Chapter Text
Klaus’ skin is cold as death, just like the rest of his siblings had been. Five lets his hand linger for a moment, steeling himself, preparing to grab on tight and haul the corpse to its grave.
What he’s not expecting is for Klaus to suddenly take in a deep, shuddering gasp, cough harshly, and flail around until he slips off the mound of rubble he’d been lying on with an abrasive clatter.
Five snatches his hand back with a shriek and stares wide-eyed as Klaus props himself up on his hands, blinks hard, and glances around at his surroundings until his eyes catch on Five.
“Oh, shit,” Klaus says, looking almost as shocked as Five feels. “Five?”
Five promptly bursts into tears.
“Oh—shit,” Five hears Klaus repeat, with more emphasis this time. He wants to look up, to double check that the time travel hasn’t messed up his brain and made him hallucinate his dead brother coming back to life, but it’s like a dam has broken and now all the tears are spilling out from behind his crumbled blockades. The salty water is blurring his vision and stinging his eyes, and crying is largely unfamiliar to Five so he doesn’t know how to stop it except to bury his head in his hands and furiously swipe at his leaking eyes, which effectively prevents him from double-checking that Klaus is real. Thankfully, though, Five doesn’t have to wait long for proof. There’s a scuffling noise, the clatter of debris being moved, and then Five is being bundled up by strong, if hesitant, arms. He’s being hugged.
Five lets out something akin to a wail and falls forward into the hold, hands coming away from his face to clutch desperately at the jacket Klaus is shrouded in. The fur is grainy with dust, ash and sand, but it’s the same thing he’d felt the first time he reached out and touched his brother’s corpse. Except this time the body underneath is moving, warming up, steadying him where he’s fallen against its chest, its grip growing tighter and more secure.
“Whoa,” Klaus mutters, somewhere in the vicinity of Five’s hair. “Uh, there, there? You’re okay?”
“Klaus,” Five sobs out, his voice choked almost beyond recognition. Strands of the stupid faux-fur get into his mouth when he opens it.
“Yeah, yeah, hi!” Klaus shifts, voice confused and breathless; Five realises he’s been kneeling awkwardly on the unstable rocks while trying to hold Five up in the strange semblance of a hug they’ve got going on. Klaus gingerly lowers himself down until he's sitting heavily on the rubble, not once letting go of Five. Not that it would matter; Five’s clinging so tightly to him he’s like a limpet, barely letting an inch of space come between them. He still hasn’t properly looked up yet, eyes still full of tears and face pressed desperately into the area around Klaus’ chest and shoulder.
He gets the sense that Klaus is opening and shutting his mouth, looking for something to say, but Five just curls up closer and lets himself cry for a minute. He’s just—he’s feeling so much right now, it’s overwhelming. Relief, mainly; relief beyond compare, so much sudden relief that he’s dizzy with it. Relief that his brother is somehow alive again, that Five isn’t alone anymore. And terror, lingering from the traumatic situation he’s been thrust into for the last day and terror that this isn’t real, that Klaus is just a figment of his imagination, a coping mechanism stemming from his anguished subconscious. Five is so, so afraid that when he looks up Klaus will disappear, his solidity turning to smoke beneath Five’s hands until Five realises Klaus is still cold and dead, lying in a pile of bricks below him.
“You’re okay, bud, it’s alright,” Klaus is still trying to soothe him; his voice rings with false positivity. It's deeper than Five remembers, with this Klaus being seventeen years older than the one Five knew, but his tone is still achingly familiar. It’s evident that he’s trying very hard to be comforting, but is also immensely confused and scared beyond belief. Five takes a few more moments, focusing on taking a few deep (shaky) breaths and steeling himself for the worst case scenario—then looks up.
Klaus doesn’t disappear. He just glances back down at him with wide green eyes—eyes no longer glassy with death.
“What the hell,” Five chokes out. Klaus nods seriously.
“What the hell indeed,” he replies, perfectly matching Five’s bewildered tone.
"You were dead," Five rasps. A burst of irrational anger hits him, and if he wasn't already clutching Klaus' jacket as hard as he could he'd ball up his fists. "You were dead, asshole! What the fuck is going on? How are you alive? What happened?" His wrecked voice cracks embarrassingly on the last word, and he furiously rubs away the stubborn tears clinging to his eyelashes.
"I—yeah, okay. Okay," Klaus starts, then just looks around their decimated surroundings in bafflement once more.
"Klaus!" Five snaps.
"Sorry! This is just… really weird for me as well, dude. There's literally only one thing I can kind of answer." Klaus pulls away slightly, gently letting Five go so he can sit in the rubble himself instead of pressed into Klaus' lap. Five's fingers get the memo to let go a couple of beats too late, but eventually he's able to tear himself away and retract a bit. He misses the contact immediately, the tactile proof of life right beside him, but Klaus sits cross-legged so their knees press comfortingly together. He's warm; Five can feel the solid heat of his skin even beneath the thin leather of his pants, and it's such a staggering change from the corpse-like chill of his skin only minutes ago that Five can barely believe it. He'd been certain his brother was dead. Certain. Klaus had been cold as ice, and hadn't moved an inch in the hours since Five had first seen him, and his eyes had been open the whole time, and yet here he was, blowing out a deep breath and looking incredibly overwhelmed.
"How are you alive?" Five practically whispers. Klaus cocks his head, and clicks his tongue, seemingly searching for words until he gives a strange, hollow grin.
"It turns out," Klaus says slowly, "that God is a little girl who might just hate me."
"...Run that by me one more time?" Five says dangerously. Klaus better not be fucking around right now. His brother holds up his tattooed hands in a show of peace—ironically, Five just now notices the HELLO tattoo engraved onto his other hand.
"I'm serious." Klaus exhales heavily, and when he puts his hand down he rubs his wrist nervously. "I… well, obviously I, uh, died, and I woke up in this weird-ass place, and there she was. This angry little girl, getting off her bike and marching up to me. I mean, personally I'm agnostic, but it was pretty obvious who the fuck she was. Anyway, she started spouting off about it 'not being my time yet', and then something about how that barely matters anyway because the timeline is all ruined, and then she started complaining about how our family loves to mess up everything—which, hey man, fair enough, I agree—but just when I asked where the rest of our family was she got a weird look on her face and said somebody was still waiting for me. Then I woke up here. Where you are, little Five. I think she booted me out of heaven? So, wanna tell me your side of the story? 'Coz as far as I know nobody has seen you in seventeen years, and now it looks like we're together at the end of the world."
Five had stared at Klaus in increasing shock and disbelief all throughout his disjointed ramble. Klaus apparently died and met God, who was an angry little cyclist girl, who told him that time is ruined (and did she imply that was their family's fault?), then, seemingly, kicked Klaus right out of the afterlife.
Five decided that was all a little much to process right now—and counting out the grains of salt he was going to take that story with would take a while—so he switched focus to Klaus' question instead. His brother was staring at him, his wide-eyed gaze unnervingly still, but his hands betrayed his anxiousness, fidgeting against his pants and jacket at light-speed.
"...I time traveled." he says. Klaus looks blankly at him, and sighs when Five doesn’t elaborate.
"Yeah, dude, we kind of figured that one out a few years ago. The kidnapping theory never held up well and your ghost never appeared back when I was still sober enough to try and summon you, so I figured you were always still kicking wherever the hell you were. Or that you were just a really stubborn asshole-ish ghost and I was a shit psychic. But if you just time traveled here, why did you never come back?" Klaus leans forward, eyes suddenly looking a little desperate, voice rough and raw. Five frowns incredulously at him.
"Don't you think that's the first fucking thing I tried?!" he snaps. "I can't! My powers aren't working right now! I've only been here for less than a day and I jumped to a few different time periods before this, but—" a realisation washes over Five, accompanied by a horror so immediate he feels nauseous.
"Wait," he whispers. Klaus frowns, concerned. Five looks up at him. "I never come back?"
Klaus pales.
Five leans forward desperately, grabs at his brother's knee. He knows he probably looks crazed in the eyes right now, can feel panic and mania creeping up on him like the tide. "In seventeen years I never make it back?! Klaus! I can't—we can't be stuck here for—no!" His chest feels tight, quick panting breaths struggling to squeeze through the vice suddenly compressing his ribs. He can't be stuck here in this burnt, ruined world for the rest of his life. He needs to go home. He clenches his fists in front of him until his knuckles turn white and his ragged fingernails bite sharply into his skin; pale blue flickers weakly around his hands, but it's not enough. There's no substance to it: not even space is willing to tear beneath his hands now, let alone time.
A hand suddenly grabs his own. Klaus' thin fingers dig their way into Five's, levering his fingers away from his palm. His nails have left vicious red crescents in his already dirty and blood-soaked skin.
"Five. Five. You need to calm the fuck down, Jesus Christ, please." Klaus' voice cuts through the ringing in Five's ears that he hadn't even noticed.
"Klaus," he gasps. A future here, trapped forever in this hell, is unimaginable. It's too vast, too… terrible.
"It’s okay, Five, we'll figure it out. Just breathe right now, okay? I know the air tastes like shit with the smoke and all but seriously, don't freak out on me here. Come on. In and out. You got it." Klaus coaches Five through breathing for a few minutes—Five is mortified, somewhere in the back of his mind, embarrassment and shame at his weakness rocketing through his mind in a voice that sounds like Reginald, but for the most part he is absurdly grateful for it. He clutches at Klaus' hands and leans forward, gulping down air. Eventually his mind clears from all-encompassing terror and panic, but his eyes are still wet and he can't stop shaking. He stares at the grit he's sitting in; it's getting harder to see. Night is well and truly falling. Five swallows roughly.
"We need to find shelter," he rasps. Klaus blows out a huge sigh of relief.
"There’s my well-trained boy. Thank the little girl." Five senses Klaus looking around. He hasn't made Five let go of his hands yet, even though Five knows he was gripping on way too tight for a minute there.
"So like, this situation is definitely one of the most valid to go into shock over, but also I think we should wait for a bit to have our respective breakdowns," Klaus jokes weakly. "Use that training daddy-dearest drilled into us—I know it's still fresh for you. What are we looking for, Five? Where do we go?" Five finally looks up again, glances around at their situation. Does his best to assess it. There are a few broken structures all around, remnants of buildings, but many are still smouldering and even more are just precarious piles of rubble that could tip over at any second.
"We need to find somewhere secure to sleep," Five says eventually. "Preferably out of this shitty-quality air. Then find water. Food can wait." Klaus makes an aborted movement like he's going to clap his hands before realising they're still joined.
"Okay, good!" he cheers. It sounds plastic but Five lets it slide. His brother is obviously trying very hard to keep it together, for Five's sake. Klaus stands up, legs unfolding underneath him with awkward grace, and drags Five up with him. They stumble a little as the rubble slides underneath them.
"Lets, uh… let's just go that way. Looks promising, no?" Klaus wheels around and starts picking his way in a seemingly random direction; Five, having no better ideas, follows close at his heels. They're silent as they walk, until Five snaps to reality and realises too late where they're about to go.
Klaus pauses as soon as he sees the graves. His foot hesitates, comes down slowly, and doesn't pick back up again. Five can see him squint in the onsetting darkness, eyes roving over the messy mounds of dirt and the shoddy markers at the head of each of them, lips slowly, silently moving. Shame suddenly squirms in Five's gut. He wants to say something but doesn't even know how to broach the topic.
"Klaus…" he mutters, lost. He can't even look at the graves. Klaus' hand comes up to cover his mouth; his eyes are wide, glassy, horrified. Haunted. Five watches them fill with tears; Klaus swallows roughly.
"Oh, God…" he whimpers, muffling it with his palm. Five looks away.
"I'm sorry," he says raggedly. He's not sure why he's apologising. Maybe for the unworthiness of the graves. Maybe because Klaus had to see them at all. Maybe because Five now knows what grief feels like. Klaus sobs once, just a trembling gasp inwards, then whirls around to Five. Five doesn't know what he's expecting—he's instinctively prepared for something bad—but Klaus ducks down and grabs him in a hug. It's sudden, unexpected: he's holding Five little too close, too hard. Five can feel Klaus' tears being mushed into his already filthy hair.
"Did you bury them all?" Klaus cries, voice breaking. Five nods, screwing his face up against Klaus' jacket in an attempt to hold back the millionth round of tears today.
"Oh, Five…" Klaus sniffs. "That's… thank you. But that's so fucking sad," he says plaintively. He lets Five go, and for some reason Five can't stop the words bubbling out of him.
"You were the last one," he says, scrubbing at his eyes. Klaus looks back at him, lost. Five shrugs, points to the one unfilled pit at the end of the shabby row. "But you're alive." He doesn't know what else to say. Klaus' face goes through some tragic series of emotions and expressions; it ends with his lips pressed tightly together and eyes glossy, unable to look directly at Five.
"Thank you, buddy," he rasps again. Neither of them seem sure what he's thanking Five for, just as Five wasn't sure why he'd been apologising. "...Come on. We should keep going."
They trudge past the graves; Klaus presses his fingers to his lips, mutters something, looks mournfully at the mounds as they pass, then wraps an arm around Five's shoulders and marches on.
It's completely dark by the time they find the corner of a hollowed out building that seems more secure than any others around. The standing walls and remaining part of a roof provide a little protection from the smoke and dust stirring through the air, though it's gotten cold, and they can still smell scorched meat every so often. Five is almost thankful he has no food left in his system to throw up. They lower themselves gingerly to the ground, kicking chunks of rock out of the way. When they lie down they're near each other, but not touching. It's hard and uncomfortable. Five closes his eyes despite his wishes—exhaustion is weighing him down like lead. It's the most exhausted he's ever been, both physically, emotionally, and mentally, but he's sure if he manages to fall asleep despite the discomfort he'll only be met with nightmares.
Maybe this whole situation is just one long, detailed nightmare.
There's a rustle as Klaus shifts next to him, and then he's being poked, something fluffy shoved in his face. Five cracks his eyes open but no light from any fires reaches past the concrete walls of their corner, so he can't see anything.
"Here, take my jacket," Klaus says quietly from the dark. Five shakes his head.
"No, you keep it," he mutters. "I'm not cold." It's barely a lie.
"Use it as a pillow then," Klaus sighs.
"I don't need it," Five repeats, though the childish part of him wants to take it and cling onto it and savour whatever comfort he can get. "It's yours, you use it as a pillow."
"Don't worry, man, I have a lot more experience sleeping in uncomfortable situations like this than you do," Klaus says, and promptly drops his coat right onto Five's face, then rolls over away from it. Five huffs, but after a moment of warring with himself balls it up and tucks it under his head. He's still uncomfortable but it's… better.
"You have experience sleeping at the end of the world?" he weakly tries to joke.
"Well, the apocalyptic scenario is new," Klaus yawns, "but the cold concrete floor is an old friend. At least I'm wearing pants this time." He drops off into silence, and Five is left with a churning mind. He has so much to think about—time travel, the state of the world, his siblings, what hints he's garnered about what Klaus' adult life has been like, possible confirmation of an afterlife and a God, the state of Five's powers, and how the hell he and Klaus are going to get home. But despite everything his bone-deep exhaustion wins out, and he's dragged mercilessly into unconsciousness.