umbrellajackassery | {Another day goes by, I think it feels just like yesterday

On nights when his other selves are busy, gone, asleep, or in some other way occupied and he has no hope of sleeping stuck alone in his room, Klaus slips out and wanders around the empty, quiet halls of the house. After some internal debate about who might be best to potentially bother, he'll make his way into one of the others' rooms, and either take up a chair or slip into the bed with them outright.

Usually he goes for a sibling, because they were the safest ones for all intents and purposes, but he might misjudge the room he's sliding into and end up somewhere else, too. He tries his best not to wake them, that isn't really his intended purpose, he just doesn't want to be alone.

Lara wasn't the heaviest sleeper, honestly. Not since Yamatai or Peru or any other place she'd been where people and nature and monsters were out to get her. Ghosts trying to possess her best friend, controlling the weather to keep people on a forgotten island. Madmen trying to change the world in their image with the help of ancient gods.

She knows a thing or two about ghosts, Klaus, though maybe not quite the same way he does. When he does pop into her room, she wakes at the noise but keeps still, willing herself to remain calm. This isn't the jungle. Nothing's out to get her.

So, the British girl frequently seen with Diego rolls over to see who came into her room and greets Klaus with a hello that sounds a little more awake than anyone should be at this hour.

"Is everything alright?"

Probably not, and she's considering whether or not she should grab the bow and arrows she'd bought earlier, just in case. But she sits up and sits still, reaching for a couple hair ties and finger-brushing her dark hair out of her face, twisting it into dual french braids a bit at a time.

"Why are you up?"

Edited 2019-04-03 11:48 (UTC)

"Oh, shit." He mutters under his breath when he hears a very, very wrong voice. Soft and quiet and British and--

"Yeah." That sure was an easy lie, wasn't it? Shame that it actually sounds convincing. "No, I mean- I just can't sleep. That's all." At least until he tries to explain, and is suddenly very, very awkward about it. "Miscounted the doors. I was trying to... nevermind." He shakes his head. "Why are you still awake?" Turnabout's fair play and all that jazz.

She doesn't mind the question and knows a good distraction technique when she hears one, so the youngest Klaus gets a smile as she sits up more, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her shins.

"Nightmares. Not a fan," she replies with a faint frown and a shake of her head. "That and jetlag."

Shitty combination, really.

His face scrunches up at the word. "Ew." He could definitely relate. Since she isn't just kicking him to the curb for invading her room unexpectedly in the middle of the night, Klaus decides that's the same as an invitation to hang out.

He pulls the chair from the desk in the far corner over to sit in it backwards, leaning his arms against the back of it. "What time does your body think it is?"

“Just add roughly five hours to now,” Lara said with a soft sigh. “I’m usually up at about six thirty AM to go jogging before work.” She contemplated an idea or two, wondering what would be best for the two of them and then, nudging off her covers, she stood and tilted her head towards the door.

“Come on. I’m hungry and I’m certain your mother won’t mind, provided we clean up after ourselves.”

"Why on earth would you torture yourself with six thirty and jogging at the same time?" He can't fathom it, but then he's hardly the get up and go type in the mornings, like, ever.

He spins in the chair, watching as she heads toward the door. He shrugs and scrambles to his feet to follow. "Yeah, Mom's pretty cool like that." He grins. There's this sort of ever-present fondness in all of the Hargreeves whenever they talk about their mother that just shines like a light from the inside that brightens them a few shades on the outside.

"I dig through ancient civilizations and run through dense jungles for a living. It's not exactly low-effort," Lara states with a slight shrug. With the tank top and sleeping shorts she's wearing, Lara's scars from said treks through jungles and ancient civilizations are brutal. Some of them, especially the ones on her back, look like they'd once been deep claw marks and there are a couple that may or may not look like bullet scars.

"Your mother is lovely. She almost reminds me of my own." Lara has her own fondless for her own mother, but there's no shortage of love for the lady of the house.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and Lara heads to one of the cabinets to look for tea. She'd spotted some lavender chamomile earlier and hoped it'd help her out.

"What are you in the mood for, Klaus?" Lara asked, looking at the kid.

"You get paid to dig around in old dirt?" He perks a brow as he follows her through the house down to the kitchen. He hops up to sit on the edge of the counter as Lara starts rummaging through cabinets. "Hot chocolate, if we have the stuff for it. But like-- the good kind, where you melt the chocolate down, not the instant stuff." He wrinkles his nose. Look. Mom spoiled them in the tiniest of ways that she could manage when they were younger.

"I get paid to discover history. Sometimes, I end up saving the world."

Guess what? She's not joking at all about this. She's done it several times. The most recent one with help from Diego.

"My mother used to make hot chocolate that way," She adds, digging around more for a bar of dark german chocolate, sugar and vanilla. She also pulls out the milk and a couple pots and metal bowls, creating a sort of double boiler to melt the chocolate and mix in the other stuff just so.

"What else should we have?"

"History's boring and also, in case you weren't aware, over. What's the point of finding out old stuff?" He leans back on one arm and watches her.

He lets his legs sway a little over the edge of the counter and shrugs at that question. "I dunno. I'm not really hungry." That was not an unusual thing to hear crawl its way out of Klaus' mouth, his appetite ranged pretty wildly from ravenously hungry to eating less than a bird.

Any other night, Klaus would have seen the light coming from under Five's door. This time, the teen was in his bed with his back close to the wall and curled into himself, right arm wrapped around a pillow.

The Apocalypse had been avoided but that didn't mean he had it any easier when it came to sleep. Five was often up at unholy hours, searching through their father's papers, trying to find clues about who were the other kids born on that same day in October or working on calculations. He only slept when he had exhausted himself, when no amount of coffee was enough to keep him up, because then he was too tired to even have nightmares.

He still wrote on walls, but only one of them now. He followed Luther's advise -it was easier when it was actually a good one- and reorganized his old room. No more toys or childish posters were scattered around the room, now kept on boxes and replaced by books and a few plants. One of the walls was painted with chalkboard paint so Five could write on it to his heart content and clean it easily.

Colorful pieces of chalk now also scattered on the table and some dropped on the floor, Klaus might step on them by accident after walking into the room.

Klaus is no stranger to writing on walls, his own are full of plenty of things-- some from ghosts, that he let himself almost do a form of automatic writing for; others of the words on his walls are his own, but he'll never tell which was which. Nobody needed to know.

Five's room looks distinctly... different than he remembers. They never changed it, or threw anything out, after he left. It seemed wrong to do, and Vanya probably would've pitched a fit about it anyway. As he's taking in the differences that he can note in the darkness, he misses the chalk on the floor and steps on a piece just so in the right way to make it catch and roll under his foot and send him off-balance and on his ass. Way louder than he was trying to be, which means it's just the most natural end this moment could have met. Everything is always louder when you're trying your hardest to be quiet.

"Ow..." he mutters, rubbing a spot on the back of his head where he'd hit the ground.

That sound immediately has Five awake and on high alert. Eyes shooting open, posture shifting quickly into a defensive one and back hitting the wall. Somehow, there's now a short, but very pointy, knife in his right hand. Must have been under the pillow all along.

Alarmed eyes fall on Klaus' form on the floor, squinting in suspicion a moment later. Five doesn't look any more relaxed to see his brother in his room than when he thought it was someone breaking in.

"What are you doing?" Five's question is a hiss through gritted teeth. He is still trying to keep his voice low so he sounds like a disgruntled cat.

His eyes go wide at the sudden flurry of movement from the other boy on the bed, and more importantly the knife held in his hand. Klaus' eyes are wide and his hands go up in surrender. "Christ, Five, it's me!"

That question earns Five an almost sheepish look. "I couldn't sleep... sometimes it's better when I'm not alone." Five wasn't here for the years on end of Klaus barging into bedrooms and taking up space on a bed that wasn't his. He was already gone when things kept getting progressively worse with Dad and his efforts to desensitize Klaus to the dead.

"I can see that now." He can't help the faint tone of resentment in his voice. Maybe if Klaus knocked on the door instead of sneaking into his room without warning he would have gotten a different kind of welcome.

Is the sheepish look what gets him. Damn it.

He's suddenly reminded of their childhood, the few years they had together. Five lowers his arm, the tension finally leaving his body, and he fidgets on the bed. Somehow the knife is no longer there, where did it go is kind of a mystery. He lies on his side and holds up the comforter, giving Klaus a tilt of his chin that says 'Get in here before I change my mind'

It wasn't like barging in on Diego and getting a knife sent to land between his feet. Five was just... protecting against potential threats. And realizing his tiniest brother was definitely not one, the knife was gone so no harm, no foul, as far as Klaus is concerned.

He smirks at that silent invitation and scrambles to his feet to slide into place under the edge of the comforter. "Thanks." he offers a quiet gratitude before adding, "Sorry for waking you up."

He might complain, get snarky, bare his teeth like an annoyed cat or leave his brothers while they were still talking but wanting to actively harm any of them on purpose was not one of Five's many, many flaws.

There's some more shifting as he makes more room for Klaus. Not so much because he minds the closeness as it is because his brother is bigger than him and needs more space. He's lying on his side so he can look at Klaus as they talk, some of Five's fringe falling over his forehead.

"S'ok, it's just sleep." He answer is casual, voice low, as if such a thing isn't a rarity for everyone living under this roof. "But don't just walk in the next time, I could have hurt you. Knock first or yell. Just make some noise."

"Sleep is totally important." he points out, giving Five a look. He knows the exact proper amount of importance to level on that topic, thanks. "Especially when you don't ever get enough of it." Yeah, he's seen the light on under Five's door at the crazy hours.

"Okay, I'll remember next time." Hopefully, at least. "But you wouldn't hurt me. I know that, no doubts." He points a finger in his brother's direction and there's a conviction in his voice that says he believes that wholeheartedly.

"I'm being scolded in my own bed, unbelievable." Five grumbles, voice dripping with fondness. He's aware that the other means well and that Klaus more than anyone knows about how much not sleeping can fuck you up.

"Good, then I won't have to throw a slipper at you."

I killed a lot of people I didn't want to hurt, Five doesn't say, but the look in his eyes turns from sleepy to something darker, older. Tired.

He gives his brother a small smile for the conviction, though, it's sweet. From all his siblings, Klaus's the one who still doesn't know Five's a monster. Maybe for a night, Five can pretend he doesn't know it either.

"Do you want to talk about what's keeping you up?" It doesn't take a genius to imagine it's probably the Undead but maybe there's more to it.

"Youuuu love me for it." He croons, a small lopsided little smile on his face as he says it.

He perks a brow at that not-quite-a-threat and can't help leaning up on one side and propping his head on his hand. "Does that mean you actually own slippers to throw in the first place?" He laughs. "You really are an old man."

The flip of the conversation to his sleeping habits has him sinking back down against the pillows, fingers laced behind his head. "Just the usge." He shrugs a little. "Nothin' special or anything." Because, somewhere along the way in all of Dad's attempts to desensitize him, this had become something like normal. Just not in the way Reginald had always hoped it would.

"Uh huh." Five pokes Klaus side because of this conversation verges too much on the side of talking feelings for his linking. And because he remembers faintly that Klaus used to be ticklish.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to go keep your feet warm and comfy. Not all of us have a vendetta against shoes."

He studies the change in Klaus's body language, eyebrows knitting together briefly. Even tired as he is, Five's corner for his sibling tops over the rest of things, even if he hates for weak that makes him feel. Nothing special is just as bad as any upsetting reason because it means the horror that is Klaus's powers has become just his average way of living. He hasn't yet figured out how to help, if there's a way at all, because how do you fight against ghosts screaming for attention?

"You're in my room now and I assure you, I'm the scariest thing in this whole house. So try to get some rest."

Five remembers very well. He squeals and squirms under the invading fingers in his side, one hand flying up to clamp over his own mouth, laughing into his hand. "You dick," he says through a laugh, as he swats at his brother's shoulder, no heat to the words, and no real fight in the hand on Five's shoulder.

"Shoes are the worst, and I bet all the other me's would agree, and since I'm pretty sure the me's outnumber everybody, that means, I win." Klaus logic is the most sound logic of all kinds, obviously. Made more so by the way he sticks his tongue out at the other boy.

One corner of his mouth twitches upward, but it isn't a real smile and there's no mirth behind it. "Mmm, debatable. You don't come egregiously injured and covered in blood, screaming my name like it's the only thing that could possibly save you." His lips draw into a line and a frown creases his forehead. "Kinda pathetic, isn't it? All I ever do is run."

This time, Five's lips visible curl into a mischievous smile as his fingers run up the side of Klaus' ribs to get another laugh out of him.

"Good to see some things haven't changed." His retreats before the other boy decides to try some kind of bodily harm stronger than the shoulder swat, or worse, try to tickle him back. Five knew Klaus' limits better than Diego and Luther, and remembers the tickle fights they had on occasion.

"An interesting point." One that he's too tired now to argue with, plus, it's kind of funny how often any of the Klaus decided to go around barefoot.

At the next reply, Five wants to argue that he's killed more people he can count, has been covered in blood often enough, and there's no one who can save him. He probably saved just as many people but those don't balance out the price of destroying an innocent life. Klaus doesn't need to know about more horrors, he's got enough of his own, so Five only curls into himself a little and listens, his previous smile gone as well.

"It's not pathetic if the other option is suffering. That's how survival works, we are naturally inclined to save our skins. No shame in it. You run, get stronger and handle things when you are ready."

Edited 2019-04-06 21:43 (UTC)

He giggles and squirms again, cutting the laugh short into a playfully annoyed sort of groan. "Uggh, you suck."

"Well, it feels pathetic." he admits, turning on his side to face his brother. "You wouldn't run from it. D and Alli never run-- Ben hates everything about his powers and he still doesn't..." He frowns a little and shrugs one shoulder. "I'm just weak. I guess somebody had to be."

{Another day goes by, I think it feels just like yesterday

{Can't sleep alone in this haunted home

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