Chapter Text
1.
Klaus landed in 2019 and his knees buckled.
His body felt raw and exhausted, but he managed to lurch backwards and keep his balance. The suitcase was hanging from his mouth, the tacky taste of the leather handle filling his mouth and nose. It was making him drool.
The passengers on the bus all watched him warily. A woman opposite him watched the blood track down Klaus’ exposed calves. His short hair was already matted black with drying mud and viscera. The white of his eyes flashed under the thick layer of grime over his face.
David was a limp weight in his arms. He struggled to his feet and used his elbow to slam the bus’s stop signal. After about fifteen presses, the bus ground to a halt. Klaus burst from the double doors and hit the pavement.
Klaus had not eaten in two days and he had an injury of his own—a slice from a bayonet under his right knee. His vision was blurry. It felt like his mind had been pared down to impulses, all of him sharpened to a point.
As he ran, his legs shook worryingly. David’s bloody head bounced in the crook of his arm. He forced himself not to sprint across the road, and he waited for the lights to change while his hands shook. Cars passed so close they roared in his ears like a crashing tide. The city hospital loomed across the road, every light on in the building, a shining lighthouse in the gloom of the evening.
Klaus muttered to himself, around the handle in his mouth. His throat burned.
David said nothing.
When the lights changed, Klaus launched himself across the crosswalk. He had a light-headed, dizzy feeling and his shoulder twinged painfully. He pushed hard, drawing on the last on his will, grinding his teeth on suitcase handle.
Klaus reached the ER and kicked the automatic doors until they had opened enough for him to dart through. He stumbled to a stop, dripping scarlet on the pristine blue-plastic floor.
“Excuse me sir?” A nurse touched Klaus’ shoulder.
Klaus turned towards her and she flinched away. Belatedly, he realised he must smell awful, and look worse. He spat out the handle and the suitcase dropped to the floor. With his elbow, he lifted David’s head up. The man’s eyes flickered under his eyelids.
“I need a doctor,” Klaus croaked. “Now.”
*
After David was pulled away from him, Klaus felt oddly unmoored. He had to sit down. He took the suitcase and held it between his feet, a shiver starting up in his ribs. He felt like vomiting.
Klaus unzipped his jacket and peeled it off as delicately as he could. The dried blood tugged painfully on his skin. He rubbed his face, and felt the unpleasant, sticky muck he usually felt. His hair was oily. There was the familiar tinkling of his dog-tags, which caught in his jacket zip. He pulled them free with a sharp tug and dumped his jacket on the chair.
He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and kicked the suitcase towards the welcome desk, before hobbling after it. Klaus leaned heavily on the desk.
“I-I,” Klaus swallowed dryly, “I need to fill out insurance for him. I have a policy from my dad…” Klaus rubbed his knuckles over his tired eyes. “I can mark him down as my plus-one or whatever.”
“Sir,” The nurse watched him with wide eyes. “You’re injured. You should sit down.”
“Stabbed, I know,” Klaus pulled a form towards him. His fingers left black marks on the white paper, and he shifted forwards to lean more heavily on the counter. “It’s not that bad. Maybe four stitches.”
“It looks bad,” The nurse pulled the form away, “You should see a doctor. We can fill in the forms later.”
Klaus followed her gaze to the spreading wet stain that blackened his wifebeater. He touched it and found numb, torn skin. It was a sign of just how much blood he’d lost that his first instinct was to giggle.
“And shot, apparently,” Klaus grinned.
*
Klaus was sewn back together and briefly sedated while they sorted his gunshot wound out. He was lucky to have escaped without even a broken rib, but he still sported a thick padding of painful purple bruises.
He sat on the hospital bed, a thrum of anxiety moving through him. It was painful to lift his arms over his head so pulling his sleeveless shirt was difficult. His dog-tags bounced against his collarbone. The shirt had been washed, but the blood stain was still there, and the whole shirt had taken on a crusty grey look. He pushed his feet into the thin hospital slippers and padded out of the room.
After a brief conversation with the nurse, Klaus headed for David’s hospital room. The big black briefcase bounced against his thigh as he walked.
David was swaddled in white blankets, an oxygen mask clouding and clearing over his mouth and nose. His dark eyes opened when Klaus appeared, and crinkled at the corners with a tired smile. His hands shifted on the covers.
“Hey there, Soldier,” Klaus purred. The warm feeling rising in his chest was almost painful.
David gave a little, three-fingered wave.
Klaus pushed off the doorframe and settled down on David’s bedside table. He felt exhausted. With a soft sight, he leaned his elbows on the side of the mattress and flopped his chin down on David’s chest, like a big sleepy dog.
David laughed, and his laughing buffeted Klaus’ chin. He lifted the mask off his face a little, “You look terrible.”
Klaus grinned, “You’re one to talk.”
“Well,” David frowned slightly. “I… really thought I’d—you know. Bought the farm.”
“I would never allow it,” Klaus said.
“True enough.”
His eyes slid shut. Klaus watched him closely, like he expected Dave to fade out of existence. His nurse had said David might be up and walking in three weeks with a lot of rest and fluids. Klaus had almost kissed the nurse.
“You should ask the sarge in charge if you can move your cot in here,” David said, drawing in a heavy breath.
Klaus peered at him. “No, I can’t.”
“Why not?” David peeled his eyes open. He frowned at the blank walls, the steadily chirping machines. “This is the emptiest infirmary I’ve ever been to. Where are we? Da Nang?”
“Back home,” Klaus murmured.
“Back…” David let his mask snap back to his face and attempted to push himself upwards. His face twinged and he flopped back down. He asked weakly, “America?”
Klaus nodded. He sighed and sat up, pulling his dog-tags from around his neck. “Here. I don’t need them anymore.”
“You’ve been discharged?” David asked, picking the chain up. The metal squares clinked together.
“Something like that,” Klaus said.
David turned over the dog-tags carefully. “Four Hargreeves. I always thought you were joking about that.”
“I wasn’t,” Klaus lifted his left arm and pulled his hospital bracelet straight so David could read it.
“Blood type O,” David read.
“Yeah, well,” Klaus quirked an eyebrow. “I always had to be special, didn’t I?”
David smiled gently and let the dog-tag’s chain pool in a glinting pile over his own. He breathed deeply.
“I’ve got to head out,” Klaus rubbed his chin. “My family are apparently having a meeting. It will be good to catch up with them.” He stood up. “I’ll ask about moving the beds.”
David nodded.
Just as Klaus was closing the door, David called out, “Wait, Kay…”
Klaus paused, looking back at him.
“Thanks for saving my ass out there.” David scratched the back of his neck, a light flush rising beneath his washed-out complexion. “I mean it.”
“Well,” Klaus stepped in the hallway, “It is such a nice ass, after all.” He closed the door on a vision of David Katz laughing, that sheepish, flushed country-boy shyness that looked so good on him.
*
Klaus hid the briefcase in a third storeroom inside an air-vent, twisting the nails shut with his fingers.
*
In his bedroom, Klaus lost the distinctive veteran clothing and dressed instead in a faded band shirt and skinny jeans. It had been so long since he had worn tight-fitting clothing that he had almost forgot how snug and comfortable they were.
His hair was freshly washed and soft, the curls dripping onto his shoulders as he turned his head. It was coming up on three days since he’d last eaten, and his body bore marks of the intermittent diet and terrible conditions he had spent the last ten months in. His bones hurt.
The sunlight streamed through the single-pane windows of the mansion. He padded across the floor barefoot.
The door to Ben’s room was open, and Klaus heard the sound of the hoover running. He frowned.
Ben.
He hadn’t seen Ben in days. He had never gone a moment without knowing where his brother was—until now, it seemed. It was a bizarre realisation, like remembering he had left an arm at home.
Klaus leaned on the wall with his good arm and thought of Ben, Ben, Ben, Be—
“Took you long enough!” Ben exclaimed. Klaus opened his eyes and was greeted by the familiar sight of Ben Hargreeves leaning against the opposite wall. His expression was sour.
“Ah,” Klaus straightened up, “Miss me?”
“Miss you! Asshole.” Ben glared. “Since when could you send me away, anyway? I thought you couldn’t control your powers.”
Klaus frowned.
It had been in the middle of open conflict, with guns rattling punishingly loud. Mud had filled Klaus’ mouth and he was trying to aim a heavy gun, fire but not hit anybody. Shells exploded like a baseball connecting with his temple.
And—when Ben had tried to speak… Klaus had made a motion. A gentle one, his fingers coming together in a pinch-like form, like plucking a floating feather out of the air. And Ben had vanished.
“I didn’t think so either,” Klaus muttered. He padded past him and headed towards the stairs. It was difficult to hide his limp, but he managed to pull it off as an exaggerated swagger.
“You look like shit by the way,” Ben announced.
“Thanks,” Klaus said.
“I’m serious,” Ben said. “And why are we back in 2019? When did you leave—”
“Shh!” Klaus hissed as he strolled into the living room.
What remained of their family was collected in an awkward gathering around the sofas. Allison on a stool with her back to the bar, Luther sat next to the fireplace with Diego opposite him. Vanya stood, still in her coat, on the edge of the group, as out of place as always.
Five looked up as he walked in. There was a thick, beaten-up hardback in his hands. “Good, you finally made it.”
“Great,” Diego gritted out. “Now that he turned up, can you tell us what you dragged us here for?”
“Sure.” Five straightened up. “I already told you that I came back from the future. Well, I came back to prevent the apocalypse. And from my calculations, it happens less than a week from now.”
There was a long pause.
“The apocalypse?” Vanya echoed, dully. “Like, the real one? All life on earth snuffed out, mushroom clouds, that sort of thing?”
“Yes, pretty much,” Five nodded.
“Any survivors?” Luther asked.
“None except me,” Five said. “And I skipped it, so I don’t count.”
“That’s insane,” Allison said. “What causes it?”
“No idea,” Five raised his eyebrows and slipped off the arm of the couch he had been sitting on and tapped his fingers on the edge of the battered hardback. “But I think this book has something to do with it. I found it in the ruins of the academy.”
“What is that?” Vanya folded her arms and leaned forward. “Dune? Does that have something to do with the apocalypse?”
Klaus’ head jerked upwards, and a cold feeling filled him.
“Not the book itself,” Five said. “Someone wrote a note in the front which I think is significant.”
Diego snatched the book from his hands and flipped it open. He scanned the page before he read it aloud: “To Davie baby. Hope you’ll enjoy this one. -Spaceman.”
There was a tightening in Klaus’ stomach, like he was about to puke. He tightened his fist until his nails dug painfully into his palm.
“So, what then?” Luther asked. “We find this… Davie-baby?”
“Yes, exactly,” Five said. “He’s got something to do with the apocalypse. I don’t know whether he causes it himself or if he…”
“Or she,” Vanya interjected.
“What?” Diego frowned at her.
“Davie could be girl,” Vanya said, weakly. She seemed to wilt when all the attention was on her.
“Short for what?” Luther asked, yanking the book from Diego. “Dave-etta?”
“I don’t know,” Vanya said. “I was just suggesting it…”
Klaus felt as though the floor had opened up under him. He was light-headed. Because, back at the hospital, there was a book on David Katz’s bedside table, the same edition with the exact same inscription, written by Klaus a few months ago by the light of an army lantern.
*
“What was all that?” Ben said as Klaus padded out of the academy. Klaus was still light-headed and a little dizzy, but to the others he must have only seemed hungover. He ran his hands over his face.
“What was what?” Klaus asked, dully.
“You started freaking out back there,” Ben said. “I could practically hear your heart-rate picking up.”
“I’m just in withdrawal,” Klaus said.
“Bullshit. You’ve been clean for a month now,” Ben said. “Longer, if you had me on mute for more time than I’m assuming. Why are we back in 2019? What happened to Dave? Look—you’re going to have to explain yourself sooner or later.”
“Actually,” Klaus glared at the pavement, “I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
A car roared past, splattering him with yesterday’s rain. Klaus glanced around the city street, watching the billboards bear down on him. From his family’s perspective, he had only been missing a few days at most, but for Klaus the city life was ancient history. He had been returned to the future, to the same dysfunctional, bickering family, the same cold city where nobody knew him, the same judgemental, dead brother. The same dully, gnawing cravings.
“That book,” Ben muttered. “It’s David’s, isn’t it? You bought it from military library and gave it to him—it’s that copy?”
Klaus stopped walking. He breathed in a lung-full of cold city air, heavy with the smell of rain. Pedestrians pushed past him, close enough to clip him with their shopping bags and folded umbrellas.
“Why are you asking, Ben?” Klaus said, without looking at him. “You know the answer. You were there.”
Ben gave out a pointless sigh. He walked until he was in front of Klaus, “You should tell them. You should tell them everything. They’re your family, Klaus, they want to—”
Klaus snuffed him out with a pinching motion.
Just like that, Klaus was alone on the busy street, buffeted this way and that, like a lone leaf on a stormy day. He ran a hand through his hair and walked on.
*
Klaus opened the hospital room door closely. His packet of fast food steamed gently, leaving his forearm damp and warm. David lifted his head when he saw him enter.
“Hey,” Klaus lifted the burger bag and it swung gently from his grip. “I brought you fuel.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” David said, coolly.
Klaus paused for almost a full second, the expression frozen on his face, before he recovered and closed the door behind him. He really was a terrible liar. It was only his reputation of being untrustworthy which cast enough doubt onto his reliability that allowed him to get away with the occasional white lie.
David wasn’t wearing the oxygen mask anymore, and despite how angry he looked, Klaus couldn’t help but appreciate how much colour had returned to the man’s cheeks. He looked a lot less like he was about to keel over.
“About what?” Klaus asked, innocently. “There are probably a lot of things—”
David held up a newspaper. He tapped the date.
“Ah,” Klaus said. “I had no idea they still printed those things.”
“Tell me this is some sort of—messed up prank, Klaus,” David said, desperately. “Tell me we’re not actually in the future. Tell me that nurse, those patients, that doctor—they’re all in on it too. It’s all some sort of hoax, tell me that, please.”
Klaus sat down at his bedside. He set the burger bag on top of the battered copy of Dune.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” David said. “I don’t know what’s real. How can we be here? How can I be here?”
“We…” Klaus’ throat was dry. He swallowed. “I took us here. When you were injured, I brought you back to my time. Or—forward to my time, as it is.”
David stared at him.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Klaus said, weakly.
“Hard to believe is puttin’ it darn-lightly,” David grumbled. He buried his hands in his face. “By Jove… Klaus you aren’t lying to me.”
“I’m not,” Klaus insisted.
“I’m close to believing you, fool as I am,” David said into his hands. “I couldn’t handle it if you lied to me about this. I couldn’t.”
“I’m not,” Klaus touched his arm. “I’m not.”
David breathed through his hands, shakily. His shoulders shivered.
“I never lied to you,” Klaus said. “Well—not about the important stuff. I always told you I was from 2019.”
“Yeah, and we all called you Spaceman for trying to make us believe you,” David’s voice was tired. He took his hands away from his face.
Klaus smiled, “You didn’t believe me?”
“I sort-of did,” David said. “I don’t know why. You’re easy to believe.”
“You’re the only person in the world who thinks that,” Klaus grinned.
“That’s impossible,” David leaned back, his sheets crinkling. “Whenever you say anything, you’ve got this earnestness about you, especially if you turn your big dark eyes on them, they’re putty. It’s a struggle not to believe you even when what you’re saying is practically cracked.”
“Did you believe me about my powers?” Klaus asked.
David breathed out through his teeth, “I believed… I believe you had a large, divisive family, a weird upbringing, and a papa who never had any love for you. And, apparently, a vivid imagination.”
“You’re right about those things,” Klaus grinned.
After a moment, David seemed to lose his humour. His smile faltered and he went a little pale. “You should have asked.”
“What?” Klaus blinked.
“You shouldn’t have taken me here without asking,” David said.
“Are—are you insane?” Klaus scowled. “When was I supposed to ask? When you were bleeding out and barely conscious?”
“You want me to believe you weren’t planning to bring me here anyway?” David asked, sharply.
Klaus froze for a second—caught. His expression darkened, “You’re seriously mad at me for saving your life?”
“You took me away from the front,” David glared at him. “I was making a difference and you decided to—!”
“You didn’t make a difference!” Klaus yelled. “The war was bullshit! The—the soviets never invade, the entire war is a pointless, useless waste of life! Millions dead, over what, a pissing contest between two countries that fizzles out in the 90’s anyway?!”
“You don’t get to make that decision,” David said. “Maybe my America doesn’t feel real because the 60’s were ancient history to you, but I chose to sign up for a reason. I wanted to serve my country.”
Klaus gaped at him. He was beyond words. Sometimes David was just like that—so stubbornly and relentlessly old-fashioned that it was dazzling. It felt like all of the breath had left his chest.
“You made me a deserter, Klaus,” David shook his head. “I guess you don’t understand what that means, but it means something to me.”
Klaus took a step back.
It felt like he’d been slapped in the face. He shook his head slightly and turned, heading for the door. His heart was heavy and painful, and his wounds felt especially sore.
“Wait, Klaus,” David called.
Klaus paused with his hand on the door handle. He glanced back.
“I am… grateful for what you did for me,” David said, measuredly. “I know it doesn’t sound like I am, but I am. I’m angry… but don’t take that as a sign to stay away. I’ll miss you, bad.”
Klaus grinned. “You’re too soft-hearted.”
“Don’t I know it,” David sighed in mock-exasperation.
Something tight in Klaus’ chest was unwinding, “Eat the burger before it gets cold. The food in this place is terrible.”
“It can’t be worse than military food,” David muttered. He had a point. Klaus flashed him a smile and closed the door behind him.
*
The Book Emporium wasn’t exactly overflowing with customers, but the narrow, cramped walkways and corridors meant that Klaus and Diego had to keep stepping awkwardly to one side or balancing on the skirting board to let other shoppers pass. The entire building had the distinctive, musty smell of old books.
Klaus’ injuries were starting to burn a little, and he sat down on a nearby chair to take the weight off his bad knee. His gunshot laceration prickled, and he wanted to lie down, but Diego would never allow it. It had been a struggle to find clothes in his wardrobe that hid the thick padding of bandages he couldn’t explain.
“Here we are,” The owner of the shop trundled back to them, holding what looked like a brick wrapped in thick tissue paper. He set it down on the small side table. “I had to check with my associate. It looks like the book you have is a third printing of the 1965 first edition. It’s fairly pricey; I’ve seen copies sold for something like six grand, but—”
“You’ve sold one?” Diego asked.
The owner frowned, “Not that I remember, but I’d have to check with the records. I sell a lot of books.”
Diego picked up the heavy copy of Dune, casting off the tissue paper. The book cover was a shifting green painting, with a streak of pale sand cutting through black-green rock. Klaus watched it closely. It was almost unsettling to see it again, like glancing at a face in the crowd and suddenly recognising it.
“Who else is selling it?” Klaus asked.
The owner squinted at him, like he had forgotten Klaus was there. Diego, too, looked startled. Klaus glanced between them, blankly.
“Well… I imagine just about every bookseller in the city is keeping an eye out for a book like this,” The owner said. “It’s a guaranteed sale.”
“Great,” Diego said, dryly. “Can I get a list of anyone you’ve sold this edition to? And anyone who might have been looking for this edition and anyone who might have already collected it? Just this first edition and third printing please, money is no object.”
The owner frowned, “Just this version?”
“We’re like…” Klaus raised his eyebrows. “Really eccentric billionaires.”
The owner nodded, “I’ll go get my records.”
“Thanks,” Diego said. The owner retreated back into the labyrinth of shelves, quickly trundling out of sight. Light glinted on the glass cases of ancient letters and hand-written manuscripts. Klaus scanned the rows of yellowing paperbacks and outdated magazines which were stuffed into the shelves which ran next to him.
“This will be such a bust,” Diego sighed. He flopped down next to Klaus.
“It’s the only lead we have,” Klaus said.
“I know,” Diego said. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
The music which fell from the overhead speakers changed from a crooning Beatles song to a jiving jazz track which made heavy use of a soundboard of a cat’s meow. Somewhere in the maze of books, an argument reached them.
“Does Five seem different to you?” Klaus asked.
“Probably,” Diego said. “We last saw him ten years ago, and it’s been even longer for him. People change.”
“What I’m saying is does he seem…” Klaus struggled for the right words. “Tougher? Angrier?”
“Well, he was a time assassin.”
“A time assassin?”
“It’s pretty much what it sounds like,” Diego said.
Klaus rubbed the stubble on his chin. There was a magazine open on the table in front of him, showing diagrams for sewing a patched dress. There was something comfortingly 60’s in the hairstyles and half-smiles of the female models.
“Hey,” Diego caught his shoulder and squeezed. “If you’re worried about whether he’ll be able to do what it takes to fix this mess, don’t be. He’s a little demon, he won’t show mercy. And even if he wasn’t, the rest of us are tough as nails.”
Klaus stared at him, mouth hanging open. He couldn’t think of anything to say.