(song lyrics from "Synchronicity II" by the Police)

6:30 am, Tuesday August 13th, 2019

"Another suburban family morning," the alarm clock shrieks at him, thudding base riff and crashing drums slamming him into wakefulness. "Grandmother screaming at the wall!"

Klaus' hand fumbles for the off switch.

"We have to shout above the din of our rice crispies. We can't hear anything at all!" He slams the button down, cutting off the angry, howling vocals and good god, who decided that was an appropriate song to play at- he glances at the clock - 6:30 in the morning? That clinched it, radio DJ's were the fucking worst.

He sits up with a wince, glaring balefully at the clock and rubbing away the sandpaper grit in his eyes. He feels fuzzy, static-muffled and groggy. It reminds him of a hang-over, which is tragically unfair since he'd never gotten the enjoyment of being drunk first. Then again, when has life ever been fair to anyone in this house?

Under different circumstances that thought might be funny in a gallows-humor sort of way. Right now it just makes him want to hit something.

Ah well. Sally forth, stiff upper lip and all that bullshit, right? He gets his feet under him, gropes around and finds a half-smoked cigarette in the disheveled tumble of blankets. Score. Must've fallen asleep smoking last night; probably a miracle he hadn't burned the house down. He sticks it in the corner of his mouth and fumbles around for a lighter, inhaling tobacco and nicotine, jump-starting his brain. He gives his shirt a contemplative sniff, trades it out for a marginally cleaner one. He stretches out the worst of the kinks in his back and stumbles his way downstairs.

Breakfast, his brain reminds him. The first thing he needs to do is make some breakfast.

He gets to the kitchen, tiles cold under his bare feet and Vanya's there, looking small and sad behind her notebook, the one with the endless notes scribbled all over in her sharp, spidery handwriting.

"Hey," he says, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

"Hey," she replies, corner of her mouth twitching up. No happiness in her eyes though. Small wonder. This whole fucking house was a monument to tragedy.

"Rough night?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"It wasn't so bad," she lies.

Klaus doesn't have anything positive to say to that so he squeezes her shoulder instead and starts making some pancakes. Pancakes, eggs...soft foods, he remembers. For some reason soft foods were better. Klaus doesn't know why that is but he also doesn't question it. When you found something that worked, you went with it.

She watches him as he mixes up some instant batter. Klaus was a 'just add water' kind of cook. "I didn't think it was your day," she ventures.

"It's not," he replies, not looking at her because he doesn't want to see the sadness in her eyes. The guilt. He just- can't deal with it right now. Too early in the morning, and there are other things he has to deal with first. Like breakfast. "I swapped with Diego. He and Allison are meeting with a doctor."

"Another one?"

Klaus shrugs, "Have to try, right?"

Her voice goes funny. "Doctor's can't help if they don't know what's wrong," and God, isn't that the truth. Klaus knows it all too fucking well.

"Yeah..." he says, and then stops, leaning against the counter with the whisk clutched weakly in his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately, "I didn't mean-"

"I know, it's okay."

"No it isn't," she says, and he hears a sniff. Oh boy...he puts the bowl to one side and goes to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Hey, com'on, it's all right," he says, even though it isn't and they both know it. He strokes the top of her head. "It's going to be okay. We'll...we'll figure this out."

Not for the first time, she starts to cry. "I'm so sorry, Klaus," she whispers, the rest of the words lost in tears.

"It wasn't your fault," he says, though a part of him doesn't believe that. But that part of him doesn't matter. That part of him is only a tiny little piece and it can go fuck itself.

It's when the dishes start to rattle in the cupboard he realizes they might have a problem. "Hey, hey sis. Calm down, okay? No need to-" he almost says 'bring the house down' but realizes what a bad turn of phrase it would be. "-rattle the windows."

She calms, taking a series of small, shaky breaths that slowly lengthen until she's breathing normally again and the plates stop clinking together. "Medication would be easier," she mumbles, her face still pressed against his shirt.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Klaus answers, and Vanya surprises them both by laughing a bit, swiping at her eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbles again, stepping away. "Didn't mean to keep you from breakfast."

"It's cool. I'm here for you too, you know."

"Thank you," she says, words heartfelt and sincere enough it makes him feel guilty for all times he wasn't. Not that he didn't feel guilty about that already, for a lot of reasons. But there's nothing more to say (or maybe there's too much to say) so he goes back to cooking.

"You want some?" he asks, loading up a plate. Paper, just in case. They'd had some bad experiences lately with ceramic.

"No, but...do you want me to come with you?" Klaus shakes his head.

"You had the night shift," he reminds her, reaching and out and folding her into a one armed hug, other hand holding the plate. "Go home and get some rest, okay? We'll call you if we need anything."

"Okay," she says, not arguing the point, looking small and tired and crushed down by life. Well, weren't they all?

He sighs and takes the stairs, feeling like a character in one of those Victorian novellas on his way to visit the crazy relative locked in the attic that no one ever talked about. He should get a candelabra to carry around; lend an air of dignity to the affair. Maybe a flowing white gown to trail dramatically behind him or something...

He knocks on the door out of habit even though he doubts he'll get a response. "Wakey, wakey!" he sing-songs, voice full of forced cheer. Well why not? He was Klaus; he's had years of experience pretending to be cheerful. No reason to stop now. The door doesn't say anything so he shoulders it open with a smile plastered on his face.

Five is sitting on his bed, bit of chalk clutched in one hand, walls decorated in their usual array of indecipherable symbols and equations that always made Klaus think of the inside of a pharaoh's tomb (appropriate, that). They'd gotten him a blackboard but for some reason he still preferred to write on the walls. At least chalk wiped off. He'd gotten ahold of a marker a few weeks back and Luther had to paint over the whole room.

"Hey buddy," Klaus says and gets ignored for his effort, "Didn't give Vanya too hard a time last night, did you? I bought you some breakfast."

Five doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge him at all, contemplating the chalk like it held the answers to every mystery in the universe. Or maybe just the ones in his head. Klaus keeps talking because one-sided as the conversation might be, silence was worse. "Not too hungry this morning huh? That's cool. I'll just set it down here, okay?" He waits a beat, secretly begging Five to say something - anything. Who'd have dreamed there would come a day when Klaus actually missed getting bitched at by his brother?

"So," he starts again, "I know Diego usually does fetch and carry on Tuesdays but he's checking into some things with Allison, so you're stuck with me."

Nothing. Nothing but goddamn radio silence. Like yesterday and the day before and the day before that...as far as Klaus knows, it's been almost a week since Five has spoken to any of them. Mind, words weren't the problem; he'd speak all right. To himself, to people who weren't there, to Dolores. But to his brothers and sisters? Last time he'd spoken to Klaus was Friday and that was to ask him who he was. "Right. Look I really don't want to like, force feed you again so if you could just- give me a sign that you're still in there somewhere that would be great."

Five looks up and Klaus' heart stutters but the hope is short lived. Five isn't looking at him, he's staring at the wall, those scribbled-over equations that had never made any sense to Klaus and that he's pretty sure don't make sense to anyone at all anymore.

"Nice artwork," Klaus says, following his gaze. "You um, you want me to get a washcloth, make some space? Looks like you've run out of room." His shoulders are starting to sag under the weight of the silence and he feels something inside him beginning to crack. "Com'on Five, say something. Please."

"Early onset Alzheimer's," the doctors had said, "Atypical symptoms," "Never seen it in someone this young before," and "shouldn't be possible." The doctors - those fucking pricks - had done a tolerable job of hiding their excitement behind concerned frowns and carefully crafted bedside manners but Klaus could see right through that shit, and he could see they were practically vibrating at the thought of poking around Five's brain. A fourteen year old with dementia? They'd be able to write research papers for years.

Well fuck that. His brother wasn't a goddamn lab rat and anyway, their research was fucked because the premise was bullshit.

Five didn't have Alzheimer's.

What Five had was a bad case of getting his brain scrambled via time travel. He had pushed himself beyond his limit taking them all into the past and then back again, and the real bitch of it was they'd fucking won. They stopped the apocalypse and he'd gotten them all home safe, just like he promised he would. But he lost himself somewhere along the way.

This...this is what victory looked like in the Hargreeves household.

Klaus' vision goes soft around the edges and he sits down on the bed next to Five. That wasn't always a good idea - sometimes Five reacted badly to people getting too close to him - but Klaus hasn't seen Five react to much of anything for a couple days so he takes the chance. At least he was - as far as they knew - too addled to jump anymore. That had been a real bitch in the beginning; Five, his mind just starting to slip, teleporting all over the damn place and not always with the understanding of what he was doing or where he ended up. He'd sent them scrambling on some pretty epic scavenger hunts at first, like the world's most anxiety inducing game of hide and seek.

That's when the doctors had gotten involved, but how did you explain to a doctor that your brother was suffering from time traveler's disease?

They tried to stay positive, hoping Five would pull out of it but he didn't, getting more and more lost inside his own damaged head. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about it was that Five was smart enough to know what was happening to him. He'd been terrified, and there wasn't a damn thing any of them could do to help.

After the suicide attempt they didn't leave him alone anymore.

By unanimous agreement it was decided they would take it in shifts, everyone picking a 'day' to stay at the academy and watch over their swiftly fading brother. It was probably one of the only things they'd ever agreed on without fighting about. There was talk of hiring a nurse, but that idea was quickly shot down. A nurse wouldn't understand how to connect with what was left of Five, wouldn't know what to do if he suddenly blinked away to another part of the house.

They were family, and they'd deal with this as a family.