And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you, 'cause I find it hard to take

When people run in circles, it's a very very

Mad world

Mad world

Mad world

Mad world

/

"Mad World" by Tears for Fears

It turns out that Klaus wasn't catastrophizing, and two weeks pass without any sign of Ben. Diego knows this because Klaus tells him everyday. He tells him in jokes, riddles, and hints, but never outright, and never without a too-wide smile.

There's only so much Diego can do. He laughs at Klaus's jokes and rolls his eyes at the ones that aren't funny. He makes fun of him for needing help with everyday things. He tries his best to foster an atmosphere of normalcy, but he knows it's not enough. Klaus's world must be awfully quiet and lonely right now, on top of his injuries and cravings. He's suffering but not saying anything and Diego doesn't know what to do.

The truth is, Diego is horrible at this kind of thing. His feelings and words get confused and come out a jumbled mess, or worse, get translated as anger. So he dances around emotions, avoids them if possible, or tries to analyze them objectively. This never works. He and Klaus are two sides of the same emotionally stunted coin.

Amidst all the tension and silence, these two weeks have been busy for everyone. Luther has been surprisingly tolerable, listening and learning instead of throwing his weight around. Allison is struggling with some legal proceedings surrounding visitation rights—it's a complicated mess, and Diego feels for her, but he doesn't say so. Klaus is healing. Five is obsessing over The Apocalypse: Take Two, which is getting on everyone's nerves. Vanya is working hard and reaching out a bit more. Diego is going to therapy.

He hasn't told anyone yet. No one has questioned where he goes for a few hours Tuesdays and Fridays, but that's probably because they assume he's going out to do some vigilante business and aren't interested in entangling themselves in his second life. It's hilarious that his illegal activities are the cover-up, and he's sure Klaus will get a good laugh out of it once he gets around to telling him.

So, he goes to a therapist—Dr. Good is her name, which is cute—and talks about his grief over Patch and his anger over everything. Dr. Good asks about his childhood and he tells her about how training with knives is fun until you mess up and cut your hand but have to keep going until you pass out. She tells him he was abused and he says he knows but he cries anyway, which isn't unexpected but is still terrifying. He doesn't like being vulnerable. Dr. Good says that's understandable.

He's lived his life desperate for affection and validation. He's been punished for needing those things. He still craves them, as all people do, but that desire is entwined with shame and rage and fear. So he hides his feelings of inadequacy behind a gruff temper and charismatic demeanor, replaces his need for deep relationships with superficial friendships that he shoves away the second they get too close.

He went to therapy to learn to heal and let go, not to be eviscerated, but Dr. Good seems to think these are one and the same. So twice a week he gets his heart ripped out of his chest, pays money for it, and convinces himself it wasn't that bad just in time to go again. It feels like a pointless pursuit most days, but after their third session Diego decides it's worth it. It's not for any particular reason—he just happened to leave that day feeling better than when he came in.

He does keep up with his work at the gym and his work in the streets. Of all the Hargreeves, he's the busiest on any given day. It makes sense, what with how quickly he ditched that toxic environment in the first place and how hard he's worked to distance himself from it. Only Allison managed to get further away from it all than he did, and she sort of had an unfair advantage.

The point is, he's spent most of his adult life pretending he's okay and being decidedly not okay. Most of his siblings have done the same. Klaus is doing it right now. Diego doesn't know how to help him.

That's why when Diego comes home on Friday after his fourth session with Dr. Good, he decides he's going to ask Klaus to come with him to his next appointment. He's halfway up the stairs when he changes his mind, no, he's not going to ask, and standing in front of Klaus's door when he changes it back. This is—embarrassing. Embarrassing enough that he stands there for a full minute examining the parallel grain of the wooden door.

There's no sound from the other side. Maybe he's downstairs working with Allison on sign language or sitting outside with Vanya beneath the old oak. Maybe he's sleeping as he often is lately (Mom says it's healing, Diego says it's depression) or maybe he's at the library—no, scratch that, he's not allowed out of the house for a long while. Maybe there's ten thousand reasons Diego is putting this off and he should really just man up about the whole thing. He raises a tremulous fist and raps on the door four times.

No answer. Diego frowns and lowers his hand and looks up and down the hallway. He considers entering Klaus's room anyway, but thinks better of it. Mental health aside, he's still in pain and needs his rest. With a sigh Diego turns away from the door and makes his way back to his own room.

Klaus's physical recovery has been rough. He doesn't hold any resentment towards them about administering painkillers, which is a huge relief. Those first few days, though—there were times Diego's resolve very nearly broke and he knows Klaus felt the same. The pain he was in would have left him screaming if his lungs would cooperate enough to allow a decent breath. Klaus didn't tell him that exactly, but Diego has always been more observant than people give him credit for.

In the days after Klaus woke up Diego thought often of their conversation and wondered how much of it was typical meaningless Klaus ramblings and how much of it was—not. He didn't bring it up because Klaus had enough on his plate as it was and because Diego is really bad at this sort of thing. Instead he waited until Klaus was bored and in enough pain to bring it up himself.

It only took a week. Which is understandable, since that week was spent laying in the infirmary reading and sleeping and staying still. Everyone tried to keep him company as much as possible, but there wasn't much they could do for their restless brother as they watched him slip into an uncharacteristically morose mood on the worst days.

It had been one of those days that Klaus finally confided in Diego. Diego had been sitting in the chair that remained loyally stationed at Klaus's bedside and Klaus had been staring up at the ceiling. Diego is quite used to feeling awkward so he was content to sit there in silence. Klaus was not.

He told Diego about his and Ben's plan to conjure Dave, the man who Klaus doesn't talk about but whose name he had called out quite a few times in his sleep. He said that Ben had forbidden him to attempt it until he asked for a living person's help—Diego didn't understand the problem, didn't Klaus used to conjure people all the time? Unless he meant, like, physically conjuring which, ew, ghost sex. But then Klaus told him the real problem, that for some reason he just can't find Dave, the same way he can't find Ben now.

So Klaus asked Diego if he would help him find Ben. Diego had been extremely suspicious, because hadn't Klaus just said that Ben had forbidden him from meddling with this aspect of his powers? Oh yeah, Klaus had said, it might be super dangerous. Hell no, Diego had said, what the fuck is wrong with you.

Some more needling, and Diego had pleaded with him to just wait. See if Ben comes back on his own, don't do anything dangerous, please, until finally Klaus dropped it. And that was the end of that conversation. They haven't talked about it since. Diego has been waiting for him to ask again before he says yes. He has an image to maintain, after all.

Diego is halfway down the hallway when he hears a muffled thud behind him. He spins around, but there's nothing except for a cold draft drifting low on the floor. He stands there for another moment and sure enough there's another sound—a shuffling, like something crawling on the ground. Carefully he makes his way back down the hallway, stopping just in front of Klaus's door and waiting. It only takes another second for a shuddery scream to sound.

Diego throws the door open and stops, uncomprehending, frozen.

Klaus is on his back on the floor, like he's fallen there, propped up on his good elbow and staring ahead of him. His legs are drawn up but his mobility is shot, Diego knows this, and that's why he doesn't immediately scream at him to get the fuck away from whatever that is you dumbass. Instead he just stands there and gapes at the reaching, soundlessly screaming transparent blue something standing over his brother. The air that billows out of the room is positively frigid, stinging Diego's eyes so badly that for a moment he can't see a thing.

When the stabbing clears from his eyes he still isn't sure what he's looking at because it's fluctuating, shifting, growing. He makes out arms and faces and suddenly it's not a conglomeration but multiple distinct beings, people, their mouths open but no sound coming forth. Then there is sound and it's indescribable, terrible, shrieking and shouting and screeching, and the people aren't transparent anymore. They're solid flesh but that's not quite apparent until one of them grabs hold of Klaus's shirt and hauls him upward and another wraps its hands around his neck.

Diego moves, the memory of the last time he was too late to save a loved one playing on repeat in his mind. He tries to grab the one that has Klaus by the neck but is stopped by several of the others—they seize his wrists and claw at his arms and he spares a thought to how cold their skin is. And their faces—the one directly in front of him, a stringy-haired woman, her jaw is gone and her tongue is just sort of flapping there in the gory mess on her neck, and for a moment all Diego can do is stare.

Klaus chokes and kicks out, trying to dislodge the thing that has hold of his shirt and is now straddling him. Diego knows in that moment that he's never seen his brother so terrified, and the realization kindles a rage in him that burns alongside his fear. He surges forward, breaking the firm holds the things have claimed on him, and lashes out with an energetic fury that manages to feel familiar and well-practiced even in the midst of this chaos.

Only some of his blows land—because these things, they're unstable, shimmering just long enough for his fist to go crashing through their suddenly incorporeal forms. It's frustrating and exhausting and the cold is sapping his strength and he's just beginning to think he won't make it to Klaus in time when the things just—disappear. One second he's elbowing a man whose guts are spilling out in a skirt around his legs and the next they're all gone and the room is blessedly empty and Diego stands there, wondering if any of it happened at all. He turns to Klaus and wishes it hadn't happened.

Klaus is crying, his shoulders hitching with every panicked little breath that billows out in front of him. Diego swallows hard and kneels in front of him. He reaches a hand out, planning to lay it on his brother's knee, but Klaus flinches so hard that Diego stops with his hand poised between them. Confusion and concern war in Diego's mind and for a moment he's angry—he hates being confused and hates not being able to help. Something must show on his face because Klaus scoots away from him until his back slams into the wall and he holds his arms out in front of him like the world's saddest shield.

Diego doesn't know what to do. He shivers in the lingering cold of the room and tries unsuccessfully to reel in his mounting frustration. "Klaus, what the fuck was that?"

"I can't—I—I c-can't—" Klaus wheezes and then stops and fists his hand in his unruly curls, a shudder running through him. It takes Diego a painfully long time to realize that Klaus is barely breathing. He's having a panic attack, or whatever the fuck Luther calls it when Vanya shuts down. Combined with the cold and his injuries, his chest is hardly expanding at all, and his lips are beginning to turn blue.

Diego grimaces and moves forward, steeling himself against Klaus's inevitable flinch when he reaches for him again. "Klaus—buddy, I'm so sorry, but I have to move you. We can't stay here," he whispers. If the cold doesn't kill him then those things might come back to finish the job. He hooks one arm under Klaus's knees and wraps the other around his back. Klaus gasps and struggles for a moment before going still, which is more concerning than it is helpful.

Diego takes a deep breath and lifts Klaus in one steady movement. He's almost unbelievably light and the ridges of his spine are sharp under his shirt, digging into the flesh of Diego's arm. He moves out of the room quickly, nudging the door shut with his foot on the way out. Somehow he doubts a closed door will stop whatever those things were, but it's better than nothing. He kicks open the door to his own room, shuts it behind him, and carefully sits Klaus down on the bed—then just stands in front of him, not at all sure what to do next.

Klaus is shivering violently, so Diego takes the blanket from the bed and drapes it over his shoulders. His hand unconsciously seeks out the edge of the blanket and draws it closer around himself, like he's trying to disappear, all the while trembling and fighting for breath. Diego looks away and hisses out a breath from between clenched teeth.

He wants to shout, wants to grab Klaus by the shoulders and shake him until he tells him what the fuck just happened. He wants to ask how he can help with whatever this is, or maybe just run with what little instinct he has about dealing with feelings. Perhaps most of all he wants to accuse Klaus of making their existences way more complicated than they already are. After two weeks of therapy he's reasonably certain that most of these are not good responses.

Eventually Diego sits beside Klaus on the bed, not quite touching, and waits. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Klaus slowly lean back against the wall and tilt his head up against it. The movement brings attention to the newly blooming bruises around his neck, and Diego swallows back his fearful concern with a vengeance. Seeing his loved ones in danger or in pain is never going to get easier, he knows this—he just wishes Klaus didn't always manage to be so damn endearing and fragile and accident-prone that he set Diego's every protective instinct alight.

A full minute passes before Diego runs out of patience—a new record. He turns to face Klaus fully and is met with his brother's half-lidded eyes already on him. He looks awful, his skin deathly pale and his eyeliner smudged. His eyes are far away, and Diego gets the impression that if he moved too quickly right now Klaus would shut down forever. "Klaus," Diego whispers into the silence, "can you talk to me?"

"Would rather not," Klaus rasps.

"Yeah, I get that," Diego says conversationally when he'd much rather scream in frustration. He waits and watches Klaus raise a tremulous hand to his neck that then trails down to press against his chest. Either he's feeling the outline of his dog tags under the blanket or he's hurting enough he's not even trying to play it off. Maybe both. Probably both. "Can you at least tell me if we're in danger?"

"No," is the clipped response.

Diego closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. "Do you mean 'no, we're not in danger,' or 'no, I won't tell you'?"

"First one, sorry," Klaus's good hand drifts out to pat Diego's knee in a clumsy apology. That movement seems to sap the rest of his energy and his arm falls uselessly into his lap.

Seeing him so tired and defeated but still so quick to placate is enough to set Diego's teeth grinding. He's always been like this. Klaus, the honorary 'little' brother, wild and unpredictable and easy-going and never judgmental, who used to tell him everything but now has to be forced into divulging information. The distance between them feels insurmountable.

Diego shifts restlessly and listens to the slowly evening sound of Klaus's breathing. He thinks about how Klaus flinched away from him and feels all his anger and frustration melt away to be replaced with despair and—insecurity. "Hey, do you think—" he grimaces around the false start and rubs a hand against his mouth before trying again. "Klaus. You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

There's no response so Diego lifts his head to look at his brother. Klaus's expression is unreadable, carefully blank. "You sound like Ben right now," he says.

Diego can't help raising an incredulous eyebrow. "Ben has to assure you he won't hurt you?"

Klaus snorts. "No, he doesn't have to, you ass."

"No, that's not what I—" Diego groans and counts to ten. "I just meant that he's a ghost, alright?"

Klaus shifts and takes a long moment to breathe through the pain of the movement. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and impatient. "Yeah, well, obviously ghosts aren't as benign as you've been led to believe."

It takes an embarrassingly long second for the pieces to connect in Diego's brain. He stares at Klaus, then at the door, then at Klaus again. "Wait—those things were—"

"Ding ding ding, he's got it," Klaus whoops.

"Dude, what the fuck."

"Tell me about it."

"Klaus," Diego snaps, and Klaus flinches again, and Diego realizes he never actually answered whether or not he knew Diego wouldn't hurt him. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Klaus takes a shallow, shuddering breath, and releases it with a shiver. "I tried to find Ben."

So—Diego had figured that out already, because it's the only logical explanation. And he's angry, of course, because he told Klaus to wait, he said it would be dangerous and Ben had said the same thing. Mostly though he's worried, and wants to say something along the lines of whatever happened, I'll help you through it, but what comes out is "how did you mess up that badly?"

Klaus laughs, because of course he does, then winces. Diego thinks at first he's jostled his ribs but then notices how he's gone stiff and how his eyes skitter across the room before landing back on Diego. Diego frowns and looks at the door, thinking maybe the conjured ghosts have made their way through, but sees nothing. "Seriously, though, how come all the other ghosts appeared but not Ben?" Diego asks eventually.

Klaus shrugs. "They were the ones I was seeing at the moment, I guess."

Diego takes a moment to try to parse some meaning from that sentence but comes up empty. "Sorry, what?"

Klaus has gone pale and sickly-looking, and he draws his knees up to his chest. He pulls the blanket a little tighter around himself while his eyes dance around the room. For a moment he looks exactly like he did as a teenager, wild-eyed and strung out. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to drop a cliff on me."

So whatever Klaus is about to tell him is what spooked Vanya so badly that she almost killed him. It's the reason there's a pile of rubble in front of the secluded cave where he and Eudora used to go when they were young and she was reckless. "I'll try my best not to."

"Good man," Klaus's voice is disingenuous in its cheerfulness, so obviously belying some terrible truth. "Okay, so—you know how my powers work, right?"

Well, he'd thought he did. "Obviously not. I thought you just like, summoned invisible dead people sometimes, ones you want to see, and that you really hate to do it 'cause they scared you so bad as a kid," he watches Klaus closely as he says this, trying to decipher any change in his expression, but it's like talking to a wall. "It also doesn't work unless you're sober."

Klaus nods. "Right, yeah, mostly. Except it doesn't matter, like, at all if I want to see them. They're always here and they never go away."

He says it in such a rush that Diego has to take a moment to decipher it. Even then, it doesn't make much sense. "What, so, they're here right now?" he scoffs a bit, thinking Klaus will appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood, "You're fucking with me."

Klaus doesn't appreciate it at all, though, and that's obvious when his immediate reaction isn't a self-deprecating laugh. Instead his face starts to go red and his eyes flicker more wildly than before and Diego could swear he can see the hard thrumming of his pulse in his neck. Awash with concern all over again, Diego tries to say something, but it dies in his throat when Klaus's hand reaches out to grasp at Diego's sleeve. He toys with it idly like it's not the only thing grounding him. Diego watches him and waits.

"I'm being serious," Klaus whispers, desperate. "I swear I'm being serious, please believe me."

Diego can practically feel his heart breaking and he flounders for a response. What the fuck is going on? Klaus is—scared, scared of Diego, maybe scared of everyone else who managed to fuck him up until he felt he had to beg to be listened to and dear god Diego doesn't know what to do. He's taken too long to answer now and Klaus's head bows more and if he could move Diego just knows he would be running. "Of course I believe you," Diego says in a voice that sounds nothing like his own. "Jesus Christ, why wouldn't I believe you?"

Klaus visibly deflates but doesn't relax per se, it's more like a marionette's strings being cut and leaving it to flop helplessly on the ground. His breath shudders and his hand clenches around Diego's sleeve. "I just—" he starts, stops, throws his gaze around the room because he's probably seeing the same ghosts that attacked him right now, holy shit. "I mean I'd get it, if you didn't. I haven't exactly done a lot to prove I'm trustworthy."

"Don't do that," Diego murmurs, and Klaus goes still. "Don't try to justify the way the world's been cruel to you."

Klaus doesn't say anything at all while the words ring damningly in the air. He curls into Diego's side tentatively and then in earnest when Diego's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders. "They're so loud today," Klaus says after a long moment, muffled and tired. "I'm losing my mind without Ben. I don't know what to do."

Diego still doesn't get it, not really, and Klaus isn't making it easy to understand what exactly he's going through. As articulate as he can be when the moment suits him, he's perfectly useless the other ninety-five percent of the time. "You should come to therapy with me," Diego says, stupidly, all the while fighting the urge to pull his shivering mess of a brother closer.

Klaus hums like he's actually thinking about it and like he's not surprised that Diego just admitted to seeing a shrink. "Does it help?" he asks.

"Sometimes," Diego hedges.

"They'd never believe me."

Diego wants to argue. The whole world knows who they are, what their powers entail—at least somewhat. Dr. Good believed Diego, why wouldn't she believe Klaus? And Diego would be there, he'd vouch for him. But what value do Diego's assurances and logic have in the face of Klaus's entire life experience? What can he say to assuage Klaus's fears? "I'm sorry," he says. What he means is that he's sorry Klaus feels this way about himself and that he has to live with monsters only he can see.

He doesn't know what Klaus gleans from his apology, only that his brother is beginning to feel warmer in his arms.