Work Text:
-2011-
“It's not going to work,” Ben said.
Klaus made a show of sticking his fingers in his ears as he walked up to the doorstep of the elegant brownstone. “Boy, the wind is really loud tonight.”
There must have really been a wind, not that Ben could feel it. The last dying autumn leaves swirled in wild eddies as they fell from the thick trees lining the street. On the sidewalks, small children shivered in the cold, their pink tutus and skeleton onesies and vampire capes concealed by thick winter coats.
Klaus was shivering the most of everyone. It wasn't because of the cold.
“What do you expect to accomplish other than embarrass yourself?”
Klaus stopped. Turned to Ben with a poisonous smile. “This may come as a shock,” he said in a voice that was dripping with sarcasm, “but living people have to exchange money for goods and services. It's how they stay living. Or have you forgotten after five years?”
“The goods you're after will only kill you faster.”
Klaus rolled his eyes as he stepped around a pumpkin. “Oh, get new material.”
He raised his quivering hand and pressed the doorbell.
After a minute, the door swung open.
“Trick or treat,” Klaus sang.
The woman in the entrance took one look at Klaus. At his pallid, sweat-slicked face, at his tattered fake fur coat and neon crop top and laced-up leather pants, at the sandwich board upon which HAPPY HALLOWEEN! $ IN LIEU OF 🍬 APPRECIATED was written in Sharpie. Her expression soured, and for just an instant, Ben was grateful to be invisible. “How old are you?”
There was a pause.
“Twelve,” said Klaus.
The door slammed in his face.
“Hey, open up!” Klaus screamed. He kicked the door. “This is discrimination! My father will sue you.”
A family that had been heading up the stone walkway took one look at Klaus and stopped. The parents grabbed their children by the hand and rushed away in the opposite direction.
Ben was clearer tonight. More grounded, more present and aware of his surroundings. Most of the time, he felt less like a whole person than wisps of hazy thoughts and disconnected impulses strung together. But now, although his body was no more tangible than usual, his soul seemed to be. He was sure this would change as soon as Klaus's quest for goods and services succeeded, but for now Ben was savoring the moment. It was a respite from the ceaseless numbness of existing in his current state. Each observation flitting through his mind, each hint of an emotion, Ben held onto like a talisman, naming it to make it more real.
For instance, the bitter knot at his core as Klaus threw a tantrum on the doorstep like a whiny child was definitely contempt. Ben relished it, because nowadays he relished anything that was close enough to feeling.
Klaus gave the door one last dejected kick before turning around. “Gonna come back to egg her house later,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Told you so,” Ben said with a flicker of vindictiveness.
“You tell me everything I do will fail. Sooner or later you were going to get it right.”
“Well, so far I've been six for six this evening.”
“My plan was great. Not my fault that Brock just happened to be a bust.”
Brock had indeed been a bust. So had Vanessa, Carl, Leanne, and Ronaldo. Once upon a time, Klaus'd had a vast collection of surface-level friends—the college party crowd and the rave crowd and the festival crowd and the street crowd—who he could hit up at a moment's notice for a night or three on the town. And Klaus had been adept at waiting until they were off their faces and charming them for a pill here, a line there, always making them think it was their idea. But tonight, everyone Klaus had phoned had a stammered excuse prepared, if they'd picked up at all.
“Don't you get it? Those bridges are burned. They're not going to fall for it when they know you're an addict.”
Klaus whirled toward him. “I'm not addicted,” he snapped. Around them, pedestrians stared. Although the street was residential, it was also a major artery close to downtown, so even on a normal evening, traffic was heavy both on car and on foot. “I just happen to need medication for my rare disability.” Then he gave an unconvincing laugh. “Well, I guess it was my fault, springing this at the last minute on Halloween. Of course Brock would have plans. He knows how to have fun.”
Ben said nothing. Even after how far Klaus had fallen, he still hadn't adjusted his self-image. In Klaus's mind, he was still a free-spirited hedonist whose life was one long party. If he happened not to have a roof over his head or money in his pocket, it was just a temporary stop on the way to his next adventure. But Ben saw the writing on the wall. Once you had the stench of desperation on you, everyone kept their distance.
Well, everyone except Ben.
They passed another house. Klaus slowed down and observed it closely, as though taking inventory of each detail, then moved on. He did the same for the next house, and the one after that. His eyes grew hungrier with each one. At first Ben thought he was trying to guess which one's owner would be most likely to take pity on him, but then Klaus abandoned his sandwich board by a street lamp and sauntered onward.
“Too many people here,” Klaus muttered to himself.
“What are you up to?” Ben asked. No answer.
At the next intersection, Klaus turned left, then right, then left again. And Ben was tethered to him, so of course Ben turned too. Soon they were on a residential side street, one with detached Victorian houses. The only pedestrians were a couple of trick-or-treaters slinking away in the opposite direction, looking disappointed with their haul. There were fewer streetlamps, and now that night had fallen, the residential street was hidden in shadows.
“Shouldn't you find a place to sleep tonight?”
Klaus ignored him and kept walking. On the opposite side of the street, the trick-or-treaters had turned the corner. The street was deserted now.
“You know who would help us if we went to see them,” Ben said.
No reaction.
“Come on, I know you know.”
Klaus kept walking, but there was a deliberateness to his gait now, a cockiness. As though he was reveling in his own power.
“Please, Klaus. I want to see them again. Why are you being so mean—”
Klaus mimed a zipper at Ben.
At the end of the street was a cul-de-sac. Klaus's eyes darted sideways, as if to see whether he was being watched. In spite of how cold it must have been, sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Where are we going?” Ben asked.
Klaus was staring at one of the houses. Its lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. He peeked inside the mailbox.
At the pile of flyers inside, his face erupted into a Cheshire cat grin.
“You can't be serious,” said Ben.
“I said zip it.” Klaus crossed the lawn, keeping to the shadows of the large willow tree. A fence was blocking the backyard. He frowned as he surveyed it.
“This is too far even for you. You're going to get arrested.”
Klaus didn't react. He grabbed the top of the fence and pulled himself up. Halfway through, he grunted and fell back to the ground.
“I know you don't care about doing the right thing. But there are no drugs in jail.”
“Good thing I won't get caught.”
Klaus brushed himself off. Took a running jump up the fence, caught the top of the fence again and hung from the edge. Ben was about to thank his lucky stars for that fence. But this time Klaus reached over the top. His hand opened the lock on the other side. The fence swung open, Ben powerless to stop it. But at least he had the power to be upset about it.
“Whatever,” Ben said with a shrug. “You're going to do whatever you want, and then you're going to cry about the consequences after.”
“That's right. I am going to do whatever I want. And do you know why?” Klaus turned to him with a nasty smile. “Because I'm alive, and you're dead. Nothing you think matters.”
“Then why did you bring me back, huh?” Ben exploded. It always came back here, to the trump card that Ben could never quite let himself throw away. “Why didn't you let me move on?”
Klaus's expression faltered for just a second before he replied, “If you hate it so much, then why don't you go away?”
“You already know I would if I could,” Ben said, and the hot flare of half-real anger was reassuring, the next best thing to having warm blood in his veins. “You know damn well this is the last place on earth I want to—”
-2003-
“It's not going to work,” Ben whispered, fidgeting at the foot of Klaus's bed.
“Benny,” said Klaus, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Benjamin. Benedict. Bennifer. You need to have more faith in your dear brother.”
Although Klaus's confidence was infectious—a little part of Ben started to believe they'd get away with it, or at least wanted to believe—Ben couldn't help but wince at how loud his voice was getting. Klaus never seemed to notice his effect on the people around him. Like he was so much larger than life that he existed outside the rules that governed how mortals were supposed to behave. Much as Ben envied him for it, Klaus was going to wake up Vanya in the next room if he kept it up.
“Dad will kill us when he finds out,” he whispered.
“Dad won't kill us. Not for sneaking out, anyway. Maybe if it boosts our success rate by eighteen percent on our next mission.” Klaus beamed when Ben let a snicker escape. “Besides, Dad won't find out. I'm telling you, there aren't cameras in Five's room anymore. That fire escape is like an open freeway. Trust me, I'd know.” He let go of Ben's shoulder. “Focus on picking a costume, okay?”
Klaus motioned to the eclectic pile of clothing strewn all over his bed. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his selections; Ben spotted a slinky red dress, a top hat, a feather boa, a velvet black cape, a tie-dyed T-shirt, and even a silver tube top. Where Klaus had found all this, Ben didn't know. His own wardrobe was nothing but different sets of Academy uniforms.
“What is this?” Ben picked up an oddly shaped strip of netting.
Klaus grabbed it out of Ben's hand. “The fishnet stockings are part of my costume.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “What kind of costume is that?”
“For Dr. Frank-N-Furter!” He looked scandalized at Ben's lack of reaction. “From Rocky Horror?”
“Is that a civilian thing?”
“Ben, you're so sheltered it's adorable.” He ruffled Ben's hair. Ben frowned and lowered his eyes. He hated being treated like a younger brother. “It's another Halloween ritual, like trick-or-treating. You get really drunk and dress really slutty and scream things at a movie screen. But they won't let me in because they're ageist.”
Nothing on the bed called to Ben, so he asked, “Can I look in your dresser?”
Klaus shifted his weight nervously. “Uh, well, the top two drawers should be fine.”
The top drawer had scorch marks all over the inside (“That was a long story,” Klaus said vaguely). Inside were scented candles, a lighter, incense, and a folded white bedsheet that also had small burn marks. That was one reason Ben liked spending time in Klaus's room, aside from Klaus himself—it always smelled nice, floral with a spicy undertone, like the candles and incense he lit. In a house full of teenage boys, it was refreshing. As Ben looked, Klaus was pulling the stockings over a pair of briefs that showed way more of Klaus than Ben wanted to see.
“How often do you do this?” Ben asked, averting his eyes.
“Go out? Or trick-or-treat?”
“Both.”
“The first? As much as I can. The second?” There was a faraway look in his eyes. “This is my second time.”
“When was the first?”
“Last Halloween,” Klaus said. He paused. “With Five.”
Ben looked at the ground. He swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat. “Why Five?”
“His idea, oddly enough. That bastard had a sweet tooth.”
Memories were flooding Ben's head. Five appearing in a flash of blue behind the gunman who'd been about to blow Ben's brains out and snapping his neck, Five teleporting into his room after lights-out with frogs he'd caught in the garden, Five stuffing his face with donuts at Griddy's... “And no one else was invited?”
“Oh, I invited myself. I caught him red-handed on the fire escape.” Klaus shook his head. “He dressed up as himself, would you believe that? Just put on a domino mask and uniform, and when they asked who he was supposed to be, Five said he was the best member of the Umbrella Academy. The goddamn arrogance.”
Ben smiled, although now there was a wistfulness in the air. He'd never thought that Five's flaws could give him such a warm nostalgic feeling, or that their absence could feel like a hole in his stomach.
“Here you go.” Klaus tossed Ben the silver tube top. “Maybe you can be a discount Columbia.”
Ben made a face as he held the tiny scrap of sheer cloth by the corner. “Are you crazy? I can't wear this outside.”
“Come on, wear it! We'll have matching outfits.”
“Stop that.”
Klaus clapped his hands and started chanting, “Wear it, wear it, wear it—”
There was a cough in the next room. They froze at the sound of blankets rustling, Vanya letting out a yawn. Neither of them said a word.
Finally, after a minute of silence, Ben whispered, “I think she's asleep.”
“Thank God.” Klaus shuddered. “Vanya would have been such a killjoy. Anyway, hurry up and pick a costume already.”
Ben mulled it over. He'd have plenty of options in his own closet if he chose to copy Five's idea. But he couldn't think of any person he wanted to be less than himself tonight.
Finally, he said, “I can be a ghost.”
Klaus's face spasmed. “Very funny.”
“It's easy.” From the drawer, Ben pulled out the bedsheet. “I can just cut holes into the sheet. It's already damaged, so it's not like anyone will use it again.”
“Let's test it out.” Klaus yanked the sheet out of Ben's hand and dropped it over his head. Everything turned dark.
Underneath the sheet, Ben giggled hysterically. “How do I look?”
“Nowhere close to realistic,” Klaus said. “But that's a compliment.”
Ben pulled the sheet off his head. His hair crackled with static electricity, and Klaus reached over and smoothed Ben's unruly hair back down before Ben could stop him.
“Stop doing that,” Ben grumbled. “I'm not a baby.”
“You are! You're an itty bitty baby,” Klaus squealed, then mussed his hair up again. “Okay, let's vamoose.”
Some nameless emotion was building up to a crescendo inside Ben. Maybe it was the excitement of getting to taste a forbidden fruit. Or maybe it was just the feeling of being invited into Klaus's secret world. You'd think that a family of seven would never get lonely, but in practice it meant that there was a six-way tie for everyone's attention. You were never anyone's favorite. Normally it suited Ben fine to be the kid who blended in the most. But sometimes it was nice to be singled out. To be seen.
But he couldn't put any of that into words. So he settled for, “Thank you for inviting me, Klaus.”
Klaus smiled. “Hey, someone needs to be my candy wingman. You're short enough that I can pass you off as my little brother.” The smile wavered. “Besides, next year you'll be too old for trick-or-treating. Who knows when we'll get another chance?” He looked out the window. “It's the least I can do.”
-2011-
“You're in my way,” Klaus snapped.
Ben squatted outside the basement window, crossing his arms. “Why do you care? You can walk through me anyway.”
“Because your ugly dead face is distracting me.”
“Good. Maybe then you'll stop.”
Klaus rolled his eyes and threw a large stone in his direction. As it passed through him, Ben felt an uncomfortable wobbly sensation like he was Jello being cut through with a spoon.
There was a crash, and for an irrational moment Ben thought it was the sound of his spirit disintegrating, that he was finally free. But then he realized that the stone had shattered the window.
Klaus waited, his body language alert and tense as though he was listening for a scream or an alarm. But there was silence.
“The coast is clear,” Klaus said with a grin. He crouched by the window, then reached inside through the hole. Ben caught him wince in pain a couple of times as jagged edges of glass scraped his unsteady arm. A click as Klaus found the latch, and then the window was open.
Klaus started to shimmy down through the window. With a resigned sigh, Ben jumped down to the floor of the basement. The drop was large enough to have hurt him had he been alive.
While he waited for Klaus to finish his descent, Ben looked around. The basement was more of a den, with finished hardwood floors and a leather couch. When Ben saw the large CRT TV on the stand, he groaned.
“Jackpot,” Klaus said as soon as he'd made it. His eyes were also locked onto the TV, and Ben could practically see the visions of oxycodone dancing in them.
“You can't carry that out by yourself. Not with your scrawny arms.”
“Just watch me.”
Ben did watch him. As Klaus fumbled pathetically with the TV, looking increasingly agitated as he kept failing to lift it more than a couple of inches (his hands kept shaking, they wouldn't stop shaking), Ben took inventory of the distant emotions floating like driftwood through him. Contempt, that one again. And something else. Faint, delicate, like a gossamer string about to snap...
“If you really want to steal something—not that I condone this—at least go for something smaller.”
“Go for something smaller,” Klaus mimicked in a nasal high-pitched voice.
“There's a portable record player right over there. That would be less conspicuous.”
“No one asked you.”
Klaus kept at it for at least another minute before stopping suddenly. He turned around and bent over, as though hit with a sudden wave of nausea.
“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, clutching his stomach. His pale face was developing a greenish tinge.
Ben knew he shouldn't comment on it. He really shouldn't. But there was something to be said about getting a reaction, no matter how vicious. It proved that you were still real. That you still took up space.
“I thought you said you weren't addicted,” he said.
“Will you shut up for once in your miserable death?” Klaus had his fingers pressed to his temples now, his eyes closed.
After a few minutes, he stood up. Said to himself—or at least, he clearly wanted himself to look like his intended audience—“You know what, I'll come back for the TV. There must be tons of shit upstairs.”
On the way out, he casually reached for the record player. Klaus didn't look at either the record player or at Ben. It still wasn't subtle enough to work.
“So I was right,” Ben said with a smirk.
Wordlessly, Klaus flipped Ben off as he carried the record player upstairs.
-2003-
“You're in my way,” Klaus said between giggles.
“I got here first!”
Klaus stuck out his tongue. “Well, it's not my fault you're so slow!”
They squirmed and jostled each other as they tried to squeeze through the small window of Five's room.
“You're stepping on my sheet!”
“Then move your sheet out of the way!”
“There's no room! You're too tall.”
“Maybe you just need to lose weight.”
“Maybe you just need to gain a brain.”
“Brains are overrated anyway.”
“Ow, watch your elbow!”
The chill when they emerged onto the fire escape was bracing. Ben had the sheet wrapped around him like a cape, but he wished he'd thought to wear his winter uniform underneath. Then again, compared to poor Klaus shivering in his leotard and elbow-length black gloves and fishnet stockings (Klaus had been vocal in his disappointment over the lack of corset and garter belt), Ben was nice and toasty. Whoever Dr. Frank-N-Furter was, he certainly didn't live in a cold climate. Klaus's ankles wobbled as he edged down the precarious stairs on his black stilettos. Ben felt a twinge of pain in sympathy. Somehow Klaus hadn't learned his lesson about heels yet.
There was a drop below the ladder, so Ben jumped off at the bottom. He winced as his feet hit the street below. Klaus kicked off his shoes before following.
Now that Ben was back on the ground, the magnitude of what they'd done hit him. Ben's heart pounded in his chest. Suddenly, the night seemed full of potential, a dark and magical forest with hundreds of paths that were laid out in all directions. Above them, the starry sky was endless, and Ben thought that if he stretched his arms, he just might fly.
Dad would kill me. Somehow the thought only gave him a rush of adrenaline.
“We made it,” Ben said. A wild grin was spreading across his face.
“Told you we would.” Klaus had slipped his heels back on, but he was hopping awkwardly from foot to foot as if to keep warm. His arms were wrapped around himself.
Ben pulled off his sheet. “Here.”
“What are you doing?”
“It looks like you need it more than I do.”
Klaus shook his head. “Hey, don't worry. I have my own ways of keeping warm.”
And Klaus pulled off one of his long black gloves. Ben was about to say that would only make him colder, but then Klaus reached inside and pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag containing a lighter and two hand-rolled white cigarettes.
“Booze would have been better for body heat, but I can't fit a flask in there,” Klaus said, sticking the cigarette—no, on second thought, Ben had a strong feeling it wasn't a cigarette—between his lips.
Ben thought of saying something. Didn't, but Klaus must have read it in his eyes. “This isn't anything serious. Everyone on the planet has tried weed.”
“Okay.”
“It's not like I'm a drug addict.”
“I know.”
Klaus struck his lighter. “We should head toward Eighth Street after. That's where all the rich moms are. They give the best candy.” He took a puff of his joint, then held it out. “You want?”
Ben's insides turned to ice. “Nah. I'm good.”
“Suit yourself. More for me.”
There was a companionable silence as Klaus smoked, his wiry silhouette as he leaned against the brick wall a coiled hook, all gangling limbs and crooked posture.
Ben stood a few feet away. Partly to escape the smell, but now there was also a subtle distance between them that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was the reminder of their gap in experience. There may have been hundreds of paths open to Ben tonight, but Ben didn't think he was ready to go down some of the ones Klaus had already taken.
“Do you think Five is out tonight?” Klaus asked out of nowhere.
Ben shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.” He swallowed. “At least I hope so.”
Klaus's eyes were glassy. “I think he is. If he's alive. That bastard's blinking from house to house right now, stealing all the candy. Lording over how Dad can't make him follow a meal plan anymore.”
“Or he's in the twenty-fifth century.” Ben thought of all the science fiction novels he'd read. “Who knows? Maybe they've invented unlimited candy along with flying cars.”
“That'd be the life.” Klaus smiled sadly. “No wonder he wants to stay there.”
Silence hung heavily in the air.
“I'll finish the rest on the way,” Klaus said at last. “Come on, let's go.”
-2011-
“Are you going to sit there all night?” Ben asked, folding his arms.
Klaus panted and wheezed as he leaned against the banister, his crop top drenched with sweat. On the step beside him, his fake fur coat lay draped over the bag with the record player and the silver platter and the box of jewellery (but no TV, of course). The elevator in Brock's low-rise was broken again, which meant the stairs. Which meant that thanks to Klaus's poor physical condition, it was time for him to carry on like a consumption victim.
The stairs were easy for Ben. Everything was easy when you were dead. Nothing touched you, and you touched nothing.
“Maybe I will,” Klaus said petulantly. But Ben knew that his words were empty. Soon the withdrawal would progress enough for the discomfort of waiting to outweigh the discomfort of climbing. Klaus was already starting to look very ill. Ben hadn't seen another ghost yet, but it was Halloween; it was really only a matter of time.
Finally, he stood up again. Slung the coat over his shoulder, picked up the bag of goods, and walked up.
The hall in front of Brock's third-floor apartment was sterile and painted grey. Klaus took a deep breath, then plastered on a fake smile and knocked on the door.
A tall blond man with broad shoulders opened it. If he'd been thirty pounds heavier, he'd have the build of a football player—which checked out, since Brock had been a football player back in college, before the pills had hollowed him out.
“Brock, my man!”
Brock looked so transparently dismayed that Ben would have laughed if he'd been in a laughing mood. “Hey, Klaus.”
“Good to see you! You didn't end up going to that Halloween party?”
“Yeah.” Brock scratched his neck. “Uh, it fell through at the last minute. How are you doing?”
“I'm fantastic.” Klaus's fake smile became wider. “Just in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd say hi. Check how you were doing, keep in touch. And maybe mention a business proposal while I'm at it.”
The last part had been in an offhand voice, as though it was an afterthought, but Brock let out a bitter laugh as soon as the words were out of Klaus's mouth. “Of course you do.” He glanced at the bag that Klaus was holding. “Did you steal this?”
“Of course not!” Klaus clutched his heart. “How could you accuse me of something so horrible? I just did some spring cleaning and found a bunch of family heirlooms I have no space for anymore. And then I thought to myself, 'who do I know with impeccable taste? I know, my good buddy Brock! He's the kind of connoisseur who'd appreciate high-quality goods like these.'”
“Uh-huh.” Brock's smile tightened. “Thanks, but I don't need any of this junk.”
“Then sell it.” Klaus's hands trembled. “It's worth a lot of cash. I'm not picky. You can have it all if you lend me some oxy tonight.”
“I'm out,” Brock said curtly.
“Come on, do me a solid.” He clasped his hands together. “Twenty dollars. Please. That would be a steal just for the record player.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “It's not worth the headache of finding a buyer.”
“Ten. That's my final offer. Ten measly dollars.”
Brock paused. Seemed to be considering it, wearing the same hungry expression that Ben had seen so often from Klaus. “You know what, fine. For ten dollars, I'll take it all.”
Klaus bowed. “Ten it is. Thank you, kind sir.”
Ben watched impassively. None of this mattered, not when he couldn't change a thing. He remembered a time, back when he was ripping people to pieces once a week whether he'd wanted to or not, that he'd tried to take up as little space as possible. As though he was a spreading blight, and everything he touched would be contaminated. In photographs, in crowds, even in his own family, he'd deliberately receded into the background. Sometimes he'd walked down a busy street and secretly clenched his stomach muscles until they hurt, terrified of letting a monster loose, and Ben would wish he could disappear. Be fog, or smoke, not there at all.
Be careful what you wish for, wasn't that how the saying went?
-2003-
“Are you going to sit there all night?” Ben asked, pouting.
Klaus was covering his face with his hands as he lay on the bench. “Yes, actually. I think I'm never going to move again.”
“I want to try more houses!” Ben said eagerly.
“Let me rest, Ben. Jesus. These heels are killing me.”
They'd knocked on over twenty doors, and so far, no one had answered. It was no surprise that Klaus's stamina had run out. Even in comfortable sneakers, he was usually the first to get winded when they ran laps. He'd always been the least athletic of all of them—aside from Vanya, of course.
Ben wasn't tired at all. He could walk down these streets forever. It didn't matter if no one gave them candy. It didn't matter that the cold was making his ears and toes and fingers numb. There was a magic in being out so late, in unstructured time without an order to follow or a mission to accomplish or a person to kill.
Finally, Klaus sat up. “Fiiiiiiiine. We can give it a few more tries before we head back.”
“Thank you so much, Klaus.” And he meant it.
As they walked up to the next house, Ben pulled the sheet over his head. It was hard to see through the tiny eye holes. “Did you and Five have this much trouble getting candy?”
Klaus frowned. “It's funny, I could have sworn more people answered their doors last year.” He motioned to the doorbell. “You do the honors, Bennerino.”
Careful not to get his expectations too high, Ben pressed the buzzer.
This time, to Ben's surprise, a woman in pajamas opened the door. “What are you two doing out so late?”
Klaus said, “Trick-or-treating. Obviously.”
She stared at them, her eyes bleary. “Are you crazy? It's after eleven.”
“So it is.” Klaus grinned. “Anyway, trick or treat.”
For a moment, Ben was afraid she'd slam the door in her face, but instead she only said, “All right, then.” She glanced at Klaus. “That's an interesting costume.”
“I'm a fan of classic cinema.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”
Ben started to say, “Fourt—”
“Twelve,” said Klaus.
She raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I guess I still have candy left over. I already put everything away, but give me a moment and I'll get some.”
While she was gone, Ben whispered, “How long does trick-or-treating usually last?”
Klaus shrugged. “I don't know. I only went once.”
When she returned, she had a plastic pumpkin bucket filled with miniature chocolate bars. “Give me your bag,” she said.
Klaus and Ben stared at her.
“Your bag for the candy,” she repeated.
“We were supposed to bring a bag?” Ben whispered.
Klaus fidgeted. “I forgot that part.”
The woman looked at them as though they'd sprouted two heads. “Have you never gone...you know what? It's fine. This is all fine.” She held out a handful of chocolate to Ben. “Just take it. Put it in your pockets or—”
It was too fast. Ben hadn't noticed soon enough, so he couldn't be ready. There was a stab of pain, and then the sound of fabric tearing as his shirt and then the bedsheet split in two. And then the tentacle knocked back the woman with the metaphorical force of a bulldozer, flinging her against the opposite wall.
The pumpkin bucket had fallen to the ground, peanut butter chocolate bars strewn everywhere. Tentacles flung out, hoovering all the chocolate with their suction cups, and reeled them back into the gaping maw inside of Ben, wrappers and all.
The woman limped to her feet as if in a daze. Waited five seconds. Then screamed her head off.
Next door, a dog started barking. In houses all along the street, lights flickered on in the windows.
“Let's get going,” Klaus hissed, and yanked Ben away by the arm.
-2011-
“What's the matter now?” Klaus asked, scowling at Ben.
“I didn't say anything this time.”
Klaus was crouching next to a ratty couch. He'd made a beeline for it as soon as Brock had gone to his bedroom to get his wallet. “Yeah, well, your eyes were saying it. And I'm sure I'll hear it eventually, so might as well save time. What judgmental thought are you itching to share with the class?”
Ben said, “It seems like a waste, that's all. Even a pawn shop would have given you more.”
“Well, you tell me where to fence goods after eleven PM on Halloween, genius.”
“But still. All that for ten dollars?”
“No.” Klaus's eyes gleamed. “All that for nearly a month's supply of pills.”
Ben frowned. “What do you...”
He trailed off. Klaus had unzipped the cover of one of the couch pillows and stuck his hand inside. He was pulling out a pill container.
“How did you know where to find it?” asked Ben.
Klaus licked his lips. “Past observation. I've been saving that nugget of information for a rainy day for months.”
Ben scoffed. “I should have known that if there's one thing you'd actually be good at, it's screwing people over.”
With a strange expression, Klaus looked up from the lid of the pill container he'd been twisting open. In a subdued voice, he asked, “Why are you like this?”
Ben stopped. Blinked. “Me?”
“No, I mean another ghost stalking me.” Klaus rolled his eyes. “Of course you. Doesn't it get exhausting, being horrible to me all the time?”
In disbelief, Ben shook his head. “Excuse me? You're the one who's horrible to me.”
Klaus laughed bitterly. “Really? Because where I'm standing, I'm always taking you to movies and nice parks. Meanwhile, all I hear every day is 'Klaus, you're a fuck-up. Klaus, you're the worst. Klaus, every single thing you do is wrong.' Don't you have anything better to do than rag on me?”
A flare of rage ignited in Ben, one whose heat was almost comforting. “Of course I don't,” he shouted. “I'm dead.” Even now, a detached voice deep within him, one that felt like a passive observer to his own anger, was commenting, this is good. This is proof that part of you is still human. “You're the only person I can talk to, and the only times you're actually sober enough to hold a conversation, you treat me like I don't exist. Or like I'm your pet who's only here to give you attention when you want it. But you don't actually see me. You don't listen to me, even when I'm trying to save your life. You don't care what I want or think or feel.” His voice broke. “You won't even let anyone else know I'm here.”
“Gee, I wonder why I don't want to listen to you.” Klaus turned back to his pills. He'd opened the container and was fishing some out. “See, I don't owe you anything. It's my life, not yours. But you just won't accept that you're deader than a doorknob. It's been five years, Ben. Maybe you should move on.”
Ben balled up his hand into a fist. Knowing his fist was incorporeal, that it couldn't inflict any damage even if he'd wanted to, made him angrier. “You know I can't. Thanks to you.”
“Oh, here we go again,” Klaus said in a tight voice. “It was an accident, Ben. Are you going to hold it over me forever?”
“No it wasn't!” Ben screamed, letting himself bask in all his negative emotions, in every petty impulse, every bitter grievance. It was a beacon of warmth in a frozen wasteland. “You lied to me! I know you did! And that's the worst part. You made a mistake, and you don't want to live with the consequences.”
Sometimes, when Ben was willing to be charitable, the particulars seemed a lot more uncertain. He'd spent so much of the past five years rehashing the day of his funeral and the aftermath—who had said what, whose fault it had been, what had really been going through Ben's head to make him linger for just a bit longer with Klaus and then postpone his departure again, and again, up until the faint light calling to him had been extinguished without warning. How long it had taken Ben to realize he'd made the wrong decision. Even whether he'd made the wrong decision at all. Often the past had a funny way of rewriting itself to be whatever best suited the story you wanted to tell at the moment. But right now, Ben wasn't feeling charitable. Resentment was a much more satisfying emotion to indulge in.
“It'd be great if you stopped acting like I put a gun to your head.”
Brock walked in. “Who the fuck are you talking to—”
He stopped. Stared at the pills in Klaus's hands.
“Shit,” Klaus said, and popped three of them in his mouth just as Brock lunged toward him.
-2003-
“What's the matter now?” Klaus asked, his forehead creasing.
Using his foot, he propelled his swing to the left, closer to Ben's, and placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. The park had closed hours ago (not that it had stopped them), so they had the playground to themselves. In front of the swing set, Klaus's high-heeled shoes lay abandoned in the sand.
Ben stared at his knees. “I don't want to talk about it.”
Klaus smiled ruefully. “Your eyes are doing the talking.” Then in a lower voice: “Hey, it's not good for you to keep everything bottled up inside you all the time.”
“Maybe some things would be better staying inside me.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“You know what happened in the house isn't your fault, right?”
“Dad wouldn't agree.”
“I haven't cared about what Dad thinks for years,” Klaus said, leaning back on his swing for emphasis. “Listen to me, Ben. I'm your brother. If I say it's not your fault, then I'm right.”
Ben gave him a weak smile as he dug his heels into the ground.
“I think the Horror really likes peanut butter,” he said. “Anything with protein sets it off.”
“If those tiny candy bars did the trick, it's a good thing that lady didn't give us a steak.”
Ben grimaced. “She'd probably be dead.”
Klaus spun his swing around and around, clockwise and then counterclockwise. Quietly, he said, “I'm sorry your first Halloween was such a bust.”
“It's fine,” Ben said. With his shoe, he drew an X in the sand. “Maybe we aren't meant to do normal things.”
Klaus rattled the chains of his swing. “Don't say that shit, Ben.”
“It's true.” Ben looked down. “We're extraordinary, Klaus. That has its own baggage.”
“Speak for yourself. I'm planning on being as ordinary as possible. Whether Dad likes it or not.”
“I wish I could be like you,” Ben said earnestly.
Klaus's expression caved in. “You don't, Ben.”
On the swing, Klaus pulled up his legs so that his feet rested upon the seat and his knees were pressed to his chest. He was shivering. Ben couldn't imagine his fishnet stockings were providing any protection from the elements.
“Let's share.” Ben moved his swing to the right so that he was touching Klaus, then held out a corner of the torn sheet Ben wore around his shoulders.
“You know, I think this time I'll take you up on that.” Klaus grabbed the other end of the sheet and draped it over his own shoulder.
For a long time, they sat that way, side by side on the swing set, the sheet pulled tightly around them. Above them, countless stars glimmered in the inky sky, and Ben was aware of how small they were, of how even the Umbrella Academy was just a blip in the cosmic scale of the universe. But also how large, at least in the ways that mattered.
“Thank you for taking me out, Klaus,” Ben said. “You're a good brother.”
Klaus smiled. “Of course I am.” He reached for Ben's head—
“But don't ruffle my hair,” Ben finished.
“Right.” Klaus lowered his arm.
A harsh gust of wind passed through the park, making the empty swings beside them jangle. It cut through the thin sheet, into the marrow of Ben's bones.
“Maybe we should head back,” he said reluctantly. Ben would have stayed out forever. He'd have let himself freeze solid on the swing set if he could. But it wasn't fair to Klaus in his skimpy outfit.
“It's not even midnight, Ben,” Klaus said through chattering teeth. “Come on, live a little.”
“You're going to die of hypothermia.”
“Only the good die young.”
Then Klaus exclaimed, "Oh!" His face lit up. He wriggled out of the sheet, a wicked gleam in his eye.
“What are you up to?” Ben asked.
“Come with me.” Klaus slid off the swing. As he stood up, he was grinning from ear to ear. “I know a way to warm up quickly.”
-2011-
“You're crazy!” Ben screamed at Klaus.
Brock had Klaus by the throat. “Cough them up!” he shouted, but although Klaus's face was turning red, he only shook his head in silence. For once, his mouth was staying firmly shut.
“Cut your losses and listen to him, for God's sake. You stupid idiot, he's going to kill you!”
But then Klaus shoved the pointy edge of the pill container into Brock's face. Brock yelped and loosened his grip for just long enough for Klaus's throat to contract in a swallowing motion, and then Ben knew it was too late.
“You're going to pay for this.”
Brock's fist connected with Klaus's face. Ben was the one who flinched.
Klaus clutched his swollen eye. It would turn purple tomorrow; Ben had seen enough of them to know. But Klaus only laughed and said, “You know what, that's fair. I deserved—”
Without warning, he stomped on Brock's foot. While Brock howled and grabbed it, Klaus sprinted to the door.
His hand was on the doorknob when Brock tackled him. “Not so fast.”
As the two of them grappled, Ben gave encouragement from the sidelines.
“Knee him in the groin, Klaus!” he yelled, feeling oddly enthusiastic. “And then when he's distracted, elbow him in his kidney!”
But soon Brock gained the upper hand. The pills in his bloodstream must have been kicking in and dulling Klaus's reflexes, because he was acting sluggish, reacting to Brock's untrained blows on a time delay. Ben could feel it too, in how the fight became harder to follow, in how their fists were turning blurry and a chill like ice water ran through all his muscles. Unlike Klaus, Ben wasn't high. He just wasn't quite as here, or quite as much Ben.
If something happened to Klaus, would Ben always feel like this? Or would he simply disappear?
Ben didn't know.
It was hard to think.
Everything was so cold.
-2003-
“You're crazy!” Ben squealed.
Klaus let out a manic giggle. “I know!”
They'd shoved the bedsheet in a nearby trash can. The corner was hanging out over the rim.
As Klaus bent over and held a lighter underneath the corner, a little ember appeared.
“There we go.” A wisp of smoke rose from it.
“So we just watch it burn?”
“You'll see,” Klaus said. “Once it takes, it'll really take.”
They watched. The ember turned to a spark, then to a flame. Then back to a spark. Then to an ember. It died out, leaving behind a singed edge.
“Nothing's happening,” Ben said.
Klaus frowned. “That's weird. Why wouldn't it work?”
He tried again, on a different spot. After a minute, the same thing happened.
“Oh!” Ben shouted. “I know what this is. Remember our fire safety courses?”
“Why would I do a stupid thing like that?”
“So you don't die the next time we're sent into a burning building?” Ben sighed in exasperation. “Most sheets are fire retardant. Which makes sense. Too many idiots out there who fall asleep with a lit cigarette in bed.”
“Aha! So that's why it survived the drawer fire.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” Klaus said quickly. “Let's gather some dead leaves off the ground. If they're dry enough, they'll do the trick.”
-2011-
Ben could feel himself coming undone.
Around him, the room was retreating into fog. There was still the dingy apartment, still the couch and the goods Klaus had stolen and the empty beer bottles on the floor, but as time went on, objects became harder to tell apart. The lines of the world blurred, and Brock turned into a shadow, at once close by and thousands of miles away.
There was red on the floor. Blood was streaming from Klaus's nose, also from the back of his skull, but nothing from Brock, so the fight must have been one-sided. Ben screamed, Ben tried to help and pull Brock off Klaus, but his hands went right through him, everything went through him.
Soon the fog was so thick that it enveloped the whole world. And Ben couldn't help, because Ben didn't know which way was up anymore.
A slap like leather hitting skin, over and over again. A distorted shout: “Don't you ever touch my stash again.” A cry of pain—Klaus's.
This was all Ben's fault, he thought distantly, as a lamp fell to the ground with a loud crash. He'd distracted Klaus, made everything worse. All so he could feel something—
-2003-
The fire devoured the leaves in instants before stagnating as it tried to eat through the wet newspapers and soiled food containers and plastic bags of dog crap at the bottom of the trashcan. After a few minutes, Ben thought that was it, that there wasn't enough fuel for it to get any bigger, and it was only a matter of time before it died out—
With a roar, the trash can ignited.
Klaus whooped with glee.
“You did it,” Ben said, giggling.
“We did it!”
The searing heat from the can emanated in all directions, and a fierce tower of red split through the pitch black of the sky. And Ben felt the air be knocked from his lungs, felt the writhing pulse of something electric course through his veins. For a moment he thought the Horror had broken loose, but then with a stab of giddy glee he realized that it was his own energy, his own excitement.
Smoke burned his throat, and Ben coughed, but he didn't care. The moment was timeless and transcendent, larger than tonight, swallowing the whole world. Like he'd cast a magic spell that had transformed him into a different person, someone who was free.
“Burn, baby, burn!” Klaus chanted, and Ben laughed and laughed until his ribs hurt.
-2011-
Please don't let me fade away, Ben thought. Please don't let me disappear into the fog.
Around him were the sounds of crashing objects, shouting, breaking glass, but it was all too blurry and formless to make sense of. The shadows on the ground were writhing. Screaming.
In the center of it all, Ben was a block of ice. Numb to everything.
A faint klaxon sang from outside. At first it was distant, but soon it grew louder and louder, piercing through the fog. But the shadows on the floor paid it no mind. The larger one was on top, holding the bottom shadow down and raising what looked like a jagged shard of glass above his head—
—and then with a bang, the door burst open.
Boots stomping. The word, “Freeze!”
The shadows on the floor came apart.
-2003-
As the firetruck sirens wailed, Klaus pulled Ben by the hand, and they were running through the park together, further away from the fire, laughing and screaming. The warmth was fading, chipped away piece by piece with each gust of autumn wind, and as they dashed toward the gate Ben realized that soon the spell would be broken.
And then Ben thought, I want this to last forever.
If I died right here, I would be happy. I'd be young and free, spending the rest of eternity beside Klaus. Running by a fire that never burns out.
-2011-
The drugs were wearing off. Ben knew this because he felt himself start to solidify. Around him, the flashing colors were converging into the solid points of flickering ambulance lights.
On the sidewalk, Klaus was holding a tissue to his bleeding nose. The shock blanket was wrapped around his shoulders.
At the other end of the street, Brock sat outside a police cruiser, handcuffed. Luckily, when the police had responded to the domestic disturbance call from Brock's neighbor and broken down the door of his apartment, Brock had been the one caught doing most of the beating.
On the surface, it would seem to be a happy ending for Klaus. But Ben had heard “breaking and entering,” and also “possession charge,” and also “order a drug test.” There were paramedics, and they'd checked for signs of a concussion, but Klaus wasn't seriously injured. Ben suspected that as soon as they were satisfied that no further treatment was necessary, the police officers lying in wait would swoop in.
For a long time, neither of them spoke as Ben sat beside Klaus. He searched for the words to acknowledge whatever it was hanging over them like a storm cloud, something that would make it dissipate. Not quite an apology, but—something.
“How's your nose?” he managed instead.
Klaus waved a hand. “Fine. What's it to you all of a sudden?”
Ben could have given into the spark of anger that ignited in response, stoked the weak flames until they were hot enough to feel like life. Instead he let it go.
“Remember the first time we went trick-or-treating?” Ben asked.
Klaus looked taken aback. “Yeah, of course. With Five, right? He dressed as himself—”
“No,” Ben said sadly. “I wasn't there. I mean the year after.”
For a second, Klaus's brow furrowed in confusion. Then he said, “Wait, now I remember! No one would open their door for us. And there was that trash fire.”
Ben felt a twinge upon his lips. He wondered if it was a smile. “It was mostly a disaster. But that fire in the end was worth it.”
With a satisfied grin, Klaus leaned back. “It was definitely some of my best work.”
Ben paused, then said, “Sometimes I think that was the best night of my life.”
“Really?” Klaus gaped at him as though Ben was crazy. “That shitshow?”
“I mean it. Not that there was much competition.”
Klaus let out a caustic snort. “You're always such a beacon of positivity.”
Ben shrunk inward. “Not how I meant it. But sure. Okay.”
His eyes were stinging. Ben wondered why. Was he feeling? Did Ben exist enough to be able to feel? Or was this all an illusion, a trick of Klaus's power? He touched his eye. Felt moisture for the first time in five years.
When he looked up, Klaus was watching him with a strange, intense expression. It wasn't quite tenderness, but some new dimension was there that hadn't been before.
“It's funny,” Klaus said. “You start out with something so great. And you think it'll stay great forever, so you'll do anything to hang onto it, you know? But then one day you realize it's turned into something else when you weren't looking. And you don't know whose fault it is, or how to make it right again. All you know is that you're holding the same pieces, but suddenly they don't fit together anymore.”
Ben said nothing.
“What happened to us, Ben?”
His voice came out in a whisper. “I don't know.”
No one spoke. Perhaps there was more to be said, but Ben didn't know how to say it.
Finally, Klaus reached for one of his cigarettes and lit it, ignoring the glare of the paramedic near by.
As Klaus smoked, Ben held up his hand to the cherry at the end. He thought that maybe if he could feel the heat, he would be reaching through a door that had closed upon another time, another person. It was the only door left that his fingers couldn't pass through. But all he felt was its absence.