trashbinned | call me out!

call me out!

CALL ME OUT

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( five whenever she is involved)

prompt: yolo

( desperation is an old friend, written into the sinews with near as much permanency as the self-loathing he's kept buried somewhere deep.

in the end, all that mattered - all that really ever mattered - was saving his family. damned be the actions he had to take in order to ensure that. he'd have to live with the rest, so long as they're alive and safe without a horrible world's end hanging over their heads.

so it's back to being a weapon the commission did its damn best to sharpen with a deal made with the devil behind closed door. it wasn't the only thing he'd have to do, not by a long shot and certainly not the worst of it. she comes with him this time around, whether out of necessity or out of blatant distrust.they're in another year, with the assignment being one that will push her closer to her old. whatever it is, he doesn't care. what he does care is getting this over as quick as possible, ignoring the building dread stuck somewhere in the hollow of his throat. just get in. take out the targets. don't think about it. it isn't personal. just ends and means. he doesn't look up at her, hands in his pockets. ) Really? Don't have anything more important to be doing than overseeing this?

prompt 2

( he isn’t sure how she found them, though he isn’t really surprised, either. there’s a reason she is who she is, and that’s because she’s good. batshit, makes his skin crawl, but good.

so when he hears a passing comment from klaus about being approached by a woman with the striking, vivid description of if cruella de vil had a frightening cousin, five’s blood is set to a boil.

he’s gone soon after that conversation ends, a blur of intent displaced through space before he finds her. because if she’s good, so is he.

he’s all wound hostility, rounding on her as he cuts her walk from an alleyway, hands balled into fists and looking just about ready to fist fight a god if he has to. ) The hell are you playing at?

Stay away from my idiot family, or the deal is completely off. ( this is the one topic, that achilles heel where he cannot stay impartial, vision tunneled on that singular point. gone is the cool professionalism of a trained killer. ) This is between you, and me, and no one else.

prompt: picture prompts: more generic, if the above doesn't work too well c:

(x. ; x. ; x. ; x. ; x. )

Edited (code :/) 2020-10-25 14:56 (UTC)

"Moderately mediocre at best, but by all means, don't let me change your mind."

Klaus laughs and draws away from her, hands falling back into his lap, if only so he can fumble with the pack of cigarettes.

"Dear god, coffee would be heavenly," he breathes around a new cigarette pressed between his lips. "And I'll even keep your side of the bed nice and warm for you while you're gone. We have a lot of catching up to do, missy, so don't try and skip town on me."

He lights the cigarette and takes a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke on a laugh. "I mean that. But don't let poor, sentimental old me stop you. Caffeine is the nectar of the gods, Vanya, deprive us no longer."

"Oh, shit. Who there, partner."

The hotel door makes a satisfying little beep and the lock whirs at the same time that Five so generously hurls the remainders of his insides into the maid cart. Not that he can judge his brother, considering his injuries (and considering the millions of places Klaus has thrown up), but he winces. He waits until he's done puking his guts up before he opens the door, propping it with a foot while he reaches for his brother's arm.

"Hey, hey, hey, come on, we can play vomit the surrealist painting once we're in our room, but out here, we're gonna get thrown out. And in case you haven't noticed, we might not be the fan faves here."

Even though his comments might seem sarcastic, and to anyone else they might seem biting, there's a gentle edge to his expression, particularly as he reaches to wrap an arm around his brother's shoulders, wanted or otherwise, and guide him in. None of them have had the time to address their injuries, to address the millions of questions they have since arriving in this fucked up, over-turned 2019.

[ Time travel is nothing but a flick of her wrist and the inkling of a thought an she can be anywhen, anywhere she likes. The Umbrella Academy and its constituents might as well be delicate pearls on an orrery at which she sits in the center, mechanically moving and manipulating each variable until the most perfect picture is set.

To think she'd let them play house in the 1960s without a little chaos would be foolish, but she played quietly, considering her own unfortunate mishap. A bullet to the head, the folly of Hazel and Chacha, the conniving, twisted work of Number Five: all of it has led to this moment.

She's wholly unsurprised when he emerges from the alleyway, all crooked arms and back, an old man stuffed messily into the body of a child. The upward curve of her lips is only exaggerated by the bold, red lip she's chosen. Subtle had been the name of her game with this timeline, until now.

Forgive her, if she couldn't help but play with the drunken Hargreeves, to give him the cheese with which to lead the mouse astray. How easy it had been. She pauses, looking down at him with the faintest tilt of her head as he speaks. ]

Consider it a courtesy call. Or insurance, if you want to be technical. Making sure all assets are readily available should I need to use them, for obvious reasons. The fine print.

( he should have known better.

if he follows the trail - of clues he'd taken little time to note and categorize at all in the short allowance of it that he's had here - he'd wonder how he missed the rest of them. too much wishful thinking to expect her to stop at lila alone, or the swedes, and now it's all blatantly obvious and glaringly red and his visceral distaste for that color is of no surprise.

this is a game they play. it would be difficult to call it anything but, and for all the times he's outplayed her, she hasn't ever been far behind.

the fact that she holds so much over him at this very moment is a damn big loss. and from that smile, she knows it too.

just the same, there is a cold understanding that he cannot be in two places at once. it's tempting, to turn back around but that's too close to running so he holds his ground, all sharp and harsh angles, jaw set. ) Insurance.

( getting his family back into the timeline they belong in (and averting the second world's end in the process) was the only thing he cared about - and the knowledge that this deal would come back up to bite him wouldn't be able to stop that. still, he should have known better. ) Really, you want to start that.

This isn't insurance. You're just playing with your food.

You realize your hostile takeover is only going to work if I do this, right? ( actually, he doesn't even know that. but what he does know is that she needs someone to do the dirty work, and none of the commission drones would be able to do what he can. hanging on by a thread of advantage, that. )

Five is panting heavily, trying to catch his breath as the world tilts. If it wasn't for Klaus's guiding arm, he's pretty sure he'd slump into a wall.

His feet stumble after the gentle pressure of Klaus's arm around his shoulders and he finds himself inside a dimly lit hotel room.

"Shit," he mutters as he feels his legs give way and he's suddenly grasping at Klaus's shirt with a death grip so that he doesn't fall. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if that will somehow fight off the paralyzing exhaustion trying to take over his body. "Just get me to the bed."

He refuses to black out in front of Klaus. He'll never hear the end of it.

Klaus dips the moment that Five's knees buckle and he wraps an arm around his waist, hauling him back up against his side. Five isn't light, exactly, but it's certainly not like he's picking up a full blown adult, and that helps. He could probably scoop him up if he had to, but the bed's right there.

He hobbles with his brother, kicking the door shut behind them and helps guide him to the bed.

"Someone took a nasty hit to the head, didn't they? Or are you casually bleeding out everywhere like you were last time? I heard the stories don't worry."

But Klaus suddenly wishes he wasn't a little buzzed, even if that's how existed for much of his life. The fogginess of the alcohol wears off as its replaced with adrenaline and worry. "Gotta talk to me here if I'm gonna help you before you go all Sleeping Beauty on me."

"Cast iron skillet," Five corrects, though he knows this is more than that. "Courtesy of Diego's ex."

He frowns at the comment about last time, not liking the idea that Allison and Diego have been talking about him to the others, but it's immediately replaced with a sigh of relief as he lays back on the bed.

The room doesn't entirely stop spinning, but it does slow down. He shuts his eyes momentarily and though he thinks Klaus is worrying over nothing, it does take him a huge amount of effort to open them again.

"Do I have to?" he asks, opening one eye to look at his brother. He sighs and opens his other eye. "It's nothing, Klaus. I just need coffee."

Simplified to it's most basic level, any kind of caffeine should help him fight some of the exhaustion threatening to wipe him out. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, let alone want to try to calculate how much energy that stunt in the barn took, but the important thing was that his family was safe.

For now.

[ The Handler seems wholly unfazed by his hostility, by the frenetic sort of desperation that comes from a man who's spent the last several weeks running from one apocalypse to another. It's a real treat, seeing him like this, all frayed at the edges and wild eyed. It reminds her of the man she met at the end of the world, greedy for a way out, but still searching for himself in the rubble.

She sighs, tired of him already. ]

Bold of you to assume I would hedge my bets on you and only you. [ Her tone is even, lilting, as though she's only talking about the weather and not casually dropping the idea that she could be utilizing other means in the event of his failure. ]

I don't play with my food so much as I arrange it. I like a pretty, clean plate, and I plan what I eat when so that I can enjoy it to the fullest. I have to admit your family is very entertaining, the drunk one especially.

[ She sighs and turns to look up and down the street. ] I needed to be sure you hadn't gone back on your word. As I said. Insurance.

"No wonder he likes her," Klaus muses, looking a little impressed. He hadn't had to fight Lila hand to hand, but he had seen the damage she could do replicating their abilities. It's for the better that she hadn't gotten her dirty little paws on his gift.

Once Five is settled in the bed he moves immediately for the bathroom, grabbing the hand towel and wetting it with cold water. When he returns, he folds it and carefully presses it over Five's forehead.

"I'll have to take a trip to fill the ice bucket in a bit but pretty sure first aid 101 says to avoid caffeine in cases of extreme concussions but shit, what do I know, I'm just the family drunk." He grins toothily, but makes a point to keep his voice low, his tone belying the concern behind his eyes.

"It's a wonder it didn't crack your skull but with a head as hard as yours, well," he waves a hand and moves then to the little coffee maker in the room. It's not much, but one he has the pot filled, he sets it to brewing. No, this isn't what his brother needs, but maybe the smell of it alone will be an excellent placebo.

"Lucky for you I've had all kinds of head injuries in my time, so I'm a fucking expert."

"She's a lunatic," he says darkly, closing his eyes again as Klaus disappears into the bathroom. They should all probably be thankful that she wasn't a psychopath like her mother, though he's sure that being raised by that monster had left more than enough damage behind.

There was a chance she'd come after them. Or, at the very least, she'd come after him. He had killed her parents, after all, and even if he hadn't orchestrated the kill he'd still been the trigger man. She hadn't seen first hand how ruthless the Handler could be, mowing them all down or know that she'd killed Lila herself when she no longer fit in her design.

He opens his eyes as Klaus puts the cold compress on his head. Confusion clouds his gaze for a moment as he looks back at his brother. Tenderness is something that he's gone without for a long time. His first instinct is to distrust it, but Klaus simply pratters on and turns on the coffee machine. There's no request for something in return.

"That explains a lot," Five says, but it's lacking his usual sharpness. He watches Klaus for a moment longer. "Are you okay?"

There's something off. More off than usual. He sounds the same, but behind the concern, Five thinks there's a sadness that hadn't been there before. Or he simply hadn't had the time to notice.

[ he should pull himself together and deprive her of the satisfaction of seeing the cracks, the hairline fractures spindling across a composure stretched very thin as it is.

he only realizes he's biting the inside of his lip when he tastes blood.

the truth is, she's good at getting under his skin. always has been, in the years spent in each other's orbit, that scratchy itch between his shoulders he never could seem to shake. its all he can do to not bristle at her words. in the end, he still does. ] Not worried you'll choke?

[ he isn't opposed to the idea, particularly. his hands are curled into fist, knuckled bone-white, before he pushes out a long sigh. the worst of the deal was already made and he had every intention of carrying it through. why not offer even more, if it keep his siblings from being her playthings. none of them deserve that, for all that they are.] What is it that you'd need from me in order to stop you from going to them.

[ When they all join hands in front of the little farm house, Klaus fully expects that they'll make it home. There's something in the air, the resolve, the confident way they all link hands and wait on baited breath as Five cracks open the suitcase with the ease and confidence of a man who has done it thousands of times before.

The jump is the worst part, really. He remembers it from his trip to Vietnam and back, from the way they'd left the Icarus that fateful night in 2019. It pulls at his stomach in a way that makes it flip sickly in his gut, pulls in a way that sucks the air out of his chest. Though whether that's the actual act of time traveling or the gut-wrenching nerves and memories that he associates with it are up for debate.

When his feet hit the ground he almost stumbles to his knees but he catches himself on a table, fingers gripping the edge to keep himself upright. It slides, the familiar, smooth lacquered wood dusty under his touch and on the other end? A bowl of spoiled fruit loops slides and crashes to the terracotta tiles below, the solidified mush splattering every which way.

Home.

The kitchen is one he recognizes, but as he looks around, he realizes everything seems untouched. The power is off. The windows are cracked, smashed, covered in cobwebs and dust. The rotting pile of food is starting to reek and he pushes to the doorway, listening and looking.

Is the house empty? ]

Five? Allison? Luther?

[ His voice echoes back to him, hollowly bouncing through the vacant halls. Slowly moving through the corridors, boots plodding against burned rugs and holey, wooden flooring, he knows that somehow, they haven't made it home at all. Certainly not the 2019 they'd been hoping to return to all this time.

When he enters the foyer, just off the main sitting room where little Five's painting should hang, he stops. The painting has fallen, the roof overhead all but ripped off, and when he approaches one of the tall, blown out windows, he sees it.

Devastation. A city turned to craggy, empty holes, with nothing but brick and mortar and cement haphazardly jutting out of the ground where buildings and businesses used to be. His hands come up to his head, fingers sifting into his hair, knocking the cowboy hat askew. ]

Shit. Shit. Shit.

[ they were so close.

so so close, with that elation, that sense of accomplishment as the suitcase cracks open, the latch's resistance familiar under his thumb. they were going home, a swirl of temporal blue, calling to and bending spacetime around them all, starting at the epicenter of technology held aloft between them.

he knows something is wrong before he lands. the pull jerks him mid jump, he no longer feels the steady hands heavy on either one of his shoulders, and a harsh stab in his ribs knocks him into reality. it's a rough landing, because he's deposited into an upturned table, breath wheezed out of him as his side cracks against it, lifting dust and ash, greying his blazer and marking his hands.

it's the large, round table of the entry way, a familiar centerpiece of the foyer of the academy. heavy and broken though, split in the middle with a vase scattered into shards. dried, wilted flowers still litter around it.

its only after five lifts himself off that he notices half the building is blown clean off, great room exposed to an overcast sky, ruination laid out beyond it, all concrete dust and rebar.

his heart is hammering hummingbird quick in birdcage ribs - there'll be a bruise there later but that's so incredibly inconsequential. no, its the failure that hits him worse. hard and fast, evidence glaring before him.

its that gut-wrenching realization that here he was, alone. alone and standing in the middle of the same fucking thing and what the hell does he do now, how the fuck does he start fixing this and —

— he hears it. down the barely standing stairs, a yell of his name, of luther and allison.

he wastes no time jumping into the kitchens, to the source. it hurts, worn thin as he is, but he lands and makes a face at the stench of rotting food against his better judgement. in his urgency, he had blinked away just as klaus had made his way upstairs.

five spins around, dumbfounded and irritation on the rise. there's a scrape of debris upstairs, against the floorboards and he's just as quick to blink back up there, to find Klaus standing in what is left of their main room.

it stings - both what stands before them, and the relief that comes with seeing klaus standing real against the broken walls. ] Klaus —

[ Five doesn't have it in him to act cold, or controlled or collected; desperation overtakes him and he closes their distance and actually grips klaus by the arm, as though to check he's real. shit, shit, shit is very, very right. ] — I haven't heard the others yet. We have to look.

Edited 2020-11-15 19:14 (UTC)

[ Klaus wagers that he's seen the destruction of the world a few times before in the images that sprawl across the backs of his eyelids when he sleeps. Earth upturned, the heavy sound of artillery, gunpowder-filled dust cloying and thick and difficult to breathe around. Oh yes, he's seen the end of the world on a battlefield, in the vacant eyes of the dead, in the wails of their ghosts.

But this feels different. There's chaos in the landscape, the jagged teeth of buildings grinning ominously, the gaping maw of the city that should be standing, wide and hungry. The silence in the damaged house, the untouched cereal, the dusty, moldy cup of coffee still set perfectly upon its coaster.

With no answer to his calls, the fact that he's alone here almost brings him to his knees. It swells in his throat and chokes the air out his chest and he's about to make some poor attempt to swallow it all down when the hand lands on his arm. ]

Jesus, Five! [ But his hand turns to grip Five's shoulder in return. Squeezes it. He feels real. He feels alive under his fingertips but that doesn't mean anything, does it? Ben could do the same, once upon a time. Once upon a world where Ben existed and where Ben left. ]

You've gotta warn a girl before you sneak up on her like that. [ But the complaint is weak at best, because Five is here, alive, and he's very right. They have to look for the others. ]

You're the first one I've seen. We shouldn't split up, no matter what harebrained idea you have this time. Our track record is shit and I'd rather not play Russian roulette with fate right now. She's pretty pissed.

[ They had been so close. So, so close to going home, to starting fresh, to living a life as a tired, but whole, family. ] I was in the kitchen. Nothing there, either.

[ he knows the feeling, all the passing emotions that flicker in klaus' face even as its all replaced by the surprise of someone sneaking up. but five sees the hairline fractures; he's lived with them too, swallowed them away in liquor and constant motion.

five cannot lay claim to being a good person, not with his shadows painted red with the lives he's taken. but it stings, in ways that he cannot even begin to describe, that klaus has to see this. that he couldn't do what he set out to do and keep them from being witness to this reality — their world in ruin. it's hard not to consider themselves the catalysts of it all. he has to find the rest.

failure, failure at their feet, i told you so a hissed reminder of a familiar voice in the back of five's mind.

klaus' hand on his shoulder is anchoring, and five doesn't move away right away as he normally would. ] Yeah — you're the first one.

We won't. [ finally, shuffling away, a scrape of glass and wood under his oxfords. ] Let's stick close, and — and see how much else is still standing. We landed here - the others can't be far. [ he can't keep looking at klaus' face, open and honest. or maybe he can't have him staring at his, as he grinds his jaw and tries to steady his breathing as he moves back towards the stairs. ] Careful going up.

[ he has the most incentive to stick close now - if the structure fails, he can grab klaus to jump them away. so he waits for him before he starts the tentative ascent. ]

Hopefully not the last.

[ Klaus has always had a strange way of knowing things, even though he doesn't really know anything. There's a faint twist in his gut that tells him they're alone here, that their siblings landed somewhere else, and he's not sure why he believes it, but he does.

It's happened before, this strange feeling, but it's usually wrapped up in things happening, not something that has come and gone. ]

You ever been to this end of the world? [ There's a manic edge to his voice as he slips away from his brother, hand falling away from that thin shoulder if only to reflexively reach for the dog tags round his neck. They're there, cool against his palm. Not a dream, then.

So he starts toward the great arch of the main room, back into the dilapidated foyer, the hazy afternoon sun, covered in clouds, casting an eerie light on the broken up staircase. ] This place is a fucking time bomb.

[ Every step brings with it a creak, the crunch of stone, the crack and scrape of glass. Klaus knows he should believe the sinking feeling in his gut, that he should accept the fact that they're almost definitely alone here, but accepting that feels nigh impossible when their whole lives lie spread upon the ground in shambles. ]

Upstairs first? Or dear old daddy's office? What a selection.

[ hopefully not the last, he says. five hates the weight that presses in the hollow of his throat. the rest have to be here.

there is no other alternative.

fuck, what if there was? he wasn't sure he liked the idea of the possibilities, and until he searches every goddamn corner, he won't go there, and promptly ignores commenting further.

he stares ahead, mindful of where he steps, worn wood groaning and creaking under him. ] I don't know. It looked — the same, before. Maybe. I don't know. [ it's repeated, angry and strained. were he a better man, a better brother, he would try for reassurance. maybe he would tell klaus to go take a breath.

but there's no use in bullshitting. first, while klaus was an expert on bullshit, the bastard was equally good at sniffing it out, too. something about pot meeting kettle, no doubt. and second - what was the point?

he'll fix this, whatever it was. ] Upstairs.

[ the landing wobbles, and he motions for klaus to stick closer to the wall. even if the floor fails, the support beam's still there.

the search is about as fruitful as klaus had predicted it to be. there they stand, in the middle of their dead old father's study at the end of the world, in an empty, broken house, and five doesn't even know where to begin. ] We - should get out of here. Before it comes down on our heads.

[ Every empty room scratches a tally on an invisible list in the back of his mind. The house is massive, Reginald giving them no shortage of places to look, but whatever happened, whatever devastated the city, has done its worst with the Academy.

The office, the study, the library, their old training rooms... the only sounds are the house groaning on an uneasy foundation, its studs and drywall splintering with every tired breath the building heaves.

Klaus carefully follows in Five's path, tip-toeing the edge of the landing, wincing as the floor boards complain underfoot. ]

No kidding.

[ They could always return to pick through the rubble once they have a better idea of what, exactly, has happened. ] They've gotta be here somewhere, right? I mean what the hell happened back there? We had a briefcase.

[ The question is nigh rhetorical, because he knows too well that his brother won't have answers. When they reach the front doors, he pushes one open on broken hinges, wincing as it falls out of the frame and clatters down to the sidewalk. Or what was the sidewalk, anyway. He's immediately grateful that the air that hits him through the door is mild, though dusty. Nothing like the blistering heat of Vietnam or the torturous wilds of Texas. He steps out into the open air and down the stairs, looking for anything that might indicate what happened, beyond the obvious destruction. ]

Not even a fucking newspaper...

[ If it weren't for the alcohol keeping him tame he might be showing more of his panic, might lend himself to more hysterics. His family isn't here. The family that only just found some kind of balance, some kind of rhythm and hope together, gone. ]

[ they put their efforts in searching the spaces that are still left, at any rate, and that still keeps the area sizable and annoyingly vast, a chasm of ill-tossed hope.

though, to be fair, five didn't start up with having his hopes high. the proverbial rug has been swept from out of his feet so many times now it was difficult to count.

that he isn't alone this time isn't better. perhaps its worse, and he listens to klaus's footsteps behind him, his hitches in breath as their search yields nothing but dust and ash and the bitter taste of failure.

(even in the chaos of panic, kept just beneath his skin, he remembers that klaus speaks to the dead. and that thought is accompanied by such sinking dread, that he doesn't dwell on it further. not yet. he doesn't even know the extent of what that could mean, with all the years he's missed.) ]

I don't know. [ hard not to sound like a snap, and five barely even blinks at the door rattling loudly to the ground, just steps further out into ruination, all crooked angles and back to old habits.

distinctly, he keeps closer to klaus' side than he would on any other given day, and tries the same thing he did forty-five years ago.

hands glow, and time around them distorts, that push and pull of something as he pushes at time's edge, wills it around him and it doesn't listen. ] Come on.

[ de ja vu never did feel as horrible as this. ] Oh come on!

[ the anger snaps when the attempt - frazzled, panicked, messy - fails, and five kicks at whatever debris is left underfoot, hisses a swear when his foot connects with something hard.

when he turns to look at klaus, a lean and dark silhouette against the overcast landscape of a dead world, he barely manages to keep his composure as he promises: ] I don't know why we're here, Klaus, but I'll fix it.

[ Five isn't the first to think about his ability, as Klaus is keenly aware of the whispers all around them, distant voices tucked into old, dying buildings. And for every blink, every jump, Five tries to make, Klaus attempts to conjure, his hands balled into fists, the air moving around them in a haze of frenetic blue light.

Allison. Luther. Diego. Vanya.

He's not sure whether it's relief or despair that swells into the pit of his stomach when none of them emerge from the dust, from the shadows just outside of his view. He tries again, knowing his abilities aren't honed, knowing that he could be making a mistake and missing something.

On the last attempt, he feels for Ben, reaching for his energy out into the emptiness, even though he knows he'll come up empty handed. ]

Dammit. We're gonna kill ourselves doing this.

[ It's dizzying, maddening, even, to look around at the place they called home and realize that they're alone. Klaus' voice comes out in a tired sort of croak, caught between a groan and a whine. ] But if it makes you feel any better, I just tried to call collect into the after life and it turns out none of our family are dead yet, if they're here. Now, whether or not that means they're here is neither here nor there but I'll take not-dead for six hundred, Alex, and oh, look, Double Jeopardy!

[ Klaus raises his arms in a wide, sweeping gesture, though his voice doesn't carry nearly the energy it usually does. He turns back on his heel to look at Five, letting one hand drop to his shoulder. ]

One day you're gonna figure out that you can't do it all on your own, anyway. Not that my abilities are much use to us, unless you wanna talk to the guy down the street that's had half his head blown off, or there's a lady in the bank on the corner singing Sweet Caroline. Slim pickins.

[ And for all of Klaus's jokes, the gravity of the situation shows in the tired lines of his face, in the shadow behind fair eyes and especially in the way he draws out the flask from his coat and offers it to his brother. ]

[ they stand there amidst the rubble that wasn't supposed to be, a swirl of blue slipping through each of their fingertips.

they each push and push, side by side and heart by heart. desperation is vicious little beast, and they've known her claws for too many years.

five had dropped his attempts only shortly after klaus, attention swiveling back to him when he starts talking again.

its no small relief to hear that the rest of their time-lost siblings hadn't answered klaus' calls. that leaves two of the three possibilities out on the table still: they are in another time, or they were flung into this ashen world same as five and four, but farther out. scattered and lost but at least alive.

hope is a terrible thing, but it is the hardest to smother in the dust.

for the second time today, for the second time within the odd hour of searching, five doesn't recoil from the hand on his shoulder. its anchoring, and while he doesn't return the poorly-placed humor, his scowl is less sharp.

he doesn't envy his brother. for all of klaus's ghosts, five isn't sure he'd be able to live with the corpses that paint his resume red. he'd let them do so willingly, pulled triggers over and over again because the ends always justified the means. except here's the fucking end, a slap to the face and a burning in his lungs.

he takes a swig from the flask without any other word. at his very core, he doesn't know if he can do this again.

but he has to, doesn't he? ] Maybe not entirely useless. [ he tosses out slowly. sure, he's thrown out that insult too many times when it comes to the admittedly questionable competence of his family as a whole, but, we're trying for growth here. and its honest and true in this case. ] Maybe you could ask Sweet Caroline what the year was. Or what happened.

[ considers it again. ] Or I can do the talking, but — as you pointed it out — I can't do that without your help.

[ That's the thing, isn't it? Klaus can live with the corpses now, can live with the bloodied stares and the agonized moans as they call out his name at night. They've become some sort of sick, twisted white noise, a background to the racing of his thoughts and the thrumming need in his veins. But here?

It's almost quiet. Quiet in a way that tells him that this place has been emptied out for a long time. Long enough for most ghosts to sensibly pass on, to throw themselves willingly into the big, bright light and call it quits on the real world.

He might be used to seeing them, to hearing their endless prattle, but the thought of talking to them here? To Sweet Caroline or Half-Face down the street? It makes his stomach twist, though that could be the alcohol, the inevitable hangover, the way his head aches after the time travel. ]

Yeah, yeah I can. [ Because he has to, because they need information even if the knowing might make it harder. But he hadn't found or felt his siblings, which again, props up the tiny sliver of hope. They could be alive here or somewhere else, but all the same. They're not dead. Not here. He lets out a sigh, sing-song as it chases a nervous chuckle. ]

I can conjure her, yeah. Just gotta make sure you ask your questions quick. Not exactly sure how long I can hold onto this shit.

[ The control he's learned over the last four years tucked away in the 1960s has been incredible, but he knows there's so much more he needs to learn.

He walks out into the ruined street where the path seems a little clearer, not covered in the debris and detritus leftover from burning, crumbling buildings. ]

It was like this last time, wasn't it? [ He doesn't look at Five, doesn't check for confirmation there because as aloof and ridiculous as Klaus may seem, he's incredibly perceptive. He's seen the ghosts that haunt his brother's eyes, he's seen the pain in those of his sister's. It's like the air leaves his chest every time he glimpses something they think is carefully hidden, barricaded behind bravado and a false sense of responsibility. Thanks, Reginald.

There's not enough alcohol in the world for this bullshit. ]

When you disappeared before. The end of the world.

[ Fire and devastation, and Five had witnessed something like this when he was what? Thirteen? Their father's I told you so goes without saying. ]

Alright. [ five affirms, takes to the task of questioning with the sort of pragmatism that's so terribly easy to fall into, a comfortable shoe that helps to focus on the problem to solve instead of the ever building panic still stubbornly rolling in his stomach.

Questions. Okay. What year do you remember? Do you remember what happened? How long have you been here?

Can the dead even answer things like this? He isn't an expert on that. His dead don't talk back.

five stills in his circle of thoughts, culminating in a pacing that ends up following a crescent path orbiting klaus. he doesn't risk looking over him longer than a quick glance.

because, loathe as he was to admit it, klaus' power of perception was far sharper than most people gave him any credit for. he keeps it close, he'll give him that, somewhere beneath the shit coping mechanisms and the sunshine-bright masks of frivolity and bullshit.

so risking looking up at klaus with statements like those is risking being an open book, necessitating a confrontation of emotion and heart, neither of which five had accused himself of having before. besides, klaus asked in a tone that says he already knows, and it sends a pang of frustration ringing through five's ribcage. you don't want to know, he thinks. ]

Yeah. [ quiet, as he rolls his lips. ] The end of — something. [ he parrots that wretched little phrase he'd heard from someone he thought a hallucination, years ago. ]

I was alone then. I'm not now, [ it's a solid statement, so it is easier to believe. ] so let's figure this out.

Whenever you're ready. [ he won't say he does this on purpose, but his body angles itself in the direction klaus had pointed when mentioning the lesser grotesque of the options, in a way that suggests defensiveness. death is a hard thing to see for most people, and it may be an irony or advantage that here stand two people acquainted with it with utmost intimacy. but that doesn't mean five won't attempt to be a shield in all the ways he can, in the sum of actions that belie concern he can never put into words. he's asking questions, after all. makes sense for him to stand in front of klaus, right? ]

[ Ready is such a subjective term, isn't it? Klaus has never felt ready for anything in his life, no less this moment. Every day is a thundering, frantic stampede forward, even if these days it's tinged with alcohol. Hey, better than ex, right?

The thought makes him huff quietly to himself and he tips his head to one side, looking over at his brother. ]

Very poetic. The end of something. A perfect little envelope to the chaotic shitshow of a ballet that is our lives, non?

[ He raises a hand in false cheers, as though they're merely ruminating over the apocalypse that was, in a dark, smoky bar with crisp martini glasses balanced between their fingers.

They were never made for something so delicate, something so easy. That's the real punchline. ]

I was born ready. [ It's all bluster: smoke and mirrors desperately cast in an attempt to forge himself into something that resembles a human being. What else can they be, standing here alone at the precipice of everything they knew and everything they don't.

But he starts forward in the rubble, surprisingly steady and limber on his feet for a man drowning himself in yesterday's booze and sorrows, but his family is at stake here. Five beside him, he knows that whatever waits for them in Sweet Caroline, he can weather. Maybe he and his brother got off to a rocky start upon his return, but he can appreciate the understanding.

(The understanding that comes in a you did it, didn't you?, the silhouette of his brother cut against the door frame of the old house; In the flask passed between them in a burning great room, smoke and devastation as their backdrop; it comes in the quiet yeah and the way they both look out at the horizon instead of the definite wounds they have both become).

So he marches through charred bits of building and greenery, over gaping fissures in the sidewalks, and to the little, family-run bank on the corner. The facade is all but blown off, but inside, the marble counters and old teller stations still stand. Sweet Caroline is there— was she a clerk once upon a time?— behind the counter, looking as though she's counting money as she hums to herself. ]

Oh, shit.

[ He sucks in a deep breath and strolls right up to the spot where the ghost stands. There are nasty burns all along one side of her body, the pantsuit shriveling at her shoulder, but her face is made up as pretty as a daisy were it not for the piece of glass sticking out the side of her neck. Klaus swallows hard. He clears his throat and she stops singing, her head swiveling to him with a sick sort of wet sound.

Klaus winces and stares in the space across the desk, where, for now, he looks like he's speaking to plain air. ]

So sorry to bother you, you seem very busy and I just hate to interrupt. While I love institutional capitalism in its purest form— I mean nothing gets me going more than sexy little ledgers and account statements— I was hoping we could ask you a few questions.

[ The lady scoffs, turns her nose, but for the first time in all his time with the ghosts, this chick doesn't really get the choice. He clenches his hands together, knuckles white with tension as blue energy flares up around him.

The bank teller filters into view, shimmering and blue and still absolutely disgusted at the sight of him. What do you want, she huffs, looking Klaus up and down then, curiously, to Five at his side. ]

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call me out!

@weaponizer !!

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two.

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so sorry for the delay!!

sorry for this novella

never apologize omg

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