Insolent and out of character

We've changed so much

I barely recognize our formative lives

Hidden deep, deep, deep underground

And they won't come back

They won't come back no more

/

"Hungover in the City of Dust" by Autoheart

"Hey, have you seen Klaus today?" Diego asks, leaning against the doorframe of Five's room and peering in on him. His hands dance anxiously at his sides, the way they do when he has nothing to fiddle with.

Five glares at him, hoping it will be a sufficient deterrent from bothering him again. He's obviously busy, kneeling on the floor with a piece of chalk in hand and a new diagram branching out on the wall in front of him. The apocalypse started last night. Not that anyone else in this house cares.

And—okay, he's claimed the apocalypse was restarting three separate times in the past month, but that's besides the point. This time it's obvious, just like it would have to be for his dumbass siblings to take notice. Climate anomalies don't happen the way this one has, and the fact that it just happens to be radiating outwards from their city of residence is a bit too on-the-nose for even the stupidest of monkeys to ignore.

Hypervigilance is symptomatic of long term social isolation, Luther had said last time, with a sympathy in his voice that made Five want to punch his face in. Luther hadn't said anything this time. Possibly out of a rare self-preservation instinct that managed to survive the death of most of his brain cells, but more likely because he'd looked outside and seen what should have been a warm spring day completely frozen over.

"No," Five answers loudly when it becomes apparent that Diego won't be leaving him alone. He has trouble regulating the volume and pitch of his voice, sometimes, and he makes a conscious effort to reel it in before he speaks again. "He's around here somewhere, check again."

Luther and Allison are downstairs, keeping watch over Vanya. No one really thinks she's responsible for what's happening this time around, and they'd been quick to reassure her of that, but frankly Five needs them all out of his hair for the time being and Vanya is as good a distraction as any.

"There's no sign of him," Diego insists, "Mom said she hasn't seen or heard him since last night."

Five hisses out an impatient breath and turns his attention back to the probability map. They don't have time for this. "He can't have gotten far. Give me a bit more time, then we'll go look for him." He draws his coat a bit closer around himself. It's a heavy navy-blue parka he'd found stashed away at the back of his closet, along with an actual pair of pants to wear in place of those stupid shorts.

Five is—not fond of the cold. He's sensitive to it, and can tell when the ambient temperature has changed by so much as a degree. It had been necessary in the apocalypse, when knowing what changes were to come meant the difference between life and death.

It was hot the first year. Day and night, the temperature averaged around 110 degrees, and shade provided no relief. He couldn't waste his precious drinking water on trying to cool himself down, and no rain fell for a long time, so mostly he resigned himself to being miserable and scantily dressed. When rain finally came, he tried smearing the resulting mud on his skin. That had worked for about an hour, at which point his skin began to turn red and peel. He still has some faint scarring from that first foray with acid rain—or he did, in his real body. This new-old one is smooth and unmarked.

After the first year, it began to cool, and it didn't stop. It dropped about ten degrees on average per year and finally bottomed out at a toasty -15 degrees in the height of summer. Most things that had survived the initial disaster died then. Five found some lunatic's basement bunker at the edge of civilization, built a nest of insulation stripped from toppled buildings, and managed not to die, barely. Canned goods tended not to survive the initial heatwave, so he only had what scarce provisions he could find in and near the basement he called home, mostly cockroaches.

So. He doesn't like the cold. Another shiver runs through him, and for just a moment he makes out a blue blur in his peripheral vision that disappears the second he turns his head. He's surprised and annoyed to see Diego still standing in his doorway in the blur's place. "What are you still doing here?"

"The police found something a couple blocks away," Diego murmurs, unperturbed by Five's tone. His dark eyes dance around the room with a casualness that belies his obvious concern. "It's not good, Five."

For a moment, Five considers ignoring him. He's busy, dammit. But judging by Diego's tone, whatever the police have found is unusual enough to make him take pause, and Five isn't arrogant enough to ignore a potential lead. "Where?"

"The corner of Pike and Fifth, between that old laundromat and Morrison's. They haven't moved it yet."

Five stands and claps his hands together to clear them of chalkdust. For less than a second the ensuing white cloud is illuminated with a blue light, and then it's gone again. "Thanks," he tells Diego. "Allison is in charge while I'm gone." He sticks around just long enough to hear Diego's snorted laugh before he jumps.

Five lands initially in an alley about halfway between the house and the alleged scene. He finds it less physically taxing to make many small jumps rather than to make a single long-distance leap. It's even colder than he was expecting out here. Broken pipes jut from the ground in some places, shoving aside earth and brick and ice. There's a deep, mournful groaning emanating from every direction, and flickers of light dance on sheets of ice before disappearing.

Whatever is happening, Five doesn't like it. It's too familiar, and yet unlike anything he's ever seen.

Another jump, and he's in the alley Diego indicated. There's no one around, but the entire area is sectioned off by bright yellow police tape. A tent is set up in the middle of the space, not large enough to hide the blood splattered in frozen droplets across the ground. Five ducks around the corner of the alley and peers out at the crime scene. There's no movement from inside the tent, and aside from the ambient moans of tortured stone there's no sound at all.

Five jumps inside the tent and finds himself standing over a man's body. He can see now why the police haven't moved it—it's frozen to the ground. They'll need a jackhammer to loosen the rubble from around his splayed limbs. Maybe that's what they've gone to retrieve. Otherwise, they're taking shelter from the unnatural cold.

He's only ever seen one person die from hypothermia. She was part of a mission, back when he worked for the Commission. It had been his very earliest assignment, taking him back to 4,000 B.C. on the Siberian steppes. She had been a mother wandering in a snowstorm hand-in-hand with her young daughter. Five had been tasked with taking out a man who would have been her savior had he not received a bullet in the head. Out on the bleak grassland the woman died, and her daughter only survived by following a passing herd of wild horses to shelter.

The experience would lead to the daughter's lifelong fascination with horses, and the eventual domestication event that would allow her people to reign supreme on the steppes. This was the kind of job that Five had been able to take pride in, one that led to ingenuity and innovation. Still, he had stood over the woman's body long after her daughter had gone. She had been so pale, her fingers frostbitten blue, but her face had been peaceful.

This man did not die of gradual hypothermia. With his body frozen, his blood never pooled on the underside of his body, and his skin retains the same color he'd had in his final moments. His extremities are clear of frostbite, pink and white, but there are blackened blotches around his neck and the exposed skin of both arms. There's a livid bite mark on his wrist and scratches on his biceps. His face is locked in an expression of terror. Hairline fractures cleave his flesh, seemingly centimeters away from separating his limbs from the trunk of his body.

This man had been frozen all the way through in a matter of seconds. Whatever happened here had been anomalous, and it had been the beginning of the end. With frantic hands Five pats down the man's jeans and fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. The man's driver's license is several months expired, and features him with much longer hair than the buzzcut he sports in death, but it's definitely him. His name was Jared McCartney.

Five frowns and pockets McCartney's wallet in his parka. The name isn't familiar—he hadn't factored into Five's developing probability map at all. Granted, his map was mostly focused on tracking the Commission's part in all this, and they obviously had nothing to do with this man's death. Whatever is happening now appears to be out of the Commission's hands. That could mean one of two things—either Five managed to cripple them completely in the last go 'round, or the end will be so decisive this time that no further intervention is necessary.

Five takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He's had weeks to prepare, and surely some of the information he's compiled will be helpful. One last look to make sure the body is as he found it, sans wallet, and Five jumps back around the corner. He peers back at the tent, and for the briefest moment the canvas walls shutter and snap as though buffeted by wind. Five blinks, and everything is still again.

He makes the journey back to the Academy in three jumps to give himself time to think, and to feel the brush of cosmic wind on his face. After all these years it's oddly comforting, to feel the bending of space and time around him, to know that he's not stuck. All too soon he's standing in front of the doors. A quick scan of the street reveals absolutely no one out and about in the deathly stillness. The world is gray and grinding. Strangely, he longs for the Siberian steppes—there was no danger of buildings collapsing around him there.

Five gives himself a quick shake and pulls at the doors. After a few seconds the ice encrusting the hinges gives way and the doors swing open with a gust of relatively warm air. Five steps inside and closes the door behind him—and looks up to see Pogo watching him from the archway leading into the living room. The old chimpanzee silently motions for Five to follow him, and he does so after a moment's apprehension. He's not sure how he feels about Pogo.

Five walks into the living room behind Pogo and is met by his siblings gathered loosely about the place. Vanya and Allison sit on the far couch, hunched over what looks to be an old photo album. Diego sits turned out from the bar, staring blankly into space. Luther sits on the couch opposite the girls, so Five can't see his face. Even Grace is here, dusting the fireplace mantle as though it's a normal day. "You're all still here," Five says dumbly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat.

They all look up at him. Luther has to shift his bulk to pivot on the couch, unable to see over his shoulder otherwise. Surprisingly, it's Vanya who speaks up. "We weren't going to leave you to deal with this alone."

You did last time, Five doesn't say. He's not sure which apocalypse he'd be referring to, anyway—the one where they died, or the one where they didn't. "Color me surprised," he does say, with enough dryness that he's sure he sounds like an asshole.

Vanya's smile is apologetic, and her tone is firm, and she's never cared that he's an asshole. "I don't think we'll be leaving anyone behind again."

Allison looks at Diego, as though on cue, and he nods back at her. "Klaus is still missing," he says.

Ah. Klaus. Five looks around, and sure enough, one extremely annoying presence is nowhere to be seen. "We don't have time for this," Five hisses between clenched teeth.

"Didn't you hear Vanya? No one gets left behind," Luther says firmly.

Five drags his hands down his face. Trust his family to suddenly grow into a cohesive unit when it least conveniences him. Though—it hasn't been sudden, has it? Perhaps he hasn't been paying conscious attention, but yes, in the past month they've all gotten closer. Between training Vanya and speaking for Allison and teaching Luther how to be human and tending to/entertaining Klaus and—where does Diego go all the time? Whatever—they've become something resembling a team.

More of a team than they ever were as kids. Probably because Reginald's dead, and because they've all decided they actually kind of like each other. Five just wishes Ben was here. Fifty years since Five has last seen him, and he still misses his (only) intelligent brother dearly.

Even with all this newfound camaraderie, Five still feels a twinge of irritation. He can only pray they don't all have their hopes up that they'll find Klaus sober. Relapses are common in recovering addicts, and really—where else would he sneak off to in the middle of the night?

"Fine," Five grumbles, with far less harshness than intended. "We'll look for him. He can't have gone far, he's still in rough shape. First, let me tell you what we're dealing with." Quickly he recounts his findings, pulling McCartney's wallet from his coat and passing it around for the others to examine. He warns them that whatever or whoever is out there is extremely dangerous, that they should report any pertinent information back to him and absolutely not try to engage with any threat.

He's not sure they'll listen to that last part. His siblings are young and short-sighted and unable to see that they are the only people standing between the apocalypse and the world. The only people standing between the apocalypse and Five.

They make a plan. Five will be able to cover the broadest area if he goes alone, so he gets the information from Diego about all Klaus's usual haunts. Allison and Vanya will cover the east side of town, Diego and Luther will cover the west. With any luck they'll find Klaus quickly and they can get back to trying to stop the end of the world. If any of them notice Five's hands shaking with frustrated anxiety they are blessedly silent.

On his way out the door, Grace stops him and hands him a pair of thick wool gloves. He strokes the soft fabric between his fingers and listens to Grace tell him to keep his hood up so his ears don't get cold. She smells like flowers and the cleaning chemicals she's been using on the tile floor of the kitchen.

In Five's opinion, the most comforting smell in the world is that of bleach, surpassing even that of freshly brewed coffee. In the apocalypse he'd survived off of what surviving bottled water he could find until he finally perfected his method of making acid rain potable. It involved an elaborate filtration system culminating in the steady drip-drip-drip of ash-free water into an empty bleach container. Raising that container to his parched lips, inhaling that lingering scent, sipping that warm and strange-tasting water—there weren't words to describe it.

He smiles at Grace, pulls the gloves on, and puts his hood up before blinking out into the cold.

The bus stop is one Five's been told Klaus used to frequent. Just like every spot he's checked so far in the past hour, there's no sign of him—but there is another human being, the first Five has seen since he left the house. She's a dark-skinned young Black woman, bundled up in layers of coats and her hair wrapped up in a scarf. She's sitting on the bench beside the sign, a cigarette between her fingers, and she looks up at Five as he approaches.

"I don't think the buses are running today," Five informs her for some reason. She must know that already. Suddenly he's glad for his appearance, which undoubtedly makes his attempts at casual communication more endearing than creepy.

The woman shrugs and smiles at him. "Force of habit."

Five nods jerkily and decides to cut to the chase. "Have you seen a ridiculous goth homosexual around here today?"

The woman blinks, startled. "Uh, you mean Klaus?"

Five did not expect to get results this way. "Yes, I do. Have you seen him?"

"Sure have," she replies, taking a drag from her cigarette. "I was happy to see him, 'cause I hadn't in a while, and I know the kind of trouble he gets in. Said he didn't have time to talk," the woman blows out a long stream of smoke that rises and curls in the frigid air. There are shapes in the smoke, and then there aren't. "Said he was going some place quiet to think."

"Did he say where, exactly?"

"No, I didn't think to ask," the woman says apologetically. "He really wanted to be left alone. Didn't have a coat or shoes or nothing, though. Should've offered him a ride somewhere."

Five doesn't ask why the woman has a habit of waiting for the bus at the same time she offers rides to people. "What direction was he walking, at least?"

She points east for a moment, then looks back at Five. "Who's he to you, anyway?"

"My brother," Five answers, with a taut smile. "Thanks for your help. You might want to get inside before it gets much colder." She's a sweet kid, looking out for someone she obviously knows to be a trouble-seeker. He'd hate to find her amongst the dead if everything goes south.

"Didn't think he had any family," the woman murmurs. There are strange reflections dancing in her dark eyes, but a casual glance around reveals nothing out of the ordinary. The woman gives herself a small shake and then smiles at Five. "Sure, I'll be on my way soon—" she stops, looking past Five, her eyes wide. The reflections remain in her eyes.

Five turns around. Humanoid shapes, blue and wavering like heat mirages, have appeared on the street. He blinks, half expecting them to disappear, but they don't. They don't so much as move. They're all facing the same direction—east, exactly where the young woman pointed. One of the beings stands directly in front of Five, translucent and gauzy. Five reaches out a shaking hand to touch it, and besides a frigid cold he can feel through his glove there's no reaction. His hand passes right through.

He yanks his hand back. He turns to look in the opposite direction, and sure enough the specters stretch on as far as he can see. Randomly spaced, frosty blue, silently waiting. Many of them appear to be grotesquely wounded, the fact obvious even their monotone bodies obscure the sight of blood. "What the fuck," Five and the woman say at the same time.

In the next couple of seconds, Five realizes several things.

One: he catches a glimpse of a familiar face, and then another, a different victim transposed on each of the specters nearest him. They are people he killed. These are ghosts.

Two: there is only one person in this world who could possibly have this kind of ability. No matter how unlikely it seems, or how much it hurts to realize.

Three: all his calculations were worth nothing. His probability maps and suspicious characters notes had no bearing on what was happening. The apocalypse will always be brought on by a member of his family. Every time, until the end of days, until they fail to stop it one time around—they will always fall victim to one of their own.

This was inevitable.

Five's heart hammers in his chest and for a moment he thinks he might be overwhelmed by the despair of it, by being caught off-guard, by the possibility of being caught off-guard the next time around, too. Always running to catch up and never quite making it in time to save a sibling from mutually assured destruction.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is saving the world this time around. He's done it before, he'll do it again.

Five shakes himself back into the present. If his hunch is right, the ghosts are pointing towards Klaus. If he's figured it out, it means one of the others—Allison, probably—will figure it out in the next twenty minutes or so. He'll have to get there before they do. He'd told the others not to engage with any danger they found. They were supposed to rendezvous back at the house where they would discuss their plan of attack. Five is the adult, though, so from what he knows about parenting that entitles him to some hypocrisy.

Five takes one last glance at the young woman. She's not watching him, she's watching the ghosts, so he takes the opportunity to blink away.

He steals Diego's car. It's more efficient than blinking for traveling long distances. Twenty minutes in and he's pretty sure he knows where he's going and he's about ready to vibrate out of his skin with anxiety. Passing through the ghosts, incorporeal though they are, feels intrinsically wrong, and as he gets closer to his destination the ghosts get closer and closer together.

Another twenty minutes, and he's approaching the campground where they used to train Vanya before the accident. Since then, the courtyard has sufficed, though it's not nearly as advantageous for her powers. It hasn't slowed her down, though. She's been more determined than ever to get a handle on her abilities.

Five knows he's in the right place, because the ghosts further down the road are no longer facing away from him—they instead gaze out into the woods. He parks the car hastily and immediately blinks out of it. It will be quickest if he jumps the entire way there.

The closer he gets to the training site, the more densely packed the specters become. Soon there are only a few feet between them. In the next jump, he lands inside of one, a feeling akin to his whole body being dunked in ice water. Five lurches away and decides to walk the rest of the way down the trail.

The sparse vegetation on the forest floor is frost-blackened and brittle, leaves curled up and in on themselves. The shoots that had defiantly sprouted on the path crunch under his feet. In the apocalypse, the frigidity and the lack of sunlight continued for thirty years, and nothing grew. When that first growing season dawned cold and short Five felt something like worship for the almost-dead Earth.

He'd made himself sick on the scant vegetation he found. For a week he ate nothing but dandelion, broadleaf plantain, and wood sorrel, until the sour and bitter flavors seemed to permeate the very air he breathed. Then he'd spent the rest of the year waiting for the next growing season so he could make himself sick again. Delores had teased him mercilessly.

When finally Five reaches the cliff above the cave, he stares out at the unworldly gathering off specters. The ghosts are standing shoulder-to-shoulder here, and he can clearly see the pattern they've taken. The neat rows take the form of concentric circles radiating outward from the cave. Every individual faces the innermost conglomeration, spilling out from the ruined cave, staring blankly.

That's where Klaus is. Klaus, who will cause the apocalypse.

Five has to be careful as he picks his way down the path beside the cliff. It's hard to see his surroundings through the translucent blue wall of ghosts, even harder still when he's shivering so hard he's half convinced his teeth will fall out. The river must be frozen solid, because the world is dead silent. Finally he reaches the base of the cliff, and he surveys the damage left from Vanya's final unfortunate visit. The debris look fresh, undisturbed by the seasonal flooding that should be sweeping through at this time of year. There hasn't been a thaw, though, so of course there would be no floods.

He can no longer tell the ghosts apart here. They clip into one another, forming a misty blue mass that he has to squint to see through. He crawls over a few boulders and chunks of cliff—this is another thing his young body is good for. Maybe he should be counting his blessings, here at the end. He scales the final rock in his way and drops down into the cave.

It's very, very cold. The smooth semi-circle of the inner cave survived Vanya's powers, and in fact looks unscathed. The only difference is the lack of natural light, since the fallen clifface has created a wall mostly blocking off the outside world. The only opening is straight ahead, looking out over the frozen river. Despite the lack of sunlight the cave isn't dark. It's full of eerie blue light that plays off the multicolored striations of stone in the walls.

Five can just barely make out a small shape curled at the back of the cave. The mass of ghosts give the shape a wide berth—a semicircle of darkness enfolding it, insulating it from the cold light. There are bloody footprints on the ground that disappear into the darkness. Five takes a deep, scorching breath, and he approaches Klaus.

Klaus doesn't look up. He's sitting upright with his back to the stone and his legs pulled up to his chest. His face is hidden between his knees, his good hand clapped firmly over his ear. He's pale and shivering, but it's a miracle he's not dead, considering he's been out for hours in a tank top without any shoes. "Klaus," Five says, wincing at how loudly it echoes through the cave.

Klaus flinches violently. His fingers from the arm not in a cast form claws that dig into the skin behind his ear and he makes a sound like a kicked dog. Five steps closer, concerned, and Klaus's head whips up. He glares at Five with red-rimmed eyes and his lips drawn back in a soundless snarl.

"Klaus," Five says again, much quieter. Dread prickles at his skin and makes sweat bead on his forehead despite the subzero temperature. "Why are you doing this?" he asks, because if they're all going to freeze to death or get mauled by ghosts he'd really like to know why.

His brother doesn't answer. His eyes dance around the space Five occupies. Five looks to his left, then to his right, and sees that the faces of the ghosts closest to Klaus are clearly visible. They look down at his crumpled form unlike all the ghosts outside who simply stare in Klaus's general direction. "Why did you summon them?"

Klaus mumbles something scratchy and unintelligible, then grimaces and tries again. "Killed a rapist for shits and giggles," he croaks.

Five knows his eyes must be comically wide. "Jared McCartney? The man in the alley?"

Klaus gives a noncommittal shrug. "Dunno his name. Dick."

When there's no more information forthcoming, Five clears his throat. "Klaus, did he—you—?"

"No," Klaus snaps. "Not me. Jesus Christ."

Five nods, awkward and jerky. "Okay. Okay, good."

Klaus snorts a breathy laugh, even though absolutely nothing about this situation is funny. His hand has abandoned his ear and instead claws through his hair. "How did you find me?" he asks.

"A friend of yours saw you sneaking around, said she tried to talk to you but you gave her the slip."

"Keeley," Klaus mutters. "What a bitch. Not really, I love her, she's done nothing wrong ever in her life, except snitch, apparently."

He sounds hysterical. What would normally be designed to elicit a laugh falls short in light of his genuine anger and fear. "How did you get here? You didn't walk, did you?"

"Hitchhiked," Klaus says shortly. He appears to be done with smalltalk.

Five wets his lips and glances around him at blue fog and ice-slick stone. He thinks it may have gotten colder since he got here. Anxious discomfort itches at his skin. "Do you know what's happening? Outside?"

It takes a while for the words to land, but when they do Klaus's brows furrow with confusion in addition to his feral rage. "What do you mean?"

Genuine anger is a surreal thing to witness from Klaus. That, Five realizes, is why this entire interaction has been so unnerving. As terrifying as it is to find that another of his siblings has world-ending capabilities, and to find that the apocalypse is in fact hot on their heels, it's almost secondary to the fact that the man in front of him bears little resemblance to the Number Four that Five remembers.

"I think this is it, Klaus," Five says, as soft as he can possibly manage. "The apocalypse."

"Oh," Klaus says, blinking blearily. "Do you have a plan? Or is this just, like, a courtesy call?"

Five breathes out heavily through his nose. "I think it's you, Klaus."

"Oh," Klaus says again.

"The temperature across the entire world is dropping. There are ghosts everywhere."

"You can see them?" Klaus asks, a tremble in his voice.

That gives Five pause. He peers at Klaus like he's a particularly difficult equation, and says slowly, "you summoned them, didn't you?"

Klaus shakes his head. "No, they—they're always here, with me. They're quiet now which is weird but—how are they everywhere?"

Five hadn't realized that the ghosts were always with Klaus. The full horror of it takes a moment to dawn on him. Thinking about it, maybe it should have been obvious—the frantic eyes, the desperate search for distraction, the headphones always blaring music. Five has seen the faces of the dead now, how gruesome they looked, has seen his own victims staring back at him through the veil. If Klaus really sees those faces all the time, and they're not usually quiet like they are now—fuck.

For a moment Five doesn't see the grown man in front of him but instead the boy who came back a little more broken each time Reginald took him for special training. He can only imagine what could so terrify a boy already hounded by ghosts.

He and Klaus had never gotten along well as kids. Most of their interactions involved competing for Ben's attention or Five storming away in a fit of rage after Klaus's annoying antics interrupted his studying. The moments of camaraderie they'd shared came with missions, or with sneaking out to Griddy's in the middle of the night. Beyond that, Five had scorned Klaus's attention-seeking and lack of ambition.

Reading Vanya's book, though, and learning just how far Klaus fell, and seeing for himself what's left of his brother—he wishes he could have been there for him, after Ben died. He wishes he had asked about Reginald's special training. He wishes he had dissuaded Klaus that first time he stole from Reginald's liquor cabinet. He wishes he could have helped Klaus stay off the street. He wishes he had asked what Klaus went through when he stole that briefcase. He wishes he'd gone along to train Vanya the day Klaus got hurt. He wishes he'd asked about Klaus's fucking powers.

Is this really what the rest of Five's life is going to be like? Running from one apocalypse straight into another, never seeing it coming, watching his siblings come apart because he can't keep them together? Because he can't be bothered to notice their suffering?

"I'm sorry, Klaus," Five says, because he is.

"Are you going to kill me?" Klaus asks, teeth chattering. "Because you probably should."

Five's throat feels dry. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. His next breath hisses out of him and curls blue-tinged in the air. "No, I'm not going to kill you."

"If it's a choice between that and locking me in Dad's fucking—subterranean torture chamber, I'd really rather you just kill me."

The stone around them creaks and groans. Five hadn't been around when Luther locked Vanya up, but he can't definitively say he disagrees with the decision. Five is a practical man. If he has to choose between one sibling's comfort and the lives of the others, he knows what he's choosing. "I won't kill you, Klaus."

Klaus's laugh grates and rattles in his chest. "No, you'll just lock me up to hang out with the fucking metric ton of ghosts who follow you around. You know they tell me to kill you? They tell me what you did to them and they want you dead." Klaus's voice is pure venom but his eyes are wide, petrified, and his bloody feet scrabble to push him back further against the wall.

To his left, Five can just barely make out the face of that Siberian man whose quest to save a woman and child stranded on the steppes ended with a bullet in his head. There are others, certainly, but Five doesn't look for them. "I did what I had to do," Five says, "and I'm trying to do the same now."

Tears build in Klaus's eyes and spill down his face. He's cold and in pain, and judging by the sunkenness of his dark-ringed eyes he hasn't slept well in a while.

This has been building. This has been coming. This was inevitable.

Five takes a step forward. This was inevitable. There was nothing anyone could do to stop this. If it hadn't been Klaus, it would have been someone else.

This was inevitable.

Five staggers away. His gloved hands rub at his numb face, his shoulders hitch, and he screams. It echoes and resonates in the cave, becomes a pure silvery sound that contrasts with the scratching noise in his chest and the gunshots in his brain. He whips back around to face Klaus. He raises one hand and points at Klaus, uncompromising, trying not to notice the tears pricking at his own eyes. "We are ending this," he snarls, but it's half a sob, "I'm not killing you and I'm not locking you up but we are going to end this, right fucking now."

Klaus doesn't say anything. He stares up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, like a child, like the child Five was when this all began. Like the child he still feels like, sometimes, when his entire fucking life keeps coming back around in circles that never let him rest. He feels ancient and young and exhausted and amped and it never stops except for now, today, right now.

The energy in him is manic and endless and trying to find somewhere to stop. Five drops to his knees in front of Klaus and ignores his brother's flinch when he claps his hands on his shoulders. "Make them go away," he orders Klaus. "Take your time but make them go away. Stop letting them freeze everything. And then—" he stops, raises his hands to hold Klaus's face. He presses their foreheads together, makes Klaus look in his eyes. "I'm going to help you, Klaus. I swear to God, even if it's just me, me and no one else, I'm going to help you."

A sobbing laugh catches in Klaus's chest, disbelieving but so so desperate. Five presses closer, clenches his teeth in his determination to break through. "No one is getting left behind, ever again. That's what Vanya said to me this morning. And she's right, Klaus." One of his hands drops from Klaus's face to clutch at the back of his tank top, to pull him closer. "None of us can do this alone."

"But I've been alone," Klaus whispers, shaking. "Even Ben's gone."

It makes sense that Ben would be Klaus's companion in death. Five is almost amused to think a younger version of himself would be jealous. As it stands, hearing Klaus's situation stated so baldly is painful. Five can see him so clearly now, the ghosts clamoring for his attention, the desperation to make it all stop. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but you have to believe me that it's not going to be that way anymore. Please don't choose to be alone, Klaus."

Neither of them say anything then, and the only sound in the cave is that of their labored breathing. The vibrating restlessness in Five's bones is beginning to still. Unexpectedly, the corners of Klaus's mouth twitch upwards. "Try taking your own advice, old man."

A wet laugh bubbles up out of Five's chest. He nods, acquiescing the point. Perhaps his own little breakdown here in the darkness is long overdue. "Deal," he mutters. It feels like a lifetime ago that Klaus had accused Five of holding onto the apocalypse like an addiction. "I'll let go of the apocalypse if we can assure it can never happen. That means—"

"Being a real family?" Klaus guesses wryly.

"Yeah," Five says. "That means we help Vanya, and we help you, and help any of the others who need it. Not just with our powers. With everything."

Five hadn't noticed when it started, but he can tell now that the cave is much darker than it was when he arrived. Warmer, too. The ghosts must be fading away. "That sounds really nice," Klaus says. His voice is still painfully uncertain. "That sounds really, really nice."

Five nods, a silent promise, just as Klaus's breath begins to stutter in his chest. He closes his eyes and sinks to the side, his head sliding against Five's own until he pitches forward. Five catches him in his lanky arms, brings Klaus's head to rest comfortably on his shoulder. He can hear the river beginning to run again outside. Rivulets of water stream down the smooth walls of the cave. Icicles drip steadily onto the ground.

Five gathers his brother closer to himself, for some complicated mix of needing warmth and human contact and to know that Klaus is safe. He's tired from the journey here, and Klaus is obviously exhausted from such extensive use of these terrifying powers. Five heaves a soft sigh and decides some downtime is the best thing for the both of them. "You can rest now, okay? No more running."

He feels Klaus nod against his shoulder.