And you can tell

From the full-body cast

That you're sorry that you asked

Though you did everything you could

(Like any decent person would)

But I might be catching so don't touch

You'll start believing you're immune to gravity and stuff

Don't get me wet

Because the bandages will all come off

/

"Girl Anachronism" by The Dresden Dolls

Luther is trying.

He really, really is, and he's starting to see the results. He's starting to recognize all the little cracks in his own worldview and piece together the story from an objective standpoint. He's beginning to understand one undeniable truth: he, and all the Hargreeves siblings, are well and truly fucked up.

The others are patient with him as he comes to this conclusion. They guide him, inasmuch as they can, to the things they understood long before he did. Just the other day, he was experimenting with these new concepts—"Dad's training was too harsh. He should never have pushed us so hard."—and Diego had looked at him without a trace of defiance or resentment. He had just gazed at him and nodded gently without a word. Then they went back to sparring like nothing happened.

It's these little moments that are teaching him more than the mounds of books he's gotten from the library. He went early last week with Klaus, and again this morning when he exhausted his reading material on scary subjects like abuse and emotional neglect. All the accounts and stories don't sound exactly like what they went through, but he supposes that's understandable, what with the unusual circumstances of their upbringing. The problem is the coldness of it all.

In all the books he's read so far he's seen little assurance that he's allowed to love the man who raised him. Because he does, in spite of everything, still love his dad, and he doesn't want to stop. He wants to get out from under his teachings, to get better and to truly love the people he's always treated as his underlings, but he doesn't want to completely abandon the only other love he's known. It was fucked up, unreciprocated love, but love all the same.

Luther puts his book down beside him on his too-small bed and stares up at the ceiling and at the mocking sway of the model airplane. This could be worse than he thought. He drags his hands down his face, presses his fingertips to his eyelids until he sees stars. He misses them terribly sometimes. The silence of the moonscape, all peaceful and still, is something he got used to. Abused children will oftentimes become accustomed to their circumstances and make no effort to speak out, one of his textbooks said.

He's not a child, though. He's not sure what he is anymore.

An eruption of noise from downstairs startles him, and he sits bolt upright. The sound—recognizable now as frantically raised voices—sends alarm signals ringing through his head, every deep-rooted instinct kicked into overdrive. He vaults from his bed, which creaks in protest, and runs down the hallway. The noise gets louder until he stands at the top of the stairs, and then it abruptly stops as everyone below falls quiet.

Luther's gaze falls first on Vanya. She is silent and staring and covered in dust but unhurt. To her left, Allison is standing tall and looking up at Luther. A dark shape is draped over her shoulders, and it takes Luther a moment to realize that it's one of Klaus's arms. The rest of his body is hanging limply against her, his head drooping low, but he's supporting some of his own weight so he must be conscious. Diego must have been mid-freakout, since he's poised with his hands reaching out to Klaus, but now he's looking up at Luther with frantic eyes. Five stands off to the side. "What happened?" Luther asks.

Chaos erupts with raised voices and arms flailing like semaphores. Luther rushes down the stairs and practically shouts to be heard over the noise, "where's Grace?"

"She went to get a stretcher," Diego answers. In the following quiet Luther is hyper-aware of how labored Klaus's breathing sounds. Klaus lifts his head the slightest bit as Luther approaches and gives a weak little wave with the hand slung over Allison's shoulders. Luther isn't sure why he doesn't use the other arm until he looks down at it and has to fight the urge to vomit. It almost looks like Klaus has two elbows, one bending in each direction, and both awash in vibrant purple bruising.

"Why would she get a stretcher?" Luther asks after he's swallowed a few times. "I can just carry him." He goes to do just that, but is stopped by Diego's hand on his bicep.

"Don't. You could make it w-worse," he says. His tone isn't accusatory or even particularly challenging, but Luther finds himself bristling defensively anyway.

Luckily Grace chooses that moment to reappear, pushing the stretcher in front of her and Pogo limping close behind. Pogo stills at the sight of Klaus, and Luther feels awkward witnessing the raw pain that passes their old teacher's face. He looks like he's seeing a ghost. Just as quickly as the emotion appears it is gone and Pogo is all calm nerve once again. "Master Luther, grab his legs—help Miss Allison maneuver him, gently now."

Luther is on edge now, from the situation and from Diego's needling, and hearing Pogo so much as speak is enough to make his blood boil after everything he's done and hidden from them all—but he takes a deep breath, and he kneels down to take hold of his brother's legs. He lifts up at the same time that Allison shifts to support Klaus's upper body so they have him horizontal and on the stretcher as quickly as possible. Klaus hardly makes a noise aside from a breathless whimper, which instills in Luther all over again just how odd the situation is.

As children, Klaus's powers had been all but useless in most missions. He was trained in physical combat just as well as the rest of them and was able to hold his own for the most part, but they all knew he needed a little extra minding. It became part of the routine of a mission—secure the goal, neutralize threats, watch out for Klaus. Luther thinks he may have scorned Klaus's apparent weakness once, but looking at him now, all he can think is that he's glad he never had to see him this way back then.

Getting him up the stairs is going to be more difficult than when they were all children. Luther has always wondered why the medical wing is on the second floor. He supposes he should be considering how strange it is to have a medical wing in the first place, in case one's adopted children return from a dangerous mission on the verge of death. In the end they all have to help to heft their brother up the stairs, and despite their best efforts his breath stutters with every step they take. Diego holds his good hand the entire way up.

Once they reach the top of the stairs it's easy enough to wheel Klaus off in the direction of the infirmary. The siblings fall into step several paces behind, all except for Diego, who stays by Klaus's side. At some point Klaus whispers something that Diego leans in to hear. It must have been hilarious, because Diego shakes his head and visibly holds himself back from giving their brother an exasperated shove.

The moment they reach the medical wing Pogo and Grace burst into motion, bustling the siblings off into a corner of the room where they are mostly out of the way. They watch with a mixture of awkwardness and anxiety. Luther can't for the life of him remember what they used to do when one of them was gravely injured.

Luther watches as blue beams from Grace's eyes scan up and down Klaus's body, cataloguing the damage before they take any steps in treatment. She blinks several times and straightens up while her systems process the information. "No immediately life-threatening injuries detected. Major concerns include four separate rib fractures, mild pulmonary contusions, several open lacerations, sternal fracture, posterior dislocation of right elbow, multiple superficial contusions, a few minor fractures, and numerous skin abrasions."

Five gives a low whistle. "Ouch."

"Indeed," Pogo agrees. "We'll need to cut away his shirt, I don't want to risk trying to get it off him." Klaus makes a soft, disgruntled noise as Grace begins to cut away black t-shirt with a pair of scissors, and Luther is sure he'd be whining excessively if he could get a single decent breath in. Someone must have wrestled him from his jacket at some point. Luther watches Pogo go to prepare an IV drip in another corner of the room, but his eyes snap back to Klaus when his siblings all gasp in shock.

The fabric Grace has pulled away from Klaus's body reveals vast swathes of purple-splashed skin, concentrated on the right side of his body and especially dark where his ribs are starkly outlined, like they've been stenciled in atop a macabre painting. Bloody scrapes cling to the fabric of his shirt. Klaus doesn't make a noise as Grace pries the fabric from the dried blood, but his face is twisted in pain and a fine sheen of sweat rises on his trembling body. His mouth hangs open—he can't breathe—and his good hand clenches in the sheet beneath him.

"What did you do?" Diego whispers, and Luther doesn't need to turn to know he's not even looking at Vanya. He's probably just staring at their wild liability of a little brother, the one he's always been so eager to protect. Vanya breathes a ragged little gasp and Luther feels sick with the vindication of it all.

Didn't he say she was dangerous? Didn't he say Klaus shouldn't train with her? Didn't he say they should keep her locked up in the same cold dark place their father did—

Luther claps a hand over his mouth to fight the lurching rise of bile in his throat. His hands are shaking and he can't calm them. Luckily none of the others are paying him any attention—out of the corner of his eye he can see Allison stepping protectively in front of Vanya while Diego turns to face her slowly. Luther is dimly aware that he should be intervening, or leading, or whatever it is he's meant to do.

The confrontation doesn't escalate, though. It fizzles out as quickly as it began with Diego giving a disgusted shake of his head and turning back to their brother. Luther can see Five relax his posture, but he still looks ready to leap at a moment's notice, like he's prepared to teleport Vanya far away from here if they turn on her. Luther is glad of that, knowing someone will be able to make the right choice if he himself cannot.

"There are very strong painkillers in here," Pogo is saying when Luther tunes into Klaus's situation again. The old chimpanzee is preparing to administer the IV, his face creased with deep thought. "We will have to perform a reduction on your elbow, which is liable to be very painful, and I'm not certain how effective the drugs will be given your history—"

But Klaus's eyes have gone wide with panic and he shakes his head frantically, trying vainly to move away from the needle with Grace holding him still. "No," Luther can hear him now, his voice no more than a breathy whisper, "no, no, no, no—"

Diego moves quickly, shoving past Luther on his way to Klaus's side. He walks to the far side of the bed so he can grab hold of Klaus's good hand again. "It's okay, Klaus," Diego says. There's an aching tenderness on his face, and Klaus focuses in on him like a lifeline. "It'll be over soon, yeah?"

"No," Klaus breathes and then keeps repeating, shaking his head even with his eyes locked onto Diego's. Luther can see that his chest is moving even quicker now, and he gets the startling thought that this kind of panic could kill Klaus right now. "Please, no drugs, don't do this to me please no—"

Diego's face crumbles a bit and Luther can see his knuckles turn white as he squeezes the hand in his grasp. There's a general air of confusion, one only Diego seems unaffected by. "Hey," he whispers as he leans close, "it's okay. It's alright. I know you're trying to stay clean, and you're doing so well, but this isn't—" he turns his head for a moment to blink away the suspicious shininess in his eyes. "This isn't a test, Klaus. It's okay to have help."

Klaus listens but then he keeps thrashing his head, continuing his pleas, and Luther thinks he's probably too delirious with the pain and the whole can barely breathe thing to explain why he's so upset. Pogo stands there, needle in hand, with that haunted look back in his eyes. Luther has to look away from his brother, swallowing hard. He'd had no idea Klaus was still sober. He hadn't bothered to ask—had anyone, besides maybe Diego? He would have thought Klaus would be loud and whiny and obnoxious about the whole thing, not silent.

"It's for your own good, honey," Grace says with a sweet smile, pinning Klaus down by his shoulders, and Diego nods along though he looks pained to do it.

Cold horror flows through Luther's veins. He remembers a time when he was alone and in pain and couldn't speak and these very same people did something to him that he never asked for. His skin, all gray and tough and hairy, itches under the layers he wears to conceal it. "Stop!" he says, and all eyes are on him. Pogo, who hasn't moved an inch since Klaus started struggling, looks at Luther with immeasurable guilt. "Back off. He said no."

Klaus is staring at him with huge tear-filled eyes and nodding resolutely. Diego looks like he wants to argue but deflates suddenly, presumably because he too can see the profound relief on Klaus's face. Grace is still holding him still, and she looks to Pogo for a final decision. Pogo hesitates only a moment longer before setting the IV bag aside on the counter. "Very well," he says. "We will get started immediately. I ask that you all leave the room—except you, Master Luther. We will need your assistance."

They file out quickly. The Hargreeves never really learned how to do this—how to back off, how to relinquish control. Diego lingers after the other have left. He's still holding Klaus's hand. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks. Klaus gives a watery smile and shakes his head, so Diego gives his hand one final squeeze before leaving.

Once the room is empty except for the four of them, Pogo sighs heavily. "This will not be fun, I'm afraid," he says, and Klaus grins sardonically. "We'll have Master Luther hold you still while I pull your wrist down so Grace can lever your elbow back into place. Is that alright?"

Luther swallows hard, feeling queasy, but Klaus's jaw is set in determination. Perhaps the clinical explanation of what is about to happen has steadied him somehow. Luther can't help but wish the same had been done for him, even if he wasn't exactly conscious enough at the time to hear it. He also, surprisingly, finds himself glad that Klaus is being treated with the respect and dignity Luther himself was denied. That's progress, he knows it is.

While Pogo and Grace discuss the logistics of their plan, Luther walks behind Klaus to try and find the best way to brace him. It seems that no inch of his body is uninjured, and Luther is terrified of causing more pain. Klaus tilts his head back to watch him, but his eyes flicker up to the ceiling once Luther has his hands steady on the least-purple spots he can find on Klaus's shoulders. A fine current of tension sings through the lithe body in his grasp, and Luther desperately wishes he had Allison's knack for somewhat forceful nurturing or Diego's understanding of their brother.

As it stands, Luther settles for squeezing Klaus's overheated skin comfortingly. He feels like he should say something, so he clears his throat awkwardly. Klaus looks up at him, his brows drawn together in curiosity. "It-it's going to be okay," Luther says. "Just breathe deep. It'll be over soon."

Klaus seems bemused, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly, but nonetheless he tries to acquiesce and take as deep a breath as he possibly can—which happens to not be very deep at all, and which he is very lucky doesn't morph into a coughing fit. Luther grimaces with sympathy. "Ah, jeez, sorry. Didn't think that through." Klaus seems genuinely amused now though, so maybe he's doing something right.

Pogo and Grace position themselves on Klaus's right side, and he tenses all over again. He stares up at the ceiling and gives no more than a slight wince when Pogo's long hands grasp his wrist. Grace puts her hands on the violet knobbly mess that was his elbow, and Luther has to look away. Klaus is breathing harshly through his nose and sweat gleams across the expanse of his skin. Luther gives his shoulders a final squeeze before Pogo cuts through the silence. "Three, two, one—"

Klaus screams, the sound all garbled and breathless and horrible, and thrashes violently in Luther's hold. A second later Luther hears a sickening pop followed by Klaus falling deathly silent. Luther doesn't realize he's squeezed his eyes shut until he opens them to see Klaus passed out, his head lolling to the side. Grace gently maneuvers his arm down to rest beside him. It's still purple and grotesquely swollen, but it looks more or less like an arm again. "Is he going to need a cast?" Luther asks roughly, more to break the silence than anything.

"Yes," Grace says sweetly. "I'll begin working on that once we've tended the rest of his injuries. Thank goodness he's unconscious now, poor dear." Grace runs one hand through the matted mess of Klaus's dark curls, and Luther watches the motion with a lump forming in his throat.

"Thank you for your help, Master Luther," Pogo says. He doesn't look at Luther, probably assuming that the bad blood between them hasn't dissipated over this incident. He would be right about that. "You may go join your siblings. Once Grace and I are finished, you can keep watch one at a time while he sleeps." A pause, during which Pogo clears his throat. "I'm afraid he may change his mind about the painkillers when he wakes up, as any sensible person would. He should not be alone when that happens."

Luther spares Klaus one last lingering glance but doesn't stick around. The sight of his energetic, loud-mouthed brother all still and quiet is more disturbing than he could have predicted. He leaves the room and makes his way down through the corridors. He feels shaky and light-headed, like he's coming down from an adrenaline rush, and he takes a long time walking so he can collect his thoughts and school his face before facing his siblings.

He walks into the living room and is greeted by his siblings strewn about the space. Allison and Vanya sit side-by-side on a couch while Diego paces in front of the fireplace and Five fixes himself a drink at the bar. They all look up as Luther enters the room. He realizes that they have been waiting for him before they discuss what happened. He is warmed by the gesture, though these days he doesn't think he deserves it too much. "So," he clears his throat and crosses his huge arms over his broad chest. "He's, uh, he's okay."

"Sure, people always scream when they're okay," Five says with a mocking not-smile.

"What did you expect?" Diego flips a hand in agitation and continues pacing. "They had to set his elbow without anaesthetic."

"They didn't have to do any such thing," Five growls and throws back his drink with concerning efficiency. "But no worries, right? Luther's looking out for him, making sure he's in as much pain as possible."

Luther bristles and is immediately swamped by horror. His reasoning had been selfish, hadn't it? He had projected his own issues on his brother, acted like it was a matter of consent when it wasn't, it was a matter of suffering—everyone is looking at him closely, waiting for him to defend himself, but no explanation is forthcoming.

"That's not fair," Vanya mumbles. She's slouched over, sort of crumbling in on herself, the way she'd always looked when they were kids. "Klaus didn't want any drugs, he said so. Luther was just—making sure he got what he wanted." Her voice trails off at the end, but that's alright, since they all went silent once she started speaking and are able to hear her to the end.

Luther looks at the ground, uncertain relief struggling to settle in his stomach. He glances up and meets Vanya's eyes—she gives him a shaky little smile, and he tries to convey all the gratitude he feels for her words in just this one look between them.

"Yeah, that's rich," Diego snaps. "I'm sure you know what's best for him. How did he get into this situation, again?"

There's some shouting and general nonsense then, which Luther tries his best to block out by rubbing his temples. Klaus's scream is rattling around in his head. Allison is scribbling on her notepad as fast as she possibly can, her faint whispy voice not anywhere near strong enough yet to be heard over all the noise, but Luther can't really tell what side she's on. Whichever side Vanya's on—which is his, right? "How about we talk about this?" he booms over the noise. "How about everyone sits down, and we just—find out what happened?"

They all grumble, which is to be expected, but actually gather closer, which is completely unexpected. No one points out the irony of Luther asking for a council when his own recklessness almost caused the apocalypse not a week ago. Perhaps, Luther thinks ruefully, there's something to be said for calm and reasonable leadership. Diego and Five sit on the couch opposite to Vanya and Allison, and Luther sinks down into an armchair facing all of them. Five has refilled his drink but thankfully he's sipping it slowly now.

Luther sighs heavily and makes a waving motion in Vanya's direction. "So—what happened?"

Vanya explains it to them with her hands clasped in her lap. It's a short story—they sat beneath the cliff, they had a conversation, Vanya lost control. There's an obvious hole in the explanation, but Luther decides to let someone else point it out. Allison has been scribbling on her notepad, and she raises it up to be read when Vanya is done speaking. I came back and found Vanya trying to dig Klaus out. She was able to use her powers to move the biggest rocks. Then we carried him back to the car.

"So you dropped a cliff on him," Diego says flatly.

"I'm guessing you left the cooler there, too," Five mutters.

Okay, so no one is going to ask. "What did he say to set you off?"

Vanya tenses, and Diego turns his rage on Luther. "Don't you dare," he snarls. "I don't care what you think of him, don't imply he deserved this."

Luther opens his mouth to defend himself, but Vanya beats him to it. "Diego is right," she says with burgeoning anger wrinkling her brow. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Luther raises his hands in surrender. He isn't sure why suggesting that their most irresponsible and senseless brother is capable of behaving irresponsibly and senselessly is controversial, but he isn't about to risk another world-ending feud over it. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get the full story."

"That is the full story," Vanya says, suddenly looking very tired. "And I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt him, or anyone, and I—I need to keep a better guard up, I can't let myself slip like that again." She sounds deeply contrite, almost self-loathing, which is more concerning than it is comforting. The last thing they need is for her to spiral over this.

The others are all looking to Luther now, waiting for his decision. He breathes deep and takes a moment to think. It will do absolutely no good to enforce anything that could be interpreted as a punishment, or God forbid, the revoking of freedom. Luther has learned his lesson on that front. "I think," he begins, "that this was just a mistake, but that we need to be more careful. From now on, no one gets left alone when training with Vanya. Two people need to be with her at all times when you're out practicing."

"I'll do you one better," Five says, leaning forward and fixing Luther with his signature scowl. "I'll come along every time now. That way I can teleport her away before she hurts anyone."

"Hopefully it won't come to that, but it's a good idea," Luther says. He looks at Vanya. "Is that all okay with you?"

She looks very surprised to be asked. "Yeah, that's fine," she says quietly. "Whatever you guys think is best, really."

Luther looks at Diego, but even he seems proficiently satisfied with the solution. Allison is nodding and places a supportive hand on Vanya's arm. Luther feels, for the first time in perhaps forever, that he's led in a way that is both effective and just.

They all disperse after that, off to attend to their own business or take their turn watching over Klaus. Luther returns to his room and sits on his bed but doesn't pick up another book. Instead he just thinks, silent and still, the way he always used to do when his only company was his mind and the moon. He thinks about being abused and about being the abuser. He thinks about desperately striving for affection that he never got, and about choking Klaus and locking Vanya in a torture chamber.

He thinks about how everyone still listens to him after what he's done. They challenge him, of course, but then they always have. He's spent so long thinking that they were ungrateful for their gifts and the opportunities their father granted them, thinking he was just simply different from them, that they would never understand. Slowly but surely this misconception, this maladaptive behavior, is unraveling. They understand, more than anyone else ever could, and they love him.

Luther wipes away the tears that streak down his face. He breathes. They'll all get better, if they can just help one another.

Eventually Five comes to him and says it's his turn to watch over Klaus. It's probably been hours, then. Without a word Luther stands, brushes past his oldest brother, and numbly makes his way through the winding hallways of their accursed childhood home. This place has never seemed cold to him before—except for the medical wing, but he's always figured he has good reason for that.

Luther stands in the doorway for a moment, silently examining the brightly lit and clinical room that still haunts him. It hadn't been so daunting before, with everyone else around, but now it's just him and Klaus's unconscious body. While waiting for Allison to wake up after Vanya's attack, it hadn't even occurred to Luther to be uncomfortable. Eventually, Luther exhales and lowers himself down into the chair that has been pulled up close to Klaus's head on his left side.

Klaus is very pale and gaunt, with dark half-circles under his eyes that are even more pronounced thanks to his smudged eyeliner. An oxygen mask over his nose and mouth fogs up with every shallow but blessedly even breath he releases. Luther has never really given much thought to how thin Klaus is, or how marked. He has several tattoos—in addition to the HELLO and GOOD BYE ones he'd gotten as a teenager, he also has some newer pieces on both arms and a large one on his belly.

He also has quite a few scars among his freshly stitched cuts. Luther has the feeling most of them wouldn't be visible if they weren't so starkly white against the deep purple covering his torso. Most are no more than thin scratches, but even those raise quite a few questions. The ones that give Luther pause are the old track marks in the crook of his left elbow. He assumes they're on his right arm too, but he can't tell with the cast covering it. Luther can't quite help the disgust he feels, but he reminds himself forcefully to be more empathetic and charitable. Besides, Klaus is trying to stay clean, and that's admirable. He deserves respect, not judgement.

Luther sighs and places a hand lightly on top of Klaus's own. The size difference is a stark reminder of his own experience waking up alone and in pain, and he takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Klaus won't be alone when he wakes up. Luther will be here for him, even though no one was there for him—and maybe no one has ever been there for Klaus, either. Maybe this is one of those things they share.

Luther sits there for a while, listening to the comforting beep of the heartbeat monitor. He thinks about holding a similar vigil a week and a lifetime ago. Eventually, the heartbeat monitor starts picking up speed. Luther's hand tightens over Klaus's in preparation.

But the beat doesn't even out. It keeps getting faster, even when Klaus's eyes open—and then slam shut again, and his body bows upward, his good arm ripping away from Luther and clawing at his chest like he's trying to tear himself open. Luther stands, his hands flitting nervously above his brother's body. "Grace! Pogo!" he screams, praying that at least one of them are still in the vicinity.

Klaus's eyes open again and tears spill down his face and he's not looking at Luther, just staring straight ahead with eyes so wide and terrified and not there. "Klaus," Luther puts his hands on his shoulders, tries to calm him down, but that only seems to exacerbate his panic. He writhes and bucks with far more strength than he should feasibly hold in his wiry body, and Luther has no choice but to let go or risk Klaus hurting himself even more.

Klaus tears the oxygen mask away from his face, which isn't a good idea, but he's trying to say something. His eyes roll and his breathing is a shocked, agonized spasm of his chest, and then his voice is drifting out in a barely-audible whisper. Luther can't hear him until he leans close. "Please, please, please, no more, Dad please—"

Luther reels back and doesn't move or breathe for a moment. He just stares as Klaus gasps and shakes, his face open in agony and more horrible terrible suggestive whispers escaping from between his clenched teeth. Luther blinks and Pogo and Grace are there too, somehow, and they're talking at him and to him, trying to calm Klaus but also demanding Luther's attention. Luther who is realizing that they didn't all go through the same thing, apparently, not even close, oh god, not even fucking close.

"Master Luther," Pogo is saying, "we need to know whether or not to administer the painkillers."

Well, what else can he say? What's he supposed to do now? His hands clutch at his close-cropped hair and he laughs. It sounds closer to retching, which he's about two seconds away from doing. He has no authority over his siblings, no basis to pretend he even knows them, not when he never knew something like that was happening. Their father would be ashamed to see him now. Their disgusting evil revolting father should have died years ago.

Eventually, Luther nods, because what difference does it make? What does consent matter now? Surely it's better to end this horrible pain, this terror. He turns away as Klaus stills and goes quiet, at peace (hopefully) and not reliving that (hopefully.) He leaves, numb, nausea singing through him, the steadying beep of the heartbeat monitor ringing in his ears.

He has a lot more to read about.