Archive of Our Own

Ghosts are notoriously assholish.

The first time Klaus realizes he can actually do something about the ghosts, he's sixteen, it's three in the morning and he's coming off his first bad trip after mixing his alcohol with some drugs he managed to get his hands on. Five's gone, Ben's dead, and Klaus is more than a little desperate; he is nursing a truly terrific headache and also completely fed up with Reginald's mausoleum sessions. It turns out that it's almost easy, really, so long as he gets angry enough, which isn't that simple for him, but isn't all that difficult either. He discovers that he doesn't even need any additional supplies like rock salt or sage or crystals or a rosary and holy water or anything like that - he tried those, before, and if someone could make them work, then all the power to them - but they never did work for him.

In the end, it turned out that for Klaus, it's enough to stamp his foot and tell the ghost to get the fuck out, now, as hard as he can. He's only half-sure that stamping his foot is optional: it worked the first time, so he keeps doing it, just in case it is some sort of life-or-death, barrier-breaking element of vital importance he'd accidentally stumbled upon. Ben gives him a side-eye when he does that and Klaus tells him to knob off, because hey, if it works - it works, and what does Ben even know about ghost-busting anyway? Certainly no more than Klaus, so he can keep his very much beloved and respected opinion kindly to himself. 

Coincidentally, Ben is the one who nearly ends up banished the first time around. Very nearly. Klaus remembers being so damn irritated when Ben got on his case about underage drinking, again - right, sue him for finding the one and only thing that helps - and telling Ben to leave him alone. At that point, he'd never been this angry at him, not before Ben's death and not after. Ben crossed his arms but did leave, flashing right through the closed door. Klaus closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath, not even waiting to see Ben's form retreat completely, not wanting to see yet another remainder of the massive screw-up that was Ben's death. Already there was only so much he could do to pretend Ben was still alive - it really, really hurt to break the illusion.

So when Klaus heard a noise behind him not even five minutes later, he just knew it had to be Ben, again, and he couldn't take this. So he squeezed his eyes shut, half-heartedly stomped one foot and threw an arm out with a yelp. Get out, he screamed, and it rung out clean and clear. 

The bright light that erupted only moments after was strong enough to hurt his eyes through closed eyelids. When his eyes snapped open and he shot up from his slumped position on the floor, twisting around to look, it wasn't Ben's dissolving form that greeted his horrified, wide eyes. No. It was just another one of the mansion's ghosts, one of the nannies whose names Klaus couldn't for the life of him remember, the one with the gruesomely broken neck, and she was opening and closing her mouth soundlessly as the light engulfed her like pale flames.

He remembers panting and sweating cold sweat, sinking to the ground dizzy with relief, realizing it could have been Ben. Ben. Sweet Ben that Klaus convinced to stay behind. If it actually had been Ben, this would have ended badly. He doesn't know what he would've done to himself if that was the case. But it wasn't Ben, and after the split-second of utter, nails-gnawing, heart-skipping terror passed, he pulled himself back together enough to file it away in his memory. In that singular moment, the shitty aftertaste of a hangover in his mouth tasted like a victory. Never before had he managed to make one of them leave just like that.

Then, of course, it turned out then Ben wasn't as easy to get rid of as your average ghost, but even he could be forced to vacate the premises, if only for a bit. 

That experience came in handy when he found himself on the streets not too long after, alone and strapped for cash and painfully, agonizingly sober. Come on, he wasn't even really scamming those sweet little old ladies - unlike some schmucks, Klaus was the real deal. Plus, most of the time they did end up actually being haunted: sometimes, giving those ghosts a stern talking-to or lending a listening ear was enough. He never did like the violent measures - not to mention that the banishing trick, just like his abilities in general, was an unreliable crapshoot. And since he was already sober, why the hell not? Really, all things considered, Klaus was doing a public service. One that occasionally resulted in money, a warm dinner, a place to sleep for the night and some alcohol to numb the resultant headache. That worked out well for all parties involved, though Ben the Buzzkill did not approve. Klaus didn't even ask him to help out and, like, haunt those ladies on purpose: no, he actually only banished the ghosts that were already there, though having Ben make a ruckus for him to clean up quick and sweet was a solid business idea. 

When the progressively harder drugs replaced alcohol, the ghost fighting more or less faded into the background. One thing stayed, though: the shitty manual that he penned for himself in a tiny, ratty spiral-bound notebook adorned with a cheap shiny sticker on its plastic cover, a red ball-point pen clipped to it cause Klaus couldn't get a hold of a black one. It's the same one he used to journal his ramblings. There, in his jittery writing, he put down everything he knew about the ghosts and how to get them out and the symptoms of being haunted. Not all ghosts made themselves obvious; the more devious ones liked to hide - were it anyone else but Klaus, they would've stayed for who knows how long. Still, even those types had a few tell-tale signs that Klaus knew very well. He thought that all that information might be useful some time later, though the thought that he was pretty much doing what Reginald always told him to do made him want to kick and stomp and throw out the damn notebook just to be defiant: look, dad, I still don't give a damn about you or any of your stupid orders. 

Still, the notebook somehow survived his wanderings. When he settled back into his room in the academy, it was with a great surprise that he dug it out of his ratty backpack that lay forgotten by the bed. 

"Hey, Ben, you won't believe what I found, I totally thought we burned it for warmth when... " he started, and then trailed off when the reality hit him like a goddamn freight train for the hundredth time in a row. 

God - or the little girl in the garden, or whatever else resided up there - let it be known that he absolutely hated this. 

Mood substantially dampened, he flipped the cover open. Haunting 101, he wrote on the first page in big, blocky letters. He slowly flipped through the pages, filled with his chicken scratch, pieces of his favorite songs' lyrics and bored little doodles. A few of the pages are half-smudged, like he rubbed his hand over fresh ink, and one page is pretty much completely blacked out by a spot of something dark spilled on it. Must have been a busy day. He never was the best at keeping things neat and clean - that would be Ben. 

But Klaus does manage to make out a few readable blocks of text.

///

Ghosts are bitches, and they like to make their presence known because they're attention whores. Takes one to know one. 

Angry ghosts are different from the ones that simply follow people around 'cause they've got nothing better to do. Harder to deal with. They have to be particularly pissed off to go full Ring kinda haunting, though. But! Even if they're not angry enough to move objects and write shit on the walls and mirrors, their presence still affects the victims. Those are the signs you need to look for: recurrent headaches or migraines, unexplained bruises and/or scratches, frequent accidents that don't really look like accidents, violent nightmares, fatigue, severe muscle pain, nosebleeds, either extreme paranoia or extreme apathy, freezing spells. In worst cases, the spirit may try to harm the v. by possessing them (only seen it one time before, wasn't fun).

So it's Ghost Flu, pretty much.

Not all of those signs are always there, but some are always there. Always. Those signs are...

1. Migraines

The first time he sees her, it's when he's lounging on the kitchen table, fiddling with a teacup. The tea has long since gone cold and he’s not really drinking, just sloshing and idly swirling it around inside the porcelain cup, it but it's nice to pretend he’s doing something instead of just avoiding sleep and his thoughts. It's late - or early, who cares - and he doesn't really expect anyone, except just as he makes up his mind to just get rid of the cold tea and make himself a fresh cup, he hears a familiar whoosh and pop of one of Five's wormholes closing. He looks up, squinting in the dark. It doesn't take long to find Five, who's frowning at him drowsily from the doorway.

Then, Five looks around blearily.

"Kitchen," he says blankly, and Klaus blinks.

"Uh, yeah?" he raises a quizzical eyebrow, "Brilliant observation. Nice to see you putting that big brain to use. Isn't it past your bedtime, young man?"

Five doesn't react to the jab. His hand reaches up to rub his forehead restlessly, knuckles making small tight circles as if to self-soothe. "I know it's the kitchen," he mutters, sounding more weary than annoyed, "I was supposed to have jumped to the infirmary instead. Shit."

Infirmary? 

Klaus takes a better, harder look at his brother: Five seems shaky and is so pale his face is almost glowing in the dark, shiny with sweat. "Are you sick?" he sets the cup to the side, concerned, scoots over to jump off the table. It wouldn't surprise him if Five caught something: he did put his freshly-prepubescent wisp of a body through a wringer recently. A two-week marathon of a wringer, in fact, as they'd realized only recently, one that involved almost getting blown up, getting hit with a piece of shrapnel, getting shot at and also getting in a physical altercation with a younger version of himself amongst other things which was just weird. That definitely only made it both worse and more impressive that Five pulled that off. 

Five shakes his head and immediately winces at the small movement. His hand presses tighter. "Just a - Just a migraine," he murmurs, voice hoarse, "It happens."

Ah. Klaus watches him turn around, his right hand shooting up to grip the doorway white-knuckled as if for balance. The next time he speaks up, he lowers his voice as well. "You need some help getting there?" he makes a step forward, hands raised placatingly, "No, maybe you should just... sit down, bud. You're not looking too hot. I could make you some tea, call mom..."

"No need," Five mumbles, sounding woozy, and before Klaus can stop him, clumsily raises his clenched fists to his chest. The wormhole stretches open in a blink of an eye and Five stumbles into it. The blue glow swiftly swallows him up and then closes in on itself like a popped balloon, hopefully spatting Five out somewhere around mom this time who's pretty much the only responsible adult in their house. The sparks fade out, only leaving a faint smell of ozone behind. Klaus debates following him but eventually decides against it and leans back against the table. Five is a private little man and never did appreciate them sticking their noses into his business.

Migraine, huh, Klaus thinks. Five did have those, before, but they were a rarity: mostly a result of particularly long and strenuous training sessions. Must have sprained his brain working hard on some equations again. 

"Aren't they sweet when they're that precocious age when they want to do everything by themselves," a smooth voice says behind him, suddenly, and Klaus straight-up lurches away from it, bumping his hip into the edge of the table painfully. He looks around, spooked. 

What greets him is a sight of a tall woman in a leather coat, standing right behind him, half-leaning on the cupboard nonchalantly. She looks almost normal, almost clean - she'd look alive were it not for several bullets that must have carved their way through her torso, leaving neat, small, see-through holes behind. She's fancily dressed and has a hat perched on her blond, curly-haired head, eyes covered by a dark voile.

She looks - familiar, and Klaus squints, trying to figure it out. He can't. She's someone he saw recently, he's sure. She looks like the type to leave an impression. But who? 

Klaus can appreciate the amount of effort and drama she poured into this look, but the shiny spider brooch on her hat somehow doesn't look like a good omen. 

She smiles at him with a pleasant red-lipped smile, showing her perfect white teeth stained with blood. Klaus winces. She doesn't seem surprised that he can see her, not the way ghosts usually are, and that sets off warning bells in his head. 

"Well," he finally finds it in himself to answer, "Clearly, you don't know him, because sweet isn't really the word I'd use to describe him."

The woman still smiles, the way adults smile condescendingly to indulge children when they say something profoundly stupid. "Oh, I know him much better than you do. He is sweet, you just have to dig for it. Once you crack him open, he'll do anything for you. Anything."

She half-whispers it like some sort of great, wonderful secret. And, wow, okay. Creepy. He does not like the sound of it, especially the way it's aimed at Five's currently physically underaged ass. Fifty-eight or not, that's just weird: she looks old enough to be his mom, if not his grandma. Klaus shudders inwardly. He slaps his hands on the table surface with a resounding plop. "Alright, lady," he huffs, "I have no idea who you are, but I think that maybe this is a sign for you to get on your merry way. Highway to hell, stairway to heaven, I don't know, not my business. But you gotta go."

She frowns. Then, her grimace smoothes out. "Of course you don't know me," she says, all sugar, "I don't associate with the likes of you."

Klaus sputters. In the moment it takes him to gather his wits, she's gone. 

Hopefully, forever. 

Klaus should've known better than to hope.

2. Nightmares

It's no secret that Five has nightmares. Thing is, they're usually very quiet, no matter whether he's awake or asleep when his brain implodes on him. His flashbacks - the ones he didn't cover up nearly as well as he probably thought he did - make his freeze up, eyes glazed over and staring blankly; his nightmares keep him up and have him wandering the corridors at night, footsteps practically soundless, like that of a restless spirit guarding the house. The only thing that gives away just how much they shake him up, their relentless frequency, is the purplish bruising under his eyes that darkens even more with the lack of sleep. They get better and then they get worse. Klaus, also frequently awake odd hours of the night, is a silent witness to them. Even without those nightly visits to the kitchen, one would have to be braindead not to guess that Five suffered from nightmares: with the life Five had and the frankly impressive entourage of Faces of Death that made an appearance and followed him around every now and then, it would have been far more surprising if he didn't have any nightmares, really. 

Five never talks about them, probably wouldn't admit that he had them if confronted: pride or shame, Klaus doesn't know. He'd long since decided that it wasn't healthy, the way he just suppressed everything to such a degree, compartmentalizing it entirely out of existence, but he could respect Five's dedication, if nothing else. Not that Klaus was all that eager to talk about his own nightmares, so really, who was he to judge him?

It's still a shock when a sharp scream is what wakes him up in the middle of the night. At first, he thinks it's a part of his own nightmare, the gore and the deafening pop-pop-pop pulse of gunshots over his head, the screams of the soldiers long gone - or maybe one of the mansion's many ghosts deciding that Klaus had too nice of a nap and that enough was enough. Wouldn't be the first time a ghost screamed at him until Klaus jumped awake. However, as he sits up bolt upright and finds no ghostly visitors anywhere in his room, it quickly dawns on him that it can't be a dream. For something that is supposed to be mostly in his head, the sound travels way too well. 

It's shrill and barely sounds like Five at all but he knows it's him all the same, if only because they's no else in the house with a voice that young and high. 

He flings himself out of bed even before Five's scream breaks off, so fast he stumbles and slams his shoulder into the door frame in his haste to get out. When he bursts into Five's room, his brother is quiet again and the first thing he sees is her.

The blond woman is leaning over Five's prone form, her hand resting gently on his head, stroking his dark hair almost lovingly as Five twists and turns fitfully, small groans escaping his chest as he breathes in and out too quickly, narrow chest rising and falling frantically. His eyes are squeezed shut, expression lined with pain. She looks up briefly when he slams the door open and clicks her tongue at him, as if annoyed.

His first thought is to bolt to his brother and help, but the sight of the woman's infuriating, cold smile makes his throat tighten, the unexpected surge of anger heating his face up. Chest burning, he marches towards her. "Hey!" he barks, "Lady, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Her fingers in Five's hair shift, curling in tighter for a moment, and that little motion makes another strangled whimper burst out of Five's chest. That brings Klaus's attention right back to him. As his hands shake, not sure what to do or who to grab, Five's legs kick out spasmodically under the crumped blankets, seemingly out of Five's control. One of his hands bunches up the fabric in a tight, white-knuckled grip, pulling at it harshly.

That's it, Klaus decides, heart hammering, and grabs him by the shoulders. 

Unexpectedly, she relaxes her hands easily as he pulls, letting Klaus full-on haul Five out of bed with unexpected, adrenalin-fueled strength, ripping him away from the woman's touch perhaps a bit too roughly. He sinks to the floor together with him, Five's hand dragging the blanket he's still gripping down with them. He turns his attention to Five for a moment, pulls his sleep-limp body protectively to his chest, dizzy with the relief of how easily she gave up. 

The moment his gaze shifts, she takes a step back and disappears. Her form melts into the air like smoke, leaving behind a heavy smell of lavender, so strong that it makes his nose itch. He only just barely turns his head away in time to sneeze into his own shoulder and not on his brother.

Klaus grits his teeth, wanting to summon her back and then tear her to shreds, but just as he gears up to do it, Five groans thinly on his lap. Klaus stops dead in his tracks, heart somewhere up in his throat by now, fluttering and scratching like a live canary. 

Ultimately, Five is way more important than the woman. He needs to calm down, first and foremost, and make sure that Five is okay. 

He waits and waits, but the woman doesn't come back, and Five is a solid, warm weight on his lap. Almost as soon as the woman disappears, his palpable terror eases: Klaus can see the tense grimace on his face let up, breaths growing slower, deeper, hands relaxing from their clawing, clenched position, slumping into Klaus softly. The urgency drains out, making his knees weak. Slowly, he manages to stand up, wavers for a moment and then deposits Five awkwardly back on the bed, first his upper body, then his legs. Without thinking, Klaus brushes his hair off his forehead, just to check: Five's skin is clammy, but not too warm, not a sign of a fever like he suspected the night before.

So he's not sick, then.

"Okay," Klaus mutters shakily to himself, "Okay, okay..."

Even as he draws his hand back, he expects Five to shoot up any moment, wide-awake and ready to swing, the way he always springs up if someone so much as creaks a floorboard in the same room he's sleeping in; he's so finely attuned to the smallest of sounds, it's damn creepy to see his eyes snap open from unaware to wide-awake in seconds. But Five doesn't wake up. A moment passes, then - a minute, then - two minutes. Then - five. Then - ten. Klaus doesn't dare move, but Five remains motionless, face slack, so deep in a sleep he almost seems straight-up unconscious.

Maybe it's those migraines, Klaus thinks uneasily, must have worn him out. Yeah, must be that.

Probably best to just let him sleep more. 

He pulls the blanket back over Five and briefly thinks about leaving before brushing the thought away. He pulls the chair closer to the bed, slumps into the green velvet, shakily covering his eyes with his forearm, and stays in the room until the morning comes.

3. Cold

Over the course of that night that Klaus spends in Five's bedroom, watching him sleep, he notices one thing: Five's room is too damn hot.

Klaus sheds his bathrobe and then fruitlessly pulls away the neck of his worn-out, stretched-out t-shirt; it barely helps. He checks his own forehead superstitiously about an hour into his self-appointed observation duty - but no, he's not running a fever either. Bizarrely, Five doesn't seem to notice that, despite his long-sleeved pajamas, even though the heat in the room is surely too much to bear: he barely moves throughout the night, and doesn't even try to kick off the blanket, instead burrowing into it further at one point, turning over to his stomach and mushing his face into the pillow the way he liked to do when they were younger, tucking one arm under the pillow. Then, he stills again.

For a moment, it's almost like Five never ran away. Klaus can see that boy again - the one who, in his memories, never grew up. Stubborn, stand-offish, smart to a fault.  Several years into their search, just as police efforts began winding down, he tried to imagine an adult Five: all grown up, probably taller, broader in shoulders, features still just as sharp but in that particular, more fitting, adult way, but the image always seemed flimsy, too obvious a fantasy. None of those aged-up composite sketches that the police offered to them seemed right, either. In a way, Five rewinding the clock on his body - even though it was accidental and unwilling and Five quite obviously despised it - seemed like fate. A chance for them to have a re-do; to have their brother again, to pick things up right where Five left off. The tingling warmth of seeing him again is bittersweet, and Klaus takes a deep, shuddering inhale.

At some point during the night, Five's dead motionlessness crosses over into a deeper, healthier sleep, and that makes Klaus relax a little bit more. He makes to get up and leave several times, almost going out the door, but something always pulls him back into the chair, an odd, lingering paranoia; a part of him fearing that if he leaves the room, that would mean leaving Five to the mercy of that odd ghost woman who seemed to have a somewhat creepy attachment to him and was awfully touchy-feely for someone presumably long dead. Sure, he didn't know who she was, whether she was capable of pulling off some of the tricks that the angrier ghosts could do and if she was to blame for what sure looked like a hell of a nightmare - he did not want to know what is it that Five saw that made him scream like that - but it sure as hell looked suspicious when put together. She was here; twice now he saw her just loitering around, staring at Five through the veil, cold radiating off of her.

Five couldn't see her, and that left him vulnerable. 

Still, the room is damn hot. Klaus gets up again, fanning himself off with a flat palm. Five, asleep, doesn't seem bothered. Slowly, careful of making any loud noises - though so far Five did not stir at anything he did, not even when he mumbled something outloud due to force of habit - he makes his way over to where the heating is behind Five's bed. Maybe it's the piping, he thinks. After all, Five's room went unused for more than a literal decade - they barely went up there, fearful of disturbing the empty space that Five left behind. Reginald didn't care enough to clean it up, and in their turn, they almost turned it into a shrine, dusty, sacred and untouched, still exactly the way Five left it seventeen years ago: a toy car on his desk, stacks of books on his shelves, a row of uniforms hanging in the wardrobe - one of them missing. A memorial for someone who didn't even get to have a proper name - because Five had spent so long thinking about one, he was the last one left without it. Nothing seemed good enough for him; he was much too used to his number, and for the longest time insisted on still using theirs. He didn't appear to understand why they got hurt whenever he did. Just Five being Five, Klaus thought at the time. Now, it's oddly sad to remember, the confusion and his refusal to let go of the familiar routine, as if their names weren't just them trying to build an identity on their own - as if it was an act of abandonment, an irreparable crack, and they were all leaving Five behind.

Maybe that's why Five never really told them about his time-travelling plans in detail. Maybe, if they trusted each other enough, if they understood each other a little more, they would've been able to talk Five out of it. 

Oh well. That's old history now. No point in dwelling on the past.

Klaus snuck in a couple of times; he knew that the others did, too, but no one really touched anything. Well, except for Ben who desperately went through Five's barely legible notes, entire stacks of them, hoping against hope that maybe Five had left some sort of clue about his plans and that he'd be able to somehow deduce where Five went. He didn't.

As disused as the room is, something could have very well went wrong and malfunctioned over the years, and they never would have noticed.

Then, he finally notices it: the culprit. 

The thermostat setting is turned all the way up to a toasty, horrific, brain-melting ninety degrees in-doors. All Klaus can do is stare, dumbfounded. Why the hell would Five do that? It's literally almost summer; even with how huge and old as their house is, it's far from being freezing. Certainly not cold enough to demand anything like this. 

Maybe that's why Five had that nightmare: a room this hot certainly did not help with the quality of sleep.

Without thinking about it for too long, he decisively turns it down to a much more bearable sixty eight degrees, and then, relieved, plops back into the chair, turning his eyes to Five again. He probably shouldn't overstay his welcome: it's very doubtful that Five will be happy to see his face first thing in the morning. Still, he can't quite bring himself to leave. Not yet. 

Five really does look adorable when he sleeps. 

Klaus allows himself to soak in the peaceful sight of his brother's serene sleeping face, his shape under the blanket solid and there, until the morning light brightens the room and Five begins to stir in a way that suggests he's waking up and not just wiggling around in his sleep. 

Quietly, Klaus sneaks back out of the room, making sure not to step on any of the creaking boards and closing the door quietly behind himself, and decides that that's that. If he's lucky, Five won't remember anything at all: he was seemingly dead to the world even throughout that horrible nightmare and the ghost of a woman visiting his room. 

So it's all very sudden when Five pulls him away roughly to the side before Klaus even has time to start on his breakfast. 

"Whoa," he puts his palms up as his back hits the wall with a dull thud, "W-what's all this about?"

"Were you in my room yesterday?" Five throws at him without so much as a pause. 

"No," Klaus says, unconvincingly, and Five just squints at him. "Okay, yeah. Maybe. Maybe I was. What's the big deal?"

"Did you mess with the thermostat?"

And that's about the last thing he expected Five to take an issue with. Invasion of privacy? Sure, Five is a very private person. Secretive, one might say. He liked having his own personal space, kept just the way he liked it, and in that space, all of his things had a certain order; messing with his room was a surefire way to rile him up. Attempting to steal some of Five's belongings? Not that Klaus would do that, and not that Five really had anything pricy enough to steal and sell, but that sort of accusation wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities. But the thermostat thing, when Five's room was pretty much a walk-in oven during the night?

His mouth falls open as he searches for a rebuttal, then snaps shut. "Uh. Maybe?" he says, not sure how to proceed safely. Five's hands on his robe tighten.

"So it was you," he says, and Klaus swallows. Five probably won't hurt him for this, but he doesn't look happy. "What's all this about?" he asks again, and puts his hands on Five's wrists, nice and slow. Surprisingly, Five doesn't push him away, and Klaus squeezes his fingers. Five's wrists feel awfully thin.

"I'm the one asking questions here," Five says, but his grip softens and then he releases Klaus's robe and takes a step back. Klaus lets him go without a fight. "Why were you in my room?"

Klaus answers honestly.

"You were screaming," he mutters softly, and sees Five's eyes widen. "I think you were having a nightmare. I went to check on you, that's all."

"Was I, now" Five takes another step back, looking suddenly and sharply uncomfortable, "I..."

He trails off for a moment, and Klaus doesn't expect him to continue the thought, but Five takes a loud breath and speaks up again. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he finally says, and won't look Klaus in the eyes. His expression becomes shuttered, detached, and he sticks his hands into his pockets. Who the hell apologizes for having a nightmare? 

Klaus shrugs easily. "It's no biggie," he says, ignoring the way his heart jumps when Five shivers a little, as if cold, "Sorry for getting into your room like that. I was worried, that's all. By the way, there's something I wanted to tell you..."

Five doesn't let him finish. "But why did you change the thermostat setting?" he asks, and looks up into his face, his undereyes dark with a lack of sleep. "There's a reason why I turned it up. Something's wrong with the pipes in my room, and I woke up freezing because of you."

Klaus detects an accusative note in his voice.

Freezing? 

The flush of urgency hits him head-on. All thoughts of the woman forgotten, Klaus reaches out and presses his palm to Five's forehead, the way he did last night. This time, Five jerks his head away. "Stop that," he warns, dangerously, and Klaus pulls his hand back quickly. Five's forehead is clammy, cool, not feverish at all. So if he is sick, it's nothing that can be written off as flu. That's concerning.

"Five," he says, "Your room was like a jungle, and trust me, I know what a jungle feels like," and Five narrows his eyes, opening his mouth to object, "It was hot and humid and did I mention hot? Really, really hot. I turned it down from the highest setting to a slightly less scorching one. There's no way it was freezing."

When Five doesn't say anything, his shivering now more pronounced, Klaus asks him, "Are you still cold?"

"Even if I am, what about it," Five shrugs, reluctant.

"Maybe it's time we tell mom about it? It's... not your room. Your internal thermostat is all out of whack. She'll check you out, run some tests... Figure out what's wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me," Five cuts off, and grabs his already prepared cup of coffee.

Klaus doesn't manage to stop him before he jumps away. 

4. Accidents

Out of all of them, Luther is the one most accident-prone, with Klaus right after him getting an honorable mention for that one time he broke his jaw after tripping down the stairs that they won't let him forget about. It's awkward with a body as huge as Luther's is, he understands that; the serum must have felt like getting a full-body prosthetic the wrong size. He knocks things over, grabs things too hard and has a rough time controlling just how much strength he puts into his hugs and punches. Watching him move around the house is both ridiculously funny and heart-wrenching: the way he creeps over the floorboards late at night in a genuine effort not to wake anyone up is just silly, because most nights, Luther's the only one who actually sleeps at night. Klaus doesn't blame Luther for any of it, not even for breaking his favorite mug while trying to wash it because he knows Luther was just trying to do a nice thing. All of this is a nice change from his previous leaderly behaviour anyway. Klaus likes this new, softer Luther, the one who listens more and tries to give orders a lot less.

It's a bit of a non-sequitor when Five, of all people, takes up the accident mantle. 

They don't see the first few times Five, apparently, falls - accidentally, of course. Over the course of just two weeks, he slams his shoulder into the door hard enough to almost knock it out of joint, then - slips in the shower and sprains his wrist trying holding himself up to avoid cracking his skull open, and then - twists his ankle, just to top it all off. With anyone else, it would be worrying, to accumulate all that in just two weeks; with Five, who moves with a quiet predatory grace of a trained, practiced killer, it's more than worrying; it's genuinely alarming.

Klaus finds out about the first one when he sees Five set his shoulder back all by himself, what a way to start off the day; the second one he sees the consequences of when Five reaches up to get a box full of his old notes out of the basement storage room and hisses in pain. For that last one, however, Klaus is fully present. He hears the wooden thumping first, a heavy sound of a body clunking and rolling gracelessly down and then smashing into the floor, hard. Then, Five's voice snaps, sharp and brittle and angry, like a string breaking:

"Shit!"

Worried, Klaus pokes his head out the door. 

It's pretty much all done and over with: he can see Five sitting on the floor in an awkward curled up position, shoulders going up and down as he breathes hard, and clutching at his ankle. From a distance, nothing looks visibly broken or deformed, which makes Klaus let out a breath of relief - his first instinct when he saw Five one the floor was to search for blood or any other obvious tell of a grievous, deadly injury he subconsciously expected. He still winces in sympathy when Five tries to push himself up to stand up only to immediately crumple back down, his left leg refusing to support his weight.

He's about to shoot a cheery You haven't got a leg to stand on, have you?, when something in his gut makes him raise his gaze up to the top of the stairwell. He's not sure what's telling him to do that, but he follows the urge and does so. 

When he does, he sees an edge of a long skirt flutter and disappear behind the corner, the dull shine of a leather coat. 

His throat tightens again. It's her. He knows it's her. Of course, he can't know for sure if this fall and all the other ones that were before this one are the woman's fault, but now, with that awful twisting in his stomach, he's willing to bet that it is.

He stomps over to Five, dropping to his knees next to him. "Not having the best week, huh," he says nonchalantly, and Five glares at him under his ruffled hair, still breathing heavily with the surge of adrenaline from the fall and trying to stop it. 

"I tried to jump away," he says haltingly, "but I messed up the landing. I think it's because of the headache." 

"Headache?" Klaus asks again, frowning, "You're still having those migraines, aren't you?" 

Five looks down at his leg, before giving a small, reluctant nod. It's been two weeks since that first one - or, well, the first one he knows about, who knows for how long it actually went on at that time, and judging by Five's haggard appearance, they never really stopped. The nightmares probably didn't either.

"Jesus, buddy," Klaus breathes out softly, "that's no good. Why didn't you say anything earlier? Maybe we should take you to the hospital and have an MRI or something. Or, like, get you to mom, at least."

"No need," Five cuts him off, curtly, and it would almost work were it not for the way Klaus could see the way he gripped his ankle tightly, in unmistakable pain. Klaus gives him a long look. Five doesn't look back, staring intently at his leg as if it had personally wronged him by being susceptible to pain and injury and making him look bad. 

There's absolutely no way Klaus is leaving him alone on the floor like this.

"Alright," he lets out a short breath through his teeth, "Let me see."

"Why."

"Well, if it's nothing serious, then I'll just leave you alone, would that work?"

Of course, Klaus doesn't know what Five's definition of nothing serious is, but it's probably somewhere along the lines of not dead, going by the way he breezily ignored that shrapnel wound during his first week back. Allison was just fuming when she told him about it; Diego didn't seem too pleased, either. Lucky for Five, Klaus's definition is a lot more reasonable: anything above a bruise is serious. 

Five hesitantly relaxes his grip on his leg. Klaus runs his fingers over his ankle; Five winces at the contact. As he palpates the flesh softly, he can feel the beginnings of a swelling under Five's sock. Definitely sprained, at the very least. 

"Okay," he says after a second of silence, "I'm not a doctor, but there's no way this doesn't hurt, so don't even start. You sit here, I'll go get mom. Capiche?"

Five mutters something unpleasant under his breath, but doesn't protest and doesn't try to get up anymore. That should make Klaus happy because Five being compliant made things a whole damn lot easier, but instead it makes him swallow back a lump that lodges in his throat like a cork in a bottleneck. It's weird, seeing Five sitting on the floor, rubbing his leg absentmindedly, face pinched with pain - an expression so unfamiliar in that young face, when Five is always so tight-laced, so neat, so put together, it makes Klaus's heart stutter.

He half-expects Five to be gone when he comes back with mom in tow, but they turn the corner and there Five is - still gripping his leg. "Took you long enough," he mutters to Klaus, when both him and Grace kneel next to him. He flatly refuses to be picked up when mom gently suggests that they could carry him, to make it easier on his injured leg and what also turns out to be bruised up ribs that Klaus didn't even think to check, and stubbornly limp-hops over to the infirmary while holding onto Klaus's elbow with a painfully tight, wiry grip of his bony fingers.

Only then does mom manage to get him to sit down and stay still, though Five tries to insist that she could just give him a pressure bandage and he'll do the rest himself. He did indeed twist and sprain his ankle, and ends up having to sit still some more, first with an icepack on his foot, and then - while mom gets him bandaged properly and comfortably. The painkillers that she offers he swallows dry and quick, with a practice of someone who had to do so far too often, despite Grace offering him a glass of water as well. 

Klaus understands. It isn't easy to knock out years of loneliness out of someone's head.

Just like knocking out years of always having a friend next to you and then suddenly finding yourself all alone. 

That evening, Klaus pulls out his old notebook and pours over the half-smudged notes religiously. He blamed those accidents on Five's recent headaches and clear lack of sleep making him dizzy, but clearly that's not the case at all. No. This is something more purposeful. Something worse.

Then, he opens a fresh page, ready to note it all down, and writes a single word at the top of the page: Five.

It's all coming together now.

5. Bruises and scratches

It's not that worrying at first. Five gets bruises a lot, always did - the fact that made Diego call him a delicate petal and a pea princess for a whole month once, until Five got fed up and shot back with an Oedipus, and Diego didn't get it at first because Five swallowed books like candy and was always ahead of them in their reading courses, and then they read that one, too, and it turned into a cold war for another two months after that. 

It gets really worrying really quickly, though.

Since that nightmare, Klaus takes to sleeping in front of Five's room: brings his blankets there and everything, fluffs up the pillow, making a warm little nest right on the floor. It's not bad, better than the streets by far - the hard floor isn't that hard with all the blankets piled on, and it's warm and dry, and he has a roof over his head, which is always a plus. So far, it worked out wonderfully: Five's apparently exhausted enough not to wake up in the middle of the night - which normally would be something to celebrate but now just makes him even more concerned - and Klaus usually manages to get out from under there before Five is out and about. He haven't heard a single scream like that one ever since he started doing that, which convinces him further that he's doing the right thing. 

Today, though, Klaus gets one really rude awakening. He wakes up to what feels like someone either stumbling over him or maybe also kicking him square in the ribs and chokes on air as he rears up. "I'm up," he blurts out hoarsely to nothing in particular, and rubs his eyes harshly.

"Jesus, Klaus," Five swears above him, sounding breathless, "The hell are you doing?"

He's standing above him, looking flustered and frustrated, fists clenched. "I almost tripped over you, you idiot!" he spits out when Klaus's sleepy eyes focus on him, "What the hell? Do you want me to step on you?" 

"Maybe I do," Klaus answers slyly, still half-asleep and brain-to-mouth filter non-existent, and Five makes a disgusted face. 

"Then take that shit elsewhere," he says, voice tight and more controlled now, "What are you even doing, camping out in front of my room?"

"Well, there's actually a question I wanted to ask..."

"And you couldn't have done that unless you slept in front of my door," Five counters him dryly, but he doesn't leave so Klaus takes that as a green light. 

He wishes there was a more delicate way to phrase it, but spirits of the dead aren't really an easy subject. So he jumps head-on, giving himself no opportunity to chicken out and backpedal. He knows what the issue is; now, he needs to know who, exactly, is to blame for it all and if this can be resolved peacefully.

Probably not, but a man can dream.

"So, Diego told me you, uh. Murdered a lot of people. Correct?"

Five's face becomes blank.

"Yes," he simply answers, even and quiet. "I did what I had to. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed."

That is very much not the expression of a person who has zero regrets about his past choices, but Klaus isn't about to start arguing about that. This particular issue takes priority. 

"Say, is there a chance one of those people you killed was a... an older lady? Platinum blond hair, red lipstick, a really nice outfit. Kinda looks like a shark in a skirt when smiles. Ring any bells?"

Five's face twitches. Aha, Klaus thinks. He is on to something. 

"What are you playing at, Klaus?" Five flatly counters back, just as quiet as before.

"Is there a teeny-tiny chance she might hate your guts enough to haunt you in the afterlife?"

Five just looks at him and then suddenly snorts. "Okay," he says decisive, "That's enough of your games. Move your ass and get out. Don't sleep here anymore."

He puts his foot down on the conversation so suddenly that Klaus just knows he hit gold. 

He has no idea why Five suddenly got so defensive, though. 

"It's not a game," he protests, "I've been seeing her for weeks now. Come on, Five, would you just - listen to me for a second?"

He reaches up just as Five steps over his legs, and grabs him by the wrist. His grip isn't tight at all, all he wants to do is to make Five slow down, so the pained hiss and wince that follow are completely unexpected. His fingers immediately uncurl.

When Five yanks his hand away from his now soft grip, Klaus notices more bruises - dark and angry on his wrist, the one Klaus grabbed so carelessly. They're black and purple and are wrapped all the way around, over the sharply protruding bone, and they look like an imprint of someone's fingers.

Fingers that are longer and larger than Five's own. His skin prickles, ice and needles and anger.

"Five," he says, quiet and dangerous, "What are those?"

"Bruises," Five says through clenched teeth, cradling his hand close to his chest in a gesture that looks vulnerable and protective, not entirely conscious. "Do not do that again." 

"How did you..."

"I don't know. Must have landed badly." 

It's such a lie, though. Klaus grits his teeth. There's a faint red line of a scratch on his cheek, too, Klaus notices as his eyes finally adjust and the last remnants of the sleep roll off of him. 

"No," he presses, "They look like someone grabbed you. Believe me, I know how those look. And what is this on your face? Were you fighting someone? Did someone attack you?" 

"Nobody attacked me, and I didn't fight anyone, either. I told you, I'm done with the Commission business," Five hisses, angry, so angry Klaus sits back a little.

Why did Five jump to the Commission stuff so quickly at the mere suggestion?

And because he doesn't often think before saying things - a family trait - he blurts out, suddenly suspicious and also maybe a bit frightened and a tiny bit hysterical - but he's so damn worried now, "Are you?"

All he wants to know is if Five is in danger, if he knows that he's in danger, if he's putting himself in danger on purpose, and that's a wrong, wrong thing to say. 

Five's face twists minutely and then becomes unreadable. He doesn't answer: just pushes past him roughly and limps down the corridor before Klaus even manages to climb back up to his feet. 

He hangs his head down and sighs, runs his hand down his face, scratching at his forehead. This did not go over well. When he looks up, there she is again - dead and beautifully dressed and so incredibly aggravating. The tight coil of irritation springs up.

"What do you want," he snaps at the woman, and she smiles that infuriating, bloodied smile.

"Pain is a fine lesson to teach," is all she says, cryptic, "And Five's always been such an attentive student. I did always love that about him. Wouldn't you like to see just how much of a tenacious little monster he is?"

"Get out," Klaus says gravely, and jerks his chin up. The woman shrugs and takes a step back into the wall. "Nothing like the pain of walking to teach you how to fly," she says, "Your loss."

Her elegant, cruel face fades into the wallpaper. Klaus keeps staring at the wall she disappeared through and wishes fervently Ben was here. He'd know what to say to not make Five angry. He'd know how to actually help.

Was the woman with the Commission? 

Come to think of it, maybe he does know her, though admittedly it was a fleeting acquaintance. Klaus isn't sorry about that. 

Her presence and that persistent smell of lavender have been blanketed all over Five's room for a while now. Klaus only feels it grow stronger. She might be gone for now, but they haven't seen the last of her yet.

Those bruises are the last thing that really cements his theory: the creepy lady is haunting Five - an actual, full-on haunting that's more like a curse. It all comes together on the yellowed lined pages of his notebook. She's not just lost like those confused, mangled ghosts that appear around Five sometimes. She's not simply following him around for kicks. She's doing it maliciously and completely consciously. An actual goddamn angry spirit is nothing to scoff at. Klaus doesn't know what the woman has in mind, but the next time she pushes him off the stairs, Five probably won't manage to catch himself in time to get off only with a twisted ankle. 

Klaus decides that it's time to take this seriously. 

Really seriously. 

+1. The time Klaus did something about it

Five looks rough when he comes down to breakfast this morning. So rough, Klaus has to actually swallow back a sympathetic whistle. He looks ill, almost, eyes sunken and dark and skin pale, and he slumps back uncharacteristically heavily when he sits down in the chair - like his whole body is in pain. 

"What's up, pipsqueak," he perks up nonchalantly, doing his best to cover up his uneasiness, and Five doesn't even look at him. There are more bruises on him today, Klaus notices and his stomach just drops - those godawful fingerprints around both his wrists now, a dark spot peeking out from under the collar near his collarbone, and who knows how many more hidden under the pajamas. "You didn't sleep well? Was it that migraine again?" he tries again. Five returns his attention to his coffee, ignoring the question and the nickname completely. 

Five sips at his coffee listlessly, not even complaining about how shitty it is - which it probably is, because Klaus is the one who made it and set it on the kitchen table in advance, just waiting for Five to come down, and Five notoriously hated his coffee. Klaus stares: mostly because he's worried and also because he's still kinda getting used to seeing Five just being there again. It's nice, having him around.

At least one of his brothers came back.

Barely half-way through the mug, Five's head droops down sleepily. His eyes slip shut, before Five manages to drag his head back up again, balancing it carefully, blinking rapidly. It's adorable, really, bruising aside: like that, in wrinkled pajamas and with hair all tousled, he looks like a kid woken up too early on his day off school. 

Not like he's an exhausted, miserable old man who's most definitely being haunted. Klaus's stomach clenches at the thought.

Five's blinks slow down, and then his head dips down again, his hand heavy and slack on the table, fingers half-curled around the mug. It takes him longer this time around to shake sleep off; his nose almost touches the table surface before Five forces himself back awake. When Five picks his head back up with an effort, Klaus notices something that makes him choke on his own tea.

As the tea bubbles up his throat and nearly goes out his nose, he knows he can no longer chalk up those bruises to Five's recent accidents and falls. Not that those finger-shaped bruises could be explained by Five falling, either, but with those Klaus could at least pretend that Five got himself into an altercation of some sorts and simply didn't want to admit it - that wouldn't be terribly out of character for him. There's, however, nothing that could logically explain what sure looks like a hickey on his neck. It's a little out of sight, closer to the back of his neck, and its uneven, purplish-red shape burns Klaus's eyes, mocking him with its appearance on Five's skin. Like someone wanted to claim him, leave their mark.  

Five didn't leave his bedroom the whole night. Nevermind leaving his bedroom: Five doesn't sleep with people, period. He only has eyes for Dolores, who, Klaus knew full well, simply did not have the capability to leave a hickey like the one he's got now. Klaus sincerely doubts Five even has a sexual interest in anyone at all. And oh, yeah, he also looks prepubescent, and that thought sends a wave of goosebumps up his arms. He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably.

He doesn't know how the hell she managed to slip past him when he guarded Five's room pretty much all hours of the night now since night seemed to be her preferred time, but she's definitely still around and active during the day as well - no sleep schedule for the dead. Not that Klaus dared leave Five alone much these days. It's entirely possible she snuck in during one of his meal and bathroom breaks, or when he drifted off to sleep during naps. Klaus is the only one who can see her; Five doesn't have the same dubious luxury. Chances are, he doesn't even know that someone's targeting him - who's to say he took Klaus's warnings and questions seriously? He appeared to recognize her from description alone, very quickly at that, but he also brushed him off almost instantly after that, so Klaus isn't confident that Five realizes how much danger he's in. Hell, Klaus himself underestimated the danger until the string of accidents and that creepy-crawly bruising hammered the point home. 

Had he not found his old notebook when he did, maybe he wouldn't have even put it all together until it was all too late. He resolutely doesn't think that it might already be too late: with how exhausted and dead-eyed Five seems, it's unlikely his defences will hold up much longer against that insidious, invisible enemy. And then - then what? 

"Your neck," he finally says, clearing his throat roughly. Five blinks, slow and soft. His arm reaches up and he touches his neck, looking faintly surprised. 

"Something there?" he asks, and Klaus can see the cogs in his head shift heavily, muddled with exhaustion. 

"Uh," he licks his lips nervously, takes a sip of his teat, "Yeah. There is. Um. A bruise. Have you looked in the mirror today?"

"Why would I."

"Eh. No reason. Did you... hit your neck?"

He knows Five didn't hit his neck anywhere, not like that. 

Five drops his gaze back into his coffee. Takes another sip. It seems to rouse him a little closer to awareness, because his face pinches in a displeased grimace. "Tastes like shit," he comments, and brings it back up to his lips. 

"Well, I made it, what did you expect?"

Five shrugs. 

Normally, after breakfast - or what passed as breakfast - they'd go their own ways, Five doing god knows what in his room and Klaus doing his best to stay busy around the house, avoiding the mere thought of going outside because outside was where the temptation to go into the city and find his old dealer was, but today - today, Klaus decided that he is not going to let this last any longer. He's refusing to leave Five alone. He follows him into the library as Five struggles to get to the books on one of the higher shelves; follows him into his scorching hot room where Five pulls on a sweater and flips the book open at his desk, ignoring Klaus's presence outright. He stretches out on the bed, watching Five shiver. 

Every now and then, he can see her, again - hovering at the edge of his vision, her blond curls behind the door, her mocking red smirk and the spark of blue eyeshadow behind the veil like a bright warning mark of a venomous snake. When he turns to face her fully, fists clenched, ready to call for her and wipe her out, she's gone. She's waiting for - something. And that disgusting, disgusting hickey - what in the hell is she planning? 

No. He will not let her. 

But Klaus is so very much human, it takes one goddamn nervous smoking break into the open window for Five to disappear. He turns back around, cold air from the window prickling his skin and reddening his nose, and Five's just gone - his book opened on the desk, pencil resting next to it like it just fell out of his fingers. Gone so quietly and quickly, Klaus never saw it coming. 

He makes a full round of all the usual places where Five might have disappeared off to and is about to start full-on screaming for mom when a thought occurs to him. The one place he hadn't checked. The entire time he'd assumed that Five is himself and that he simply wandered off on his own, to get a break from Klaus's presence. Except the woman has been waiting for an opening, and the last step of the haunting is often possession. 

She wanted Five to hurt. Nothing like the pain of walking to teach you how to fly, she'd said the last time he saw her. 

God, the goddamn roof.

He bolts.

His thinking was correct: even before he pushes the door violently open, rattling on it's hinges, he can feel it - can feel her, the thick smell of lavender in the air, the smothering presence, the film over his eyes like fog. As he tears through that film, he can see his brother. 

Five. 

On the edge of the roof.

"Five!" he calls out painfully, "Five, buddy! What are you doing in there? Get back here!"

Five turns around slightly, glancing back at him.

His darkly-circled eyes are no longer that wonderful, dusty-green color that Klaus didn't know he missed all those years. Instead, they're hazy and milky white, sightless. When he smiles, it's not his own smile. It's different and wrong, pulling at the edges of his mouth like someone's hands stretching a rubber mask, and Klaus's arms come up to wrap tight around himself. "Five," he says again, shaken up, but knows that it's useless. He might hear Klaus, but he won't be able to do anything.

All he sees is her, and her victorious, smug smile on Five's sickly white face. She looks like she's won.

Before he can react, say anything, demand her to stop, force her out of Five, out of Five's body that didn't belong to her, never belonged and would never belong to anyone but him, Five takes a small step back. It's tiny and unsteady, as if she can't quite control him, his gangly limbs shaky. Or maybe, Five himself is far too weak physically after those weeks of barely any sleep and constant migraines that she had caused. Then - another step, just as small but quicker now. His muscles contract sharply, an empty sensation in the pit of his stomach. A panicked yell caught up in his throat, he throws his whole body forward, knowing with a terrifying certainty that there's no time, that he won't make it in time - and the woman in Five's body makes him take another step backwards.

Five's leg lands on thin air, no support underneath him, no safety net to catch him. His bad ankle, the one that he twisted just recently, the one that's still precariously balancing him on the edge of the roof, gives out. Five's body lurches heavily back under his own weight, knees buckling. In that singular moment, as he slumps backwards, Klaus can see his eyes suddenly clear, their dusty green color back. Five blinks at him, once.

Then, Five falls.

Klaus screams.

He can't allow that. He can't, he can't, he can't - not again, not like Ben, he refuses to have another brother turn into a ghost all because Klaus is damn incapable of helping anyone. That's the best his powers can do, the only thing they're good for - damage control after everything is said and done and the chalk outline is drawn on the pavement.

His constant companion, the ugly, banal tragedy of his life - the tragedy of being a failure. He can't hold back the ugly, big fat tears that spring up at the thought. 

His arm darts out, muscles straining, and it feels like something breaks inside of him with that singular movement. Something inside of him crumbles down like a cracked eggshell, a pressure valve turning, giving way to - something else. The power bursts out of him, the tug and yank of it painful, splitting his chest open. It feels like entrails winding out of him as they're being pulled ruthlessly forward. He wheezes with the pain, sweat suddenly slicking his face, and squeezes his eyes shut with that horrible certainty that he was much too late to do anything. Much too late to save his brother. Again.

But he doesn't stop.

The tight string that he can feel burst out of him tingles and burns and he waits, with eyes closed helplessly, expecting the inevitable crack and splatter of Five's body landing on the ground beneath them. He can almost picture it in his head, and it's sickening, and the warmth gathers in his eyes, burns his nose as a sob wrenches out of him, and he keeps waiting -

But the sound never comes. There's only his heavy, strained, wet breathing, and then - what sounds like a faint female voice, swearing and screaming foul things at him before abruptly going completely silent.

Klaus opens his eyes. 

Past the blurriness obstructing his vision, he sees Five. Not a ghost, not dead or crumpled on the ground or bleeding. Five, alive. He's hanging in the air, a bit rumpled but otherwise wonderfully unharmed, suspended by a force unseen, completely limp. There no blood staining his clothes, no bones poking out. His eyes are closed, but he can't see the woman's silhouette superimposed and flickering over Five's body anymore. The woman is on the roof, still, but she's not in Five or nowhere near him. She's slumped over a little to the side, face distorted in anger so obvious and terrible Klaus's whole body shudders minutely at the sight, the surge of her hatred unbearable - teeth bared and eyes feral. He expects her to attack him and his arm, still outstretched in the air, shakes, but he doesn't dare move. She doesn't move, either, as if there's something pinning her down heavily. Her vicious glare is a sight to behold.

It both scares him and puts a vindictive smirk on his face. Her anger is a proof that she's losing.

But Five - Five's alive. Klaus can see him breathe, his chest rising and falling softly as he hangs in the air, cradled by invisible hands, head rolled back. Slowly, he glances from Five's form to his own outstretched hand. Experimentally, he curls his fingers in, one by one, and Five's body moves in the air - back from where it hangs over the edge to the safe, solid rooftop surface. He can feel that taut, outstretched painful line tense as it curls back in, folding in inside of his body and pulling Five with it. He blinks sweat and tears out of his stinging eyes and concentrates, harder than he ever had before. 

No incentive like the death of yet another brother, he thinks half-hysterically.

It's mere inches and takes no more than a few seconds to get Five back to safety, to the point where it's okay to lower his body. It feels like miles and millenia suspended in an open space, every movement both a step to safety and also a threat of dropping Five back down, the rush of jittery, solid power at his fingertips, the balance of it so delicate it feels like there's a hole ripped open in his chest, infinite and ready to swallow him whole, and he's teetering right on the edge of it. Klaus gulps down wheezing lungfuls of air, like he's forgotten how to breathe right, and doesn't allow himself to doubt. He will get Five back. He will. He will. He will -

He drops Five well within the safety of the rood, no chances of dropping him too early, only when he's at an arm's reach. The pain bursts and he squeezes his eyes shut as the taut line between the two of them breaks away, snapping with a mute pop that hits his ears, and immediately scrambles to catch him before he even hits the hard roof. Five lands into his arms, awkward and warm, warm, warm, and alive. Klaus scoops him up frantically, arms shaking wildly out of his control, and presses him tightly to himself, winding his arms around him almost too tight. His heart is still somewhere in his throat, the hard pulse of it almost nauseating. He swallows hard.

He did it. He did something. Something new and desperate, something he'd never done before - not without Ben there to pretend Klaus could levitate. There's no doubt that it was him. He pulled Five out. 

Klaus did it.

Five almost died. They almost lost him, again, this time with no magical rewind button to hit, because Five is the only one who had that button. All because of -

Panicky, he glances at the woman, momentarily terrified of the idea that she might already be gone, plotting her next move, but she remains crumpled and seemingly pinned in that same place, glaring back at him darkly without a word.

And then, Klaus is no longer scared.

No, he's livid.

He remembers who she is now, remembers the way Five flung the gun out of her arms with a wild look on his face, the way he whirled around to look at them right after, something raw and terrified in his gaze, like he couldn't believe they were there. The Swede's gunfire mowed her down right after. It's her. The one who sicced her Commission agents on them - the one who almost got them all killed, his whole family finally all together and then abruptly almost gone.

Five wasn't even the one who shot her, goddamnit. 

Klaus doesn't even say anything when he sees her eyes widen, as if in pain that ghosts couldn't feel. There's no brilliant light illuminating her way, like with the ones he saw off before, and no sound from her when the dark bullet holes littering her torso darken with fresh blood, suddenly filling up rapidly. More and more and more, steady and firm, until he sees the blood run down her body freely, oozing like sap from a spring tree, until it pools underneath her, thick and black and entirely nonhuman. He watches her as she grits her bared teeth and stares back at him - and at Five. Klaus doesn't flinch when one of her hands clenches into a fist and hits the tarmac of the roof with a resounding, echoing thud, just narrowing his eyes cooly.

Her bleeding doesn't stop as she rages silently, the grimace on her face twisting.

The bullet holes are widening steadily. 

He listens to the steady drip and leak of her blood that shouldn't even be there with a calmness befitting a meditation, its even drip-drop that matches his own heartbeat. Her form becomes shapeless, he notices, as if the steady pressure of blood leaking out of her unearthly form loosened something in there. He'd never seen something like this before: the way she sags inwards, the empty sack of her body as every drop is expelled and flushed out of her body, like he's squeezing a soft ketchup pouch clean, and her translucent fingers scratch at the rooftop surface, and he can still see her eyes glow even as her hat slips further down on her disfigured face, features shifting to something barely human, unrecognizable. 

Klaus watches her until she slumps over completely, folding in. Her body grows smaller, softer, melting and pooling down, until all that's left is a wide dark spot that is black like liquid tar and soaks slowly into the roof like blood into the ground. 

He watches her until no trace remains, and the oppressive smell of lavender is completely gone. All he can feel is the smell of recent rain and his own smell of sweat and old cigarette smoke. 

When there's finally nothing left, he lets his gaze flicker down to Five. 

Five, who's blinking his eyes open. Klaus sucks in a breath. Five looks so out of it, Klaus doesn't even try to talk to him, quickly understanding that it would be no use. He's been through a possession before; the aftermath sucks. Five was there, too, but Klaus doubts that he knows why, exactly, Klaus vomited his guts out all over that alleyway. Five was too busy raging at them to pay attention to finer details at that moment. He relaxes his too-tight grip on Five's body from where he rigidly has his arms around him.

He lets his hand move Five's hair off his face.

"Well, that sure was something," he mumbles, shaky, feeling strangely detached, and Five makes a soft, confused sound. "We're gonna be alright, though," Klaus adds, "She's gone. I'm pretty sure she's gone, at least."

Five stares up at him. Klaus hums. "Yeah, you'll be fine, too. No more migraines and falling down the stairs. Life back to normal."

Five closes his eyes. 

"Oh, come on," Klaus sighs, chewing nervously on his lower lip, and pats Five's cheek lightly. Five eyes slip open again, just barely. "You know I'm not strong enough to carry you, right? I'm not Luther. You gotta work with me here."

Five grunts in response. His arm flops on the roof as if searching for support, and he makes an admirable effort to sit up. Klaus shifts his grip to his shoulders, helping him up. Apparently, that's about as much as Five's body can manage right now because he sorts of sags backwards into Klaus, looking green around the edges. Klaus remembers the post-possession nausea, the push and pull of it up his throat, truly impressive in how amazingly worse than any other hangover he had before it was, and rubs his back comfortingly. "You're gonna puke?" he asks as nonchalantly as possible, and Five just hums vaguely. He swallows convulsively a couple of times, but eventually takes a deep breath and keeps it all down.

Klaus really doesn't want to make him walk like this, but he also doesn't like his chances of dropping Five should he try picking him up.

It is then that he suddenly realizes that there is someone else in the house who's stronger than him. 

Mom.

It still doesn't feel safe to just leave him up there - albeit he's sure that the disgusting woman is gone once and for all, but trying to call her is likely to just end up with him ruining his throat. Quickly, he strips off his cardigan and wraps it around Five. "You stay here," he says, commanding as he can, and tightens his grip on Five's shoulders for a moment, "I mean it. Don't try to jump. Just sit tight and I'll get mom, okay?"

Five mumbles something under his breath. Once he's more or less sure that Five isn't going to drop back down on the cold roof and give himself a concussion on top of everything else, he relaxes his hands and stands up, legs tingling and knees creaking. Then, he resolutely turns around and almost immediately breaks off into a run. 

The echo of Ben's voice in his own stern warning only reaches him when he's back inside, jogging down the corridor, and he can't stop his eyes from watering when the realization hits. He rubs his eyes without slowing down. Nice and firm and reasonable, the way Ben always was with him, and Klaus can't believe it was him who said it. What a moment of personal growth - and Ben's not around to see it. Shit.

He finds mom in the kitchen, stirring something in a bowl, humming a melody that he can almost recognize - something she sang to them to put them to sleep, decades ago. "Hello, dear," she says, without even turning around, "The lunch will be ready soon!"

"Mom," he interrupts her, heart still thudding almost painfully against his ribcage, gulps down a breath, "Five needs help. He's - He's on the roof."

"Oh my," she breathes out, turning around. The spoon clatters out of her fingers.

When they make their way back to the roof, they find Five no longer sitting up but now curled up on his side, Klaus's cardigan wrapped up tight around him. For a horrible second, Klaus regrets his entire life, all the choices that led him to this point and, most of all, the decision to leave Five alone, but then Five's leg twitches. Klaus presses one hand to his chest, breathing out. "You little bastard," he mutters faintly, heedless of their mother who throws a disappointed look his way. "Language," she softly admonishes, and then sits down next to Five. 

"Honey, can you walk?" she asks.

Five just pulls his arm over his eyes, sharp elbow jutting up. Ah, so the post-possession headache is hitting him now, too. "Alright then," she answers easily, and slots her arms under Five's knees and shoulders, picking him so easily Klaus can only stare at his own wiry arms. He probably could've picked him up. If he wanted to, he totally could have. He's not a muscle macho man, but he's not a complete beanpole, either. It's more about how shaky he's still feeling, the phantom pain of that thing that seemingly tore through his abdomen, an invisible hand reaching out desperately that he used to grab Five out of thin air and pull him back to safety.

A new power.

As mom turns around, completely unbothered by the added weight, Klaus clenches his fists, wondering if that was something he could do again, hopefully with less pain and more control.

And if he could convince Five to help him practice.

As mom lowers Five on his bed and marches out with a purposeful gait - to gather up some sort of medical supplies, Klaus supposes - Five mutters something, his face turning towards Klaus. He strains his ears but can barely make out the too-quiet, half-slurred words. "What?" he puts one hand to his ear.

Five swallows hard. 

"Are you sure she's gone?" he forces out, pushing himself up on one elbow.

So he does remember something about the encounter; at the very least, just enough to realize who was doing this to him. 

Klaus remembers the unnatural blood dripping and pooling on the roof under his gaze, as if his gaze alone was enough to pulverize her into that pile of black goo. He's not sure how to feel about the fact that he did that, because frankly that was more than a little terrifying, but there's not much of a chance she survived that. "Pretty sure," he answers, and then muses outloud, "Boy, was she a bitch to deal with, huh?"

That startles a snort out of Five. His tense shoulders ease, expression softening. He lies back down. "You... have no idea," he says, consonants sticking to each other with exhaustion.

"No, actually, make that a bitch and a half, because a score of one bitch is not enough here. Maybe, like, two bitches. She's a creep, too," he adds, just to watch the beginnings of a smirk on his face, the dimples on his cheeks, "Full-on stalker, and a shitty one at that. I bet I could do a better job than that, and I can't even walk through walls. Fuck her, am I right?"

Five smiles.

We're alright, Klaus thinks, when Five almost immediately pushes the smile down - as if he's too old and scary to smile and laugh at Klaus's shitty one-liners and trash-talking, and turns his face away to cover that up. Klaus notices anyway, because he's attentive like that and Five laughed at the weirdest, nastiest of jokes, just like with that chocolate pudding story, and god, Klaus missed that, too.

For once in his life, Klaus saved someone. He saved Five, not the other way around. 

Ben would be proud of him. He'd like to think that.

The others won't believe him when they come back, will they?