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Klaus undeniably was incredibly mentally ill. Depression, anxiety, insomnia, ADHD, and probably loads more that his dickhead of a father didn't care enough to investigate further on. But for a 13-year-old, it was kind of scary to have this much shit wrong with him. Then again, when was he ever "normal"?
Klaus stared at his full plate in front of him at the table, sitting on his bony hands and lightly kicking his legs. He'd been counting the meals he'd missed so far. This was the 20th, and he wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. The rest of the meals that his father had forced him to eat he'd only made himself throw up later. Oh, what fun! He stared down at his plate and chewed his lip, knowing if he looked up he might catch an odd glance from one of his siblings, or the sight of a mauled ghost lingering around his kitchen. He just stared at the dull carrots, broccoli, and chicken that sat on his plate, his stomach screaming at him to just give in, just eat Klaus! It won't hurt! He lightly shook his head, as if his stomach were actually speaking to him. No. He was too fucking fat. Too fat to eat, and he didn't deserve to eat either. He grit his teeth and bit back pitiful tears. No more crying, he thought, I'm too weak. Too weak, too fat, too much of a disappointment, right? Right.
"Klaus?" someone called his name. He looked up.
"Number Two, you know the rules," his father growled. Klaus stared into the eyes of his brother, Diego. He looked concerned and motioned down at Klaus' plate. Klaus just shrugged, and went back to staring down at his dull little plate, his legs kicking faster, chewing on his lip harder.
"Father, may I leave? I feel so sick," Klaus said, patting his stomach. His father rolled his eyes and huffed.
"You may go," he grumbled, and then went back to eating. Klaus smiled a bit, hopped off his chair and waltzed out of the kitchen and up to his room. He crawled up onto his bed and sprawled out, tears welling up in his eyes, choking up. He chewed his lip harder. He tasted blood.
"I-Idiot!" he whimpered, hands flying to his eyes as tears poured out, sobs wracking his body. "He knows, he knows, he knows—" he panicked, hyperventilating. He rubbed at his eyes harder, curling into a ball on his side and just sobbing. His stomach hurt so fucking bad, he was dizzy, exhausted, and the dark circles around his eyes made him look like a fucking raccoon. He wanted alcohol, he wanted drugs, anything, ANYTHING to numb him. He hated feeling like shit, he hated hearing their voices and being kept up at night by their wailing and screaming, cold hands passing through his body as they tried to claw at his pale skin. Klaus eventually ended up crying himself to sleep, and he surprisingly wasn't awakened by the spirits in his room.
-
Klaus woke up the next morning, his mother shaking him awake. "Good morning dear! I have pancakes ready in the kitchen for you," she chirped, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. She then spun on her heel and walked towards the door, turning her head. "Aren't you coming?"
Klaus sighed. He got up, and his vision went black for a second before turning starry for a few more seconds. He stumbled over towards his mom and followed her to the kitchen, sitting down at his seat. He wanted to eat, but he knew he couldn't. He wouldn't. No way—
"Good morning children," their dick of a father greeted, swiftly moving to his chair. He took a seat, and once he did, the rest of the children began eating. "Number Four," he said, staring at Klaus. Klaus gulped.
"Yes, father?"
"You are not to leave this table until you've eaten every single bit of your breakfast. Is that understood?" Klaus screamed inside his brain, furious, but outwardly he just smiled and mumbled an "of course, daddy dearest" that was laced with malice. Klaus reluctantly ate the pancakes, and excused himself once he had finished, resisting the urge to bolt up to his room. He casually walked to his room, shut the door gently, and once he was alone, sprinted to his bathroom in a hurry. He kneeled in front of the toilet and stuck a finger into the back of his mouth, causing himself to throw up his breakfast into the toilet. Unfortunately, poor little Klaus hadn't heard the footsteps of someone entering his room, and yelped, surprised, when he was lifted up by his collar.
"Number Four," the voice of his father growled menacingly. Klaus wanted to cry. To scream. He was absolutely terrified. "You'll be sentenced to some extra training for this weakness..." Klaus' eyes grew wider than the moon.
"No!!" he yelped, but a hand was slapped over his mouth. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his father dragged him out of the house and into the cemetery nearby. "Dad, please!! Don't do this!!" Klaus wailed, grabbing at his father's arm, trying to pull him, stop him, ANYTHING but to be locked in that prison again. His voice was sore from screaming and crying, begging for him to not take him to this damned place, but once his knees scraped the pavement after being thrown into the mausoleum, he knew he wasn't leaving anytime soon.
"You will not leave for a week. You won't be given any meals either, as I assume you're used to that by now," his father snapped, and Klaus could barely hear his footsteps on the grass walking away before the screams started. The screaming, howling, wailing, cackling. He backed into the corner, screaming his lungs out, praying that someone, ANYONE would hear him. Begging and pleading for help, the spirits howled with laughter, clawing at his skin, curling around his throat, tormenting him to absolutely no end.
When his shithead he dared to call a father finally opened the door, he ran out faster than he ever had before, sobbing. His voice was weak from screaming, and he felt so, so weak from not eating for an entire week. His entire body convulsed, his eyes were sunken in and glossy, his lips were unbelievably chapped, though he did have a dirty bucket of water to drink from in there, he rarely even used it. His hair was greasy and matted, and he looked bony as hell. His father looked at him, disgusted, and Klaus used the incredibly small amount of energy he had left to run home, what little adrenaline he had running through him pushing him to make it and not pass out, don't show any weakness, don't satisfy the sadistic fuck, and he nearly threw himself into the house, turned, and scrambled up the stairs, crying. Everything hurt so fucking bad. His head, his stomach, his legs, his throat, everything. He just ran into his room, slammed the door shut, sat on his bed and cried. He cried and cried and didn't stop crying for about an hour, and once he finally had gotten ahold of himself, grabbed the small stash of Cheerios he left in his drawer and ate maybe ten of them. That was good enough. He hated eating, loathed it, really, but he needed a little something every now and then to sustain him. Maybe three hours later, he heard his siblings enter the house, and he realized that THAT was why the house was so quiet. He could hear them walking up the stairs, and he held his breath. God help him if any of them walked into his room. He begged to be left alone. He knew they'd scream at him for being weak, make fun of him for looking like a walking skeleton, question where the fuck he even was for a week, call him a loser, a druggie, and he didn't want to talk to any of them. He finally realized after a bit that hey, he was fucking sober, and that was super weird. Klaus rummaged through his drawer once more, only to find that his drugs AND alcohol were all fucking gone. His stupid fucking father "confiscated" all of his shit. His release from this bitch he liked to call reality was gone.
"BASTARD!" he screamed, weakly throwing the bag of cheerios against the wall. He collapsed onto the floor, crying. He had nothing to numb himself.
Wait.
An empty smile was plastered across Klaus' face, and he rushed into the bathroom, looking behind the toilet. Ah, yes. A little pack of Marlboro cigs and a razor were shoved behind it. Sure, it wasn't drugs, but it was something, right?
He grabbed both of them, lighting a cigarette and grabbing the razor. He kind of hoped he'd just bleed out then and there, and almost laughed out loud at the notion, knowing his asshat of a father wouldn't let him die, not because he cared but because he needed his sick little experiment to stay alive. He knew he wouldn't want the press to find out that one of the precious little umbrella brats was a junkie, depressed, anorexic 13-year-old who offed themselves because dear old daddy was an abusive piece of fucking shit. That would destroy his image, and Klaus laughed at that too, realizing how funny that would be.
Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Klaus made sure to dig extra hard this time, relishing in the pain it brought him. A tear fell down his pale, bruised cheek. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. He paused to take a puff from the cigarette. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. He’d done this before, and thankfully, since he was so pale, his scars weren’t that noticeable. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. He laughed. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. He saw the blood dripping from his wounds and onto his bed sheets. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. He was almost satisfied. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Klaus felt happy with what he’d done, and admittedly, kind of better. He knew what he was doing was harmful, it was weak and stupid, but in all honesty? He didn’t give two shits.
Klaus sighed, went into the bathroom and wiped his arms with toilet paper. He flushed it, grabbed a towel, and headed out of his room towards the bath, quickly locking the door. He turned on the water, took a puff from his cigarette, and waited for it to fill the tub. Wait a second. Fuck! He forgot he had a stash in here! Klaus ran over to the cabinet under the sink and moved shit around until he found the alcohol he had poured into a shampoo bottle. His cumstain of a father would have never guessed. Klaus smirked, opening the shampoo bottle and taking a swig, relishing the buzz it left on his lips, craving more, more, more. Klaus stopped the bath once it was at the perfect level, put his headphones on, and drank some more, sighing. He was so content and so drunk that he’d even forgotten to take his shirt and shorts off. He didn’t care anyway. Unfortunately for little Klaus, he hadn’t heard his asshat of a brother, Luther, break down the door, and yelped when his headphones were ripped off of him. Oh shit. All six of his other siblings were surrounding the tub, and Klaus just smiled, as if nothing was wrong.
“Where the hell were you?” Luther demanded, scowling down at frail little Klaus. Yeah, Luther was kind of skinny for a 13-year-old, but Klaus knew how strong he really was.
“Whatever do you mean, dearest Number One?” Klaus asked, smiling drunkenly up at Luther. His face twisted in anger.
“You’re drunk. Great. Probably another fucking drug spree, huh?” Luther scoffed. “You’re pathetic Klaus, really,” he grumbled, turning and leaving the bathroom, fuming. Allison followed him, calling out for him to wait, or come back, but Klaus knew she only wanted to be with Luther, not her junkie brother right now. Klaus just laughed. He wished he was on a fucking drug spree.
“What do you mean you wish you were on a drug spree?” Ben asked, trying to sound stern, but ultimately sounding extremely concerned. Shit, did he say that out loud?
“Uh-”
“What’s with all the bruises and scratches too?” FIve pressed, quirking a brow. Ah, the wonderful marks the damned had left on him! How sweet of them!
“A-and why d-do you l-look so th-th-thin?” Diego stammered. Klaus’ heart twisted. He knew Diego only stuttered when his nerves were acting up.
But Klaus’ heart started racing with fear as he heard another pair of footsteps enter the bathroom, only to realize it was thankfully Allison and not his demon of a father.
“Sorry I had to leave there, Luther’s really mad,” she said, frowning. “I only came back because it doesn’t really look to me like you were out on some drug spree, Klaus,” she said, eyeing him carefully. “Yes, you’re drunk right now, but you’re covered in bruises, scratches, you look like a skeleton, you’re wearing your clothes in the tub, and for some reason, the bath water looks like there’s blood in it. I don’t want excuses, Klaus,” she said, “I want to know what the hell is wrong.”
Klaus was taken aback by this. He didn’t expect Allison to come back, though they were pretty damn close, he knew she probably cared about Luther more than him anyway. Klaus sighed. He was cornered, and his siblings were NOT idiots like him. He couldn’t lie his way out of this because his brain was too foggy from fatigue and being drunk to actually think of a believable excuse. Should he finally tell his siblings the torture their father was putting him through? Would they really believe him?
Klaus sighed once more. He hated telling the truth so, so much. Lying had become almost a second nature to him. “Ffffine,” he grumbled, tilting his head back and groaning dramatically. He looked at the five remaining siblings in the bathroom. “First things first, I guess. I wasn’t y’know, actually doing drugs like dear Luther decided I was doing. No, no, instead, I was trapped in a fucking mausoleum for a week with nothing but a bucket of dirty water. I mean, did you expect anything better from our asshat of a father?” he said with a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I only got drunk ‘cause I’m fucking sick of hearing the screaming, the wailing, it’s just so much noise…” he groaned. He looked back at his siblings. “Ah, right! You’re not satisfied yet,” he said before they could interject. “The bruises and scratches are also from the sweet little demons in the tomb dearest daddy locked me in! They really love to play!” Klaus said, gritting his teeth. “One even tried to choke me! That’s why I’ve got this nice bruise on my neck. Isn’t it splendid?” Klaus slurred sarcastically, spiteful about the whole situation. His siblings all looked shocked, and like they didn’t want to believe what Klaus was saying but they knew it was true. “Satisfied yet?”
“N-n-no,” Diego piped up. He looked like he was on FIRE inside. He was visibly shaking, fists clenched, teeth grinding together. “W-why is th-there b-bl-blood in th-the bath, Kl-Klaus? A-an-and why h-h-haven’t you been e-eating at a-all this m-m-m….m-month,” Diego said, struggling to get his words out. Klaus’ stomach sank. He had no excuse for that. The scratches on his legs were very obviously healed, he had no signs of a nose bleed, he couldn’t say it was because he was sick because he would have been quarantined by his shithead dad, he literally had no excuse. Five had been studying the water, and this time, he spoke.
“Show us your arms,” he said. Klaus looked at him, pretending to be confused, but he was really fucking scared. He knew Five was the smartest of the bunch, the most observant. He knew he’d noticed the source of the blood was Klaus’ arms, and Klaus inwardly cursed.
“Why?” he asked with a smile, pretending to be clueless. Five didn’t smile. In fact, it only made him look angrier.
“Klaus, so help me I will rip your arms out of the fucking bath myself and tear off your sleeves if you don’t do it yourself,” Five snapped. He had an odd, but scary way of showing concern, but Klaus still didn’t want to. He knew at this point, he wouldn’t be able to get past his siblings without them seeing his cuts and his scars. Klaus’ smile fell, and he grit his teeth. He pulled his sopping arm out of the water and peeled up his wet sleeve, only showing the top of his arm.
“See? Nothing!” he chirped. Five grabbed his arm and twisted it so that the siblings could see the underside. Klaus could feel his grip weaken slightly when he saw the cuts, and he quickly took in the reactions of his siblings. He was scared they were going to be angry and disappointed, but they seemed to be anything but. Diego was fucking tearing up, Allison had her mouth open in shock and eyes full of concern, Ben looked like he wanted to launch himself at Klaus and hug him, Five tried to look angry but Klaus swore he caught a look of heartbreak in his eyes, and Vanya, poor little Vanya had tears coming down her cheeks and hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Klaus pulled his arm away from Five and looked down at the water, wishing he could fucking disappear. Klaus hated that he had to put his siblings through this, he hated that he had to make them upset.
“I-Idiot!” Five yelped. Klaus looked up. Five looked frustrated as hell. “Don’t you know we fucking care about you?? God, what the FUCK, Klaus?!” Five exclaimed. He didn’t sound like he was mad at Klaus for cutting, more like he was mad he wasn’t able to prevent it, or know beforehand. “Don’t tell me...you’ve been starving yourself too –– wait. Don’t tell me that dad caught you and that’s why you were punished for a week? Goddammit, Klaus!” Five ran his fingers through his hair, turning around, pacing for a moment, and then returning to his spot at the edge of the tub. Klaus knew he could tell by his expression that he had it on the button. He fucking hated how smart Five was sometimes.
“Why didn’t you talk to us, Klaus?” Allison asked, voice soft and full of concern. She gently reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, that’s simple. I thought maybe you’d scowl at me for being weak, maybe not believe me? Usual asshole things,” Klaus said, shrugging. This idea of his siblings was mostly from his father. ‘You think they care enough about you,’ he had said, ‘to actually look for you? Do you think they’ll wonder where you’ve gone? You truly are an insolent fool, Number Four,’ his father had said, finishing his statement with a dry chuckle.
“Why would any of us do that, Klaus?” Vanya piped up, her voice just so, so sad. Klaus wanted to hug his little baby sister, and yes, she was his baby sister, because fuck that same day shit. Poor little Vanya had to see this, instead of playing her violin and Klaus sitting there and listening in awe, trying and failing to hum along to the wonderful tune.
“I don’t know, don’t you guys, y’know, not care about me? Aren’t I just a stupid junkie? A useless drunk? Hell, I’m only 13 and I’m already a shithead! Aren’t you like, disappointed? Angry?? Anything???” He cried, desperately searching their faces. His father put him into this mindset. His father made him think like this. His father was a colossal shithead . Klaus finally, FINALLY just broke down in front of his siblings, sobbing like he never had before at the realization that his father had trained him to think his siblings didn’t care, that they hated him as much as he did, that they wouldn’t bat an eye if they found him dead in an alley. He manipulated him into thinking this way. It was his fault that Klaus did drugs, that Klaus was emotionally stunted, that Klaus never opened up in fear of being scolded or laughed at. He honestly wanted to punch his douchebag he dared to even call a father right now. Klaus only cried harder when he felt one sibling hug him, then the next, and then the next, and then all of them were collectively hugging him, and he felt bad because he could hear most of them crying, and he was angry because he was the one that made them cry.
Klaus hated seeing them cry.
Once they pulled away, he gave a shaky sigh, rubbing the tears away from his eyes.
“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled, dark curls falling over his eyes as he looked up at the five siblings surrounding the tub.
“What are you even sorry for, Klaus? None of this is your fault,” Ben said, sounding utterly heartbroken. Klaus frowned. Ben was one of the sweetest siblings here, and he thought it was silly of him now to think that he only thought Ben hated him and only hung around him because he had nothing better to do, and he told all of Klaus’ secrets to dad, and-
‘No,’ Klaus thought, ‘Your siblings...love you. Stop.’
Klaus kind of laughed, trying to smile. “I don’t know. I just really hate seeing you guys this sad,” he said, shrugging. “Now, I’m kind of...not liking being wet in my clothes and feeling trapped in a tub, of all things,” he said, still smiling. “Could I please get out now, dearest siblings?” Klaus said, quirking a brow. He kind of laughed, and tried to lighten the mood, which actually kind of worked. Five barely smiled and rolled his eyes, stepping away from the tub. Klaus jumped out and stretched, wringing the bottoms of his shorts out onto the floor. “That’s much better. Now, can we forget about this for a bit and maybe watch some movies?” Allison smiled, and Klaus knew that she had WAY too many great movies stored in her room, along with a little DVD player that mom had gotten her. Klaus smiled, and the six siblings walked to Allison’s room, Klaus excusing himself so he could change into dry clothes because he was beginning to shiver, and changed into some soft pajamas. The six siblings all gathered in Allison’s room, Allison going to invite Luther but he just growled that he didn’t want to see Klaus, which actually, for once in her goddamn life, made her angry at Luther! They made a small pillow and blanket fort and all squished together to get a good view of the movie. Diego was next to Klaus and had his arm linked around his, almost worried like if he let go, Klaus would vanish into thin air. Vanya was on the other side of Klaus, tiny hand holding onto his. Five was at the end, with Ben on his left, who was next to Diego and had his little hand holding onto Klaus’, too. Five just kept looking at Klaus with hints of worry and concern in his eyes, and Allison had her hand on top of Vanya’s, smiling softly at her little brother, a smile that reminded him of his mother’s. Kind, caring, soft. And for once, for fucking once in his so far awful life, Klaus realized that he was loved. He realized that his siblings really fucking cared about him, and it made him so happy he felt like crying again, but he’d spare them of his tears. He just smiled, happily sinking into the very comfortable blankets and pillows beneath him, and stared at the movie that nobody seemed to be paying much attention to.
“I love you guys. A lot,” Klaus said, breaking the very comfortable silence. “Thanks for actually caring about me, unlike a very special someone in this household whose name begins with an R, but oh! I’ve said too much,” he said, holding a hand over his mouth. This earned a few giggles from his siblings.
“We love you too, Klaus,” Allison piped up, squeezing his and Vanya’s hands.
“Yeah, w-we do. D-don’t ever do s-s-something like th-that ever a-a-again,” Diego stammered, trying to sound stern but ultimately coming off as very concerned. His grip tightened around Klaus’ arm.
“I totally third that, Klaus,” Ben said, staring at him with big, brown eyes. Little Ben, who had always been his anchor. His shoulder to cry on. The one that came into his room and held his hand and comforted him when he woke up screaming. How could he have ever doubted him? He squeezed Klaus’ hand, too, and smiled.
Five just huffed, grumbling an ‘I love you, I guess,’ under his breath, but Klaus smiled, knowing that Five meant more than that based on the way he’d been acting. He just knew that his brother was too emotionally stunted to actually open himself up to Klaus, let alone anyone in this household. Klaus laughed, but this time, it was a genuine, carefree, happy laugh.
“Let’s get back to watching this movie, yeah? Gosh, you guys are so distracting ,” Klaus joked, faking annoyance. He earned a soft punch from Ben, who began laughing, which triggered Vanya to start giggling, and then Allison, and then soon the children were enveloped in giggles, laughing like actual children, carefree like actual children, feeling like actual children , even if it was just for a moment. They all calmed down after a minute or two, watched the movie, played truth or dare, and then played a few card games, in which Five won most, but Klaus actually fucking won one , and he absolutely relished in rubbing it in Five’s face. Even though Klaus had started off having a horrendous day, hell, even an extremely shitty and traumatizing week, he was so glad that his siblings were here for him, and he knew, if they ever needed him, he’d be there for them in a heartbeat. You know why? Because he loved them.
Except maybe Luther.
He could definitely live without him.