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He’s sitting in his bed with the colored fairy lights around the head of his bed and the ones on his walls as the only source of light. (And Ben, but no one needs to know that he sees him as a source of light in this very pitch black world.) Klaus never questioned how he got fairy lights in his room. He just walked in one day and they were here - weirdly comforting, soothing him from whatever demon was lurking at him. Ben is reading a book with a name far too long, his back against the wall, not paying enough attention to Klaus. Which should be illegal, if you ask him.
It’s past their bedtimes, and like usual, they managed to slip in the same room - it’s been years, now, since the last time they slept alone. Klaus hates Nighttime, no matter how pretty it is, because Nighttime is when the ghosts get louder and louder; when they beg for mercy, for help; when they scream his name again and again, trying to touch him, to claw at him, to hurt him, to kill him, maybe, to--
The fairy lights go brighter.
Being a teen and a clairvoyant doesn’t work well, because of the amount of shit he has to deal with. He always thought puberty would be his main preoccupation - and it’s one hell of a problem - but he never imagined that half of his time he would deal with that .
Unholy Lord, no one told him about the dismembered bodies still trying to reach him, about some men with their eyes gouged out, still able to turn their heads right in his direction, about the loud begging of bloody mothers wanting their equally bloody children back, about them. Them. Them.
Klaaaus.
Klaaaaaaus pleaaaaase!
The fairy lights go brighter.
Usually, Klaus would take one of his magic pills. He doesn’t know what these pills are - just remembers how expensive these little bitches were, but how wonderful they are. When he takes them, the ghosts turn into colors he can hear, sounds he can touch, music he can taste. But he’s out of magic pills and money. He has to deal with the yelling, again and again.
Fuck off. That’s not how he likes his name to be shouted.
He catches a sound over all the calling, a bit of ruffling, and few seconds later, he finds himself in Ben’s arms.
The glow fairy lights eases.
“Are they loud?”
Ben’s voice is like a whisper, like a secret no one should ever hear, enough to force Klaus to focus on it. He curls up in his brother’s arms and closes his eyes to listen to his breathing, to the sounds of his heart, to the fabric of their clothes rubbing together as Ben caresses his hair. He can still hear the screams, far away.
“It’s better now.”
Like a cat asking for pets, he rubs his head against Ben’s neck, earning a soft giggle as an answer. Quickly, Ben lets all his weight drag them to the mattress, and it sends his book into a bounce. They tangle their legs together. Ben’s free arm comes around Klaus bringing him closer to him, softly pushing Klaus’ head in the crook of his neck, just like a shield. Ben has no idea where are the ghosts haunting his brother, but he scoops the room with murderous intent in his eyes, just so they know they’re not welcome here.
Just so they know that if he could kill them again, he would do it in a heartbeat.
A feeling of safety flows through Klaus’ body as the voices disappear, and his mind focuses only on Ben being here with him.
The glow of the fairy lights softens.