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“We need you to summon dad.”
Klaus blinked at Luther once, twice, thrice, before patting him on the shoulder and slipping past him, toward the pot of coffee. (He was doing his best to trade one addiction for another, and Five, the little shit, at least bought the good stuff when it came to coffee.)
“Good one, buddy.”
Mug. He needed a mug. Mug, mug, mug, mug, mug. There were maybe two collective mugs in their whole kitchen, because daddy dearest hadn’t been the give them hot chocolate and tea with honey in the evenings type, so it was a regular battle to find a suitable drinking cup.
“Try the dishwasher,” Ben suggested absently, head tilted at Luther quizzically.
The dishwasher. Klaus clapped in delight at the mug sitting there, snatching it up and making a beeline for the coffee pot.
“Klaus, I’m not kidding.”
“Mm-hm.” He’d have to be quick. Five hadn’t objected yet to him drinking from his coffee supply, but he didn’t want to push it by getting caught in the act. He had distinct memories from his childhood, about how, ah, protective Five was over his belongings.
“Klaus!”
The mug was wrenched from his hands and placed down firmly on the counter. And just like that, it
shattered
into pieces.
Instinct had Klaus tensed, eyes narrowed at those large hands – the same hands that had wrapped around his throat not even a month ago – because in his experience, when people started smashing the dishware, it never led to anything good, but-
Luther had gone still. Eyes wide with surprise, staring down at his own hands.
(Still, after all this time, unaware of his own strength. Oblivious to how easily things shattered in his grasp.)
“We need you to summon dad,” Luther stated, that ever-present frown still etched onto his face as he refocused – the same pinched look he usually wore when looking at Klaus. “I’m serious.”
Klaus laughed, equal parts incredulous and amused. “And why would I ever want to do that?”
He paused. Reconsidered who he was talking to, and softened. “I get it, big guy. You never got to say goodbye. But once they’ve moved on, the dead are supposed to be separate from the living-”
“Not for you,” Luther pointed out.
Klaus went still.
“Not,” he said pointedly, “for us.”
Luther looked uncomfortable, eyes darting around the room in that unnerved way his siblings always looked, at the reminder of Ben’s in-existence. Ben was still watching Luther intently, but he didn’t refute Klaus’s statement, eyes sliding to him just long enough to offer a soft smile.
“And you’ve made me regret it every day since.”
They could’ve been heavy words, if not for the levity in his tone, the familiar gently teasing quirk of his lips.
Klaus stuck his tongue out in return. “Oh, shut up, you love me.”
His eyes landed back at Luther, who seemed like he was trying to follow where Klaus had been talking to. Maybe it was pity, or sympathy for Ben – because Klaus knew it made him sad when their siblings tried and couldn’t meet his eyes, but-
“What would the point even be?” Luther’s attention was back on him. He swallowed. “You know the guy, he’s just gonna rattle on about what disappointments we are, how he expected better from us. After what he did to Viktor, I really doubt he wanted to see dear old dad ever again-”
“It’s because of Viktor that you need to do this,” Luther interrupted. “Look, we need to figure out if Dad kept any other information on how to help Viktor with-”
“You need to do this,” Ben repeated mockingly, coldly. “What a presumptive dick.”
“Need?” Klaus echoed. “Who says what I need to do? Did Five say so? Did the old man find it in his calculations? Or Viktor? Did Viktor say he was struggling with his powers, and that the one thing that he needs, that would help him more than anything else, is to see the dead apparition of our abusive, neglectful tyrant of a father?”
There was something broken and jagged at the centre of him, buried beneath a bright smile and easy-going demeanour. Something that shattered the very first time he was locked in the mausoleum, when he cried and sobbed and begged for help, and none came. When he’d screamed himself hoarse and bloodied his fingertips trying to claw his way out. It was not something that healed, even with time. The best he could do was dull the edges, lest they cause further injury.
(Dave blunted the edges. With warmth and devotion, ocean-blue eyes and honeyed smiles, and the soft, drawling way he said Klaus’s name like it was a prayer. Like he was everything.)
“Oh, I doubt Viktor told him,” Ben said scornfully. “He can barely be in the same room as the guy, let alone talk to him about his powers. You’d have to consult Five about that. Number One isn’t quite as in control as he’d like himself to be.”
(Dave blunted the edges. Sometimes, Klaus thought Ben sharpened them.)
Klaus bit his own tongue before he could continue, trying to separate that vague thrum of Ben’s anger from his own. He mentally took a file to that broken thing inside of him, breathing deeply as he envisioned himself smoothing out those edges. Over and over again, until he was certain that the next thing out his mouth wasn’t designed to hurt.
“One- Luther,” he stumbled over his words. “Even if I wanted to summon Dad – even if Viktor wanted that – I can’t. I can’t summon ghosts.”
“God, I wish that was true,” Ben muttered. Klaus ignored him.
Luther frowned. “You’ve summoned-”
“Once,” Klaus clarified, his eyes sliding to Ben. “I managed to summon a ghost once, and the asshole became my problem for the next fourteen years.”
Luther was scowling, stepping closer. “Five said the drinking and drugs was to drown out all the ghosts-”
(He’d fucking told Five that under confidence – but what would he expect from someone who sometimes saw his siblings as experiments instead of family-)
“But I don’t summon them, they just appear-”
“Then just make Dad appear-”
“It doesn’t work that way-”
Luther was stepping closer, his face shadowed with anger and Klaus was breathing in whiskey on his breath and accusations were falling from his mouth like poison and there was a hand wrapping around his throat, lifting him against the wall and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe.
“God, Luther, fuck off!”
Ben.
Benbenbenbenbenbenbenbenbenbenbenbenben.
Safe.
When his head stopped spinning, Luther was a few feet away. Silent. Disappointment in his stare.
“We’re all trying to support Viktor. I don’t understand why you won’t even try. For once.”
Klaus didn’t have the energy to glare at him. “I can’t summon Dad,” he rasped. “It doesn’t- it doesn’t work the way you think it works.”
“Then do it the way it worked last time.”
With that, Luther left. Like those words meant nothing to him.
Like
it all
meant
nothing.
"That dick.”
Klaus was staring hard at the door that had just been slammed shut. He doubted the way it shook in its frame was on purpose, because perfect Number One was above such petty bouts of anger – never mind the fact that after 30 goddamned years, he still hadn’t gotten a handle on his own strength (his own powers).
“I can’t believe him-”
He realised suddenly that his hands were trembling. Violently. He was breathing so hard that he felt light-headed, and the floor didn’t seem as steady as normal. Ben’s voice drifted in and out of his awareness.
And he realised abruptly, that he was furious with Luther.
“That fucking bastard,” Ben fumed. And Klaus finally looked up at his brother. Ben’s anger – it was like a livewire thrumming between the two of them, the same thread he felt connecting him to Ben when he drifted too far was now alive with shockfurydisgust.
And abruptly, he felt his own anger die. That cold, icy fury that could’ve been his, but wasn’t quite, falling silent. He choked out a bitter laugh. Based on Ben’s expression, it wasn’t a very convincing one.
“I don’t know what you expected,” he said, not bothering to disguise the resentment in his voice. “You saw how he treated me growing up. Hell, how he treated me two months ago.”
Ben shook his head. Klaus knew why. Still, after all this time, he tried to see the best in their siblings. His memories of them had sweetened over time with nostalgia – longing for something he could never quite get back. Klaus’s memories had only soured.
“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Luther has a point.”
And that point was Viktor.
His littlest brother, after 29 long years, was finally stepping out of his shell, and he was astonishing. With every day that passed, as he improved his control on his powers, and hung out with Five or went for coffee with Allison or played violin for Klaus, he seemed more vibrant. He wasn’t changing, no. It was more akin to finally settling into his own skin.
The small but blinding smile on his face when Klaus burst into applause after he played a song. The sound of his laugh when Klaus spun him around and hugged him, calling him spectacular, delightful, remarkable. The small pieces of joy afforded to him in finally seeing his little brother.
Everyone had been trying so hard to help him. To help his training. Five, Diego and Allison oversaw the bulk of it, and Klaus knew Five locked himself away after each little training session to write new ‘lesson plans’ to help guide his progress. Everyone was helping in some way.
Everyone
except
Klaus.
It was with that bitter thought in mind, that Klaus made up his mind. He left the broken mug and the coffee pot and the kitchen, and instead made for his room.
“Klaus?” Cautiously, now. Dark, worried eyes following him as he tore through his room.
He knew he’d hidden it somewhere. He had so many hiding spots it was hard to recall – several of them turning up small baggies of pills that Ben eyed with concern, even as Klaus discarded them on the floor without a care.
“What are you doing?”
Klaus didn’t pause his search. “Isn’t it obvious, Benny? We’re gonna summon Dad, just like our dear brother asked.”
“Klaus. You can’t summon ghosts.”
“Can’t I?”
There. Klaus smiled, grim and cynical as he finally pulled it from its hiding place. “You always wanted me to get more in touch with my powers, right Benerino?”
Firearms weren’t the weapon of choice of any of the Umbrella Academy. They’d had brief lessons in their childhood – because Reggie insisted on preparedness for any situation – but very little use in practice. Diego had his knives, Allison her words. And Klaus? He had look-out duty.
(Useless, they whispered, in between missions. Can’t even control his powers. Can’t even handle his own ghosts. Why is he even in the Academy?)
It was funny, then. That after Vietnam, he was almost certain he had the most practice and precision with a firearm out of any of his siblings.
“Klaus,” Ben said again, shakily. “Put down the gun.”
Even though it wasn’t loaded, the revolver was a comforting weight in his hands – hands that were no longer trembling. He’d stolen it from his father’s office when he was just a teen. It was old. Likely rusty. Not exactly a finely tuned instrument. But just holding it sent a strange sort of calm sweeping through him.
A touch of humour in his voice. “What else is Number Four good for, right?”
Ben flinched again, arm outstretched – like he’d be able to knock the gun from Klaus’s hand. Klaus thought, distantly, that he hadn’t seen that much fear in Ben’s eyes since the first time he’d woken up in hospital after overdosing.
“Klaus, I won’t just watch you kill yourself.”
Klaus tilted his head. “Now who said anything about watching?”
He hadn’t improved much with his powers, as was the shame of all his siblings since they’d decided to try at being a Happy Superpowered Family. But he knew enough to do this. And with a push of the hand, Ben was propelled backwards with nothing more than a desperate cry.
And just like that.
Klaus was alone.
(Never alone – never truly. A ghost sobbing in the corner. The distant humming of the lady with the twisted neck who liked to wander the foyer. The shuffleshuffle of the old man who went up and down their hallway, over and over again. Never alone – not really.)
It was loud. It was always loud when he was alone.
(Screamingcryingsobbing in a hundred different cadences. Help us, help us, help us. Please help us, Klaus.)
Talking and talking and screaming and sobbing and yelling, a thousand different voices, wrapping around him, pressing in, suffocating him. Louder and louder, into a deafening crescendo, a tidal wave of noise crashing down on him, until-
Klaus dropped a single bullet into the chamber. Slid the cylinder back into place. Breathed in, spun the cylinder. Breathed out, pressed the barrel of the gun under his chin.
And
he
pulled
the
trigger.
Click.
(Five, scowling, “There’s something holding you back in your training. Until you figure out what it is, you’re wasting my time.”)
Click.
(Ben, quietly, “Don’t you ever want to try to control your powers?”)
Click.
(Viktor, uncertain but proud, “I’ve never been remarkable to anyone before.”)
Click.
(Luther, disappointed. “Then do it the way it worked last time.”)
BANG!
Everything
went
black.
+++
“You know, an open door is not an open invitation to visit.”
“Then maybe you should stop leaving it open.”
“If I had that power, I think we would both have far less headaches.”
“But then there would be no balance, would there?”
“No, there would not.”
“You will find the answers you seek through there.”
“Dánke.”
“Please refrain from visiting my domain until you meet your natural end.”
“We both know that’s not possible.”
“That is the unfortunate thing about doorways, isn’t it?”
“That they aren’t meant to be kept shut?”
“That they will always connect one place to another. That they will always belong to both places.”
“Will you do your best, regardless, to delay a visit?”
“I think Ben would prefer that. No promises – but I’ll do my best.”
“Understood. Go well, then.”
+++
As it turned out, Sir Reginald Hargreeves kept more detailed accounts of their training in a series of notebooks, which were stowed in a safe in his office. The safe was behind a panel in the wall of the office that only slid open after flicking a switch on the underneath of his desk, and was key-locked. The key was hung on a hook in a dark and out-of-sight corner of the wardrobe in his bedroom. The safe then required a 4 digit-passcode.
All in all, not a secret that one would just stumble upon by accident. Klaus was appreciative of the inflated sense of self-importance all the dead seemed to have, because dear old Reggie was happy to detail the process to obtain the journals – certain they were the key to the success of your mission, as without them, without his life’s work, they’d be destined for failure.
There were seven notebooks, all leatherbound, brown with gold trimmings, and their respective number embossed on the cover. One for each of them. The key to their success and vital to their mission.
Klaus burned his in the metal waste basket before he even stepped foot out the office, a grim satisfaction curling in his gut at the sight. Ben, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since he returned, quietly requested Klaus do the same to his book. Klaus added it to the fire with great pleasure, and did his best to ignore the way the flames danced in Ben’s eyes.
Their siblings were having lunch in the (refurbished) dining room. He could hear Mum humming in the kitchen, and there was a quiet, easy-flowing conversation that Klaus didn’t pay mind to before dropping all the notebooks heavily on the table
Thunk!
“What,” Five questioned disinterestedly, “are these?”
“Dad’s journals,” Klaus met Luther’s eyes. “On each of our powers. You’re welcome.”
Diego immediately reached over the table to snatch up his notebook, flipping it open. Klaus winced at that – if it’d been up to him, he strongly suspected Diego would benefit most from the ceremonious burning treatment. Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to him. Diego scowled at whatever he found and snapped it shut.
Klaus handed out the rest of the journals without a word. Five was the only one not to open his up immediately, instead narrowing his eyes. “There’s only five of them.”
“Oh yeah.” Klaus shrugged. “I burned mine. And Ben’s.”
“You burned them?”
Klaus smiled, a razor-sharp little thing, in Luther’s direction. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“You can’t just destroy Dad’s stuff because he’s not around to stop it-”
“Luther, shut up,” Allison cut in. “Klaus – where did you find these?”
Viktor nodded. “I thought we’d already been through every inch of the house.”
Klaus’s smile softened into something a little less cruel. “Dad’s office. There’s a safe behind a secret panel on the wall next to the fireplace.”
“And you just stumbled across it?” Diego asked disbelievingly.
Klaus smiled indulgently, shrugging. Five still hadn’t touched his notebook.
Luther was the one whose eyes widened. “You summoned Dad.”
Klaus’s gaze trailed over Luther, taking in the notebook tightly gripped in his hand, the fork bent all out of shape on his plate, the almost longing look in his eyes. He looked away dismissively. “Yeah, sure.”
“Sure?” Ben questioned quietly. He’d been almost silent ever since Klaus had woken back up, Ben standing over his body. Usually Klaus got flashes of his emotions through the bond between them, brief surges or subtle trickles that entangled with his own feelings. But now, the thread connecting them was still. Nothing. Like it’d been frozen over when he’d banished Ben.
“Sure?” Ben repeated again. Klaus’s eyes darted to him briefly.
A bitter, disbelieving scoff. “You’re not even going to tell them, are you?”
Why should I?
Ben laughed – sharp and harsh and unnatural. “You don’t think they deserve to know? You don’t think they’d want to know?”
“Not particularly.”
Five’s eyes shot toward him.
“God, Klaus. I never said a word to them about the mausoleum, or your training, or the streets, or Hazel and Cha-Cha.” Each word – each secret – a blow to Klaus’s calm front. “But if you don’t tell them about this, then I will.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said softly, holding eye contact. He was vaguely aware that their siblings had gone silent.
“I would.”
All ghosts had a tendency toward anger. The more pieces of themselves they lost, the less human they became, the angrier they seemed to become. For the most part, Ben seemed exempt from that, but sometimes–
“It’s none of their business. It’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business.”
–when Ben did get angry, it was volcanic. Eyes bleeding to black, face twisted into something inhuman. His voice echoed with something otherworldly as he threw his arms out in frustration and–
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“It fucking concerns me when my brother blows his brains out to visit our dead abusive father!”
–struck Five’s mug, sending it smashing against the floor.
And Klaus couldn’t breathe because-
Ben
was
corporeal.
Any hope that he’d only become physical after his words was dashed by the tears on Viktor’s face, the revulsion in Diego’s, the way Five had gone completely still, all of their eyes on him
looking
staring
knowing.
Ben faded back into incorporeality, and Klaus wasn’t certain if it was his doing, or if Ben was just satisfied with the trouble he’d caused – and he was inclined to believe the latter, based on Ben’s smug smile.
Klaus scowled at him. I’m going to hire a fucking priest to exorcise you, you piece of shit.
Ben’s smile only widened, sharp and full of teeth. Fucking try it.
“What,” Five ground out, “the fuck did Ben mean, you blew your brains out?”
Klaus glared at Ben. “Friendly misunderstanding,” he offered blithely.
Five vanished, and a few seconds later he was back, shoving a bloody bedsheet in his face. “Explanation. Now.”
Diego looked like he was going to be sick, looking at the bedsheet covered in blood and – Klaus squinted – tiny bits of brain matter. Viktor didn’t look too far behind him, eyes closed and doing what Klaus recognised as one of his breathing techniques.
“Go on, Klaus,” Ben urged, smiling pointedly. “Tell him.”
God, the second he could find an exorcist, a priest, anything–
“I can’t summon ghosts,” he stated. There.
“You can summon-” Luther started, confused.
“Are you going to let me speak or can I just head back to Dad’s office to see if he knew any good exorcists?”
“Luther, shut your mouth before I do it for you.” Five refocused on Klaus. “You can’t summon ghosts.”
Klaus glared at Ben briefly. “Nope.”
“Ben?”
“An exception,” Klaus ground out. He glared again. “And a fucking pain in my ass.”
Ben smiled sweetly right back at him.
“During the week of the apocalypse. You said you summoned Reginald.”
“Because he’s a liar,” Ben cut in. Klaus rolled his eyes.
“Fine, whatever, I exaggerated a little. Sorry I didn’t know how to explain that I brained myself on the floor and took a quick trip upstairs to talk to the little girl god. We seemed a little short on time back then.”
“You died?” Allison whispered, a hand cupped to her mouth.
“Took them long enough to notice,” Ben muttered, and Klaus couldn’t help the slight quirk of his lips.
Klaus shrugged. “Well, not like, on purpose. We-”
“But this time it was on purpose,” Viktor stated quietly. His eyes didn’t move from the bloodied bedsheet. “You did it on purpose.”
Klaus cast a nervous look toward the glasses that seemed to be faintly rattling on the table. “Well, yeah.”
“Why?” Diego burst out. He was fiddling with a knife, but his hand was trembling. “Why would you do that? Why would you ever-”
Klaus’s eyes trailed over to Luther, who had the decency to look ashamed and a little horrified. “You guys asked. You wanted me to summon Dad.”
“But you can’t summon ghosts,” Five said tiredly.
“But I can’t summon ghosts. So, I took Luther’s advice. And I did it how I managed it last time.”
Strangely, Ben wasn’t the only one shooting Luther dirty looks for that.
“Klaus,” Allison’s voice broke. “You know that- you know that none of us would ever ask you to do this to yourself, right?”
Klaus’s gaze lingered on Luther. “None of you?”
“I wouldn’t have,” Luther insisted, eyes still wide and a little horrified. “If I’d known-”
“If you’d listened,” Klaus snapped. “I told you that I couldn’t summon ghosts. But like always – you never listen.”
Silence, for a moment. Then-
“He’s right.” Allison, Allison of all people. “You’re not Number One anymore. You’re supposed to be our brother. And you need to start acting like it.”
Her focus returned to Klaus. Something in him balked at the intensity of her stare. “Klaus, you understand that there’s something wrong here, right? That you shouldn’t… kill yourself, just to help us?”
“Well, I didn’t only do it for you-”
“That’s not the point,” Diego cut in, practically snarling. “Klaus, you can’t- you can’t-”
“We want you alive,” Viktor said simply, when Diego couldn’t find the words. There were tears streaming down his face, but he managed a weak smile. “We need you alive, Klaus. More than any stupid books.”
Klaus blinked. “But I am alive. I came back.”
He glanced at Ben, raising his eyebrow in an are you hearing this too? before he remembered he was pissed off with him.
“But you weren’t,” Five stated quietly. “You weren’t alive, twice, and none of us noticed.”
“I don’t blame you.”
(“I do,” Ben snarked.)
“Not for the first time,” Klaus said earnestly. “Listen, you couldn’t have done anything about that one. And this time was my choice in the end. I didn’t just do it for you. I did it for myself too. I wanted to be able to use my powers for something good. To be useful.”
(And if he’d quietly hoped that maybe he could encounter a certain war veteran with ocean eyes and crooked smiles while upstairs, he kept that to himself.)
Viktor looked distraught. “You don’t need to be useful to us, Klaus.”
Which was another way of saying he wasn’t.
“If you want to train your powers, we’ll teach you.” Diego, who knew almost nothing about his powers, had a determined set to his jaw. “I don’t care how long it takes. But we can do that without- while-”
“While valuing your life,” Allison finished. She reached across the table to take his hand. “You matter to us. It matters to us that you’re alive. And that you stay that way.”
It’s not the same, Klaus wanted to tell them. I’m not the same.
Death… it wasn’t such a big deal to him. But Viktor was crying and Diego was angrily blinking away tears and Five had a quiet air of devastation about him. And instinctively, he looked to Ben, forgetting his annoyance, lost.
Ben smiled at him knowingly. “It matters,” he echoed. “Even if you come back. Just like it mattered when I died, even if you can still see me. Can you understand that, at least?”
Well. Fuck. He’d been devastated when Ben had died. Had cried for days before his funeral. And even now, when he was with him every day. He could still remember the ache, the hole left in his heart with his brother’s death.
He nodded quietly. “Okay.”
Allison looked relieved. Ben just smiled.
Five was still looking at him., something shaken in his eyes. “We need to talk about this more.”
Klaus nodded again. “Okay. Just… not now? Let’s just look at these stupid journals.”
Five’s eyes were still too knowing, too critical, staring right through him. But he nodded too. “Alright.”
Klaus sank into the seat beside Viktor, pulling back another chair for Ben. He took in a deep breath, and exhaled before attempting a smile for his littlest brother.
“Let’s take a look at what’s in this thing, huh?”
Viktor smiled back, still a little teary, and shuffled his chair closer so he could lean into Klaus as he opened up the notebook. A hand gripped his under the table, vicelike, unwilling to let go, and Ben peered over his shoulder. And Klaus breathed, allowing himself to relax in the easy comfort of his siblings’ presence.