Klaus listens to his siblings bicker while they sit in the plastic, sticky bowling alley chairs, but he can't quite shake the image of Vanya screaming from the other side of the vault door. And yet Luther had been immovable, much as he is now, arguing with Diego over plans. It's when Klaus tries to speak up, tries to bring Ben into the conversation when he's shot down, dismissed— is there any way to silence that voice in your head that screams out to be the center of attention?— that a part of him gives up on whatever 'family' they like to try and call themselves.
Even Ben himself shakes his head, concedes in the face of Luther's short-sightedness with a Don't listen to him, Klaus. Klaus could conjure all the ghosts in the world and he's sure that his siblings, save for Allison, would never believe him.
"You know I liked you a lot better when—"
He sees Allison shift in his periphery and the words die on his lips. They don't need this. None of them need this.
"Why don't we all take a nice little break, Number One, and come back when we're not ready to murder each other, alright? We got one murderous sibling, we don't need another one. I really don't think Mr. Manager over there wants blood all over his rotting clown shoes."
A pointed look at Luther, and the comment seems to disarm him, leaving him almost stuttering as Klaus turns his back and beelines to his sister's side. He almost can't look at the bandaging on her neck, can't look at her tired eyes, can't remember the way her blood had spilled all over the cabin floor.
"Hey," he murmurs, all the gusto from earlier gone, revealing the fatigued man beneath. If only they would listen. He finds himself rolling his eyes at the sheer irony: Allison who can't speak, and Klaus who isn't allowed to speak. "Wanna get some fresh air? God knows I'm tired of smelling stale popcorn and little Kenny's mom's rancid perfume."
time moves slow when half of your heart has yet to come home;
Klaus listens to his siblings bicker while they sit in the plastic, sticky bowling alley chairs, but he can't quite shake the image of Vanya screaming from the other side of the vault door. And yet Luther had been immovable, much as he is now, arguing with Diego over plans. It's when Klaus tries to speak up, tries to bring Ben into the conversation when he's shot down, dismissed— is there any way to silence that voice in your head that screams out to be the center of attention?— that a part of him gives up on whatever 'family' they like to try and call themselves.
Even Ben himself shakes his head, concedes in the face of Luther's short-sightedness with a Don't listen to him, Klaus. Klaus could conjure all the ghosts in the world and he's sure that his siblings, save for Allison, would never believe him.
"You know I liked you a lot better when—"
He sees Allison shift in his periphery and the words die on his lips. They don't need this. None of them need this.
"Why don't we all take a nice little break, Number One, and come back when we're not ready to murder each other, alright? We got one murderous sibling, we don't need another one. I really don't think Mr. Manager over there wants blood all over his rotting clown shoes."
A pointed look at Luther, and the comment seems to disarm him, leaving him almost stuttering as Klaus turns his back and beelines to his sister's side. He almost can't look at the bandaging on her neck, can't look at her tired eyes, can't remember the way her blood had spilled all over the cabin floor.
"Hey," he murmurs, all the gusto from earlier gone, revealing the fatigued man beneath. If only they would listen. He finds himself rolling his eyes at the sheer irony: Allison who can't speak, and Klaus who isn't allowed to speak. "Wanna get some fresh air? God knows I'm tired of smelling stale popcorn and little Kenny's mom's rancid perfume."