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She finds Klaus sitting in the middle of what was once the living room, holding somebody’s dog tags and staring into nothingness as if the real ghost in the room is him.
“Hey,” she says, and she’s not proud of the way her voice snags, but she’s honestly too tired to care much about it either. There are still tears drying on her face, the remnants of those already shed into the fabric of Diego’s shirt. She’d cried for a good long while, out there—they both had—and neither had said a word, but now she has no more tears left to cry. She feels hollowed out and empty. Numb. And, looking at Klaus, at the pain in his eyes that she is noticing for perhaps the first time (has he always looked that broken?), she thinks maybe she understands why he goes to such lengths to dull the world.
He sucks in a breath when she speaks, like he hadn’t yet noticed she was there. Blinks twice. Looks her way. “Oh,” he says, and blinks again, and breathes again, and lowers the dog tags back to his chest (but does not let go). “Hey.”
Vanya puts her hands in her pockets, then takes them out again. She picks at the splintered wood and chipped paint of the door frame and frowns at the way it catches under her already dirty fingernails. She brushes a strand of hair out of her face, puts her hands back in her pockets, and then takes them out once again and crosses her arms over her chest. Has it always been this hard to talk to her sibling? “I, uh. I like the hair, by the way. I don’t know if I said that before.”
“Oh,” repeats Klaus, and absentmindedly reaches up to feel his hair. “Thanks. Grew it myself!”
He’s doing that thing again, where he’s smiling like nothing’s wrong, like the world didn’t just almost end, like Ben isn’t gone for good. It used to be annoying, the way he cracks jokes at the worst times and giggles through serious conversation and can’t seem to take things seriously, but right now Vanya looks at him and sees that it’s all a mask, and that it’s cracking. How has she not seen that before? How have none of them seen that before? Were they really all so caught up in their own issues that none of them could see how each of the others was likewise fractured?
“Mind if I sit?” asks Vanya, for lack of anything better to say. Klaus nods and pats the ground beside him, so Vanya crosses the room and, after carefully checking for glass shards and shrapnel, sits cross-legged on the floor at his side, knees brushing his.
Neither of them says anything. Neither of them knows how. Now that they’re not running and fighting and screaming and nearly dying, now that the world has finally slowed, it is disturbingly evident that none of them are the children they once were and that none of them had bothered to learn shit about the adults they had grown into. They were siblings, yes, and they loved each other, yes, but at this point they may as well have all been strangers. When’s the last time any of them had ever had a conversation that didn’t pertain to the end of the world?
“So,” says Klaus at last, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t know you were gay.”
Vanya laughs. She can’t help it; it’s such a surprising thing to hear and simultaneously so completely expected that the sheer ridiculous of it all catches up to her and mixes with the cocktail of rage and grief and fear and relief that’s still swirling around inside of her until all she can do is double over in hysterical laughter. Klaus’s hands are hovering in the air around her, lightly touching her shoulder, her back, her cheek, but never lingering. Like he’s not really sure what to do.
“Vanya,” Klaus is saying, soft and high-pitched and nervous. “Vanya. Vanya, are you—okay. Alright. Uh. Hey. Vanya? Vanya. Oh, boy.”
She’s not sure how long it is before the laughs subside but eventually, they do, and Vanya sags back against the couch with a hiccuping sigh. There are new tears on her face, like she’d been sobbing while crying, but she’s long past the point of trying to figure out her own emotional state so she just wipes at her cheeks with her sleeve.
Klaus is staring at her, concerned and incredulous, but the corners of his lips are lifted in a half-smile. A genuine one, this time, not a mask, and Vanya distantly wonders if he even realizes he’s smiling. “Uh. You okay there, champ?”
“Yeah,” says Vanya. She’s smiling too, she realizes. Somehow. “Yeah, I’m okay, Klaus. Sorry if I freaked you out. It’s just...this is a lot, huh?”
“Uh huh,” says Klaus. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t realize that was such a funny question.”
She shakes her head, and reaches out to hold his hand. His fingers are long and skinny, pale skin over bone like the rest of him, and she thinks to herself that these fingers would be good for playing the violin. Hadn’t he played piano, once? Before Five disappeared, before Ben died, before he discovered drugs and alcohol to dim the world? She’s not sure but she thinks that, once upon a time, he’d told her that music was the only thing he could find that could drown out all the noise. She hadn’t known what he’d meant, back then, and she’d been too wrapped up in her own loneliness to ask for clarification. She could ask now, she supposes.
She doesn’t. Instead she smiles and says, “Yeah. Sorry, it’s not, it’s just. God. I didn’t know either, I don’t think? I mean, I guess I’d never really thought about it before? But it—I don’t know. I’m...a little confused, honestly? Shit, Klaus, how do you do this?”
“Whoa, okay, slow down,” says Klaus, and squeezes her hand. “Just because I figured it out early doesn’t mean everyone does. It’s okay if you’re confused.”
Vanya sighs and drops her head back to rest against the seat of the now-shredded couch. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-nine and I’m only just figuring this out now.”
“Well, Dad did have you on mood-numbing drugs since childhood. Maybe it killed your urges—ow, okay, okay! Jeez.”
Vanya relaxes her grip from where she’s squeezing the life out of his hand. “Sorry.”
Klaus waves it away with the hand she’s not holding, like the apology is a physical thing fluttering around in the air before them. “No, my bad. You’re brand new to this. Shoulda kept it more PG for the pure, inexperienced kids in the room, don’t want to—okay, okay, Vanya, jeez, stop smacking me—”
She lowers her hand, satisfied. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah,” says Klaus, and smiles winningly, leaning his head onto her shoulder and looking up at her with those goddamn mournful eyes of his. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Get off,” says Vanya, but doesn’t untangle her fingers from his. He leans back, settling back into his place beside her, and sighs, still half-smiling.
“So...not to poke the bear but do you want to talk about it? The prophet is all ears. Air out your woes. I’m not prying,” he adds, like he’s worried she might swat at him again, “Just want to help. I don’t care about what you do in the bedroom. Vanya, that’s gross, we’re siblings, ew. Why would you even say that?”
Vanya snorts. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to, you nasty,” says Klaus, and honest-to-god boops her on the nose, which makes her tear up again because it’s so silly and so Klaus and she’s an emotional wreck right now, apparently, and suddenly she’s thinking about those drunk few hours in the salon with him and Allison and she wants to be a teenager again and do it all over but better. She wants to paint his nails while he braids her hair and sleep on each other’s bedroom floors and talk about boys and girls and anything beyond or in between or both and read stupid, shallow magazines and eat too much sugar together. Seven kids and not one of them ever even had a chance at childhood, and she wants it right now so badly that she burns with it, and she ends up just tearing up all over again and burying her head in Klaus’ shoulder for lack of anything better to do.
“I’m a mess,” she says, muffled. Klaus laughs and pats her head.
“Aren’t we all, sister.”
They stay like that for a while. Dust motes dance in beams of light and soft conversation filters in through the doorway from where their other siblings are living their own messed-up and broken existences, and birds are singing and the wind blows in a gentle breeze through the bullet holes in the walls and cows are lowing in the distance. And none of that matters, because Klaus is here, holding her hand, and he’s her sibling. Twenty-nine years of unbearable loneliness and she’s had siblings this whole time, and they’d all missed it. They’d grown up without each other and missed each other’s lives.
“It felt right,” says Vanya at last, “loving Sissy.”
Klaus shifts but doesn’t pull away. “Oh, yeah?”
Vanya hums. “Yeah,” she echoes. “Righter than...righter than…” She can’t say his name. “You know.”
“Did you love him?”
And she’s...she’s not sure. She remembers thinking she’d loved him. She remembers drowning in it, the love for the man who used her. She remembers standing in the bathroom and mouthing I love you into the mirror, letting it fill her up from head to toe with giddy happiness, because that’s what happens in stories. A man drops into your life, a knight in shining armor, a Prince Charming, and tells you he loves you like no one else ever will, and you’re supposed to love him back. And she had loved him, loved the way he told her she was special, loved feeling like she mattered to someone for the first time in her life. But love, she thinks, shouldn’t feel like drowning, and when she’d told Sissy she loved her she hadn’t needed to practice in the bathroom mirror first.
“Yes,” she says. “No. It’s complicated.”
“That’s okay,” says Klaus. “Complicated is okay. If you have everything figured out, that’s just boring.”
Vanya turns her head just slightly, just so she can look at him. He’s got his eyes shut but the expression on his face is surprisingly peaceful. “When did you figure it out?”
Klaus hums in thought. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t remember. I think I was probably drunk as hell the first time I had sex and I think it was with a guy and I guess it was fun enough that I just kept doing it. I remember coming out, though. I was fifteen. I told Dad because I thought it would piss him off. I wanted to piss him off. I thought maybe he’d kick me out and I could go live with my new boyfriend and never have to step foot in that house again.”
“Did he get mad?”
Klaus sighs. “No. He didn’t care. Just, ‘relationships are a distraction, Number Four, no matter the gender! Now, back to your studies.’” Vanya laughs, because that’s so Dad. “I know, right? Old bastard couldn’t even do me the favor of being a proper homophobe.”
“Why didn’t you just run away?”
“I don’t know,” says Klaus. “Too scared, I guess. Didn’t have anywhere to go. Didn’t know shit about the real world. Didn’t want to have to get a job, so I just stayed and used Dad’s money to buy more drugs. Cuz fuck him, right?”
“Fuck him,” says Vanya, and spits for good measure. The spit doesn’t make it very far and ends up all over her chin, which makes Klaus laugh, which makes her laugh, and then they’re a mess of giggles all over again.
“‘Course,” says Klaus, when they finally calm down again, “sex is different than love. There’s a lot of things that feel good that aren’t actually as good as they feel.”
“Like drugs?” asks Vanya.
“Like drugs,” says Klaus. “Like alcohol. Like running away.”
“Like Leonard.”
Klaus falls silent, at that. Vanya didn’t mean to say it—didn’t think she had it in her to say it—but now that it’s out she knows that it’s true. She hadn’t loved Leonard. She’d loved the idea of Leonard. She’d loved feeling special to someone, for once. There’s a lot of things that feel good that aren’t actually as good as they feel. Sometimes it’s just garbage.
“Fuck him,” says Vanya.
“Fuck him,” repeats Klaus. They spit in unison.
This feels good, Vanya decides. She still feels all hollowed out and numb, but having family is good. This feels good, and is good, like actually good. Like Sissy-good, not Leonard-good. Klaus good. Diego good. Allison good. Family-good.
“How about you?” she asks.
“What?”
“Have you ever been in love? Like, actually in love, not just sex?”
Klaus is quiet. His eyes are distant again, and his free hand reaches for the dog tags. When did he get those, anyway?
“Once,” says Klaus. “I mean, many times, small loves, but only once like this. His name was Dave.”
“‘Was?’”
“Vietnam,” he says, quieter than she’s ever heard him. “We served together. He died.”
“Oh,” says Vanya, and does not ask how the hell he ended up in Vietnam. They’ve seen much weirder shit in the last few...however long it’s been. “Klaus, I’m so sorry—”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s clearly the farthest thing from okay. “I, uh...I actually went to see him? Here, in the 60s. He’s young. Just a kid, really, but still my Dave. I thought maybe I could stop him enlisting but instead he, uh, punched me in the face and just enlisted sooner.” He huffs out a laugh, bitter and fractured. “Very literal punchline to the cosmic joke that is my life, huh?”
“Klaus—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Vanya nods and bites her lip. God, this all sucks, doesn’t it? Her and Sissy, Klaus and Dave, Diego and Lila, Allison and Ray. They can’t catch a damn break. They never have.
“Tell me about him?” she asks. “Not the bad stuff. Just...what was he like?”
“Beautiful,” says Klaus immediately. “Strong. Funny. Eyes you could get lost in. Hair that you could run your fingers through and never want to stop. Lips like they were made to kiss me. Hands like they were made to hold mine. Hell of a dancer, real shit singer. Tried to teach him some Britney and he totally blew it, but that was okay. He wasn’t perfect, but neither am I. Who is? I didn’t care, because when I was holding him it was like he was washing away all my imperfections. Just like in the movies. Maybe that’s what people mean when they talk about soulmates and true love.”
“Oh,” says Vanya, because what else is there to say? Klaus is smiling, a full smile this time, soft and genuine and bittersweet and mournful. His eyes are far away again and glistening with unshed tears, but even though he looks sad he also looks strangely peaceful. Vanya’s not sure she’s ever seen him so peaceful. “He sounds nice.”
“He was nice,” says Klaus. “He was more than nice. He was Dave.” A beat, then, “Tell me about Sissy?”
Vanya’s shaking her head before the words even fully register. “No,” she says. “I mean, not yet. Too soon. Wound’s still raw.”
“Okay,” says Klaus, and squeezes her hand. “That’s okay. We’ve got time, now, huh?”
“Yeah,” laughs Vanya. “God, yeah, we do, don’t we? We did it. We actually saved the goddamn world.”
Klaus raises his fist high in the air. “Big fucking superheroes,” he says. “If only Daddy could see us now.”
“He did, remember? He wasn’t impressed.”
“Oh, yeah,” says Klaus, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Fuck him.”
“Fuck him!”
Silence descends again, but it’s comfortable. Vanya still feels raw and numb and exhausted, but she thinks she’s starting to pull back together. Klaus isn’t the most comfortable person to sit all pressed up against; he’s got cold hands and feet, always has, and his elbows and knees are sharp as all hell, and that’s all not to mention the grime-littered floor beneath them, but just having him there is enough. It doesn’t need to be comfortable for it to be safe. For it to be good. And this is good, Vanya thinks decisively. Klaus is good. He’s an asshole, and he’s fucked up, and so is she, but he’s her sibling and he’s here and they’re alive and that’s all that counts. They don’t have to be perfect people to have this. And maybe, just maybe, despite all that she is and all that she’s done, she’s allowed to sit here in this damaged-beyond-repair living room and hold her sibling’s hand.
Yeah, she decides. She’s allowed this.
“Oh my god,” says Klaus suddenly.
Vanya snaps her head to look at him in alarm, so fast that something in her neck pops and she winces in pain. “What?”
“Oh my god, we can finally go to pride together! Vanya! We’re gonna get you so covered in glitter, oh my god!”
“Uh...glitter?”
Klaus drops her hand so he can clap both of his together in delight. “Yes, and face paint! Lots of face paint. And rainbows, oh my god, Vanya, you’re gonna love it.”
“Do I get a choice?”
He grins and takes her hand again. “Absolutely not.”
“Great,” says Vanya with all the sarcasm she can muster, but doesn’t argue. A large crowded place full of loud voices and glitter sounds like a terrible, terrible idea, but if Klaus is there she thinks maybe she’ll be okay. And she likes the thought of it, she realizes. It’s so mundane and ordinary and...and it’ll be good to be around people like her. People like them. Like her and Sissy and Klaus and Dave. Ordinary people. Special people. People who know that sometimes love is war and that it’s worth fighting for.
God, that’s sappy as hell. Maybe Klaus is already rubbing off on her.
“It’s gonna be great, meine Schwester,” says Klaus, beaming. “We’ll paint each other’s nails, braid each other’s hair. Share all the good gossip.”
“I don’t know any gossip.”
“So? Make something up, who gives a shit. Here, we can practice now. Tell me something.”
Vanya thinks for a minute. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I heard that Five and the Handler used to go out together, and that’s why they hate each other so much.”
Klaus gasps in dramatic and delighted horror. “Oh, it makes perfect sense! The hatred, the attempted murders, the tension. I think you may be on to something there, Vanya dearest.”
She snorts. “We’re probably way too old for this, you know that, right?”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Not like we ever got to do this as kids though, right? May as well make up for lost time.”
Vanya hums in agreement. “Okay, but only if you watch Friends with me.”
Klaus turns and stares at her, expression caught in melodramatic mourning. He brings both hands up to cup her face. “Oh, no, Vanya, you’ve spent too much time around straight people. This is an emergency! Call the Vatican!”
“The Vatican?”
“I don’t know, it sounded good.” He gives her head a slight shake. “I agree to your movie nights but I’m picking the movies, okay? We need to get you educated on our culture.”
“Our culture?”
Klaus lets her go and spreads his hands wide, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. “Gay culture. Tada! Welcome to the family.”
“Klaus, we’re already siblings.”
He shrugs. “And this is our new extra special club for gay siblings only. The others can join when they get with the program.” He lifts their clasped hands and sways them back and forth in the air, humming. “We can have a dance party. God, Vanya, we need to get you caught up on all the gay music. Hayley Kiyoko. Hozier. Mitski. Girl In Red.”
“Those names mean nothing to me,” says Vanya, transfixed by the motion of their hands.
“You are so tragic,” says Klaus. “We’re going to dance, Vanya.” He lets go of her hand so he can raise both his arms and sway back and forth, dancing to the sound of his own humming. Oh, to hell with it, Vanya decides, and joins his swaying. When he sees what she’s doing he smiles and hooks his pinkie through hers and they dance together like that, in the broken living room, far too exhausted to stand and give the dancing its all.
When Klaus finishes his song he lowers his arms and leans back against the couch and Vanya copies his movement. Their pinkies stay linked, like a silent promise not to ever let each other go again. Vanya turns to look at him, to really look for the first time in years. Klaus looks older than she remembers, wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead. The bags under his eyes are deep like bruises but not in the way he looks when he’s in withdrawal. This Klaus is sober and fully, completely here. He looks tired. He looks sad.
“Hey, are you okay?” asks Vanya, before she even realizes what she’s saying. “About Ben?”
Klaus goes absolutely still at that. For a long, long moment he says nothing, just staring at the ground in front of them, staring at his hands, staring at the empty space where Ben used to be. “No,” he says finally, just when Vanya’s starting to worry that maybe she crossed a line by asking him that question. “But I will be. Are you?”
“I got to see him again,” she says. “I never thought I’d get that chance. I never thought I’d get to hug him again or say goodbye. So...I’ll get there.”
And it sucks. All of it, it really, truly sucks, but the world didn’t end today, and the sun is still shining in the sky, and the snow on the ground is still crisp and white. And, despite everything, she has her family here beside her. No matter what the universe decides to throw at them next, they’re together, and maybe that’s enough.
They’re going to be okay. Vanya doesn’t know a lot of things for sure, but she knows that now.
They’re going to be okay.