Chapter Text
“Be the distraction.”
They had said.
“Distract Dad, we need to help Vanya.”
They had told ver.
Like ve couldn’t also help vis sister.
“Klaus, really stop being selfish.”
They had sneered, heads high.
Like ve didn’t want to help vis sister.
Like ve weren’t offering ver-self up as a sacrificial lamb to vis father.
“Klaus for once in your life be useful.”
They had said.
Like ve couldn’t help vis sister.
Like ve weren’t offering ver-self up as a sacrificial lamb to vis father.
Like their words weren’t destroying ver bit by bit.
It had been three weeks since they returned to their 13-year-old bodies. Four months before Five was supposed to run away. A year and a half after Klaus had discovered drugs and all of its numbing affect. Nine years after Allison had originally rumored Vanya. Sixteen years before the (Not) Apocalypse.
They were better- getting better- almost better. Klaus kept telling ver-self. Vanya was brought into family meetings, they did secret training, and siblings’ activities. Ben was alive! Ve tried to tell Ver-self. As ve were ignored and pushed aside again. As ver were looked down on for all the twitching ver couldn’t control. (Both from another withdrawal and the need to move away from the ghosts.) Vis needs to touch and feel the living taken from ver as the others rally to push Ben and ver apart. Klaus felt ver-self crack, the tape and plaster that came from Ben and Dave’s soft words, the glue and jagged pieces created from the drugs and time, ve were all slowly peeling back and showing how close to shattering ve had always been.
Klaus smiled, barring their siblings’ words with grace unfitting of vis past. Eyes passing over Vanya’s quiet form and Ben’s back as Allison dragged him away. Klaus smiled and cracked a joke like ve knew was expected and wondered if they should have just left Klaus in the Apocalypse.
In the early hours of the morning, Klaus’ door opened, showing a familiar figure standing tall and imposing. Reginald was still dressed in a suit, monocle still firmly in place, and face set in a stillness Klaus always considered dead.
Ve could feel the dread grip vis heart, the frozen fear of what was to come making ver shake. Vaguely ve wished they were back in 1968, the safety and heat of the jungle, of men who would die for ver and that ve in turn would kill for. But all that was in 2002 was unconcerned siblings and the nagging of the dead.
“Come along now Four,” Their father’s dead eyed stare beckoned, notebook in hand.
Climbing out of bed ve followed obediently, head down and nausea building in vis chest. Stepping out of vis room silently, shuffling after Reginald back turned to vis siblings’ doors. All their words and looks burning into vis head. Ve tried not to think of everyone’s empty promises of being a family, of listening, and being there for each other as they were led to vis torture. Thoughts burning about if Ben remembered that this is what had broken ver, destroyed Klaus completely. That this event had left ver a shell of cracked and missing pieces begging to be put back together again by any kind hand.
And as the gate closed and locked behind ver, the sense of dread built and sent the hairs on vis arms rising. The stench of the dead burned and soon the spirits began to rise, shades of humans that had lost themselves to time screaming and shrieking, building in volume until even the sound of vis breathing was drowned out. Ve dropped and began to army crawl to the wall. But as ve crawled vis arm brushed something solid, sending vis heart hammering.
Peering up, trying to see through the legs that looked solid to ver to see what vis had knocked over. Water bottles, seven of them, and a single box of protein bars sat innocently on the concrete floor, a single bottle had been knocked over and rolled away. Shakily ve sucked in as much air as possible and knew ve would be there for days. Bile rose up burning vis throat with acid and ve prayed to the Little Girl God, or to the God Dave had lovingly told ver about. Ve wondered if anything would be left of ver to find.
Curling in on ver-self and bringing vis hands up pushing over vis ears and curling nails into skin. The dead wailed, calling out and waking the dead outside of the mausoleum pulling them in until small room was packed. Shoulder to shoulder, wailing, shirking, and screaming calling to Klaus, for help, revenge, and jealousy over vis pulse. Arms shaking the dead grabbed at each other, themselves, and reaching for Klaus in desperation.
Sobbing Klaus closed vis eyes and wished. Ve wished for God. Vis father to release ver. The dead to leave. More than anything Klaus wished for vis siblings to be there to comfort ver.
“Where’s number Four?” Ben asked Reginald a day later, three hours after breakfast.
Klaus had missed breakfast more than once, refusing to leave vis bed or been too sick to get up.
Peering around Ben tried to spot their wayward sibling. But it was only Luther, lightly punching his fortified punching bag. Diego stood close to Luther, twirling one of his knives between his fingers absentmindedly. Allison was sparring with Five, ducking under each other’s lose punches.
“Sick, Four, has been quarantined to the med bay.”
Ben stared, meeting Reginald cold stare with his own hard gaze. Trying to remember if Klaus had been pale of coughing in the last few days. Ben usually noticed when Klaus got sick before Klaus ever did. But Klaus had always been sickly, since the first timeline, ve was in and out of the med bay, vis lower temperature and then later drug use killing any immune system long before adulthood.
But Reginald was done answering his questions and instead turned towards the others.
“Today, One, Three, Five, and Six will be dodging, Number Two last week your throw time was at 2.9 seconds, you will lower it.”
Nodding they moved at once, taking their positions around Diego as he gathered knives. As Diego got ready to start throwing his knives, Allison stepped closer gentle bumping her shoulder into Ben’s in comfort.
“Form, Number Three!” Reginald stern voice called out.