Archive of Our Own

It starts a very long time ago.

Klaus becomes aware of it on July 3rd.

He’s laying in bed that July afternoon. It’s sweltering outside, the heat pounding against his head even from the comfort of the indoors. Klaus has stitched this yarn together one hundred and fifty three times, and counting. It’s the most boring thing on the planet.

Klaus has also been sober for ninety two days and fifteen hours. It’s probably the second most boring thing on the planet.

Throwing his needles down, he tosses his head back and groans. The damn things won’t thread right, which yeah, it might be because of his shaky ass hands, but still.

What the fuck is he doing? A couple months ago, he was out partying and doing God knows what in alleyways or whatever, and now he’s knitting?

Then he pauses. Wait, fuck. No no no, those are relapse kinda thoughts , Klaus thinks to himself. Why was he thinking like this now? Now?

There hasn’t been anything too stressful lately.

Okay, that was a lie. But, the worst was maybe some new crimes popping up. The ol’ Umbrella Academy had volunteered to deal with it, but that’s normal. That’s an average day in the life of Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves who-

Klaus Hargreeves who really, really wants a drink.

And, okay, it’s not only that. Ben’s been gone for some reason. He has the tendency to pop off to some random place for a couple of days, maybe a week. But this time it’s been about two since Klaus has seen him. Ever since Ben discovered that if he walked for long enough he could see anything in the world, he’d been going stir crazy in the house . So no emotional support Ben.

Probably doesn’t help they ended on an argument. Oops.

Picking the needles back up, he sits back down onto the bed slowly . His mind is racing, a nd he’s out of damn yarn. Six more rows can be done , tops.

He leans over the bed, reaching out towards the spools of thread on his nightstand. It shifts on the table, hovering in the air for a moment, before landing in his hands. Score. This whole new telekinesis thing was sick.

Shifting the blue thread in his hand, Klaus feels the ends of the fancy shit. It’s smooth, a pretty dull blue. His siblings, bless their hearts, bought Klaus ten spools of the thread.

He doesn’t even sew. He knits. The thin blue thread isn’t going to help Klaus any. But hey, it's the thought that counts!

Swallowing whatever guilt (guilt? Why does he feel guilty?) he has, Klaus turns his attention back onto the knitting. One hundred and fifty four. One hundred and fifty five.

He’s running low on yarn. Maybe he’ll take up sewing.

One hundred and fifty six.

Ninety two days and sixteen hours.

/////

Klaus wakes up the next day with a headache. It’s not unusual, if he’s being honest. The way he slept hunched over the yarn, clothes still on, or maybe it’s because he skipped dinner last night.

Telekinesis always did wipe the fuck out of him. Probably that too-

“FIVE!”

Flinching, Klaus jumps against the wall with a SMACK!

His forehead twists.

Or maybe it’s his loud ass inconsiderate siblings.

“FIVE, you BASTARD-!”

Scrunching his eyes, he tries to blink the pain away. Yeah, it’s gotta be all those. Lucky him. He should eat something. It’s what, nine o’clock-?

He blinks at the time. Oh. 1 pm. No wonder his head’s throbbing.

Klaus pushes himself out of bed, teetering for just a moment. Jesus fuck, there’s no way this amount of pain is legal. He knows, reasonably , that he’s been through significantly worse, but he’s sober now. Headaches so strong you have to clench your jaw to keep yourself from puking is like, illegal. A war crime, really . Who would want to do this to poor ol' Klaus?

He catches himself whining, with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Christ on a cracker, he’s fucked up. Those soft, pathetic noises should be saved for when there’s no one around. There’s no way in the seven (Or was it nine? It should be seven. One for each sibling.) circles of Hell Klaus is letting his family catch wind of this.

Inhaling sharply , teetering both on his feet and on the edge of control, he opens the door.

The lights immediately hit him dead in the face. It’s too bright, way too fucking bright for nine in the morning. Wait, no, it’s one, isn’t it? Or is it-

His train of thought is interrupted , quite rudely , by the sound of Luther. He’s yelling some dumb bullshit, probably a family meeting knowing Klaus’ luck. Klaus subconsciously clasps his hands hard over his ears. It does little to block out the noise, but ya know. The thought counts.

Except Klaus isn’t doing much thinking. He’s tightening his fists together, resisting the urge to bash his goddamn brains in.

Taking a few slow and steady breaths, he evens out his irrational breathing. Maybe it’s coping, but for now it’s a cover up.

Klaus makes his way downstairs.

/////

Now the breathing is more out of defiance than anything. He’s pretty sure God, the little bastard, is trying to get Klaus to accidentally turn himself in. He’d be damned if he let Her win.

Normally , Klaus would allow himself to hyperventilate all he pleases. But now? Now he’s got a snarky grandpa of a brother who’s always on constant alert. Unusual breathing? Five would be on that. God, Klaus couldn’t even imagine not filtering all that kind of stuff out. The idea of all that extra noise on top of the weird bullshit that they’re debating now makes Klaus wince. Has Klaus blinked enough in the past minute? Should he blink? Would Five notice him not blinking? Oh God, what if Five can somehow tell Klaus is consciously blinking? If anyone could, it’d be Five, that bastard.

His own thoughts are overwhelming him. What kind of bullshit is that? Everything around him is too bright. Too loud. His head, the sensitive bitch, is suddenly deciding now that he has to feel the intensity of everything ever .

It fucking hurts. It’s too painful, even if it’s only some dull throb at the back of his head. It’s never going away. Maybe he has brain cancer. Or-

“Klaus!”

Snapping his head up, Klaus came face to face with everyone looking at him. He realizes with a start that, despite his best efforts, he’s been rubbing his temples. The dull ache grows stronger, and the lights above him flicker. Huh. Ominous.

What were they talking about? Five, in all his tiny glory, crosses his arms. He’s got the classic tilted eyebrow look, looking Klaus up and down like he’s analyzing him. Which he probably is, knowing Five. The headache grows a little lighter with the distraction.

“Well? Klaus?”

Fuck. Fuckkkk. And with that, the fluctuating headache lands on migraine. They were talking about… Shit, was it the crimes? What were they? Something about… Clubs. Robberies? Club robberies? Klaus could rob a club right about now.

Goddamnit, not again.

Muddling through his words, he forces his voice to make some kind of sentence. Fuck, his brain can’t think of any ideas, but his mouth was always good at running on it’s own.

“Y-Yeah. Yeahhhh. Vouch,” Beautiful job, Klaus. Real charming. He pushes himself to try to make something understandable. “I agree with, uh, Five…?”

His vision hurts. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. His eyes hurt, not his vision. Actually, no, it might be his vision. Klaus feels hot. Temperature wise, you perv.

He doesn’t know who he’s reprimanding. Himself? He needs a cold cloth, right on his forehead. His vision blurs. He doesn’t think they’re looking at him anymore. It’s disorienting, to see like four Luthers. God. Too many Luthers. Four too many.

And Klaus laughs, and the vision clears into this weird vivid triumph. There’s one Luther. He's not even looking at him, instead choosing to fight with Diego over something stupid. The heat in his head still comes in waves. Definitely overdid it on the telekinesis. Ugh.

His headache seems to dull again. Klaus wants to take a hammer to his skull.

He blinks again, and when he opens his eyes, Five's in his face. He twitches back with a start, Five's leaning into way too fucking close.

“Well?” Five says, with that little teenage voice of his. Klaus laughs at his own joke. Five doesn’t seem to care. “You said you ‘vouched’ for me. Are we going, or what?”

“Yeah…Yeah!” Klaus says, forcing some kind of eagerness into his voice. “Yeah, let’s get going!” What the fuck did he get himself into?

/////

A club. He got himself into a club. The bouncer didn't even ID him, the prick. Klaus looks very young, thank you very much. Coke doesn’t age a man thatfast.

This is the worst place imaginable. Five is somewhere inside, having blinked himself in. Leaving Klaus is alone with sounds, lights, temptations, and a couple of war flashbacks. Well, half war flashbacks. More like fucked up memories his cruel head keeps bringing up oh so helpfully . He’d get on medication if he wasn’t sure he’d get addicted to it.

He thinks of his thread back home. He should really get into sewing.

“Klaus!”

Stepping back with a gasp, Five appears way too close to him. Again. Klaus ducks his head at the raised voice.

Jesus Christ, Five.

“Look,” Five says, looking as uncomfortable as Klaus feels. “You’re three months, give or take, sober now. You’ll be fine here, yeah?” Klaus nods. He wants a fucking drink. He nods again, to reassure himself.

He's making the choice to ignore his trembling fingers. People are shouting.

“Good, good. Look, Klaus, I hate this too but I’m the only smart one and you’re the only one that’s, ahem, frequented these kinds of places. You know what the people are like. We need that kind of insider info,” Five glances around. He’s fidgeting a bit, toying with the loose threads of his sweater vest. Ooo, there’s something Klaus can sew. Although the spools of thread he has now is all the wrong color-

“And don’t get distracted Klaus.” There's a sudden hostility in Five’s voice. It has Klaus clenching his shaking hands into shaking fists. The tremor's unnoticed by Five. “Our guy is about five foot ten. White guy, brown hair, pretty unremarkable. His name is Ralph. The most defining trait is this big rose tattoo on his wrist.”

Five glances at his tremor. Never mind on the unnoticed. “And stop with all that shaking, will ya? You look like a cocaine addict.”

He is one. He nods again anyways.

And with that, Five blinks away.

/////

Klaus finds himself backed into a wall. No, not a metaphorical one. A literal one. He’s stuck in the corner opposite of the tempting bar. Corners will always and forever be safe.

No surprises when you’re in a corner.

Everyone, much to Klaus’ relief, is an arm’s length away. He’s got an arm’s length of personal space to work with.

The pounding in his head continues. He fidgets with Dave’s dog tags, cool in his hands. There’s a sort of tenseness in the way his fingers grasp the tags, like he’s scared.

Oh shit. Klaus is scared . What the fuck? He finds that he does not, under any circumstances, want to go back out into that crowd. There’s a moment of relief here in the corner, where he can crumble with everyone away from him. If they’re close enough to touch him, they’re close enough to-

To-

To do other things.

Goddamnit, Klaus. Why are you always the weird one? Get your mind out of the gutter, you idiot!

Klaus has absolutely no interest in being here. No one here is interesting. He does not care.

But he doesn’t want to be alone. Not right now. Not with little Five, who despite his mental age, is still barely a teen in his body. Lord knows what kind of people would try to take advantage of him. And God does Klaus hate loneliness. He’d suffer through this bar a million more times with a million more migraines. Only if it meant avoiding being anywhere near a mausoleum or a crypt or some other bullshit tiny box.

He wonders why Five left him. He’s the addict of the family. And Five- fuck, Five hasto know about Vietnam, right? He saw Klaus after. He’s gotta know, yeah?

So why doesn’t he care?

Klaus somehow ends up at the bar. Why doesn’t he care?

He ends up with some drink in his hand. The trembling stops. The headache soothes. Ben would be so disappointed if he were here.

No one really cares unless you’re beautiful or dead, he muses. Thank God he's neither.

/////

Neither him or Five find the guy. Rudy or Ralph or whatever the fuck. Klaus only had one drink, which was enough after a couple months to at least sooth the weird meltdown he was having.

Five didn't notice. The little shit was shitfaced himself. Mumbling something about space and time and the meaning of everything. He slapped Klaus on the back in the friendly brother kinda way and Klaus lurched away. Five didn't notice or didn't care.

Back at the house, with Five safely tucked away in bed, the argument with family began again. Everyone gettin’ pissy about everything. If Klaus wasn’t pretending to still be sober he’d walk up right to the bar and get a drink. Instead, he’s on edge, the effects of the whiskey or whatever he had weaning off.

“-and Klaus-!”

He instinctively ducks, Allison’s voice rising too fast. It’s too quick for his mind to register as normal talk, taking it as some sort of command. A warning.

Klaus jumps again at a hand waving in his periphery. God, he’s pathetic today. His head pounds. He still wants to cut it open with a shard of glass. Really get in there.

“Klaus, Jesus man. You’re not looking too hot.” Diego is in front of him, and a part of Klaus knows that reasonably , Diego’s the one speaking.

“It was loud,” He spits out, eyes darting between his siblings. His breaths are coming in too fast and too shallow. It feels like death until he remembers he already knows what that feels like. More of a weird floaty-ness to it. Less of a racing heart. “Too much.”

He’s not lying. It’s too much. Klaus glances, wide eyed, at the bar. Real weird he thinks a drink will take him out of this drowning sensation. Ironic, truly . He’d be dying laughing if he wasn’t preoccupied.

The lights short circuit for a second. Klaus feels so fucking- shit, he doesn’t know, upset?

Diego looks him up and down, only pausing to glance back at Viktor when the lights flicker. Massively unsexy that Klaus can’t do that. Really , it’s not fair. What an excellent way to get your point across.

“Go to your room, Klaus. Sleep that headache off.”

Klaus listens. He’s glad they think he’s sober.

He only comes out once to grab some whiskey. Nobody will miss it.

/////

Him and Five bar hop for the next couple of days. There’s no guy with a rose tattoo, but there’s plenty of drinks to go around. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get caught.

Until: “Klaus, I’m not letting you drive us home tonight.”

“Wha’?” Fuck, fuck, he knows. Keep calm Klaus. Keep. Calm.

He manages to pause all fidgeting, posture loose in that Klaus sort of way. The only thing he knows that’s giving him away is that little bit of fear in his eyes he never learned to get rid of. Hargreeves could tell he was still afraid somehow, right?

That, and his fingers tremble. He tightens his mouth, desperate to keep himself from blurting something stupid. Something about Ben being missing or about how he has a couple of bottles hidden in his room. Or maybe something about how this isn’t thatbad.

His throat bobs, while he swallows. In that small nervous movement, Five knows. He has to.

Five sighs, shaking his head. “I’m driving you home. Need some help sitting up?”

Klaus absolutely , positively does not need help getting up. “Wha’? No, no. I can drive myself, Five.” He wishes his words didn't carry that slur to them.

“You can barely stand. Let me take you home, Klaus.”

“No!” He doesn’t mean to shout, really , but his tongue is loose and his vocal cords feel too fucking heavy. “No, no, Five, please, I’m fine.”

“Don’t even try to lie. I can smell the beer on your breath. You’re lucky that I haven’t called Diego or anyone yet. Now come on,” Five reaches for Klaus’ shoulder, grabbing him, reaching for him like- like-

“Don’t touch me!” Klaus blurts, clumsy hands pushing Five’s away. “I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter!”

Five scowls, lines in his face growing deep. There’s a weird sort of gentleness in the way he grasps Klaus’ shoulders, before he suddenly yanks him up. The world tilts for a second.

“ Maybe this hangover will teach you a lesson..” Five mumbles to himself. Klaus is awkwardly thrown over his shoulder. Klaus really thinks this would look funny as fuck, if it wasn’t for the whole, you know, relapse thing. “How much have you had to drink?”

“You’re why I drink.” What the fuck. Why did he just say that. What the fuck, Klaus.

Five halts. The hands holding Klaus up tremble for a second, fingers suddenly becoming tense. “Forget it. We’ll talk after you sober up.”

Klaus seems to be incapable of closing his mouth. “You’re just jealous,” He starts and immediately wishes he could stop, “That I know how to have a good time. Jesus fuck, I’m not drunk enough for this. You don’t get to fuckin’, I don’t know, interrogate me and shit. M’kay?”

Five doesn’t say anything. The grip on his arms gets a little tighter.

He falls asleep in the car.

/////

He ends up in his room. Five looks like he wants to say something, but he hesitates, and that’s all it takes for Klaus to end up face down in bed.

When Five leaves, Klaus reaches under the bed. There’s a whiskey bottle. A tequila one too, and two things of vodka. The vodka finds it's way into Klaus' hands.

It’s gone by morning.

/////

Klaus wakes up and immediately doubles over, retching. A bin is pushed under him, from where he leans over the bed, and he doesn’t even think about who could’ve brought that in there.

“Fuck,” Klaus moans. He feels like shit. He’s too goddamn sober for this.

“Hangover from hell, right?” Five. That fucker. “I found this with your things.”

He’s holding up four different bottles.

“I took your bottles. Which, by the way, you absolutely did not have to drink more. Really ? Drinking yourself to sleep?” Five sneers. Always fucking sneering. What a goddamn pleasure of a teammate.

Klaus is exhausted . He’s avoiding Five’s gaze, eyes falling to the thread on the floor. The spools laid there, unraveled. The cramping in his stomach grows stronger. His back, for some goddamn reason, hurts.

“You don’t get it,” Klaus starts. Five’s tilted eyebrow feels mocking. “Drinking, it makes me free.”

“Free? You’re pulling yourself back into addiction and you’re gonna say you’re free?”

He’s getting a headache.

“Yes! Yes!”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, fuck off. Like you know a thing about me,” He gags, sudden nausea clenching at his throat. “Jesus. I’ve never had a hangover like this before. I think I overdid with the booze, shit.”

Five laughs. It doesn’t have any real humor behind it, but he still does it.

“Be quiet. Shut up. Help me up.” Five, to his credit, helps him up and leans him over the bin. Not willing to clean up Klaus’ mess, he supposes.

After Klaus is finished , Five starts.

“So. You lied.”

Rolling his eyes, Klaus falls back into bed. This is almost as bad as that headache the other day.

“Yeah, yeah, I lie to everyone. You’re not special.”

Five gives him a weird look. “You do realize you relapsed, right? I had to carry you. Threw you over my shoulder and carried you. Pack strap style. You almost fell over and fainted.”

“And I thank you deeply for that. Now bye.”

“I’ve been looking after you all night! I haven’t even told our siblings!”

One miracle, at least.

“Goddamnit Klaus, why don’t you trust me? I know you! We’re brothers!”

“No you don’t,” Klaus blurts. Five looks thrown for a loop, before pushing forward again.

“What? Yes I do! I absolutely do!”

“No the fuck you don’t!”

“Yes I-“

“I don’t even sew! ” He doesn’t know why that’s what comes to mind. The thread on the floor mocks him, unraveled, unable to be used . Five’s standing on it. He doesn’t even notice.

“What?”

Klaus wants to leave. He’s going to leave.

There’s a weird sorta adrenaline rush that runs into his head. He pushes out of bed, startling Five, and shoves past him.

“Woah, woah, wait. Wait, wait, wait! We need to talk about this Klaus!”

“Nope.” It’s a miracle he’s still standing, to be honest. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

“Klaus! You were just begging me for help to sit up, what the hell?”

Klaus keeps his head down, pushing past everything. None of his siblings are in the hallways, which is a miracle as well.

“Let’s talk when I’m not half drunk, half sober,” Klaus says. He feels like he’s gonna fucking die. He’s gonna get out of here. “I’m leaving. Bye.”

He makes it out the door, bare feet padding against the rocky ground. He breaks out in a sprint. Klaus can’t fucking breath.

When he turns around, Five’s gone.

/////

“Don’t you dare get in that car.”

Ben’s in front of him. He’s been gone for weeks. What great timing he has.

“Fuck, Klaus, just go lay down. Please.”

He wants a drink. He pushes past Ben.

Klaus goes right through him.

/////

He’s in an alleyway. He always ends up in an alleyway. Eighteen fucking years of getting wasted and he always, alwaysends up in an alleyway.

And, not only is he in an alleyway, he’s being followed .

At first, the distant footsteps could be passed off as only the wind. Trash bags being rustled , or another stray cat skittering across the ground. But no, they’re footsteps. There’s no doubt about it.

Klaus ducks, weaving around a corner. The steps grow louder. There’s a million voices in his head screaming at him to hide-

There’s a brick wall. Oh fuck. God, he hopes he's got a weapon.

“Hey, baby,” A drunken voice rings in Klaus’ ear, echoing through his head. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. “Why’re ya hidin’?”

“Don’t hurt me,” Klaus blurts. Alcohol’s making his tongue loose again. Oh God.

A hand grips Klaus’ shoulder, tense fingers digging into the muscle. “Sweetheart, I’ve ‘eard about you. One of ‘em Hargreeves, yeah?”

Klaus nods, slowly . It’s not the best move, but he can’t think, can’t breathe.

“Good to know, honey.” And a punch hits Klaus right in the stomach.

Hunching over with a sharp exhale, Klaus gasps. The blow was unexpected , leaving him wheezing with pain. It takes him a moment to recollect, to process what just happened.

He doesn’t get that moment. Another sucker punch, right into the gut, leaves him unable to breathe entirely . He finds himself desperate for cover, something to protect him, and he's curling up further. It’s instinctual, but the wrong choice.

A kick hits him right in the spine, unfurling his curled form. The man’s yelling slurs and obscenities now, the shock and pain still echoing inside of Klaus’ skull. He’s not given a moment of peace, not a moment to react, not one to process. The man is viciously taking full advantage of Klaus’ brief moment of weakness, with no signs of stopping .

Klaus opens his mouth wide, jaw clenched, tension lines running up his cheekbones. He wants to scream, his mouth agape in one, but there’s no sound. He finds himself crying, tears winding trails through the dirty dust and thick blood. His eyes are tugged downwards, glittering with tears, and still he can’t scream.

There’s no wail to pierce the night, no shriek. Anguish is drawn into the lines on his face, agony written into the lines of his being. His tears show grief, but there is no howl.

His ears ring as if he screamed anyways.

And then, the man hesitates. There’s the sound of something clattering against the ground, and when Klaus looks up, there’s a bottle.

A weapon. A weapon.

He doesn’t hesitate. His fingers reach, desperate, and they scrape the cool glass of the half filled bottle.

And then the booted foot lands heavily , crushing said fingers.

This time, he does scream, a desperate, ragged howl with scrunched eyes and mouth open. The boot fucking hurts and Klaus bites down as hard as he can on his lip. His eyes snap shut, betraying tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Scrambling back, Klaus finds himself curling into a ball around his shattered fingers. A shudder rides through him, along with a cry, and he’s screaming, voice choking and breaking with a high pitched cry, dissolving into sobs . His bitten lips protest every cry torn from his mouth, but he can’t fucking stop.

Ten minutes pass when Klaus realizes the man hasn’t touched him.

Glancing up, he sees the man, knocked out cold against the wall. The brick is stained , deep with red, the man’s head is coated in blood. There’s a rose tattoo on his wrist.

Klaus notices the headache forming in the back of his head. Hooray, he thinks coldly . Telekinesis.

He promptly pukes on the ground, and reaches for the bottle.

/////

The world is suddenly greyscale.

His shirt, some raggedy thing from a dumpster from God knows where, is a bright pop of red in the sea of grey. There’s vomit staining the front of it, fortunately also in greyscale. Might be blood actually. Probably both, knowing his luck.

Klaus has a bottle in his hand. It’s the same one from the alleyway.

There’s a bicycle bell ringing through the air. Klaus falters, stumbling forward.

God. Not again.

“Hello, Klaus,” She greets, with the weird sort of politeness She has. “What brings you here?”

He knows She knows. He answers anyway. “I was drunk. There was a guy. I killed him, I think . I puked. Then I decided hey! Let’s drink some more! What do I have to lose?”

“Your life.”

He laughs, but it’s a choked kinda sound. He doesn’t really feel anything. Was he supposed to feel something?

God looks him up and down. “I don’t like you. How are you?”

The contrast of those two statements rips another laugh out of Klaus. “I’m great, I’m great. I don’t really know what’s real anymore, but hey! Who does?”

“Don’t think about it, Klaus. You’ll be fine,” God pauses for a moment. She looks, for a brief second, confused. “Why did you do it? Relapse, I mean.”

That kills any amusement Klaus had. “No one really listened to me, ya know? Real easy to just give up if no one’s gonna hear you.”

“That’s not why.” God, the little shit, has to already know exactly why. It’s Her whole thing. Why is She forcing this out of him?

“You know, I don’t like you very much either. Real glad I wasn’t made in your image,” Klaus says. He’s holding himself, clutching the bottle with more protectiveness then he does his own broken fingers .

“You’re only scared of the way I make you feel. You don’t want to feel anything. I feel like an authority figure to you.”

Ouch. Way to hit the mark.

“You are an authority figure! You are the authority figure! The mother of all authority! Of course I’m afraid of you!”

She glares at him. “You have to stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it. Addiction is getting you nowhere. You’ve been an addict for eighteen years. I could like you if you just learned that.”

Shame rolls in his gut. Why would She say that?

“Addiction is what makes me happy! Drugs take the edge of the painful ass existence you threw me in!”

“It takes the edge off, sure, but you’re not happy.”

She’s really staring him down now. There’s a sort of analysis in Her eyes, like She’s asking herself a question and figuring out Her own answer.

“I’m not really asking for happiness, to be honest. I only want a little less pain.” He doesn’t know why he’s choosing to be so honest with Her now. Her eyes are so piercing, it makes him feel so vulnerable. She already knows everything about him and still wants to make him talk. He can’t tell if that’s the biggest asshole move or if it’s the most loving thing someone’s done for him.

“Exactly. Your family will make you happy Klaus. You’re too paranoid about the wrong things. You’re obsessed with recreating yesterday’s euphoria; you don’t realize you’re doomed to repeat today.”

“I’m not being paranoid! People really , truly do leave me the moment I’m not fixed! Five ditched me this morning after like three protests. Ben didn't even try.”

“Oh, so it’s never your fault, is it? He’s dead. You’re lucky I still let him wander around down there.”

“I just -” He doesn’t want to confess this. It’d be him facing himself, saying it out loud would make it real. “I just want to find a place to curl up and die in peace.”

“Congrats,” God says. “You already did that.”

“No, no. I mean permanently ! It’s so difficult to feel so damn tired and sad when I only want to be alive!”

“Then why do you want to die, if I may ask why? If you want to feel alive, why crave death?”

Oh. He doesn’t know.

He fears death. In every form of it. He doesn’t really know why. The mausoleum is an instinct answer, but that was more ghosts and loneliness. Death, of course, is the very building block of ghosts. It’s what ghosts are. But, even then, he doesn’t think that’s what made him fear death.

He wants to hold onto life. He doesn’t like it here in heaven. He doesn’t wanna die.

But, in a strange fucked up way, he does? Death is what he was made for. He has no reason to cry over the idea of it. He'd spent ten months in what he likes to call Limbo, what other people would call war, wondering ‘ what now?’. Klaus Hargreeves is death.

Except he isn't. He’s immortal. Why does he want to die?

He doesn’t like heartbeats, for one. He doesn’t like people, yet he craves the attention. He stays at home as often as he can but yet again was homeless by his own fucked up choices for years.

He’s not a good person. He can’t say he’s surprised.

“Tell me it’s my fault.”

God, for all Her infinite wisdom, looks surprised. “What?”

“Me. It’s my fault. That’s why I want to die. It’ll be like, divine punishment or whatever,” His voice doesn’t waver, to his surprise. “I’m not a good person. I don’t listen to others, I don’t do what they tell me to do. I’m nasty and rude and I just killed a man in an alleyway and stole his liquor just so I didn't have to deal with it. I told God Herself I was glad I wasn’t made in Her image. Hell, I’ve been arguing with God Herself about the existence She created! Tell me it’s my fault, God, and I’ll go back to Earth and deal with the consequences.”

God, for Her credit, actually contemplates what he said for a second.

“You’re a good person, Klaus.”

What.

“What?”

“You’re a good person,” She repeats, stronger. “You’re considerate. You don’t apply it very often, but you are. I didn't make you to be quiet and obedient. You’re not supposed to do what’s expected of you. I made free will for a reason, Klaus. I knew what was going to happen. You’re a good person, and a bad one. I don’t blame you for killing Ralph. You have to be nasty and rude in order to get someone off of you, sometimes. I don’t send everyone with a body count to Hell. There’s exceptions, Klaus, and I hope you learn that.”

There’s a sudden wind rippling through the forest. God smiles, for the first time since Klaus met Her. “It’s time for you to go back.”

And with that, She disappears with the wind, flowing away in it like leaves.

/////

Suddenly , unexpectedly , Klaus is ripped back into life.

Pain courses through his veins, the very essence of his being, like suffering is what makes up Klaus entirely . His atoms, for that brief instance of being reborn, are made of nothing but horror and agony.

And he’s in the back of a car.

He’s in the back of a car. It’s going fast, too fast, and every bump rattles him a bit more. His stomach feels heavy, like it’s going to explode. The pain of being alive is now nothing but a dull thud in his chest, a heartbeat. A low, distressing groan drags it’s way from his clenched teeth. Whoever’s driving the car makes a weird yelping sound, caught by surprise.

“Jesus, fuck, he’s alive?!”

Diego?

“Shit! Shit, Diego, drive faster!”

Five?

Klaus moves to push himself up, suddenly completely aware of the severe pounding that’s back in his head.

He pushes his hand down against the seat, putting his full body weight into the hand to push himself up, and-

Holy fuck.

His head slams back into the seat, slanting back. Holy shit. The long of his neck exposes itself as Klaus arches his back and screams, mouth opening in a wail. There’s hands on him, suddenly , and Klaus flails his arms desperately to get them away. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Whatever well meaning bystander touching him is going to get thrown through the windshield . The pain in his hand is agonizing, rising to a crescendo and crumbling down the same way the bones in his fingers did.

Klaus pukes. He’s stuck on his back, held down by seat belts or arms- or something. He can’t see what’s pinning him to the seat, but it’s going to kill him. He’s choking, choking on his own vomit and he wonders for a brief second if this is it. He’s wondered that the 56 other times he’s died, but this feels so much more real.

He died not five minutes ago. He’s choking, choking, choking.

His vision slips away, leaving him slumping into the seat, boneless. Any and all energy is gone, used on trying to spit out his puke.

And the pain of being reborn gets ripped away from him again, as he sinks back into unconsciousness.

/////

Klaus awakes in a purple room. There’s highlights of pink light and deep blue light bathing over him, and when Klaus looks around, he realizes he’s looking out a window over a city .

The skyline of the city is whimsical, everything blurred like a frosted window. Everything is an outline, a vague shape, only vaguely resembling that of a skyline.

There’s about half a dozen benches, all facing away from the floor to ceiling (is there even a ceiling? Not that he can see) window. Behind Klaus is a dark abyss. He looks back.

And he realizes he’s in greyscale. Nothing but blue (blue??) blood leaking from his deep wounds. The blood is a dull color, shiny in the light. The purple, all encompassing light tints it to this weird ass color he’s never seen before.

And oh. He’s in greyscale. He’s dead.

He just died. And he’s dead. The memories from his life blur together. There’s no God here, not in this place, and he’s completely and utterly dead.

That should’ve been more obvious.

This place makes Heaven look like a fairytale. Unless this is Heaven? Was the other place there only to coax him into eternal slumber?

A name comes to mind. Limbo.

There’s a clock ticking, Klaus realizes with a start. It’s already hurting his ears, thumping and thumping.

Klaus throws his fist against the window pane, and cries a siren’s song of agony. It’s a wail, pure and unadulterated, and he’s slamming his bloodied fist into the unforgiving window. Blue blood splatters across it, and he doesn’t stop fucking screaming.

It’s unending, torturous, dragging on for eternity. This place is forever, like Heaven before, but so much different. He’s alone, left to look out over the world with no God and no real light.

It feels like the door between life and death has been closed . He’d beg for forgiveness if words mattered here.

The ticking of the clock continues to ring in his ears. It’s painful, far too much, and Klaus removes his even further shattered hands from the window to cover his ears. His body’s trembling with something strong, and he whimpers, desperate and longing.

He shoves his fist into his mouth to keep himself from screaming. His lips still move from behind the self made gag.

Klaus, fluttering his hands to the site of his head injury, clutches at his skull. His brain feels like it’s going to implode, and the pressure of his hands clenching does little to relieve it. He can feel his fingernails break skin, and he fucking hates blue blood. It’s not his. Where’s his? Why take away the one thing that makes him human?

He howls in agony, thrashing against the window in pain again. God, God, God-!

Klaus forces himself to stop his thrashing. What would God do here? What would She do?

Easy.

He lets himself fade out of existence, following the ticking of the clock.

/////

Suddenly , but very expectedly , Klaus is ripped back into life.

It feels like before. Atoms being ripped , replaced with pain and suffering and whatnot. You get the gist.

What Klaus truly, really feels, is alive.

Oh God, he’s alive. Alive! His body is breathing, spectacular and reborn, and he wonders why he never focused on the feeling of being new again. The only thing he ever noticed before was the throbbing agony, but nothing will ever feel more fantastic than breathing with new lungs . He wonders if he felt like this at birth. He was always the opposite of his family, everyone else steady like a hammer, unworried about where they’d be. He was always the crooked one, the worthless, the black sheep.

Yet, he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who’s ever loved breathing like this.

Loud beeping fills his ears, like a heart monitor. And then, he takes in his surroundings.

Oh. The hospital room at home. It’s probably a monitor, huh?

“Holy shit.His heart- It-”

Someone is talking about him. It sounds like Diego, maybe . Whoever it is, they’re blabbering, and the headache starts up again. Nothing can go right for long enough, huh?

“Shut ‘p,” He mumbles, wincing. “My ‘ead hurts.”

And there’s arms around him. Tentative, stuttering arms that awkwardly loom over his shoulders like they’re afraid they’re gonna break Klaus. There's a moment of hesitation before an entire body collides with him. The tension-filled grip loosens into a face smushed into Klaus’ shoulder, and oh.

He’s being hugged. By Diego. Diego is hugging Klaus like his life depends on it. The once gentle grip becomes desperate and fierce, seizing Klaus’ shoulders as if it was the only thing holding Klaus down . Diego’s fingers curl tight against his back, and he's so goddamn close Klaus can hear their heartbeats thudding in sync .

“I thought you were dead,” Diego starts. His voice is muffled into the old shirt Klaus is wearing (someone must have changed him out of the bloodied mess he was wearing). “I can’t even look at you, you asshole.”

“Wha’?” Klaus slurs. His mind feels clear, but his stupid tongue won’t catch up with his brain. Despite the question, he knows exactly what happened. He did die. Twice, if he counted correctly.

“Does ‘alcohol poisoning’ ring any bells?”

Klaus jumps back at the sound of Five’s voice, because when the hell did he get in here? He didn't even hear the sound of him blinking in.

Then he processes what Five said. Oh. Alcohol poisoning. That makes sense. For the first death, at least. The second one was definitely choking on his own puke. Embarrassing. He hands Ralph his own ass back to him and then turns around and kills himself? Twice?

“Yeah,” Klaus says, rubbing the back of his neck to the best of his ability. Diego still has his full weight on Klaus, which is strangely nice in a weird way. “Sounds about right.”

Five presses on, face stone cold. “You could’ve lost your life. We took you to the hospital. They wanted to keep you overnight, but we knew that you would’ve probably ran away to some other bar the moment you woke up.” Ouch, but he’s right. Klaus hates the amount of ghosts in hospitals. And they’re always so goddamn angry. “Me and Diego spent all last night in the living room, scared out of our damn minds that Mom was gonna walk in and say we lost you.”

Mom saw him. He really didn't want her seeing him like this. “I’m sor-”

“All you had to do was stay in bed,” Five interrupts, pacing around the room. “Never do that again Klaus, I swear to God. You’re going to be staying in that bed, no ifs ands or buts. I don’t want to hear a single complaint, or I’m going over there and killing you myself.” Five, during his rant, grabbed a pill bottle with something or other in it. “Here, take two of these. With water, I don’t want to see your weird dry swallowing bullshit.”

Klaus doesn’t take the bottle. Five raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I don’t think I should take those,” Klaus blurts. “I already relapsed on alcohol, I don’t need pills fucking me up again, you know?”

Five’s face, for some weird reason, twitches all funny. He looks upset, for a brief second. His mouth, drawn all tight, his face growing all red, and for a second he looks like he’s about to-

Oh. He’s crying. Five is crying.

“Oh! Oh, Jesus, Five,” Klaus blurts yet again. Why was Five crying? Why was Five crying? “Oh, don’t cry, honey. Shh, don’t upset yourself, look I’m fine!”

Five probably doesn’t appreciate Klaus comforting him like a child. Klaus grows more worried when Five doesn’t reprimand him.

Diego shifts from his spot on Klaus, glancing back at Five. His eyes widen for a second, surprised, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s probably too shocked.

“You-You were dead,” Five rasps, and he looks so damn embarrassed Klaus wants to beat the shit out of who told him he couldn’t cry . Sucks that their dad was already dead. “For thirty three minutes. Your head was split open. Open.”

“Five, look, there’s nothing there!” Klaus tilts his head down, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Five’s crying doesn’t slow, but it doesn’t accelerate , so that was a win? “Five, honey, c’mere. Join the group hug. Oh, but blow your nose first. Don’t get your germs on me.”

Five sniffs a laugh at that, wiping his face aggressively . Diego’s still staring, but he’s opened his arms to welcome Five.

Five moved quietly , slowly , as if he was planning his movements carefully . Klaus appreciated the way Five telegraphs his movements, like a warning. Five’s fingers are shaking. They curl into the cloth, and Five gives one more ragged cry.

“You killed the guy we were after,” Five mumbles into Klaus’ shirt. It’s weird, balancing a grown man and a teen on his lap in this tiny ass bed. Especially considering that the grown man and teen is Diego and Five. “I’d be more pissed at you if I wasn’t-” He suddenly cuts himself off.

“If you wasn’t what?”

Five pushes himself away from Klaus, getting back out of the bed. There’s the Five he knows. “If I didn't…” He mumbles the last bit, rubbing his arm. One of his hands is picking at the threads of his sweater, and that’s all Klaus needs to know that Five’s nervous.

“If you didn't what, Five?” Diego asks, also pushing himself off of Klaus. His tone sounds strangely aggressive, accusatory.

“Nevermind,” Five says, and the cold persona is back. It doesn’t work quite the way Five wants it to, considering his face is still red and eyes blotchy.

“Five.”

“Diego.”

They stare each other down. God, Klaus hates bro-offs. Five’s face is closed off for the most part, arms crossed over his chest, but his fingers are still aggressively picking at whatever thread they can find . Diego is also glaring him down, but the motion is ruined by the whole cuddling with Klaus thing.

“Five, just share whatever shit you’re hiding from us!”

“Fuck! Fine! Klaus-” Five looks worried, face scrunching in some kind of guilt, “I’m sorry I made you relapse!”

What? Huh?

“What?” Diego says, reading Klaus’ mind.

“I’m the one who asked him to go to the club with me. At the family meeting. And he agreed, because he’s Klaus and all he does is help and all I do is ruin shit! And we went, and then I got drunk, and sober Klaus had to deal with me! And then we did that again and again and of course he ended up relapsing, how could he not?!” Five pauses his rant for the briefest of moments, gasping for air. “And I’m the one who bought him all that damn thread! He doesn’t even sew!”

“You remembered that?”

Five glances back at Klaus. “That was yesterday. Of course I remembered.”

Oh yeah. Heaven time is wildly different from real time. Both shorter and longer than ever.

“Klaus, that is not the part we should be focusing on,” Diego starts, officially getting out of the bed. “Five, you got drunk? In front of Klaus?”

Oh God. Klaus is not dealing with another sibling argument. Especially not such an unfair one. Klaus is the one who agreed to go! He was, to be fair, completely not focused on the conversation but Five couldn’t’ve known that!

“Woah, woah, we should not be blaming Five here! I’m the one who agreed to go with him in the first place! Look, we both fucked up, but there is no way in hell we’re gonna put the blame on Five,” Klaus takes a moment to look at their surprised faces . “And, in fact, I’m going to thank him! Thank you, Five. Thank you for helping me.”

“Of-Of course, Klaus,” Five stutters out, wide-eyed.

“And Diego, thank you too, glad to know you care.”

Diego looks surprised. “Of course! I’ll care about you forever!” He huffs, shaking his head. “That’s part of the whole sibling deal. Honest.”

Klaus leans back, satisfied. “See? Don’t get pissed at each other for dumb shit like that.”

“Klaus, I shouldn’t’ve-”

“Nope!” Klaus cuts Five off, moving to get up. His wounds are all healed now, bones reset and put back together. Same with skin and blood and what not. Immortalty, baby! “I lied to you. God gave me the talking of a lifetime and now I know that I was being dumb.” He yanks the IV out of his arm, along with the heart monitor patches.

“Klaus, don’t-Wait, did you say God?”

Klaus walks past his brothers, laughing all the way.

/////

Later that night, Klaus gets returned to his room. His family, all of them, demand answers and promises and whatnot. One long winded explanation (which skipped most of the details, but you know. What can you do?), and he managed to drive the family to tears yet again.

Klaus enters his room quietly , like a teen sneaking back into his house in the middle of the night. Something Klaus most definitely never did.

On his bed sits Ben. He’s smiling slightly .

“What’s got you so entertained Benny boy?”

Ben throws his head back towards something on his pillowcase.

There sits 7 or so bundles of yarn, all a beautiful dull blue color.

Yeah. God was right. Family love feels fuckin' great.

That bitch.