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It’s five thirty am, and they’ve just settled into the kitchen when the text comes through.
Because Allison was nice enough to give them cell phones with each other’s numbers pre-programmed in, and she was nice enough to give them a massive house with seven massive bedrooms and four massive bathrooms, but she couldn’t be bothered with anything else. Like sticking around to make sure they survived. Yeah, evidently that would’ve been asking too much. It stings, but- well. Not entirely unexpected. Klaus thought Viktor was unhinged when he ended the world (twice), but he has nothing on Allison.
There’s a difference, Klaus is starting to realize, between uncontrolled, accidental actions and actions done with malicious intent. A realization he, maybe, should’ve come to sooner (he didn’t really understand the sum zero harshness of his own lifestyle between leaving the Academy and Five returning; he’s finally starting to), but better late than never, right? He’s always been too forgiving.
(“I’m sorry, Klaus, but you’re just more trouble than you’re worth.”)
That’s not a mistake he plans on making again.
(Sorry, Allison, but you painted the flag red and then hung it yourself.)
At least they’re together. Small mercies, really. Klaus is surprised he and Viktor managed to wrangle everyone back together- even Ben! Wild. But they’d all agreed (shocking, that was) that it would be better if they stuck together in this new, potentially more dangerous timeline. Because HARGREEVES is emblazoned across every fucking flat surface in the damn city, and that- that seems a little ominous. A little suspicious. More than a little worrying, that’s for damn sure.
So Allison had sent a text.
A group text.
A picture, an address, and a six digit code. Apparently they need fancy electric locks on their doors. Because now they’re all powerless and weak and useless and-
No. Poor train of thought. If Ben were here, he’d say something about self-deprecating idiots. But Ben’s not here (his Ben isn’t here), so it doesn’t matter what Ben would’ve said anyways.
Ew, yuck. Worse train of thought. That train fucking crashed into him full stop, and now he feels like he might have a mental breakdown into his bowl of soggy Fruit Loops.
But then the text comes through, and Klaus’s mind is forcibly whisked away from that steep, dangerous, oh so slippery slope.
He blinks blearily down at his phone, squinting at the text from- yes, that’s Allison. To him. Personally.
Allison, 5:32 AM: I’m not the only one who deserves a happy ending.
Klaus stares blankly at the message in confusion. Another message comes through, this time with an address that is, if Klaus’s hazy memory recalls (and it should; they’re still in the city, and these streets were his), about twenty minutes from here.
“Five,” Klaus says, peering over at his brother who looks maniacally wired and somehow also about ten seconds away from falling asleep into his coffee. “Fivey, Allison is sending me weird messages. She says-” He pauses as another message comes through, and then stops breathing entirely as he reads it.
And then reads it again.
And one more time, just to be sure.
Allison, 5:33 AM: It’s late. Or early. He should be waking up soon. I doubt he’ll want to do that to an empty bed. Good luck, Klaus. I don’t know if you believe me, but I truly wish you well.
“Oh,” he says faintly. And then, because he still isn’t entirely sure this isn’t some fucked up hallucination or incredibly vivid dream- “Five, fancy a road trip?”
“As long as it’s better than our last one,” Five grumbles irritably, downing his mug of hot coffee in one go and then stumbling to his feet. “Where?”
“I think it would be best if we all stick together,” Viktor ventures cautiously, kicking at Luther’s shin.
Luther snuffles and startles awake, jerking upright with a piece of toast stuck firmly to the side of his face. He blinks around at the table, looks over at Viktor, and then mumbles sleepily, “What he said.”
“We’ll be back,” Klaus assures. “I just- I need to go…do…something,” he finishes lamely.
“What?” Ben snaps, slamming a mug of coffee down on the table with more force than Klaus thinks is really necessary. But, well, that’s new Ben for you. All unnecessary force and aggressive tone. “What’s more important than getting our powers back?”
“Finding Sloane,” Luther offers, looking like the world's biggest kicked puppy, and Klaus feels a bolt of sympathy shoot through his chest. That’s twice now someone he cares about hasn’t gotten to say goodbye to someone they love (and that’s not something he’d like to get into right now, no thank you.)
“We all have different priorities,” Viktor says, frowning sternly at Ben. “And that’s okay. But,” and here, he looks back at Klaus, expression morphing into one of concern. “But I think it’s still best if we stay together.”
“We’ll be gone for a few hours,” Klaus says firmly and then stands; he doesn’t need permission, and if this is what he thinks it is- well. There’s not a damn thing out there that could stop him. Not even Viktor.
“C’mon, Five.” There’s four sets of car keys hanging on the wall by the garage door, and he grabs a set at random, too wired to care about what kind of car he’s driving.
Five follows, seeming marginally more awake now that he’s had his third cup of coffee; he at least has the decency to wait until they’re alone in the garage to start harassing Klaus for answers.
“Where are we going?”
“Few miles,” Klaus answers vaguely, pressing buttons on the key fob until the lights come on on one of the cars.
“Why are you avoiding answering the question?” Five snatches the keys out of his hand and settles into the driver's seat, raising a brow like he’s daring Klaus to argue.
Klaus raises his hands, neither willing nor in the right frame of mind to argue, and climbs into the passenger seat.
“Because,” he says, and then stops. Breathes slowly and evenly, and then tries again. “Because Allison…alluded to something, and I need to see if it’s true. And I don’t think I can do it alone.”
“Like an emotional support schnauzer,” Five mutters told himself, angrily stabbing a finger into the button that opens the garage door.
“No,” Klaus denies immediately. It’s true; last time was different. Last time, he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he was alone (fuck you, Ben, truly.) “No. Just like…like a brother.” I’m terrified, he doesn’t say. I’ve never been this afraid.
Five seems to hear it anyways.
He doesn’t ask anymore questions, doesn’t demand anymore answers; he just turns the radio on, sets it low to an oldies station, and follows Klaus’s directions in comfortable silence.
The house they stop in front of is small, squat, but in a cozy sort of way. It’s all exposed brick and wide windows, overgrown greenery and vibrant flowers spilling freely across the yard. The patio has a cushy looking swinging bench hanging from the rafters, a blanket tossed over one arm, and next to it sits a wobbly wooden side table home to a book he can’t quite make out. It’s perfect in an imperfect sort of way, and it makes something in his chest ache. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It’s everything they wanted.
“Are you okay?” Five ventures, voice hesitant and unsure, and Klaus’s attention snaps back over to him.
“Hm?”
“You’re crying.”
Klaus’s brows furrow and he brings a hand to his face, tentatively touching his cheek. His fingers come away wet.
“Oh.” He scrubs at his eyes, trying his best to dry them. “I’m fine.”
“Wanna tell me who you’re here to see?”
“…an old friend?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“Honesty, Five, I’m not. I’m not fucking sure about anything these days”
Five watches him with a quiet sort of consideration. “The dog tags?”
Klaus’s fingers automatically seek out the familiar weight against his chest and curl around the metal, voice hoarse as he responds. “…yeah.”
“Go.” Without waiting for a response, Five leans over him and shoves his door open. “I’ll be here.”
Klaus offers a wobbly smile and clumsily pats at his brother's hand. “Thanks, Fivey.”
And then he’s scrambling out of the car and racing towards the front door.
He freezes, though, once his fingers touch the knob, heart beating a frantic staccato in his chest.
God, he’s waited so long for this. Hoped and prayed and begged and screamed for this. Clawed his way kicking and screaming into sobriety, threw himself into dad's brutalistic training. He’d died for this, for the fleeting hope that maybe, maybe he’ll be there and yet-
He can’t quite bring himself to open the door.
He wants to.
More than anything, he wants to, but there’s a little niggling voice whispering in the back of his mind.
Don’t open the door, it says. Something about this isn’t right. You know things like this don’t come for free.
But there’s a louder voice, too. Something deep in his chest pushing him forward, something bursting with tentative hope that says but what if he’s there?
Klaus
opens
the
door.
It’s dark.
That’s the first thing he notices.
It’s dark, but there’s a string of fairy lights decorating the mantle of a brick fireplace to his right, and another strand framing the opposite wall behind the couch.
He lets his eyes drift, taking in every detail; the lopsided hand knit blanket tossed over the back of the couch, the well worn combat boots strewn haphazardly by the door next to a pair of chunky soled, glittery Mary Janes. There’s two sloppily hand painted mugs sitting abandoned and half full on the coffee table, and an old army jacket thrown over the back of a worn velvet wingback chair that doesn’t match the rest of the furniture.
There’s a fuzzy rug in front of the mantle that he knows he would’ve insisted on, and a tube of lipgloss buried in the fibers, like it fell out of a pocket and was forgotten.
None of that is anything in comparison to the pictures.
There’s easily two dozen scattered around the living room; stacked on the bookshelf shoved against the wall opposite the couch, hung crookedly on the walls, set up on the mantle. Polaroids, too, tacked up beneath the string lights on the wall. More than he can count, really, almost filling the whole damn thing. Their life told in quiet little snapshots strewn throughout the house.
It’s messy and intimate and nothing like he would have pictured except for the fact that it is; he didn’t think he could see lazy Sunday mornings and late night walks in the park and weekly date nights and domesticity, but standing here in a home that isn’t familiar but is his, surrounded by a life he doesn’t remember creating but can tell he undoubtedly did, something in his chest fractures.
Not in a bad way, either.
He feels shattered open and laid bare, vulnerable and cracked apart, and he’s never been happier to be broken.
He tears down the hallway, past the bedroom, to the single door at the end and pushes it open slowly, cautiously, squinting past the orange and pink rays spilling through the open window and illuminating the bed in soft golden light until-
There.
Dave.
He’s laying on his stomach, splayed across the mattress with his head pillowed on his arm and the blankets tangled haphazardly around his hips. The gentle morning light catches on the steady rise and fall of his back, highlights the strong curve of his shoulders, caresses the sleep-soft lines of muscle along his spine, throws the familiar splash of chocolate freckles into contrast against sun kissed gold. His other hand stretches towards the empty side of the bed in a habitual sort of way, reaching for someone he knows will unquestionably be at his side.
Klaus’s gaze is drawn further down to the soft curl of Dave’s fingers in the sheets by a glint of metal catching a ray of sunlight.
Chest going tight and dizzy with hope, he takes half a step forward, ducking his head against the early morning light until he can see-
Oh.
Oh.
There, curled delicately around Dave’s fourth finger, rests a gleaming silver ring.
Klaus’s breath catches in his throat, tears spilling hotly down his cheeks, legs weak with relief.
With a reverent whisper of his Dave’s name, Klaus folds to his knees and he unravels.
*
It takes longer than it should to pull himself back together and really, it’s a testament to how comfortable Dave is here, how safe he feels, that he doesn’t wake up to the quiet sounds of Klaus’s hitched sobbing.
With trembling fingers, he fumbles his cell phone out of his pocket and shakily starts a new text thread.
Klaus, 6:07 AM: I’m staying here. You can go home
Five, 6:07 AM: Are you sure?
Klaus glances up as Dave snuffles in his sleep, shifting his arm beneath the pillow so he can bury his face in the plush material.
Klaus, 6:08 AM: Positive. Go. Will call if I need a ride
Five, 6:08 AM: If they hurt you, I know how to hide a body.
Five, 6:08 AM: And they will NEVER be found.
Klaus laughs wetly to himself and stands, stumbling into the bathroom to clean the smudged eyeliner off his face and shuffle out of his clothes until he’s left in his underwear, leaving them in a messy pile on the ground.
He smooths his fingers through his curls, untangling any knots, and then makes his way back into the bedroom, hesitating before carefully climbing into bed, drawing the blankets over his legs and taking Dave’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Dave shifts slightly, sighing softly, tension Klaus didn’t even notice he was carrying melting out of him in a way that kind of makes Klaus want to cry all over again.
Instead he shuffles closer, laying on his side to face Dave, and finally lets his eyes drift shut, exhausted to his very core.
*
Klaus doesn’t know how much time passes, but he wakes in slow, easy stages.
He notices the fingers first, carding gently through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. The intimate press of a strong thigh between his own, legs tangled. The steady beat of a heart at his back, warmth curled comfortingly around him. A calloused hand smoothing along his chest, his stomach, tracing the lines of his tattoo by memory.
He blinks his eyes open, wriggles more firmly back against Dave, and cranes his neck until Dave gets with the program and leans forward, (finally, finally) kissing him soft and syrupy slow.
“Mornin’,” Dave murmurs, voice low and sleep rough, and Klaus shuffles around until they’re facing each other, taking in every detail; the crinkles around Dave’s eyes, the freckles splashed across his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the delicate little scar just above his eyebrow, the speckled blue of his eyes.
“Morning,” he whispers back, and kisses him again just because he can. “I love you.”
And then Dave smiles, bright and blinding and so familiar it hurts, and rests his forehead against Klaus’s. “I love you too, darlin’.”
Klaus’s eyes go hot and he closes them, curling closer to Dave and pressing his face into his collar bone, breathing in the familiar smell; clean sweat and cinnamon aftershave and something bright and earthy and so distinctly Dave that Klaus wants to drown in it.
Dave’s hand pauses in his hair. “You okay?”
Klaus hums, resolutely not moving. He presses closer, squeezing his eyes tighter to prevent the tears from falling. “I’m way more than okay, lovely. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Positive?”
“Would I lie to you?”
Dave snorts but resumes petting his hair. “All the damn time.”
Klaus gasps and bites at Dave’s collarbone in retaliation. “You wound me, David. I’m wounded.”
Dave laughs lightly, the sound rumbling in his chest, and reaches down to pinch Klaus’s thigh. “Oh, m’sure I can find a way to make it up to you.”
Klaus laughs lightly and tilts his head up, capturing Dave’s lips with his own. “You’d damn well better, Katz.”
“I’ll spend the rest’a my life makin’ it up to you if I have to,” Dave teases lightly, and Klaus’s breath seizes in his throat.
It’s a joke. He knows it’s a joke, knows there’s no way Dave could possibly know just how short his life got cut in the other timeline, but suddenly Klaus is- they’re looking at a lifetime together. An actual, happy, mundane lifetime. Dave can spend the rest of his life making anything up to Klaus that he wants, even if he never really needs to (Klaus will always, always forgive Dave.)
He has time.
They both do.
It kind of makes Klaus want to cry.
(Again. Dammit.)
“Klaus?” Dave questions gently. Klaus glances up at Dave’s blurry form and- oh. He is crying. Great.
“Sorry,” he laughs wetly and swipes the tears away. “Emotional morning, I guess. I don’t really even know why.“ Lie. He just can’t say it.
Dave raises a brow, a very familiar “I’m onto you” look passing across his face, but whatever vibe Klaus is giving off must be pretty damn pathetic because he doesn’t ask and he doesn’t push, something Klaus will be eternally grateful for; he really doesn’t want to lie to his husband (his husband!!!) more than he needs to. At all, if he can help it, but- well. Not really an option. Not right now, at least.
“S’alright,” Dave says finally, easily. “We all got days like that. “How ‘bout a hot shower, and then we can go grab breakfast from that shop down the block that you like? I know it ain’t Tuesday, but I’m sure Ben an’ Viktor would like ta join us.”
Klaus blinks in confusion. “What’s so special about Tuesday?”
Dave snorts. “Did ya hit your head in your sleep too, doll?” The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and Klaus is finding it very hard to resist kissing him senseless, so he just…doesn’t.
By the time they part, Klaus’s lips feel swollen and Dave’s hair is a disaster, curls sticking up in every direction.
“Humor me?” He asks breathlessly, and Dave folds like a house of cards.
“We grab breakfast with ‘em every Tuesday, darlin’. I doubt they’ll have a problem comin’ with us on a Thursday, though.”
Klaus’s breath catches. “Oh.” Weekly breakfast. They have a special day they go to breakfast with Klaus’s siblings. Fuck. Ben may be new, asshole Ben, but Klaus will drag him to breakfast kicking and screaming if he has to. “Right,” he says around a laugh. “Sorry, lovely; I think I’ve been thoroughly distracted by your beauty.” He pauses and adds with a lewd wink, “and your rockin’ bod.”
Dave laughs lightly and pecks his lips. “I know a thing or two about how that feels.” He smirks and then rolls out of bed, walking his gloriously naked self towards the bathroom. He pauses in front of the door, turning to shoot Klaus a wink. “Comin’?”
Klaus scrambles out of bed, tripping on the blankets caught around his legs and narrowly saving himself from face planting. He points at Dave, who’s struggling to hide his laughter, and says firmly, “You’ll be showering on your own if you don’t quit it.”
Dave immediately mimes zipping his lips, but his eyes are still smiling, and really, Klaus can’t be too mad at him. He isn’t sure he can be mad at him at all, really, so long as he’s alive and happy.
Still, he nods decisively. “Good work, Sergeant. You’d better get that shower started.”
Dave grins and salutes. “Sir yes sir,” he says, and then disappears into the bathroom.
Klaus smiles, chest feeling like it’s going to absolutely burst with happiness, and follows him inside.
*
Klaus doesn’t go home.
He texts Five periodically for proof of life (Five insisted, and said he would show up at the front door with his new, frankly scarily impressive collection of weapons. Klaus doesn’t know how he got his hands on any of them because now, not only does he still look like a teenager, he’s also severely lacking in the powers department but- well. He doesn’t want to take the risk. Five sent pictures. Klaus couldn’t even count how many different knives were in it, let alone the concerning amount of weapons he didn’t even know the names of.)
He calls Viktor and explains the situation; Viktor sounds equal parts elated and sad, and Klaus tries not to feel too guilty about that. It isn’t his fault Allison went on a murderous psycho rampage and decided she hated Viktor. He doesn’t think he succeeded, but Viktor assured him that he wasn’t upset at Klaus so much as he was upset about the situation with Allison, and left it at that. Klaus knows better than to push, though he thinks…maybe, next time they’re alone, he might need to. Just a tad. He knows better than anyone that bottling shit like that up is going to make things worse, even without potential cataclysmic consequences. Viktor also assures him that he’ll explain the situation to the rest of their siblings so that he doesn’t have to. So that ticks one exhausting check off his list.
He does still call Ben personally. Ben hangs up on him three times, but calls back by himself a fourth; Klaus is relatively certain he hears Five hissing threats in the background, but he doesn’t comment. He explains the situation to him, too, as concisely as he can, and then pulls out every single piece of blackmail he has to ensure Ben will be nice during their weekly breakfasts. Ben sounds positively murderous once he discovers how much Klaus really knows, but- well. His Ben had been exclusively stuck to him like glue for seventeen years. He doesn’t think there’s a single thing they don’t know about each other. Him and his Ben, that is. He…isn’t going to think about new Ben anymore than is strictly necessary.
So that checks another thing off his list.
All that really leaves is…getting to know himself. His hobbies, his daily routine, his life. Ben and Five theorized that there was already a version of Klaus in this timeline that he just sort of…took over once he got here. Something about transferring his consciousness into that Klaus’s body. He feels sort of bad playing bodysnatcher, but Viktor assures him that he shouldn’t; they’re all in the same situation. They just don’t have their happily ever after (thanks, Allison.) He feels bad about that, too, but Diego snatches the phone and yells at him until he doesn’t. So. That sort of settles that.
He spends as much time as he can discreetly digging into his own life, with a bit of likely highly illegal help from Five and Lila and discovers it’s…relatively tame, all things considered. He likes knitting (there’s over half a dozen hand-knit blankets, hats and gloves scattered around the house in various stages of completion, so clearly other Klaus got just as distracted as he does.)
Apparently he’s not allowed to cook, because he once nearly burned their kitchen down trying to boil water, and while he isn’t entirely sure how that happened, he isn’t as surprised as he could be.
There’s a beautiful garden in the back yard that he’s shocked to discover is his; one he tends to every day and grew himself, he’s told. He expects to hate it the first time he tries it, but the repetitive motion of pulling weeds while the sun shines brightly overhead is…relaxing, in a strange sort of way.
Five informs him that his life, frankly, isn’t as different as he thought it might be; despite the lack of powers, he still had a fairly bad drug addiction until approximately seven years ago, when he met a certain freshly discharged marine volunteering at one of the homeless shelters. They had, allegedly, fallen madly in love after Dave had practically dragged him home on a cold, stormy winter night when the shelter was too full to take him, and had fed him and warmed him up like some sort of lost kitten. Which- yeah. That tracks.
Oh, and he has a job. He works in a goddamn theater designing costumes. He doesn’t have a normal, set schedule; sometimes it’ll be a few days before they need him again, sometimes it’ll be a few weeks or even months. He has a sparkly pink notebook that he writes all his project dates down in, and a full room dedicated to his work. It’s filled to the brim with different fabrics and sewing supplies and paper and a million other things, and he desperately hopes muscle memory will kick in when his next project starts (which is in a month and a half, according to his notebook) because he doesn’t know what most of the things in that room even do .
He learns he didn’t go to college, dropped out of high school as soon as he turned eighteen (he had been in the foster system since he was a toddler, he learned, and had been too problematic to be worth keeping; the day of his eighteenth birthday, he was promptly kicked out of his current foster home and thus began his journey as a homeless drug addict.)
Viktor informs him, after he’s applied for a part in the Icarus Theater’s orchestra, that Klaus had apparently gotten his job there when one of the- what word had Viktor used? Fuck, he doesn’t know. When one of the important theater people had seen him making his merry way down the street with Dave and had been so in love with his outfit, and so thoroughly impressed that he had knitted half of it (he found said half of it too, folded neatly in his dresser; they’re a pretty lilac bell bottom pant with pastel green flowers knit into the pattern. Even he’s impressed with himself) that they had offered him a job right then and there. On a trial basis, of course, but Viktor tells him the person had raved about his skill once they’d learned Viktor was his brother, so clearly he never had anything to worry about to begin with.
It seems, in every timeline, Dave has been his saving grace.
He can’t say he’s surprised.
Klaus loves fiercely and easily and it’s gotten him into more trouble than it has any right to; his heart has always been a tricky little thing that loves too fast and forgives too easily, and it had belonged to Dave the moment they first shook hands in Vietnam.
And Klaus is more than ready to start this new adventure with him.
*
“Where is the little psycho, huh?” Klaus wonders as he steals a slice of apple from the bowl in front of Dave, dancing out of reach with a delighted laugh as Dave makes a disgruntled noise and tries to swat at him with a spatula.
“Five?” Diego questions, and Lila- who just strolled in- rolls her eyes so hard Klaus is genuinely surprised they don’t get stuck that way.
“No, darling, the other psycho,” she drawls, smiling sweetly when Diego turns to scowl at her.
“Well, now that you’re accounted for I know that,” he tosses back with a grin.
“You say the sweetest things,” Lila responds, and then promptly shoves her tongue down Diego’s throat.
“Hey,” Dave chastises, wielding his spatula threateningly. “No PDA in my kitchen.”
Lila turns to shoot him an unimpressed look. “I walked in on you bending him,” she flaps a hand at Klaus. “Over the counter last week.”
Dave blushes but looks unrepentant. “It’s my kitchen,” he argues petulantly. “You shouldn’t’a walked in without knockin’ anyways.”
Lila smirks and comes over to pat his cheek.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she responds with a cheeky grin, waggling her eyebrows at Klaus. “You bagged one with enthusiasm, I’ll give you that much.” She eyes him consideringly. “You weren’t half bad to look at, either.”
Klaus laughs at Diego’s groaned “Lila!” and bows deeply.
“Thank you, thank you, hold the applause,” he says with a wink, and Lila huffs a laugh and ruffles his hair fondly.
“When are the others gettin’ here?” Dave asks desperately, cheeks so red Klaus is surprised he’s not actually on fire.
Klaus smiles and kisses his cheek indulgently. “Luther texted me about ten minutes ago. They should be here in a few, but I’m not sure where Five is. He said he was on his way about half an hour ago.”
“Should one’a us go see if we can find ‘im?” Dave asks, brows furrowed in concern. It’s sweet, really; they’d had to finagle that one, saying Five had come directly from Reginald’s loins with an unknown mistress to explain Five’s existence. Apparently dear ol’ Reggie never adopted him in this timeline, and none of them had cared enough to figure out why because fuck Reginald Hargreeves.
“Nah.” Klaus waves it off. “He’ll be fine.”
“Sure? We shouldn’t leave a teenager wanderin’ around these streets on his own. Somethin’ could happen.”
Lila snorts a laugh that she smothers in Diego’s shoulder when he swats at her threateningly.
“Trust me,” Klaus assures, sharing a private grin with Diego. “He can take care of himself.”
Dave still looks doubtful. “Whatever you say, darlin’.” He squints his eyes at Klaus for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the apples, dumping cinnamon and sugar into the bowl and mixing them thoroughly before holding out a coated slice. “Now try.”
Klaus smiles and leans forward, taking the slice between his teeth and biting into the crisp fruit. He makes a pleased sound as the tartness is washed away by the sugar, and a hint of warm spice hits the back of his throat from the cinnamon. “Oh my god, David, those are delicious!”
Dave smiles proudly. “Mama liked to add a bit’a whiskey to ‘em for a little extra somethin’, but I just added extra cinnamon.”
Klaus can’t help the way something in him melts at that; it’s such a small gesture, but the fact that Dave had altered his mothers recipe for the sake of Klaus’s sobriety warms him inexplicably. They both know the alcohol would’ve cooked out in the oven, but Dave was kind enough not to bring the temptation of the bottle into the house.
“I love you, you know that?” He asks, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Dave’s lips. Dave hums and chases the taste of cinnamon in his mouth before resting his forehead against Klaus’s.
“Love you too, darlin’.”
The moment is ruined when Lila groans loudly. “They’re so sweet I’ve gotten cavities.”
Klaus throws a sticky apple slice at her, but she just maneuvers to catch it in her mouth with a shit eating grin and a sloppy salute.
There’s a quiet knock on the front door before it opens, and the sound of companionable bickering drifts into the house.
“-I told you we didn’t need to bring anything, Luther,” Viktor grumbles as they come in, arms laden with…yeah, that’s seven different pies and a…cake? “Look, see? Dave is baking right now.”
Luther looks bashful, setting his armful down on the counter. “I just wanted to be sure!” He protests, and Viktor smiles helplessly up at him.
Yeah, Luther is a lot easier to love now that he’s not trying to be Number One. Not that it wasn’t easy before, per say, but there’s something about him now, something open and comfortable, that reels people in.
“We appreciate it anyways, Luther,” Dave says with an indulgent smile. “We’ll just have ta send each’a you home with one.”
“You trying to fatten us up, Lu?” Klaus says with a grin. “Because last month you brought ten tubs of ice cream.”
“We were celebrating your sobriety! You said you wanted ice cream!” Luther defends, but a smile is threatening to break the facade.
“You definitely delivered,” Klaus relents, and then goes over to wrap Luther up in a warm hug. Luther doesn’t hesitate to grasp him tightly back like he used to all those months ago when they first got back; there’s nothing tentative in his hold. He doesn’t have to be careful anymore. “Happy you’re here, big guy.”
Luther’s grip around him tightens. “Happy to be here.”
Klaus smiles and pats his back before turning to Viktor, reeling him into a hug as well and tucking Viktor’s head beneath his chin, lifting him clean off the ground.
“Klaus,” Viktor protests, but he’s laughing anyway so Klaus tightens his hold and spins them around before setting him back on his feet.
“Yes, mien bruder?” He widens his eyes innocently, but Viktor just smiles fondly and shoves him away.
He stumbles dramatically backwards and collapses in a heap on the ground, hands splayed over his heart. “Wounded!” He cries. “You’ve wounded me!”
“Why are you always such a dramatic fucker?”
Klaus glances over to see Ben leaning against the kitchen door frame, brows raised.
“Why are you always such an asshole?” He shoots back cheerily, hopping back to his feet and making his way over. He waggles his eyebrows and opens his arms invitingly.
Ben rolls his eyes but gives in, letting Klaus wrap him into a tight hug. It’s fleeting, because he knows Ben doesn’t always welcome the touch, but something in him always warms when Ben lets him hug him anyways.
He’s still a huge, throbbing dick, but he’s…mellowed. He’s a bit more settled in his skin now that he’s stopped trying to prove himself, and it shows.
“Is Five here?” Ben questions as soon as they’ve parted, and Klaus shakes his head with a knowing smile. “What?” Ben asks defensively, immediately wary, and Klaus chuckles.
“Nothing, Bennerino. No, he’s not here yet. Not sure where the little bugger is, but he’ll be here.”
Five and Ben had quickly become close once they’d both gotten past each other’s prickly exterior; it doesn’t really surprise Klaus. He and Ben grew closer through proximity; they were literally trapped with each other after Ben died, and before that they were really only close because of Ben’s kindness and Klaus’s softness. But Ben and Five- they were always close. Before Five vanished, at least, and his disappearance made room for Klaus. So it makes sense that this new Ben and Five would grow close, too. They’re both raging assholes, brilliant beyond measure, and closeted nerds. They can also both be shockingly sweet if they choose to be, though it’s very rare.
Ben grumbles something unflattering under his breath and then goes to talk to Dave because, shocker of all shockers, he actually likes Dave. Like, genuinely. If it was his Ben, Klaus wouldn’t have been surprised. But…well, he wasn’t expecting much from this Ben, and he can safely say this Ben has been very good at surprising him.
He must be lost in his head, because Diego nudges his calf with his foot. “You okay, bro?” He asks quietly, and Klaus blinks himself back to the present and smiles.
“Yeah, Di, I’m good.”
Diego nods, eyes flickering between Ben and Klaus knowingly, but he doesn’t comment. That’s a conversation they’ve had before- more times than they needed to, really- and bringing it up again will just upset everyone involved.
“Sure?” Diego questions, and Klaus just smiles.
Glances around at his family; at Dave and Ben chatting quietly while Ben helps form the pie crust, at Luther trying to fit all the pies in the fridge like a jigsaw puzzle, and Viktor indulgently holding them all while he tries, and then finally back to Diego, who’s wound his arms around Lila’s waist to hold her on his lap.
“Yeah,” he says with a genuine smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Diego smiles and nods, gently kicking at his shin, and for one beautiful second, Klaus loses himself in the tenderness of the moment.
The soft haze is broken when the door slams open and Five bursts in, followed my a man they’ve never met, both of them looking grim.
“Klaus,” he says, eyes unnervingly finding him, and Klaus feels his stomach drop like lead at the look in them. “Klaus, we need to talk.”
*
Five explains, at first in hesitant, stilted words, before finally picking up steam, that he does have a doppelgänger here.
A fully grown one who, somehow, impossibly, has his powers. And that doppelgänger had apparently been found and thoroughly threatened by Allison. Which was dumb, on Allison’s part, but Klaus suspects she wasn’t thinking and let the panic take over. “Take this away from me,” she had said. “And I’ll burn your whole fucking world to the ground.”
Yeah. That hadn’t sat right with this world’s Five. So he’d found their Five and explained. Apparently it had been a whole thing; both of them threatening one another and attempting to murder one another until, finally, they had actually talked. About everything.
And, finally, doppelgänger Five had told him that he could send them back. Give them a reset, start them over from the beginning. Let them live out their lives as they should have; no Commission, no time travel.
They would all end up where they were when Five first fell from the rift in the sky all those years ago, their consciousnesses moved back to their proper bodies, leaving this timeline clean and unhindered and allowing the bodies they’d taken over here to live their lives, too, none the wiser.
This is where Five ends, staring intently at Klaus.
“Allison is on her way. I don’t know how, but she figured out. So if we’re going to do this, we need to do this.”
And, once again, Klaus feels his world shatter.
*
“Please,” Allison whispers, voice breaking around the word. “Klaus, please, don’t-”
“This is his choice,” Five snarls at her, practically vibrating with fury, but his expression softens when he looks back at Klaus, voice quieting into something steadier, something a little more tender, a bit too understanding. “This is your choice, Klaus. Whatever you decide…I’ll honor it.” Even if I don’t like it. Klaus can hear what Five doesn’t say. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.
“I- Five, I can’t. I can’t. You’re- you’re asking me to choose between two different universes.” One of them has Dave, one of them doesn’t.
“I am.”
“You’re asking me to choose between him, and the world.”
Five looks pained, but he nods anyway. “Yes.”
It should be easy.
He shouldn’t even have to think about it.
They can go back. Start over. Reset. Fix every mistake they’ve made since this whole mess first started back in 2019. Save the world in the process. Live out their lives as they should have.
But.
But the Commission is gone. The universe was reset, but the Commission existed outside of time. The reset didn’t change that. Resetting again won’t change that.
And no Commission means no Hazel and Cha Cha. And no Hazel and Cha Cha means…no time travel.
He won’t have ever met Dave at all.
Sure, he’ll have his memories. But he won’t get to touch Dave. Hold him. Share sleepy morning kisses and watch cheesy movies and have weekly date nights at their favorite diner. He’ll be where he’s supposed to be, but he’ll never get to hear Dave say “I love you” again, and that thought hits him like a punch to the gut; a physical pain that makes it hard to breathe.
“Klaus,” Dave soothes, reaching out to grab his hand and squeeze, pressing his palm flat over where his heart beats-beats-beats. “Darlin’, you know what you have t’do.”
“I can’t,” Klaus stresses, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn of tears, feeling like he’s about to break apart at the seams. “Dave, David, baby, please, I can’t.”
I don’t know if I’ll survive.
“Klaus.”
Klaus resolutely doesn’t open his eyes, like if he keeps them closed long enough, all of this will just float away.
“Klaus, look at me.”
And Dave…Klaus has never been able to say no to Dave.
He looks at him.
Dave is smiling. It’s this soft, sad little thing, but it’s so, so loving, and Klaus is hit with another wave of agony; it feels like his heart is tearing itself to pieces and he knows there isn’t anything he can do to stop it. Knows, distantly, that he’s already decided, that Dave agrees and will push until he does the right thing just like he always does.
(Dave believes them, holy fuck but he does, and Klaus loves him even more for that, for taking their wild, batshit stories and believing them unquestioningly. He loves him just as much as he hates his easy faith, because it’s going to be their downfall.)
“You know what you gotta do, darlin’, and we both know you’re gonna do it. Because you’re kind an’ you’re brave an’ you’re so damn smart, but above all’a that, you’re good.”
“I barely survived losing you once,” Klaus whimpers. “I don’t think I can do it again.”
“But you will.” Dave smiles again and draws him close, kissing him moltenly. Pushing every ounce of love and care and forgiveness into it that he can muster.
Klaus hates that it feels like a goodbye.
“But I will,” Klaus whispers against the soft curve of Dave’s lips, tasting the saltiness of his tears mingling on their tongues. He rests his forehead against Dave’s, drags a hand between them to rest against his chest, to feel the strong beat of his heart one last time.
And then he shoves himself away and turns to face doppelgänger Five, drawing in a steadying breath. “Do it.”
Five glances at his other self and then nods, the pair of them having come to some sort of silent agreement.
“I love you, darlin’,” Dave says softly behind them. “I love you, an’ I’ll make damn sure I find you again.”
Klaus drags in another shaky breath, tears streaming freely down his face. He doesn’t bother stopping them.
“I love you too,” he whispers, winding his arms around himself.
In front of them, Allison’s eyes start to glow gold as she opens her mouth, a reckless sort of desperation on her face, but before she can say anything, they’re swallowed by blinding blue light.
And then
there
is
nothing.
*
Klaus wakes with a pounding headache and a groan.
There’s damp grass beneath his cheek and mud in his mouth and rain pitter-pattering onto his back, and he silently thanks the little brat in the sky that Five agreed to make one little amendment to their reset; dropping into a body high off, well, everything, would’ve made this whole experience even more miserable than it already is.
He catalogues his body, first, grimacing at the little aches and pains that come from sleeping on surfaces that we’re definitely not meant to be slept on (like fucking concrete; yay homelessness! ), but there doesn’t seem to be any injuries. So. Small mercies.
Sound slowly filters back in; the drip-drip-drip of the rain hitting his body, the wet squish of the soggy grass, the moans and groans of his siblings as they wake.
And then-
A voice.
Achingly familiar and wildly panicked, frantically calling his name.
“-aus. Klaus! Come on, man, I need you to wake up-”
Klaus shoots to his feet, stumbling a little; the black spots dancing in his vision from the head rush make it impossible to focus and difficult to see anything and he rubs impatiently at his eyes, waiting for the splashes of color to go away until-
“Oh my god, Ben!”
It’s not a conscious effort; he isn’t aware he’s even done anything until he’s throwing himself at his brother and meets warm, solid skin and steady strength.
Ben wraps his arms around him, going from concerned to shock between one blink and the next, and then he’s hugging Klaus tightly back like he might not ever let go.
Klaus understands the feeling.
So he clings to his brother and burrows his face into his stupid leather jacket and sobs, these ugly wretched things, and doesn’t let go either.
*
“That’s fucking crazy, Klaus,” Ben says later when they’re curled together on Klaus’s bed.
He told Ben everything as soon as he could because why wouldn’t he? It’s Ben. There aren’t many people he would share the nitty gritties with, but- well. Ben’s seen him at his highest highs, and his lowest lows. And those have been pretty fucking low.
Klaus huffs a tired laugh and rests his head on Ben’s shoulder, feeling exhausted to his very core. “Tell me about it.”
*
“Do you think it’s possible?” Klaus wonders idly, tapping his fingers against his bare stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
Five makes an inquiring noise. “What?”
“Dave. Do you think- I mean, he said he’d find me. Do you think he could…be here, somewhere? In this timeline?”
He can feel Five’s intense gaze on him, and resolutely doesn’t look. It’s stupid, he knows. Dave died in the ‘60’s; there’s no reasonable way he could be here. As a ghost maybe, but that ghost wouldn’t know Klaus. Wouldn’t know everything they’d been through, wouldn’t know how much he was loved-
“It’s…a possibility,” Five says slowly, cautiously. “In order to prevent the timeline from changing, we had to change it first. We stopped the alternate branches from forming at all, but we had to make small, minute changes in order to do so. This timeline, it’s the one we should have lived the first time around. But with our memories intact, the apocalypse never happened. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” Five sounds irritated, but Klaus knows it’s not at him so much as it is at the general feeling of not knowing. “So of course it’s possible; I can’t predict what’s going to change. What’s already changed. Or what’s going to stay the same.”
Klaus feels hope tighten around his lungs, but he does his best to push it away. He can’t live on false hope; he’s tried, and had to pluck that knife from his back more times than he can count. Still, though- “So he could have been born later in this timeline?”
“Or a hundred years sooner.” Five shrugs. “You’ve heard of the Butterfly Effect?”
Klaus flaps his Hello hand. “Sure, yeah. Uh, vaguely. But, y’know, remind me?”
Five makes an irritated sound but indulges. Probably because science is involved, the little psycho. “One change- no matter how small- in a specific situation can result in bigger, nonlinear impacts. It’s a very sensitive dependence; hence the name. One flap of a butterfly’s wings could destroy cities. Meaning-”
“I could step on an ant in the past and somehow accidentally kill my own mother in the future because of it.”
Five huffs in annoyance. “That is…a simplistic and unlikely example, but yes. Small, seemingly inconsequential acts can become a catalyst.”
“So the world not ending, Hazel and Cha-Cha not kidnapping me, us not time traveling to the ‘60’s- all the things we didn’t end up doing, that means there’s…a chance?” He’s aware of the desperation in his voice, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “Maybe- maybe Dave could be here somewhere? Y’know, present day and alive and- and here?” Klaus finally glances over at Five, and feels that dangerous little bubble of hope wither and die at the look on his brother’s face.
Five looks pained and sad, almost pitying, and Klaus can’t look at it anymore. He turns his eyes back to the ceiling and stares at the cracks spiderwebbing through the foundation, fighting against the familiar burn behind his eyelids, the tightness of his throat.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Five says finally, sounding like he wishes he could give a better answer. “I’m sorry, Klaus.”
Klaus doesn’t answer, but he does grasp tightly at the hand Five silently offers. Both of them pretend they don’t notice the tears trailing quietly down Klaus’s face.
*
Allison shows up on a cold, dreary Thursday.
Klaus wouldn’t have known she was there at all if Ben hadn’t told him she’d been standing on the front step for the past thirty minutes.
(“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Klaus questions later, and Ben huffs a bitter laugh.
“After everything she’s done?” Because yeah. Klaus didn’t spare any details, and neither did anyone else. She’s not exactly a fan favorite in the Hargreeves household. “She can stand in the rain as long as she’d like. It’s not my fault she couldn’t work up the courage to walk inside.”)
He truly, genuinely thinks about ignoring her. Going back to his half knit scarf and pretending Ben didn’t say anything at all.
But Viktor is in the house.
Fuck, Luther is.
And as big a fan as he is of ignoring the problem until it goes away, he doesn’t think that’s something he can do this time.
So he drags himself out of bed, pulls on the sweater he stole from Luther, shoves his feet into his slippers and makes his way down the stairs.
He hesitates once he gets to the front door, hand on the knob, before finally working up the courage to push it open.
Allison startles, but her expression quickly morphs into one of poorly masked distaste. “Klaus,” she says, voice cold and indifferent.
Klaus huffs a laugh and tucks his chilled hands into the sleeves of the sweater. So that’s how they’re going to play this, huh? Fine. He’s got no problems with that.
“Why are you here, Allison?” He asks coolly, and if Allison is surprised at his bluntness, she hides it well.
“Do I need a reason?” She snaps back. “This is my home, too.”
Klaus feels a sharp burst of anger in his chest, just as sudden as it is surprising, and fights to tamp it down. “No. It’s not. Not anymore. Not after what you did.”
“Excuse me?”
Klaus laughs. He can’t help it. “What, do you need me to write you a list?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The worst part is, she looks like she genuinely doesn’t understand. God, how naive he was to hope she might feel even a smidgen of guilt; maybe she doesn’t know how anymore. Maybe whatever empathy she had disappeared as soon as Klaus made the decision to bring them back.
He tore her away from her family; he thinks he should feel a little more guilty about that, but he just…doesn’t. And he isn’t sure if it’s because he lacks the energy, or if it’s because he genuinely doesn’t care enough about Allison right now to bother.
Generally, he isn’t an angry person. It’s not an emotion he likes to feel, and he avoids it at all costs. But sometimes- sometimes, it’s necessary. Sometimes, it feels like his chest is going to explode if he doesn’t give in, and now? Now is as good a time as any. So he lets that feeling build and build and build until-
“It means you’ve turned into one of the worst human beings I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, and if you don’t leave right the fuck now, I will make you.”
Allison’s look of shock quickly turns into one of anger, and she takes half a step forward. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare try to act like you’re any better than I am.”
Klaus laughs again, the sound distant and cruel even to his own ears. “Here’s the thing, sis. I don’t have to ‘act like’ anything. I don’t have any moral high ground to stand on, I get that. But you? You turned yourself into your own goddamn villain. You used your pain as an excuse to hurt others. Everything you did to Viktor, to Luther, and you have the audacity to come back here like you have any right to be here? I love you, Allison, I do, but I don’t think I’ve ever hated you more than I do right now.”
Allison glares at him, curling her trembling hands into fists. “You don’t have the right-” she starts, but Klaus is quick to cut her off.
“Neither did you!” He shouts, pushing into Allison’s space. “You want to blame Viktor for everything? You think every bad thing that’s happened has been his fault? Is that it?”
“It is his fault-”
“Who fucking rumored him in the first place?!”
Allison gapes at him, wide eyed and hurt. “I- I didn’t- that wasn’t my fault-”
“Well,” he sneers. “You’re so set on placing the blame on everyone else, Allison, but if Viktor’s the bomb? You’re the goddamn detonator.”
She stares at him, stunned silent, before her expression clears and settles into something calculating. “Move, Klaus.” Her voice is quiet. Dangerous. She’s not letting him stand in her way anymore.
Klaus raises his chin and meets her icy gaze, planting himself more firmly in front of the door. “No.”
“Klaus. Move.”
“I know you don’t know what this means, but I. Said. No.”
Allison’s eyes somehow get even harder. “I heard a rumor-” she starts, but before Klaus can even start to feel panicked, a glowing blue tentacle slaps itself over her mouth.
“I don’t recommend doing that,” Ben says coldly, blue glow fading from his body as it fades from Klaus’s hands.
Allison stiffens, eyes searching Ben’s face; whatever it is she’s looking for, she must find, because she slumps back in defeat and nods sharply.
“So Ben’s doing your dirty work, now?” She hisses as soon as the tentacle is gone, lip curled.
Klaus smiles. It’s not a very nice smile. “Just like you were doing dads?”
“I was trying to save us!”
“You were trying to save Claire, and you didn’t care how many of us you lost in the process!”
“Klaus-”
“He killed Luther. He killed me. And it was because of the deal you made! So don’t fucking ‘Klaus’ me, Allison.”
Allison falls silent, watching him with a bitter expression. “So this is it, huh?” She asks finally. “This is how you want to end things?”
Klaus feels suddenly and irrevocably exhausted. “Yes,” he says tiredly, all the fight draining out of him at once. He knows how to pick his battles, and he knows a losing one when he sees one. “This is how I want to end things. I’m tired, Allison. I’m tired of pulling the short straw. I’m tired of all of this bullshit drama, and I’m tired of you. Come back once you’ve gotten your head out of your ass. Until then? We don’t want you here.”
Allison’s lips purse. “You don’t speak for everyone.”
“Trust me,” Ben sneers, stepping close enough that their shoulders touch, presenting a united front. “He does.”
Allison's expression falls, eyes hurt and lost and for a moment, Klaus almost feels bad for her. She lost just as much as he did, just as much as the rest of them, but unlike them, she’s alone. No Ray, no Claire, no family. Just her by herself in her big fancy mansion, trying to cope with the grief of not only losing them once, but losing them again.
The feeling is fleeting.
He’s been here before. He’s played this game.
(“I’m sorry, Klaus, but you’re just more trouble than you’re worth.”)
He’s not making that mistake again. He’s learned.
Allison’s eyes roam over his face, searching, and Klaus meets her gaze and lets her; he knows she isn’t going to find what she’s looking for. No understanding, no sympathy, no weakness to exploit. She dug that hole herself; he’s not surprised she’s going to bury herself in it. And as much as he wants to offer to help her dig herself out, he knows she won’t accept it.
Klaus is done trying to reminisce this person in front of him with the sister he remembers; with the one who let him borrow her nail polish and taught him how to avoid flooding his cuticles; with the one who taught him how to properly care for his curls, and snuck him his favorite candy bar when she convinced (rumored? He’s still not sure) Five to sneak her out for midnight snacks; with the one who let him dress in her skirts and pretty button down tops when he quietly told her he liked her uniform more and that she would beat anyone up who said he shouldn’t be wearing them; with the one who taught him to be fearless and confident in himself, how to hold his head high and push forward when some days he felt like he might crumble beneath the slurs and insults thrown his way.
That Allison is gone and it hurts, almost how realizing new Ben was new Ben had hurt, but he learned from that mistake, too.
So he lets her leave and watches her go, waiting until he’s certain she’s left.
And then folds himself into Ben’s arms and cries and cries and cries.
*
Life settles.
It’s not easy, never that, but things are…okay. If he was anyone else, he would say good but-
Well.
What does that even mean, really, when it’s all comparative?
Sure, life is good if you’re comparing it to his life before Five came back, living as a homeless drug addict; to trying to stop the apocalypse and discovering the harbinger of said apocalypse was his brother; to trying to survive life as a pansexual cult leader in the 1960’s; to trying to stop the end of the world again and then, because that clearly wasn’t enough or maybe they really are just that fucked up, to trying to save the whole goddamn universe.
So yeah. Comparatively, life is good.
He has a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, no addictions to speak of (“no, Ben, caffeine doesn’t count”), five siblings who he regularly speaks to and actually care about his well-being (sorry, Allison, except not really), powers he has full control over (dangerous, very dangerous that one is), and- oh, Ben. He has Ben. His Ben. Probably the only thing keeping him both sane and on the earthy plane.
(The Void has been looking better and better, lately.)
Things could be better.
God, could they.
There’s been too many times where the prick of a needle sounds a little too good, where the urge to swallow as many pills as he can is a little too tempting, where the need for a little powder or a strong liquor is so overwhelming it hurts. Where he, once again, finds himself standing on the edge of a dark, bottomless ledge and almost takes that final step into free fall.
He wouldn’t come back from it this time, he knows. Wouldn’t be able to claw his way back up that slippery slope. Wouldn’t be able to drag himself back into the light. And that’s the only thing that stops him from throwing himself over the edge. Well, that and Ben, who’s always been scarily, ridiculously good at talking him down, at knowing when he needs to.
So yeah, things could definitely be better.
And, slowly, incrementally, day by day…they start to.
Sometimes, when Ben loops his arm around Klaus’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder (because they can do that, now; the touching. Ben has been visible and tangible and here since they first got thrown through that portal and no matter how dark the days get, he hasn’t flickered, not once), the chill that’s settled into his bones and frozen around his heart will melt. Sometimes, when Viktor bullies Klaus into going shopping with him (it doesn’t take much, really; not when Klaus can see how much happier Viktor is as, well, himself) and throws every bright, gaudy outfit at him that he can find, the world seems just a little bit brighter. Luther and Diego both have discovered a surprising yet delightful fascination with baking; Klaus isn’t one hundred percent certain when it started, but he’s fairly sure it was because Lila mentioned liking peanut butter cookies. Once. And Diego- sweet, totally whipped Diego- had decided he needed to learn how to make peanut butter cookies right fucking now. Luther had joined, mostly to stop Diego from burning the kitchen down and/or from putting strange ingredients in (“why are you trying to put chocolate marshmallows in the cookies?!” “Five says those stupid sandwiches are good; I don’t know what goes in cookies, man!”). Things had quickly evolved into a bi-weekly bake off; Klaus had never had so many cupcakes in his life. He isn’t sure why he’s been delegated as their judge, but Diego had whined about him looking particularly pathetic one day; he has since been gifted at least one pastry or baked good a day. Luther likes making things heart shaped. Klaus didn’t think cookies would ever make him want to cry, but he’s since discovered they definitely can and will. And Five- well. He’s Five. He’s just as prickly and short tempered as ever, but he’s a little steadier, a little more relaxed. Sometimes, when the cravings get particularly bad, or the world seems particularly dark, Five will wordlessly grab his hand and blink them somewhere bright and sunny; vibrant fields of tulips, beautiful gardens, sun-kissed mountain tops (those trips are always short lived, but they complete them with blanket forts and hot chocolate to warm up; those ones are always his favorite, and he thinks they might be Five’s, too, because afterwards he’s always a more tactile, a little softer around the edges.)
And, slowly but surely, Klaus learns how to live again. How to love. His siblings do their best to show him how bright the world truly can be, and while it isn’t as blinding as it was with Dave, it’s just as warm.
He won’t ever stop missing Dave. Won’t ever stop loving him. He gave too much of his heart for that.
But.
It’s getting a little easier to live without him.
The vice around Klaus’s lungs is getting a little looser, the darkness around his heart getting a little brighter, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter, and while it certainly isn’t easy, he perseveres, just as he always has, until it doesn’t feel like persevering anymore. Just…living.
He didn’t think he would ever be able to do that. Not after…well. After.
But one day, he gets startled by his own laughter, and Ben is grinning proudly because he’s the one who made him laugh, and Luther is looking at him like he kind of wants to cry, and Five claps his shoulder and offers one of his rare, genuine smiles, and Klaus realizes that he may not ever truly be okay, but he is happy.
And that…that’s more than enough.
*
Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Klaus silently curses Five and his stupid coffee addiction.
Because when Klaus had heroically offered (“bribed, Klaus, you were bribed”) to get his brother coffee from the newly opened shop a few blocks away, it had been nice. Warm. Birds chirping, sun shining, all that jazz.
The coffee shop isn’t that far away, and Ben has been badgering him to get out more. So. A walk to the coffee shop with a list of six very specific orders would suffice, he figured. He was getting a little pale, after all, and he thought the sun would do him good.
Well he fucking thought wrong.
Because ten minutes into his walk, the clouds roll in and it starts pouring.
He’s soaked to the bone in seconds and sprints the last three blocks to the shop, silently mourning the velvet of his boots, bursting through the doors looking a little too reminiscent of a drowned cat for his liking.
He shakes his sopping curls out of his face and dabs the water from his eyes, thanking the heavens that he decided to wear his waterproof eyeliner and mascara today. Small mercies.
He peels the thin fabric of his shirt away from his skin with a grimace, trying to get some air flow between his skin and the itchy wet lace, glancing around the shop as he does.
It’s cute, quaint. The exposed brick walls, floor to ceiling windows, and ceramic potted plants paired with the mismatched cushiony chairs and the full wall bookshelf make for a comfortable, cozy feel.
A record player in the back corner croons softly, and the rich smell of baked goods fills the air.
There’s a tacky GRAND OPENING! sign hanging over the counter.
Klaus loves it.
There’s only a few people here, some at the small tables by the windows and a couple in the chairs by the bookshelf, but there’s no line at the counter so Klaus takes his time peering at the display of pastries and breads, narrowly avoiding the urge to press his face against the glass like an overexcited toddler. Everything just looks so good.
“Sorry ‘bout that wait,” a voice says, and Klaus freezes.
Because he knows that voice.
He’s heard that voice laughing, and crying, and moaning. He’s heard it whispering sweet nothings in his ear and arguing playfully about sandwich toppings and yelling at rowdy new recruits and murmuring reverently I love you, I love you, I love you.
Klaus looks up.
The man behind the counter blinks at him, head tilted slightly, brows furrowed. There’s a splash of freckles across his nose that Klaus can trace the path of with his eyes closed, and wide blue eyes that remind him of the ocean. He has a mop of messy curls atop his head that Klaus remembers tangling his fingers in, and a small scar above his eyebrow that Klaus has kissed more times than he can count.
A set of worn, dented dog tags rests against the chest of his apron, right next to his name tag.
Klaus mouths the letters, spells out the name in his head over and over and over again because this doesn’t make sense, not at all. It shouldn’t be possible, it shouldn’t be real, but-
“Sir? You doin’ alright?” The man asks, concerned, and Klaus makes a soft sound in his throat.
“Klaus,” he says, eyes moving back to the man’s face, feeling his lips soften into a smile that he couldn’t stop if he tried and the bright burn of hope start to bloom in his chest. “Call me Klaus.”
And then the man is smiling, too, bright and beautiful and achingly familiar. “Well, s’nice to meet you, Klaus.” He holds out a warm, calloused hand, and Klaus takes it without hesitation. “You can call me Dave.”