Vanya hugs herself, shivering a little. She checks the clock again, and her heart sinks when she sees orchestra practice is still two hours away. The memory of Mom’s still form, perched on the chair like nothing is wrong, rises in her brain again and she shakes herself.

It’s probably for the best she left before Diego came home. She doesn’t know what delayed him, but she can’t imagine he came back in a good mood, and seeing Mom - like that….it must have ended in violence. Against Luther, certainly, and probably Allison too. Vanya isn’t sure if he would have attacked her if she stayed, but if anything would push him to that point….

Yeah. It’s probably for the best. Honestly, Vanya would probably best be served by never interacting with Diego again. Their relationship was likely already unsalvageable thanks to the book. This just - cemented it.

So. She’s now down - four family members. Five came back, so he shouldn’t count, but….she thinks he still does.

Diego is basically lost to her, so that’s another one. She’s not sure she ever actually had Luther in the first place, so that’s one more. Which leaves Allison and Klaus, and they’re not….

Well. At least her relationships with them haven’t gotten visibly worse?

Leonard, though. Her relationship with him has only grown. It’s funny - she’s only known him three days and she feels closer to him than her siblings of three decades. Vanya wonders if that speaks to the strength of their bond or the dysfunction of her family.

Either way, though, Vanya can’t mess this up. She just can’t. Leonard is - charming, and funny, and isn’t bad-looking, but most importantly, he actually cares about her. He’s kind and genuine and nice. God, two days after meeting him she dumps a hell of a lot of baggage on him, showing up at his house just because she has nowhere else to go, and he didn’t even blink. He just made her tea and listened to her stupid fucking problems about her stupid fucking family. If that doesn’t prove he cares, what does?

So she should really trust that he didn’t mean to break his word and not call last night. He might have just forgotten. That happens, with normal people who don’t hang onto every human interaction in the hope they’ll be told it’s okay to exist. People forget to call each other when they say they will. Maybe something came up - he got lost in his work, or started reading an interesting book, or whatever.

The point is, she shouldn’t be upset because he forgot to call. As far as he knows, it’s not all that important to her and nothing particularly notable happened last night.

Vanya takes out her violin, and checks that the strings are properly wound. They are, of course. She always keeps it in pristine condition. But it helps pass the time and keep her mind off Leonard.

For a few minutes, anyways.

Would it be too much to go and see him? He must have opened his store by now. Vanya doesn’t want to act too clingy, but god, her mother died last night. She just - she just wants someone to comfort her over that, is that too much to ask?

But what if it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back? They have only known each other a few days, and she’s already dumped a lot of family drama on Leonard. He’s taken all of it with good grace, but there has to be a limit. If she becomes too much, if she scares off the one person in her life who’s ever shown genuine interest in her….

Vanya sucks in a deep breath, and brings up her violin. It doesn’t completely distract her, but getting lost in the music is the one thing in her life that she can honestly say brings her somewhere close to peace.

She plays for a few minutes, going through her part in the upcoming show. Her role is a minor one, of course, but she’s determined to do well at it. Even if she can’t ever be extraordinary. Even if her presence doesn’t mean anything in terms of the music. Even if Helen is probably right, and she’s not good enough at the one thing she thought she could have in life, the one thing she thought maybe -

Her bow slips.

She stops playing immediately, and stands in the middle of her apartment, shame battering against her skin. Of course. Of course she messed it up.

God, why is she so - conflicted this morning? Her emotions are closer to the surface than she remembers them being in a long time, and most of it is probably because of Mom and Leonard, but shouldn’t she -

Oh. Oh. Oh, jesus, she forgot to take her pills this morning. And - fuck, did she take them last night? She can’t remember, she was so upset about Mom the entire night afterwards was a blur. If she forgot, then and now, it’s really no wonder she’s feeling off.

Well, that’s an easy fix. Vanya sets down her violin and goes over to her purse -

There’s a knock at the door.

She blinks, and frowns at it. She knows she doesn’t have lessons today, so who -

Oh, of course. Mrs. Kowalski. Vanya sighs, and goes over to the door, preparing her answer. She hasn’t seen Mr. Puddles, sorry, no, really, he’s not here, have you checked the third floor, you know he likes the smell of the pot roast Ms. Anders always makes, sorry, he’s really not here.

Then she opens the door and comes face-to-face with Klaus.

Every other thought is immediately driven from her head. Vanya can’t help herself from gasping out loud.

Klaus waves his hand, the one that has ‘HELLO’ tattooed on it. “Hey,” he says, smiling a little.

“Oh,” Vanya says, and then she starts crying.

She thinks Klaus looks startled, maybe takes a step back, but her vision is blurry from the tears. She wipes at her eyes, because why is she even crying, but new ones just spring forth to replace them.

“Sorry,” she says, stumbling back a little. She wipes at her eyes again and hiccups. “Sorry, I didn’t - I’m sorry.”

She buries her hands in her sleeves, willing herself to stop crying like a weirdo, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know why.

Vanya hears cautious footsteps, and Klaus comes inside and closes the door. “Uh….” he says.

Pressing her sleeves deeper against her eyes, Vanya takes a deep breath. Then another. Then one more. It’s not - it doesn’t totally calm the storm of unfamiliar emotions inside of her, but she stops crying. That’s something.

Looking up, she sees Klaus has an awkwardly bemused expression on his face. He’s looking at her with something close to - curiosity?

Vanya blinks at him, a little wetly.

“....Sorry,” she says at last, voice as small as she is.

“Uh,” Klaus says. He gives her a grimace that’s probably supposed to be a smile. There’s a bandage on his temple. Must be from the mugging. “Okay?”

“It’s just - it’s been a long week,” Vanya says, blinking a little more.

Klaus nods slowly. “....Yeah,” he says, like he’s testing the word.

“I mean, first there was Dad dying, and then the whole thing with Five,” Vanya says, feeling herself start to ramble. “And then one of my coworkers said - it was stupid, but it’s been sticking with me. And then I found out about you, how you got stabbed, and no one told me, that’s - that’s why I didn’t come see you. No one told me. And then last night we -”

She breaks off, freezing. She looks at him in horror.

“Oh god. Do you know about Mom?”

From the look of surprise on his face, he doesn’t.

Oh god.

“Oh god,” Vanya says aloud. She bites her lip. “You - might want to sit down.”

Klaus looks at her, and there’s an oddly calculating edge in his eyes. But a moment later it’s gone, and he goes over and sits on the couch.

Vanya takes a deep breath, and sits down next to him. Klaus’ face is strangely blank when he looks at her, and come to think of it he’s been uncharacteristically quiet since coming in. But that’s probably because he apparently caused her to have a breakdown at the mere sight of him. She’d walk on eggshells around someone like that, too.

“So,” Vanya says. She swallows and looks down. “We - we had to shut Mom off last night. She was degrading too badly, and she might have hurt someone if she kept going. Well, someone or herself. It was - it was hard to decide. I’m sorry we couldn’t reach you in time to have you weigh in on it.”

Klaus doesn’t speak. Vanya almost looks up to see his expression, but she chickens out in the end. She knots her fingers together as the silence stretches out.

“Five and Diego didn’t come to the meeting either,” Vanya says. “So you weren’t the only one who didn’t get to vote on it. Five just - didn’t bother, I’m pretty sure, but Diego must have had something pretty big come up. If - if you see him again, could you tell him I’m sorry? I don’t think he’d accept it straight from me.”

She glances up at Klaus, and for a moment his face looks like he’s showing amusement -

But his face blanks out as Vanya blinks, and she shakes herself. She must have been seeing things. Klaus looks at her and nods, solemnly.

“Thanks,” Vanya says. She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “This week has been pretty fucked up, hasn’t it?” She looks at him again, scanning him up and down. “Um, by the way - sorry it took so long to ask, but how’s your - injury?”

“....Okay,” Klaus says after a moment. His expression doesn’t change.

Vanya waits, but he doesn’t elaborate. She feels her heart sink, and looks away. “Oh,” she says lamely. Tears burn in the back of her eyes, but she pushes them back through sheer force of will. “Okay. That’s good.”

Of course. Of course. She’s such an idiot. Hanging onto a paltry offer to ‘hang out sometime,’ hoping it was genuine, that she might be able to connect with at least one of her siblings. Clinging onto it for the better part of a week, imagining it could be anything more than an empty promise. Of course he doesn’t want to hang out with her. It couldn’t be more obvious if he shouted it in her face. The person in front of her barely acts like Klaus, her wild and emotional brother. He’s clearly bored, clearly disdainful, clearly wishing he was anywhere else besides having to interact with his dull ordinary sister.

“I -” she ducks her head, staring at the floor. “I’m glad. That you’re okay.”

There’s silence for another moment, and then Klaus gets off the couch.

Vanya closes her eyes. She breathes. He’s probably leaving.

That’s probably for the best.

She opens her eyes and turns a little, wanting to get one last look before he walks out of her life for good -

and

then

there

is

pain.

Her head explodes with agony, and she lets out a shriek as she falls off the couch. She brings up her hands to her head, automatically, and feels a slick wetness on the side of her head. She - she - what -

Head. She got hit on the head. What - how -

There’s a sound, a rustle, and Vanya moves more out of instinct than reason, and something swishes through the air where her head just was. An - an attack?

Vanya blinks open her eyes, everything strangely blurry, and above her - above her -

“Klaus?” she rasps, her voice wobbling and unsure.

Klaus looks down at her, his foot held a little in the air. He smiles at her.

Then he brings back his foot and kicks her in the side. Hard.

She hears something inside her chest go crack. She feels it a moment later, and gasps out a scream of pain - not very loud, because all the breath has been driven from her, but her brain whites out with pain and then flickers back to instinct mode, and she finds herself scrambling backward, hand on her side and staring in terror at - at -

“What -” Vanya gasps out, shaking, shaking, terrified, thoughts racing in all directions she can’t keep up with, fire in her head and in her side, “Klaus - what - why - Klaus, please -”

He doesn’t listen. He lunges at her, and she staggers backwards but his fist clips the side of her jaw and her hands come up of their own accord and push at him and he’s still off-balance so he topples over and - and -

She doesn’t know what to do - she doesn’t - her brother is attacking her, Klaus is attacking her, why is he attacking her - so she just scrambles back again and watches as he seems to land wrong, hissing to himself, and she can’t - she -

“Klaus?” Vanya says, and her voice is high and thin and scared, because she doesn’t understand, what is he doing, why is he doing this, but it’s the wrong thing to say because Klaus’ head snaps up, and - he looks angry, angrier than she’s ever seen him, not a hint of his usual playfulness, and Vanya’s heart is racing away in her ears so loud she almost misses Klaus fluidly jumping to his feet and lunging at her again.

“Stop!” she shrieks, dodging him by the skin of her teeth, and she’s pretty sure his hand snags a few of her hairs. “Stop, Klaus, please stop, don’t, please, I don’t -”

She misses the next dodge, and he hits her square in the face. She goes down, words cutting off, and before she can make sense of the positions of her limbs Klaus is straddling her and he punches her again.

Vanya tastes blood this time, her head whipping to the side, vision greying out, and her heartbeat is like a fucking drum in her ears and she feels Klaus’ weight on top of her and oh god, oh god, he’s hurting her, he’s really hurting her, her own brother is beating the shit out of her and Vanya struggles to look up at him and he’s -

He’s smiling.

She stares.

“Klaus?” she whispers. She can’t take her eyes off his face. She tastes her own blood in her mouth. “Klaus, why - why are you -”

He

just

smiles

wider.

Vanya’s heart is beat-beat-beating in her ears, louder and louder, blocking out every other sound in the world, and she watches Klaus bring his arm back like he’s winding up to throw a baseball, and his hand is in a fist, knuckles bloody, and her heartbeat is so fucking loud and her brother is still smiling and she can hear -

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Klaus’ fist comes down in slow motion

and

the

world

goes

white.

Chapter Text

The crack of the Handler’s neck is nearly as loud as the gunshot ringing in Five’s ears.

The Handler collapses to the floor, instantly dead. Five is very, very good at killing, even when his head is spinning and his world is turned upside-down and everything he’s ever known is thrown out the window -

The gun clattering across the ground snaps him out of his spiral. Five brings up his hand to touch his side, feeling the sticky wetness there. Only a graze, at least. He managed to jump fast enough to avoid a lethal hit.

Five looks down, and shit, that’s a mistake, because his fingers are covered in blood just like before, when he saw Klaus - not Klaus, that wasn’t Klaus - dying in front of him, blood burbling out of his neck and red red red red -

He’s breathing too fast, too fast, shit, he needs - he needs to calm down, he needs to think, because the Handler is dead, he killed the Handler, he killed the Commission too, but he failed to save Harold Jenkins and by extension his family and Klaus, oh god, Klaus was possessed he can be fucking possessed what the actual fuck -

“Five?” calls a voice. He should recognize that voice, he knows, but his mind is replaying Klaus’ last words, the last words Five heard for forty years, realizing that wasn’t his brother saying that, that was the man who killed his family, oh god oh god oh god Klaus was possessed and used to kill his family, “Five, I heard a noise, are you - oh my god.”

There’s the sound of running footsteps, and then Allison is in front of him, grasping his shoulders, eyes wide, darting between him and the Handler.

“Five, what happened?” she says, and he can only stare at her dumbly. Her eyes fall on his hand, and her face goes interestingly pale. “Oh god. Is that a gunshot wound?”

That’s not important. That’s not important, why is she worrying about a stupid fucking gunshot wound when Klaus can be possesed?

Allison looks down at the Handler’s corpse with mingled rage and confusion. “Did she shoot you? I didn’t hear anything - who the hell is she?”

Oh, a small part of Five’s brain realizes. Right. The timestop. It must have fallen the moment the Handler died. Part of him is fascinated at the implications, but most of the rest of him is still frozen.

“Come on,” Allison says, and she’s pulling on Five’s arm, taking him away from the Handler, giving worried looks at his side. “Five, can you hear me? We need to get you to - Pogo.”

At the movement, Five finally breaks out of his paralysis. He jerks, and sucks in a deep breath, and it’s only then that he realizes he hasn’t actually been breathing for some time. It takes him a couple seconds to remember how, during which time Allison drags him all the way down the hallway. She shouts for Luther.

With a snarl, Five rips his arm out of her grasp. “Shut up!” he snaps. “I’m fine!” But Klaus isn’t. Klaus isn’t. “Where’s Klaus?”

“What?” Allison blinks at him, uncomprehending.

“Klaus! Where is he?!” Five demands. His wound, the Handler, the Commission - they’re all forgotten. He needs to find Klaus.

“I - I don’t know, I said before, none of us have seen him in days,” Allison says.

Fuck. Fuck. Five sways in place, trying to cudgel his brain into figuring out what to do.

Yesterday afternoon. The Handler said Harold Jenkins died yesterday afternoon. Is he the person possessing Klaus? He must be, the apocalypse is coming soon and if Klaus was possessed (what the fuck) by someone who wanted to end the world before now the world probably would have ended before now. Somehow. Five can’t figure out how Klaus being possessed could lead to the end of the world, the absolute devastation that ripped apart cities and continents, but he can figure that part out later.

Right now he needs to focus on - on -

“Diego?” says Luther’s voice.

Five turns. He blinks.

Allison has pulled him along enough hallways to be close to the staircase going downstairs. Close enough to see a glimpse of Luther, standing in the front hall. He must have heard Allison calling his name and come running. But now he’s standing still, blinking at something in front of him, and -

“Five, you -” Allison reaches out for him as Five rushes forward, down the stairs, to see -

Diego.

Diego is there, he’s standing there, and he’s not dead, not like the Handler implied, not like Five feared, and he’s standing tall and glowering and he’s -

….covered in water?

He’s half-dried, but he’s definitely recently been submerged in water. His hair sticks up in spikes - more than usual, anyways - and his clothes are hanging wetly. He doesn’t seem to be dripping at the moment, but it’s easy to imagine he did so for most of the way from wherever he just came from.

“What happened to you?” Allison says, coming down the stairs after Five, frowning. Then she shakes her head, as if dismissing the question. “Nevermind. Five, you need to get to the infirmary.”

Diego’s hand is pressed against his throat. Or, rather, he’s pressing some fabric to his throat. He opens his mouth, jabs his free thumb into his chest, and says, glaring at them, “Ihn-fhhir-”

Then he can’t continue, and he bends over, coughing.

“What, Diego -” Luther says in alarm, moving forward. Five seems to be frozen.

Then Diego stands back up, and there’s blood on his lips.

Everything is very still for a moment. Diego sways slightly, blinking.

Then Allison and Luther explode into movement, and Five’s brain kicks back into gear.

“Get him to the infirmary!” Five snaps. “I’ll get Pogo!”

They comply, which is really a miracle. Five jumps away, ignoring the twinge from his side. Honestly, the bleeding is already almost stopped. Diego is clearly the priority here.

He calls out for Pogo every time he jumps, cursing the lost seconds even as he knows he’s the one who can find the old monkey fastest. He becomes dizzy on the fourth jump, but pushes through.

On the sixth jump, he stumbles, but he hears an answering query from a few rooms away. Five rushes out and finds Pogo in one of the sitting rooms, and the butler looks up -

Along with Grace.

“Hello, dear,” Grace says, smiling.

There’s a toolkit by Pogo’s feet. He must have fixed her. Pogo looks shifty, holding up his hands, and starts to say, “I was looking through Sir Reginald’s schematics for Grace, and -”

“I don’t care,” Five cuts in. “Diego is hurt, he’s in the infirmary and needs medical attention now.”

“He is?” Grace immediately stands, alarm on her face. “Let’s go, then.”

Finally, someone sensible.

They make it to the infirmary in time to see Allison and Luther having an argument, Diego sitting on the ground with his hands still pressed to his neck and a scowl on his face, and some random unconscious man in the infirmary hospital bed.

Five blinks at the man, but deems him unimportant. Obviously the priority is Diego here. He’s never been more grateful for Grace and Diego’s close relationship, as she instantly zeroes in on him and goes to tend to him, ignoring the spluttering her appearance produces from Allison and Luther.

“Oh my,” Pogo says, alarmed. He moves to open several cabinets, before pausing and searching through a pile of random items strewn across the counters. “Who has been messing around in here?” he says in annoyance.

“Diego, let me see,” Grace coaxes. Diego blinks at her, and gives a sigh of relief as he takes his hands away from his neck. Grace carefully peels away the fabric.

Five can’t help himself - he flinches. The gash is - it’s heavily reminiscent of what he found in the apocalypse. Not as enormous as Allison, or as deep as Klaus, but jesus fucking christ, he now knows what a full half of his siblings look like with their throats cut.

“Alright, Diego,” Grace soothes, taking the material Pogo hands her. “You’re going to be alright. It’s starting to bleed again a little bit, but not very much. Did you make it stop all by yourself? That’s very good, you did very well.”

Diego grunts, looking half-asleep. Now that he’s in the infirmary, being tended to by people actually capable of medical procedures, it’s like all the energy has gone out of him. Five can’t remember ever seeing him this lax.

Luther, however, doesn’t seem to want to let things lie. He steps forward and gets down on one knee, low enough to look Diego in the eye but a few feet away so Grace and Pogo can work. “Diego,” Luther prompts, using his Leader Voice. Huh. Five almost forgot what that sounded like.

Diego opens his eyes slightly, then wrinkles his nose and closes them again when he sees Luther. Five almost smiles, at that. Some things really do never change.

“Diego,” Luther says again. “How did this happen? Who did this?”

At that, Diego’s face - twitches.

And, suddenly, any humor Five was feeling is gone in an instant. He goes still, and his side protests at the sudden tenseness in his body.

“Diego,” Allison says, stepping forward when Diego doesn’t answer. “Please, just tell us what happened. And you,” she says to Five. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of telling us what just happened upstairs, either. Mom, Pogo, once you’re done with Diego, Five has a gunshot wound you need to look at.”

At that, everyone’s head turns to look at Five. Except Grace, who chides Diego for moving.

“That’s not important,” Five says. “It’s only a graze. I think what’s more important is Diego getting his throat slit.” He looks at his brother. “Did you fall into the river?”

“Mm,” Diego says, a guarded look on his face.

“Jesus christ,” Luther says. “How did you survive that?”

Diego shoots Luther a look, and then sucks in a breath with an audible rattling sound. And holds it.

….And holds it.

“Holy shit,” Allison says, rocking back on her heels. “Holy shit, that stupid power was actually useful.”

“Oh,” Luther says, blinking. “Oh.”

“He’s very lucky he doesn’t need to breathe,” Grace says, fussing over the cut. She tilts Diego’s head up a little. “Your windpipe is severely perforated! It only nicked one artery, though. It was very close, but on anyone else it would have led to suffocation even if they could stem the bleeding. It was good thinking of you to focus on that.”

Luther swallows, looking nauseated. Allison doesn’t look much better.

Five….steps forward.

“Who did this?” he asks quietly.

Diego’s face - twitches, again. This time, Five can catch the emotions that flash across his face, and -

And they’re exactly what he expected. What he feared.

“Just tell us, Diego,” Luther encourages. “We’ll find them, they won’t get away with this.”

“He’s right,” Allison says, her voice strong.

Diego doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even move. His face, however, flashes with those same emotions again.

Five opens his mouth. He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to have it confirmed. Doesn’t want to even imagine it.

“It was Klaus, wasn’t it.”

Everyone

goes

silent.

“...What,” Allison says blankly.

“Five, stop messing around,” Luther says.

“Really, Master Five?” Pogo says disapprovingly.

But Five is only focused on Diego, on the way his brother’s eyes are wide and shocked, staring at him, and the raw, open pain on Diego’s face.

“...Diego?” Luther says.

Diego closes his eyes, and gives a single, barely perceptible nod.

Five carefully breathes out.

“What,” Allison says again.

“What,” Luther echoes her, staring at Diego. He shakes himself. “That’s not funny, Diego. Just tell us who did this, don’t screw around.”

“‘M not,” Diego says suddenly, his eyes flying open. His voice is rasping and mangled, the words barely recognizable. He looks at them, pain on his face and a hint of tears in his eyes. “It wa’ Klaus.”

“No, he couldn’t have,” Luther says. His face could be substituted for a sign saying ‘does not compute’ and nothing would change. “He couldn’t have. Not Klaus.”

“It wasn’t Klaus,” Five says quietly. “He was possessed.”

Once again, everyone looks at him.

“....Possessed.” Allison says flatly. She looks like she’s three steps away from just being done with this entire situation. Diego, on the other hand, looks like Five has just handed him a lifeline.

“Yes,” Five says. He notices his voice sounds very distant. “I figured it out just a bit ago. You remember when we were kids, and he would sleepwalk? He never actually sleepwalked. He was being possessed by ghosts. And now he’s possessed by one who wants to kill us all.”

“That’s insane,” Luther says.

“I look like a teenager,” Five says. “Allison can control people’s minds. Diego hasn’t been breathing for what I assume is several hours. Is possession really where you draw the line?”

There’s a short silence after his words.

“But,” Allison says, blinking rapidly. “How did - why didn’t we know about this?”

“Does it matter?” Five says, a flare of irritation blooming in the icy pit in his chest. “What we need to focus on is finding him, and figuring out how to make that fucking psychopath stop possessing him.”

“I agree,” Pogo says, and Five doesn’t usually care for him but right now he’s just thankful someone is supporting his plan. “If Master Klaus is truly possessed, you need to come together and rescue him. Who knows what this spirit is intending to do.”

Luther looks at Five. “You really think it wants to - kill all of us? And use Klaus to do it?”

Yes, Five thinks. Yes, that’s exactly what it wants to do. That’s exactly what it did, in the future I jumped to. I saw you all dead, murdered, and I watched Klaus ramble on about how he killed you, only I didn’t understand, I didn’t understand that wasn’t him, I didn’t understand anything, and I’ve been trying to figure it out for forty-five fucking years and I never once realized it until I was handed the answer on a silver platter, and if we don’t fucking move it’s going to to happen again!

Everyone is staring at him again.

Slowly, Five realizes

his

mouth

is

open.

“What?” Luther says, his face pale as milk. “He - you saw - what?”

Oh.

Oh.

Five….said all that out loud, didn’t he?

“Master Five,” Pogo says, stunned. “You witnessed -”

“Shut up,” Five snaps. “Everyone just shut up. We need to focus on Klaus. Do any of you know where the ghost might have gone?”

From the look of things, no, they don’t. And they want to talk about completely irrelevant things like Five witnessing their deaths a few days from now. Five hisses and screws his eyes shut.

Think, think, think. Where would the ghost want to go? It wants to kill them, but they’re all here -

except -

Five’s eyes fly open. “Vanya.”

“Vanya?” Allison straightens. “It’s going to go after her?”

“Why?” Luther asks. From the look on Diego’s face, he wants to say the same thing.

“I don’t know,” Five snaps. “But she was there too, it killed her as well, so we need to get to her before it does.”

Grace raises her head. “Then what are you waiting for?” she says. “Go on - not you, Diego, you aren’t up for it just yet.”

Five doesn’t wait for Luther and Allison. They’d just slow him down. Instead, he jumps outside the Academy, and calculates how far Vanya’s apartment is from here. It’ll take a few long jumps, and he’ll be tired, so fucking tired, especially with this fucking poison in his veins, but he can’t risk leaving her alone a moment longer than necessary. He’ll just have to fucking deal.

So he jumps.

And again.

Again.

And one last time -

Only to arrive in ruins.

Vanya’s apartment is - for a moment he thinks he’s back in the apocalypse, and his vision briefly greys out, because her apartment is absolutely trashed. It looks like a bomb has gone off. Debris is scattered everywhere, furniture is broken, windows are shattered -

And there are two bodies lying on the floor, unmoving and smeared with blood.

Chapter Text

Ben wakes up slowly.

There’s something strange about that, he knows. It’s a faint, niggling thing in the corner of his mind, telling him this situation isn’t right.

Considering that feeling has never actually been wrong, Ben is inclined to listen to it.

He reaches back into his memory. Where are they? Home - no. They haven’t slept at home in months. They got shanghaied into the Vietnam War. So they’re in their tent, with Dave and the others?

Wait, no. No. They left the war, they found the briefcase again. They left because Dave got wounded and they had to get him help. So they should be - back at the Academy? He remembers something like th-

Oh.

Oh, god.

Harold.

Ben’s eyes fly open and he lurches upwards, though not very far for some reason his heartbeat skyrocketing -

Wait. Not his heartbeat.

Theirs.

Oh god. Oh holy jesus fuck, he remembers now. Harold drugging Klara (oh god, where is she, is she still tied up?), going to Vanya’s house, and using Klaus’ body to beat their little sister. Then there was - some kind of light? Something like a bomb. Ben’s never seen anything like it.

But it threw Harold out. It sent him flying, hitting the wall, and even if that fucker can hold on through some rough stuff Ben knows better than anyone that surprises are the tricky parts. Harold was thrown out of Klaus -

And Ben took his chance.

He’s back.

He’s back.

Oh, god.

‘Klaus?’ Ben says.

….No answer.

Ben can feel him. He can feel his brother, sitting in the back of their shared skull, and Ben is pretty sure he’s conscious.

He’s not answering, though.

‘Klaus?’ Ben says, gentling his tone. ‘Klaus, it’s me. It’s Ben. You’re safe now. Do you understand? Harold is gone. You’re safe.’

Silence.

Ben - Ben tries to moderate his breathing. Okay. That’s okay. That’s - to be expected, honestly. No matter if Klaus is safe now, he’s just been through probably the most traumatic experience in existence. No matter what happens going forward, that will have always happened. And Diego - Diego is still dead.

And - fuck. What about Vanya? Is she okay?

For the first time, Ben focuses their eyes on their surroundings, expecting to see Vanya’s apartment. Only -

They’re in the infirmary.

He blinks.

Yes, they’re in the infirmary. The Academy infirmary. The place where Dave is supposed to be, but Ben can’t see him anywhere. Instead, they’re on the infirmary bed, and they’re -

They’re strapped down.

Ben blinks. Again.

There are padded cuffs around their ankles and wrists, and a couple more seatbelt-like straps around their torso. Ben tugs one of their arms, but there’s no give. He’d probably have to break a few fingers to get out, and. Well. Klaus has been through enough abuse.

This is….unexpected, though.

‘Klaus,’ Ben says slowly. ‘Do you remember anything that happened? Did you wake up before me?’ That doesn’t usually happen, but nothing about this situation is usual.

Klaus doesn’t answer. Which is probably to be expected.

Ben gets a lump in their throat anyways, and he closes their eyes to fight back tears. God. God. He knew, he knew Klaus must have broken, he could have hardly done anything else, but Ben realizes he still held out the stupid, idealistic notion that he could return Klaus to sanity just by making him safe again.

‘Klaus,’ Ben says. ‘Klaus, can you understand me?’

There’s a - shift. No answer, but Klaus reacted some. Not much. Maybe just a response to being spoken to, rather than the words themselves.

At least he’s not totally catatonic, Ben thinks. Just mostly.

And, for the umpteenth time, God.

Then the infirmary door opens.

He should have expected it, but he didn’t, and Ben jerks against the restraints, opening their eyes. He looks at the door.

Three people file in. Luther, Allison, Five.

They stop within arm’s length of the bed - well, arm’s length for them. They seem to be trying to school their faces into blankness, but only Five is actually succeeding. Allison has a pinched, unhappy expression, and Luther looks the same but with an edge of lostness.

Well. This doesn’t look good.

They spend a few seconds looking at each other. Ben can’t divine any clues about what they’re thinking, but….they look remarkably unconcerned about seeing their brother strapped down in front of them.

Then Five opens his mouth.

“Vanya is dead.”

Ben

freezes.

Oh. Oh, no. No, please. Not Vanya too.

There’s another shift in the back of their skull, and Ben knows that however much Klaus is taking in, he’s definitely understood that. There’s a brief, tired burst of pain that bleeds out from the boundary between their minds, but then it fades.

It’s still enough to let Ben recognize, with agonizing clarity, that Klaus cannot ever come back from this.

Diego. Vanya. God, Klara and Dave as well. Ben has to push back tears at the very thought of them, because seeing them being hurt, being killed, were the most painful experiences of his goddamned existence. For a long, long time, watching Klaus get exploited and brutalized out on the streets (and in Ian’s bed) were the things that topped that list, followed at some distance by his own death, his brother’s disappearance, and the slow dissolution of their family.

These past twelve hours have blown that all out of the water.

And, of course, if Ben is in agony, he can’t - he literally can’t imagine what Klaus is feeling like. How can he imagine something like that? Being held captive by a sadistic psychopath, violated in ways that are literally impossible for anyone else, forced to watch his own hands inflict violence and terror on his loved ones?

Klaus has tried to kill himself before. Ben remembers each and every time.

But now, he knows, Klaus genuinely wants to die.

“Stop acting upset.”

Ben blinks their eyes open to see Five - glaring at him. He’s momentarily speechless, because Five has never, ever looked at him like this before, or any of his siblings. There’s real, genuine hatred in his eyes, and his mouth is an angry slash, and why - why is he looking like that -

“You’re not Klaus. Stop pretending to be.”

….Oh.

Oh.

Well.

They’ve figured it out. It’s kind of too late, but - they’ve figured it out.

At least they know the truth.

Five leans forward, eyes flat and cold. “You killed Vanya,” he says evenly. “You killed Diego. You’re possessing Klaus. Those weren’t very smart things to do, Harold.”

Ben blinks, reeling. What the fuck? How did they know about Harold? Didn’t he go by Leonard, before? How would they know about -

The letter.

God, the letter. They must have found Harold’s body and pieced together the letter in the trash. It spells out everything. No wonder they know, no wonder they’re looking at him so coldly. They think he’s Harold.

But -

The letter was addressed to Ben.

Holy shit. Holy shit. They know Ben is here - well, no, they don’t know he’s here-here, as in possessing Klaus, but they know he exists. Oh, god, if he can convince them it’s him -

He frantically shakes his head, looking up at them pleadingly. “Uh-uh,” he says, “Uh-uh! Beh! Beh!”

Their faces don’t break into realization. Instead, Five’s grows darker, and Luther looks progressively more uncomfortable.

“Lying won’t help you,” Five says. He looks at Allison and jerks his head.

Allison also looks uncomfortable, but she steps forward. It isn’t until she starts speaking that Ben understands.

“I heard a rumor,” she says, voice shaking slightly, “That you told us who you are.”

For once - for once - Ben isn’t alarmed when the rumor washes over him. He didn’t hate being rumored as much as most of his other siblings, because the sense of tranquility also affected the Horror (to an extent). He didn’t particularly like being mind-controlled, though.

But now? It’s the best - possibly only - way to get his siblings to believe that he’s actually their brother, albeit not the one who was born with this face.

All his worries wash away as the rumor takes hold. It feels - it feels freeing. He doesn’t have to worry about Klaus or Vanya or Diego or Klara or Dave - he just has to answer one simple question.

“Beh,” he says.

They all….blink.

“What?” Luther says.

“....Beh?” Allison says, scrunching up her nose.

“Do it again,” Five orders.

Ben is just starting to come out of the fog when he hears, “I heard a rumor you told us your name.”

“Beh,” he says again.

There is a long silence.

“....I thought you said his name was Harold?” Luther says, looking at Five.

Ben blinks away the last of the second rumor, and shoots them an irritated look. Come on, Five is a damn genius. Surely it isn’t too big of a stretch for him to take the facts of ‘Ben being a ghost’ and ‘Klaus being possessed’ and add them together, even with Ben’s current speech impairment.

“I’m Beh,” he says. “Come ogh.”

Five blinks at him, and then his eyes narrow.

Allison seems to be on the same track Five is. “Did he hurt his tongue?” she asks, leaning forward a bit, eyebrows furrowed.

….Well. They did know they couldn’t hide it forever. And while this probably isn’t the best time to reveal it, it would be very awkward and likely impossible to proceed without them knowing. Fuck, maybe they’ll give him actual writing instuments if they know.

Ben sighs to himself. Before they can ask, or he can talk himself out of it, he opens their mouth to show their lack of tongue, just like they did with Klara (was that really only yesterday?).

It takes a moment for them to realize what they’re seeing, but once they do,

they

all

freeze.

“What the fuck!” Luther shouts, lurching backwards, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Allison says, hand coming up to cover her mouth. She looks pale at first, and then her skin takes on a faint greenish tinge. “Oh my god.”

Only Five remains blank-faced. He actually steps closer, and his small hand reaches out to their jaw. He tilts their head down so he can get a better look inside their mouth.

After a few seconds, his eyes flick upwards to meet theirs.

“This is completely healed,” he says quietly.

Allison still looks greenish, and Luther can’t seem to stop staring at them, but both of their attention is drawn by Five’s words. “What?” Luther says.

“The injury,” Five says, staring Ben in the eye, unblinking. “It’s entirely healed. Wasn’t he speaking normally on the day of the funeral?”

“I - yeah,” Allison says. She doesn’t seem to want to look directly at Ben.

“He was,” Luther says.

There’s a thump against the wall.

Allison and Luther look towards it, alarm flashing across their faces, but Five doesn’t twitch. “Pogo,” he dismisses.

“Right,” Luther says. “...Pogo.”

“If it’s already healed,” Five says, sounding like he’s speaking to himself, “Then….Vietnam. That was you?”

Ben blinks in absolute shock at his brother for a moment, their mouth snapping shut. How the everloving fuck did he -

Oh. Right. Time mafia. They were after Five in the first place. It was so long ago Ben barely even remembered that part.

He nods.

Five stares at him for a few seconds. He ignores Luther insistently trying to ask what Klaus losing his tongue has to do with Vietnam, and Allison asking how something like that can heal in just a few days. It looks like Five’s brain is working furiously. Ben swallows, and opens his mouth again, because he has to make them understand who he is, he has to -

“Rumor him to only answer yes-or-no questions. Shaking or nodding his head,” Five orders Allison.

“Auh!” Ben says, shaking his head rapidly. No, dammit, that is not how you confirm the person in front of you is your brother!

But Allison only shoots Five a narrow-eyed look before turning to Ben and saying, “I heard a rumor you could only shake or nod your head to any question we ask. I heard a rumor you could only answer truthfully.” Then, to Five, “You will be explaining that later.”

The rumor washes over him, and he’s - he’s calm again. Very calm. This is nice. He can’t remember the last time he was calm.

“Are you a ghost possessing Klaus Hargreeves?” Five asks. Always straight to the point.

Ben nods.

Luther and Allison flinch minutely, and Five grows ever-so-slightly tenser. “Are you Harold Jenkins?”

Ben shakes their head.

Five narrows his eyes slightly. “....Was Harold Jenkins possessing him before? Was he the one who attacked Diego and Vanya?”

Ben nods.

“Oh god,” Allison says quietly.

Ben can’t see Five’s hands from the angle he’s at, but he thinks Five clenches them into fists. His face, however, remains perfectly blank.

“....Have you possessed Klaus before today?” Five says.

Ben nods.

“Were you possessing him before Harold Jenkins took over?”

Ben nods.

“Have other ghosts possessed him before Harold Jenkins?”

God, yes, however much Ben hates to remember it. He nods.

Five stares. He makes a small motion, and it takes Ben a second, in his rumored haze, to realize it’s a swallow. There’s a look of realization on Five’s face, deep in his eyes.

“A few years ago,” Five says slowly, “Klaus got sober. Was - did he get possessed then?”

Ben nods.

“And ever since then,” Five says, even more slowly, “Has he always been possessed?”

Ben - wobbles. He frowns slightly. He got knocked from Klaus a couple times. Does that count?

“Redo the rumor,” Five says.

Allison doesn’t say anything. She’s staring at Ben, her face bloodless with horror.

“Allison,” Five snaps.

She jerks a little, and repeats her rumors, her voice shaking.

“Has Klaus been possessed since he got clean?” Five says, staring Ben down.

Ben nods. That one, at least, is very clear-cut. Klaus has definitely been possessed since then, several times.

Luther makes a choked, wounded noise. “Four years,” he says, voice uneven. “That’s - four years.”

There’s another thump outside the room, like something impacting a wall. It must be some impact, because the floor - trembles, very faintly.

No one pays attention to that, though. Least of all Five, who has nothing but bleak horror on his face as he looks at Ben.

“....Is Klaus conscious in there?” he asks.

Ben nods. At least, he’s pretty sure. He tries pushing a gentle query at Klaus, but doesn’t get an answer.

He tries again, ignoring the faint retching sounds from one of his siblings. Klaus doesn’t answer, but he does shift. Conscious, then, even if still mostly catatonic. Ben nods again.

Someone grabs their arm, holding too tight. Ben blinks up at Luther, his face twisted into a mask of anger.

“Get out of him,” Luther says. “Get out of him now.”

Ben doesn’t even have to think about it. He shakes his head.

Luther growls, and spins to face Allison. “Rumor him!”

“That won’t help,” Five says dully. “Another ghost will just take his place. And if she rumors that one out, another. And on and on. And even if we got Klaus unpossessed somehow, it wouldn’t matter.”

“What? Why?!” Luther says. He hasn’t let go of their arm. It’s probably going to bruise.

“Because,” Five says. He’s looking at Ben, but his gaze is distant, like he’s seeing another scene entirely. “Klaus is….insane. Completely insane. Isn’t he?”

Ben nods.

And even beneath the rumor, their heart feels like it’s breaking.

Luther lets go of their arm, at least. He staggers back. He doesn’t seem to know what to say. Neither do Allison or Five.

Slowly, the rumor wears off. Ben blinks, feeling the warm, pleasant haze slipping away. Is - is something important happening? Something with his siblings? He looks at them again, trying to apply - context, emotions, to the conversation he just had.

Abruptly, Five turns around. “Come on,” he says, and his voice is flat and dull, completely devoid of life. “We need to talk outside.”

Things are slotting back into place, and Ben sucks in a deep breath as he reviews the conversation he just had, the questions he was just asked. Oh. Oh.

Five leaves the infirmary, and Ben gathers just enough of himself to open their mouth in time for the door to click itself closed behind Luther and Allison as they follow.

Slowly, Ben closes their mouth.

He….

He can’t actually refute any of what he just said.

And even if they’re mistaken about the cause, Klaus - he is insane. And….he can’t be fixed. Not now, not ever.

Ben leans back against the infirmary bed.

He stares at the ceiling.

And he doesn’t cry, but only because he’s finally run out of tears.

Chapter Text

Diego watches the tape again.

The audio isn’t great, and frankly the camera quality could be better. The angle is weird, and Diego would question why Dad thought that was the best place to put a camera if he weren’t occupied with more important matters.

Namely, the fact that the person shown on the bed isn’t his brother.

Luther and Five are busy shouting at each other over time-travel, and Allison is doing her best to comfort a distraught Vanya while looking seriously shell-shocked herself. Pogo fucked off to who-cares-where, and Mom went off to tidy up the house after making sure Diego, Vanya, Klaus and one Random Infirmary Guy were all stable.

Diego, on the other hand, reaches out and rewinds the tape. He presses play again.

“Were you possessing him before Harold Jenkins took over?” Five asks onscreen.

The person in the bed nods.

“Have other ghosts possessed him before Harold Jenkins?”

Another nod.

Diego’s gut churns.

“Diego,” Allison says.

He looks over at her. She has her arm wrapped around Vanya in what looks to be a supportive hug, but on second glance is doing just as much work to hold her up as well as Vanya. Diego suspects that only years of Hollywood training has managed to let her keep herself from crying.

Vanya, by comparison, looks a lot worse. This is mostly due to the fresh bruises that take up half her face, and a split lip that looks like it’s threatening to reopen at any moment. There’s a shaken, haunted look in her eyes, one that’s been there ever since they brought her from her apartment. Even though they told her about Klaus’ possession, and she watched the interrogation the same as Diego did, she still flinches anytime one of her brothers comes near her.

Not that he can really blame her for that. Diego has to stop himself from reaching up to touch his throat, and bandage covering it. His mind can’t help but replay the memory of Klaus - Harold, using Klaus’ body, but try and convince his hindbrain of that - slitting his throat and throwing him into the river. Diego still isn’t sure how he managed to stop the bleeding in time. And he’d prefer to entirely forget those long, long hours he spent stumbling around at the bottom of the pitch-black river before finding a place he could climb back onto land.

Even so, it makes his stomach turn to see Vanya like this. He doesn’t like her, still can’t forgive her for the book that ruined their lives, but despite his past methods of blowing off steam he’s never actually wanted her to be hurt. A lifetime of seeing her as the one normal, powerless person in the family, the one they, consciously or unconsciously, had to protect, made the thought of her getting hurt unacceptable. Her small stature just reinforces that.

Here she is, though, standing in front of him beat to hell. Worse, the other sibling they all made a tacit agreement to protect was the one to get taken advantage of in order to perpetrate it.

And that part has been going on for years.

“Diego,” Allison says. “You ran into Klaus a few times on the streets, didn’t you?”

Her question causes Luther and Five to look over at them. Diego only half-paid attention to Five’s rambling explanation about the apparent apocalypse bearing down on them, his years spent serving in some sort of time mafia, and how Random Infirmary Guy is probably a souvenir from the Vietnam War Klaus and his possessor apparently visited. Diego will probably spend a lot more time processing all of that later, but right now his brain refuses to focus on anything other than the fact that Klaus has been possessed for years.

“Mm,” Diego grunts, wincing at the strain on his throat.

“Did he ever mention anything like this? About - that it’s possible for ghosts to possess him?” Allison says, looking at the monitor showing the stranger wearing their brother’s skin.

“Mmn,” Diego shakes his head. He pauses, then picks up the pad of paper they brought out for him. But a few things make more sense, now, he writes.

“Like what?” Luther says, coming over to them. Vanya - doesn’t exactly flinch, but she presses closer to Allison’s side. Luther notices, and hurt flashes across his face.

Couple things he said on bad trips, Diego writes, handwriting sloppy and slanted as he tries and fails to get it out as quickly as spoken words. One time he freaked out and said he wasn’t safe, kept apologizing. At the time, he thought Klaus was scared of him. It’s not as much of a relief as he thought it would be to learn that that’s not the case.

“How could we not know, though?” Luther says, looking frustrated. “Now and when we were kids. Even if it just looked like sleepwalking at first, it obviously got stronger. And how come we didn’t notice he wasn’t his usual self at the funeral?”

“We haven’t seen each other in over a decade,” Allison points out. “As far as we knew, that was his usual self. And whoever was possessing him then wasn’t a fucking psychopath, so he just came off as a normal guy.”

Diego presses the pen so hard into the paper it tears. He IS a psychopath, he writes. It’s slavery. He fucking enslaved our brother and drove him insane.

They all flinch at that - except Five, who still has that flat, dead expression on his face. Diego can’t muster up too much sympathy for him, because he doesn’t really have any room left inside of him for anything besides a bright, roaring fury, tearing him apart and shredding anything softer.

Because. Because - he always thought of himself as the sibling who looked after Klaus the most. Not as much as Klaus needed, even he had to admit that, but more than anyone else bothered to. Checking up on Klaus, making sure he was alive and (at least momentarily) unmolested, was Diego’s way of reassuring himself that Klaus was as okay as he ever could be.

When he learned Klaus was sober - god. He didn’t even question it, because he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe Klaus could pull himself out of that pit, could make a real life for himself. As much as he was kicking himself for not knowing about it earlier, Diego was so fucking glad that Klaus was clean that he didn’t look closer.

He should have. He should have.

Because it was never Klaus at all. It was the incorporeal fucker in the infirmary, or maybe another one, and god how it hurts to imagine Klaus getting passed around like a cheap beer. How many ghosts, Diego wonders, did it take for Klaus to lose hope? How many times was he traded between long-dead owners, used and exploited and violated with no care for his personhood, for him to finally break and realize no one would save him?

“Klaus is….insane. Completely insane. Isn’t he?”

“We still should have noticed,” Luther says, and his voice is uncharacteristically small. “We - we should have noticed.”

“Well, we didn’t.”

Everyone’s eyes turn to look at Vanya in surprise.

“We didn’t,” she repeats, and even if her face still makes her look like a domestic violence victim (which, Diego is nauseous to realize, she technically is), she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, slipping out of Allison’s hold. “And that’s on us. But I think we should be focusing on Klaus right now, shouldn’t we?”

“Vanya’s right,” Five says, and his face is as blank as his voice. “We should kick out Klaus’ current possessor, and then ask him what he wants to do. He’ll probably choose suicide, but that might be a mercy at this point.”

The words -

The words genuinely don’t make sense at first. They play through Diego’s ears and reach his brain, but then they just - don’t process.

Then they do.

“What?” Luther, Allison and Vanya say in more-or-less unison. Diego lets out a slurred version that hurts his throat and nearly sends him into a coughing fit, but that’s not important. Because what.

“Five, we’re not - we’re not killing him!” Luther says, and wow, Diego hasn’t seen him looking that upset since Ben died.

“Jesus christ, Five,” Allison says, looking stunned. Vanya just shakes her head, expression horrified.

Five….actually looks uncomprehending. “What?” he says.

Diego grips his pen hard as he writes out, How about we HELP him instead of killing him?

“I’m fairly certain that’s the only help he’ll accept at this point,” Five says.

“Why do you think that?” Vanya asks shakily.

“You didn’t notice?” Five looks at them blankly. “When we were strapping him down. The scar on his wrist. A bite mark, right over his tattoo.” Five touches his own umbrella, probably unconsciously. Diego feels his own itch. “I didn’t realize, the first time I saw it in the future, but it’s a match for his own teeth. It was a suicide attempt, made in the spur of the moment and with the knowledge that he had to act fast. His tongue, too. I’ve seen it a couple times on the job. The stump clearly shows signs of being bitten off, likely by Klaus in a moment of stolen control and swallowed in an attempt to choke to death. Not to mention, I witnessed Klaus kill himself in the future I travelled to. I didn’t understand the significance at the time, but looking at it now it’s obvious he was possessed by Harold Jenkins and killed himself before - before Jenkins could kill me.”

Five’s face wavers as he says the last part, but then smooths out again. He notices them all staring at him.

“It’s only logical,” he says.

Diego feels -

He doesn’t know how he feels. But that blazingly bright fury inside of him has somehow evaporated into thin air. He doesn’t remember anything like that ever happening to him before. And the thing that’s replaced it is - heavy. Heavy and thick and horrible beyond imagining.

“That’s not - guaranteed,” Luther says. “Those were all - in the heat of the moment. It’s not guaranteed he’ll want to die if we figure out how to keep him from being possessed.”

“And how would we do that?” Allison demands sharply. Diego thinks that’s the most negative tone she’s ever used with Luther. “You heard what it’ll be like if I use my rumors, more ghosts will just possess him!”

“Drugs,” says Five.

They look at him.

A faint flicker of annoyance crosses Five’s face. “Drugs prevent him from being possessed. Obviously. He got sober four years ago, presumably after being injured and going through forced detox in the hospital, and that’s when this group of ghosts got ahold of him. And he stopped sleepwalking after he fell into drugs when he was twelve.”

Suddenly, Vanya gasps. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Allison says, looking at her.

Vanya’s eyes are wide, her mouth open. She brings up her hands to her arms, and blinks several times. Her eyes dart around the room several times, before landing on Diego.

Diego blinks at her. She stares at him for several seconds.

Then she darts out of the room. “Mom?” she calls. “Mom?”

“Uh,” Luther says.

Diego doesn’t really know either.

Less than a minute later, Vanya returns with Mom in tow. Diego’s heart calms when he sees her, because god, a day ago he thought she was going to be lost to him forever. At least there’s one unambiguously good thing that’s come out of this week. Although….

“Vanya,” Allison says, looking uneasily at Mom. “Uh, do you really think Mom should be here for this?”

Diego’s thoughts exactly. He goes closer to Mom, and seeing her smile at him he can’t help but smile back. He takes her hand and shoots a look at Vanya (not too harsh, though, because he can’t quite bring up his usual level of ire when she looks like that).

“Yeah,” Vanya says, staring at Mom with an unidentifiable expression. “I do.”

“Why?” Five says, scrutinizing Mom like he can see her circuits if he looks closely enough..

“Mom,” Vanya says.

“Yes, Vanya?” Mom says, smiling at her.

Vanya bites her lip and looks uncertain. But she forges on ahead anyways. “Do you remember when Klaus fell down the stairs?”

“- Of course I do,” Mom says.

“You mentioned something,” Vanya says. She darts a glance at Diego. “A few - a few days ago. You were talking about how you gave him morphine, after he fell.”

“I did,” Mom says. Her smile is slowly shrinking.

Diego shoots Vanya a stronger look. Yeah, he remembers that too. And the last thing Mom needs is a guilt trip about inadvertently kickstarting Klaus’ addiction.

“Mom,” Vanya says. She swallows. Diego notices a slow bloom of realization on Five’s face, but he’s more focused on Vanya right now, as she says, hesitantly, “Mom, did you give him drugs to shut off his powers?”

Mom’s face -

freezes

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dear,” she says stiffly. Her smile is struggling to stay on.

Diego feels a slow curl of ice in his gut. He stares at Mom.

“The stairs,” Five says, stepping forward. He looks at Mom, mouth pressed in a thin line. “That wasn’t an accident, was it? That was another attempt. He tried to kill himself.”

“No,” Diego rasps out. It’s torn out of his throat, ragged and bloody, and he shakes his head violently.

“Yes,” Five says, distantly. He looks at Mom. “Did something happen to him? Something to prompt it?”

Mom looks blank, which is her version of nervousness. She looks at all of them, hesitating.

“The night before that day is the last recorded incidence of Klaus sleepwalking,” she says. She wrings her hands. “He was very upset when I woke him up. I’m not sure why. But he calmed down very quickly, and left. Early next morning, he….”

“Why was he upset?” Five asks. “What was he doing?”

Mom blinks. “Oh, I’m not sure. I found him outside Diego’s room with a knife. He didn’t seem to recognize it, though.”

Diego feels like he’s been kicked in the chest, had all the air driven from his lungs. Which is a stupid analogy, because he doesn’t need to breathe and never understood how that might feel, but he does now.

God, does he ever now.

“Ah,” Five says, the only one of them that isn’t frozen. His eyes look very tired. “Of course. So when he tried to kill himself, you gave him drugs in the hope he’d take that route instead. Did you even - no, of course you couldn’t let yourself consciously realize what was going on, you’d have to report it all to Dad.”

Five sighs, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Somehow, for the first time, Diego really believes him about the whole ‘fifty-eight years old’ thing, because he looks around roughly twice that right now.

“Right,” Five says. “I’m going to go drug Klaus. And then we can get an answer about what he wants to do.”

Unspoken are the words, I’m pretty sure I already know.

**********

The guy possessing Klaus flips the fuck out when he realizes what they’re doing.

“Oh! Oh!” he shouts, straining against the straps like a madman. Diego has to look away from the monitor because his brain keeps insisting that’s Klaus there, Klaus with fear in his eyes and hysteria in his voice, as Five fills up a syringe and taps it.

Luther puts a huge hand over Klaus’ mouth, clearly thinking the same as Diego. He uses his other hand to hold down one of Klaus’ arms, keeping it still.

The guy possessing Klaus starts hyperventilating, screaming at them behind Luther’s hand, and god, god, even Five looks a little disturbed as he slides the needle into Klaus’ arm. It feels - wrong, awful, dirty, to deliberately give their addict brother drugs.

The drug doesn’t work immediately, and the ghost looks close to actual tears as he stares up at the people in the infirmary. Diego can’t help but imagine that it’s actually Klaus on the screen, and beside him Vanya shuffles her feet and breathes in deeply.

Then, abruptly,

Klaus

goes

utterly

limp.

Five straightens, peering at Klaus, and Diego -

Diego can’t stand it any longer.

He strides out of the room, hurrying down the hall, and he hears Vanya break and follow him, and he reaches the infirmary and shoves open the door.

Klaus doesn’t react.

“Diego!” Luther snaps, but Five just gives them a resigned look. Good, at least he knows Diego’s patience can only stretch so far.

Diego moves closer to Klaus. His brother is lying still, utterly still except for faint breathing. His eyes aren’t focused on anything in particular, instead just staring into space.

“...Klaus?” Vanya says. She hesitates, and then cautiously reaches out and brushes her fingers against his arm.

Klaus….doesn’t react.

“Klaus,” Luther says, obviously trying to sound firm. “You’re not possessed anymore. Look at us.”

He doesn’t.

“Four years without control of his body,” Five says, his face utterly blank again. He’s regained that flat, dead expression from before. Great, Diego just loves that expression. “I’d be surprised if he even remembers how to move on his own.”

“That - would a rumor help?” Luther looks at Allison uncertainly.

If Diego could, he’d say yeah, because obviously this can be solved with even more brainwashing and violation. He does his best to convey it through an absolutely withering glare instead.

“Let’s hold off on that for a minute,” Five says. He steps closer to Klaus.

Klaus blinks slowly. It’s clearly a reflexive action, just like his breathing, steady and regular.

Five reaches out and puts his hand on Klaus’ face, turning it to meet his. Klaus blinks at Five, pupils large from the drugs.

Five looks at him for a moment. His expression doesn’t change.

“Klaus,” he says quietly. “Do you want to die?”

Klaus doesn’t respond.

“Klaus,” Five repeats, his tone not changing. “Do you want to die?”

Diego thinks he might be sick.

Klaus blinks up at Five.

“Klaus,” Five says. “Do you want to die?”

Klaus blinks again. Then again, a second later. A small spark of awareness appears in his eyes.

There is

a

single

tiny

nod.

Then the spark vanishes. Klaus continues breathing.

He’s the only one.

Chapter Text

Ben would probably be creatively cursing out his moronic siblings in every way he can come up with right now, if he wasn’t currently preoccupied by standing halfway overlapped with Klaus and having a staredown with the flickering ghost of Harold Jenkins.

Harold is over in the opposite corner of the infirmary. Ben is happy about that, though not as happy as he would be if Harold was on the opposite side of the planet. Or just stopped existing entirely. That would be nice.

Since Klaus is drugged, it’s hard to catch more than a few flickers of Harold’s face, and Ben has to keep blinking as he phases in and out of visibility. It’s hard to read him, and Ben’s nerves are just about shot from having to keep wondering if the next flicker will bring Harold closer. The important thing, though, is that (for the moment, at least) Harold is not within arm’s reach of Klaus. He looks tempted, certainly, but being so recently dead means he still has enough cognitive functions to realize Ben will find a way to murder him again if he tries.

It is….mildly annoying, having to stand in the middle of the infirmary bed. It looks like his torso is sprouting directly out of Klaus’ chest, and there’s that familiar unpleasant pins-and-needles sensation. But Ben is not moving. He’s going to possess Klaus again the instant it’s possible, which is going to be fairly soon.

Because, on top of every other monumental screwup his siblings have committed today, they’ve also given Klaus the wrong dosage.

Or. Well. They gave him the right dosage. For the average person. But Klaus is not the average person. He’s been guzzling drugs since pre-adolescence. His tolerance is fucking insane. Ben has seen what it takes to put him down and keep him down, and those are two very different things. The drug Five picked out used to be a favorite of Klaus’, and that’s how Ben knows Klaus’ body will burn it out almost three times faster than their siblings are expecting.

He is not going to let Harold Fucking Jenkins take advantage of that.

Ben looks at Klaus again. There’s no change in his expression. He doesn’t really seem to notice his brother, just like he didn’t seem to notice the fact that Diego and Vanya are still alive.

Ben is still reeling from that himself, honestly. When he first saw them, he thought he was seeing their ghosts, no matter that he can’t do that unless Klaus is sober and/or in the driver’s seat. He was stunned, shocked, and if they’d come in before he was kicked out of Klaus he probably would have had a really embarrassing breakdown. Which, well, he still did, but as a ghost they couldn’t see that, so he’ll be taking that secret to his second grave.

He’s still not sure how Diego survived getting his throat slit, but he doesn’t really want to look a gift horse in the mouth. The bandage on his neck was distressing, and god, Vanya’s face makes Ben cringe every time he remembers it, but. They’re alive. That’s what matters.

If only Klaus could understand that they are.

“Klaus,” Ben says, making his voice gentle, approximating the tone Five used. “Can you hear me?”

Five got a response - just a flicker, but Klaus understood the words and gathered enough brainpower to answer. Maybe Ben will be able to do the same. He doesn’t think he’s flattering himself when he thinks he’s probably closer to Klaus than Five is.

Glancing over to Harold reveals him to be slightly more solid, but still stationary. At least there’s that.

Ben returns his focus to Klaus. “Hey,” he says. “Klaus? Can you hear me?”

Repetition. That worked with Five. Ben waits for ten seconds, and repeats the question.

It takes two more times for Klaus to finally take notice of him. Ben swears he can feel his nonexistent heart stop when Klaus’ eyes finally focus on him.

There’s a couple seconds of stillness, before Klaus gives a very slight nod.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Suddenly, Ben’s mind is completely blank. He realizes he didn’t actually expect to get this far.

Okay. That’s - okay. Ben can deal with this. He braces himself, and asks, “Do you know where you are?”

Klaus looks blank. After a moment, though, his eyes drift away from Ben and look around the room. He doesn’t turn his head, but he does give another barely perceptible nod after a few seconds.

“Oh,” Ben says, kind of stunned. Holy shit, an actual conversation. Kind of. “Okay. That’s good, Klaus, that’s really good. And do you remember -” Ben cuts himself off because yeah, he’s not going to ask if Klaus remembers what happened. If that doesn’t send him straight back into catatonia Ben will eat his own ashes. “Klaus, Vanya and Diego are alive. Do you understand? They’re alive.”

Klaus blinks at him. Insomuch as he’s showing any expression, it seems like he’s - confused? Maybe? Which, well, that’s reasonable.

“Vanya and Diego are alive,” Ben says, keeping his tone low and soothing, filled with rock-sold certainty. “They’re alive, Klaus.”

It’s incredible to be able to say that. Vanya and Diego are alive. They’re okay. Ben really, really fucking hopes Dave and Klara are okay, too. He doesn’t know where Dave is, but surely their siblings haven’t hurt him? They have no reason to. Hopefully he’s just been stashed away somewhere else in the house. And Klara - god, he hopes Klara is okay. He hopes Harold wasn’t lying about whatever she took not being fatal. She was still breathing when they left her, and Harold probably wouldn’t have bothered to tie up someone about to die, would he? Maybe - maybe she’s been found by the others, even, although Ben kind of doubts it because Klara definitely knows about Ben possessing Klaus and wouldn’t waste any time informing them once she caught wind of this clusterfuck. So, odds are she’s still hidden away in the same place Harold left her. Ben really, really wants to go find her, make sure she’s still breathing, but he can’t leave Klaus.

For fuck’s sake. If Ben’s family stumbled on a dead body in one of the spare rooms, along with evidence that their brother has been possessed by a psychopathic murderer, it only makes sense that they should search the rest of the house. They should have found her by now.

Ben doesn’t let any of that frustration show on his face, though. Instead, he keeps his expression reassuring, telling Klaus over and over that Vanya and Diego are not dead. Does he understand? They’re alive. They’re alive. They’re alive.

It takes a couple minutes for Klaus to grasp the concept, but finally he gives a shallow nod of understanding. Ben tempers his grin, but he can’t help but feel a brilliant explosion of relief that sweeps through him. He covers his face in his hands and takes several deep breaths.

Okay. Okay. The most important part is out of the way. There is no way he would have been able to even start to repair Klaus’ sanity without getting him to understand that he didn’t actually kill their siblings, but now - now he has a chance. It’s not a guarantee. Not even all that likely, if he’s being honest with himself. But it’s still a chance.

And goddammit if Ben isn’t going to grab onto that with both hands.

Click.

It takes a second for Ben to register the sound of the infirmary door opening. He looks up, blinking, to see Five stepping into the room.

...Huh. Did Five realize the problem with the dosage? That’s unexpectedly competent of him (a part of Ben points out that Five is actually quite competent in an annoyingly large number of fields, but since none of those fields are ‘human interaction’ or ‘understanding humans’ he decides to be petty).

Ben glances back at Klaus (and Harold - still no change) to see that the spark of awareness has slipped out of his eyes. Ben wonders if it’s possible to keep Klaus engaged and present continuously, or if he’ll sink back into dissociation after a while no matter what. Even if it’s the latter, Ben might be able to work on that as a first step.

Five doesn’t go for the drugs, however. Instead, he walks up to Klaus’ bedside.

And stands there. Staring. For several minutes.

“...You want to stop being a creeper and mention what you’re here for?” Ben says, nonplussed.

Of course, Five doesn’t answer him. But after another minute, he reaches out and rests his fingers on Klaus’ arm. His expression doesn’t change - or it might be more accurate to say that he doesn’t gain an expression.

“I saw you die,” Five says.

The words are - they almost don’t make sense when Ben processes them. He blinks.

“What,” he says out loud. Because….what.

“I saw you die,” Five repeats, almost like he heard Ben. He’s still looking at Klaus, though. “In the future. When I jumped to the future. I jumped to - three days from now. The city was in ruins. Most of the rest of the continent, too. Everyone was dead. The entire human race. Except - you. I came across you. The only survivor.”

Ben feels….cold. Very cold. He stares at Five, and he wants to call bullshit, he wants to, but Five isn’t - he’s not even putting any particular emotion into his voice. It’s just a dry recital of facts.

“You implied that our family survived,” Five says. “Whatever caused the apocalypse, they all survived it. But then someone murdered them, and you were the only survivor of that. Their bodies were there, all around you, and you were the only survivor. And not for long. You were dying. Rambling. Talking about - a lot of things.

“Now that I know, it’s pretty obvious that wasn’t you. It was Harold Jenkins. He used you to kill them, after the apocalypse happened. They couldn’t bring themselves to hurt you, not fast enough.”

Ben thinks he might be shaking, very slightly.

“You killed yourself.” And here Five has to look away for a moment, and take a deep, deliberate breath. He looks back at Klaus. “You killed yourself. That was you. Jenkins - he had a piece of glass, and he asked me to come closer, and I did. I expect he wanted to complete the set and kill me too. But you grabbed control, and used the glass on yourself instead. I didn’t understand it, until today.”

Ben can see that. He doesn’t want to, but he can see that, as clearly as if he was present at the scene himself. That is absolutely what Klaus would do, if he had even the slightest spark of awareness left.

“...I was angry with you, for that,” Five admits quietly. “For a very long time.”

There is silence in the infirmary for a few minutes. Ben uses the time to try and wrap his head around - this. He’s not sure he succeeds. He’s not sure he can succeed.

“I came back to save you, you know,” Five says. His voice is low, like he’s admitting a secret. Maybe he is. “All of you. And the world too, of course, but I’d be lying if I said that was my primary motivation. I worked for decades to figure out a way to save you all. I thought I could do it, when I arrived in this time. I really did.

“Never thought I was already years too late.”

“You weren’t,” Ben says quietly, wishing more than he ever has before that Five could hear him. “You weren’t, Five.”

Five just continues staring at Klaus’ face. Klaus hasn’t reacted to anything Five has been saying, and Ben knows he didn’t comprehend a single word.

Finally, Five blinks. He straightens his shoulders, and his face finally lets out a look of - pain.

Then he reaches to the side, and he

picks

up

a

scalpel.

And Ben’s heart freezes.

“No,” Ben blurts out, suddenly very wide awake, his vision narrowing in on his brother, every other thing in existence falling away. “No, Five, no, don’t.”

Five doesn’t listen. No one ever fucking listens.

His brother stares at the scalpel for a moment, apparently mesmerized. He brings up his free hand and presses a thumb against the edge. A shallow line of blood wells up, and he drops his hand, satisfied.

“Don’t do it, Five, don’t, you don’t understand, it’s not how you think, it’s not,” Ben begs, and he hears his own voice climbing with hysteria. “He can come back, he can, they’re alive so he can come back, Five don’t kill him that’s why he went insane don’t fucking do that to yourself Five don’t do it he can come back -”

Except Five doesn’t listen, he ignores Ben like everyone does when he’s a ghost and the drugs are almost gone from Klaus’ system but not gone enough, still that paper-thin wall of fuzz preventing Ben from taking over and telling Five to stop stop don’t kill him god don’t kill him it’s not how you think -

The scalpel is pressed to Klaus’ throat.

Ben is screaming now, and he’s not even sure what words he’s shouting and he’s trying futily to pull Five’s hand away and he thinks all the noise actually draws Klaus’ eyes to him and his brother blinks slowly but he doesn’t understand, Five is going to slit his throat and he’ll die and he won’t even know it’s happening and Ben is going to watch him die like he always thought he would except it’s not some random scumbag but Five who does it, Five with his brilliant brain and child-sized hands and haunted eyes that won’t ever clear, not after this, not after he murders his own brother, lying completely helpless with his mind shattered but it’s not beyond repair and Five doesn’t know that and he’s going to murder Klaus and find out it’s all for nothing no no no no NO -

Five’s hand trembles, shakes, and -

He pulls the scalpel away.

It clatters on the floor.

Five sways in place, looking - sick. Angry. Lost. All that and more.

He stumbles back from the bed, and Ben can see he’s shaking slightly. He whirls around, putting his back to Klaus.

Ben steps forward. He reaches a hand out, even though he knows it can’t connect. It hovers over Five’s shoulder.

“That was the right thing, Five,” Ben says. If he had a physical body right now, he’d probably have a sore throat from all the screaming he just did, but there are in fact a few upsides to being dead. Not, like, a lot. But a few. “I know it’s got to be tearing you up inside because you think - you think you should, but I promise you, you don’t. This was the right thing.”

Naturally, Five doesn’t hear him. After a couple seconds, he clenches his fists and there’s a flash of blue, and Ben is the only conscious person in the infirmary.

He breathes out, looking at the place where Five disappeared. Then he puts his head in his hands and breathes some more.

And then

behind him

there

comes

a

groan.

Ben freezes, and whirls around, so fast he would probably get whiplash if he wasn’t a ghost. He looks at the bed, and Klaus is - Klaus is blinking, there’s awareness in his eyes, and he’s looking around, and what the fuck, what just happened, Ben would swear on his own grave that Klaus -

But then

in one long, frozen moment

Ben realizes

the corner of the infirmary

is

completely

empty.

Ben missed the window.

Harold has Klaus again.

“No,” Ben whispers, staring at his brother, the one he just failed again. “No. No. No.”

But Harold doesn’t listen. He looks around the infirmary, taking it all in. He looks down at how Klaus is restrained, straps and cuffs. He tilts his head.

Then he smirks.

And

without hesitation

he twists his wrist, and there’s a loud

snap.

And Ben is watching

he can’t stop watching

can’t look away

frozen in shockfearhorrornonono

as Harold slowly

meticulously

wriggles

his

hand

free.