Chapter Text
1. 8 years old
Klaus
His name, hissed and spat at him like a curse, was the only thing he could comprehend. Their words mixed into an unintelligible slur, a mess of foreign tongues, and the sound of their screams resonated inside his skull. He couldn’t understand them. Didn’t they know that? What did they want from him?
Klaus KLAUS
Their faces, pale and twisted, were the only thing he could see amongst a dark void of nothingness. He blinked repeatedly, tried to wish them away. It didn’t help. He closed his eyes shut so tight it hurt, but the image of their empty sockets, cracked skin, their horrible wounds and rotting flash remained. Even when tears started to blur his vision, he could still see them, clear as day.
KLAUSKLAUSKLAUSKLAUSKLAUS
He couldn’t stand this any longer. But even if the ghosts weren’t there, fuelling the fear that kept him rocking in the corner, all he would find was a locked door and cold, wet stone. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He screamed, wondering if someone would hear him, wondering if anyone would care.
Klaus!
They’re closing in now. Their hands are grabbing at his clothes, their fingers beckon him into the dark. Somehow he can feel their breath on his skin. Their faces melt into something familiar. Vanya. Diego. Luther. Ben. Their skin is dripping of their skulls.
“Klaus!”
He wakes up gasping for air and drowning in sweat. He immediately senses that there’s someone in his room, but Klaus doesn’t dare to open his eyes. Even though there’s clearly a mattress beneath him and his legs are tangled in blankets, he won’t risk the chance that once he does, he will once again find himself face to face with some undead spectre in the stone-cold dark. So instead, he trembles, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Come on, Klaus,” a soft voice urges. “Please, just look at me.”
He feels a dip in his mattress; a person, not a ghost.
Klaus carefully cracks open one eye. It’s Ben, sitting at the foot of his bed. He smiles at him, and Klaus lets out a shaky breath.
“There you go,” Ben scoots a little closer, placing his hand next to Klaus’ leg. Klaus hates how the action makes him flinch.
“You know you talk in your sleep?” Ben asks innocently.
Klaus just stares at his brother.
Ben shrugs. “The others didn’t hear you, I think. I just, you know- couldn’t sleep.”
As if on cue, the skin beneath Ben’s shirt starts rolling and writhing, and Klaus can’t help but wince. Ben’s hand flies up to his stomach, looking a bit embarrassed.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“It’s fine,” Klaus croaks, pulling up his knees to his chest and wrapping is arms around them. “Go back to sleep.”
But Ben doesn’t seem intended to go anywhere. “Is this about your training session, last night?” he asks, “When you went out with dad?”
Instead of answering, Klaus chokes out a sob.
Ben immediately kicks into gear and shifts so he’s on his knees, looking down over Klaus with an almost overbearing empathy in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
Ben slowly moves in closer to where Klaus is sitting tensed up against the headboard of his bed, his hand raised in front of him like he’s approaching a wounded animal, and even Klaus is surprised when he pushes Ben away the moment his brother’s hand comes into contact with his skin. He didn’t want to do it! It was as if Klaus lashed out on instinct, like a trap being sprung, but there’s a definite hurt in his brother’s eyes as he’s sent tumbling backwards.
But it’s okay, isn’t it? Because he’s not supposed to show weakness. He’s not supposed to show fear.
You must become the master of your own life, number four. Or it will become the master of you.
And he tries, he really does; but the moment he thinks back on those hours spend entombed he’s a wailing mess, and the feeling of disappointment settling at his core makes him want to throw up.
Klaus buries his head in the space between his chest and his knees, body shaking with sob, wishing Ben would just leave already. He doesn’t want his brother’s sympathy, doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s learned one thing from his father’s training sessions, and it’s that he’s completely alone in this. They all are.
So why does he constantly feel like he’s bursting at the seams, while his siblings are only growing stronger?
Klaus lifts his head ever so slightly to glance at Ben. Kind-hearted, quiet Ben. Ben, who always laughs at Klaus’s jokes and never rolls his eyes at his antics. Ben, who always picks Klaus first when they’re all playing cops and robbers during their precious 30 minutes of Sunday play time. Ben, who despite the monsters living under his skin cried when Luther crushed that spider last week, who’s like a little brother to Klaus even though they’re the same age, and who, right now, is apparently refusing to leave his side.
And Ben really doesn’t deserve this, does he? He shouldn’t have to worry about Klaus’ problems when he’s got literal demons to deal with every day. But Klaus, as usual, is completely incapable of handling anything on his own, a simple training exercise leaving him in shambles. It’s not for the first time that Klaus finds himself wishing he was like Vanya: nothing special, extra ordinary, just a fly on the wall to the superpowered freakshow that is the Hargreeves household. Klaus wonders if Vanya knows how lucky she is.
All the while Ben’s just sitting there, waiting on him, fists clenched in his lap and back straightened unnaturally. Klaus thinks he’s trying to mimic determination. He can’t quite find it in himself to tell Ben to leave, so he settles on laying on his side with his back turned towards him in the hopes that he’ll get the signal and leave by himself.
For a second Klaus thinks his plan has worked when he feels Ben’s weight leaving the bed, and Klaus can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. But then his blankets are being lifted, and a warm body slides in next to his own.
“Go away, Ben,” Klaus snaps, though he fails to infuse his words with any anger, “Seriously, go to bed, I’m telling dad.” He won’t, of course, he’s not a tatter-tail like Luther, but Klaus hoped it would scare of his ever-diligent brother. Instead, a set of arms wrap around Klaus’ still trembling body.
“Ben-”
“Go to sleep,” Ben's voice sounds muffled from his face being pressed against Klaus’ back.
Klaus sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve. He’s starting to run out of excuses.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he tries.
“I’ll leave before Mom comes to wake us up,” Ben assures him, disregarding Klaus’ last resort. “Seriously, it’s fine. Try to sleep.”
Klaus grunts in protest and forces his eyes, still wet and painful from crying, shut tight. He’s honestly to restless right now to really fall asleep.
But he would be lying if he’d say the warmth of Ben’s body against his isn’t comforting.