Ben died, and that was it, really. Of course, Sir Reginald Hargreeves, being the stone cold bastard that he was, made no sign of acknowledging the finality of the event. He paid for a statue, made a comment at the service about how the Academy would strive forward, then retired to his office and continued to neglect his charges. And because Sir Reginald had demanded it, the Academy moved to fulfil his expectations.

Like good students. Like good sons and daughters.

In private, they mourned. Allison and Vanya cried, Diego put his fist through a wall, Luther fell silent, and Klaus gulped down a smuggled bottle of vodka and decided that dying was awfully inconvenient of Ben. He was tucked away in some room on the top floor, his hand loosely wrapped around the neck of the bottle. His throat burned, and he felt the blissful detachment of drunkenness creep up on him. Their dear father had caught him drinking once, and Klaus was in no hurry to repeat the incident, but Ben was dead and everything was awful, and he just needed to get away from it all. His brother had been one of the few to recognise why Klaus despised his ‘gift’. Why he didn’t want to talk to rotting corpses. Despite Sir Reginald’s intentions, the time in the mausoleum made Klaus intimately aware that being able to see the departed was in no means a good thing. All they ever did was scream at him, begging for help, and lashing out when he told them there wasn’t anything he could do. Ben had agreed, listening to Klaus rant and then sob, before disclosing that having a chest full of monsters was no walk in the park either. And Klaus had laughed until his own chest hurt.

Christ, he missed Ben. It seemed a stupid thing to admit; of course he missed Ben. They were brothers. Numbers Four and Six, united by powers that made nearly everyone else’s skin crawl. Downstairs, he heard the muffled strains of a violin. Vanya hadn’t said much about Ben, but, then again, she never said much about anything. He vaguely wondered if she was officially studying, or just escaping in her music the same way he had escaped into the bottle. Klaus tilted his head to read the label. It was a cheap brand, but that didn’t matter so long as it did its job. He’d prefer to chase a high, but the pills were expensive, and Ben had hated them. Klaus reasoned that a few days clean were as good a way of remembering him as any. At the very least, it saved him from scrounging for money, and Pogo’s disappointed sighs. He lowered the bottle slowly and ran his hands through his hair. The room was useful for avoiding the rest of his family. Unfortunately, it was full of dust and old portraits that watched him with eyes as dull as any ghost’s. Klaus groaned, then pushed himself up. Ghosts were not a subject he wanted to broach today. Hell, they weren’t exactly a subject he wanted to go near any day.

‘Klaus.’

He froze. The voice was raspy, like a record that had been played too many times. It echoed too, little scratchy sounds that bounced around Klaus’ skull. He knew what that meant, and he staggered towards the door, desperately scrabbling for the handle.

‘Klaus!’

The voice again, louder this time and yet still so quiet. Klaus stilled, then slowly turned around. The room was empty. Taking in a shaky breath, Klaus willed himself to stay. Just to tell the ghost to fuck off and leave him be. He was tired of hauntings, tired of accusatory stares, and tired of wails and moans. It wasn’t his fault his heart was still beating.

‘If you can’t be bothered to show yourself,’ he called out, ‘then just go. I’m not interested.’

The room chilled, and Klaus’ stomach plummeted. He was not in the mood for a visual manifestation. This damn house probably had dozens of murders in its history, and seeing slit throats or gaping bullet wounds wasn’t exactly what he considered fun. He closed his eyes, deciding to drown in the darkness rather than watch a walking corpse.

‘Klaus, please. I can’t –‘

Oh, but that was –

‘Ben?’

He opened his eyes, and saw his brother stood in front of him in all of his undead glory. His face was gaunt, his hair was dishevelled, and his uniform was torn and dripping gore. He flickered.

‘Ben, wait!’ Klaus reached forward, not caring that he would pass straight through his brother, ‘Just focus, okay? You have to stay. Okay, you – you can’t just leave!’

Distantly, he was aware that Vanya had stopped playing her violin. Damn. He hoped no-one had heard him. Ben’s form flickered again, and he looked down at his hands, stained red with his life’s blood.

‘Klaus? What happened?’ he asked.

Klaus wanted to scream, to sob, to grab his brother by the shoulders and demand why he had gone and got himself killed. He settled for pacing in a line that wasn’t entirely straight, and looking very pointedly past his brother.

‘Don’t ask that. You’re just not properly awake yet, okay? Okay. Just, can you not look like that? Please?’

Ben blinked, and promptly vanished. Klaus, hands trembling, sat down in the corner, and tried to remember his father’s illustrious tips for conjuring spirits. Focus, right? It was all about focus. If he just breathed steadily, and concentrated on that strange well of energy inside him, he could help. Ben just needed a little encouragement to stabilise himself, that was all. He clenched his fists.

‘Better?’

Klaus jolted. Ben sat in front of him, cross-legged, and looking amazingly solid. His uniform had been exchanged for a hoodie, jeans, and a black leather jacket. His hair was carefully styled. He raised an eyebrow, questioning Klaus’ silence.

‘I do look better, right? Only, I didn’t know what to do, and…’ he trailed off, patting his chest, ‘I died?’

Shakily, Klaus nodded, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Ben looked just as he did the morning before the mission, before he had been dragged home bleeding whilst they all yelled and begged for Mom to just do something.

‘Yeah, Ben. I’m – I’m sorry,’ he stuttered.

There was a beat of silence. For a moment, Klaus berated himself. Here was his brother, sat in front of him against all the odds, and the best he could do was I’m sorry? He wanted to slam his head against the wall, but then Ben gave him a small smile.

‘Well, at least that explains the god-awful statue outside.’

Klaus stared at Ben, then laughed until he sobbed.