Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When he was a little older than four years old, Five accidentally jumped from his bedroom to the kitchen. He just wanted a fluffernutter sandwich, but the toddler was horribly confused by the revelation that he could teleport. His father didn’t comfort his cries. Pogo did.

Four’s powers didn’t seem to be clear until he was nearly ten, but Five knew otherwise. What the others considered a quirk, he knew was something sinister. The skirting around spaces in air, talking under his breath, refusing to look anyone completely in the eye. The jumping, the flinching, the screaming. They all meant something- he just didn’t know what.

Two weeks after this revelation, he overheard his father talking to Pogo. “Ghosts, I know,” he hissed. Five’s brow furrowed. His father didn’t hiss. “I have reason to believe he’d been seeing them since as young as two years.”

He jumped away before hearing anymore, but the sucking sound and blue light was likely enough to tip Father off about his eavesdropping. He didn’t care.

He jumped directly outside Four’s room, hesitating slightly before knocking on the door and waiting. “Come in,” his brother had muttered. He was lying in a pile of clothes, all different shapes and textures and colours. It looked uncomfortable, but Five flopped down next to him anyway. “Did you really see them all that time?” He’d asked. His brother didn’t need context- he just nodded and hummed noncommittally. That was answer enough for Five.

Not even a week later, the ‘special training’ started. Everyone was different- One had to fight tooth and nail for his life, Two threw his knives at people close enough to cut hair, Three was forced to rumour and rumour and rumour, Six had to unleash The Horror in his stomach and attempt to control the slaughter it craved.

Seven tried to shatter glass, then people, then was put on her medication.

Five had to jump until his body was physically falling apart.

Four disappeared.

That was what concerned him the most. The rest of Five’s siblings could be monitored, analysed, keeping their needs met and wants satisfied. Four couldn’t be coddled, or held, or sent understanding looks from over the dinner table (mostly because he was barely there for half of the evening meals). Instead, Five’s brother would walk into the house shaking like a leaf and holed himself in his room until someone would force him out.

Five never worked out what was wrong.

When the siblings were eleven, they were given their names.

“Come on,” Four had urged, tugging at Five’s hand as he flitted around his room like a bird. Five had spent the night in his room, after walking in to collect his favourite blanket and finding his favourite brother bruised and bloody on his bed. “I don’t wanna be late!”

Five rolled his eyes. “Running down the steps won’t make you much faster, Four. Remember the heels?”

Four shuddered comically. He'd only had his speaking abilities back for about two weeks. "They were such fabulous heels. Too bad I couldn’t walk in them,” he mused, slowing his jogging to a walk. Five chose to blink into the kitchen.

Mom was sitting at the head of the dining table, smiling widely. She had a sheet of paper in front of her, a list of single words written in perfect font next to the margin. Three and One were whispering excitedly to each other when the pair walked in, eyes darting towards the stiff limp and badly covered bruises the taller brother had. To his credit, Four didn’t shrink under their gaze. He kept his steps even and spine tall until he flopped into his chair.

If Mom noticed anything unusual, she said nothing. Two hovered awkwardly behind her, fiddling with a throwing knife. The metal was thin but exceptionally sharp, and from Five’s seat he could see the speckles of red that littered his hands.

Six was already lounging in his spot, glancing concernedly at Four as he shifted. There was no way, Five thought, that his position was comfortable. If Six agreed, he didn’t move much more than the occasional shift of his weight.

The silence was uncomfortable. Seven was nowhere to be seen. Two bit his lip and winced when the knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Five was up in an instant.

He was so close- too close- to Two when Father walked in. “Number Five,” he bellowed, walking quickly to the boy, “away from your brother, this once!”
Five barely had time to send Two a sympathetic glance before he jumped back to his seat at the dining table. The kettle in the kitchen sung. Four jumped at the sound.

“Grace,” Father said.

Mom looked up brightly. “Yes, sir?”

“As soon as Pogo has arrived, you may assign the children their names. Be sure they remember them- I need them ready for next week’s mission.” He spat the final word out like it was a slur. Five frowned. He knew nothing of a mission.

“Of course, sir.”

Reginald nodded, and left the room without another word. One’s eyes shone in adoration at the sight of the man. Five rolled his own and slouched into the chair, mimicking Four’s posture. “What do you want your name to be?” he muttered under his breath. Four shrugged. The act seemed to cause him pain, and his brow furrowed when he replied.
“Dunno. Adam or something? I named the giraffe you found Penelope.”

Five nodded slowly. “Penelope is a nice name.”

“I guess.”

“Children,” Mom exclaimed, robotic hands clasped together in front of her, “we can give out your names now!”

Four’s gaze flitted to the two figures in the door. Relief sung in his heart as he saw Seven standing shyly in the doorway. He beckoned his sister over with a small smile, watching as she sat at the head of the table, facing Mom. At some point, Two had also sat down. He seemed annoyed as usual to have to sit between One and Three.

The names were given out slowly and unceremoniously.

Luther.

Diego.

Allison.

Klaus.

Ben.

Vanya.

Five.

The other’s had been dismayed when Five politely (as politely as he could) rejected his name. He didn’t want to be an Aidan. He wanted to be Five, and if that was a small ‘fuck you’ to his father, then that was an added bonus. Four and Seven- no, Klaus and Vanya- seemed to understand. The rest were baffled. Five paid them no mind.
The spout was forgotten by the next week, but Five’s name never changed.
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“Klaus?” Five calls.

He blinks from the bedroom to the roof, the roof to the basement, the basement to the kitchen, the kitchen to the lounge room, the lounge room to the garden, the garden to his room. Where is he?

Someone is singing. Five ignores it. The melody is lilting and sweet, but he shoves it from his mind as his panic for his brother mounts. “Klaus?” he yells again.

Nothing.

He’d been working on his jumps for years now- both with and without Father. So, as he shoves away the distinct feeling of wrong in his gut, he closes his eyes, thinks about his brother, and blinks.

The feeling evolves into a clock striking twelve in his stomach. The feeling runs through his small body.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

It is dark outside. The moon is full, but virtually lightless, the eeriness growing. Five runs a hand over one of the gravestones slowly.

Barbara Williams, it reads, 1943-2000.

It is cold. The academy uniform is thin, and Five shivers from under his layers. He takes a few steps forward, the autumntime leaves crunching under his feet. Someone, distantly, cries out. Five takes a deep breath. The grandfather clock in his gut continues to chime, the feeling wracking his body with small shivers each time.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He continues to walk. Where, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t know why he’d jumped here, exactly, but isn’t eager to get an answer. His feet continue to carry him somewhere, and Five allows this absentmindedly.

A gust of wind. A slight shifting. Low moans somewhere in the distance. Five pulls his coat closer, eyes squinting against the wind. He passes gravestone of all shape and size.

Mia Quinn.

Joeseph Lethlen.

Liya Frend-Adena.

Aurora Smith.

Some of the names are new, some worn with age. The stone memorials range from being as tall as Five (who isn’t particularly tall, but still) to barely the size of the printer paper he would steal for Klaus to draw on.

Klaus.

He is standing in front of the mausoleum. The plaque on the front tells him that nearly forty people are inside. Families, a few of them. The rest just sounding like snobby rich people who wanted their bodies to be a little more comfortable. Five sniffed, about to turn back, despite his panic dwelling under the surface of his skin. He begins to wander to his left, but his feet no longer feel the need to take him anywhere.

Someone is moaning. Not in a sexual way, Five thinks vaguely, but the low moan of someone in pain.

Who would be moaning this late in the night? And in a cemetery, no less? Why is it louder when I stand in front of the mausoleum than wandering through the graveyard?
He feels the blood drain from his face. Instead of freaking out, like every inch of his being is telling him to, he takes a huge breath and blinks inside the mausoleum.

His beautiful, funny, sweet, kind, loving, empathetic brother is lying in a mix of his tears, blood, and vomit.

The smell is revolting. Klaus lies on his sides with his hands firmly over his ears, whimpering slightly. There is next to no light in the structure, save for a crack in the top corner, furthest from the door. Klaus is semi-illuminated by the weak nighttime light he basks in.

Red hot anger flashes through Five before he pulls himself together and walks forward.

His steps squash something inside his brother, and he instantly quiets. The sobs quell, his shaking frame still so suddenly his body looks stony with tension. Five watches with a mix of grief and rage as his brother peels his hands away from his ears and sits up slightly. His curls are matted to his face, and there is a clump of hair on the ground beside him.

“I’m sorry, Father,” he babbles, “I didn’t hear you come in. I’ve conquered my fear, I promise! Really truly- dead and dusted.” Klaus flinches at his own words and Five’s heart breaks. Still, he stays silent. “Can I come out? It’s quite cold in here.”

Five kneels. Klaus hasn’t opened his eyes, choosing instead to remain half-slumped against the wall. He reaches out and take his hand. His brother jumps out of his skin, eyes shooting open.

“Five?” he whispers. Five smiles at first, and for a second, there’s relief in Klaus’s eyes, and Five’s heart is beating again, and his brother will be okay, and they should get the fuck out of here, and-

“No, no, no, no, no,” Klaus is muttering. He repeats the word until it becomes an odd sound, yanking his hand away and gripping his curls. Another clump of hair floats to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Five asks. His own panic is clawing back up his throat, but he shoves it down. He can’t break down. Not now.

“You can’t be dead. You were supposed to get out alive!” Klaus’s words turn into sobs. He wraps his arms around himself tightly and tears stream from his eyes. He is petrified, but as Five looks closer, his face looks ten years older than his thirteen-year-old body, weary and tired and helpless.

In a split-second decision, Five grabs Klaus’s hands from his curls. His brother cries harder, tries to pull away, but Five finds himself making a gentle sound. “Shush,” he whispers, “it’s okay.”

He guides his hand to his chest, right over his heart. He places the other hand over his wrist. It feels grimy, but he sits perfectly still, racing pulse under his brother’s fingertips.

The crying slowly ceases.

Klaus cracks his eyes open again after a lifetime. There are fresh tears on his cheeks. “Are you alive?” he asks.

Five’s own eyes well up as the broken sound of his voice. The horrid, weary, terrified hope. He nods.

When Klaus cries again, there is a smile on his face.

“Do you want to go home?”

He nods feverishly.

Five helps his brother to his feet. He makes a move to leave, but Klaus freezes in his spot. In the dim light, he can see the way his brother blinks, eyes hazy.
With a hiss, he manages to catch him when his knees buckle, and he collapses to the floor.

Five sinks onto his knees, keeping his arms wrapped firmly around his brother’s body. It disturbs him that his arms easily snake around Klaus’s thin waist, despite him being several inches taller than him. He places a finger on his neck, the other on a wrist. His small fingers wrap easily around that too.

“Fuck, Klaus, how long has this been happening?” he wonders aloud, thinking of all the times he wasn’t around at meals or other activities.

Looking around frantically at the dark mausoleum, Five decides they can’t stay in here. Even unconscious, Klaus is shaking, whimpering, flinching at sudden sounds that Five can’t hear.

So, he makes a split-second decision.

Clutching tightly to his brother, he blinks.

They end up in Five’s room. Both of them.

He frowns- he had been aiming for Klaus’s, but a win is a win.

His brother is quiet again, and when he looks at the bundle in his lap, it looks back at him. Five swears, but doesn’t recoil. His brother looks ready to cry again, but no tears well up. With a sigh, Five scoops him up and lies him gently on the bed. He doesn’t miss the muffled squeak or the tight feeling in his chest when Klaus grabs his shirt in a white-knuckled grip.

He passes a glass of water to him, glad to have an abandoned drink on his bedside. Klaus gulps it down greedily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Five raises an eyebrow, raises a finger, takes the glass, and blinks into the kitchen.

He fills two glasses of icy fridge water before blinking back upstairs, careful to make as little noise as possible. The singing from earlier has stopped.

Five hands the lighter plastic glass to Klaus and glances at the clock on the wall. It is nearly eleven.

He went looking for Klaus at nine-thirty.

He holds the heavier glass with both hands. There were no other clean ones, but his brother is dehydrated. This mug was the only one in the cupboard- an unusually heavy cup made of perfectly clear glass. It was thick around the rim, thicker on the bottom, and when filled with water had to be carried with two hands.

His brother was sweating. The perspiration on Klaus’s brow glistened in the light of the warm-coloured lamp. Five inches forward awkwardly, still holding the cup of wear. Despite downing two already, Klaus eyes it like a parched man.

He probably is.

For anyone else, Five would have just not given them the water. Perhaps he would’ve drank it himself.

Something softens when he looks at Klaus, so he takes another step forward and holds the glass in one hand, snaking the other around his brother’s neck and lifting his head gently to meet the rim of the cup. He tips the water gingerly, waiting for the liquid to be drained before relaxing him back into the nestle of pillows.

He places the cup down and watches Klaus intently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Klaus shakes his head, eyes flickering somewhere behind him. He whimpers, and shaking hands reach up to cover his ears. Five looks over his shoulder, but the space is empty. He purses his lips.

Klaus is staring at him with wide, scared eyes. His gaze flickers between the door and his face, as if searching for something.

“I’m not going to kick you out.” Five says firmly, “You’re sleeping here tonight, with me.”

Klaus nods. “Okay,” he says in a small voice. He takes his hands away from his ears.

Five nods. He picks up the neatly folded blanket and sits in the armchair facing his bed. Klaus watches his brother nestle the blanket around his body before closing his eyes. Klaus immediately makes a noise of protest, and Five’s eyes shoot back open.

He stares in alarm as Klaus shuffles to the edge of the bed. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed,” he says weakly. His movement are sluggish, speech slurred slightly around the edges. With a sigh, and a small smile, Five pulls himself out of the chair and settles next to his taller brother.

Five and Klaus watch each other for a few moments. The former is wide awake, despite pretending to go to sleep minutes ago. He watches his sibling with a protectiveness he didn’t know he had. The latter smiles once Five is next to him, eyes unceremoniously slipping shut. His breathing evens.

Still, Five doesn’t turn off the lamp.
....................................................................................................................................................................

He dreams of cherry blossoms. Thick, winding wood wrapping around his limbs, encasing him, forcing him still. His bones are pink, and hollow, and flimsy. He panics, but no-one hears anything. His siblings walk past him. Eyes brush past the plants winding up his body. His skeleton shudders, his bones crumple like the cherry blossoms in winter- shrivelling, turning grey. The bark creeps up to cover his green eyes. His body crumples inside his prison.
They say nothing as he fades away.
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The next morning, Klaus stays holed up in Five’s room during breakfast. His stomach rumbles, and his eyes look foggy and lethargic, but still, he doesn’t complain.
Five sneaks him a piece of toast anyway.

The whole day, Five is on edge, waiting for the sound of Reginald leaving the estate. When he does, about 6pm, the duo decide to jump back to the mausoleum.

“I don’t want you to go back,” Five murmurs. Klaus hums noncommittally, but his brother notices the way he had tensed under his words.

“Me neither,” he replies, feigning a lightness to the situation he didn’t believe. “But you can’t get me caught. Reggie just left- that means you have about seven minutes to get me into that ghost town,” he says, chuckling darkly.

Five sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

A pause.

“Me too.”

Five blinks away with a final squeeze of Klaus’s hand. Reginald comes into the mausoleum about ten minutes later. In that time, Klaus is shaking. The puke from last night is mostly dried up, but it smells horrible and gives him a headache. He knows it will be there the next time he returns.

“Number Four,” Reginald says sternly, “have you conquered your fears yet?”

“Yes, Daddy dearest,” he mumbles.

Reginald tuts.

There is white hot pain, then. His head is against the tiles, and there is a hand around his throat. Reginald was on top of him. His vision darkens, shadows pierce his thoughts, fear ripples through every sore muscle in his body. He tenses, so tight he could snap, and his lungs are burning, and he scrambles to get away, but he can’t move and-
The world stops. His breathing stutters, slows, stops. His heart slows, then stops. Everything stops.

A flash of monochromatic grey. Cold, infuriated eyes. A snap of fingers that resonates in his bones.

He comes to in the mausoleum, disorientated and dizzy. Reggie was still on top of him, a small smile pasted on his otherwise cold face. A flash of ice runs through Klaus’s veins.
His father’s bony fingers dig into Klaus’s bonier body as he squeezes the hand around his neck one more time and drags him to his feet.

The room spins violently, and Klaus turns to the side to lose the meagre content of his stomach. It is mostly bile, since he’d eaten nothing but the piece of toast for nearly thirty-six hours.

When he straightens up, his shaking legs protest and his vision dips and sways, but he follows Reginald out, clutching his side. It comes away bloody, and Klaus gapes at his hand. His father had never laid hands on any of them before- why is he now?

Pogo’s eyes narrow when he sees Klaus’s face, but says nothing.

“Where were you?” Five hisses. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth against the length of the bedroom. Klaus’s stomach growls, but he doesn’t hear it.

Or doesn’t care.

Klaus taps one foot on the floor. His body is slouched from where he sits at the edge of his bed. His head hurts, his stomach rumbles again, it feels too hot and too cold. Five is still speaking. He can’t quite hear what he is saying. The small slash in his side pulls every time he breathes, but has mostly stopped bleeding. There is a small splatter on his clothes, he can feel it. This is his favourite shirt. Has Five noticed? He swallows. Hopefully not, he’d go batshit crazy. His throat hurts, and is he high? He feels like he’d just taken some sketchy drugs, or a little too much. Klaus frowns. Had he overdosed? Is that why Five is worried? He is still ranting. Is someone saying his name? God, he wished he could eat something. His stomach cramps up, but he doesn’t have the energy to react. When was the last time he ate? Surely not any later than yesterday morning. What time was it now? Did he miss lunch?

Klaus squints. His vision is swooping like a bird. His sight blackens, his body goes slack, and suddenly he is slumped against Five.

“Shit,” The Boy swears to himself, “Why does this keep happening? I knew he didn’t look right.”

This time, he comes to lying on Five’s bed, with the boy in question next to him. His right hand is over Five’s heart, and he can hear the steady beat that tells him his brother is alive.

“You need to eat.”

“Probably.”

“When was the last time you-”

“Breakfast yesterday. Actually, no- dinner the night before. He grabbed he while I was on my way.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Klaus doesn’t move his hand. Five doesn’t make him.

“Do you want to go to Griddy’s?”

“More than anything.”

Chapter Text

Griddy’s was sugary and full of fat and had way too many dairy-based products.

It was amazing.

Klaus smiles at Five for the zillionth time that night. They get back for dinner at 7:30, and despite the multiple donuts both boys consumed not ten minutes ago, they fill their plates heartily.

“So,” Five mumbles to Klaus from next to him at the dinner table, “do you feel any better?”

Klaus nods feverishly before his eyes dart to where Reginald was sitting.

When did Father become Reginald?

But Five knew. Reginald became Reginald when Five had to rescue his brother from being locked up for over a day in the dark with the ghosts.

Who does that?

Someone is speaking. Five doesn’t realise he is chewing his lip. The dinner table is supposed to be silent.

“- I just believe it is unreasonable to-”

“Enough, Number Six! Be quiet at once, or I will be forced to take more drastic action!”

“You can’t speak to him like that!”

Five blinks. Klaus’s voice trembles slightly under the weight of Reginald’s gaze, but his eyes glare at the plate in front of him with the anger of a burning slice of metal.

Slowly, Reginald stands. Everybody tenses.

Five’s hands are bundled into fists.

Touch my brother, he thinks bitterly, I dare you.

With a deep breath, Reginald sits back down. Dinner resumes hastily.

Klaus is shaking, leg tapping under the table. Five frantically cuts up all his chicken schnitzel into perfectly even squares before dropping the knife onto the edge of the plate.

With his left hand, he picks up his fork, and with his right, snakes his hand on top of Klaus.

To his credit, he doesn’t jump. Not until Reginald speaks again.

“That was extremely rude, Number Four.”

Klaus flinches at the name. “My apologies, sir,” he whispered, head bowed.

His plate is still completely full. His cutlery is abandoned. Five’s heart aches for him, and a flash of anger rushes through his blood.

“After this meal, you are to report to my office at once. We have much to discuss.”

Klaus pales. Still, he nods. Any light that existed at Griddy’s is being crushed under Reginald’s cruel boot, and Five grinds his teeth together. He opens his mouth to speak, but Klaus just squeezes his hand.

“Don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. His eyes brim with detached fear.

“What was that, Number Four?”

Klaus swallows thickly. “The ghosts, sir.”

Reginald narrows his eyes. He stands to his feet. “What are they saying?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing.”

“You will answer me properly, Number Four!”

The table rattles. His cutlery clinks together. Klaus flinches. Reginald’s hand is locked in a tight fist, lying next to his steak knife.

His plate is finished. Klaus’s is still full. Five stops chewing his schnitzel. He glances around the table. Everyone watches with weary, curious eyes, ranging from concern to fear to longing, almost. Five’s heart splinters in his chest as Diego’s gaze flickers between Klaus and Reginald. He purses his lips, face drawn closed. Still, the Kraken can’t conceal the flicker of jealousy that flits across his face at the attention Klaus receives.

Five is nauseous.

He jumps when Klaus yanks his hand back suddenly from under the table. He lets Reginald haul him to his feet. Five watches as a flash of raw panic crosses Klaus’s features. He stands.

“Don’t,” someone says. Luther.

Anyone else, and Five might’ve deflated. Might’ve listened. Instead, he snarls like a cat, and grabs Klaus’s hand.

“Let me go, Five,” he mutters, trying to pull away. Reginald either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He continues to drag the boys. “It’ll be okay.”

Rage swallows him whole. Why are you comforting me, he wants to ask. He doesn’t.

“I can’t,” he says. Reginald has stopped moving. His voice doesn’t tremble, doesn’t break.

He is facing Reginald when he lunges. Klaus screams in terror. Everyone is on their feet in an instant.

The man pulls back, sure to make sure each child can see the compromising grip he has on his brother. Five’s heart picks up a few paces. His fingers grip the boy’s bony waist, digging into the flesh. The other hand is around his neck. His hand aligns with last night’s bruises, Five notices faintly. Reginald has Klaus pressed against the front of him, effectively a human shield.

His eyes glitter with malice.

Klaus’s head is forced against his shoulder, chest puffed out as he takes deep, steady breaths. His bottom lip trembles, his hands shake. He doesn’t dare to move.

Five does.

He takes one sure step forward, puts his hand on Klaus, and conjures an image to the forefront of his mind. In the empty meadow outside the academy, just far enough away to catch their breath and decide their next move. Whatever Klaus wants to do, Five would follow.

It is summer, and the grass would be yellow and dry and uncomfortable to land on, and Five’s panicked brain registers this fact just as he jumps.

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The ground is yellow and dry and uncomfortable to land on, and for a minute, Five's heart sings at his success.

Then it shrivels into a piece of dark coal and catches inside his chest. He is burning, body charring, mind melting into sludge-

“Five?”

The voice is small, and broken, and so not Klaus’s.

His green eyes are piercing. “Five?” he says again, waving a hand slowly. Five blinks. He lifts his head.

The smouldering remains of his heart shift and grow into a mighty bonfire.

There is nothing. The academy has crumpled to the ground. Pieces are smoking, and the bricks used as the foundation have been worn smooth by erosion. The structure has completely lost his roof, demolished to the point that Five can only assume that there was an explosion.

He turns slowly. Everything is gone.

The structures have crumbled, the ground is dry and cracked under his feet. There isn’t a single shuffle of movement. Everyone, everything, is gone.

Five doesn’t cry. Instead, he swallows hard and turns to Klaus.

His brother’s face is a careful mask, something with the detached type of grief half-friends feels for each other’s loss. He doesn’t flinch under Five’s harsh gaze, instead straightening his spine and walking towards the academy with Five’s bonfire in his eyes.

He is alight too.

The summertime sun is hot on his back as he works. Sometimes, Five hears his name. He whips his head around to respond to Ben, or Allison, only to realise that they aren’t there.

Klaus is.

He sits cross-legged in the dust, eyes squeezed shut. His palms face the sky, and he breathes deeply, in slow, steady breaths. Five sighs and continues to dig.

Judging by his watch, the time is 11am. He ignores the pile of rubble, grabbing onto Allison’s hands and tugging with all his might. The rocks tremble, the foundation shudders, and the top half of his sister is torn off and lands at his feet.

She doesn’t move. Her eyes don’t flicker, despite the blank way she is staring into the hot apocalyptic sun. Nausea rolls in Five’s gut. Klaus makes a sound slightly akin to a grunt.

Allison’s blood soaks his shoes, and that it the tipping point.

Five take to steps to the side and throws up into the mound of bricks at his feet.

It burns, and he desperately wants to wash his mouth out, but there is no water to be seen.

We need water, he thinks, It’s too hot.

So, with finality, He clambers to his feet and walks over to Klaus.

The séance is sweating, and his face is red from exertion. Frustrated tears glimmer in the corner of his eyes as he shoves his arms forward.

“Are you pushing something?” Five asks. The question loses most of its bite in the delivery.

“I’m trying to find someone. Anyone,” Klaus mutters, pushing his hands forward again.
Five nods. He is about to speak again when Klaus whimpers and drop his hands into the earth. He opens his eyes. “There’s no-one,” he whispers, wiping at his face, “I can’t feel anyone. I must be doing something wrong.”

Five purses his lips and sweeps his eyes over the leftovers of his home for the hundredth time. He sees the top half of Allison, carelessly crumpled in the ground, her dried blood crusting into the bricks, and fights the urge to throw up again.

Diego’s body is laid carefully next to Luthor’s, arms criss-crossed over his chest. Five fought both their eyes closed, not daring to look at their dead pupils any more than he had to. Somewhere, Allison’s other half laid crumpled in the rubble. Somewhere, Ben is caught under the rock and brick and leftover concrete, obviously dead. Vanya is likely close by, Five thinks dimly, probably dead next to her brother. He hopes, vainly, that they weren’t alone.

Every cell in his body is screaming to save his siblings.

But there is nothing to do anymore.

They are dead.

Five doesn’t know when he started crying, only that Klaus is on his feet, arms wrapped around the shorter boy. He buried his snotty face into his chest, but the séance didn’t flinch. His arms trembled slightly, but other than that, there was no movement. Not until Klaus began to sing softly.

My best friend, she’s a small girl, yes,
She sings of shadows and rain,
And if you catch her, and you shall catch her,
She’ll sing of happiness again.

The gentle music does its job, and Five’s tears cease as suddenly as they started. He pulls away slowly, listening as Klaus hums the final notes to the ballad.

“Is there any more?” he whispers. Five’s voice breaks on the last word.

Klaus shakes his head. His gaze softens. His eyes shimmer. “We can make more. Together. Until you can get back.”

Five laughs bitterly, wiping his hands over his academy pants. “If I can get back,” he corrects.

Klaus scoffs good-naturedly. “You’re Five!” he exclaims, “If anyone can, it’ll be you.”

The Boy checks his watch again. “It’s 11:30,” he says to himself, “we need to start thinking about water.”

Klaus nods. As if to emphasise his agreement, he kicks at the ground and watches the dust gather and disperse. It settles back into the ground in roughly the same place it was kicked. There is complete silence as the pair watch the dirt resettle, and it is almost off-putting. Five turns away, about to begin his quest to leave the ruined academy behind, when three different things catch his eye.

On one side, Luther’s hand clutches an eye tightly. There is a hairline crack across the glass exterior, but otherwise, it is good shape.

Five wanders over, attempting (and failing) to feign nonchalance as he scoops the prosthetic out of his dead brother's hand and shoves it into his pocket. If Luther had it, he reasoned, it must have been important.

He turns and walks to his left. Sweat beads on his brow. Still, he doesn’t stop as he reaches a bright red trolley. When he turns around, his brother is a small speck in the distance, about the size of his thumb. Still, Five sheds his jacket and places it inside the vehicle. The wheels squeak when he moves it, and the handle bites into the skin of his palm, but Five take the item with him anyway.

When he reaches Klaus again, his brother sighs in relief, a crooked smile pasted onto his face. “I thought you left,” he said softly.

Five shook his head feverishly. “I wouldn't,” he replied, confidence etched into every syllable.

Klaus relaxed a fraction. Five smiles grimly.

He walks past his brother to the final shiny object. He isn’t completely sure why he is drawn to it, but when he gets closer, his heart picks up a few beats. An excited smile breaks out on his face, and Five nearly runs when he is certain that the item he is seeing is the distinct shape, size, and colour of another human.

Relief rushes through Five’s bloodstream, and he picks up his pace further. The crushing guilt eases, and for a moment he feels like flying-

The plastic is hard against his chest.

Five pulls away from the embrace suddenly, dropping the mannequin to the floor in disgust. In his hysteria, Five had overlooked the shininess of its skin, the baldness, the indescribable way she had been created to look like society’s perfect body.

He can’t ignore the feeling of hot plastic where warm skin should be.

Tears flood his eyes. “Stupid,” he mutters, fighting the urge to stomp the ground, “stupid.”

He turns to walk away, tugging the red trolley behind him, when something makes him stop.

With a sigh, fully aware that his situation- and therefore, reaction- is ridiculous, he scoops the mannequin up and nestles it on his jacket.

And he begins his trek back to his brother.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“We need shelter.”

“Yeah.”

“We should move.”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Yeah.”

The path is long and winding. Five lets his mind drift, to stretch like a cat and tuck away into a dark corner of his head. He doesn’t feel attached to his body- his consciousness floats along as if attached to a balloon string. The ground is crumbly under his feet. He hasn’t tried jumping back yet.

What good would that do? Even if he somehow made his way back, he couldn’t guarantee Klaus’s safety, and that concerns him the most. If he gets back, how would Klaus survive on his own? The boy in question can barely keep up against their father, let alone the end of the world.

It would be suicide. He can’t leave him.

And yet...

The air smells like ash and smoke. Something is on fire, somewhere, and the heat burns Five’s eyes. There is a drifting piece of paper on the ground. He doesn’t remember picking it up, but suddenly his grip is tight against the words, sweaty palms leaving translucent marks on the page.

The End is Now, the piece headlines. The writing is in neat, blocky letter across the top, and is dated to April 1st. The cover is a photo of an explosion. Five smirks, face pulling at the irony. The photographer must have been close enough to die in the blast.

He doesn’t know when he lets the newspaper clipping go. Soon, it rains.

The water starts off cool, and almost makes Five want to smile. It breaks through the heaviness of heatstroke, clears the fuzziness away like wiping a pair of dirty glasses. The world seems brighter, clearer, when he isn’t so hot, and it feels amazing against the spots of bare skin on Five’s body.

Klaus has shedded his jacket and coat as well, Five realises dimly. His skinny brother keeps his head down, water dripping off his curls, plastering his uniform to his body. He doesn’t seem to register the rain. At some point, he was crying. Five frowns. The expression tugs uncomfortably on his face, and he slowly unclenches his jaw at the realisation. When did Klaus cry?

Still, the pair walk. The rain becomes a hassle. What started off as a relief slowly drains into something that seeps into his shoes, makes him shiver, blocks his eyesight. Five doesn’t know what monsters lurk in the space between their journey and destination, and he isn’t keen to find out.

It takes hours. Five’s feet hurt, and Klaus seems to be limping. Exhaustion clings to his bones. Five is acutely aware that he isn’t tired- the adrenaline of the impossibility of his situation is like downing four cups of coffee in an hour- but still, his eyes droops and feet drag in the mud as he walks.

The sun is setting once the pair find a suitable shelter.

Klaus collapses in the rubble of the building as soon as Five stops tugging the cart. His brother tugs off his shoes and places them neatly by the entrance of the cave, balling his socks up and shoving them inside.

Neither say a word.

It is still raining.

Five wheels the trolley into the closest corner to the door of their hideout before changing his mind and pulling it back outside with a grunt. The bottom has filled with the rainwater, soaking his jacket, and leaving droplets to cling to the mannequin. He places it just outside the entrance, before trudging back inside, sopping jacket in one hand and plastic in the other.

The echoey sound of dripping water fills the shelter. Small drops of rain leak through a few holes, but Klaus has wrapped himself in one of the no-longer-smoking armchairs. It had once been cream-coloured, now the shade of fireplace ash.

The right wall is mostly collapsed. The heavy piece of concrete slants dramatically, but the place is spacious and leaves a large amount of room to walk around. Five rakes his eyes over the empty, crumbling shelves.

“It was a library,” Klaus whispers from his bed.

Five nods, spinning slowly. Cracks in the foundation have let small amounts of water leak through and splash at his brother’s abandoned shoes, but the pair ignore it. In the low stormy light, Five notices a dark set of stairs against the far wall.

Klaus follows behind him.

It is a squeeze.

The slanted wall means both boys must press against it and crouch to reach the first step. It creaks around their combined weight, but doesn’t crumble.

The second story is almost completely safe. There are multiple cracks in the glass roof, and the spiderwebs tell Five that one bout of heavy hail could be enough to collapse it. Despite these observations, The Boy doesn’t stop Klaus from walking over to the lowest point, where the glass connects to the rest of the wall. He knocks on the glass once, twice, before breaking into a grin.

“Amazing,” he whispers, knocking again. The noise sounds hollow, but Five is still sceptical. Klaus turns to his brother and smiles again. He looks five years younger. “It feels exactly like how Peter said it would!”

Five’s interest piques. “Who’s Peter?”

Klaus shrugs, suddenly shy. He pulls his hand away from the glass and leans against it. The rain patters it gently, filling the room with the sound of TV static. “A ghost who followed me around for a while. One of the sane ones.”

Five hummed noncommittally, choosing to have no reaction. He rocks on his heels, scanning the story for anything of any use. Miraculously, apart from the crumbled remains of the collapsed wall behind him, the building is the most intact one he’d seen. He wants to cry at his good luck.

“He was a glassmaker. Nice enough. One of the, like, ten that I could help.”

Five’s eyes meet his brother’s. “That’s great, Klaus.”

“Thanks.”

....................................................................................................................................................................

They spend the night under the stars.

Five watches the world drift by. The ground is uncomfortable, but he isn’t bothered enough to move the pillows on the couches downstairs up. Still, he shifts his position, so his spine doesn’t dig into the wooden panels. Beside him, Klaus is covered by a piece of fabric that vaguely resembles a blanket. The material is a baby blue, and looks crocheted, the stitches uneven and wonky. Five is surprised it survived the fires blazing around the building, and slowly turns his head back up to the stars.

The rain pelts the glass roof. Occasionally, the structure shudders, but it doesn’t collapse. It holds steady under the wind, the rain, and Five is grateful for the miracle somewhere in his heart.

The storm clouds are subsiding, and Five finally has it in himself to haul his aching body to its feet. He blinks quickly to dispel some of the stars that flash in his vision, and make his way to the stars.

When he walks past, Klaus curls tighter into his cocoon. He isn’t completely asleep, Five reckons, but he is near silent as he pads past his brother barefoot.

The tiles scrape his feet as he drags them, but Five doesn’t stop. He stumbles to the entrance of the library and takes a deep breath. Then, he pushes the piece of rock that sits in front of the doorway and slips outside.

The chill seeps into his bones instantly.

The rain pelts against the building, eroding away at the crumbled structures around them. Five notices another intact building in the distance and takes a moment to imagine.

In his mind’s eye, he blinks over with Klaus in tow, and the building is intact, full of canned meals and food that isn’t expired beans. The pair rejoice, and Klaus dares to hops for a proper bed, so when they climb the stairs like elephants instead of children, they don’t hear the whispers that follow them. Klaus finds a room with a bed that fits his lanky frame, and Five chooses a bedroom stuffed with all sorts of things to keep his overactive mind busy. As brothers, they explore every room, look over the balcony, peer at the tiles on the roof. And when they tire, and walk downstairs to have a good meal, they are tackled from behind and find Ben’s smiling face over them. The pair are laughing-crying, and so is Ben, and when the rest of their siblings- even Vanya- come out of a tiny closet giggling, there are hugs and reunions and connection until Five works out how to get them back to Before.

“Five-O? What are you doing?”

Five snaps back. He is in the library, and his heart sinks at the memory of his siblings’ bodies. Tears spark in his eyes, but he shoves them down and wheels the trolley forward so Klaus can see.

He ignores the flash of pain in his brother’s eyes.

“I collected water in the trolley,” he mutters. His eyes rake across the shelves, the desks, the half-destroyed armchairs, trying to find something to store it in. He finds nothing, and the tears are back again. “I was hoping to put it in jars, or something, and get more before it stops raining.”

His voice crack on the last word. He never says ‘or something’. Still, Klaus ignores this fact and chooses to clap his hands and smile instead. “That’s a great idea,” he praises, voice echoing in the otherwise empty building. The pitter-patter of rain is quieting, and Five bites his lip at the idea that they only have a tiny trolley’s worth of water that they are sure is clean.

“Really. I wouldn’t even have thought of it. Thanks, Five.”

He’s pulled into a hug, and finally starts sobbing.

It’s funny, he thinks, that his brother- the one who fell asleep bloody on his bed last night, the one who refuses to let Reginald get the best of him, the one who is torn down again and again- is the one comforting him. The roles were reversed barely 24 hours ago.

“I know,” Four murmurs, running a hand over his hair, swaying gently on his feet, “I know.”

He sings.

This little girl, the one you know who,
Her life is dull and hard,
But if you prove your love for the world,
She’ll let you keep a part.

And they stand there, the pair of them, on the first storey of the library, hugging.

Keeping each other close.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Five wakes up on the floor. There are no stars above him, just crumbly popcorn roof.

Next to him, Klaus twitches.

He is awake.

Despite it barely being 7am, according to his watch, the séance is twitchy and sweating. His eyes dart to spots in the wall repeatedly, he flinches away from nothing, and is sitting with his hands over his ears.

Five watches. He does nothing but watch.

His bones ache. He wants to sleep. But still, Five stares at his brother as he taps and talks and fidgets.

The blanket is gone. It’s probably upstairs.

Five shifts his head. The mannequin is propped up next to the trolley, which is now against the wall, next to a desk and return shoot. Five frowns. He didn’t move it.

Klaus must’ve.

Klaus is talking.

“God, I need a hit. I wonder if there are any pharmacies around. Literally anything. I need something. Christ on a cracker, I cannot deal with withdrawals right now. I will fight God for a few pills. Maybe some weed? Does weed even work anymore? Just to calm me down, surely. Maybe I can go looking later. How would I even sneak out? I don’t give a fuck, not gonna lie. I just want something- “

“Klaus?”

“Hey, Fivey!” Five is instantly unsettled. His brother has closed up in the blink of an eye, a perfect mask of careless happiness on his face. If Five wasn’t paying attention, he would’ve believed it. But he always pays attention.

“Are you going through withdrawals?”

Klaus laughs nervously. “Of course not!”

The anger that was already simmering in Five’s gut begins to boil. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” the séance says slowly, as if talking to a toddler, “to have withdrawals, you have to be dependent on your vice. I only have a little weed once in a while to calm the nerves.”

Five narrows his eyes. He knows his anger is misplaced, but can’t help himself from snapping out, “bullshit.”

Klaus is standing now, and runs a hand through his hair. Five stands too. He says nothing as the taller boy begins to pace anxiously.

The anxiety suddenly sharpens, and Klaus is angry too. Five blinks as he yells back. “I’m telling the truth!” he protests, trying and failing to keep the venom from seeping into his voice.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

Normally, Klaus would gasp comically, place a hand on his chest, act innocent with wide eyes. Today, he snarls and bites back with a bitterness normally reserved for Luther. “I don’t think you’re the position to judge me, Five.”

“Why not?” he asks, glaring across the room to his brother. A small voice screams at him to stop before he pushes the one person he has away, but the rest of Five is singing with the idea of a fight to take away his pain. Klaus looks ready to explode, a dark shadow dancing through his eyes.

“You got us into this mess.”

The anger drains. Hurt lands heavily in his stomach, and Five is sure his face betrays it, because Klaus tries to backtrack immediately.

“Shit, Fivey, I didn’t mean that, honest. I’m sorry, I’m stressing out right now, and you’re right about the withdrawals, and- “

His anger seizes back violently, like water getting thrown against him and wetting his clothes.

“Get out.”

Klaus stops his guilty ramble. Five doesn’t need to yell it. He says the two syllables quietly, with a weary bite that makes his brother pause. He studies the younger siblings face, a thousand emotions running across his face at once.

“You heard me,” Five snarls. He tries to force the rage back into his voice, but it drains as quickly as it arrives, leaving him hollow and exhausted. Still, his pride doesn’t let him go back on his words.

Klaus watches him for one more minute before nodding. He doesn’t cry. His face- no longer full of emotion, but hard as steel- doesn’t so much as twitch as he tosses his Umbrella Academy coat over his shoulder and makes for the door.

He brushes past Five, and suddenly he regrets everything, and he doesn’t care if his 13-year-old brother is a drug addict, he just wants him to come back-

The stone rolls back into place in front of the doorway, and Klaus is gone.

Chapter Text

The rain stops.

A storm cloud follows Klaus.

He walks.

....................................................................................................................................................................

There aren’t many places to sleep. It is midmorning, about ten o’clock. The sun is high, and very hot. There is a building in the distance, and Klaus moves towards it slowly.

Every few steps, he turns to see if his brother- the last one alive- follows him. He hasn’t seen Five’s beady eyes yet, but Klaus refuses to give up.

As he walks, the ghosts watch him. He shivers, despite the heat.

“Hey,” he says, waving half-heartedly at a young girl. She barely looks twelve, frightened out of her skin, bottom lip trembling. She doesn’t respond, but her eyes go red and flood. Klaus winces as a lone tear dribbles down her cheek.

“Please,” she whispers.

Klaus stops walking. Obligation makes him stop. He squints against the sunlight, trying to focus on the spirit in front of him. The Séance waits for her to continue.

“Please.”

Klaus nods slowly, as if understanding. He wrings his hands together. Something rustles, and a beetle scuttles through the girl. She doesn’t flinch. “Please,” she mutters again.

“Please what ?” he snaps, turning on his heel to keep walking.

She doesn’t respond.

The dirt is dry under his feet. Klaus left his shoes abandoned at the foot of the library, but his pride refuses to let him go back to collect them. His nail polish is chipped- something that never happened at home- and the black polish looks crusty and badly applied.

Klaus frowns. His application is usually perfect. Unless he is high.

The thought makes him want to scream, but his throat closes up. Blinking back tears, he wipes his sweaty forehead and continues forward.

In the distance, there is a building. It looks just as ruined as every other one- the library was a miracle he’d personally thank God for- but still, it seems to have a roof and that is good enough for Klaus.

His lip trembles as he thinks of the sneer Five would give his new home. Five, who whisked him from the mausoleum without a word about it. Five, who held the heavy glass as he drank the first time in over a day. Five, who’d cried on him and tried to bury his siblings. Five.

Klaus didn’t cry when he saw his siblings. He was convinced he could conjure them just by hoping hard enough and getting clean. He had sat in the dirt for what felt like years, praying for Diego, Vanya, Ben- anyone that knew him- to appear. It didn’t happen.

Klaus didn’t cry when he stepped out of the rain into the library. He should’ve, he’d felt like, but all his brain could think of was sleep and drugs. He’d tried to sleep off the withdrawals and hide his symptoms from Five. It didn’t happen.

Klaus didn’t cry when the smaller boy kicked him out. He left with his head held high, stubborn pride keeping him from even looking back. He was sure Five would follow him, or he’d be fine on his own. He knew he’d find shelter close and quickly. It didn’t happen.

Klaus was crying now.

Tears slip down his cheeks. He doesn’t sob. He continues to move his aching joints, fiercely ignoring the middle-aged man looking him up and down with disgust. He shrugs the academy jacket into his hands and bundles his fists tight.

Something rustles. Klaus spins around, heartbroken when his brother doesn’t appear.

He lets his tears drip into the dust under his bare feet. They ache, and are probably bleeding, the hot feeling of the dead earth long gone from his concerns.

The building is closer.

From here, Klaus can see with blurry vision that the structure is mostly intact; it is a flat with a merry red roof. The houses around it vary from being destroyed to non-existent.

He spins around, but the library is a tiny speck in the distance.

The girl has appeared again. She isn’t crying anymore, but her long sheet of dark hair seems to be knottier. There is a badly done braid snaking around half her head, and the roots on the opposite side tell Klaus that the hair tie fell out of the other one.

She wears a dress that seems to have been remended over and over, with a faded yellow print and clumsy embroidery flowers along the ruffled sleeve’s edges. They resemble overalls, vaguely- she has a thin white t-shirt on underneath it.

She seems mostly unharmed, apart from the blood dipping on the ground and mangled stub where her left arm is supposed to be.

“Please,” she says again, taking a step forward. Klaus moves away instinctively, forcing his sore legs to carry him faster. His tongue is dry against the roof of his mouth, and he sniffles like he has the flu.

“Please?”

Klaus walks closer. Now, he can see there is a smashed window on one of the storeys. A tiny figure lies, wrapped in cloths, underneath the windowsill.

Klaus wants to run when the bundle moves. Every instinct is screaming at him to go to the child, swaddle them, kiss their forehead and make it better. He squints, trying to see if the baby moves any more.

It doesn’t.

He steps forward again, arm raised, as if the child could spook and run in a different direction. It watches him as he advances, eyes the colour of the ocean during winter. It is startling, and Klaus takes another step forward. He wipes the sweat off his forehead slowly, then wipes the back on his hand on his shorts. His skin feels tight around his face, and he is probably sunburned, and nausea still clings to him, despite the slow crawling of his symptoms’ improvement.

The baby cries out again, and its face is red underneath the blankets. Klaus’ heart aches, and he continues to walk. The lightbulbs that would light up the driveway are smashed, just like the window, and the steps are chipped and dirty. There are no cars, or signs of any life, and Klaus glances at the wooden front door longingly.

With a sigh, he turns to his left and reaches down to scoop the child up. He is just about to comment on the unlikeliness of its survival when his hands phase through.

The kid doesn’t react, but in his proximity, Klaus can see the condition of his wrappings.

Once resembling polka dots, the speckles of blood that flake off the swaddling blankets are relatively new and not quite as dark as they probably should have been.

With a deep breath, Klaus steps away and makes for the door.

The baby cries again, and is ignored, and Klaus walks into the house on shaky legs.

When he sees the interior, he curses, and smashes a glass against a wall.

He runs a hand through his hair. It is knotty, and his scalps pulls uncomfortably.

The back wall has been knocked down, and apocalyptic sunlight streams in through the gaping hole. The floor is wet with the aftermath of a storm, making the few intact furniture pieces wet. The whole house smells like a wet dog and strong cheese, and Klaus gags when he finds a pet’s corpse in one of the locked rooms. He ignores it and searches the door to his right.

A bedroom, it looks like, with a small bed and a huge desk that spans along the connecting wall. Klaus runs a hand over the drawings and paintbrushes that lay abandoned, pursing his lips at the sight that this house was once lived in.

“Please.”

He spins around to see the girl from before. She has tears on her cheeks and is clutching a piece of paper in a white-knuckled grip.

“My art,” she says, reaching out to pass Klaus the paper. He accepts it slowly, surprised when it doesn’t drift to the floor through his hands. The drawing is half-finished, vaguely resembling the girl. The same straight nose, large eyes, smattering of freckles. It seems to be a portrait, and his heart splinters.

Klaus folds it once, twice, before tucking it into his pocket. His shaky hand brushes a square piece of foil, and he excitedly pulls the drugs out of his pocket, heart singing.

With a disappointed sigh, Klaus shoves the naloxone spray back into his shirt pocket, ignoring the curious look from the ghost in front of him.

“It was a portrait of my mother,” the ghost says, gesturing with her one good hand. Blood drips on the wooden floor. “She loved my art. Would always praise me, and sometimes would sit on my bed and watch me paint or draw or sculpt.”

Klaus nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

“She’d call me bumblebee; with the way I flitted around the room when I worked. I- “

“Me too!” Klaus exclaims, eyes settling on her eyes instead of her stumpy left arm. “My mum would call me bumblebee too!”

The girl grins, lighting up her face. The edges of her have gone fuzzy, and her voice echoes slightly when she speaks.

“When it happened, I was making this picture. I got up to show her. A piece of our wall landed on my arm- crushed it so bad it was flat. The picture fell.” A soft breeze blew through the house, and Klaus inhaled slowly. He sank onto the bed, listening as the springs creak under his weight.

“I was trying to ask you to take it. I wanted someone to see it when I died.”

She sounds sad, but Klaus can’t really tell. The girl’s voice sounds everywhere, hollow and echoey and bouncing off the walls. Klaus nods, smiling. “I’ll keep it forever,” he says.

The ghost nods once, firmer than before. There was resignation in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Klaus shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

She laughs, and begins to drift off with the wind. “Goodbye, bumblebee.”

Klaus opens his mouth to speak, but the ghost artist is gone, off with the wind to float into the afterlife. He smiles softly, thinking of her hugging her mum and painting for the rest of eternity.

“Goodbye, bumblebee.”

....................................................................................................................................................................

Every part of Klaus wants him to travel back. He doesn’t.

The sun is setting, so with a sigh, he tugs himself off Bumblebee’s bed and stumbles into the kitchen. He wants to cry, but his body is dry and his vision is spotty. The sun hasn’t let up since the morning, and shines in through the missing back wall. Most of the sections have been washed away, and the puddles on the wooden floor have mostly evaporated.

Klaus rips through the cupboards, looking for something to eat or drink. One of the doors has been ripped off, and the food inside is spilled or inedible. He places all the items on the kitchen bench and tugs open draws and cabinets.

All the food in the fridge has spoiled, and Klaus’s heart sinks when he pores a full carton of chunky milk down the sink. The inside of the freezer is barely any cooler than the kitchen itself, and most of the frozen food has melted or moulded. Still, he pulls out a few different packets of fruit.

In the end, Klaus ends up with a packet of flour, half a container of sugar, four different soup cans and six different cans of assorted fruits and veggies, a variety of spices and sauces, breadcrumbs, butter, and the melted bags of frozen fruit.

It is nothing, and makes Klaus want to cry.

Still, he tries to create something. He mixes the fruit with sugar and a splash of water and locks it in jars to preserve and create jam out of. The cans are carried carefully into Bumblebee’s old room. And placed in a neat line on her desk, next to the stack of watercolour palettes. He finds a packet of firm tofu in the back of the cupboard above the sink, stuffed in between unused mugs, and a mostly empty pot of coffee ground larger than his head.

Klaus cubes the tofu and throws it into a bowl before drenching it in all different types of sauces. He tosses some garlic powder and chili flakes in and wraps the bowl in clingwrap.

Then, he carries the bowl into the bathroom and places it next to the sink. It is the coolest place in the house, and he doesn’t want his snack spoiling.

“Done,” the séance cries, throwing himself back on Bumblebee’s bed. No-one responds. An old lady in the corner shuffles her feet. Klaus bites his lip.

The distraction of finding food has helped keep the ghosts away, but slowly, they are filing back in.

“God,” he whispers, “I need a hit.”

His mouth is dry, and stomach growls loudly. Still, he doesn’t dare touch the tofu or cans. He doesn’t know how long it would last, and his stomach sinks at the idea of having to search for food again soon.

The nausea is back, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before stomach acid rises in his throat.

The toilet seat is cool against his forehead. It was touched by strangers’ asses, but he doesn’t care. Not enough to move, anyway. Klaus swallows thickly, hoping vainly Five would be behind him, rubbing his back awkwardly, whispering harsh but true words.

There is no one, and Klaus pulls himself to his feet. The room sways dangerously, and he stumbles to the sink on autopilot. His bones ache, and throat feels like a desert, so Klaus reaches down and laps at the tap water like a dog.

The liquid is cool against his tongue, and has an odd aftertaste, but Klaus doesn’t do much for a while but sit there and drink. The water dribbles down his chin, gets on his clothes, but he just closes his eyes and continues to gulp down the water like a man dying.

Maybe he is.

Klaus finds himself laughing, and nearly chokes. He turns the tap off, wipes his chin, and walks back into the bedroom. The world has resharpened, and he finally feels safe enough to sleep.

....................................................................................................................................................................

He wakes up screaming.

Klaus shoots upwards, scrunching up his eyes when his vision wavers. He feels disgusting, and walks towards the bathroom to shower.

Klaus throws his Umbrella Academy uniform onto the tiled floor, rubbing at his eyes. There are no towels around, and he wanders the house looking for a linen cupboard.

None of the lights turn on, and the missing wall shows a dark landscape and rising sun the colour of blood. The plane is flat and dry, and there has been no rain or wind during the night, as everything is exactly as he left it, down to the belt lying near the island bench and jacket balled up besides the abandoned dog bowls.

There is nothing, so he strips the sheet off one of the tiny beds in the room across from his. A pang of guilt shoots up his spine when he notices the truck pattern on the fabric in his hands, but still, he wraps his naked body in it and steps into the shower.

Humming a merry tune to himself, Klaus turns the tap to scalding hot water.

Nothing comes out.

Frowning, the boy turns the tap to freezing.

Still nothing.

With a frustrated cry, Klaus launches himself at the sink and twists the tap on that.

There is a rumble, and the only water that comes out is a tiny trickle of dark red liquid.

Klaus sniffs. He cannot cry. Any water he consumed yesterday has already been used, and he feels a headache forming and the heat from the sun begins to prickle his body, even in the shade of the bathroom.

He sinks to the floor, and his bare knees are warm against the tiles, which is impossibly cool for such a hot place, and he wants Five so bad and is so tired, and Klaus lets himself drift, lets his head float off his shoulders, and he is up, up, up and away, and he doesn’t care at all.

....................................................................................................................................................................

It is unusually and impossibly cold.

Klaus opens his eyes and his head spins. He looks up slowly, ignoring the way the room rocks, shaky hands grabbing for the forgotten bowl on the bathroom counter.

The tofu has soaked up all the sauces. Klaus smiles.

He tried to pack the protein with every calorie he could, a desperate attempt to keep his failing body from dying before he sees Five again.

Klaus doesn’t bother to put on the crumpled uniform in the corner. He rips the plastic wrap off the glass bowl, and shoves tofu into his mouth feverishly.

It is too hot for him- too much chili and not enough caution, but Klaus shovels handfuls of it into his mouth, barely chewing. His brain begs for more, and only once he polishes off the food and has drunk the remaining marinade, begins to crawl towards the desk where he knows the lines of cans are.

Despite just eating, his stomach growls, and his dirty hands leave prints in the off-white carpet. A breeze sweeps through the house, but Klaus barely reacts. His teeth are chattering, limbs shaking, but all he can think of is food.

There is fluff and lint and hair stuck to the palms of his head, stained brown from the soy sauce and barbeque dressing, but still, he claws his way onto a desk chair and weighs up which can to eat.

His eyes flicker around the bedroom, trying to find something to break the tin open with. There is nothing, so with a cylinder in each hand, he takes a step towards the door, towards the kitchen.

Klaus lands on the floor, and another brush of wind runs through the room. His body convulses, his teeth chatter, and his foot is twisted awkwardly under his leg. One of the cans has rolled out of his white-knuckled grip, but Klaus no longer has the energy to move, so he watches the glimmer of starlight catch the metal and burn his eyes as he drifts back into a feverish sleep.

....................................................................................................................................................................

He has the energy to put his clothes back on.

Klaus rifles through Bumblebee’s wardrobe and finds a soft jacket and long pants. They leave his ankles and midriff exposed, but cover the rest, which is good enough for Klaus.

He lies the Umbrella Academy jacket over the bed, right on top of the big paintbrush that covers the duvet. It is speckled in paint and has multiple pen marks, and Klaus smiles at the idea that someone lived in the house he was surviving in.

The lady in the corner moans. Klaus ignores her.

The withdrawals have gotten better. He’d slept most of them off, but his fingers still itch for a hit, and he is jumping at imaginary sounds again.

“I wonder how Fivey is going,” he whispers. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Klaus runs a hand through his hair, before shuffling into the bathroom and pulling out a turquoise hairbrush.

Long, dark strands in stuck between the bristles, and the Séance purses his lips sadly to find something that was once Bumblebee’s.

His hair poofs up like a cotton ball, and Klaus pulls it back with a silk scrunchie before making his way into the kitchen.

He tosses the glass bowl into the sink, wincing as he hears it crack, and begins to rifle through the draws. His hands are still sticky from the other night, and the water has gone from deep red to an odd brown colour, which Klaus uses to rinse his hands and neck, gagging when he feels something gritty in it.

He eventually finds a small but sharp knife. It sits inside a leather holder, obviously designed to be a hunting tool. The condition is by far better than majority of the kitchen items he’d found over the past few days, and Klaus whistles in appreciation before pocketing it.

The weight feels odd and nice in his new jacket pocket.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and he does nothing about it.

He tugs anther drawer open before throwing his hands into the air. “Success!” Klaus cries, pulling multiple shopping bags out of the crevice. He takes them excitedly to Bumblebee’s bedroom and begins to stack the cans inside.

He leaves the mystery one out and balances the knife on top gingerly. The mystery can has no label and is dented slightly on one side.

Klaus flits around the room, tossing things into the bags- his jacket, the hairbrush, a can of deodorant, a huge tub of sunscreen and aloe vera oil he found in the mum’s bedroom. He packs them up and checks they weight roughly the same before placing them on Bumblebee’s bedspread.

Klaus takes a deep breath, simulating the feeling of sucking a joint, before unsheathing the knife with shaky fingers and plunging the tip into the tin can.
The peaches inside taste like slivers of sunshine, and he wolfs them down, then sips the sugary syrup.

Finally, the boy folds a set of clothes and places them on top of the bags and adds the containers of preserved fruit on top to keep them from breaking.

He doesn’t leave through the missing wall. Instead, avoiding the ghosts as he goes, he walks past the kitchen towards the front door. He grips the doorknob, and inhales slowly, eyes fluttering closed.

The jacket is soft against his sweaty skin, creating a bubble of warmth. He doesn’t shed it, even as a drop of sweat runs down his back. The handles of the bags are rough; one digs into his shoulder, the other into his hand. His hair lies against his neck and is crusty with sweat.

He looks around.

Shards of glass from the vase lie on the ground. Puddles of water and speckles of dirt litter the floor. A young boy- one that resembles Bumblebee- stands quiet by the entrance to the room the dog’s corpse was in. He doesn’t plead like his sister, just watches the medium knowingly before nodding and phasing through the door, out of sight.

Klaus turns the doorknob.

“Goodbye, Bumblebee.”

Chapter Text

The best way Five could describe himself was inconsolable.

He drags a fist over his eyes, ignoring the feeling of the heavy bags underneath them. The sun is hot, and the world feels vaguely like an oven. He drags himself to his feet, ignoring the sting of rock in his feet, and scrunches his fists together. His powers simmer underneath the surface of his skin, buzzing with pure power. He closes his eyes, imagines home, and jumps.

He lands on a stack of boulders.

Why is there a stack of boulders?

Five sighs. He sweeps his gaze over the dusty earth. Something smells like smoke. He coughs. The air burns his chest.

He can’t see the academy from here. There is a flat in the distance, the only thing in a while that wasn’t demolished. The complex around the house is destroyed. Somehow, it stays mostly standing; triumphant in the way it holds its ground.

Five purses his lips, runs a hand through his hair. He turns on his heel, ignores the tremble of the rocks from the movement. A delicious thrill runs through him at the idea of them tumbling to the ground, and he shoves it into his toes, never to be thought again.

Five takes a deep breath to ignore the frustration swirling in his gut and jumps again.

An abandoned supermarket.

He is in an abandoned supermarket.

Awestruck, Five runs his hands over the glass counter. It is abandoned, and quite cool compared to the rest of the world. The air conditioner is busted, which makes Five think of ghosts, and winces at the idea. He walks along the shelves, stacking his tiny arms up with as many things as he can. His mind wanders.

How was he able to rescue Klaus from the mausoleum? He’d never been able to jump to a person before- normally, he tied his jumps to a place, even an object once or twice. He scoops up a large glass jar of olives, before sighing and tucking it under his arm. Maybe he should try again? Surely, he could jump to Klaus now if he focused.

Five sucks on his teeth, debating jumping before finally sagging internally and continuing to walk down the aisle.

The canned foods are plentiful, and Five nearly weeps. He holds as much as he can carry, then finds some plastic bags and carries some more. He grabs loaves and loaves of bread and as many different spreads he can hold. He skips the dairy, knowing it is off, and manages to snag three torches and multiple packets of batteries.

He searches for water, feeling horribly parched and tired. His boy aches, and his fingers itch to break open a bottle of anything, but he restrains himself.

Soon.

His mouth is the desert, and his body feels tired and sluggy. Five rubs his eyes absentmindedly and fights the urge to sleep on the cool tile floor. Instead, he steps towards his goods, headache pounding at his brain like a jackhammer.

Five ends up with four bags worth of cans, two bags of sandwich ingredients, two bags of miscellaneous essentials, three packets of bottled water, and a separate bag full of other items that would bring comfort to him- chips, cookies, crackers; all the food he hadn’t eaten over the years.

Five stacks three bags on each hand, frowning when he notices he can’t hold all the cans and bread. With a sigh, he places one bag of bread and two bags of cans down and held the remaining on each arm. The water lies innocently, and he promises to return for it. The skin pulles painfully under the weight, but Five ignores it, and jumps.

He isn’t in the library.

Five curses.

He drops the bags of food to the ground and stumbles out the door. He doesn’t know why he does it, really- the roof and two of the walls have been knocked out by a blast or fire or something.

Five’s mouth is dry against his mouth, and he’s overexerted, because his steps are sluggish and head spins. He needs water.

Five tries to jump back to the supermarket. He bunches his fists up, summons the broken sign that says The Last Stop, the feel of the unusual chill, the look of the black cigarette boxes behind the counter.

Nothing happens.

Five’s vision wavers, and he sinks to his knees.

The sun is hot and relentless, and through his murky thoughts, Five decides to crawl back inside.

The tiles scuff his knees, and the skin on his fingers tear as he shoves them into the grout. The skin on his stomach stings, and he knows the hair on his head is sticking up in every angle but still, Five claws.

He claws his way for Klaus, who left because Five forced him away. Guilt wracks his heart, and still, he claws stubbornly.

He claws for Grace, who baked him cookies and smiled at him whenever he did something impressive. Sadness wracks his heart, and still, he claws stubbornly.

He claws for Griddy’s, which was there for him when people weren’t, and became a beacon of hope and light in his dark world. Anger wracks his heart, and still, he claws stubbornly.

He hurts.

Still, he claws.

His vision is wavering, and suddenly, everything drains.

Five regrets everything.

He is going to die here, alone. He chased the last of his companions away over something as trivial as drugs. Klaus is out, somewhere, probably cursing him and dancing with the ghosts of his siblings. Meanwhile, Five is using the last dregs of his rapidly diminishing strength to make it to the kitchen, to make it to the bottle of water that is lying on the ground.

The world is over, and Five’s life is too.

His arms tremble, and he licks his lips feverishly, continuing to haul his body forward. He needs water . Why did he jump? He couldn’ve had a bottle before he’d left, but no, Five thinks furiously, he had to go wasting his energy and rely on his pride.

He is so close. The bottle is barely a few metres away.

His body aches. His sight has almost completely faded, and he feels slightly cold, but still, he pushes onwards.

The sunlight is hot against his back, but it does its job, and repels the chills that are creeping up his limbs. His hands shake furiously, and his strength has almost completely faded. He grits his teeth.

Five isn’t christian. He prays furiously.

Please, any God out there. I will never jump with the haste I used again. I truly don’t know why I did. Just let me get this water. I need to see Klaus again. Please.

One.

More.

Step.

Five reaches out and yanks the bottle off the floor. He wants to cry with relief, but instead, he drinks the whole bottle in large, feverish gulps.

He laughs, tossing the empty bottle away. It doesn’t go far but makes a hollow bouncing sound when it lands.

It leaves a funny aftertaste in his mouth. He doesn’t care.

Five lets his head fall to the floor. It hurts, vaguely, but he doesn’t completely feel it. A slick trail of sweat runs down his back. He closes his eyes.

In the heat of the sun, and the dire circumstacnes of the apocalypse, Five sleeps.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Klaus whistles a merry tune as he walks, and talks to some of the ghosts around him.

They scream, but he has had practice with ignoring them. Still, in the afermath of an apocalypse, there were more than the academy every brought. If not for the food in each arm, Klaus is sure he’d have his hands firmly over his ears.

Still, he whistles.

“How do you think Cinco is? Is he still mad, you bet? I reckon so. Still, worst he can do is send me away. Actually, I’d be a little sad if that happens, but you know how it is. You’re a good listener, Deborah, were you a therapist?”

The old man wails in reponse, mouth opening more than humanly possible, a black void inside.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The world is golden, and Klaus switches songs as he does a little spin on the spot. The containers and cans clink inside his bag, and his stomach growls. He wipes his forehead, but still doesn’t part with the jacket he took from Bumblebee’s house.

The ghosts are following him everywhere, screaming, yelling, crying. Their blood is everywhere, and half of them are missing otherwise vital parts.

please Klaus they killed me you need to tell my mother im sorry Klaus I can’t find her where’s my daughter has anyone seen my dog I miss him so much please Klaus he was just a baby but I never saw her grow up help me Klaus I wish I’d said yes to the ride why did I drink that drink please avenge my death I was stabbed on my birthday-

There is a house.

It’s not really a house.

A young woman, barely 30 years old, floats at the door. She twiddles her thumbs, a worried expression etched on her face. When she sees Klaus, she bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry,” the ghost sobbed, “truly. It was meant for my husband- he tried to rape my daughter! She was barely fourteen, and I needed to protect her and get away. He hurt us, I’m not a monster, I swear!”

Klaus smiles politely and bows his head. “Your husband is dead, ma’am,” he says softly, shifting the bag to his other can. The contents bang together. “Besides, I’m no judge. I’ve seen much worse, I swear.”

The woman smiles greatfully, but tears continue to dribble out her eyes.

Klaus goes to walk past- doesn’t.

“Is anyone in the house, Miss?”

He doesn’t know why he asks it. His only brother is somewhere on the other side of the world, it feels like, and here he is, asking if another person is alive. Why would they be? Who would it even be? He should keep walking, but he can’t and why can’t he? Fucked up Klaus, fucking up everything- even walking! Just move, go back to Five. He can’t move. Klaus inhals sharply and tears his eyesight away from the ghost just as she speaks.

“- young boy, barely your age, he just appeared in the house with bags of food, I don’t know where he came from. He just sowed up.”

“What?”

Klaus chokes on the word. Still, the ghost understands him.

“Inside. He drank the water bottle. I hope he’s okay…”

Klaus steps forward and drops his bag to the ground. It lands hard, and the contents have surely dented, but he doesn’t react. “Why wouln’t he be okay?” he asks, already starting towards the door.

The ghost steps aside as he places a hand on the doorknob and pushes it open. She doesn’t respond.

The house is missing the back wall, and the one to Klaus’s right. He walks past the demolished hall, watching with weary eyes as a teenage boy tosses his hair out of his eyes. Blood drips from his left eye to the floor in a steady stream, and his limbs are too long for him, hanging at odd angles.

The ghost stares as Klaus walks, urgency picking up his steps.

A young girl with long blonde hair sits in the dining room, on top of the table. There is an empty water bottle a few places away, grainy white bits clinging to the inside of the plastic.

She smiles, then takes a huge breath, and screams.

Instantly, Klaus claps his hands over his ears and grits his teeth, heartrate spiking. The girl continues to wail and cry, not stopping for air. She barely speaks, but her lips move like a prayer, and Klaus whimpers instinctively.

He is about to turn away when he sees a body slumped against the floor.

Five is lying face-down on the ground, forhead pressed against the tiles. He is obviously sweating, and his hair is matted to his forehead. Klaus rushes over, bare feet scratching across the tiles.

He drops onto his knees nex to his brother, the ghost-girl behind him long forgotten.

He wraps his arms around the boy, lifting his limp body up so he can breathe properly.

Klaus frowns. Something isn’t right.

Five appears to be sleeping, but his breathes are long and slow and seem to stutter in his chest. Klaus blinks, ignoring the crying mother in his peripherals. The girl screams louder, and the parent is crying again.

Through all the noise, Klaus begins to talk.

“Five?” he asks, slapping his brother’s cheeks gently. He was always a light sleeper; shooting awake the second anyone was in any sort of danger. He doesn’t stir.

Anxiety nibbles at Klaus’ gut. He gently pries one eyelid open, and gasps.

The pupils of his hazel eyes have shrunk to pinpoints. They shift in his direction, and Five cracks open his eyes slightly, watching Klaus as he begins to fret.

“No, no, no- Five! What did you take? Can you hear me?” he cries, running a hand through his hair. The ghosts around him yell louder and he bites back a snap, teeth clenched.

His skin is clammy and cool, almost gray, despite the heat that comes from the end of the world. Without thinking, Klaus shrugs Bumblebee’s jacket off his shoulders and drapes it around his brother. He wheezes in, goes to smile, and it’s almost like he can’t.

Klaus’ heart breaks.

“Five,” he mutters, hands trembling, reaching up to stroke his face, “how long has it been? What did you have? I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, running a thumb over the smaller boy’s cheek. Tears sparkle in his eyes, and Klaus thumbs them away gently. The panic roars in his stomach, his ears, and he bits his bottom lip to keep from crying himself.

“Shush,” he scolds softly, “it’s okay. I’m right here. No need to cry.”

“Klaus,” his brother slurs, syllables running together. The séance swallows hard but meets his eyes. “I love you.”

He doesn’t pronounce ‘love’ properly. Klaus has a firework in his chest, and it explodes in him, sending pure pain shooting through his system. He smiles softly, and doesn’t wince when it feels mechanical.

Probably looks it, too.

Five winces, and slowly lifts one of his hands to place on his brother. His head lolls slightly, and Klaus uses the hand to keep him up. He is trying to speak, forcing his mouth to make the sounds he requires.

“Naro- nalo- noxeen- naloy-”

Klaus furrows his brow, another complaint on his lips, trying to work out what the boy is saying.

Five watches him, intense gaze clouded by drugs, desperately asking him to understand.

If Klaus was a cartoon character, a lightbulb would go off, and he breaks into a nervous grin at the idea.

“You fucking genius,” he breathes, letting his companion slump back on the floor with a slight whine while he pats his pocket for the metal square his naloxone dose sits in.

Suddenly, the world is bright again.

He peels the metal back frantically, tips the contents into his hands, and chucks the rubbish behind him.

It’s the apocalypse and Five is dying- what does it matter?

He props Five up and wracks his brain for how to administer the anti-drug. Klaus makes a noise in the back of his throat, one vaguely akin to fear, and thrusts the edge into one of Five’s nostrils.

He flinches slightly at the feeling but doesn’t move.

His brother is sweaty, and slightly clammy, head resting against Klaus’s collarbone.

“Cmon, Five,” he whispers, pumping a dose into his nostril. It makes a tiny hissing sound, or maybe that’s him, and why is it so hot, and it doesn’t matter, and no Klaus don’t float away you need to stay grounded come back Five needs you get your head in the game come back Klaus come back-

He crashes back into his body with startling clarity, and removes the empty spray, tossing it behind him carelessly. Five sniffs slightly, and his eyes crack open again, but he doesn’t speak. He just lies there. Klaus is fine with that. He hums a tune, singing along to the lyrics he knows, which isn’t many, but still. Five likes music. Klaus knows that. So, he sings softly in the emptiness of the torn down house and tries not to worry.

People are puppets held together with string
There's a beautiful sadness that runs through him
As he asks me to pray to the God he doesn't believe in

And he continues to sing. He gets through the whole song, humming away at the lyrics where his mind blanks, trying to keep his emotions contained. Five shifts in his arms, eyes half-lidded.

Klaus is about to ask himself what he would do without an ambulance when Five finally sits up, supporting his weight.

The ghost behind him wails in surprise at the prospect of him being alive, and despite himself, Klaus cracks a smile. Five half-smiles back, and he looks sleepy, and Klaus’s tailbone hurts from sitting on the tiles, and he can feel his spine jutting into the wooden cabin by his back when Five speaks. It is slightly slurred, and a little gravelly from disuse, but Klaus smiles from ear to ear at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lying back against his brother’s chest and inhaling shakily. Klaus’ eyes burn.

He never stopped breathing.

Klaus takes a moment to respond. His voice is also overly scratchy, and he realises how thirsty he is. “It’s ok,” he replies softly, before scooping Five into his twig arms with surprising ease. The boy yelps, then groans, burying his head into his brother’s jacket.

“I know, sorry, just two seconds, nearly done, sorry.”

Klaus continues to shush Five as he grabs the lighter of the bags he left at the door. The other one has spilled the cans everywhere, and with the bundle in his arms that is gradually getting heavier, he can’t move them.

“Not like anyone would take them,” he mutters, chuckling humourlessly.

Five giggles from his place at Klaus’s chest, tense muscles unwinding slightly. Klaus shifts his weight slightly before sinking back to the ground by the front door.

The mother ghost is gone, and Klaus is glad. He unscrews the cap from one of the water bottles he pocketed, takes two glorious sips then slowly passes it to Five.

The Boy is draped against him, and reaches for the plastic with shaky fingers. Klaus goes to hand it to him, but when his fingers touch the shiny label, Five squeals and tosses himself in the other direction.

Klaus frowns, placing a soothing hand on Five’s tiny shoulder. He flinches under the touch but doesn’t pull away. Klaus thanks God for the small miracle.

“It’s just a water bottle, Fivey,” he says softly, drawing it closer to his brother. He watches with a frazzled expression. “I know what happened, but I need you to drink a little.”

Five shakes his head. “Nuh-” he slurs, shuffling away clumsily. “I not- “

Klaus shushes him gently, eyes scanning the keytable next to him. A small jewelery dish, shallow and yellow with gold edges, holds a pair of keys and a necklace. Klaus grabs the metal in his fist and drops it aside before tipping some of the water into the jewellery bowl and handing the dish to Five.

The smaller one eyes it wearily before taking it and tipping the water into his mouth as quickly as possible.

He settles gently into Klaus’s arms, and his eyes slip shut once again.

“I know,” Klaus says softly. He lets his head drop against the wall behind him, and it makes a soft thud. Pain blooms gently at the back of his brain. Not enough to cause any damage. Just enough to remember he is alive. “I know. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Somwhere in Five’s murky mind, he registers this, or must, because his muscles unwind and his head slips to rest against Klaus’s chest. The séance kisses the top of his head before shutting his own eyes.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“Klaus.”

He wakes up itching for drugs. His hands are shaking, and he hiccups, and tries to simulate breathing in a vape, but it isn’t properly working. Sun shines on his face. When was the last time Reggie let him outside? The only outside he remebers is the mauseloum.

“Klaus.”

Someone is yelling in his ear. It doesn’t sound like any of his siblings. He doesn’t dare open his eyes. If he does, he’ll see the boy in the corner of his room with his head bashed in, the lady who wails about her sister and husband and adultery, the man who stares at him a little too hard and a little too hungry. He doesn’t want to see them. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“ Klaus. ”

Maybe he can sneak downstairs and take something from Reggie’s liquor shelf? For a billionaire, he sure is dumb, leaving his alcohol out in the open like that. Anyone could get to it. Klaus wants to chuckle, then remembers he is supposed to be asleep, and shoves the idea down into the gut.

“If you are dead after just savig my life, I will storm into Hell and drag you back by your ears.”

His throat is sore and dry. His stomach is cramping. Did he eat last night? Probably not. His appetite is normally like a rollercoaster- a side effect from the drugs, he presumes. Still, he is too chicken to quit.

“Can you hear me?”

Shuffling. Klaus’s eyelids flutter against his will. The ghost screams again, a sick sort of vibrato twisting the last few seconds. She stops for half a second- still havent brokn the habt of breathing, then?- before doing it louder, more high pitched, and that is enough to shock laus out of his trance.

“Holy shit, Klaus, you scared me!”

Klaus’s neck hurts. Five is smouldering, anger plastered across his face like a mask. He wants drugs, but he used the naxolone last night, didn’t he? Klaus frowns, trying to grsp at the muddy memories that his brain is trying (and failing!) to hide from him. He remebers as quickly as he forgot, and jumps to his feet.

“Holy shit, Five, you scared me!”

Five crosses his arms. “That’s what I said,” he grumbles, but his anger has pulled away to reveal something more akin to anoyance. Klaus smiles. It feels wobbly, and he wants something to hit, dammit, but he smiles anyway.

“You nearly died,” he jokes. It falls flat, and the room echoes with silence and screaming ghosts. He flinches at the sound of a girl scratching her arms and dress and pulling her hair and her blood dripping on the floor and tugging at the floorboards and hey that was someone’s house was it yours it might’ve been if it was keep going it’s not Klaus’s place to judge how a ghost moved on-

“Oops,” Five jokes. It falls flatter than Klaus’s, and he bounces back to reality.

Klaus clears his throat, opens his mouth to speak, and doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles forward and yanks one of the containers off the ground. Inside, the fruit and sugar has begun to turn to syrup, and Klaus decides the meal is as good as any.

He sits down, cross-legged, and unclips the top container. Five watches him awkwardly, before propping another bag next to the door and reaching inside. He pulls a loaf of bread and a few different spreads out and begins to task of making sandwiches with the various ingredients. He holds a butter knife that Klaus doesn’t remember taking from Bumblebee’s.

He must have gotten it from the kitchen.

“You’ve got heaps of spread, but next to no bread.”

“That rhymes.”

“I know.”

A pause. Klaus continues to scoop half-liquified fruits into his mouth. The sugar snaps him awake, and he licks some residue off his fingers before continuing to scoop it out of the jar. He uses two fingers, as if the mixture is the body scrub he stole- the one that hides under his bed at home.

Probably in flames now.

Somehow, that is the the thought that breaks the dam open.

Five watches as he cries. He doesn’t comfort, and somewhere deep down, Klaus appreciates that. The idea that he won’t spew out a bunch of false promises to ease his pain slightly.

Instead, he waits until his brother’s sobs stop, then pats his hand and purses his lips.

“So,” he says softly, eyes soft despite his cold demeanor, “how do you feel about going back?”

Chapter Text

The day is warm and soft around the edges.

Five shivers, teeth gnashing together harshly. It makes him wince. The body underneath him is clammy and hot. Not cold. Not dead.

Black comes out from his lungs when he coughs. He sounds like an old man with a smoking problem.

He shivers again. Yellowish dust billows outside the cracked window, and a small amount flies into the house and up his nose.

Five sneezes. His head pounds, his insides feel yucky. Someone is talking to him, raising a ceramic dish to his lips. He drinks greedily. When the bowl is empty, he lies against the body holding him up and inhales, pushing past the sticky blockages in his nose.

He coughs again, forces it down into his chest. His throat burns when he swallows. He sneezes.

The world shimmers. He sleeps.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“Hey, Klaus?”

The man in question looks up from his lunch. Canned beans float mindlessly in their tin.

Five bites back a spike of worry. All the tinned meals long since diminished, and the pair have been living off tomatoes and lima beans and chickpeas.

His brother is looking more gaunt than before. His cheeks have begun to sink in, the bones more prominent around his wrists. He raises an eyebrow with a smile, placing his snack-sized can on the ground by his feet. His jacket is filthy, but he refuses to take it off. Something about ghosts and art? Five doesn’t remember.

“Do you have any more of that song yet?”

Klaus smiles softly. “The weird one that always calms you down?”

Five smiles back. It feels forced, and to hide it, he reaches for the abandoned can of beans and scoops out a few with his dirty fingers. Klaus squawks but doesn’t stop him. He places a hand on his chest and flutters his eyelashes overdramatically.

“Of course, brother mine.”

He places his fists by his sides and shuts his eyes, singing another verse of the song.

why cry, why complain, to this little girl,
she has seen all of time,
you may partake in its games too,
for naught a perfume and dime.

Five listens with wonder. He scoops another handful of beans into his mouth. Klaus doesn’t react, only opens those forest green eyes of his and cocks his head to the side.

“Cat got your tongue, Fivey?”

Five shakes his head and grumbles. “No,” he replies, crossing his arms. A spot of bean water lands on his bare arm. His stomach growls.

Klaus pushes the half-eaten can closer to him with a smile. Five shakes his head, despite the pain in his stomach. Instead, he gets to his feet and turns for the door. He bunches his hands into fists, summoning the power of a jump. He cups the power close to his heart, breathing on the embers of his abilities, feeling them grow into flames.

“I will be back in an hour,” he says curtly. Klaus nods, trembling slightly.

Withdrawals have been hard.

Five blinks away.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Five blinks away.

Immediately, someone starts yelling in his ears. Klaus flinches, and moves a thin, shaky hand towards his face to cover his ears. He scrunches his eyes up, envisioning his siblings as ghosts.

Klaus knows seeing them, mangled and destroyed and yelling that it is his fault, will break him. Still, he sucks in a deep breath and tries to picture them.

Luther, Number One, fighting with Diego, Number Two. In his brain, the now-adults have long since worked out their differences and are able to interact without attempting to beat each other into orange juice.

Allison, Number Three, would be sporting fresh braids, probably Dutch, that a crisp and over fluffed and take up huge amounts of space. She would parade around her brothers, with Vanya, Number Seven, trailing shyly, smiling with pink ears when Allison hugs her and shows off her new hairstyle. They would get along better than ever, Klaus decides.

Ben, Number Six, would have access to so many more books. Ones with different worlds, and mysteries and fairies and villains that weren’t true stories or war strategy tutorials. He would be flipping the pages and hearing his siblings talk, perfectly content to listen instead of contributing.

“Klaus?”

Klaus doesn’t want to open his eyes. His delusion- because that’s what it is, he knows- is strong and beautiful, with the undertone of bad, merry singing, crashing violin, and laughter.

“Klaus? Help me, please.”

Him and Five would’ve been long gone by the time his brothers and sisters were adults, but Klaus is fine with that. They float around the edge of the get together, sending each other knowing looks and laughing when Diego says something dumb, or clapping with glee when Vanya stands up to Luther’s comments.

“C’mon, Klaus, get up.”

The dream is fading. Tears prick Klaus’s eyes. His cheek is squished against cool wood or tile, and a single drop of water slips down his cheek and hits the ground. He cracks his eyes open and sees the front door of the house staring back at him.

“Klaus!”

Klaus shoots into a sitting position. He grabs the tin can from next to him and holds it like a weapon. Beans drip from the open lid onto the floor, but Klaus doesn’t notice. The colour drains from his face, and he pulls himself to his feet.

“Benji?”

Ben watches him, a small smile of amazement on his lips. “Hi, Klaus,” he whispers.

Klaus actually starts crying, joy forcing the water from his eyes. He laughs, and it sounds wet and joyful. “I can’t believe it!” He says, spinning around in a circle, “I can’t believe it!”

He laughs again, and screams joyfully into the air. Klaus wants to scream, or dance, or collapse in his brother’s arms and sob. He seems happy, smiling and laughing, but there is a sadness running through his eyes. Klaus shrugs it off. Seeing your dead siblings is probably a bummer.

He cries out again, throwing his hands in the air. He claws his hair out of his eyes and laughs. Ben laughs as well. It sounds a lot tamer and more normal when compared to Klaus’s manic screaming.

“I can’t believe it,” he exclaims again, the shout more a whisper of awe on his lips. Ben nods softly.

“I thought someone was watching me!” Klaus claims. That wasn’t completely true- withdrawals had made him flighty and paranoid. But still, Klaus is willing to say anything to see the smile on his brothers face. He wishes Five was here to share the moment of joy with him, but smiles again at the idea of an amazing surprise.

“How did you even get in?” he asks, standing still enough to give Ben a chance to respond.

“The window. But Klaus-”

“Which one?” Klaus interrupts. Ben smiles again, that sad smile, and Klaus doesn’t know why he’d ever be sad. Until two minutes ago, he was certain him and Five were destined to live alone, constantly scavenging.

Hell, it had been a month already, and they’d nearly died too many times to count.

Ben is wearing a hoodie. It is black, and sits snugly against his well-built frame. Klaus glances down at his own twig-like stature, chewing his lip as he inspects his twig-like arms and runs a finger over his more-prominent-than-ever ribs. Then he remembers his brother and turns back to Ben.

“The back one or something,” Ben says, waving a hand uncaringly. He seems to not remember. Klaus frowns.

“Did I leave it open or something? I mean, it was pretty chilly last night.”

Klaus gasps, somehow standing up even straighter. “Have you been here since last night?”

Ben smiles again, and Klaus claps his hands. He goes to punch Ben playfully in the shoulder. Suddenly, he flinches back before he can be touched, and Klaus’s heart sinks. Why doesn’t Ben want to be touched? Is it because-

“Oh my God,” Klaus says as pieces click together. “I can’t believe it.”

Ben flinches again, chuckling humourlessly. “You say that a lot,” he says, twiddling his thumbs.

Klaus scoffs, rolling his eyes. He pauses for a second before shrieking “I haven’t hugged you yet!” and launching himself towards his superhero brother.

Ben goes white, and begins to back away, but it is too late. Klaus is in the air, arms outstretched, ready to feel the steady warmth of his (now younger?) brother, eyes slipping closed, waiting for the bliss that is a Ben hug-

before feeling a chill wrack his body and hitting the wood with a bang.

Klaus groans. “Ouch,” he says, “that’s gonna bruise.”

Ben apologises profusely. Klaus sits up before turning around. Something isn’t right. Ben hasn’t moved from where Klaus had jumped. Even though his eyes were closed, Klaus is confident he didn’t miss his brother by that much.

It clicks. The hoodie, the fear, the sadness, the inability to be touched.

Klaus is screaming again. This time, it is not joy.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Five is mostly unsuccessful.

First, he jumps back to the supermarket. Or, tries to. Instead, he ends up in a foreign cupboard. He jiggles the handle, banging his fists against the door, trying to get out. He can barely see, and Five curses when he steps back and trods on a broom.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers into the darkness before driving a knee into the wood.

Then, he tries again. This time, he is in the middle of nowhere. Five lifts a hand to his eyes and glances around. Dust and sand dirty his shoes and get in his eyes. The sun is hot and bright, and filters through his fingers to assault his eyes.

In the distance, there is a cliff. Five sighs heavily, glad to have drunk more water than his rations allowed before leaving, and began to climb.

The rock is gritty and dry under his hands. The cliff isn’t extremely high, but very wide, and would’ve exhausted Five more to try and find an easier way up. Naturally, he climbs.

A sharp rock bites into his palm. He uses the pain to push on. The weight of his sweat and dedication add resistance, but Five is nothing if not resilient. He pulls his sore, tired body upwards, determined to get to the top.

Three quarters of the way, his footing crumbles when he moves and he’s hanging on by two hands, but he’s still slightly sick from his latest bout of heatstroke, and now he’s hanging on by a couple of fingers, and his shoes scrape the rock but can’t hold, and he’s falling, falling, falling, about to smash to death on the hard ground and blow away with the warm apocalyptic wind-

Adrenaline forces Five to jump.

He ends up on his hands and knees, panting like a dog. He is on top of the cliff.

Five looks around. In the distance, he can see a crumbling skyscraper. It resembles the one a thirty-minute walk from the library, which is a twenty-minute walk from the house Klaus was in.

(He knows this. In the days after his overdose, they would grab a water bottle each and walk back into town- or what was left. Five wanted to ration the supplies. Klaus argues that he didn’t want to spend the last joys in his life, like walks and bottled water and chats and sunshine, to crumble in the wake of the apocalypse like everything else. That shut Five up quickly. And the idea of mapping the wasteland. With the addition of a potential for finding more supplies, he came along to the walks begrudgingly.

So, Five grits his teeth, chooses to conserve his rapidly diminishing energy, and scales down the mountain.

....................................................................................................................................................................

When he gets back, Five finds Klaus on the floor, gripping his hair, a puddle of bile lying beside him.

It stinks, and the sun is finally beginning to set, and his feet hurt, but the first thing Five thinks about is how similar the scene is to what he found in the mausoleum all that time ago.

It was a little over a month.

It was seventeen years.

Five walks forward slowly, hands outstretched. Klaus is crying, and hyperventilating, but almost catatonic, fixated on one spot on the ground. His fingers are white and trembling from the tight grip he has on his hair. His arms are raw with scratch marks.

Five crouches down, making sure he is in Klaus’s line of sight before speaking. “Klaus,” he says softly, hands still out in front of him, “it’s Five. I’m going to take your hands, okay? Shake your head or move away if you don’t like it.”

Klaus nods twice- two tiny movements that Five takes as an ok. He gently pries his hands out of his greasy, matted locks, speckles with bald spots and holds them in his own grimy hands.

Klaus’s breath slows as Five breathes loudly through his mouth. He doesn’t insist on being copied, just breathes and smiles encouragingly when the séance does the same. “Good,” he says, tracing little circles on the back of his brothers hands.

They sit in silence until Klaus sits up. It is nearly completely dark.

“Ben,” he croaks out, voice breaking. Hearing his brother’s name splinters Five’s heart.

“Yes?” he says, prompting Klaus to continue, despite the dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

“He’s here.”

A pitiful sound leaves Five’s mouth. Anger and pain surge up, and in it, a tiny smidge of jealousy drifts through the emotions he feels. Stubbornly, he shoves the streak into his toes, locking it away to never be felt again.

“He’s dead?” he whispers. Klaus nods.

Of course, Five knew he was, rationally. He found his body. Still, the idea of one of his dead brothers plaguing his death-seeing brother makes his stomach churn.

Five shoots to his feet and wraps Klaus in a hug.

He is grimy and sweaty and smells really, really, bad. Still, Five closes his eyes and pats his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, hoping the simple words incapsulate everything he wants to apologise for. “I’m sorry.”

He believes him immediately. Of course he does, why wouldn’t he?

Klaus finally pulls away. Five smiles again, and rubs his eyes. He is tired.

There is a clicking on the ground. They are surrounded by sand, and no-one else is in the house. Why is something clicking?

An older woman with wavy grey hair is smiling at them through the window. Klaus jumps at the tap of her long fingernails against the cracked glass, pulling away from Five on instinct.

He feels cold at the lack of touch, and goosebumps prickle his skin as the woman smiles. Mechanically, he walks over and unlatches the window, opening it just enough for her thinner frame to slither inside.

The lady is dressed in a red jumpsuit that resembles a ladybug, with an overdramatic black bow attached at the edge of her hip. Her lipstick is bright red, startling against the light blue of her eyes.

She smiles again, bloodish lips pulling away to reveal the slightest amount of pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. She looks like a wolf eyeing down a lamb, and Five shifts uncomfortably. Beside him, Klaus coughs slightly. He is standing again, and suddenly is next to Five. The brothers glance at each other, then Klaus looks over his head into the air where Ben probably is. He nods, then turns back to the mysterious person in front of them.

“Who are you?” he asks. His voice cracks. He doesn’t seem to notice- or care.

There is a lengthy pause. The woman inspects her nails- filed to points, with black tips instead of a standard white. Everything about her is perfect to a fault, and Five is convinced if he knocks on her skull, it will sound like the mannequin he found that sits abandoned in the library. He hasn’t returned since his overdose. Neither has Klaus.

“I,” she says slowly, with a touch of self-importance, “am The Handler.”

Five expects the world to fracture and explode in front of his eyes. He hadn’t seen a person who wasn’t related to him in two months- never, if you didn’t count Mom and Pogo and the occasional screaming fans.

Instead, the globe keeps spinning.

Klaus nods besides him. His eyes flicker to that spot over Five’s head again, and he speaks in an irregular rhythm as if repeating something.

“What do you want? That doesn’t answer our question, by the way.”

Despite himself, Five snorts. Klaus has a smug look on his face, and crosses his arms slowly. Five’s heart falters when he notices the indent his biceps have, most of the muscle and all of the fat worn away as they starved.

The Handler mirrors Klaus’s look, fingers fluttering. She reaches for the big black bow, and rustles in its folds as if trying to grab something. “I want to recruit you, Number Four and Five, to work for me. You’d get out of the hellhole,” she adds, extending her arms as if to gesture to the whole apocalypse, “and would have a place to stay. All you have to do is work for me.”

Five narrows his eyes. The Handler goes back to playing with her bow. “What do we have to do? What’s the catch? Where would we actually be working? If you can’t tell,” he says, taking a step forward and smiling with all his teeth, “this hellhole is all that’s left of anyone. Or are you blind?”

The Handler doesn’t react to Five’s sass. Instead, she brings her hand up and Klaus’s heart stops.

One of the loops of the bow has come undone. The Handler holds the black piece of ribbon- which isn’t actually ribbon- and points it at his head.

Her finger twitches on the trigger. Ben is in his ear, but next to her, a wild look in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Klaus,” he says, hands up as if he can get shot, “You need to dive behind the wall. The doors open, can you see?”

Klaus lets his gaze twitch away from the gun to the door on his left. Her hand doesn’t shake. She continues to talk. Five has his hands raised, breathing ragged.

“Just dive towards it and cover your head. Tuck your knees in. Don’t worry about Five- he can teleport. You can’t. Ready Klaus?”

Klaus blinks once. Ben somehow understands.

“One.”

The Handler smiles again. Five’s hair has flopped over his eyes. Klaus knows he should raise his hands, say something, plead for his life, maybe. He doesn’t. Instead, he gulps down a breath.

“Two.”

Klaus’s eyes flicker to Ben. A look of grief flies across his features for a moment, before he looks strong again, nodding and smiling in an attempt to be comforting. It isn’t completely working. Klaus feels like he can’t breathe. The barrel of the gun stares him down. Ben opens his mouth to speak.

The gun fires. Klaus closes his eyes.

There is no pain.

Klaus’s stomach heaves, and he throws up on the ground outside the house. How is he outside?

Five breathes in his air. Klaus blinks a few times, trying to clear the tears and dust from his eyes. His brother squeezes his hand before peering through the window next to the door. The Handler is staring at them, and both boys, as well as Ben jump.

The gun is gone.

Klaus takes a deep, dirty breath in. Five growls somewhere deep in his throat, fists and teeth clenched. “She tried to kill you,” he whispers, venom dripping from his voice, “you could’ve died.”

Klaus doesn’t have a joke to say. He nods silently.

“Fascinating,” The Handler says. Once again, all three boys jump at the sudden noise. Five pulls Klaus behind him.

The Handler’s gaze flicks from Five to him. Ben looks confused.

“Teleportation,” she whispers, a hand resting on her chest in shock, “and what about yours, Four? Super strength? Mind control?”

The irony makes Klaus chuckle for a second before he speaks. His voice is hard.

“My name is Klaus. And seeing the dead.”

The Handler frowns for a second before clapping her hands. “Amazing,” she breathes.

Five shoots him a dirty look. Klaus shrugs.

“You must come with me. You must work for The Commission.”

Five finds his voice first. “What’s The Commission?”

The Handler smiles again. Ben doesn’t seem confused anymore. Instead, he chooses to cuss her out colourfully for trying to kill his brother. Of course, she doesn’t hear him.

“we are the ones who keep the timeline in order. I’m giving you boys a bed, three solid meals, a job, and most importantly, an escape. Are you coming?”

Five opens his mouth, brows furrowed. Klaus beats him to it. “Timeline?” he asks, poking his head out from behind Five.

The Handler nods quickly, with enthusiasm.

“All in good time,” she assures, fiddling with her hair.

Five wraps a hand around Klaus and clenches his fists tighter. The séance takes a step back in warning. The Handler produces a bobby pin out of her locks and slashes the air with it.

The hairpin unfolds over and over like magic, creating a large black briefcase made of leather. Klaus watches her pick it up from the sand in awe, Five in distrust.

“Now. Final call. Are you boys coming?”

Five and Klaus exchange looks. Ben watches. Klaus nods once. Five purses his lips.

“What if she kills us?”

“YOLO. We’re gonna die out here anyway.”

He lowers his voice. The Handler plays with the briefcase’s clasps.

“What if I work out how to get back?”

Klaus smiles sadly. It is the same smile Ben did when he nearly died. “Then we get back from the Commission. Wherever that is.”

Five’s eyes harden. He turns back to the Handler, and nods.

“Excellent!” she says, clapping her gloved hands together. How she isn’t hot, Five doesn’t know. He watches with begrudging awe as the woman unclips the briefcase and the three of them are sucked inside with a flash of blue light.

The same blue light as his jumps.

Chapter Text

Klaus is obviously on edge. His shoulders are hiked up to his ears, and he wrings his hands when he walks. Five keeps his chin up, and lets his eyes wander for only a few seconds before snapping back to The Handler. She holds the briefcase in front of her body and walks in front of them, her heels clicking against the hard floor.

The lights are bright, and the hallways are painted in harsh white paint. Five’s stomach growls. Klaus’s eyes jump to his stomach, to his face, and away quickly. Heis pale and sunburnt, and there are freckles on his nose that weren’t there before.

A man walks past them.

Well, a man waddles past them.

He has a big nose, thin hair, glasses, and a half-smile on his face. He full-smiles at Five, who smiles back in a way that he knows shows of his teeth like a shark. He instantly waddles faster, almost scurrying away.

They are in front of two rooms. There is an elevator a few steps away. Five faces it.

The doors are on his left and right. The Handler has wedged herself in between the brothers, with Five on her left. He hates the idea of being separated from Klaus, but bites his tongue.

“So,” she says brightly, “these are your rooms!”

Klaus squawks. Five resists the urge to growl like an animal. “No,” he snarls, whipping around to face the smiling woman. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her smile slips for half a second when he refuses. “I am sleeping in the same room as my brother.”

Behind her, Klaus nods furiously. He opens his mouth to speak and is cut off.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “are you wanting to go back?”

Five feels the blood rush from his face. Klaus’s eyes are wild and filled with mistrust.

The apocalypse wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, really. They had food and water half the time, didn’t die, only needed to move six times. Five considers their survival quite impressive for the four months they were there.

Still, Klaus is gaunt, and trembles from the need of drugs. His stomach rumbles again, as if to prove a point. Five scowls. The Handler smiles again.

With a sigh, Klaus turns towards his door.

The Handler has pressed a button on the elevator, and it dings when the metal doors slide open.

“Excellent!” she says, readjusting the way she holds the black briefcase, “I will see you both at mealtime.”

She stands there, the elevator staying open. Klaus turns his doorknob, and with one final look over his shoulder, slips inside with a soft click. The Handler’s gaze shifts to Five, and she looks like a fox eyeing a rabbit as her eyes trail him.

Five’s stomach churns, and he closes the door behind him as the elevator doors start whirring.

The bed is made perfectly, and is a single. The room itself is tiny- there is space for the bed, a tiny chest of drawers on the opposite wall, and about three steps of space from the bed to the wall to its right.

Five sighs, and wanders over to the bed. There are two slips of paper lying on the spread, and when Five picks them up, the sheets still crinkle, even as his fingers barely touch the mattress. The first is small, about the size of an A5 piece of paper, and one of the corners is bent slightly. Everything else is pristine. Five creases the bottom as he holds it tightly.

Hello, there! Welcome to The Commission!

You are currently in room #2945. To make The Commission a productive facility and efficient workplace, we have a ‘earn to learn’ approach to privileges. If you were to refer to your timetable sheet, you can see there is a two-hour block that is simply titled ‘training’, twice a week.
These trainings initiate your ability to change rooms. The higher you score, the higher you rank, the higher your room! A higher room also unlocks privileges such as access to deserts, movie nights and, the top 150 scorers for the month will be allowed temporary passes to officially work in The Commission Headquarters.
Stay in the top 150 for three months, and you gain all-round access and full freedom under The Commission to do your job however you are required.
You will not be paid. All extra credit goes towards unlocking rewards prematurely.
To learn more, please talk to one of our friendly staff members as signified by a purple ribbon) or The Handler of your subheadquaters.
We hope you enjoy your new job, and can grow to love The Commission like we do!

With care, The Commission Welcome Team :)

Five stares at the notes in his hands for twenty whole seconds after finishing reading it. Then, in a flurry of anger, balls it up and throws it at the wall, breathing heavily. He doesn’t fucking want to have to earn anything else! All he wants is his family.

Breathing heavily, Five picks up his timetable. There are too many colours, and there are sparkly stars that look like stickers on a few on the corners and borders. Five runs a fingernail. They don’t peel. He frowns.

On the following page is your classroom schedule. Uniform is required from waking- getting dressed is your first priority before leaving your room and last task before sleeping each night.

Classes you have been enrolled in-

Survival 1: test and learn about physical things that can and will kill you if vulnerable
Gym 2: the theory and practical behind building strength and endurance, as well as combat training
Abstracts 1: the ‘abstract’ ways and responses to murder, such as poison, vehicular murder, and framing
Specialised: true-to-you training, directed by a trusted Commission official
Rankings: the fights and ranks designed to help you move through the Commission ranks
Endure 6: designed to push you mentally and physically so you can do everything you need to survive
Outdoor 5: testing your skills by being sent outside through multiple lessons with very little supervision
Anatomy 1: learning all you need about the human body, including psychology

We hope you grow to enjoy your studies and job here at The Commission!

With care, The Commission Welcome Team :)

Five feels sick.

There is a clock on one of the walls, and it ticks ominously. There is also a calendar sitting on top of the dresser.

It is a Tuesday. It has just passed 4pm.

Five takes a deep breath in, before placing the timetable on top of his dresser, next to the small red calendar. Then, he turns on his heel and walks towards the door. He has to actively turn to fit between the dresser and his bed, and it makes him want to cry with frustration.

Five places his hand on the doorknob and twists sharply. Nothing.

He tugs the door towards him, then pushes against it. Still, nothing.

“Klaus?” he cries out.

Nothing.

With a scream of rage and a little desperation, Five bawls his fists up and focuses on jumping. He can feel his power shimmering just under the surface of his fists, but when he reaches out to grab it, it fizzles and pops and dies.

He sends a fist angrily into the door. It does nothing.

Five yells. Nothing.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Klaus sits on his bed and listens to Ben’s voice. He’s tried the doorknob- he did that before even glancing into the room.

The sheets and bedspread have creased and crinkled under his weight. Klaus doesn’t care.

Ben is perched on the dresser, scanning Klaus’s schedule.

“Huh,” he says, mostly to himself, “you have outdoors 5. No other five’s though.”

Klaus chuckles. It isn’t a funny joke, not really, but he feels on the verge of toppling over the edge of madness. Ben continues to chatter.

“Survival 3, Abstracts 2, Anatomy 2, Gym 4- hah! -, and endure 6- double hah!”

Klaus smiles at the memories of a few of his siblings.

Ben clears his throat. “Are you okay, Klaus?”

He laughs. “I miss Five,” he replies, voice quiet and serious. It is a stark contrast to what Ben remembers of his brother. He doesn’t quite know if the medium has processed his appearance completely yet, but smiles encouragingly.

“I get that,” he says softly, “you guys spent most of the apocalypse together.”

Klaus nods. “The only time we weren’t together were for supplies or a ten-minute walk. We’ve never been separated for hours before.”

Ben glances at the clock: it is 4:45.

“Klaus,” he says gently, “you’ve only been split for 45 minutes.”

Klaus doesn’t reply. Instead, he clambers to his feet and walks towards the dresser, pulling drawers open. He ends up kneeling on his bed to help them fully pull out, and rifles through the seven nicely folded uniforms, obviously trying to find something with a spark of colour or glitter or anything that feels like him.

Ben watches sadly as he pulls away with nothing, instead holding a tiny navy wetsuit to his frame. It looks slightly shiny, as if it would be solid if touched, or made of latex.

He looks at Ben questioningly, who shrugs.

“They did say to change,” he says.

Klaus nods, and begins to wrestle the uniform on.

In the end, it hugs his bones and accentuates the starving gauntness of his figure. Ben’s heart aches as he counts the séance’s ribs, and Klaus wraps his arms around his middle. The jumpsuit covers his feet like mittens, but leave his hands free.

Ben sits on the bed as Klaus pulls out a pair of shiny black boots from the bottom drawer of the dresser. He laces them tightly over his feet. There are no socks.

The dresser has three drawers, as well as a mirror built into the top. The first has basic toiletries- unscented soap bars, plain shampoos and conditioners. Deodorant, toothbrushes. There is a tiny business card inside the soap box. It promises customisable scents after room 1500. Klaus pouts at the idea of having to wait.

After ransacking the room for anything fun or useful at all, Klaus comes up with a single black-inked ballpoint pen.

“Don’t do the walls,” Ben warns, “they might drop you down rooms even further. You don’t want that.”

His heart aches at the idea of falling for their schemes after a little more than an hour.

“It’s sad,” Klaus says, beginning to draw squiggles all over his left hand. Ben furrows his brow.

“Y’know, the whole ploy is break us and pit us against each other. You’re a mindless zombie unless you beat better, more mindless zombies. Then you’re treated as a human.”

Ben nods. Ghosts can’t feel pain. He still does. “Yeah. You’re right.”

....................................................................................................................................................................

The door unlocks at 7 on the dot. Klaus scrambles out of the room immediately. A few other people on his floor come out as well and instantly flock to the elevator. He follows. Five is nowhere to be seen.

A girl with pink hair collapses in the seat across from him. Five hasn’t shown yet. Klaus sits up slightly straighter, scanning the crowd again.

“Haven’t seen you before,” she remarks, biting into her chocolate chip muffin first. With her free hand, she extends it and shakes Klaus’s harshly.

“Haidey,” she says, mouth full of muffin. Klaus nods, picking up his fork.

“Klaus.”

Haidey nods. “That’s a nice name.”

“So is Haidey. Reminds me of that Greek god.”

“Who, Hades?”

Klaus wrinkles his nose. Haidey laughs.

He stabs his food. Salmon with garlic, beans, stems of broccoli, iced water, a muffin.

“At least they feed us well,” he snipes, stomach growling. Haidey laughs again, but Klaus notices the way her eyes travel down his thin body before shooting back to his face.

Her muffin is gone. She eats a piece of broccoli with her hands. “Haven’t seen you here before,” she repeats, mouth full again. “And I’ve been here for a while.”

Klaus swallows before talking. Ben sits next to him, still looking for Five.

“Yeah,” he says politely, “I’m new. Room 2946.”

Haidey scoffs. “I don’t care about rooms or privileges or anything that much, it’s fine.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. Haidey goes red. “I’m in room 387,” she admits.

Ben is trying to pat his arm. “Klaus,” he hisses, “He’s there!”

Klaus follows his point, and- wow, Five looks terrible.

His brother carries his tray sluggishly, eyes on the floor. His hair flops in his face, which looks red and puffy from crying.

“Five!” Klaus calls. Haidey jumps, hand on her chest, before popping another broccoli sprout into her mouth. She tries to search the crowd of people warily.

Five’s head shoots up, and he locks eyes with Klaus. The boy waves him over, and tension leaks from his shoulders as he bounds over to plant himself next to the séance. Ben gasps when the time-traveller sits on him, but floats around to Klaus’s other side and sits cross-legged on the table instead.

“Who’s this?” Haidey asks cautiously, tilting her head up in greeting to Five. He doesn’t return the gesture and she shoots Klaus a judgemental glare.

“My brother,” he says, letting a little protectiveness leak into his voice. “We came here together.”

Five nods hard besides him.

For a minute, Haidey’s gaze pingpongs between the boys before she smiles, picking up her fork to stab into her fish. “Sweet,” she says, raising a piece to her mouth. “I get how it is. I got a sister, y’know, Stella. Sweet as a lollipop, that kid.”

Haidey laughs, then stops. “I’m glad she didn’t come,” she says seriously.

Five is eating, but pauses to exchange a quick, confused look with Klaus, who shrugs.

“Anyway,” she says pointedly, hitting the table softly. Both boys jump. She has the heart to look sorry. “what number classes are you in? I’m guessing you have the basic ones.”

Klaus doesn’t know what the ‘basic’ classes are. Still, he nods.

“Uhm, outdoor 5? I think?” Klaus sends Ben a look, who nods. “Survival 3, Abstracts 2, Anatomy 2, Gym 4, and endure 6. I memorised them before.”

Klaus smiles as Ben recites them. He repeats them. Haidey and Five both seem impressed.

“Ben,” he says to his brother. Haidey raises her eyebrows.

“My other brother,” Klaus lies smoothly, chucking a bean in his mouth, “taught me a memory trick.”

“Cool,” Haidey says half-heartedly. She turns to Five, hands folded in front of her. The Boy eyes her warily, waiting for her to speak. “What about you, short stack?”

“It’s Five,” he grumbles, placing his cutlery down. “Survival, Abstracts, Anatomy 1. Gym 2. Outdoor 5. Endure 6.”

Haidey smiles around her food. “Ah, a methodical one, this Hive kid. That’ll do you good.”

She looks thoughtful, cutting into her salmon again. Five scowls. “It’s Five,” he repeats.

“Like the number?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Klaus takes a sip of his water. Ben watches with interest.

“Okay, then.”

Haidey stands to her feet. Neither boys do the same. “Well,” she says carefully, “it’s been fun. I’m going to check on a group of girls that just had Outdoors, but I’ll see you later. Maybe in rankings? Anyway, bye!”

Klaus waves. Five doesn’t. Haidey smiles, tucking her now-empty tray under one arm and holding her glass of water in another, before wandering over to a group of girls with mud on their faces and messy hair.

“She seems nice,” Klaus remarks, finally ripping his muffin in two. His stomach is uncomfortable full, but he loves muffins.

Five hums next to him. He also looks a little ill, but has gotten through more of the food than Klaus has.

“Hey,” he says softly, placing a hand on his brothers, “you don’t have to eat any more if you’re full. We have food here.”

“What if we don’t? You barely ate anything,” Five snaps, gesturing to Klaus’s half-full plate. He shrugs and shoves half the muffin in his mouth before standing.

Five scrambles to do so too, and as they do, the rest of the people- ranging from kids his age to over forty- begin to stack trays on their tables and leave to their assorted rooms and placings.

Klaus’s stomach churns slightly as he moves, overstuffed after being starved for four months straight, but he stacks the navy tray on top of a girl’s, and walks next to Five back to the elevator that will take them to their rooms.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“So,” Klaus says, sitting cross-legged on Five’s bed. He attempts to tug boots off, frowning when they don’t budge.

Five stands next to his dresser, which looks identical to Klaus’s, unlacing his boots. Klaus mimics the actions, and when Ben laughs at his struggle to undo the tight knots, he hisses like a cat.

Five smiles softly at the sound. Klaus smiles back. “Ben’s being a pain.”

Next to him, Ben squawks in faux offense. “Me?” he exclaims, “a pain? Never!”

“Sure,” Klaus mutters, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

The boys sit next to each other on Five’s narrow bed in silence.

They don’t need to speak. It is shower time- they have about 55 minutes to do their bedtime routine before the harsh lights turn off for the night. Klaus suspects the lights are sensed by motion in the doorway, or are just on until manually switched off. He wonders whether the lights in the rooms across from him were on; the inhabitants went to shower or talk or makeout a little bit ago. He wouldn’t have a way to check, would he? They’d just turn back on if he entered, theoretically. The crack in the door could show it though, but the flooring is such an obnoxious white Klaus isn’t sure he’d be able to tell.

“Klaus?” Ben says softly, raising a hand as if to tap him, “Five’s talking to you.”

Klaus turns back to his brother, who is still mumbling about equations and schedules. “I think,” he finally says, “we have the same Outdoors class.”

He nods. “And Endure. Whatever that is.”

Five wrinkles his nose before standing. He groans, the fumbles with the zipper of his jumpsuit.

“C’mere,” Klaus says, making grabby hands at Five. The Boy grumbles, but stalks over, arms crossed, spinning around to get the zipper undone. Klaus ignores the hard bumps of Five’s spine that poke through his bare skin as he peels the jumpsuit away, focusing instead on Ben, who has draped himself over the dresser.

“Done.”

Five steps away, reaching under the hard pillow and pulling out a set of pyjamas that are the same shade of navy as the uniforms. He scowls, running his fingers over the embroidered label in a merry sky blue. The blocky letters exclaim, ‘The Commission’, as if they are property.

We are property.

“Anyway,” Klaus says, standing to his feet, “I might just go back to my room. Let you change and all that.”

Five doesn’t take his eyes off the embroidery, chewing his lip. Ben watches him, sympathy in his eyes.

Klaus feels the need to laugh, or cry, or throw up the food his overstuffed stomach is holding. He pushes the feeling down into his toes and takes a deep breath, filling with lungs with the clean, sanitised air of the building.

There aren’t any ghosts on this level. He is glad.

He turns slowly, grabbing his boots by their laces, reaching for the doorknob before pausing. In a moment of bravery, or desperation, he says, “Why didn’t you jump to my room when the doors locked?”

Five’s head shoots up. Klaus doesn’t turn around. He hears his brother shuffling, and Ben sends him a look. Not a dirty one, necessarily, but one of now-isn’t-the-time. He shrugs towards the ghost and turns the doorknob.

Something in his chest releases when it opens without struggle. Something else tightens, wrapping around his ribcage, burning his lungs.

“I don’t know,” Five whispers. Klaus can hear the crackle in his voice, and the way he trips over the last word, as if it pains him to admit it. “I panicked.”

Klaus nods. “Cool,” he says coldly, slipping out the door.

“I was scared.”

Ben opens his mouth to talk, to urge Klaus to go back inside and actually talk to his brother. He shoots him a glare, and something in him must be broken, because Ben hangs his head and doesn’t speak as he lets the door close and strides across the hall to his own room.

....................................................................................................................................................................

Klaus decides it is better to grab breakfast and not disturb Five. They didn’t fight- he knew this- and very little could get between them after everything, but it feels awkward and oddly tense.

He stands in the line on his own, rubbing at his eyes. His feet are sore and blistered from the new boots. Someone walks past and bumps his shoulder, rolling their eyes when he goes to apologise. The world swims slightly, and everything is so loud, and Ben is trying to talk, and he should’ve just stayed in bed, and-

“Heya! Clause, right?”

Klaus forces himself to smile. “Klaus. Rhymes with mouse.”

Haidey nods a few times. Her pink hair has been pulled into a ponytail and bobs slightly when she moves. “Mind if I squeeze in?” she asks, already worming her way into the queue. Klaus raises an eyebrow and shuffles back until she fits.

Haidey grins at him before inspecting the cabinet in front of her. She claps her hands together delightedly before pulling two muesli bars out of a bowl and stuffing both in her pocket. Then, she grabs another two and ands one to Klaus, who watches curiously.

“They don’t feed us enough,” she mutters defensively, ripping her bar open.

Klaus furrows his brow, but bites into his muesli bar anyway. They ran out of those in the apocalypse. After getting sick from the first three loaves of bread Five bought back from the supermarket- expiration? Radiation poisoning? Klaus will never know- the pair hastily abandoned all their non-canned goods. Either way, he hasn’t been hungry in a while.

“And you look like you don’t eat enough,” Haidey says quickly, before her eyes widen and she backtracks, “sorry. That was really rude and honestly? Insensitive. I have no idea what your life is like.”

Klaus shivers. His skin crawls with the need for drugs, and as he wraps his hands around his ribs, he is acutely aware of the stares he is getting from his friend.

“Yeah,” he says softly, stepping out of the line as Haidey snatches a navy tray. She looks sorry, so he continues to walk forward in time with her collecting bits and bobs for her breakfast. Her large navy jacket bunches at her wrists, rustling as the muesli bars hit each other when she moves. Klaus wonders where he can get a jacket like that and considers grabbing an apple to have something to do.

But he isn’t hungry.

“Have you seen Five?” Ben asks, hovering next to him, watching him nibble the muesli bar. Klaus shakes his head. The paper crinkles. It makes him sick.

He can feel a headache forming, and breathes deeply once or twice to quell the panic bubbling in his gut. As he peers around the room, the idea that there were no ghosts here was completely wrong. Maybe his level was quiet, but the cafeteria certainly wasn’t.

An older lady with hair like Rapunzel and gouged out eyes screams at a cold-looking man.

A young boy clutches the legs of a young girl, wailing and crying blood, trying to get his crushed legs to move so he can stand.

A teenager with way too many piercings for Klaus’s taste sits motionlessly at one of the tables, guts spilling from her stomach, face splattered with blood.

A wave of dizziness crashes over Klaus. He is cold, and can feel sweat beading on his brow. When he looks up again, Haidey has left, so he stumbles through the crowd and ends up sitting with his back against the wall, legs tucked in.

The muesli bar is barely half-finished, but Klaus feels sick and probably looks green, so he rewraps it and stuffs it into the bin a few feet away. Ben says nothing as he shivers again, wrapping his twig arms around his bony knees.

Despite sitting in full view of everyone in the cafeteria, Klaus can’t focus enough to find Five’s face in the flurry. He lets his mind wander, but stays alert, and despite feeling a heavy blanket of exhaustion and stuffiness over him, he refuses to let himself relax or stop his watch.

Old habits die hard.

When everyone starts shuffling towards the door, the séance stands and follows dutifully, still looking for Five. The smaller boy is nowhere to be found, and for half a second, tears spark in Klaus’s eyes with the idea of not seeing him all day.

They end up multiple floors down. Klaus frowns as he ends up in one of six single file lines, shuffling forward to be ‘scanned in’, as the man in front of him says. When he gets to the front, a stern-looking lady with a sharp bob yanks his wrist against a metal pad.

Klaus flinches at the cold. It doesn’t hurt.

The turnstile lights up green, and he is forced inside. The brickwork is old and crumbly, and as he follows the corridor, ends up coming to six doors, each branded with the numbers in black.

Klaus slips into the furthest door on the right, noting that not many people are entering the same one. It has the biggest numbers on it, and he understands somehow those are their room numbers.

When he sees an enclosed fighting ring and huge screen with a bunch of names stacked on top of each other, he isn’t necessarily surprised. Still, he lets his eyes wander the group of people he is with, and his heart picks up at the idea of being trapped in the clear dome that is the fighting pit.

Memories of the mausoleum flair to life, but then there is a voice, and they retreat angrily as if inconvenienced. Klaus smiles slightly at Ben, who once again has tried to reach for him.

“Welcome!” the robotic voiceover chirps, “The Rankings will begin in T-minus 8 minutes.”

Chapter Text

Klaus lets his eyes follow the general movement of the people in the room. It is dimly lit and smells musty. He can’t see Five. Or Haidey.

A younger woman with long legs and a choppy ponytail bumps him in the shoulder as he walks past.

“Sorry,” Klaus mumbles. She sneers, whispering to the girl next to her. He ducks his head and walks faster.

In the end his feet take him to the fighting pit. He presses his nose to the plastic- glass? - to peer inside. The bottom seems to be concrete, with stairs that stagger up to the perimeter. The ground is scratched, and smeared with red, and the dome itself is cloudy and thick.

Something beeps. Klaus blinks. He glances over at the screens, scanning the ladder for his name, or Five’s. He finds them near the bottom rungs, as the 89th and 93rd matches. Klaus’s heart sinks when he sees the names of the people he’s up against.

#89: Klaus “Spook” Hargreeves vs. Nickolas “Rivet” Boler vs. Toby “Slip” Marais

He gulps, mind racing. What type of nicknames were Rivet and Slip? They sound tough, but almost comical, cartoon characters that would see stars if they were hit with a hammer. He isn’t sure where Spook came from, but it suits him, he decides, before scanning for Five’s opponents.

#93: Five “Cinco” Hargreeves vs. Calico “Bobcut” Ryan vs. Awsa “Recessive” Ryan

“What type of names are Calico and Awsa?”

“What type of names are Five and Klaus?”

Klaus grins. “Hey, Cinco.”

Five doesn’t smile. He does, however, turn to Klaus with a hand raised like a handshake. “Hey, Spook.”

He does crack the smallest of smiles. Klaus laughs. “What type of battle name is Cinco, anyway? Everyone can guess who you are!”

“And Spook,” Five remarks, “the ease of it! Oh my, the boy who can see ghosts has the battle name Spook!”

“Who would ‘a thunk it?”

Both boys cackle. There is a shifting in the crowd. An older woman steps forward. She vaguely resembles the Handler, Klaus thinks, but he doesn’t mention that to Five. He wants to apologise, and knows The Boy does too, but decides not to mention that either.

“Good afternoon, everybody!” She says brightly, tapping the microphone in her hand as if unsure as to whether it is on. It sounds like distant thunder, and the inhabitants of the room snap to practiced attention. “You all know the drill. We’ll start with match 100, and work our way up to number one. For our first match of the evening, we have room numbers 3000, 2987, and 2931! Let’s be considerate of our co-workers as they make their way to The Dome, please.”

Polite applause. Klaus furrows his brows at the way the lady capitalises the name of the fighting ring.

Three people step forward. A wiry boy, looking to be in his early twenties. He is built like a stick, even by Klaus’s standards, with wavy hair that flops over one of his brown eyes. The second is a short girl, with a missing limb and very angry eyes. She moves with the confidence of someone who was previously great, and the haughtiness of a person who had been knocked down a few pegs. The other is an older lady, with long, straight, thin hair that is streaked with grey. Her mouth is set in a determined line, and although she has muscle, Klaus can tell her endurance isn’t great.

His heartrate picks up, and the pair of boys step away from the plastic dome. One side opens soundlessly, and each of the opponents step inside, moving to stand on one of the various rocks scattered on the concrete.

The dome is large, Klaus realises, watching each of the people scale boulders to perch precariously on top. It is scattered with pebbles, and the handles of weapons, and small shards of glass.

“Are we ready?” The woman chirps, seeming too cheery for such an event. A few people mumble. One cheers. Another boos.

“Okay, then! As always, there are 60 seconds on the clock. Certain body parts have certain point scores, as shown on the screens.”

An image of a human body with numbers on it flashes before the ladder comes back.

“These points contribute to your overall score, which will re-rank your rooms. Good luck, everyone!”

She drops the microphone into its stand, still smiling like a shark. A small bell sounds. Someone cheers again. “Go, Riah!” they cry, and clap a few times.

There is a 60 second timer in the corner of the ladder. Klaus and Five watch soundlessly as the trio square each other up.

The tiny girl moves first. She launches herself off her perch- a boulder nearly her height, which shudders visibly when she moves- and takes off running towards a shard of glass lying on the ground. A few strands of hair fly from her bun as she moves.

The lady and boy watch her wearily. She scoops up the clear triangle before moving back to her boulder. She never turns her back on the older woman.

This means she gasps when the boy tackles her to the ground.

The glass goes flying from her grip, purposefully tossed away from anywhere her body could land.

The pair wrestle.

The woman watches with conflicted eyes, crouching like a frog on top of a small cube-shaped rock. The boy lands a punch on her jaw- 3 points- then promptly loses 5 for the kick to his side. The girl fights like a wild animal, all teeth and legs and snarling, and while the boy is calmer, more rational, Klaus knows he isn’t fit to do anything more than a few weak punches.

The older lady claws at the boys back with a rusty sword handle, earning herself 12 points. Something chimes, and Klaus looks up to see she has gained 10 for drawing visible blood.

In the hassle, the girl throws herself away from the others, hair come undone to frame her face. Her eyes are wild, and she tries to scuttle back, but has obviously forgotten about her hand, the nub buckling when she puts too much weight on it. The older woman loosens her grip on the boy’s curls, punches his face again -3 points, 6 points! - and stalks towards the teenager.

The sword handle gleams with blood. Klaus glances at the clock- 4 seconds, 3 seconds.

The teenager throws up her good hand and squeals.

The bell rings again, and the door is opened.

They scramble out at once.

“Congratulations, number 2987, for winning that match! A grand total of 23 points is rather impressive for our first match, I must say.”

The older lady bows her head, a small smile on her face. There is a thin cut on her cheek. The other two don’t speak.

The boy came last- negative 7 points isn’t a good look. Klaus watches as people make way for him as he stalks to the back to sit down, sneering at his patchy hair and already-forming black eye.

The fights continue. Klaus and Five both watch with interest. If any of the fighters have powers, they don’t show them.

The lady continues to narrate before and after the rounds.

The closest, to date, is match 95, where a pair of boys tied, each taking turn punching the young girl they versed in various spots. She put up a good fight, but when one of the boys sliced a section of her hair off with a shard of glass, her insults and retaliations faded.

Klaus was horrified of how much damage could be done in 60 seconds. He hated how none of the fighters came to anything close to a truce, none sat and waited, none were friendly or civil.

He knows why.

No hits got you zero points.

Zero points was basically a ticket to a lower room.

They cant do anything without a higher room.

“Crowd, do we have room 2945 here? I’m looking for a “Cinco” Hargreeves?”

Five jolts from where he is standing. Klaus pats him lightly on the shoulder, hoping he looks more confident than he feels.

Five waves his hand before walking around to the door at the dome. For a second, Klaus thinks he will jump inside, but instead, the boy waits until the door opens before slipping in and choosing a small rock to stand on.

The pair of girls in with him, Calico and Awsa, pick huge rocks within arm’s length of each other. Klaus frowns. Most opponents consciously spread out to be safer. Five’s fingers twitch The bell chimes.

One of the girls- dusty blonde hair pulled into a braid, light brown eyes, freckles- hops off her rock and strolls up to Five. His choice of perch and her height means they are eye to eye. Her hands are raised in surrender, a lazy smile on her face. Five scowls.

She says a few things. The half-hearted soundproof blocks it out.

“Calico!” The other girl, Awsa, cries out.

Calico’s gaze shifts to the girl behind her. Five pounces.

Klaus winces, watching as he claws Calico’s hair and digs his nails into her flesh. Awsa steps off her platform, hurrying forward. She pries Five off, says a few things, smiles tightly as he scratches her once before falling limp in her arms.

Klaus’s gut churns. There are ten seconds left. Awsa releases Five, brushes a strand of light brown hair out of her eyes. Calico peels herself off the floor. She says a few things to Five again, nods, and turns pointedly to face the door.

When the bell chimes, Five is victorious. No-one cheers this time. Instead, people mutter, roll their eyes, scoff as the trio leave the stadium.

Five beelines for Klaus. Awsa and Calico trail behind, fidgeting.

“Klaus,” he says shortly. Klaus doesn’t stop looking into the dome. Another match has begun.

Someone, maybe Calico, says something. Five clears his throat.

Klaus wants to respond, but it is like his head is full of sludge. His lungs contract, the idea of being like the young girl from 95, who left the arena limping, tear tracks on her cheeks, making his throat burn. He sucks in a deep breath. It doesn’t help.

“Four!” Five snaps. Klaus comes to attention on instinct, mind screaming danger bells at him.

Five relaxes. He takes one of Klaus’s hands. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, “I need to talk to you.”

Klaus nods. The world is back in stunning clarity, and the smell of body odour hurts his head.

“This,” five says, gesturing behind him, “is Calico and Awsa. They’re friends. Have you met them?”

The séance shakes his head. His throat is dry. Five smiles encouragingly, drawing little circles on the palm of his hand with his thumb.

“Well, we always need someone to look out for us.”

The match is over.

“We have Haidey,” he croaks, pulling his hand away. Klaus curses the way tears prick in his eyes.

Calico steps forward. “She’s too high up,” she says sharply, crossing her arms. Still, she seems kind. “We both choose to not move. But we can fight something good.”

“We’ve seen you around,” Awsa pipes up, “and you’re too young. It’s wrong of the commission to bring you both here. How old are you, ten?”

“Thirteen,” Klaus mumbles.

At the same time, Five scoffs and says “fourteen.”

Klaus blinks. Another match is over. “Fourteen?”

Five smiles. It is horribly sad. “Happy birthday, little bro.”

Klaus laughs, It sounds sticky. Both girls wince. “I’m older by number order!”

Five rolls his eyes teasingly. “But I’m smarter.”

“Still!”

“Anyway,” Awsa rushes, eyes flicking around the room anxiously, “happy birthday. But a fourteen-year-old assassin is ridiculous. I can’t allow it.”

Calico nods. “You guys are staying with us. Just in case something happens to Haidey.”

Five nods eagerly. Klaus frowns. “Okay,” he says slowly.

The group watch the trio fight- a group of girls engaging like cats.

Klaus blinks. His name is being called.

“That’s you,” Five whispers, nudging his shoulder, “go.”

He is in the arena, sitting on the largest rock in the dome. He can touch the roof. Klaus doesn’t know how he got up; doesn’t know how he will get down.

All he knows is he needs to gain 10 points, at least.

The bell has gone.

Nick and Toby eye each other, both mostly ignoring Klaus, so he slips over the side of his boulder and uses the edge of the dome to shimmy onto the ground.

“Hey, the little fairy is gone!”

“We’re trapped, dipshit, he can’t have gone far.”

The sound of walking and thudding. The clock says 45 seconds.

Klaus sneaks around the edge to see a messy mop of bleached-blonde curls. Toby stands with his fists raised, and Klaus crawls behind him before launching himself at his back.

He clawed his arms. He drew blood. Before Toby could properly retaliate, he is kicked sharply in the head, and Klaus is running away. Like he notices before, the arena is bigger than it seems, with uneven terrain built out of concrete, and lots of rocks to hide behind.

He hears Nick thunder towards where Toby lies, obviously wanting to get a few easy hits in. Klaus takes a deep breath, checks the time (10 seconds!) and runs at Nick, stealth ignored.

The red-headed boy is no match for momentum. Klaus tackles him, and he hits the ground with a sickening thud, instantly still.

The bell sounds.

Klaus stands. He wipes his eyes.

Nick stands, head smashing and flat. His features are angry. Klaus freezes. The boy’s body lies completely still on the ground. Nick screams, and launches himself at the medium.

Klaus shrieks, bolting for the exit. He trips on a pebble on the way, throwing himself out of the dome and into the arms of Five.

“Well,” the woman says, still standing at the podium, talking quickly into the microphone, “while we clean the arena, Klaus Hargreeves and all associated are welcome to leave the rankings.”

Five wraps his arms around Klaus’s middle. “C’mon,” he whispers, dragging him along.

Five, Klaus, Calico and Awsa all end up piled in Klaus’s tiny room. He is mostly unresponsive, and Five has never been more worried.

“And that says a lot,” he says aloud, chuckling mirthlessly.

Klaus’s dead eyes glance at him for a minute before flicking back to a spot over his shoulder.

He pales. More worry rolls in Five’s gut. He pushes the feeling into his toes and locks it away.

“He’s there, isn’t he?” he whispers, ignoring the odd looks from the girls.

Klaus nods. Five’s heart fractures.

He wants to hold him close, tell him it’ll be okay. He doesn’t. Awsa clears her throat. “Uhm, Five?” she says, wrinkling her nose. “What type of name is that?”

“It’s perfectly normal,” Klaus replies softly. He sounds far away, and smiles slightly. Calico and Awsa share a glance before watching his reaction. Klaus wrings his hands tightly. “Besides, I’m Four.”

“Were,” Five says sharply, before either girl can respond. “You were Four. Now you’re Klaus. You have been for a whole three years.”

Klaus laughs. Calico and Awsa seem confused. Both brothers ignore them. “I guess you’re right,” the séance says, before finally standing. He flinches at a sound Five can’t hear.

“Okay, well, I think I can speak for everyone when I say, ‘what the fuck is happening?’.”

Awsa nods, hands thrown up in the air. Klaus smiles for a second, then exhales slowly.

“Not you,” he mutters.

Five turns to the girls. “It’s a lot to take in. Are you sure you want to know?”

The pair nod. Klaus hisses like a cat. Five pays him no mind.

“Shut up, Jesus Christ! ” he exclaims, collapsing back on the bed.

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” Five says softly, making sure to turn over his shoulder. Klaus sighs heavily before nodding.

“I will.”

“Go ahead.”

“You see, girls,” the medium starts, “when a daddy is very power-hungry and too much of a stuck-up bitch to get a wife, he adopts seven kids with superpowers and decides he needs to utterly destroy them. Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Number Four, The Séance, The Medium, the one who sees ghosts. It’s useless. When I was eleven, my robot mother called Grace named me Klaus. I’ve had to fight grown adults like a fucked-up superhero since I was ten. I’m screwed up, and am a drug addict at thir- fourteen. Hey, whatever works, right? Anyway, pleasure is mine.”

He flops back on the bed. Calico and Awsa gape.

“Just shut your mouth, Nick!” Klaus randomly yells. Five doesn’t flinch. The girls do. “I don’t want to hear your wailing anymore! I’m sorry I killed you, okay? Fuck. ”

He runs a hand through his hair. Something rings.

“Five Hargreeves to the Handler’s office, please, Five Hargreeves.”

Five sighs. Klaus is wringing his hands together. Calico goes to speak- doesn’t.

“Okay,” he finally says, “I’ll see you guys later.”

The trio nods.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“Five,” the Handler says, smiling like a crocodile.

He feels vaguely uncomfortable, and sits down on the rock-hard seat across from her. “That’s me,’ Five jokes weakly, folding his arms in his lap.

The Handler’s smile doesn’t waver. “I need a favour.”

Five nods slowly. “Of course.”

“I loved your little school-shorts,” she exclaims, reaching up to place a hand against his cheek. It is hold and rough. Five doesn’t move. “It’s a such pity they’re gone.”

He doesn’t reply, only gulps. Disgust and nausea waltz through his bloodstream.

He doesn’t move. The Handler slides her hand down to rest over his folded ones. His breath hitches: cool sweat runs down his back. Still, she smiles, blood-red lipstick perfectly applied, curled up at the edges.

“I’m only fourteen,” he manages to squeak. A shadow runs across the woman’s face. She doesn’t deny the statement.

“That’s okay,” she purrs, squeezing his hands. Five glances at the desk behind her, annoyed at the idea of sitting at the sitting area of the office instead of the spot where work was done.

She brings her legs up onto the chair like a cat. Her grin is wicked sharp, and her gaze is penetrating. Her office skirt rides up her leg. She doesn’t move to fix it.

Five gulps- blinks a few times. Tears have begun to spark in the corner of his eyes, and for a foolish second, he wishes Klaus would burst in and drag him out.

Of course, he doesn’t.

The silence has stretched too long. Five yanks his hand away and stands abruptly, striding towards the door. The Handler’s laugh is light, with a dark undertone, and seems to gloat.

I know something you don’t. I know something you will never know.

The door is made of heavy wood with an intricately patterned knob. He turns it sharply- it doesn’t move.

The disgust is gone. Panic claws its way up Five’s throat, and bursts out in a short, desperate noise.

“Oh, sweetie,” the Handler purrs, right behind him, voice smooth and deceptively sweet like honey. Five anxiously tries the doorknob again.

“Please,” he whispers, throwing his shoulder into the door, “please.”

The whispers gain volume.

“Please!” Five cries out, knocking every inch of him into the wood, “please, somebody help me! Help! I want to get out! I’m trapped! Please! Please, get me out! Help me! ”

The Handler tuts behind him. Something is being pulled over his mouth and nose.

Five bucks, hissing snarling, scratching, fighting.

It doesn’t work.

The Handler pats his hair mockingly. “Hush, sweetie,” she says, “and count back from 10.”

The fear is washed away, and Five is being pulled under. His eyes slip closed. He fades to black.

Chapter Text

Five stumbles out of the room.

His skin is bubbling, boiling, the top layer simmering with heat. Still, he shivers.

The halls are empty. He walks, wiping at his eyes, rubbing his hands over his arms as if to warm them up.

He must have missed dinner. Klaus is probably worried sick.

It hasn’t processed yet.

Five is aware it could’ve been a lot worse.

He walks faster.

His cheeks are warm, and sweat is slick, sticky, against the space between his back and shirt.

His stomach growls. He ignores it.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“Klaus?”

The door flings open immediately.

Somewhere in the murky behind, Five files away the fact that it wasn’t locked.

His eyes soften. “oh, Fivey,” he says softly, pulling the further open, stepping to the side, “what happened?”

Five takes a deep breath at the sudden flare of anxiety in his stomach. He wraps his arms around his middle and plonks onto the bed. He knows that tomorrow, they will find out if they have moved out of the dingy room, so far down. He hopes they are together.

Klaus sits next to him, hovering, unsure.

Five desperately wants a hug.

Five hates the idea of a hug.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.”

His voice is hoarse. Klaus nods.

....................................................................................................................................................................

“Mornin’, sunshine!”

Five rolls over, chuckling.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to stay in your own bed! You literally have the higher room- by a mile!”

Five rolls his eyes, rubs them, and crawls out of the double bed him and Klaus had just slept in.

It’s been six months. They’ve survived.

Five wasn’t completely sure they would. After That Night, as his brain chose to call it, he was done. Months in the apocalypse, and they weren’t even close to being done with the nightmare that was getting back. But, slowly, the pair have settled into a routine.

They’d caught up pretty quick. All the years of Reginald’s harsh thumb meant that they got used to the rigid do-as-you’re-told lifestyle that came from working at The Commission.

Klaus has long since learned what happened That Night.

When Five finally spilled, about three weeks after, they spent the day skipping classes and pointedly ignoring the punishments they would each get. In Five’s eyes, it had been worth it.

Klaus is still scared of the ghosts. Unfortunately, he has gained a few, some of which having plagued him because he killed them in the rankings. Nick now has an old woman called Rylie and a teenager called Soy on his side.

Sometimes, the entourage is too much. Klaus spends the day out of it, barely reacting to anything, or hyper-reacting to every sensation. It hurts Five’s heart to seem him like that. They fight on.

“Stop thinking, dammit! Get up!”

Klaus stamps a foot on the ground playfully. Five smiles.

They are both broken, he knows. In a few hundred numbers, they’ll be assassins, he knows. But for now, in the little moments where he realises he fell asleep with Klaus again, he can ignore that pretty well.

Someone knocks on the door. It is sunny today, which Five is infinitely grateful for. Rainy outdoor days always carry the risk of infection, sickness, or even pneumonia if they are reckless in the rain.

“I don’t want to!”

Klaus huffs, dancing to the door, pulling it open to find Calico, Awsa, and Haidey, all waiting with identical looks on their faces. Five whines, continuing to inch slowly towards the mattress edge. The sun shines in through the window by their bed. Five loves it.

“Get up, boys,” Calico scolds, walking over to the bed and yanking the bedsheet off.

Klaus gasps, hand on his chest. “That’s my freshly made bed!”

“Five is starfishing currently.”

“Your point?”

Calico sighs, runs a hand through her hair. Awsa laughs. “Don’t worry, Cal,” she says, bumping shoulders with the girl.

Haidey checks the time. Her pink hair is braided, thick windy ropes around her head. Her bangs are pulled out. Klaus thinks she looks like a milkmaid, but one of the pretty ones, of course.

“We have, like, twenty minutes. That’s how long it takes for Klaus to do his eyeliner. Get. A. Move. On.”

She punctuates each word with a clap. Klaus walks over to his dresser and pulls out his makeup for the day. One of the best things about being in the top 500 is getting access to Commission-grade coins to spend at the eight-shop mall on the top, top floor of the building.

At first, when Awsa mentioned the Eight-Shops, Klaus had been dismayed, Five remembers fondly. The way he asked how anyone was ever satisfied going to the same eight shops. In retaliation, the girls had taken him there.

Klaus blew the 68 dollars he had managed to save on eyeliner, slippers, perfume, and a blanket.

Five tosses the blanket off him, finally forcing his powers to get him to the dresser.

“Show off,” Haidey mutters. No-one replies.

“What do we have first?” Klaus asks, running a hand through his curls to detangle before smoothing them down gently with water. They spring up instantly, but most of the frizz disappears.

“You, Five, and Haidey have Outdoors. I’ve got Endure. Cali’s got Specialised.”

There is a collective groan.

“How do you guys get ready so fast?” The séance asks, finally beginning to shrug on the jumpsuit. Five laces his shoes.

“Six minutes.”

“Shut up, Ben!”

Five snorts. Awsa smack a palm into her forehead.

“I agree with Ben, whatever he said,” Calico says softly, checking her hair in the mirror. It’s been pulled into a long plait that has been teased to look super thick, almost like a rope. Klaus adjusts the way the jumpsuit fits and reached for his boots that lie by the door.

“Three.”

“Ok,” Five says, standing. He watches his brother jam is boots onto his feet for a moment, before clearing his throat and continuing. “Let’s go.”

Klaus squawks. The others file out.

“Don’t leave me!” he says, right behind them.

....................................................................................................................................................................

The sun is bright and hot. Five isn’t excited about the weather anymore.

This breakfast hadn’t been great. Apparently, there were a lot of ghosts trailing this one group of boys that made Klaus cower and hide behind a table. He didn’t eat a bite, and Five is a little worried. A voice at the back of his brains tells him to force his brother to eat, in the danger that they’ll suddenly be shipped back to the apocalypse.

He shoves that though into his toes and locks it away.

We’ve been fine for the past six months. We’ll be okay for six more.

Since arriving at The Commission, Five has tried jumping forward and back multiple times. It’s never worked. Most of the time, he ends up in a foreign state or trapped in the forest that Outdoors is held in.

One time, he jumped forward a month, and managed to come back to the present after a panic attack and some rest. Klaus had said he’d barely been gone for an hour. Five hadn’t believed him.

The sun had moved too much.

The Outdoors class stands in a circle awkwardly. Haidey is next to Klaus, arms crossed, squinting at the sun. The instructor has sun bleached hair, murky green eyes, freckles. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him and clears his throat.

The oval goes quiet.

“As impressed as I have been with all of your progresses,” he says loudly, “The Board have decided we need to adjust the ‘difficulty’, so to speak.”

A groan goes up in the crowd. Five rolls his eyes.

“So, the Outdoors Instructors have decided to adjust the rules. Instead of simply staying outside in the conditions until the second bell, you now have a list of tasks and objectives to complete before you are able to come back inside.”

Everyone around Five complains. One girl is using very colourful language. Another boy looks ready to throw hands. The instructor takes a small step back when he notices Five’s staring.

“I’ve also been told you are not allowed any access to outside materials until these tasks are completed.”

A middle-aged woman calls out. “Hey, ‘Struct, is it true that one of the babies let out a wolf or bear or something from the science levels the other day?”

Murmuring. Five hates the way the lower numbers are referred to as ‘babies’.

The instructor nods slowly. “No need to worry,” he adds, “I’ve been informed that the creature hasn’t been seen in these parts since it got out.”

He walks around slowly, handing out small square of paper with a list on them. “Remember,” he warns, “no outside materials. Meaning no replacement papers.”

Klaus nods harshly when his square is handed to him. He snorts. “have you seen this, Cinco?”

Five peers over his shoulder. The list seems to have four items and three objectives.

1. Collect a red object
2. Collect two sticks longer than your arm
3. Trade for a polaroid camera
4. Take a photo of someone in a tree
5. Collect a pebble from the bottom of the lake
6. Collect a bird feather
7. Arrange your items in order of completion in front of your instructor

Five sighs. “This is not gonna be fun.”

“Or easy.”

Klaus hisses at Ben. Apparently, the ghosts are scarcer outside; he never seems to mind Outdoors as much as everyone else. The once merry weather has quickly become an inconvenience. Five dabs his eyebrows with his fingers, frowning when it comes away wet with perspiration.

“Okay, everyone,” the instructor says, “no outside help. This means no showers, no assistance, and no first aid. You are all self-sufficient adults. I trust you will survive.”

Klaus and Five share a look. Haidey snorts bitterly.

“Begin!”

Everyone scatters. Five watches a group of rugby boys jog towards the trees.

“I reckon,” Klaus says, “we do the rocks last, and get a red bird feather if we can. If we do the camera first, we can get the sticks from in the tree.”

“I can climb pretty well,” Haidey mentions, folding her paper in half and tucking it into her bra. “I did as a kid all the time.”

Five nods. The pair jog slowly towards the forest.

Branches snap. A boy sheers. Another laughs. A girl cries out.

Klaus keeps walking.

He doesn’t know where to get the camera from, or what the person will want for it. Is there only one? Will they have to fight for it? He hopes not- he doesn’t quite want to show his powers around the others.

Not that they would help much. Not that he would help much.

Only his group know they exist. He wants to keep it that way.

Klaus points up. “Is that smoke? Who would start a fire?”

“Someone exceptionally dumb.”

“Or someone wanting to be found.”

Realisation dawns on both Haidey and Five’s face. “Come on.”

They jog towards it. A small hut, with a straw-like roof. Someone is working the garden. It doesn’t seem to move under her weight.

“Hey, Cinco?” Klaus calls, voice wavering slightly. His jog halts. “Is that a ghost or person?”

At that moment, the figure stands and smiles at them. “Hi there,” she says kindly. “You three are the first to find me. Are you needing a camera?”

Relief is obvious in Haidey’s voice as she speaks. “Yes, please.”

The lady beckons them inside. They follow. A niggling of wrong works through Klaus’s gut. He ignores it and steps into the hut.

“So,” she says, tossing herself onto a couch. The other three stand. When she smiles, Klaus feels uneasy. Five shifts his weight and crosses his arms. Haidey brushes faded pink hair out of her eyes.

“What will it cost?”

Her brown eyes shoot to Klaus. He wants to bundle up and run away. He doesn’t.

“Easy,” she purrs, “you are just children, so a small price.”

She lifts a hand lazily, pointing at each of them before dropping it back onto her lap.

“My most recent shipment of heroine just came in. I need one of you to test it.”

At the mention of drugs, Klaus’s internal alarms go off. And he instantly craves nothing more.

The ghosts were easier to deal with, and he was lucky to only smoke weed regularly before the apocalypse. Still, the hunger for some relief from the constant worry would be nice. He’s about to volunteer when she laughs.

“Don’t look so shocked. I was only kidding! Unearth my carrots for me then I’ll give you one of the polaroids for half an hour.”

Relief and disappointment waltz in Klaus’s bloodstream. The colour rushes back into Haidey’s face. Five nods, smiles just slightly- the one that looks like an alligator- and starts for the door to the garden.

....................................................................................................................................................................

They end up with the polaroid easily, and a carrot each for their speed in gardening.

Klaus crunches on the vegetable as they walk, eyes peeled for a tall tree with lots of branches that Haidey can climb. Birds chirp, and on the way, Klaus picks up a few half-dead reddish leaves.

“Guys!” he calls triumphantly, handing them one each, “a red object!”

Five takes it, gratitude brimming in his eyes. He nods and does the smile that reveals how old he truly is- small and embarrassed-like, but so cute. Pride swells in Klaus’s heart as he tucks the leaf in with his list in the pocket of his jumpsuit.

They trek on.

At some point, Nick appears. Over the months, Klaus has gotten reused to ignoring the ghosts. Most of the time, it isn’t too bad, and he swallows his protests and blocks out their wailing. Today, he chats.

“Dude,” he says, walking beside him, “It’s so weird-like. I didn’t even know that ghosts could have bad feelings, you know? But my skin’s been a-crawling since we left that lady’s hut. Can we turn around? Something isn’t right. Something’s gonna happen, I just know it, lil’ dude.”

“Where was the friendliness when I killed you?” Klaus mutters, ignoring the shudder that wracks his boy at the word. “It would’ve been nice.”

Nick shrugs. Blood bubbles from his shoulder and splatters on the leaves under his feet. “I dunno.”

Silence. Klaus wipes his face. Haidey and Five talk amiably up front. He smiles at the idea.

“Maybe I was just freaking cuz I just died? My bad.”

“Yes,” Klaus says, guilt rumbling in his heart, “it was.”

Nick’s expression sours. “Hey now, that’s not cool.”

Klaus forces himself to shrug. “Don’t care.”

The ghost squawks. “You little shit! Fine, don’t listen to me. But I warned you.”

With a jab of his finger, Nick disappears.

“Klaus, look!”

He jogs over. Haidey is waving and pointing, waving and pointing. She’s found a tall pine tree with tall, spindly branches clinging near the top. Five is holding the polaroid carefully.

“Be careful,” he warns, “but I think we’ve only got ten more minutes.”

Haidey nods, reaching forward, grabbing the lower branches. They don’t move. Klaus holds his breath.

She braces her sneakers against the trunk, tugging herself up to lie across one of the branches. Klaus whistles in appreciation.

“You know,” Five mumbles, “I could’ve teleported up and down.”

Klaus shrugs. “No need,” he says, “it’s a dumb way to show you have powers. Besides, Haidey volunteered. She’s having a good time.”

Haidey climbs higher. Klaus watches as she leaps from her position on a branch to a better foothold, grabbing the trunk in all the right places, looking nimble ad quick as she scales.

“Any twigs?” Fiive yells, hands cupped around his mouth.

Haidey shakes her head- or must, because there is a pause before she shouts back, “No!”

Five nods, taking a step back to watch her scale the tree further. The leaves are sparser, branches thinner, and Haidey has stopped jumping and making risky moves. She slithers between spaces Klaus would never have thought of harnessing, going as far as the hook her feet around a branch and hang on it to reach another one.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy!”

There’s the sound of snapping. Klaus freezes, ears by his shoulders, waiting for the girl to hit the ground with a thud. Instead, a pair of long, thin sticks clatter on the grass. Klaus rushes to scoop them up.

They are way longer than his arms, and he smiles, satisfied.

“Thanks, Haidey,” he calls over his shoulder, “but we need one more!”

“Okie dokie!”

Five snatches the two smaller twigs from Klaus’s hands, taking extra care to not knock the polaroid. The final stick hits the ground.

“Now come down so I can take the photo!”

Haidey shouts something intelligible. She gasps, then hisses, a branch snaps.

Nothing happens. Nothing falls. Klaus laughs uneasily.

“Come a little further down, Haids,” he says, a little softer than he meant.

“I can’t!”

Klaus’s eternal alarms go off. He wants drugs, he realises vaguely, wringing his hands. He’s a tad bit dizzy from dehydration, and very hot, and Haidey is probably sweating pink dye up in that tree-

“What?”

A pause. Another hiss. Another snap. Haidey squeals softly, and Klaus sees a flurry of faded pink hair in a tiny gap of leaves before it disappears again.

“My ankle,” she cries from upwards, “I’ve rolled it or sprained it or something. I don’t know how to get down!”

Five sighs. Klaus takes the sticks from him. “Stay here,” he orders, shedding the camera, rolling his neck, “watch if she falls.”

Klaus blinks once, then smiles. “Of course, brother mine.”

Five nods, and in a flash of blue, blinks away.

Haidey screams. The sound of a hand on skin. Five grunts. Then yells.

Klaus doesn’t have time to react. He watches with detached horror as Haidey slips from her spot in the foliage. He didn’t realise he could see her until he couldn’t.

She falls from the tree and hits one of the branches with a sickening crack. Her wrist bends.

Klaus runs, hand outstretched, sticks forgotten.

He prays fiercely.

By some miracle or curse, he manages to catch her.

By that, Klaus means he is the pillow who cushions the floor.

White bursts behind his eyes when he hits the ground. His head hurts, his ears ring.

Five is by him in an instant.

“Klaus?” he calls, worry and fear seeping into his tone, “Haidey?”

Klaus wants to laugh at the concern in his voice. Instead, he makes a gargled noise.

He feels a hand pushing against point on his skin, at his head, and Five’s face is blocking the sunlight, which is good because it was giving him a headache. His brows are furrowed, eyes drawn to squints.

Haidey groans on top of him. She rolls over gingerly, clutching her ankle in one hand and wrist in the other. “Ouch,” she whimpers, scrunching her eyes. Klaus does the same. “Pain.”

Five hums, pulling himself to his feet, off his knees, offering a hand to Haidey. There is rustling- she must take it. Then, she wails in pain. Klaus opens his eyes to see her leaning on Five, who draws a shaky breath in and pats her head comfortingly.

“We need to go back to the instructor.”

Klaus nods, standing slowly. Any dangers of a concussion have likely faded; he is no longer in pain.

“You’re lucky,” Five says, slipping an arm around Haidey’s waist to keep her upright. Klaus does the same. “You both could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

Klaus nods, humming thoughtfully. Nick is back, watching them with a look that mingles with despair and smugness. He pokes his tongue out at the ghost. The ghost pokes his tongue out at the boy.

Five sighs. “But I got the photo before I came up. You can see your hair: it’ll be good enough.”

“I don’t understand,” Haidey whispers, burrowing her head in Five’s neck as they tale a step forward gingerly, “how you got up there so fast and quietly. I didn’t know you could climb.”

Five shares a look with Klaus, who shrugs, then nods, then shakes his head.

“I jumped.”

“Oh. My bad.”