Five isn't good at this. He isn't good at heart to hearts. That has always been Klaus, who cared a little more than the rest, who was sensitive in ways that made it easier to unravel into a mess.

And how much of that had Five brought onto him, here? There is still the idea of fault and guilt and the reluctance to relinquish it. That somehow, Five's actions or oversight had resulted in his brother's appearance here, in having to bare witness to corpses and loneliness and fear and he isn't naive enough to think himself capable of ridding all that which made up the majority of their childhoods, of their lives. But his self-loathing runs deep enough to know where to lay his blame.

"That's bullshit," that saccharine smile might work on others, Klaus. He knows the other day was five days ago. His hard stare would say as much.

Slowly, he perches himself on the corner of Klaus' bed. "You haven't slept in days." His approaches have always been heavy handed, but to his credit, his voice doesn't rise into a higher pitch. "And expert that you are, I don't need to remind you the effects of sleep deprivation, do I?"

There will be a long pause, before he can bring himself to ask: "What happened, Klaus?"