Chapter Text
Klaus is three days into what is easily, undoubtedly, irrevocably and by a landslide the worst cold of his entire life.
He's fought plenty of them before, of course; he's only human. Sharing drinks and joints and beds with strangers has the potential to strengthen the immune system just as much as it does to spread any and all sorts of bugs that might be going around. The memories, at this point, are saturated in dreadful irony, because he has no idea where he could have caught it and this time he doesn't have the option to dull the edges of his symptoms further and further until they don't bother him anymore.
While this instance in particular is a doozy on its own, the reason it's so much worse is because, for the first time in nearly two decades, Klaus is present enough to feel the entire thing in all of its miserable, scratchy glory. There's a heaviness in his limbs and what feels almost like a fog surrounding his consciousness, dampening his reflexes and coating him in fatigue, but the worst of it is in his head. It's terrible. His face hurts. It's become impossible to breathe through his nose, each and every facet of congestion overtaking not only ability to speak clearly but his overall sense of space and freedom.
With it exists a headache that comes and goes and a nagging, crackling cough that bubbles up from his chest and interrupts him any time he tries to use his vocal cords at all or even breathes the wrong way. Luther cringed when he heard it last night, saying it sounded painful (and not saying it sounded contagious, because he didn't need to; despite his authentic familial concern, self-preservation was also written all over his face) and Klaus confirmed that of course it was, because it never took too long before his chest began to ache. To top it all off, bright red cherry on his sundae of despair, his body also doesn't seem to mind him being too tired to keep up with needing to sneeze every fifteen minutes with a varying increase in frequency. It might be the least annoying of all of his cold's magnificent features, but even that had gotten old fast.
It's hardly a surprise that this virus is draining him. It's just doing its job; there's supposed to be a woefulness to falling ill. Unfortunately, it's all but depleted Klaus of the energy he needs to do just about anything with his powers, including both conjuring and manifesting the dead, and that, combined with his newfound commitment to sobriety, means he's fully out of commission and resolved to camp out only in a bed and on the couch until further notice.
Clearly, grieving spirits aren't interested in backing off for a few days just because Klaus isn't feeling well. Though they're as vivid as ever, he always tries not to acknowledge them because they often become even louder as they gain more confirmation that Klaus can see them. But clearing his throat and blowing his nose nonstop for nearly half a week has got his patience thin as a rail, and he's been doing his best to eloquently negotiate with them to convince them to give it a rest already, at least for the time being.
As it turns out, "leave me alone, I'm sick" isn't an adequate deterrent when directed toward the living or the dead.
Klaus groans into his pillow and hopes that the person knocking on his door will get the message. Normally he'd welcome visitors, because being sick is boring and it's nice to have someone there to distract and ground him, but Klaus isn't feeling like himself and isn't up for entertaining. A few hours of wakefulness might put him more on his toes and ready to play, maybe even move around some to jumpstart his muscles and gain a bit of energy back, but seven in the morning following a flickering and restless sleep isn't the right time for any of that — or for anything in general.
"It's just me," says Vanya's sweet little voice, the same voice that he’s used to being accompanied by a fresh cup of water or a gentle touch. She's been bringing him these exciting spicy snacks from Little India to help him breathe better and sometimes staying for a couple of minutes to chat and tolerate Klaus prodding her for details about what she's been doing visiting Little India so often. She still hasn't given him a direct answer, but with a little more poking Klaus is sure she'll open up to him before his fever breaks. Vanya's company is fine.
"And me," says Five right behind her. Him Klaus isn't so sure about yet. "How are you feeling?"
Okay, so he's going to have to talk to them. Fine.
Klaus sighs and stretches, but doesn't open his eyes yet. "Well I…" is all he's able to croak out before he coughs twice, as lightly as possible while still scratching the itch in his throat because anything deeper might catch him in a fit that could go on for nearly half a minute. Nobody has that kind of time, and even if they did, there were a million ways it could be better spent than listening to Klaus battle with his bronchial tubes. "Ohh. I feel awesome."
"You still sound really stuffed up," Vanya says, her tone mostly fuzzy sympathy as she verbally brushes Klaus and his games aside. He can see her frown without having to look at her.
"I brought you some coffee," Five says.
Klaus cracks open his right eye and then his left, squinting because anything brighter than the inside of his eyelids feels positively blinding, then he pushes himself upright and takes the cup from his brother.
"Why…?" he says softly, trailing off on purpose to prompt Five to elaborate. He continues squinting, partly from the light and partly from confusion, while he sips the drink without tasting it.
Five's fearlessly standing in front of Vanya, his posture relaxed with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his own cup of coffee. "Well," he says, "do you remember Vincent Warner? Dad's old research partner. From the—"
"Haven't had the pleasure," answers Klaus. The coffee is doing something nice for his throat and he hopes it'll stick until he feels like getting out of bed to find another one in a few hours.
"—seventies. You weren't even born yet," Five says. "But you remember hearing about him…?"
"No," Klaus says. "Wait." He thinks about it through the looming storm clouds in his brain. "Uh, nope. Zilch and nada."
Five hums and says, "Okay. Well. I was going through some of Dad's things during some down time yesterday, some of the older files in his office that he'd probably been holding onto for archival reasons, but there really wasn't too much of interest until I got to his collaborative records. Turns out Warner had a team working for him in his office after he and dad split. Gesundheit."
From behind the back of his wrist, Klaus sniffles and holds his cup higher, tipping it forward delicately as if he was saying cheers. "Thank you," he replies gallantly, tilting his chin down as he takes his hand away from the lower half of his face and then sets the coffee on the table next to him.
"Why did they split?" asks Vanya as Klaus sniffles again, and it's wet and thick and a nuisance. It doesn’t do much good.
"Don't know. And the team dissipated in the late eighties, but they kept correspondence with Dad up until the year all of us were born," Five says.
"So it wasn't because they were like… pissed off at each other or anything, then, right?" Klaus interprets.
"Don't know that either," Five says confidently, like it doesn't bother him. "All we have are the dates. But I'm thinking…" He steps to the side and paces for a moment. "I'm thinking that looking further into it could provide some more clues about what they might have been looking at together, more details about the Umbrella Academy; about our powers. There might be something Warner knew that Dad didn't."
"Wow," says Vanya. Her characteristic slouch tightens up with attention. "That could be big."
"It could be," agrees Five.
"I genuinely," says Klaus, as emphatically as someone with five percent of their usual steam possibly can, "genuinely am very impressed and excited and interested and whatever, truly, I really am, but I need to know why you had to come into my room and wake me up to deliver the breaking news to me specifically."
Five could've tagged along with Vanya to say good morning or to deliver his own favorite drink to Klaus after he'd picked one up for him just because, but neither type of friendliness fits with any part of Five's M.O. Klaus knows there's a reason for it and he also knows he probably isn't going to like it.
"They converted Warner's old office into a single-family home not too long ago," Five announces.
"Uh-huh. So…?" Klaus says.
"So, coincidentally: a new family is going to be moving in tomorrow, after a two-year long period of vacancy."
"Jesus Christ Five please."
"We've only got today to get in and out without making a fuss or disrupting said family's lives," Five says. Klaus looks to Vanya seeking an impatience-based camaraderie, but all she's doing is frowning and looking nervous. "Now, the last family moved out for — and I quote — 'superstitious reasons'."
"The report really said that?" asks Vanya.
"The report really said that," confirms Five. Instead of doing what he wants (which just happens to be jumping right out of his skin), Klaus gestures for him to hurry up. "I figured that's because Warner and two of his assistants died in the nineties—"
"Nope, nope, nope," Klaus declines immediately. He doesn't need to hear the rest; he knows his family well enough to predict what request is coming next, and he isn't interested. The nerve of them, he thinks to himself. Absolutely not. He flops back down into his bed and drags his hand down his face and then back up again. "No way, man. Sorry."
"Klaus, you're the only—"
"Uh, it's just not happening."
"—chance we have to even come close to—"
"Not today."
"Klaus, all we have is today."
"So, okay," Klaus recaps, "you want to drag me all the way to some haunted house on the dreariest day of the year to talk to a dead guy, while I'm the sickest I've ever been…"
"You have a bad cold," Five tells him. "You're not dying. You can bring whatever you need to feel comfortable on the drive up to Lloydtown."
"Whoa. No, no, no, no, no. You want to drag me an hour away—"
"It's forty-five minutes away, if that."
Klaus groans. Who cares. "My powers don't work the right way when I'm sick," he says. "I can't see or hear anyone as well and if no one's home then we're going to be S.O.L., because there's not a snowball's chance in hell of me conjuring single lost-ass soul today. I'm serious. Like, the thought of even trying right now is making me wanna pass out."
"That's okay," Five says. "But we have to try. I'm fairly certain somebody will show up, anyway, if the report from the last family is anything to go by."
"And it has to be today," Klaus says, a bleary request for confirmation.
"Yes," Five says. "We really need your help on this one. I wouldn't be asking you right now if we didn't. When it's over you can rest all you want."
Klaus has always been good at reading people's compassion, and the sympathy in Five's voice is barely over the line of what he needs to say to be convincing. He was never very touchy-feely and maintained a guarded exterior for the most part, but his care for his siblings has always been authentic and worn proudly on his sleeve. Something inside of Klaus is reliably compelled to return the favor when it comes to things like that.
However, something else inside of Klaus is making him cold and hot and sensitive and achy and exhausted, so he says, "Can I please, please try and sleep my headache off for another couple hours before we leave."
Though he's planning on doing it anyway because fuck his brother's permission, Klaus is ready to add something about how much more useful he'll be if he's just a smidge more rested. If allowed the time, he could accompany the promise with a guilt trip woven out of reminders that his sleep tends to be erratic and fretful on the best of days, but he doesn't need to go to the trouble because Five instantly and easily answers, "Sure."
Klaus sighs hugely in devastating relief, but his breath snags and he ends up coughing again. Maybe it’ll drive the point home, if everything else hasn’t already.
"I'll tell Diego to get everything ready," Five says.
"Diego's going too?" Klaus asks in broken staccato while he makes a futile effort to wrangle his lungs.
Five nods. "He's the one who got a hold of the real estate records. From the police station."
Police station. What? Okay. Fine. Klaus nods back and sips on his coffee, sure that the caffeine won't keep him from falling back to sleep as soon as he shuts his eyes. It's always easier in the morning, without the momentum of an entire day churning behind him.
"I'll probably see you down there before you go," Vanya says. She turns around and heads for the door, her eyes reflecting the gratitude Five isn't inclined to express.
"Do you need anyone to wake you up?" Or maybe he's got his own way of doing it.
Klaus waves him off and says, "I'm fine. Don't worry your pretty little old man head over me and my imperative forty winks, okay? I'll be up."
Klaus remembers sleeping for eighteen hours in a friend's parents' moth-eaten guest room when he had the flu last year. Sedatives had never been his favorite, but they did the trick back then and were probably at least partially responsible for his quick recovery. Klaus is trying not to think about that too much. He's had a rude awakening this time in finding out how difficult it is to get to sleep naturally when his temples throb and he’s having some trouble breathing and his body can't decide whether it’s hot or cold.
For the most part, the spirits don't bother Klaus at home these days (save for Ben, who hasn't shown himself since early last night when he harassed Klaus into showing up at the dinner table to sip from a mug of bone broth), but the dry air in the mansion hasn't been helping much in lieu of comfort. He won't have a problem ending his seven-thirty A.M. siesta when the time comes, even if it has to come a little too soon.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Okay," Five says, but it doesn't sound like he believes him.
"You're going to have to hang out with me all day to-morrow when I'm laid up with pneumonia," Klaus decides. "You'll have to just listen to me cough for hours in retribution. You can't say no, I'll come and find you."
He's satisfied when Five rolls his eyes and pauses in the doorway, quirks his mouth up, tilts his head even higher and says, "Thanks, Klaus."
Five doesn't close the door — most of them don't, these days — but Klaus is halfway to dreamland before the sound of his brother's oxfords clacking against the hallway tile fades completely as he allows Klaus a fleeting respite from his horrible, treacherous illness in the form of a moment of peace and quiet.