Klaus gleefully scoops up snow and dumps it on his brother’s head. It falls through, naturally. Ben sighs.
“You’ve been doing this for the past ten minutes. Aren’t you tired?”
“Nope!” says Klaus.
“Klaus, your hands are all red.”
Klaus quickly hides his uncovered hands behind his back. They are, indeed, red from the cold. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ben groans. “Klaus.”
“What! Aren’t you having fun?”
Ben runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it to get out snow that isn’t there. He may not feel it, per se, but there’s a sort of sensation that comes with things passing through him. “Not really.”
Klaus pouts. “Why not?”
“It feels weird! And your hands are going to freeze.”
“So? My hands, not yours.”
Ben deadpans, “At this point, they’re mine by association.”
Klaus gasps. “Did you just claim ownership of my hands?”
“Maybe I did! Come on, can’t you at least put on some gloves?”
Klaus frowns at Ben. They have a staring contest of sorts, Klaus squinting with a pout and Ben looking blankly and alright, he’ll admit it—slightly judgementally. Finally, Klaus groans and throws up his hands, giving in.
He stomps over to the door leading inside. Ben doesn’t follow, knowing his brother will come back out as soon as he finds gloves.
Sure enough, minutes later Klaus stomps back into the cold wearing…
Bright pink mittens.
“Mom made them, so shut the fuck up.”
“Oh, okay. You’re right, mittens are great.”
Klaus grins at Ben, and bends down to gather more snow. He spends the next hour chasing his dead brother around the courtyard, because Ben would really rather avoid having more snow dumped on him, thank you very much.