⚠️warnings: [likely inaccurate] descriptions of [canon] drug addiction

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☂︎ 𝔱𝔰𝔲 | ❛ ᴏʟᴅ ʜᴀʙɪᴛꜱ ᴅɪᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅ ❜

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𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. That was the first thing you always heard.

Rain poured down your back, weighing down your clothes that were now stuck to your skin and inviting in a chill. The thunder stirring louder and louder in the clouds above was scaring you more and more and to make matters worse, your shoes were filled with water and your socks acted like sponges soaking in the rainwater to your tiny little feet.

Hot, angry, tears spilled from your eyes and snot poured from your nose as your small body wailed in a tremendous fit. You were so much younger, barely able to walk but you can't remember why you were standing. You just know you're angry and tired and cold.

A young woman beside you, a woman you feel you know. Her face is hard to make out, as the details have faded over time. Logically you know she is close to the age you are now, though even several years younger but that part of you that realizes is far back in your mind. Her youthful eyes are still tired and worn from lack of sleep, and you can make out the desperation in them now as she struggles with something you can't make out. You know her voice is meant to bring comfort in warmth but all it brings to you is longing and sadness and... something like pity. She's pleading.

A streak of lightning flashes across the already obscured picture of the rainy picture and her voice rings out once in a plea before everything disappears.

"Y/n-!"

You shot awake inhaling deep gulps of air, the blankets you had entangled yourself in now hovered inches from your nose. The moment you noticed them of course, your pull on then was lost and fell over your face before eventually spooling back onto the bed. Your eyes traced the movement of green wool to the mattress and realized why it was so far away, and better yet, you remembered where you were.

You were truly free from that wretched place once and for all, and you hadn't dreamed it up. It was all real. You were safe, at Diego's place. The fighting lions, which oddly, had nothing to do with lions, but you weren't complaining. Determined to drink up every detail of your new life, you took in every sensation from the brick wall underneath your folded legs and the sight of the soft cobalt blue of dawn making its way through the window inches from you. You sighed lightly. It wasn't uncommon for you to roll in your sleep and awake on the walls or ceilings thanks to your abilities at work in your subconscious. Oh well.

You could do without the floating trinkets orbiting in your atmosphere though. And following in the blankets' footsteps, they had fallen to the bed just as quickly as realization struck you.

After returning them to their proper places on the shelf, you returned yourself to the bed. Once more you ran your fingers along the blankets, appreciating the plush cushions underneath your palms but something stopped you from fully cherishing the moment.

Your eyes were pulled across the room and realized what was so wrong. Everything was quiet-there was no barely audible hum from the walls to keep your ears company, or the soft chime of G.R.E.G.O.R.Y greeting you in the morning. And Everything was still in its beautiful cluttered mess, stilled in place apart from the dust cascading through the kitchen lights left on from the previous night. And despite the welcomed change, your stomach sunk.

You realized you were still alone. And that Diego had not returned.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sun was always something that brought comfort to Allison Hargreeves. The blanket of warmth kissed her skin as it broke through the curtain of dust layering her old childhood bedroom, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Somehow, the place still smelled like home. At least, it smelled like it had when she was growing up. Not this place ever truly felt like a home. Then again, she tried reminding herself with a jarring shudder; apparently, her father could have done worse.

She had been thinking about it all morning since she awoke. A prisoner. Beneath their feet all these years. Instinctively, Allison reminded herself they didn't technically have all the details, or even if you had a family. But she immediately shook the thought away. Of course, none of that mattered! Or at least, the technicality of your imprisonment didn't matter. Your trauma and what her father had done were undeniable.

Allison expels another overwhelmed breath and rubs at her eyes before resuming her task. Folded tee-shirts in hand, she crosses her bedroom floor, suddenly remembering that one loose floorboard and continues to pack.

Four knocks bring Allison's attention to her bedroom door opening to reveal her brother, Luther.

"Hi," he mumbles.

"Hey,"

"You know," he clears his throat. "it's funny. I've had the same routine for the last four years. Now that I'm back down here, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself."

"I know the feeling," says Allison, continuing her folding.

"Well, you must be eager to see Claire," Luther notes, gesturing to her packing.

Allison gave a weak chuckle.

"I didn't think it was possible to miss a person this much. But I've still got some things I need to do before I can see her," a wistful smile falls over her face before she peers up at her brother. "You know, someday I'd really love for you to meet her."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you," Allison laughs. "Why not?"

"Does Claire even know about me?"

A look of surprise comes across Allison's face.

"What are you talking about? Of course, she knows about you."

"I know, it's just that," Luther stutters. "when you left, it seemed like... all you wanted to do was forget this place ever existed, so."

"This place, yes. But not you. Not my family." She laughs. "Well, at least not my siblings... Or Mom,"

The two trail off in a laugh, choosing to linger in fonder memories of a better time. A time without their father.

"You know," Allison begins, picking her eyes back up off the floor in a smirk. "when Claire was little, I used to, uh, read her books about the moon. I'd tell her her uncle was living up there. That he was protecting us from harm."

A goofy grin lights up his face at the mention of his niece. "Really?"

"I mean, you were her own personal superhero,"

His face falls again when he remembers the divorce. That not even Allison could see her, much less him. And he's reminded of all the time that's passed... would Claire even remember him?

As if reading his thoughts, Allison's lips curled in a reassuring smile. "You know, after all this time, I know she would love to meet you."

And just like that, for no reason Luther can name, other than fear, the hope slips through his fingers and he sighs. He can feel his walls rebuilding themselves, he can feel the paranoia creeping back up.

"...Dad's monocle is still missing, and we've still got Y/n to worry about, so... we can't forget that,"

Allison lets out a great, exasperated sigh and drops her gaze to the ground. Yesterday's anger with him returned all at once.

"Dad died because his heart gave out Luther, not because of Y/n. And you know it,"

"Do I?" He counters, kicking himself for his tone but making no effort to take it back. "Do any of us? I mean, I don't like it any more than you do Allison but we have to be realistic here. It was awful what Dad did to her-of course it was-and I'm not denying that..."

Allison feels her arms cross over her shoulders involuntarily, giving him a challenging that very statement. He hadn't even said the words yet, but she knew what was coming and she could already feel the disappointment creeping up.

"But she's got the best motive."

"Yeah, she's also got the best alibi, Luther," she says shortly. "Or have you forgotten you were the one who had to break her out?"

Luther's mouth opens to argue but no words come, and every instinct he's felt since he first heard the news feels more like a question. Was he just imagining things? Was that what he was meant to think? He was so in his own head, he couldn't think straight anymore. Then again, he couldn't remember a time he wasn't always this paranoid. He had been raised to be.

He thinks again of the terrified look on your face... All the things he had said to you... He looks down at the ground, guilt welling up in his chest.

"Luther," Allison sighs, striding forward to his side. "This has to stop... Don't turn this into a mission."

Luther looks at her, taken aback. "Is that what you think this is?"

"I think there's a reason why you never left," she counters. There's another quiet pause, the weight of the world seeming to come back down to rest on their shoulders. Finally, Allison gives her brother's shoulder another pat. "I'm gonna go make some calls, look for Vanya. Can you round up Diego and Y/n?" He gives a nod and she bows her head, making her way into the hall before she pauses at her door. "And you know, maybe try not to bring down any more statues in the process,"

A silent laugh escapes Luther before he realizes, and he smiles sadly at the ground. He could already hear his sister retreating down the hall, most likely heading for the payphone. He sighs again, his mind unable to drift from Allison's words and her overall point and he feels a strong, undeniable feeling brewing in his gut; guilt.

She was right.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Klaus!"

"Klaus!"

"No, no, no..." Came the mumbled words tumbling off of Klaus's tongue, his sleeping eyes still crewed shut. "No, no please, no,"

"Klaus, help us!"

The screams of the dead filled the man's mind, drowning his thoughts in anguish and inescapable pleas muddling even his dreams. Faces, so many haunted faces...

"Why Klaus?"

"Help me!"

A terrible shriek finally yanked him off the couch and out of unconsciousness where he sat shivering in a cold sweat. Disinterestedly, Ben's eyes linger from the book in his hands and towards his brother unimpressed.

"You know you talk in your sleep," he muses, returning the word of Anton Chekov waiting folded in his hands.

Still shivering-a likely combination of the absence of drugs in his system and the fact that he was stripped down to nothing but a thong that left little to the imagination-Klaus heaves a sigh and sinks to the floor, crawling on his hands and knees for his abandoned clothes pile.

"There's no point," Ben says, already thinking two steps ahead. "You're out of drugs,"

"Shut your pie hole, Ben!" Klaus snaps without thinking. He sighs as he sits back on his feet and looks at his hooded brother with a much softer tone. "Said with love."

He blows the man a kiss and frowns back down at his things, knowing Ben is right and there is nothing left. But hey, he can't help but think, there had to be something in his pockets to get him started.

"I've got a crazy idea," says Ben, leaning forward in his seat. "Why not start your day with... a glass of orange juice, or some eggs?"

"Can't smoke eggs," Klaus grumbled, hiking one bare foot up on the coffee table as he lit a cigarette. He drew in a puff with the bud between his teeth and made his way to the cabinet of goodies near the bar. "One of these has got to be gold plated, right?"

Ben looks up from the bench he now occupies by the bar, his eyes stopping on the figure watching Klaus with limited patience. Klaus, none the wiser, continues to dig through the shelves until he hears the sudden noise of someone clearing their throat.

Caught with his hand in the gold-plated cookie jar, Klaus's gaze jumps over his shoulder to find Pogo watching him displeased. The sudden sight startled the man and he took a plunging breath, grasping his heart.

"Christ on a cracker!" He cried, drawing a satisfied smirk from Ben. "Pogo?"

"My apologies, Master Klaus," said Pogo flatly. "I have a query for you."

"Oh?"

"Items from your father's office have gone missing. In particular, an ornate box with pearl inlay,"

Ben shifted around to peer up at Klaus, hooking one elbow up on the seat with feigned surprise. "Really?"

"Really?" Klaus echoed, and again Ben felt a sense of amusement knowing his brother yet again was in a position he had to pretend he wasn't hearing his own playful pestering. "You don't say?"

Pogo cocked his head in a testing manner. "Any idea where it went?"

Klaus looked up from the floor, his mouth falling open--

𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘

Klaus stumbles out into the hallway, throwing a single glance behind his shoulder assuring he hadn't been caught. When he knows he's safe, he pulls the ornate wooden and gold box from the back of his trousers with a mischievous smirk. He examines it briefly, ignoring the chiding comments over his shoulder before he plants a quick kiss on the rim of the box that he knows will fetch him the money for his next deal.

He had slipped into the alley unnoticed with no trouble. The same, however, could not be said for his attempts at opening the box he had snagged from his father's office. He discovered this box, fairly quickly to have a rather ornate one with pearl inlay after a satisfying click of the latch popping open. A feat he had accomplished out of sheer dumb luck and a previous revising from its last use and the faulty lock on the box.

What lay inside was of little interest to him; sheets of loose paper which he quickly trashed. Just his father's stupid scribbles, really. Some envelopes─trashed. That stupid journal dearest dad was always scribbling in─also trashed. Just the old man's diary, he thought, had his initials and everything. After the quick and fleeting thought─should he get a diary?─he shook his head and moved on. He had what he wanted now, and it would be enough to last him the night.

With a new spring in his step, he headed for the nearest pawn shop, unknowingly leaving behind Reginald Hargreeves's most closely guarded secret among the trash.

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Out of the pawnshop, he stumbled, his cash in hand─and promptly stored it in his trousers─he returned to the streets.

Finding a dealer had not been difficult, and the exchange was done quickly with a nod, a smile, and a quick bow of his head.

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Layer by layer, Klaus peeled off his outer layers and allowed the air hitting his exposed skin to subdue the hot flashes burning him up as he headed for the couch. Pogo had been found and there was a lead on his mother, not to mention the others were growing tired from the day's rollercoaster of events. And Klaus was quickly crashing. He could feel everything in him draining and it was then he had slipped away from the group and towards the nearest couch in the living room where he ultimately collapsed.

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--and he shrugs. "No," Klaus lies, shaking his head. "No, no idea. Sorry,"

"Liar," Ben snarks.

"Drop dead," he whispers.

Ben peers up at him with a snark in his eyes. "Low blow,"

"Shut up!" Klaus hisses.

"Excuse me?" Pogo says, readjusting his cane; a sign to which everyone knew meant he was growing impatient.

"No, I didn't mean you! I just-- I just," Klaus stutters, making his way across the room to Pogo. "I just-- you know? It's been a lot of stuff-I've been dealing with. Just a lot of memories and-and-and and the whole-- you know-- last night, right? That was a thing--"

-"The contents of that box are..." Pogo urges impatiently, surprising both Hargreeves boys with an interruption. He shakes his head gravely. "priceless. Were they to find their way back to the office, whoever took it would be absolved of any blame or consequences."

"Oh! Well, lucky bastard!"

"Indeed," Pogo challenges with a click of his tongue.

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Five was growing impatient. Time was ticking on doomsday as it inevitably would be for the next seven days and one of the only things he could think of to stop it rested in his right hand.

With the time gifted to him since leaving Vanya's, he had tracked down MeriTech and managed to get inside and on the right floor of which he now stood in the early hours of the morning. As his eyes took him around the lobby, many people milled about; doctors were already hard at work, even some patients were trickling in. It was with great agitation Five accepted he would have to wait until someone came along. And wait he did until finally...

"Uh, can I help you?" A curious voice came over his shoulder.

"I need to know who this belongs to," Five began, sauntering up to the man and holding out the glass eye for the man to see.

"Where did you get that?"

"What do you care?"

The man looked him over, not sure what to think. Five bit the bullet.

"I found it..." he chides, his voice very nearly dripping with sarcasm. "on the playground, actually. Must have just," he clicks his tongue and plasters on a smirk. "popped out."

Five felt some semblance of victory when the man smiled uncomfortably.

"I wanna return it to its rightful owner,"

The receptionist cooed from behind the desk. "What a thoughtful young man,"

"Yeah," he hums dismissively. "look up the name for me, will ya?"

The woman blinks a few times in uncertainty and returns to her work, and the man once again speaks up with growing discomfort.

"Um, I'm sorry but patient records are strictly confidential. That means I can't--"

"--Yeah," Five interjects. "I know what it means."

"But, I can tell you what I can do. I can take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner. I'm sure he or she will be very grateful, so if I could just--"

Five ripped the eye from the man's reaching grasp before he could touch it and sent him a warning glare, taking him by surprise. "Yeah, you're not touching this eye."

"Listen here young man--"

Five lunged forward, his iron grip tightening around the man's collar and yanking him down to eye level.

"No, you listen to me asshole!" Five spits, his nose nearly touching the man's. "I've come a long way for this. Through some shit your pea brain couldn't even comprehend. So just give me the information I need, and I'll be on my merry way. And if you call me 'young man' one more time, I'm gonna put your head through that damn wall."

"Ohhh, dear," mumbled the receptionist, grabbing for the phone.

"Call security," the man said in a hoarse plea, still prisoner in Five's grasp.

She was already picking up the phone, dialing the number when Five finally conceded. With a huff, he shoved the man back and stormed out, his mind reeling for a backup plan and his anger boiling not only at the failed attempt but what the options he now faced. The last thing he wanted to do-the last thing any of them needed.

He'd have to go to his siblings for help.

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I REMIND YOU TO BE CAUTIOUS OF ALL RESOURCES YOU FIND REGARDING AIDING THE UKRAINE--IF YOU SUSPECT ME OR ANYONE YOU KNOW HAS OVERLOOKED SOMETHING THEY ARE SPREADING, MAKE IT KNOWN!

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'The Center for Pan Asian Community Services, Inc. (CPACS) is a nonprofit organization located in Atlanta, Ga. Established as the first and largest Asian and Pacific Islander health and human service agency in the Southeast region.

CPACS has been providing its core group of services to immigrant and refugee families in Georgia since 1980.'

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