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The fire detector has a light on it.
It’s not particularly bright, and it only blinks on every minute or so. Most people probably don’t notice it quietly reminding everyone, and possibly itself, that it’s still alive, that it’s still waiting for that first hint of smoke. The periodic flare of red should be a comfort. A promise: I’m watching your back. You can sleep soundly.
Klaus doesn’t find it comforting.
To him, it looks more like a warning, a taunt; each flash a reminder that house fires happen all the time, could happen at any moment, could creep up to him in the night and consume him whilst he sleeps.
If he sleeps. Which, of course, is not in the cards for Klaus.
Insomnia is an old friend for him, a familiar frustration as a child, and then as a side effect of the uppers he took, and then in the jungle he couldn’t sleep because of the threats waiting in the dark, and then, and then, and then-
Safe to say, Klaus is a pro at staying up. Which is convenient, because these days, sleeping is his most vehement enemy.
There was probably a time before Not Sleeping. He knows this, in the same way he knows that there are twenty seven bones in each of his hands; with a distant, academic certainty. There was always a time before. There was a time before he was an addict. A time before he was afraid, before he had learned to be afraid. There was a time before he was alive, and before anyone was alive, a time when the soil was rich and young and unhaunted. Klaus knows this. But none of it matters right now, because this isn't Before. This is now.
And now is the time of Not Sleeping.
The Not Sleeping stains every aspect of his existence, from the purple under his eyes to the way his thoughts slide out of his brain, like woodlice scuttering away when exposed to the light. The fact that there was once a time before Not Sleeping is irrelevant. It does nothing to soothe his itching eyes, or still his itching thoughts.
The voice with no face says, ‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.'
The voice is a liar. Klaus would tell the voice to it’s face, if it had one, but it doesn’t, so he just mumbles it, directionless, out of the side of his mouth: Liar.
Luther snores in reply.
Sharing a room with two of his brothers should make it easier to stay awake. Anyone would have difficulty sleeping whilst top-and-tailing with Diego, who tends to kick in his sleep, and with Luther in the other bed, snoring loudly and at irregular intervals. It should be a blessing.
Except that it's boring. Staying awake is hard when he's got to be quiet, or else risk waking the others and have them get up and yell at him until he gets back in bed, which is risky in itself because as soon as he lays down his body says-
‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.'
But his body is a liar too. It lied to him when he was eight and trapped and it said we’re dying, and it lied to him when he was sixteen and it said if we don’t take more soon we’re going to die. His body lied when he was twenty-four and it said we aren’t hungry despite not eating for three straight days. It lied again when he was twenty-nine and on a bus and it said we’re safe, we escaped, it’s going to be okay, and then again when he was thirty and on the same bus and it said this is too much agony for one heart to hold, we won’t survive this, we can’t.
It’s lying now, too, but that’s okay. Klaus is good at ignoring it.
In the living room, behind the armchair, an old lady stands. She’s always there, has been since they moved in, and she never, ever speaks. She just- watches. Her face is weathered and wrinkled, and her hands are gnarled where they clutch the back of the chair, and Klaus isn’t sure that she’s moved since she died there, except for her eyes, which are fast and staring, darting around like a severed live wire, taking things in with a greedy hunger. She looks, Klaus thinks, like a woman who still has things to do. If only she had a body to move.
Klaus names her Betty.
He spends a lot of time with her, sitting in the armchair so that he can’t see her and attempting to knit with the yarn that Allison gave him as a surprise gift. From that angle, it’s almost like the room is empty at night, when everyone else is asleep, except that he can feel her cold, cloying breath on the back of his neck. He’s knitting himself a scarf. Take that, Betty!
The sleep detector light blinks again, and Klaus blinks right back at it. His eyes feel like sandpaper. Luther snores, and the sound startles Klaus, even though he’s been doing it all night, and the night before that, and the night before that…
For a moment, Klaus is sinking, sinking, sinking…
Falling.
Klaus launches himself upright, heart in his throat. He almost- He just almost-
Well, he feels awake now. May as well get a start on the day.
Creeping out of bed is a struggle, considering Diego’s hypervigilance, but Klaus has plenty of practice from all the nights he snuck out of stranger’s bedrooms, with thighs aching and pockets heavy. Now it’s his eyelids that are heavy, and it’s his whole body that’s aching.
He waves vaguely in Betty’s direction without looking at her, and faceplants on the couch.
Klaus had slept on more than his fair share of couches, but this might be the most heavenly one he's ever had the honour of reclining on. Hell, what did they make these cushions from? Angel hair and baby's breath? With a groan, he slides off onto the floor, but the rug is also unfairly soft - was that something Allison took into account when choosing this apartment? Klaus would rather have an extra bathroom, even if they ended up with horrid, scratchy flooring. At least that way, it would be easier to resist closing his eyes.
He knocks his forehead against the rug, and the thud is dull, but still too loud. He pinches the soft skin on the inside of his wrist instead.
Coffee! That’s all he needs. Just a little pick-me-up, a little caffeine hit, like an itty bitty bump of coke, that cocaine flame that makes him want to dance dance dance-
But no, just caffeine. That’s fine. He doesn’t need drugs to stay up, never has. Once, at nine years old, he stayed up a week straight watching his bedroom door, waiting for it to open. Take that, Ben.
Except… Ben isn’t here.
And it’s already been-
It’s been-
How long has it been? It feels like they only just landed in 2019, but that can’t be true, because enough time has passed that he’s gotten used to Luther’s snoring. Although the nights do stretch and bloat until they seem like an age, so maybe time hasn’t been passing like it normally does. Or, whatever passes for normal these days.
Coffee. Coffee.
He makes his old bones carry him to the coffee maker. Five has it on a timer for six in the morning, but it never makes it that far before Klaus gets it started. Five always complains about the stale coffee, except for that first morning, where they were all too exhausted to care about the quality of the caffeine, and yesterday morning, when Klaus had finished the whole pot and made a fresh one for Five.
He pours himself a cup. His limbs shake hard, like he’s in withdrawal, and some of the coffee spills and singes his fingertips. He sticks them in his mouth.
What he really needs is music. A pair of headphones and a Walkman would do nicely, help fill the hours of Luther's snoring. Except, maybe not; Klaus doesn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t hear anyone sneaking up on him. He takes a sip of coffee, and then downs the whole thing like a shot. It tastes like battery acid. If nothing else, the bitterness wakes him up a little, or, that’s what he tells himself. His stomach rocks uneasily.
Maybe he should continue knitting his scarf? Last night, he had spent more time undoing stitches than actually knitting, though, and it probably had ended up shorter by time dawn rolled around. Plus, he worries that he might lose track of The Door.
The Door isn’t a physical door, so much as a visualisation of something that doesn’t quite exist. It’s how he’s learned to keep a handle on his powers. Whilst he’s sober and focused and… conscious, Klaus had learned to keep the door angled shut. It’s a constant effort, keeping his foot jammed under it to stop the ghosts battering it open, and it gets harder the longer he holds it, until ghosts start squeezing through. Like Betty, who slipped back in on day two, and the guy in the bathroom with the head wound that appeared a couple days after that.
Now, he’s so sleep deprived that his brain looks like an Escher painting. Just trying to locate the door is a struggle, because all the stairs are upside down and the pathways don’t go anywhere, and he fights sluggishly to keep his balance, because if he loses his place now, who knows what will slip through the open door.
So he just needs to-
Stay Awake.
Come on, Klaus. Stay the fuck awake.
He can. Stay up, that is. He’s had plenty of practice. Back in ‘Nam, everyone slept better when he was on night watch, because he never nodded off on duty. He was the responsible one, if you can believe it - which, he’s sure his siblings never would.
He smacks his cheeks, and staggers over to the armchair, the world swaying around him like he’s drunk, which, god, what he wouldn’t give for some vodka right now. If he’s gonna feel this dizzy, he should at least get to relax a little, right? If only there were any alcohol left in the apartment. (Except then he imagines Ben's disappointed face, and Klaus had thought himself immune to those looks, except his chest burns at the thought that he’ll never see that expression again, and he can’t bear the thought of disappointing him again, no matter how fractured their relationship had become by the end.)
His knitting is draped over the arm, and he fumbles with the needles, trying to figure out where he had left off, except that- is he even holding the needles right? He switches hands. How does knitting even work, anyway? Is he supposed to- pearl? Is that what it’s called? Klaus rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to make them feel something other than gritty and stinging and aching, trying to make them focus on the wool in front of him, but his eyes don’t seem to respond to his command, and it just makes his head hurt more. He tosses the scarf down in disgust.
On the back of his neck: the cool, cloying breath of a ghost. Fucking Betty. Klaus whirls around to glare at the old lady. “Have you ever heard of personal space?” he hisses.
Betty stares at him silently. Indifferently.
Klaus shoves himself onto aching feet, one hand on the arm of the chair to keep his balance. He can’t just sit here doing nothing; dawn is barely beginning to break, and it could still be a while before his siblings are up and distracting him.
Shuffling into the bathroom, Klaus avoids looking in the mirror, half terrified that he’ll see someone standing behind him. He can almost sense them there, staring at his back, and a shiver zips down his spine. He scratches at the back of his neck. It feels much too familiar.
‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.'
“Shut up,” Klaus mutters nonsensically. He splashes water on his face, but he can barely feel it. It’s like his skin isn’t his own any more. The only reason he’s sure that he still has a head is that it throbs with every step he takes.
He takes a piss, and idly wonders how long until his organs start shutting down. Or is that a myth? (Ben would probably know.) His- His lungs don’t feel right, in his chest, like they don’t fit properly. Is that a symptom? His heart, too, he notices as he washes his hands. It’s thrumming like hummingbird wings, too fast to even hear the distinct ba-dum that distinguishes the living from the dead.
Somehow making his way back into the living room, he looks around, biting his nails. Both the sofa and the armchair have their backs exposed to the room. Neither of them look like a safe place to sit. He could move the armchair, except that he would have to move it through Betty, and he doesn’t want to risk her going from weird silent watcher to screaming shrieking moving reaching touching-
The sofa, then. He can move it along so that it is safely against a wall.
He squats down and braces his shoulder against it, and with all the thin, caffeine born energy that thrums through his shrivelled veins, he shoves against it. The couch groans and creaks, and it does inch along, just barely. Klaus sags, spent, but it’s only moved a foot or so in the right direction; anyone could still sneak up behind it. He steels himself. It’s just a couch. Klaus has run through a jungle carrying a fully grown man over his shoulder, and sure, he was hopped up on adrenaline and methamphetamines, but it’s kind of the same thing. He sucks in a breath, and heaves. The couch slides along with a sharp squeal, and Klaus belatedly worries that he might be scraping up the floor, but he’s almost got it-
His legs give out. With a thump, Klaus drops to the floor, and for a too long moment, he can’t quite tell which way the floor is. He scrunches his eyes closed to fend off the way the room is swaying and swirling, but not before he catches a glimpse of- of-
But it’s not Ben. It never is, no matter how many times Klaus sees him out of the corner of his eye.
(‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.')
A groan escapes his throat. His whole body is shaking apart, and he can’t seem to control it any more. It’s a mutiny. His own cells are betraying him.
“Klaus.”
No, no, no, no, no. This is not the time for another ghostie.
“Klaus.”
It’s not Ben. Sure, the voice sounds way too familiar, but it isn’t Ben, it can’t be Ben-
“Klaus! Why the fuck are you moving furniture at five in the morning?”
.... Yeah, okay, that’s not Ben.
Klaus turns towards the voice, attempting to focus his eyes enough to see how many of his siblings have come to yell at him, and would you look at that, it’s a full house (aside from Ben, of course). Slumping back against the side of the sofa, Klaus croaks, “Morning.”
“Hey, asshole,” one of the shorter blurs - Five - grinds out. “Wanna explain why you woke everyone up for some feng shui?”
“Sorry,” Klaus mumbles. “Didn’t realise- how loud.”
“Oh my god,” says Allison, hair sticking up awkwardly. “Please don’t tell me you’re high right now.”
Suddenly, there is no air in his lungs.
Luther pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, goddamn it, Klaus.”
“Wha- No,” Klaus starts, but his tongue is huge in his mouth and he can’t quite get the words out.
Sighing, Diego says, “Well, we don’t all have to be awake for this. I’ll sober the bastard up, you guys can go back to bed.”
Klaus tries to get his feet under himself, but it’s hard when the floor seems to shift and squirm underneath him, and he has to clutch at the wall to steady himself. “No, no, shut up, shut up, I’m not- I’m sober.”
And Diego- Diego laughs, as if any of this is remotely funny, and the rest of the siblings turn their backs like they’re done with the situation, and Betty is still staring at him from her corner, and he can’t stop shivering and he feels sick and his head hurts and he’s so, so, so tired-
“Don’t fucking laugh at me,” spits Klaus. “Don’t you fucking dare laugh at me, Diego, I swear to god.”
Diego stops laughing. His siblings stop walking away. They turn and stare at him, just like the ghost in the corner has been doing this whole time, and it just makes him feel sicker.
With his hands raised placatingly, Luther says, “Hey, okay, just calm down-”
“Calm down?” Klaus echoes, outraged. “Don’t tell me to calm down when none of you are listening to me!”
“We are listening, Klaus,” defends Allison, hurt.
Klaus shakes his head, but stops abruptly when it makes the world spin. “No, no, you’re not.”
“We are,” says Vanya, all soft encouragement. “We’re listening now, Klaus. What is it?”
“I’m sober,” says Klaus, and his voice breaks on the word, because he already knows what the reaction will be, and he’s right; none of them believe him. Their eyes slide away, and they shuffle their feet, and none of them even pretend to consider the possibility that Klaus hasn’t relapsed. "I'm sober," he repeats, defeated.
Five sticks his hands in his pockets. “You wanna explain why you look half dead, then?”
“I’m… I’m just tired,” Klaus says.
He can see the disappointment run through them, the way they look between each other, waiting to see who will bite the bullet and call him out on his bullshit.
But then Allison steps forward, brow furrowed, and asks, “Klaus… when did you last sleep?”
His stomach drops, and, inexplicably, he feels his face heat up; it’s at odds with the way his hands are cold and clammy. “I- uh-”
“Answer the question,” Diego demands, eyes narrowed.
Klaus runs a hand through his hair, only to find it tangled and greasy. “How long have we been in 2019?”
Vanya supplies, “A week?”
Nodding, Klaus says, “I guess a week, then.” He tries not to worry about the fact that it’s gotten so bad after only one week, tries not to consider what state he will be in after two.
(‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.')
It’s silent for a beat, long enough for Klaus to almost forget his siblings are there. His brain doesn’t hold onto things too well these days. Then-
“Oh my god,” Five says, all revelation and wonder. “My brother is an idiot.”
Allison scolds, “Five, that’s not helpful,” and it’s only then that Klaus realises Five was talking about him.
Surprisingly, it’s Luther who asks the million dollar question: “Wait, but… why?”
Heart sprinting in his chest, hammering against his ribs, Klaus confesses in a hushed whisper, “It’s not safe.” They draw up short at this, freezing in place, and Klaus wonders why no one understands, why nobody is listening to him, so he adds, stumbling, “I can’t- If I sleep, I won’t be able to stop it, and- it won’t be Ben this time, it could be- I could be anyone, oh, fuck, I-”
“Klaus,” Diego says, stricken. “W-What do you mean? Why is it not safe?”
Frustration bleeds from his throat, and Klaus almost chokes on it. “I told you, I told you-”
“Okay, okay,” Vanya soothes, shuffling closer awkwardly, “it’s not safe. You’re- scared? Of falling asleep?”
Earnestly, Klaus nods, and he feels like he’s swallowed something huge, like something is stuck in his throat. He scrunches his face up and rubs his palms over his cheeks roughly, like it might scrub the film of fatigue away from his skin.
“I understand,” Vanya says softly, and then her hand touches his elbow, and he’s not sure whether to tear himself away or whether to collapse into her instead, so he just ends up wavering where he stands. “Come on, just sit down with me, yeah?”
“Okay,” Klaus says, unable to resist her all too reasonable voice, and he allows her to lead him back to the couch, stays pliant as she pulls him down onto the all too soft cushions. Without really meaning to, he adds, “You- You understand, right?”
She hums an affirmative, lips pressed tightly together, and the rest must have followed them over, because they stand in a loose semicircle in front of them, except for Betty who is still watching from the corner.
“Look,” Five says stiffly, “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I think we all do,” he says, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Klaus says, relieved, “Oh. Okay. Good.”
“Yeah,” Diego chimes in with forced levity, “I mean, it’s just one of the many bonuses of growing up in the Academy, right?”
Allison purses her lips. “Mm. I think I would be more worried if you didn’t get nightmares.”
And Klaus is… not following. His head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool, and then pressurised like a can of coke. “Huh?” he says, squinting his weary eyes.
“But Klaus, not sleeping isn’t a solution, it’s just avoidance,” says Five. “You’re going to have to fall asleep eventually.”
(‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.')
Panic lights up his chest, and Klaus is shaking, shaking, shaking all over. He feels like he might be sick. “No- No, I can’t-”
“You have to, though,” says Luther.
“But- But I can’t,” Klaus says, voice trembling and cracking.
Reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder, Allison gently says, “Don’t worry. We’ll be right next to you, okay?”
(‘You’re gonna have to fall asleep eventually.')
“What- No. That’s- That’s even worse!” cries Klaus, and he can’t understand why they’re looking at him with hurt. “What if- If they- I could hurt you. I could kill you, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything, I couldn’t-”
Diego laughs, but the sound is shallow and uncertain. “Uh, I think we could take you.”
“You- You don’t understand,” Klaus says, all raw desperation and fear, “you’re not listening, I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about whatever is left when I wake up! If they try, I won’t be able to stop them, and I can’t, I can’t let that happen-”
“Klaus,” says Vanya, but the words are tumbling out now and Klaus is powerless to stop.
“I can’t end up with more blood on my hands, I just can’t, you can’t let that happen, please,” he babbles, fingernails digging into his palms, and he can’t think, he can’t breathe-
His siblings are crowding around him and there’s no air and Klaus thinks he might be dying.
Luther says, “Klaus-”
And Allison says, “Klaus-”
And the Ben that isn’t there says, “Klaus-”
And the ghost in the corner who probably isn’t called Betty says nothing at all, just stares and stares and stares-
And he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, and he can’t stay here, or he’ll shake apart right in front of them, he can’t be here, he has to go somewhere safe, somewhere his siblings will be safe from him-
He launches himself upright-
And his knees dissolve underneath him-
And his eyes roll back-
And nothing else.
Klaus is warm.
He’s comfortable.
And nothing hurts.
...Something must be wrong.
He levers himself upright, an unnamed terror clawing at his lungs, because something is wrong, something about this is terrible-awful-horrifying, and he doesn’t know what-
“Woah, woah, okay-”
His fist, halfway through its swing, is caught, and Klaus is seized with the agonising realisation that he's already failed, that he's powerless against the ghosts, just like he always has been, except-
This isn't a ghost.
Diego cautiously releases his fist, watching cautiously to see whether Klaus will take another shot, and all Klaus can think it's good. He should be scared. God knows Klaus is, too.
The rest of his siblings, he realises, are behind him, perched in various positions around the too small bedroom, although they’re all beginning to stand, and they’re all watching Klaus closely. Do they even know what they’re watching for?
“Hey,” Diego says gruffly. “You okay?”
Brokenly, Klaus asks, “I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
“Passed out, more like,” corrects Five.
Klaus drops back down onto the sheets. He had gotten lucky. Or, more likely, had been so physically exhausted that he hadn’t been drawing any ghosts in as he slept. Either way, this could have gone- much, much worse. He needed a better way to stay awake, because he couldn’t trust himself to do it. He says, “This can’t happen again.”
Vanya frowns at him. “What do you mean?”
“I need to… go somewhere. Away from you guys. Away from anyone living,” Klaus says slowly.
With a nervous laugh, she says, “That sounds a bit dramatic.”
Klaus looks at his siblings. They all seem… worried. Worried about Klaus, when they should be worried for themselves.
“Look,” says Five, decisively, “whatever you were worried would happen clearly didn’t, so-”
“But it could happen next time,” Klaus interrupts, wrapping his arms around himself, as if it would shield him from all the eyes watching him. At least Betty didn’t follow them into the bedroom. “Or the time after that, or the time after that. You’ll never be safe whilst I’m here.”
“You keep saying safe,” says Allison, “but you haven’t explained what the danger even is.”
He has, he’s sure that he has, but nobody had been listening at the time - story of his life - so Klaus takes a breath, and states, very clearly, “They can possess me now.”
Diego swallows noisily. “Like Ben.”
“Like Ben,” Klaus agrees gravely.
“Wait, hold on,” says Luther, “what do you mean, possess you?”
Klaus sits upright, bringing his knees to his chest. “Remember the light supper? My, uh, seizure?”
Realisation dawns on Luther’s face, and his eyes bug out, as if Klaus hadn’t said at the time, as if this is news to him - and maybe it is. “You were possessed. I mean. Actually possessed.”
Wincing, Klaus says, “Yep.”
“You said like Ben,” Vanya says slowly.
As much as Klaus doesn’t want to tarnish the memory they have of Ben, he doesn’t want to lie about it either. Fretfully, he says, “Ben just wanted to be alive again.”
He closes his eyes and hopes they let it go, but, as usual, luck is not on his side. “So he possessed you?” Luther demands, and Klaus hopes it isn’t out of disbelief.
“Yeah. He did.”
Allison, too perceptive and never afraid to call him out, says, “You were scared. It scared you.”
Mouth dry, Klaus says, “I knew he wouldn’t- I mean, I didn’t know what he would do, but I knew Ben. I knew he wasn’t going to try to hurt anyone, except maybe me.” He laughs, but the sound is razor sharp. “It’s the other ghosts you should be worried about.”
“But you can eject them?” Five questions, eyes sharp. Klaus pretends he doesn’t remind him of Reginald right now; it isn’t a kind comparison.
“Kind of, sometimes. If I fight him, fight them. Or I can sort of push them away, before they ever get close enough to try anything.”
“Like the alley,” says Five, because he’s always been good at finding patterns and deducing answers.
“But, hold on, hold on,” Diego says, “what’s this got to do with…?”
Five says, “Isn’t it obvious?”
Apparently not, because none of the siblings respond.
Rolling his eyes, Five explains, “He can’t fend off possession if he’s asleep.”
And isn’t that just a bitch. Klaus takes to biting on his thumbnail, absently wondering if Allison still smokes, and whether he can bum one off of her. This whole conversation is making him want to peel his own skin off.
“So what do we do?” Diego asks.
Five, for once, doesn’t have an answer.
“I guess we could borrow some of Di’s bondage gear and keep me tied to the bed,” Klaus jokes weakly, earning a swat to his shoulder.
“But how will we know it’s really you when we untie you?” Five points out.
Klaus scrunches up his face. “I feel like I should clarify now that I wasn't being serious. I’m a wee bit claustrophobic, y’know? Not really a fan.”
“Wait,” Vanya says thoughtfully, “how come this is only becoming a problem now?”
“Because I’ve been sober for three years,” Klaus says gloomily.
Diego exclaims, “Holy shit, three years?”
“Except for our girls' night,” he directs at Allison, “yeah. My powers got stronger. Too strong, I guess.”
“Okay, I can’t believe I’m even suggesting this,” starts Vanya dryly, “but have you considered medicating? Did a pretty good job of keeping my powers in check, up until, y’know.”
He falls silent.
“It’s not ideal,” Allison says softly, “but maybe you should consider it.”
With a grim smile, Klaus says, “I have. Thought about it, that is.”
“And?” Five prompts.
“And Ben would be so pissed.”
Dropping that name drops a ton of bricks on the conversation. The siblings all pull back, suddenly awkward, remembering the death that they had all already grieved for.
“Okay,” allows Allison, “maybe, but we’re not talking about, y’know, finding the nearest dealer and buying you some heroin. We’re talking about… medication.”
“Slippery slope,” Klaus says, because he knows his self control is nothing to gloat about, and his track record is not encouraging.
“But you wouldn’t be doing it alone,” says Vanya, all big, earnest eyes. “We’re here with you. We can figure it out together, right?”
Tentatively, because Klaus has been, in some ways, alone for a very long time, he murmurs, "Yeah?"
"Between us, we have six adults, and half of us even have brains," Five says primly. "I'm sure we can figure out a more sustainable plan than just not sleeping."
Naturally, this statement prompts bickering from the slighted siblings, and Klaus finds himself smiling as they squabble. Trust doesn't come easily to Klaus, but maybe, just maybe, he doesn't need to do this alone. Maybe he can trust his family to help.