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Five has the most unnerving smile Klaus has ever seen. Objectively it’s adorable, until it isn’t. There’s something about it that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It spreads out on his face like a crescent moon. It’s like someone is pulling a marionette string in order to tug up the corners.
Older women love it; they literally stop and coo over him in the street, telling Klaus what a beautiful son he has, which makes Five snarl in anger and Klaus jubilant for the rest of the day. Men are disarmed by it, assuming a smile this adorable must mean this child is made out of puppies and sunshine and all other pure things, and therefore he can’t possibly be a threat.
Klaus knows the truth. All the Hargreeves siblings do. Five is adorable, his smile is adorable, but he’s also terrifying, and so is his smile, once you really look at it.
That’s why, when Klaus begins to find himself on the receiving end of that smile more and more, he goes from wanting to pinch the little cheeks to wanting to back away quickly.
“What was it like, for all those years, wandering alone through the wasteland of this planet?” Vanya asks Five, as they settle round the TV at Allison’s rented downtown condo to watch I Am Legend. Five has discovered a deep-set love for movies about the Apocalypse, masochistic little weirdo that he is, and he’s working through a back catalogue of them. They’re not Klaus’s thing - he likes romantic comedies - but any excuse to hang out with his family is welcome now they’ve saved the world and he’s six months clean.
“I wasn’t alone,” Five answers. He looks over at Klaus, smiles, and Klaus shoves some more popcorn in his mouth.
“But I thought-”
“Someone was with me. Someone I could talk to. Tell anything. Give me a reason to live, because I knew I had to protect him and love him.”
“Dude, are you coming out to us?!” Diego asks. Five rolls his eyes.
“I’m not coming out, because straight isn’t a default position we should assume, Number Two. I’m merely answering Vanya’s question.”
Diego looks a little abashed. “Well… who was the lucky guy, then?”
Five meets Klaus’s eye, smiles again. Klaus pulls the blanket tighter round him and coughs. He’s not feeling great, today, the beginning of a cold coming on, which always hits his weak immune system hard.
“Diego, leave him be,” Allison says softly, when their brother prompts Five for the second time. “He doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready.”
Klaus doesn’t think Five is being shy. He thinks he’s probably deliberately keeping this to himself in a calculated bid to not weird them all out. When Five’s small hand starts tracing circles on Klaus’s arm, keeping it pressed into the blanket, his theory becomes even more viable.
The three of them live together now, Klaus, Five and Diego, though Five and Diego keep odd hours, so sometimes it feels like Klaus is living alone, which makes him feel panicked these days even though he did that for years. He’s become dependent on his siblings, wanting them close to him; he’s better at controlling the ghosts now but it’s easier when he’s wrapped up in their kindness and concern for him.
Alone Klaus simply means Old Klaus. Junkie Klaus, Hooker Klaus, Deadbeat Klaus.
They head home from Allison’s, after the movie night, making their way to their brownstone apartment in a slightly (okay, very) less affluent neighbourhood. Diego drives, and Klaus stays wrapped up in the backseat, enjoying the gentle hum of the car as his brother takes corners more softly than usual.
Klaus feels a hand at his forehead, Five leaning over him to check his temperature. “You’re hotter than you should be.”
“I’m fine! Allison had all her heating on,” he complains. Five frowns.
“No, she didn’t.”
“Really?” Well, okay. It felt like she had.
“Diego, I think we should drive him to the hospital,” Five says, and Diego glances round, frowning.
“Seriously? Do you even have healthcare, Klaus?”
“Money isn’t an issue. Drive to the hospital.”
“No,” Klaus says. “I’m putting my metaphorical foot down. I can’t put down my actual foot down because I’m too cosy to move my legs. Diego, just head home. It’s just a cold, we all get them.”
“I don’t,” Five says.
Klaus laughs throatily. “Of course you don’t, you ridiculous little medical mystery. But normal people like me do.”
“Normal?!” Diego snorts. “In this family? Nice try, bro.”
“Point taken.” Klaus frowns when he sees Five staring at him, clearly annoyed. “Fiiiiive, stop making me feel bad! Hospitals are full of gross icky dead people and I literally have no control over my power in them. Don’t you remember that time Daddy Dearest dragged us along for a reconnaissance mission and I had to be carried out by stretcher?”
“I thought you were just being dramatic,” Five mutters.
“I’m always being dramatic, as you well know. But that was-” Klaus tries to cough as softly as possible into his bunched up hand, so as not to raise Five’s hackles, “That was a living nightmare, as were all the times following. I’d prefer not to go back unless I’m literally OD’ing. You have permission to take me then. When death is knocking at my little pink door with the welcome mat outside.”
“Well, you’re not going to be OD’ing again, so that’s redundant.”
“Exactly. No hospitals for me ever ever.”
Diego doesn’t need any more persuasion to head home; Klaus can see he’s itching to get out onto the streets tonight, already dreaming about his vigilante mask, and Klaus is happy to oblige him by refuting Five’s many-pronged argument every time he comes up with a new, horrific possibility for Klaus’s illness.
Back home, he stumbles to his bedroom, stipping off his uncomfortable mesh top and boots, before collapsing into bed. Diego heads straight to his own room, but Five watches silently from Klaus’s door, a tiny figure against the dim light of the hallway outside.
“I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you,” he thinks he hears Five say, as he drifts off to sleep, but that can’t be right because Five would never say soppy nonsense like that.
He wakes to a quiet but obvious commotion, a strange man in his bedroom he doesn’t recognise, and he jolts back in bed, whacking his aching noggin' against the headboard.
“Christ on a cracker, who the fuck are-”
“Klaus,” Five says, appearing beside him, and why… why is he holding a knife to this guy’s throat, and why is Klaus reminded inexplicably of a cat bringing home an offering to its human? “Relax. You’re ill. I have a doctor here who is going to help.”
“Does…. does the doctor want to help, Five?”
“He really doesn’t have much choice.”
Why is my family so fucking insane? Klaus wonders, as he slumps down in bed with immediate and crushing fatigue, his energy levels already depleted from this energetic awakening.
“I… if you let me, I’ll just get on with it,” the doctor - a tall, gangly looking man, still in pyjamas and slippers, says with a squeak to his voice that Klaus would find amusing if he could pinpoint humor in the haziness of his headcold. Five nods, pushing the man slightly towards his pleather doctor’s bag, but the knife is still held up warningly.
“Any moves, any funny business, and I will gut you like a fish and find someone else,” The Boy warns their guest. Klaus rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it as a sharp pain runs riot throughout his temples.
“And people call me dramatic,” he sighs under his breath.
The doctor takes his temperature first with a thermometer, eyes scrolling down to Klaus’s sweat-soaked bare chest, until Five goes up on tiptoes to whack the back of his head, hissing “ Eyes up there.” Klaus allows himself to be poked and prodded a little, his glans, throat and ears all thoroughly checked. He listens to questions hazily, letting Five give the necessary information: he started feeling ill early this afternoon, he hasn’t eaten anything unusual (except for three Krispy Kreme donuts in a row), he’s up to date with his vaccinations (Reginald Hargreeves might have been a monster but he wasn’t an anti vaxxer), he isn’t on any medication, not an iota, he isn’t allowed, and yes, he always washes his hands after using the restroom.
The fact that Five is able to answer all of these, while Klaus simply nods in agreement, should probably be worrying to him, if worry was a luxury he could be conscious of right now.
“His temperature is high, for sure. But given his past, uh, proclivities, his weakened immune system, and the fact it’s ‘flu season, I’m satisfied he’ll recover with plenty of bed rest and water,” the doctor says, the squeak returning to his voice as Five glares at him with pure disgust. “I can…” the doctor searches his bag, brings out a large twisty-cap jar of pills, “Prescribe some medication to take the pain away and help him sleep better?”
“What part of he isn’t allowed drugs do you not understand?” Five asks with a growl. He raises the knife and the doctor takes a couple of steps back, raising his arms in alarm.
“Five, he’s just… just trying to help,” Klaus says sleepily. “Now let the nice hostage go. Please.”
“Water and rest, then! I can’t prescribe anything more than that. Except, uh,” the man clears his throat, peers down again, “the leather pants might be a bit much, for the temperature he’s at?”
Klaus feels the hotness of a blush at his cheeks as Five lets out a long, beleaguered sigh.
Klaus is bedridden for the next four days, and Five barely leaves his side. It’s not that Klaus isn’t grateful, because he is , but sometimes when Five lets his guard down and talks about how Klaus needs to get better, he feels utterly confused.
Klaus knows barely anything about Five’s years in the wilderness, but he knows this: he isn’t an affectionate person, he considers himself superior to every single one of his siblings (and the human race generally), he’s fiercely independent, he doesn’t seem to enjoy Klaus’s company that much, but at the same time he seems utterly committed to it.
Soon enough, Klaus asks him outright, “What’s the point of this, Five?”
It’s the third day of the sickness and it feels like the fog is lifting, just a little. His temperature was down this morning and he’s able to manage some solid food, if Krispy Kreme's finest counts as sold food
Five looks up at him from his meditative pose at the side of the bed. “I told you. You need to get better because I can’t let you die.”
“I’m not going to die, though. And even if I was… we’re not that close? I don’t get why you’re so bothered. Diego is… I mean, he’s terrible at the sentimental stuff, because he’s a big dumb alpha male, not a short, smart, terrifying alpha male, but he’s been with me a lot longer, he’s looked out for me over the years, and he doesn’t irrationally worry about the fact I’m sick. So why do you?”
The illness has stripped his usual sarcastic defenses: his voice sounds eerily pragmatic, which does the job of discombobulating a suddenly embarrassed Five.
“I’ve spent more time with you than Diego has.”
Klaus sighs with weariness. “No, you really haven’t. You were away for a decade and a half. For you, it was even longer than that. I get you wanting to reconnect with your family but, frankly, my dear Five, you shouldn’t give a damn about lil ol’ me.”
“And yet, I do. And there’s nothing either of us can do about that.”
“But why?”
Five runs a hand over his face, a tired old man in a five foot nothing body. “You were there with me, Klaus. The whole time. You got me through it. All those years… you kept me company. And now, the thought of losing you… not much terrifies me, but that, that honestly does.”
What the fuck? Klaus thinks to himself. The kid… no… old man… has literally lost his mind.
“How could I have been there?” he asks, a little more gently than he’s feeling. “You do… you do realise that isn’t possible, right? That I was here the whole time?”
Five looks at him with disdain.
“Don’t fucking patronise me, you basic bitch.” (‘You Basic Bitch is Five’s new favourite insult: he heard it on some trashy scripted reality show a few weeks ago and almost passed out with maniacal laughter.) “You just were, okay? I took care of you, I protected you, found you food, saved you from yourself, from your past, got you clean. You were my companion, and I loved you, even when you were being an ungrateful little shit. I raised you from the rubble and took you with me.”
He swallows, remembering something painful, and Klaus gives him the silence he needs to continue.
"You kept me from going insane, while I kept you alive. We were-” His voice breaks a little, and Klaus sees he’s trying not to cry. “We were happy. I’d have stayed there forever, with you, if the Handler hadn’t got her perfectly manicured hands on me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Five shifts in his chair, angrily wiping at tears. “So that’s why I have to keep you safe now.”
Klaus thinks he gets it, kind of, but he has to ask the obvious. “Why me? You were so close with Vanya and Ben. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for them to be there?”
“They didn’t need me. You did. You’ve always needed other people to look after you. Just look at the mess you got yourself into while I was gone. It had to be you. It couldn’t be anyone else.”
Klaus has been listening a lot, processing a lot of information, and suddenly he feels very tired again. “I bet you were so disappointed to find me again, this sad little junkie whore with a bad attitude and a worse reputation.”
“Only disappointed in myself.”
“Huh?” he asks sleepily, his eyelids drooping.
“That I wasn’t here to protect you.”
Klaus is almost asleep when he feels Five tucking him into the clean bedsheets he eased Klaus out of bed for to change this morning. He manages a small, mischievous smile when he feels Five tuck his curls behind his ears.
“Did we ever fuck? Make Allison and Luther proud?”
Five groans in annoyance. “You wanted to, but I told you no, that’s gross, you disgusting little slut.”
“Liar.”
“I didn’t ever touch you. You weren't physically there. You get that, right?”
Klaus nods, feeling Five’s hands lingering on his skin, sweetly gentle, so at odds with the man he is. And Klaus thinks… he thinks he gets it now, the tentative touches of someone piecing together the past and the present.