But the rocks with holes are warm in my hands
And I bury my toes in the hot, hot sand
And the silver-pink pony kisses me and says,
"You've come a long, long way and you deserve to be really happy."
/
"The Beer" by Kimya Dawson
Morning dawns warm and damp on the courtyard, the hazy-bright sun forcing curls of mist up from the cold ground. The trees are completely bare, strange and unnerving in the cradle of late spring, and few plants remain unblackened to soften the sharp lines of the city.
Someone moved the shards of Ben's statue. Klaus stares at where the statue stood for a long time, and at where the pieces once lay, and he thinks of the sound of Ben's laugh the last time they sat out here together. The heat of the sun brushes Klaus's skin but he thinks he'll probably never feel warm again. Eventually Diego touches his arm from behind him. "You good?" Diego asks, quietly enough that the others can't hear as they walk by on their way to the old oak tree.
Klaus thinks about his answer. "Maybe?" he says, unsure, looking at Diego's face for confirmation.
Diego smiles, the slightest uptick of the corners of his mouth. "You'll get him back," he says, nodding pointedly at the empty space that should have had Ben's shape. "Unless—" he stops, looks around, makes sure the others are a good distance away, "I mean, you don't have to do this right now, you know?"
It's been three days since Klaus accidentally tried to kill the world for no good reason. He's had a hard time meeting the eyes of his siblings since then, though that's certainly not the only reason. Even now he can't hold Diego's earnest gaze. His skin crawls at the thought of the disgust disbelief impatience he half-expects to find there. "I want to, though," Klaus says, looking down at the thick dressings peeking out from the slippers covering his mangled feet. He regrets not letting Luther carry him out here.
Diego squeezes his arm gently, prompting Klaus to look up and rest his gaze at a point just beyond his brother's left ear. Diego sighs, a bit sad and worried, but not angry. This is a relief, because Klaus thinks he would probably break into a million pieces if someone were to raise their voice at him these days. "You'll tell me if you want to stop, though, won't you?"
Klaus nods and puts on a smile that he hopes is reassuring. Satisfied, Diego slides his arm around Klaus's waist, taking most of his weight as they make their way over to the others.
There are two ghosts in the courtyard this morning. All the usual ones disappeared after The Incident, and they haven't come back. These new ones are new, freshly dead in the past few days, and they're the first to find Klaus. He told his siblings about them, because it seemed like the kind of thing they should know now, and they said they'd work on banishing the new ones in his training, too. They also asked how loud these new ones are, and if he's doing okay, and is there anything anyone can do to help?
Honestly, it's not too bad. Two ghosts is leagues better than the—however many there were, that he was seeing a week ago. It's just that these two are somewhat more disturbing than the norm. Both appear to have been involved in a factory accident of some kind. One is a large middle-aged man, completely soaked, his clothes bogged down with water that drips to the ground and leaves no trace where it lands. His skin is red and scalded, peeling away in sodden chunks. He screams and cries a lot and likes to get in Klaus's face.
The other one is—red. There's nothing left of them but red. No clothes or skin or hair, just exposed muscle and blood. They don't move much and when they do it's agonizing to watch, their arms held out in front of them and every step causing a fresh cascade of blood down their body. Occasionally they will open their mouth, a single black hole on a featureless face, and emit a sound somewhere between a whale's song and a fox's screech.
Klaus is trying for once in his life to not be dramatic, but he's worn so thin that catching sight of either ghost invariably makes him flinch. He managed to tell his siblings all this, and there wasn't anything they could do except look sad and sick, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid, because no one can really help with this kind of thing. Actually, Vanya held his hand afterward, and they've all taken cues from her and started touching him when it gets Bad, and it helps a little. Maybe he should stop being such a contrary brat, as Ben would say.
Today, they're going to find Ben. It's the most logical first step to take in controlling Klaus's powers and nudging him away from the precipice of insanity. That first part was Five's words, the second Klaus's. Klaus knows where his own mental state is at right now, and where it's at is Not Good.
Most of Klaus's life he's felt unstable. He's never felt safe, and for the most part he hasn't cared. It would be stupid to let his guard down around the company he kept anyway. He's starting to realize, in the aftermath of having unveiled the bloodiest parts of him, that he would like to feel safe. He would like to wrestle back some control from the universe, control not in the form of pills or powder.
There's a little white stone bench beneath the boughs of the old oak tree. Klaus's siblings fan out in the courtyard, staying nearby but obviously uncertain of what to do as they watch Klaus and Diego approach. Both ghosts wander around, splashes of vivid color and noise in the muted dawn. Diego carefully deposits Klaus on the bench, one hand lingering on Klaus's back. Klaus feels out of breath from the short walk, and his right arm aches in its cast.
Having all his siblings' eyes on him when he's not actively trying to cause mayhem is a bit unnerving. It's also unnerving that he feels no urge whatsoever to actively cause mayhem. Klaus just feels tired, and hurt, and sick, and cold, and he misses Ben, and the ghosts are getting restless. "Thanks," he says to Diego, who has yet to move away. The red ghost is inching towards him with a stuttering mantis-like gait.
"Hey," Diego murmurs. Klaus blinks hard and turns his head back to Diego, for a moment having a hard time reconciling the horrific ghost with the reality of a lovely spring morning and his siblings' presence. He shivers despite the sun's warmth. "What are you seeing right now?" Diego asks, staring in the direction of the red ghost.
As though on cue, the ghost starts its rusty wailing, and Klaus just manages to stop his hand on its way to clapping over his ear. It doesn't do any good to only cover one ear, and it makes his siblings look sad, anyway. He tries to play off the aborted movement as a nonchalant wave but Diego appears severely unimpressed. "They're the, uh," Klaus grimaces, unused to explaining these things out loud, "the skinless one? You know—the red one."
Diego is silent for a moment and Klaus turns back to track the ghost's stilted approach. He'd rather watch than have the poor thing sneak up on him. Diego squeezes Klaus's shoulder and crouches down in front of him to meet his eyes. "Can you look at me?"
Klaus wrenches his gaze away from the approaching spirit, again feeling like he's been pulled from one reality into another. It's almost more disturbing to hear the tortured screaming when he can't see the source, but he tries to put on a brave face for Diego. It doesn't work, judging by how worried his brother looks. "I won't let it hurt you, bro," Diego says, very quiet, and Klaus is frankly disgusted in himself for just how much better that makes him feel. He blinks rapidly and focuses instead on the ground where a stubborn little green sprout is worming its way up through the earth.
"Klaus," Diego says firmly. Klaus forces himself to keep his eyes on his brother's face through the scalding pain of being seen and known. "We are not going to let anything happen to you, okay?" Diego says, enunciating every word clearly. "Even if something goes wrong. We are right here beside you, and you are safe."
All their siblings are looking at the two of them, edging in closer so they form a rough semi-circle a few yards out from the bench. The red ghost is close enough now that Klaus can see them in his peripheral vision and can hear their wrenching moans. "I know, I'm sorry," Klaus swallows hard, "I really don't mean to be such a pussy about this."
Diego's brows knit together. "No, that's not what I meant," he says. "You're allowed to be scared. No one is gonna judge you for that."
Disbelieving, Klaus peers up at his siblings' faces. They're waiting patiently, sympathetically, or glancing in the direction of the ghost like they expect it to appear to them. Klaus really, really hopes that doesn't happen. "Dad put me in the mausoleum to make me get over my fear," Klaus mumbles. Everyone's eyes snap to him immediately. He hasn't mentioned the mausoleum since that horrible night and no one has pushed him to. His skin is on fire and he feels sick. "He put me in there because I was scared."
Diego doesn't speak for a moment. His wide dark eyes search Klaus's face, sad and pained. "He did that to you because he was a bad person, Klaus," Diego says. "There was nothing on Earth you could have done to warrant that."
There's a general murmur of agreement from everyone else. Logically, Klaus knows it's true—he'd been a child, and what child wouldn't be scared of monsters in the dark? It doesn't change the fact that his fear is intrinsic to his shame. Perhaps one day he'll manage to string his thoughts and memories like the fairy lights above his childhood bed, one after the other, in chronological order and free of associations. He'll be able to see all this the way Diego does, the way Ben does, objectively.
"I don't want you to be afraid," Diego continues when Klaus doesn't say anything. "It hurts to see you scared, man. But you're allowed to be. It makes sense for you to be, okay?" Diego lays his hand on Klaus's knee but doesn't try to make Klaus meet his eyes again. "I just need you to believe that we'll keep you safe."
The red blur in the corner of Klaus's vision can just be a red blur for now. He can ignore its wailing, he can just focus on the warm weight of his brother's hand seeping into his own coldness and the soft sun on his skin. Klaus nods his head and meets Diego's eyes for the slightest second. "Yeah. Okay," he murmurs. "Okay."
Diego smiles, and it's wobbly, but it's there all the same. He claps Klaus's knee once more and straightens up with minimal joint-popping, which is unfair. He moves to stand just to Klaus's left so he completely blocks the red ghost from view, and it's quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for Klaus.
Five clears his throat and steps forward to stand closer to Klaus. He's so damn prickly that it's hard to tell, but Klaus doesn't think he's out of line believing that Five has finally started to soften up. At least, he hasn't threatened anyone with grievous bodily harm in a few days, and he didn't kill Klaus when he probably should have. He deserves kudos for all that. "Can you explain to me one more time about the energy signatures?"
Klaus hadn't said anything about energy signatures. He'd said "ghosty auras" and "creepy vibes" and other stuff to make Allison and Vanya laugh. "If I've met a ghost before, I can usually summon them to wherever I am. They've each got, like, a tag on them. They all feel different." Klaus hadn't used this information for years when it suddenly became relevant again in the Quest For Dave, and Ben had had to remind him how his powers work. Usually, Klaus considers his shoddy long term memory to be a blessing, but this was admittedly embarrassing.
"Right, energy signatures," Five says. "And you know Ben's pretty well, right?"
"Of course." There were plenty of times through the years when Ben had enough of Klaus and disappeared for a while. Klaus could always emfeel/em him, though, a presence that he could call upon if he needed to, and Ben never went far. "I keep tugging on his leash but he's not on the other end." Allison laughs and Luther looks scandalized, so Klaus marks that joke down as a win.
"And what about all the other ghosts you've met?" Five plows on. "Are they gone now, too?"
"Yeah. Present company excluded, no ghosties I've met before." He hasn't actively tried to summon them, on account of Not Wanting To, and he knows it would be a fruitless endeavor anyway. All the familiar ghosts' presences are dead ends, just like Ben's.
"They must have gone somewhere," Five frowns.
"Heaven, maybe? Or—the afterlife, whatever it's called. Probably not heaven. Because Reggie's there, so."
"There's an afterlife?" Luther echoes, his brows arched high.
"Yeah, it's—oh my god, how has this just now come up? I swear I'm not actively keeping secrets, guys, there's just so much," Klaus stops and drags his hand down his face. "Look. I'll explain later."
"Is this something that should be put off until later, or is it a deeply repressed trauma?" Five asks, somehow patient and condescending at the same time.
"Oh my god," Klaus squawks indignantly. "Not everything is a trauma!" A skeptical murmur follows this proclamation, which is fair. The other ghost—the burned one—wanders into sight, passing through Luther casually. He's quiet right now, but his presence feels mocking.
"Have you tried going where Ben is? Instead of bringing him here?" Vanya speaks up. Everyone looks at her, and she seems self-conscious. "That might not make any sense. But if, like you said, his 'leash' is still here—maybe you could follow it?"
Everyone seems distracted with discussing this idea, so Klaus closes his eyes and calls upon the specific ethereal presence he associates with Ben. It's a pulsing, immaterial tendril, stronger than any other ghost's. If it was a physical thing, Klaus thinks it would probably be purple, which Ben said doesn't make any sense but which Klaus thinks is very important. He tugs on the tendril, trying to drag it closer to himself, but just like every time before it holds fast.
That first time he conjured the ghosts, with Diego there, he'd gotten so careless in his frustration that he tugged a rough handful of spirits to him and then into the material plane. He's still not sure how it happened, that time or the next. There seems to be very little logic to the process, and it's hard not to give into despair about it all. He's always been so quick to give up. "How do you think I could do that?" Klaus asks Vanya, realizing after the fact that he's interrupted whatever Five was saying.
Vanya shifts her stance, almost like she can feel the burned ghost as it passes through her. "I'm—I'm not really sure. Meditation, maybe? Like—astral projection."
Klaus thinks that sounds a bit far-fetched, but Five nods pensively. "She could be onto something there," he says. "The ghosts already inhabit a dimension different from our own, one that only you can see. And you apparently have some experience with the afterlife. Who's to say that dimension-hopping isn't another part of your abilities?"
"I would rather die face-down in a pool of lava than have more abilities," Klaus says pleasantly.
"I know, and I'm sorry," Five looks sympathetic, which is nice of him. "But I do think understanding your powers is an important step to take in controlling them."
Klaus gets that. It's been a big part of Vanya's training, her learning the scope of her abilities. He'd rather never learn his own, but Five is right. "Okay. I guess I'll just sit here and… try to transcend dimensions?"
"Just think of it as following Ben," Vanya says. "Like, you're tapping into your powers, but it's… for a good reason."
That does help, actually. But he knows just how badly this could go. He's never managed to channel his abilities in a positive manner, and the knowledge of everything that could go wrong weighs heavy on him. Phantom cold hands creep under his clothes. "Could someone—um," Klaus stops, his cheeks burning, his hand flexing where it lays on his leg. He feels ridiculous and childish.
"What do you need?" Vanya asks him gently. She's standing furthest away from him, and he wishes she'd come closer.
Klaus swallows, unsure how to ask, or how to explain. "It's just, uh," he raises his hand a bit, then lets it drop back down, not looking at anyone. "People are. Warm. Ghosts aren't. If someone—could," he stops completely, certain that whatever he's just said is utter nonsense.
To his surprise, Luther exclaims "oh! Right, of course," and in the next moment nudges in beside Klaus on the bench, nearly tipping him over in the process. Hesitantly, like Klaus is liable to break (he is), Luther takes his hand and holds it in both his own. Luther's hands are very large and rough and warm, his nails blunt and clean. Nothing like a ghost. "Is this okay?" he asks quietly.
Klaus clears his throat, but it still feels scratchy. "Yeah," he croaks. He leans against Luther's shoulder, feels his brother stiffen before the tension drains from him. "Thank you."
Luther doesn't say anything, but he squeezes Klaus's hand.
"Whenever you're ready," Diego murmurs. "We're right here with you."
Klaus closes his eyes. Watery sunlight dances on his skin, a soft breeze whistles through his hair. Luther's body is a warm pillar against him, alive and breathing. The whole world is alive and breathing. He's safe, and he's comfortable, and he's not doing this out of desperation. Klaus wraps himself in the living thread of Ben's energy, and he tugs himself forward, and the world falls away around him.
"...doesn't even remember how you got out of that one, actually. Ilse looked furious, man, you would've been laughing your ass off," Ben says. It's the least angry and/or worried he's ever sounded when trying to wake Klaus up.
For a moment, Klaus thinks he's dreaming, and he's content to lie still and listen to Ben talk. It's been a (comparatively) long time since he's heard his brother's voice, and it's almost more soothing than getting a fix. He also feels warm for the first time in what seems like forever, and the next breath he takes fills his lungs all the way with no pain or resistance. This is the nicest dream he's ever had.
"I know you're awake," Ben says, now annoyed, which is achingly familiar. "This is so like you, building the suspense for no reason."
Klaus opens his eyes. He's laying on his side, a blanket pillowed beneath his head. In front of his face are a pair of crossed legs. He trails his gaze up until he sees Ben's face, chin resting in his hand, brows furrowed in irritation. The two of them are in a spacious tent, sunlight bright through the stiff fabric. The ground beneath the tent is soft and shifting and there are gentle noises outside, friendly murmuring, but the air between Klaus and Ben is silent.
Klaus moves to sit up, and he stretches his leg out, and it brushes against Ben's. Klaus goes still. Ben doesn't move, and his eyes don't leave Klaus's face. He doesn't look annoyed anymore, but he does look cautious. Klaus sits up fully and mirrors Ben's position, his legs crossed beneath him. His right arm is no longer bound in a cast and it feels weird to move with no pain. He stares back into Ben's eyes. "Is this real?" Klaus asks, surprised by his own uncertainty.
There's a flicker of concern on Ben's face. "Yeah, it's real," he whispers, still not moving an inch. His clothes are different from the last time Klaus saw him. He's wearing a bright yellow short-sleeved t-shirt and—khakis? Klaus reaches out, and his hand brushes the coarse fabric covering Ben's knee.
Ben watches him. It feels like a lifetime ago that the two of them sat together in the courtyard and Klaus promised Ben he would never be afraid of him. Clearly, Ben is prepared for that assurance to be rescinded. Klaus raises his hand now to hover near Ben's face. "Can I touch you?" Klaus asks. Ben nods, and Klaus allows his hand to settle reverently on his brother's cheek. Ben's skin is smooth and warm and alive, and the breath in Klaus's lungs escapes as a wheezing sob.
Ben sits up straight, the arm propping up his chin falling into his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but Klaus raises his other hand to properly frame Ben's face. "Ben," Klaus murmurs, his eyes stinging. He's cried so much recently, but Ben doesn't know that, so he doesn't feel too embarrassed about it. Klaus trails his hands down Ben's face, traces his fingers down Ben's neck, and eventually lays his hands to rest on Ben's shoulders. "Benny."
There are tears in Ben's own eyes, but he laughs, and he surges forward into Klaus's arms. Klaus laughs too, and he clutches his little brother to his chest, and he presses a fierce kiss to a headful of silky black hair. "I missed you so much," Klaus gasps, and he feels Ben's answering nod against his chest, and he squeezes so tight he may never be able to let go. Ben is warm and solid and real in his arms, and his hair tickles Klaus's nose, and it's like they never lost him at all.
It feels like ages before Ben begins to pull away. Reluctantly, Klaus lets him go, but he keeps his hands firmly on Ben's shoulders. "You didn't even get this weepy on me when you got back from Vietnam," Ben says, which is hypocritical of him considering the tear tracks now staining his own face.
"That was different," Klaus protests. He'd been focused pretty exclusively on survival in Vietnam, and contraband drugs had practically been part of his daily rations, and Dave was there, and Klaus had known with a ferocious certainty that he'd find his way back to Ben, hopefully with Dave by his side. "I didn't know what happened this time. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And—and you're alive, or something, Ben, what the fuck?"
Ben giggles, his own hands clasping Klaus's arms, like he can't bear to be separated any more than Klaus can. "'Or something' is right." He looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes search Klaus's face with fervent intensity, and that concerned look hasn't faded. "Klaus, are you—are you okay? I know you must've gotten hurt in that landslide, and some stuff has happened here—"
"It's been a rough month," Klaus sniffles. "My body's beat to shit, yeah, but I'm fine besides that. Mostly. So cool that that's not a problem here, by the way."
"Yeah, well. Mostly." Ben gives a bitter grimace, and Klaus catches the shift of yellow fabric covering Ben's belly. Eyes wide, Klaus trails his hands down, feeling the insistent press of the Horror's tentacles under Ben's skin. Ben bites back a pained gasp, and Klaus smooths his hands out, trying to soothe the beast like he did when they were kids, even though it never worked.
It's terribly unfair. Something Klaus did sent Ben to this weird place where he had to go back to living with the monster inside him, the thing that had made his living existence hell. Klaus doesn't say anything, but something must show on his face, because Ben starts shaking his head. "This isn't your fault," he says, a bit helplessly, like he knows it's a futile argument. "It's only been a week for me here, and this place is great otherwise."
Klaus pulls himself together with a great deal of difficulty, finding it hard not to imagine Ben dealing with his pain alone. "What is this place, anyway?" Klaus asks, looking to his left where the closed flap of the tent rustles with a soft breeze.
"You wanna go see?" Ben's smile is cheeky, but that caution from before hasn't quite dissipated. He crawls over to the flap, the Horror having apparently gone still for now. His hand hesitates over the zipper, and he uses the other hand to beckon Klaus to him. Klaus scoots across the floor of the tent until he's by his brother's side. His heart beats an anxious rhythm in his chest as Ben pulls the zipper up, letting a bright slice of sunlight pour into the tent.
Klaus blinks in the dazzling light as the flap falls away completely. His eyes adjust slowly, and with the burgeoning clarity comes the sight of a lively campfire. Its heat wavers in the endless blue sky above it. Klaus clambers out of the tent ahead of Ben, taking a moment to find his balance as he stands on soft white sand. There's more sand stretching out in every direction, interrupted in the distance by low, broad dunes, laced with rich dark colors encircling the little campsite.
There are people all around. They sit in pairs on top of colorful blankets in front of the fire, or stand together off to the side, or walk far in the distance, or sleep out in the open. There's a soft murmur all around, people talking and laughing and trudging through sand. It's a good people-sound, something Klaus has missed, surrounded as he's been by screaming.
A little girl sits alone a few yards away, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly into the fire. She looks up, like she can sense Klaus's gaze, and her eyes are gray.
Klaus recoils, his hand grasping instinctually at Ben behind him. "Hey—hey hey hey," Ben murmurs. He puts a hand on Klaus's shoulder and spins him around. "Klaus—it's okay. You're fine. Breathe."
Klaus breathes, unaware that he had stopped. "Ben, what—" he turns and looks at the girl again. She's standing now, her hands clasped in front of her as she stares anxiously. She's not wearing a bloody wedding dress anymore. Instead she dons a long denim skirt and a heavy sweater, and she looks comfortable, if a little too warm. "What's she doing here? Is everyone else—?" and, yes, he recognizes the two men standing off to the side, and the woman staring up at the sky, except there's no blood and there's no gore and there's no screaming. "Oh, Jesus Christ."
"You sent them here, Klaus," Ben is grinning, the cheery fire reflected in his eyes. "You helped them move on."
"Why aren't they—what, they don't want to mutilate me anymore?" That last part is said harshly, but Klaus is scared, and Ben is acting like everything is fine and good when the two of them are standing here in the middle of nowhere and the ghosts can touch them.
Ben has caught on to Klaus's panic now, and he takes hold of Klaus's arms, keeping him steady. "No, no, I'm sorry, I should have explained. They're back to who they were before they died." The concern on Ben's face is even more blatant now. "And even if they wanted to, they can't hurt you. No one can get hurt here."
"You can," Klaus blurts, because that's fucking unfair, that everyone else gets to be unbloodied and unburdened and Ben gets to keep his built-in torture machine.
"That's different," Ben says, peering over Klaus's shoulder. Klaus is about to say no the fuck it isn't, but Ben grins at whatever he's seeing behind Klaus. Klaus tries to turn around, but Ben holds him still. "Hey, by the way, I made some friends here. Just, uh—don't pass out, okay?" Before Klaus can ask just what that's supposed to mean, Ben is spinning him around again so he's facing away from the fire, towards the rippling expanse of the desert.
It takes a moment to identify the figure standing there, just a few yards away, illuminated as he is by the blinding sun.
Dave is wearing his army fatigues. And it's weird, because everyone else took the chance to change their clothes. And it means that he's dressed that way on purpose, because it's exactly the type of dramatic romantic reunion he'd insist on. "This is real?" Klaus asks Ben, one last time, his voice so breathless as to be nearly inaudible. Ben doesn't answer, but his hand drifts down into Klaus's own and gives it a firm squeeze.
"It's just like you to keep me waiting, Hargreeves," Dave says, grinning, and he's beautiful.
Klaus sobs a laugh, quite suddenly unable to see anything at all through his tears. He charges forward, and Dave catches him in his big arms, and he tries to take a step back to steady them but it doesn't quite work, and together they fall back into the sand. It rises in a soft white cloud around them, and Dave laughs breathlessly because Klaus just crushed the air out of him, and it's a sound so full of joy that Klaus laughs too even as he cries.
Soon they're both shaking with the force of their tears and laughter, and Dave sits them upright so he can embrace Klaus properly. God, Dave—he still smells like himself, like safety and surety, but also not like he's been trudging through brutally hot Vietnamese swampland for a week straight.
There's a stitch in Klaus's chest that's coming undone, a coiled-up, knotted ache, releasing its tension through his trembling limbs. He feels unreal and yet present in a way that is spine-tingling, all-encompassing. His relief is alive and warm and untouchable, untainted. He kisses Dave, tastes the salt of the sand and their tears, and he thinks that maybe this was all worth it.
Klaus comes back to himself in increments, though his entire body is still buzzing with a euphoric and giddy relief that makes him feel weightless. He's straddling Dave's legs, their foreheads pressed together and his hands gripping the front of Dave's vest. Dave's hands are everywhere, Klaus's face, his arms, his back, his chest. "I missed you," Dave chokes.
"Oh," Klaus responds, because he hadn't considered that, really. He pulls back to look at Dave's face, the gilded tear tracks in the sunlight. Dave is gold, gold, gold. "I'm sorry," Klaus murmurs, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "You—oh fuck, all this time?"
"Time is different here. It hasn't been all that long," Dave assures him. "I woulda waited a thousand years, you know that." Klaus laughs and kisses him again, and again.
"This is indecent," Ben mutters from a million miles away.
"I think it's sweet," a woman's heavily accented voice answers.
Klaus pulls away with great difficulty to glare back in Ben's direction. Dave rests his head on Klaus's collarbone, shaking gently with laughter. "Forgot we had an audience," he says. Klaus would be more than content to stay this way forever, but Ben gestures pointedly at the person beside him, an unfamiliar little old woman. With a huge reluctant sigh, Klaus clambers off Dave's lap and holds his hands out to help his soldier boy to his feet. Dave looks excited for Klaus to meet whoever the woman is, so Klaus tries not to pout too much about being interrupted.
Once Dave has gained his balance, Klaus takes a long moment to just stare at him. He doesn't ever want to stop staring. He wants—he wants, and Dave must know that, because the way Dave is looking at him—and Klaus can't help his disbelief, his overjoyed laugh. Dave leans down to kiss him again, until they can force themselves to break apart. Klaus wonders if it would be horribly inappropriate to claim one of those tents for the next couple hours, and if he would even care if it was.
Alas, everyone has other plans for Klaus at the moment. He and Dave walk hand in hand back towards the fire. Up close the woman does look more familiar, but Klaus doesn't recall ever seeing her ghost. Maybe she'd been unrecognizable in death. "So, Klaus," Ben begins, clapping his hands together and grinning. "Do you remember when we were all really little, and you were usually pretty good at learning languages, but you picked up German, like, immediately?"
Klaus snorts. "Okay, first off, I wasn't pretty good, I was the best. And second of all—" Klaus's brain catches up then, and his jaw drops as he looks at the old woman more closely. The memory is very foggy and impressionistic, just like all his memories from Before the mausoleum, but he remembers that her voice was always kind. "Oh my god—you taught me German when I was, like, five!"
The woman doesn't respond. Her green eyes are suspiciously shiny, and her lower lip wobbles, and she doesn't say anything. Klaus, worried he's done something horribly wrong, looks to Ben for guidance, but he's just smiling at the woman knowingly. Dave is, too. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on. It's good to see you, I mean, you were the first friendly ghost I ever met."
"Ich bin deine Mutter," the woman says.
I am your mother. "Oh," Klaus says. She fidgets where she stands, and her eyes are restless, and she's far too skinny. "You're beautiful." She smiles, small and watery, and throws her arms around Klaus's neck. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before he embraces her in return. It's all very weird, but she's warm, and she smells nice, and he can hear Dave's delighted laugh beside him. "Do I have siblings?" Klaus asks, because it's something he's always wondered about. "Like—more of them?"
Klaus's mother (his mother!) pulls back, cradling his face in her calloused little hands. "You do," she says. "Two sisters. I'll tell you all about them later. The oldest wanted to adopt you when I died, but, well—your father was very upset."
She died giving birth to him. There's a horrible guilt that comes with that, and a wry amusement. Klaus Hargreeves, setting up every abandoned expectation for himself from the moment of birth. He swallows back those emotions, tries to focus on what a bizarre and beautiful miracle this all is. "Can I call you Mom?" he asks. "I mean—I already call someone else Mom, but I don't think she'll mind. All the cool kids have two moms."
"My name is Ilse," she says, "and you can call me whatever you like."
Klaus grins, and he hears Dave say something to Ben, and it's so sweet that they were excited for Klaus to meet his mother that it nearly brings yet more tears to his eyes. Touch has become uncomfortable now, though—he doesn't know Ilse, really, and her skin on his has begun to feel like crawling ants. He extricates himself from her grip as stealthily as possible, and only Ben seems to notice his well-hidden discomfort because he gives Klaus a small, understanding smile.
"Okay," Klaus says, looking around at his little ragtag gang of ghosts. The little girl is still standing by the fire, but she looks up at him when he glances in her direction. She smiles, the first such expression he's seen from her. "I think I'd like to know what's going on now, please."
The desert is still warm at night. Regardless, Klaus seeks out Dave's heat, leaning back into his broad chest as they sit gathered around the fire. More spirits have wandered in from the distance, alone or in groups, and they sit and talk or set up camp. This used to be the only campsite in the desert, Dave told him. There are many more now, ever since the other ghosts arrived.
Most of the ghosts moved on within hours of appearing, needing only to reclaim their humanity before feeling ready to rejoin their loved ones in the afterlife. The stragglers still have unfinished business. They spend their days wandering the colorful dunes and bring with them rumors of a forest to the east and a mountain range to the west. More landmarks are cropping up all the time, they say. Everywhere they go the weather is warm and clear, there's plenty of food and water, and the campfires never go out.
Basically, purgatory is a luxury camping trip. Which actually sounds really nice and peaceful. And it makes sense that Klaus would think that, because he apparently has control over the place, according to the Little Girl who rides by on Her little grey horse. This is where all the friendly ghosts from over the years have ended up, and it's where Klaus stowed his dead friends and family away for safekeeping.
It's a lot to take in. Dave wraps his arms around Klaus's chest, grounds him against this unreality, and presses a kiss to his temple. "I'm really glad you guys didn't have to stay as ghosts," Klaus says to Ilse where she sits a few feet away, then angles himself back at Dave so he knows Klaus is talking to him, too.
"You protected us," Dave says. "Even if you didn't know it. It's instinctual for you to protect people. I've always known that." He's thinking of some choice moments in Vietnam, Klaus knows. Kind of a bummer that those moments Dave remembers as heroism were actually fueled by suicidal ideation, but whatever. Maybe wanting to protect can feel like wanting to die. Maybe wanting to live can feel like wanting to love.
Klaus stares silently up at the stars. He doesn't recognize any constellations, which seems strange. He wants to apologize for not protecting Ben, for subjecting him to years of seeing and hearing the same mangled ghosts that Klaus did, and years of watching Klaus pick himself undone. They can have that talk later, when Klaus doesn't feel quite so infuriatingly fragile. Unless— "Will you guys move on now? To the afterlife?"
Ilse exchanges a glance with Ben, sitting to her left. The little girl at Ben's other side stares silently into the fire. Dave tenses at Klaus's back. "It's okay if you want to," Klaus says. He can't look at them anymore so he stares up at the sky. "I know the point of this place is to hang out and, and come to terms with death, yeah? Come to terms with whatever you did in life, and let go of whatever unfinished business you had. If—if you're satisfied now, you can go. You should go."
It would hurt a lot, but. Ilse had a family long before she had Klaus, and Dave did, too. Ben has missed out on years of peace. These few hours Klaus has had with these people is more than he could have dreamed of this morning. He can't ask for more from them, more of their time, more of their patience, while he learns how to work this aspect of his powers.
"You don't want me to come back with you?" Ben asks, his brows furrowed.
Klaus blinks. "Why would you want to?"
"To be with my family," Ben says slowly, like he's talking to a very dumb child.
"But you could have better," Klaus protests, sitting up and immediately missing Dave's warmth. "I mean, you can't have been happy following me around all these years!"
"I wasn't," Ben snaps. "I felt helpless, Klaus. All I could do was sit and watch you suffer and tear yourself apart. But your life can be better now, and I don't want to miss out on it."
That's a lot of faith to put in a recovering addict, Klaus wants to snark, but his eyes are stinging and his throat feels tight. He hasn't told them about what's happened the past month. They know he managed to send all the ghosts on Earth here, but they don't know the context. If they knew, Klaus doesn't think they'd have any faith in him at all. There's no guarantee he won't just up and end the world for real the next time he gets upset.
Ilse looks confused and stressed, which is how Klaus imagines he looks a lot of the time now.
"I want to be with you," Dave says. "Whatever that means. If it means I come back with you as a ghost, fine. If it means I stay here and you come visit every chance you get, fine. But I'm not moving on without you, Klaus."
"You could do both, if you like," says a voice behind Klaus. "Just come and go as you please, I don't care."
Everyone around the fire turns to face God. She looks impassive and immovable as the last time Klaus saw Her, save for the sway of Her long black hair in the breeze. Her little grey horse is tied to a hitching post at the edge of the campsite. Its saddlebags are overflowing with daisies. Klaus narrows his eyes suspiciously at God. "Why wouldn't You care if I'm dragging ghosts around all willy-nilly? You got pissy at me for dying before my time or whatever."
"Your house, your rules," She shrugs. "Don't come knocking on the door to the afterlife and we won't have a problem."
"Wait, you've met her?" Dave asks, eyes wide.
Klaus turns to Ben. "You didn't tell them?"
Ben blinks. "Okay, this is going to sound really dumb, but I didn't connect the dots."
"How?"
"You didn't tell me God is a little girl, Klaus—"
"God?" Ilse echoes, sounding lost.
"Hello," says God.
There's a fair bit of yelling and arguing that ensues then. The other spirits in the area pointedly ignore Klaus's rowdy group. He feels bad for hashing their vibe. The little girl, little l little g, smiles innocently at Little Girl God, who smiles back, probably enjoying the chaos. "What do You want, God?" Klaus asks, purposely sounding as put-upon as possible so his family stares at him in mute horror.
"I'd like to speak with you alone," She says. "It's a fine night for a walk."
Klaus frowns, suspicious, and looks back at his little group. Ben seems the least rattled, which is to be expected. Hopefully he'll find time to explain things to Ilse, who still seems lost. Dave glances between Klaus and God with the adorable, exasperated confusion that he often regarded Klaus with in their early Vietnam days. "I think maybe you should go with—Her," Dave says, and it sounds like a question.
"You're probably right," Klaus gives an exaggerated sigh. He leans over to give Dave a quick kiss on the cheek before clambering to his feet. He stretches luxuriantly, hoping that his nonchalance belies his mounting anxiety. "You kids be good. No eavesdropping. Celestial beings only."
"Do I not count as a celestial being?" Ben mutters.
"In our hearts, you do," Dave answers seriously.
Their voices begin to fade behind Klaus as he and Little Girl God walk side-by-side away from the fire. The desert stretches out in front of them, cut off in the distance by the rise of sand dunes. Moonlight strips the sand of its saturated hues, but it's still beautiful, in a lonely and monotonous way.
"Nothing here is wheelchair-accessible," Klaus says once they're a good distance away from the others. He looks over his shoulder and sees the black blobs of his friends and family silhouetted against the fire.
"The wheelchairs float," says God. "It looks like fun."
"Oh," Klaus says. "Cool."
"Your family is getting worried about you," God continues. "You should go back soon."
"How long has it been for them?"
"Time has synchronized in both dimensions. You've been here four hours, twelve minutes, and twenty-six seconds. They've put you to bed and are watching over you. They've begun praying." She looks at him accusingly. "It's annoying."
Klaus laughs nervously. "Sorry, I guess." A pause. "Is that all You wanted to talk to me about?"
"No," the Little Girl stops walking and turns to Klaus, who stops too. She has to tilt Her head up fairly high to see his face from under the brim of Her sunhat. "The spirits that hurt you are here. I've not allowed them to move on."
The ice under Klaus's skin returns with a vengeance. He stares silently at Her for a moment, willing away the nausea and the tingling numbness encroaching on his limbs. "Oh," he says. It makes sense. He really should have considered the possibility that those spirits would have found their way here, too. They've never left him alone before, why should they now? He hears their screams in his head when he sleeps, and he feels the itching bite of their cold hands on his skin. They'll follow him forever, probably.
"Spirits tend to lose their humanity when they are confined to Earth, as you've noticed," the Little Girl continues. "It returns to them upon arrival here, but the memory of what they've done does not."
"They don't remember?" Klaus croaks. He can't begin to parse out how that makes him feel, if it makes him feel anything at all.
"That's right," God searches his face with ageless black eyes. "I feel it's only fair that you decide what becomes of them."
"Are you asking me if they should go to Heaven or Hell?"
"Heaven isn't real, and neither is Hell," the Girl answers dismissively. "I'm asking if they should stay here, or move on, or cease to exist entirely."
"But—but they're back to who they were before," Klaus says. "That's—they're innocent, right? They didn't actually do anything, I don't—"
"Breathe," God orders.
Klaus breathes, but there's no relief to it. He wraps one arm around his middle and turns away from the Little Girl, the other hand fisting in his hair. "Did You tell them what they did?"
"Yes."
Klaus's breath shudders through his chest. "Jesus Christ—why?"
There's no answer. Klaus stares out into the desert and tries to force his body to stop trembling and his lungs to accept the air he's giving them. This is so fucked up, so incredibly fucked up.
"You would bear the weight of this alone?" God asks. "You, the victim?"
Klaus laughs, harsh and short. "They are victims, too. They didn't ask for what happened, they don't even fucking remember it."
"No," the Little Girl says, "that does not mean you have to forgive them."
"This has nothing to do with forgiveness!" Klaus snarls, whipping back around to face Her. "If they didn't mean it, if they didn't know what they were doing, what the fuck is there to forgive?!"
"Then why are you angry?"
Klaus stops. He wipes his hand down his face and glances back towards the campfire. He doesn't know why he's angry. There's no reason to be. There's too many reasons to be. "I don't know," he admits, his voice very quiet.
"Would you mind if I speculate?"
He laughs again, but it sounds broken now. "Knock Yourself out."
"If you are the only person who remembers, it may as well not have happened. It's only you, Klaus, after all."
Klaus says nothing.
"And yet, as much as you want to be believed and understood, you would forget that desire if it meant no one else had to suffer."
"You're giving me way too much credit."
"No," God says, "I'm not."
They stand in silence for a long time. Klaus doesn't look at Her, and She stares at him. The soft breeze ripples the sand, sends it skittering and whistling. Sand that is displaced from its ribbon of color vibrates back into place. Pieces of a person that don't fit together anymore get jammed back into place. "I don't forgive them," Klaus says. "I'm never going to. But that doesn't mean they shouldn't forgive themselves and move on."
Another moment of quiet. "They'll need to wander for a while before they're ready," God says. "I'll make sure they stay far away when you visit. You never have to see them again."
Klaus will see them, though. In his dreams, in his flashbacks, in his hallucinations, in the dark corner of his room. He doesn't tell God that, though. She probably already knows, and She's doing the best She can do for him, obviously, even if She claims not to like him. "Can I stay a little longer?" Klaus asks. He knows he'll be back, but he wants to hold onto the sweetness of this reunion. "And can I bring my brother with me when I go back? And Dave? And my mother?"
"Yes," the Little Girl says. "In time you should find yourself able to move spirits fairly easily. Your friends may split their time between dimensions however they please."
They begin the walk back to camp. Klaus feels a bit nervous with the wide dark landscape stretching endlessly behind him, but thinks he's probably not in danger with God. Probably. "I could have been doing this a long time ago, huh?" Klaus murmurs. "If I hadn't been, like, passively killing myself."
Little Girl God doesn't speak for a moment. "I do hope you'll be able to forgive yourself, Klaus."
Klaus has nothing to say to that, so they walk in silence the rest of the way. Ilse looks up as they approach, and she nudges Ben, who says something to Dave. They turn and smile at Klaus, like he hadn't been gone for twenty minutes at most. The little girl in her heavy sweater looks up from the fire, and there's a resolve in her expression that Klaus hasn't seen before. She stands and steps around the other spirits to meet Klaus and God in front of the fire.
For a long moment Klaus looks at the girl, half-expecting her to speak, but of course she doesn't. Instead she stares up at him, begging him to understand something. Little Girl God clears her throat, and Klaus looks to Her. "She's ready to move on," She says. "She's saying goodbye."
Klaus swallows hard, wishing he'd been able to speak with the girl even once. Though, judging by the fact that God is having to translate for her, it seems the girl is unable to speak at all. Klaus is about to say something when the girl steps closer and, very slowly, opens her arms to him. She broadcasts her movements so clearly that Klaus doesn't feel so much as a jolt of discomfort as she wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his chest.
The briefest of moments passes before Klaus embraces her as tightly as he dares. She's warm, and she feels alive, and Klaus can feel the puff of her breath on his skin. He kisses the top of her head, like he can make up for the kindness neither of them received. Like he can impart some of the love he's come to know onto her. He still can't find anything to say, but he thinks that's probably okay. The soft pressure of her arms begins to dissipate, and Klaus watches as the girl fades, the sand beneath them becoming incrementally more visible through her skin.
She looks up at him with a teary smile before she disappears completely. Klaus lets his arms drop to his sides. He breathes in deep, and he breathes out, and he feels warm again.
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