Ooh, I'm breakin' down
Whispers would deafen me now
You don't make a sound
It's all so incredibly loud
It's all so incredibly loud
/
"It's All So Incredibly Loud" by Glass Animals
They'd found Five and Klaus at Vanya's old training spot, curled together against the biting cold.
It had been an eventful process, figuring out where to go. Allison and Vanya were busy searching their sector of the city when the figures appeared. Allison recognized that there were many more clustered around her than there was Vanya, and none of the translucent beings were looking at either of them—and then Vanya screamed, and Allison followed her terrified gaze to the mutilated and knife-studded corpse of Harold Jenkins.
After that, it had been a matter of calming Vanya down so she didn't add a whole new layer of destruction to the already-rattled city. Luckily, the streets were dead silent and Vanya's powers had nothing to resonate with, so the panic came and went without incident. It also gave Allison time to consider what was happening and form a shaky hypothesis while she led her sister away from the specter of her past. Once they were a good distance from any figures that seemed familiar, Allison scrawled her thoughts in her notepad and handed it over for Vanya to read. Could have something to do with Klaus? Ghosts?
Vanya's eyes went wide and flickered over the icy blue figures. "Holy shit," she whispered. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right. But why would he—he hates them, why would he—?"
Allison didn't have an answer for her.
"And he said they're loud," Vanya continued, "he said they always crowd him specifically, so maybe they're not—? But he also said they look how they did when they died, and that's definitely how Leonard looked, so…"
Allison knew Vanya was just trying to work through it in her head, but she quickly grew impatient with her sister's ramblings and grabbed her hand to drag her back to the house. She was also a bit jealous that Vanya apparently knew more about their brother's powers than she herself did. Which wasn't that big a deal, in the grand scheme of things and considering the situation, but it still stung.
Allison figured that Five had probably already figured it out and, with the additional aid of his powers, was already well on his way in the direction the ghosts were facing. They had to hurry if they wanted to provide backup. Back at the house, Allison was very amused to find that Five had apparently stolen Diego's car. Diego, when he arrived with Luther ten minutes later, was significantly less amused.
Vanya brought them up to speed on Allison's theory. Luther was visibly baffled, but Diego seemed grim and determined. Allison wanted to ask how much he knew, but they didn't have the time it would take for her to write, and instead she ushered them all into her car to chase down their brothers.
The car ride was spent, in Allison's case, in anxious silence. Everyone else was able to speak freely, but with her hands on the wheel it probably wasn't a good idea to try and write things down. So she sat there and listened to everyone else spitball their theories and wondered why in God's name Klaus hadn't come to her before running away to summon ghosts. Why hadn't he gone to Diego or Vanya, for that matter, since they were obviously getting along so well?
That wasn't fair. It's just—Allison liked being the confidant. She liked being the big sister. Maybe she didn't when they were kids, but as everyone was quick to point out, motherhood had changed her.
And, well, it was Allison who Klaus came to when they were kids. He'd only ever told her that the ghosts he saw were scary, and he'd ask her to rumor him to sleep. She'd deduced on her own that they spoke to him. She'd never talked to him about it, though. Was that why he felt he could trust everyone besides her?
Luther was obviously oblivious too, but that was hardly comforting. Luther was always oblivious.
They were very close to Vanya's old training spot when the ghosts disappeared, and by then they'd all had a good idea of where they were heading.
So. They found Klaus and Five, and Luther carried Klaus's unconscious form back to the car while Five walked alongside him, apparently too tired to jump. No one said a word the entire way back, except for Five telling them that the danger had passed and completely ignoring further attempts at communication.
They were also a bit terrified to wake Klaus up for fear of restarting whatever just ended, so. It was a very tense, very crowded ride back. Five drove Diego's car back alone and no one questioned him. It's been that kind of day.
Now they're home, safe and (sort of) warm, and no one has any idea what happened.
Five is being infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. Where earlier this morning he'd been practically vibrating off the walls and ready to punch someone in the face if they looked at him wrong, he's now quiet and still and soft in a way Allison doesn't recall ever seeing him before. The first thing he did when they got home was seek out Mom and tell her the situation, then blink upstairs to ready the infirmary.
The rest of them settle in the living room, except for Luther, who carries Klaus up after Five. They are all still silent. Allison feels as though all the worry and frustration of the past few hours is threatening to crash in on her. She leans back on the couch, Vanya reading a book beside her, and stares up at the ceiling.
She considers cracking a joke to break the tension. If she didn't know any better, she'd almost think that Klaus had introduced their sweet little brother to weed. Unfortunately, the joke will probably fall flat if not spoken aloud, so Allison keeps it to herself. She's had to do that a lot, these days.
She's not bitter about it, really. She's a big girl, she can handle the consequences of her actions. And—she recognizes, on some level, that that's not a terribly healthy way to be viewing this. Getting hurt wasn't karma, it wasn't penance, just because it seems like such a laser-guided punishment.
The woman who used her voice to build herself a cardboard kingdom that eventually collapsed beneath its own weight, cursed to be speechless. Haha, universe. Very funny.
Klaus thought it was funny, at least, when she'd confided in him about it. She's always been able to count on his sense of humor matching the grimness of her own. He can't count on her for anything, though, apparently.
Allison grimaces and rubs her hands across her eyes. Why is this bothering her so much? Okay, he didn't tell her he was leaving the house in the middle of the night while still badly hurt, probably to go get high. So what? It's not like she's told him everything she's dealing with (she has), it's not like they've sat for hours together practicing sign language (they have), it's not like she's stayed at his bedside to keep him company even when he was in a horrible mood (she has.)
The more she runs over it in her head the more sure she is that her anger is justified. She considers using Vanya as a sounding board, just to make sure she's not being irrational, but can't find it in herself to expend the energy to communicate so inefficiently.
"I just don't get why—" Vanya says suddenly, looking up from her book. Then she just shrugs helplessly and doesn't continue. Diego sighs and nods his agreement. Allison stares at a mounted stag's head. Maybe she's just not supposed to be a part of a family. Maybe there's a reason things keep falling apart around her.
Luther reappears then, his imposing form casting a shadow over the room. He clears his throat to get everyone's attention, and Allison gives him a small smile. Luther's been very open with everyone, at least, even if his tendency to pathologize everything nowadays is a bit annoying. "Mom says Klaus is fine," he says. "But he's managed to tear his feet up pretty bad, so it's bedrest again for him."
"Is he awake?" Diego asks.
"Ah, no," Luther scratches the back of his head. "And Five won't tell us anything until he's up."
Everyone groans in response. It's still pretty cold, and Allison rubs her arms to try and warm them up. The electricity is out, and the running water probably is, too, judging by the damage she saw around town. Whatever the fuck Klaus did, he did a bang-up job of it. Her thoughts drift momentarily to the body of the man Five found—Jared McCartney. Did Klaus kill him?
Biting her lip, Allison retrieves her notepad and pen from the couch and scrawls her question out. She hands it to Vanya, who asks out loud—"Could Klaus have killed the guy in the alley?"
Luther speaks up after a pause. "We don't even know if everything that happened actually was Klaus. I mean—he talks to ghosts, he doesn't freeze things."
Diego is being suspiciously quiet, his eyes dancing and his fingers tapping anxiously, so Allison glares at him until he rolls his eyes. "Klaus did something similar to this a few days ago," he says reluctantly, "but it wasn't anywhere close to this scale."
Both Vanya and Luther exclaim their disbelief, but Diego waves them off impatiently. "Look—he asked me not to tell, alright? He thought he could handle it, and I trusted him."
"Why would you do that?" Luther demands, and Allison is feeling uncharitable enough at the moment to agree.
Of course, if there's one thing they can always count on, it's Diego insisting he's the only one allowed to be mean to Klaus. "Don't start that shit!" he snaps, "you don't know what he's going through right now!"
Allison would know, of course, if Klaus bothered talking to her the way he apparently talks to Diego. To her surprise, Luther backs down. "You're right," he says after a brief moment of contemplation. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
Well, now Allison will look like the asshole for still being mad. She shoots Vanya a disbelieving look, but her sister seems charmed and surprised by Luther's admission. Diego backs down awkwardly, obviously still on edge. "I thought he would come to me," he admits softly. "If he thought it would happen again. Or if he needed a distraction from—uh, drugs."
"I think we should wait before we rush to any judgment," Vanya speaks up. "I'm sure there's a good explanation."
Diego nods, looking at least a little bit comforted by the notion. Allison is still infuriatingly troubled.
"Someone's going to need to convince Five to go to bed," Luther mutters after a moment. "I don't know how much he's jumped today, but he's exhausted."
"Yeah, he hasn't been sleeping well, either. Nightmares." Vanya stands up and stretches. "I'll convince him to rest. Should I take first watch over Klaus?"
Allison takes hold of Vanya's sleeve and mouths I will when she looks at her.
It turns out to be rather easy to convince Five to go to bed. He's almost asleep when Allison and Vanya walk into the infirmary and find him half-sitting at, half laying-on Klaus's bedside, his head pillowed in the crook of one elbow on the cot and the other hand clinging loosely to Klaus's own. His eyes flicker open when they approach, but he makes no move to sit up. It's a bizarrely vulnerable scene, with him still bundled up in his oversized parka and his hair sticking up at strange angles.
Vanya approaches Five with none of the hesitance Allison would have. She places one small hand on his shoulder and leans down to talk to him. "You should go get some sleep," she says. "Allison will take the first watch. We'll wake you when he's up, okay?"
Five sits up slowly, nods, and takes a last lingering look at Klaus's sleeping form before he stands. "He might be scared when he wakes up," he mumbles on his way out the door. "Fetch me the second he does."
Allison and Vanya exchange a bemused look. Five isn't good at being reassuring at the best of times, and with the information he's withholding, Allison is starting to doubt that they're really out of the woods. "Guess I'll head back down," Vanya says. She smiles at Allison, shaky but genuine. "Thanks for today—with, uh, with Leonard. It's because of you that I didn't destroy anything. Or anyone."
Vanya is carrying the guilt for what happened to Klaus like a designer bag. Klaus has reassured her multiple times—and that's just what Allison has seen—that he doesn't blame her in the slightest. There's something weighted between them, something that Allison doesn't understand, but she knows how forgiving Klaus can be. They'll be okay if Vanya can learn to temper her guilt. Allison pulls Vanya into a tight hug, which her little sister sighs and melts into.
Eventually Vanya leaves, and Allison is left in the infirmary with the comatose body of her brother. Her earlier anger is a dull simmer now, having met its match with embarrassment. She can't expect Klaus to feel the closeness she still feels with him. It hurts to come to the conclusion that Klaus just doesn't feel the same way, that he doesn't want their friendship back, but it makes sense. She didn't stick around for him. She escaped this shitty old house and she didn't look back.
It doesn't mean that she didn't miss him.
With a heavy sigh, Allison settles down in the chair beside the cot. Klaus's feet are wrapped in thick layers of bandages and there are spots in his curly mess of hair where matted blood has been washed out, but other than that he doesn't look any worse than he has for the past week. Which has been bad, granted. He's lost weight, impossibly, and there's hardly any color to his skin. Mom cleaned him up and changed him into a pair of old sweatpants and a black hoodie, a look so decidedly un-Klaus that it brings home just how wrong this whole situation is.
Determined to be useful, Allison begins scribbling in her notepad. It starts out as a general plan to transfer some of her fortune to the city's disaster relief fund to cover the doubtlessly exorbitant cost of damages. Then she thinks, wouldn't it be great to fuck with Dad beyond the grave and use his money instead, so she scraps the first plan and makes a note to discuss the logistics of her scheme with Pogo.
That kills some time, but Klaus is still out cold. Allison fetches a medical textbook on the counter to sift through. She was never an avid reader, not like Ben had been, but she enjoys it. Klaus used to be quite a literature buff himself, actually. Besides Ben being the designated nice sibling, it was the main reason the two were so close. Allison knows the two of them used to scrawl their favorite lines from classics across the walls of Klaus's room.
Over the years, as Klaus's interest in anything but his next hit declined, those quotations came to be joined by increasingly disjointed and unhinged ramblings rendered in shaky script. She doesn't know the story behind those, only that some of them are genuinely frightening, and some are so unnerving they made her reluctant to enter his room entirely.
Well. Allison tells herself she doesn't know, but that's not quite true, is it? She just never wanted to put together her loud-mouthed, flamboyant brother's lapse in sanity with what she knew about the ghosts. In her own little world where she couldn't be controlled and no one could hurt her, she only wanted to know Klaus as the sibling she could talk about fashion and boys and celebrities with. She didn't want to examine why the words scratched into the wall—I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU BEG TO DIE—scared her so much.
So she didn't. She turned away from Klaus first, then. She ran away, saved herself, same as she always did, and left Klaus to his demons. She understands why he hasn't reached out to her.
Hours pass by, and Allison receives an in depth refresher on the inner workings of the endocrine system. Shadows lengthen throughout the room, the light gleaming through the windows turning golden and making the space look warmer than it is. She moves on to another medical text, this one focused mainly on the healing of physical trauma in children. It's a conceptually hilarious book to have lying around, and she's sure Klaus would agree. She misses dinner, but she's not hungry.
Klaus wakes up at around seven in the evening. Allison has just finished lighting candles around the infirmary to chase away the encroaching dark when she hears his breath start to quicken. She spins to face him and is suddenly, irrationally, terrified. What if he does it again? What if he wakes up and plunges them back into the cold with the ghosts? What will she do? What can she do?
But it's Klaus. She drops into the seat beside his bed and takes his good hand in both of her own. His eyelids flutter fitfully before they pry open. For a moment he stares up at the ceiling, brows furrowed, and then he groans. "Fuck, again?"
Allison's soundless laugh is startled out of her. She feels a rush of fondness, almost violent in its intensity, and she squeezes her brother's hand.
He turns his head to face her. His eyes are bleary, but he seems more or less lucid. "Oh, hi," he whispers.
Allison lets his hand slide from her own so she can speak. You've been asleep for about six hours, she signs slowly. What do you remember?
Klaus's eyes track her hands with some difficulty. "Um, most of it, I think," he says with a dry swallow. "Is everyone okay?"
Allison nods, biting her bottom lip. How do you feel?
"Fine. You know, relatively. My everything hurts." That's not surprising. A month of bedrest for serious injuries followed by traversing the wilderness on foot was sure to lead to sore muscles.
She knows she's supposed to fetch Five and go downstairs so they can all hear Klaus's explanation together, but she can't hold back the burning curiosity anymore. Why did you leave?
"Why do you even have to ask?"
A surge of anger, born of frustration and old bitterness. Because I do have some faith in you.
Klaus's eyes are cold and hard and far away. "You should know better than that."
Allison's teeth grind, and she stands abruptly. She feels hot, despite the lingering chill in the air. Her throat itches and she wants to scream, or leave this all behind her again. She doesn't want this. She wants to go back to her beautiful fake life and her beautiful fake husband and her beautiful real daughter, but she can't and no one understands what she's given up to be here.
Klaus can't possibly understand what she's giving up to be here, with him, and he doesn't even want her here. He'd rather talk to anyone else, obviously, and the worst part is she can't even blame him for it. She pulled away first, she never asked how he was doing, she never reached out even when she knew something was wrong.
"You didn't have to drug me again," Klaus says suddenly, quiet and hurt. "I mean, I know I was going to do it myself, but it's the principle of it."
Irritated and confused, Allison turns back to him and rolls her eyes. We didn't—, she doesn't know the sign for 'drug,' so she flounders for a moment before repeating we didn't.
Klaus's unbound hand drifts up to touch his ear. His eyes are very wide, the fogginess of sleep gone, and Allison feels an inkling of concern. What's wrong? she asks, but Klaus isn't looking at her, and she doesn't want to touch him and risk startling him. He cranes his neck to look around and scan the room, his movements becoming more frantic. Allison steps into his line of sight, and he flinches at the movement. What's wrong?
"There's, um," Klaus swallows and flops back against the cot. For a long moment he blinks up at the ceiling before he continues. "There's no ghosts."
Allison frowns. No, the ghosts disappeared when he passed out. Unless he means the ones only he can see. Klaus's jaw shifts, like he's trying to pop his ears. Allison sits back in the chair, drawing his attention back to her. What do you mean? They're not talking to you?
There's a sheen of tears in his eyes, but they don't spill. He smiles at her and nods. "It's quiet," he whispers, like it's a secret, like he can't risk breaking the spell.
She's happy for him, even if she doesn't really understand, because his relief is palpable. It's like his every muscle has relaxed, the tension he's been carrying across his shoulders melting away. Have the ghosts been bad recently? Is that why he did what he did? What was he hoping to accomplish? She doesn't believe he would ever want to hurt anyone, really, but even Klaus must have a breaking point.
Someone chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, causing Klaus to flinch, but he relaxes again almost immediately. Allison turns to see Luther, his eyes very wide in the candlelight. "Oh—Klaus, you're awake!" he exclaims, a bit too loud in Klaus's suddenly very quiet world judging by his nearly imperceptible wince. "How do you feel? No, don't answer that—let me go get Five, then we can go downstairs and fill everyone in on what happened." He grins at Allison, relieved, before he ducks out.
Allison turns back to Klaus. He stares at the space their brother occupied, his brows furrowed. "Five didn't tell you guys what happened?"
She shakes her head. I get the feeling he's not entirely certain, himself.
Klaus snorts. "And he thinks I am?"
That flippancy and refusal to communicate is what got them into this mess in the first place. You can't run from this one, she tells him, perhaps a bit unkindly. You can't blame someone else and you can't disappear. The damage has been done and you have to explain yourself. He looks hurt and frustrated at that, and she knows after she signs it that it's unduly harsh, so she softens her facial expressions. If you really don't know what happened, you have to tell us that. Let us help.
Klaus won't meet her eyes, and his fingers clench weakly in the sheet under him. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, and grimaces. "There's a lot you don't know," he says, hoarse. "And there's a lot I never wanted you, or anyone, to know, so—I'm sorry, in advance. For not telling you before. And for telling you at all."
Allison has no idea how to respond to that, except to shiver with the sudden chill that runs through her. Is he meaning to sound so ominous?
"It just sucks, that, um—" he touches his ear again, like his voice sounds strange to him. "I told myself I'd tell you guys, eventually, on my own time, but I let it get too bad. I let—me get too bad, and now I don't have a choice. Not that I think you're forcing me to do anything, because, like, I forced this. I just—I'm my own fault, you know?"
Allison doesn't recognize the person in front of her, even when he gives her that familiar self-deprecating laugh. She swallows hard, but it doesn't soothe her itching throat, and the deep breath she takes doesn't calm her racing heart. What does he mean?
Luther returns, and he must see nothing out of the ordinary in Klaus's manic smile and Allison's stiff posture. He lays one hand heavy and warm on Allison's shoulder, and she leans into the touch, lets it ground her. "Five's on his way downstairs," Luther says, "so Klaus, I guess, uh—I'll just carry you, if that's okay?"
Klaus's eyes go wide and playful. This is the brother Allison knows. This is a man unburdened by all the agony and self-hatred she can almost convince herself she didn't hear in his voice. It's an act, though, apparently—it's all an act, if what he's said is any indication. "Finally," Klaus breathes, "I get to be treated like the princess I am."
Luther smiles, like he's not feeling at all angry or betrayed by what Klaus did. And maybe he's not. Luther prefers to understand and forgive these days. "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it." He hefts Klaus's lanky body up into his big arms for the second time today, careful of his slow-healing cuts and bruises. Klaus pretends to swoon, probably trying to get a laugh out of Allison, but she's not really in the mood at the moment.
She grabs her notepad and pen then follows her brothers through the corridors and down the stairs. Klaus is quiet now, falling back into that moroseness that makes Allison's skin crawl with dread. Luther must be concerned, because he looks at Allison over his shoulder, as though to ask why their brother isn't having the time of his life being paraded around in a bridal carry.
They're greeted by an uneasy silence in the living room. Mom has lit plenty of candles, casting the room in a dim but warm glow, and the seating has been rearranged. Luther carefully deposits Klaus in the comfiest loveseat in the house, set at one end of the coffee table. The couches are situated on either side of the table, Diego and Five sitting at one and Vanya saving a spot for Allison beside her at the other. Luther sits down in the armchair at the other end of the table.
Mom hands a plate with a couple slices of toast to Klaus, brokering no argument. "You need to eat," she tells him, as stern as Allison has ever heard her. He hasn't had a decent meal in a while, then. Mom places a glass of lemonade on a coaster on the table. Klaus looks queasy, but he balances the plate on his lap and nibbles on a slice of toast at her behest. Allison sits at the spot Vanya saved and presses close to her sister for warmth.
"This is awkward," Klaus says around a mouthful of toast, because he likes when people are mad at him, apparently.
No one says anything, though. Allison is surprised that her siblings really don't seem angry at all anymore. Concerned, apprehensive, awkward, unsettled—but not angry. Allison grips her notepad and pen harder in her lap. There are twin candles lit on the coffee table. The miniscule flames dance in opposition with all the other candles in the room. A thousand shadows surround her and each of her siblings, just like this morning in the bitter cold. She thinks about Claire on the other side of the country, about losing her to the shadows.
Allison makes a sharp movement with one hand, drawing Klaus's attention. She doesn't sign anything, just stares at him impassively until he sighs. "I don't really know where to start," he mutters, putting his plate on the table and taking a sip of lemonade.
"Basics, bro," Diego says.
"Basics, right." Klaus clears his throat and drums his fingers on his knee, practically vibrating with nervous energy. He glances at Vanya. "Vanny, are you—?"
Vanya smiles, gentle and guilty. "I'm fine, don't worry. Just take your time." Allison doesn't know what that's all about.
"Okay," Klaus mutters with a brisk nod. "Okay, okay, okay. Okay. Um," he swallows hard and takes another long sip of lemonade, then seems reluctant to put it down. Firelight plays fitfully on his waxy skin. "Fuck. Right. Is Pogo—?"
"Right here, Master Klaus," Pogo says, appearing in the doorway. He'd obviously been listening in, but Allison can hardly blame him. It's been that kind of day. "Would you like me to stay?" he asks Klaus gently, knowingly. Allison doesn't know what that's all about, either.
Klaus nods again with a tremulous smile. His next breath whistles out between his clenched teeth and his gaze drops down in front of him. "So. Um. Those were ghosts, that you guys saw," he begins. No one interrupts, and he touches his hand to his ear. "That's not how they usually look, though. When I see them."
"How do you mean?" Five presses softly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Something about his tone makes Allison think he already knows, or at least has some idea.
"Well, they're only blue when I make them corporeal, first of all," Klaus says. He's having a very hard time sitting still and he winces when his fidgeting jars a bruise. "Otherwise they look like normal people. I can't always tell them apart from the living. Unless they're, like, completely fucked up, which a lot of them are."
Allison thinks of Harold Jenkins's body, studded with cutlery, and swallows.
"And they don't usually—stand still like that. There aren't usually that many. And they're not usually quiet," he says it all in a rush, adamantly refusing to lift his eyes from the table. The sweat beading on his forehead is reminiscent of the wax dripping down the candles—he's whittling himself away just to keep talking. Allison's concern is only growing.
"You keep saying 'usually,'" Luther comments, drawing the glances of everyone else. "What do you mean by that?"
Klaus scratches at his beard with a nervous laugh. "Right, you don't even know that part. So, I know it always seemed like I have to conjure the ghosts to be able to see them at all, but that's not—that's not how it works. I see and hear them all the time. Not right now—I don't know why, right now, something's—but usually. Usually." He draws his knees up to his chest, childlike in the lowlight with his oversized hoodie and restless eyes.
"You hear them?" Luther presses. Allison is silently impressed that he doesn't ask why he's the last to learn about this, or why Klaus never told them the truth in the first place.
Klaus nods. Allison is suddenly very sure that she doesn't want to hear any more. The words on Klaus's bedroom walls swim in her mind's eye, terrifying and out of place in her childhood daze. The things he said earlier ring in her ears. She doesn't move, but she doesn't look at her brother as he speaks. "Yeah. They talk to me. Scream at me. Want me to help them, exact revenge for them, bring them back to life," he swallows audibly. "You know, stuff I can't do. When they figure out I can't help they want to—hurt me."
His voice breaks so badly that he can't continue for a moment. Allison looks up to see his shoulders hunched up near his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, a tremor wracking his entire body. Vanya is paying rapt attention, her brows drawn together, and Five's eyes rove over Klaus's form like this is a problem he can solve. Luther looks pained, and Diego's arms are crossed over his chest and he stares blankly in front of him. Allison can only imagine how difficult this must be for him, to be unable to protect Klaus from something only he can see and hear.
"Anyway!" Klaus drags his hand down his face and slaps his cheek as though trying to wake himself up. His gaze flickers to Pogo momentarily—their old teacher stands half-hidden in the gathering gloom, a silent pillar of support. "They're loud, and they're disgusting, and they don't leave me alone or let me sleep. Fill in the blanks as you please."
"The drugs?" Vanya asks, like she already knows something. Allison is confused by the apparent non-sequitur, but across from her Five's mouth drops open with some realization.
"Blocked them out," Klaus says, once again not meeting anyone's eyes. "Which sucks if you think about it. I mean, Vanya, you got to take, what, mood stabilizers? Meanwhile I've done crystal meth. The world works in mysterious ways."
No one finds this funny. In fact, Allison sees her own horrified realization mirrored on the faces around her, echoes of Five's expression. "Klaus," Luther chokes. Diego stands abruptly and begins pacing, like he can dispel any of the shock they're all feeling.
For a moment no one speaks.
"You started using when we were—fuck, twelve? Before Five disappeared?" Diego stays at the other end of the table, perhaps sensing that Klaus absolutely doesn't need anyone in his personal space at the moment, but he continues his agitated pacing. He looks pale by firelight. "What the fuck, Klaus."
Klaus is trying valiantly not to look like a scolded little boy, but his lower lip wobbles before he bites it and his eyes are suspiciously shiny. Allison is at a loss to realize that he thinks they're mad at him, like the revelation that his drug use was self-medication is some kind of betrayal he doesn't expect them to forgive him for. If anything, it makes the stolen trinkets from over the years seem painfully inconsequential. "It was just too much sometimes," he chokes, almost inaudibly quiet. "Then it was too much all the time. I just got more and more scared. I'm so—"
"Don't apologize, Jesus Christ!" Diego snaps, making Klaus flinch. Everyone goes still, and Allison glares at Diego, but he doesn't back down. "Why wouldn't you tell someone this, Klaus? Why do you keep all these secrets? Does anyone else even know you see Ben, or that he's missing? Does anyone else even know you fought in the fucking Vietnam War?" Everyone else's stunned and confused silence must be answer enough for him, because he plows on. "You talk all the damn time, and you never say a goddamn thing, and then you have the fucking nerve to apologize—and for what? For not being the person everyone else decided you are?"
"I'm sorry I thought you wouldn't believe me."
It hurts to hear almost as much as it hurts to acknowledge that he was probably right to be afraid. Before this month, if Klaus had come to Allison and admitted to needing drugs just to stay sane, she wouldn't have believed him. It's only because she's spent so much time with him, watched him become increasingly paranoid and bedraggled, that she is willing to accept the truth as he tells it. As for the rest of it—
"The Vietnam War?" Luther asks dumbly, while Diego collapses back onto the couch, thoroughly spent and taken aback by Klaus's succinct response.
"I stole a briefcase from the time-traveling agency Five used to work for, landed in the middle of the American occupation of Vietnam, fell in love with a soldier boy who died in my arms, and popped back here ten months later," Klaus rattles off. "For you guys it was, like, eight hours, tops."
"He then proceeded to tell no one anything about this until I asked him point-blank after we stopped the apocalypse—the Vanya one." Diego glares at the floor, very obviously avoiding looking at Klaus at all.
"I told Ben about it," Klaus mutters sullenly.
Klaus hates loud noises. It isn't a recent development, he's always been easy to startle, but beginning fairly recently Allison has noticed him flinching hard and zoning out whenever someone dropped something or made some other unexpected noise. It's also possible to make him angry now, something that simply didn't happen when they were kids. There are new scars on his skin, alongside the mysterious old ones, and tattoos as well.
Christ. Ten months in a warzone, ghosts in his ears.
Five looks guilty, if such a thing is even possible. Either he didn't know or he didn't ask. Same old Hargreeves family. Both Luther and Vanya seem fairly overwhelmed, and even Pogo looks like he's aged ten years over the course of this conversation. The sun has gone down completely by now, leaving them all draped in blue shadow and yellow firelight. It's a séance for ghosts of the past. The thought would make her laugh if she didn't feel like crying.
"So those are the basics," Klaus mutters after a while. He hasn't touched his toast in a long time, but his lemonade is gone. Mom makes a quick sweep through the room, appearing from God knows where, and whisks the dishes away. They don't talk while she's there. No one wants to make Mom sad.
Are you okay? Allison signs to Klaus in the interim, knowing the answer, and hoping the question is understandable with how badly her hands are shaking. He looks somehow, impossibly, worse than he did when they dragged him home earlier today. Having to do this is killing him, and she doesn't understand why. Klaus, who is never embarrassed by anything, who offers himself up freely in everything he does, is inexplicably ashamed of the secrets that are vindicating him.
Is that really it? Is it his siblings knowing that is hurting him, or is it the act of telling them? She wants to hold his hand, but he's strung so tight she thinks he might snap if she tried.
Still, Klaus smiles back at her, because of course he does. He nods, like that's supposed to convince her, like she can't see him falling apart. Of course, she's always ignored it before, so maybe he thinks his mask still works.
"So. About today," Klaus begins again, wrapping his good arm over his drawn up knees and resting his chin on it. "It—okay, actually, context. After the almost-apocalypse—the first one—me and Ben made a plan."
"Ben's really been with you? All this time?" Vanya asks, her voice shaky.
Klaus gives her a much more genuine smile. "Yeah. He misses you guys."
Allison thinks that, once, after Ben's funeral, Klaus tried to tell her that Ben was with them, and she'd dismissed him angrily. It had felt cruel of him to joke about something like that. No one else seems angry about Klaus not telling them of Ben's presence, so she's willing to wager everyone had fairly similar experiences. It really is no wonder Klaus doesn't talk to them.
Allison misses her daughter. She's going to do right by Claire. She's not going to let something like this happen again to someone she loves.
Klaus clears his throat. "I decided I wanted to get sober. Because I wanted to see Dave again. Dave is—was—the soldier boy in Vietnam," he smiles sadly. "Ben didn't go to Vietnam with me. He didn't really get it, I don't think, but he was supportive. But, since I haven't actually tried to use my powers in...ever, he pointed out that it could be dangerous. To try to find a ghost and maybe physically summon them. So he told me to ask for help. From you guys."
Vanya ducks her head and swallows audibly. Klaus glances at her like he feels bad that she feels bad. "I went with Allison and Vanya to train because I wanted to talk to Vanya alone." Allison tries very hard not to feel heartbroken that she wasn't included and fails miserably. This is probably how Vanya usually felt, though, right? "That was, uh—the last place I saw Ben. When I woke up in the infirmary, he was gone."
"You've been sober since then," Five says. The look on his face is the softest Allison has ever seen. "You've been suffering alone."
Klaus looks away, his face crumbling the slightest bit. "I, uh," he chokes, tries to smile, "that's my fault, though, isn't it? I could've asked for help, and I didn't. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I just sat there and let it get worse until I lost control. I put the entire world in danger."
"You're not at fault for being afraid," Five insists, "not anymore than Vanya is. You're not at fault for not reaching out anymore than the rest of us are."
"And you did reach out. You did ask for help," Diego says, his jaw shifting. "I just didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. That's not on you."
"You were trying to ask me for help, and I dropped a cliff on you," Vanya says. "That literally could not be less of your fault."
Would they even be having this horrible torturous conversation if Klaus had come to Allison? It occurs to her immediately that this is a profoundly unkind thought, and yet she can't bring herself to renounce it.
"Anyway," Klaus says, pinching the bridge of his nose and essentially waving away the kindness being offered to him. "I tried to summon Ben on my own, and it didn't work. Then the ghosts were so fucking loud I just—couldn't handle it. I snuck out last night to get a hit. Ran into some trouble instead, got really freaked out, accidentally fucked the world up, now here we are."
Klaus is still hiding something. There's something missing, some puzzle piece, somewhere.
"But that's not all, is it?" Luther asks, leaning forward. Everyone looks at him, because what else could there be? Klaus is obviously as confused as the rest of them, and Luther continues in a voice that is tortured by whatever it is he knows. "Klaus. You can tell us. You're safe here."
Klaus looks nervous, and he swallows. "I don't know what you're—"
"When you got hurt, right before you woke up," Luther stops, like he has to gather himself. The candlelight on his face makes him look alternatingly ancient and boyish. Allison holds her breath for some reason she doesn't understand, like she knows what's happening even though she doesn't, and her heart hammers in her chest. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of fabric as Luther shifts his weight to sit on the edge of his seat, his entire demeanor reaching out to Klaus. "You said some things. I know, Klaus. I know what he did."
The time it takes for Allison to turn her head, to look from Luther to Klaus, seems like an eternity. Diego and Five's faces blur past her, stained in dark blue shadow and bright yellow flame, and then Klaus's face comes into focus. Allison watches his expression change in slow motion, the widening of his eyes and the slackening of his jaw. What little color was left in his face drains, and he doesn't make a sound.
Blood roars in Allison's ears. What's he talking about? she signs to Klaus, but he's not looking at her. His eyes have fallen down onto the candle on the table in front of him, shell-shocked wide. "Klaus," she rasps, a nearly-silent and wispy gust of air. He doesn't respond.
"K-klaus?" Diego whispers. He sounds scared.
Vanya's hand finds its way to Allison's own and clenches it. Allison squeezes right back, almost surprised to feel a tingle of sensation in her suddenly numb fingers.
"Master Klaus," Pogo says from the shadows. Klaus flinches. Pogo steps into the dim flickering light, hobbling with some difficulty to stand beside Klaus's chair. "You are not there right now," Pogo's voice is choked, and he seems to know better than to touch Klaus, reluctant to even step into his field of vision. "You are safe at home with your siblings. You never have to go back there again."
Klaus still doesn't respond, but he's begun shaking, far worse than the small shivers that have wracked him this entire time.
"What did Dad do to you, Klaus?" Five asks.
Klaus's eyelids flutter, and he makes a choked noise that sounds halfway to retching. "There's a mausoleum," he says, gags, puts his hand over his face like he's trying to hide. It doesn't work, his wild eyes are peeking out between his fingers, his expression is an amalgam of terror and disgust and ancient shame. "My special training. It was—in the mausoleum, for hours, days. In the dark. In the cold."
Allison gets it, she understands why Klaus went to Vanya, now.
"There were ghosts," and he stops, and he looks like he wants to reach for someone but can't, and Pogo just watches him knowingly, "and I conjured them. Once. When we were ten."
No one says anything, and Allison knows they're all trying to put the pieces together and coming up short. Every time she breathes, she doesn't get enough air in her lungs. She feels entirely numb now, a dull static anxiety settling inside and around her. This is what Klaus never wanted them to know. "Did they hurt you?" Diego asks into the frigid stillness.
Klaus laughs, horrible and brittle behind the feeble mask of his hand. "Yes."
"Klaus," Luther says, apologetic, wounded, "did they—?"
"Yes," Klaus snarls. "They raped me, yes. Almost killed me, too, if that matters. Does that satisfy your fucking curiosity? Are we done here?"
No one says a thing.
Allison closes her eyes and lets the numbness be swept away by the war inside her—nausea, horror, rage, bone-aching sadness. She thinks of Klaus, nine years old, sweet and jumpy but not hurt yet. She thinks of him a year later, hidden from sight for a few weeks and emerging again with shiny new scars and apathy where his softness had been. She thinks of the words on his wall, and she thinks of his alarmingly precocious and then insatiable sexuality, and she thinks of Claire, of ever allowing her to be hurt that way, and if Reginald was still alive she would kill him herself right now.
The world's been ripped out from underneath her. In the span of one day Klaus has gone from her well-meaning clown of a brother, a goofy and irresponsible but loyal and nonjudgmental friend, to someone she doesn't even know. Someone wounded and angry and more powerful than she could have ever guessed. Vanya's hand spasms in Allison's own.
"You were ten years old?" Diego asks, his voice completely flat and far-away sounding. "You were ten fucking years old? And he kept putting you back in the mausoleum after that?"
Klaus looks embarrassed now, deeply ashamed, a pinkish red color creeping up his neck and staining his ears. He nods, short and choppy, his brows pressing down hard on tear-filled eyes. Allison's heart hurts so bad it would almost be a relief to tear it from her own chest.
In the next few seconds, the silence around them shatters like glass. Diego stands and draws a knife so fast that Allison's eyes can't track him, can't focus on the shadows in the gloom, but then she hears a crash and whips her head to see that Diego has crushed Pogo up against the wall, his arm braced at their old teacher's throat and the knife inches from his eye.
Vanya screams, a shocked and warbling sound that makes all the candles in the room rattle and sends a dizzying array of light over everyone's faces.
"Diego!" Luther snaps, springing to his feet.
This is exactly not what Klaus needs right now, and Five seems to agree, because in the blink of an eye he jumps to their brother's side and blocks his view of what's happening. He murmurs something soft to Klaus, who stifles a wretched sob in response, a sound that puts a look of anguish on Five's face.
Allison moves from the couch and kneels in front of Klaus, who moves his hand in front of his eyes to hide from her. She can feel her own face contorting with the effort of holding back tears, and all she wants is to hold him, but she can't reach him.
"You knew, didn't you?!" Diego screams in Pogo's face. "You knew about all of this, and you let it happen?!" He's shaking, all rage and grief. "You let him get hurt, you let him get broken—"
Luther is at his side then, placing his hands on Diego's shoulders and trying to pull him away from Pogo. "This won't help anything, Diego," Luther pleads, looking over Fire's hunched form to where Klaus sits, utterly petrified, unable to reach out from behind the walls of his own mortification. "Let Pogo go, c'mon—"
Diego just presses his arm in harder and Pogo chokes, Allison can hear him even though she can't really see from her position now. Klaus flinches at the sound, his hand falling from his face. "Don't—" he whispers, then says louder, "don't hurt him, please. Don't hurt him." His reddened eyes flicker briefly over Allison and over Vanya where she still sits on the couch, but they quickly return to staring blankly forward.
Allison hears Pogo drop to the ground, hears him take a ragged breath that morphs into a coughing fit. She sees Diego turn around, sees the gleam of firelit tears running down from glassy eyes. He doesn't try to speak again—she thinks if he did, he wouldn't be able to get a single word out.
"He knows what he did," Klaus says, like he owes them an explanation. "We've talked about it. He got me to tell Ben." His voice cracks on Ben's name. Allison thinks that perhaps this entire situation wouldn't be so unbearable for him if only he had Ben to lean on. "I don't want to blame him."
It's a strange choice of words. Not I don't blame him, but I don't want to blame him. Like Klaus has long since made the conscious choice to ignore what was done to him. Like he's long since given up on trying to rationalize it, and all he can do now is make peace with it.
Allison wants to blame Pogo. She wants to let Diego throttle him, and she has a feeling the others agree. All the secrets Pogo has kept for their monster of a father—this is the worst. This is the one that breaks their trust in him forever, completely removes him from his revered position of childhood friend and teacher. She wants to ask how he can bear to look at Klaus now, so hurt and coming apart at the seams with all that's happened.
"Okay," Five says, quiet, strained, gentle. "Okay, that's fine. We won't do anything you don't want us to do."
Pogo picks his fallen cane up from off the floor, uses it to push himself to his feet unsteadily. If he were to say anything right now, Allison thinks someone would kill him. Lucky for him, he has the good sense to stay quiet and limp out of the room, disappearing into the darkness beyond the candlelight. It's just the six of them now, and no one knows what to say.
What can they say?
What can they possibly offer Klaus, their brother who has apparently been so thoroughly wrecked by the world that he never would have confided in them had he not been forced to?
"Did you ever tell anyone?" Vanya asks.
Klaus drags his hand through his hair. "Nope. Freaked out a couple hundred times during sex, though, and people love to make assumptions."
Vanya makes a faintly distressed noise at that, and there's a ripple of remorse on Klaus's face. His impulse when it comes to serious topics is to make jokes, they all know that—but in this case, his defense mechanism of choice is just hurting him and everyone else. He's worn down now, he feels guilty for deflecting—they might have a chance to get somewhere, now.
Allison's legs are starting to ache from kneeling, but she can't bring herself to move from in front of Klaus, not when she might have a chance to break through to him. She draws his attention to her with a wave of her hand, but then has to think for a long moment about what she's going to say. You didn't think we would believe you, did you? she signs. The pieces have all come together in her mind, Klaus's reluctance to speak, his painful embarrassment, and she prays he doesn't hate her for what she asks. Did he tell you it was your fault?
He gives her a twisted, agonized smile. "So cliché, right?"
"What did she say?" Luther asks. He's still standing beside Diego, who leans against his shoulder like he can't physically hold himself up.
"She asked if Dad slutshamed me for being the sexiest ten-year-old on the block, which yes, he did."
It takes everyone a second to decipher that, because Klaus's command of the English language is unparalleled in its grotesqueness. Diego swears and turns away, visibly struggling to control his rage. Luther's face twists in something like grief, and Vanya makes another softly wounded noise. "You know that's not true, right?" Five asks. His hand drifts near Klaus's shoulder, but he doesn't place it down. "None of that was your fault."
"Yeah, I know, I just—" Klaus swallows, his face pinched, and Allison realizes in that moment that they've reached the limit of what Klaus can endure. He can't deflect anymore, he can't lie, he can't pretend. He shakes and clenches his fist and blinks rapidly as though he can stop the tears already gathered at the precipice of his lower eyelids. "I just feel so fucking alone."
Her caution from before forgotten, Allison sits up so she's nearly eye level with Klaus and places a hand on his knee. Like the strings keeping him upright have been cut, he pitches forward into her arms, and she rises to meet him. She clutches his thin, battered body close while he buries his head in the crook of her neck and sobs.
Allison's throat feels like it's closing. She pulls him in as close as she possibly can, one hand twisted in his hoodie and the other twining through the curls at the back of his head. He shakes as he cries, heaving and desperate, and her own tears are lost somewhere in the mess of his hair.
Through the haze of her blurry vision Allison can see Five's hand reach out to finally rest on Klaus's shoulder, none of his earlier tentativeness present.
"I'm sorry, this is so dumb," Klaus whimpers, burying his head deeper. "It's been twenty years, this is so fucking stupid."
"It's not, it's not," Allison rasps in his ear, and then her throat closes up completely and she can't say anything else. Someone touches her shoulder, and she can't see them but judging by the size of the hand it's Vanya. She murmurs something that Allison can't make out. There's shuffling behind her as everyone sees fit to gather close, like the dam has broken and no one can stand to not be touching Klaus. Allison watches the hands descend on him, running soft and warm down his back, putting steady pressure on the nape of his neck, brushing errant curls away from his hidden face. Quiet assurances surround them.
Klaus is still crying, but quietly now, his shoulders hitching with hiccuped sobs. Allison can make out some of what's being said around them—murmured instances of "you're okay" and "you're safe" and "you've got us, now" and "you don't have to be alone" and "we love you."
Eventually Klaus stills completely. Allison thinks at first that he's passed out again, but then he slowly unfolds himself from her. She lets him pull away at his own pace, warmed by the way he elects to keep holding one of her hands on his knee. He looks horrible, completely obliterated. Allison knows it's not just the reveal that has him so thoroughly wrecked, that this is also a manifestation of the past month's stress weighing too heavily on him. If Ben were here, he could help, far better than Allison can.
When Klaus doesn't say anything, Diego maneuvers to stand in front of him, just beside Allison. He cups Klaus's cheek gently, and Klaus leans into the touch with a breathy sigh. "You still with us, buddy?" Diego asks, ducking his head to try and meet Klaus's gaze.
"Yeah," Klaus answers, though his eyelids flutter shut. "Feel like shit."
Diego hums, his thumb tenderly sweeping over Klaus's cheekbone. "Understandable."
Klaus quirks the tiniest hint of a smile, but it drops away quickly. "What are you going to do with me now? Since I can't control my powers. Ghosts could come back."
"We're going to help you control them," Five says simply with a glare around the room like he's daring someone to object. As though anyone would.
"Just like you've all been helping me, yeah?" Vanya nudges Klaus's shoulder gently. "We'll figure it out together."
"Okay," Klaus whispers. Allison doesn't think he'll be letting Diego move any time soon. "Don't—don't put me in that cell in the basement, please."
"We would never do that, I promise," Luther says, a bit too quickly to not sound defensive. His face is pinched with the same heartbreak Allison is feeling. Of course a tiny dark cell would remind him of the mausoleum.
"I know you wouldn't," Klaus says. "Not now."
That trust, shaky and hard-earned as it may be, is enough for them to build on. Klaus hasn't trusted her up to this point, not really, but Allison thinks with this new foundation that she can fix that. She can be there for Klaus the way she wasn't before.
No one speaks for a moment. "We'll help you get Ben back, too," Five says eventually. His young face bears the weight of his years, but the ever-present spark in his eyes burns as bright as ever. "And the soldier. We expect to be introduced."
That startles a laugh out of Klaus, and the smile doesn't fade from his face.
They stay there in the living room for a long time, long enough that the candles burn down to stubs and the light they cast becomes soft. They talk about nothing, still gathered around Klaus like they're afraid to leave him alone (which they are.) In the early morning hours Klaus finally drifts off, and Luther carries him across the house for the third time that day.
No one really wants to disperse, though. So they follow Luther up the stairs to the infirmary, where they watch their largest brother carefully lay Klaus down in the cot.
They sleep outside the infirmary, Diego and Luther shoulder-to-shoulder against the wall, Vanya with her head pillowed in Allison's lap. Five keeps checking in on Klaus, like he's afraid he'll disappear again into the night. Eventually Allison convinces him to sleep tucked up under her arm, the way her daughter did when she was very little.
Allison is the last to sleep. She stares up at the ceiling and listens to the sleepy breaths of her siblings. Her knees already ache from kneeling, and now she's sure her neck and back will be killing her tomorrow. It's a small price to pay, she thinks, for being allowed to be present in her family's lives.