umbrellajackassery | {I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem

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{I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem

Options in the comments. Not looking for much thread-jacking on this one, because they're going to be heavy-handed and in need of narrower focus.
CWs: drug abuse, overdose, anxiety/depression descriptions, potential suicidal ideation

For all of everything that stays completely unpredictable in Klaus Hargreeves' life, the one thing he can count on like clockwork is that he will always have some curveball or another thrown at him. Anything like a steady state of affairs and he might get concerned because that would mean the other shoe is about to drop.

And it did, a week ago, when one of his older doppelgangers told him that Ben is dead, has been, for years, and that it was probably happening any time if-when he ever got sent back to the right place. It happened again about five days ago, when Dad showed up. When one of the Vanyas explained something about an Apocalypse that was coming in his future. One that was caused and created by his own family.

For a week, he's kept largely to himself. Quiet, reserved, a harsh snap of a callback to those moments when he was younger and less accustomed to being locked in a crypt. How much he always isolated himself when his training was front-and-center in Dad's schedule. He hasn't left his room for much except an occasional trip downstairs for food, preferring to stay locked away, hiding-- under blankets, on the floor between the bed and the wall with a marker tucked between his teeth as he scribbles something new along with the faded ink from years past, wherever feels the most appropriate in the moment.

But tonight... he can't take the pressure of these walls caging him in any more. Staying one more minute in the bones of this house is too much to ask. He can't breathe here, and he needs to find somewhere with new air.

Once he's dressed--easy and casual, t-shirt, black jeans, converse sneakers-- he slips out of the house with an expert sort of ease, with no doubt no one saw him or would even notice he'd disappeared.

-----

Things may not be exactly identical in the city as the year Klaus had come from, but the truth is, as much that had changed had also stayed the same, and Klaus finds his way into a club with relative ease. Once inside, he wastes no time in flirting his way into a few drinks, and the night will only get more wild from there.

He finds friends everywhere he goes, and more importantly, they're the kind of friends that party and they're the kind that like to share whatever they're partying with. These three college kids that Klaus has followed back to a hotel room are so his kind of people. Chatty and touchy and the blonde boy keeps kissing him and Klaus really can't hate anything about this night.

Drinks continue being poured, blunts passed around in illogical rotations as they spread out across the room, lines of coke are inhaled from tabletops and mirrors. Klaus has nearly forgotten about everything that he's learned this week and his head is fuzzy and his vision is spinny, so he collapses against the bed in the hotel room next to Blondie, grin wide and sloppy on his lips. "Hi, Pretty." he mumbles, digging his fingers into the older boy's hair with one hand while gripping a fist full of his shirt with the other, to give himself the leverage to roll on top of him as Klaus kisses him.

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The night stretches and yawns into the latest late-nights and earliest early-mornings and somehow, he's talked into 'just one more, for the road, gorgeous.' Klaus wants to say no, that he's reached a limit he shouldn't cross, but the devil on his left just screams 'FUCK IT' and he figures there can't be much harm in it at this point. "All right, I don't see why not."

But that one more line was one more too many. Not that Klaus would notice it at first. At first, he felt great, almost like he was invincible, nothing in the world could possibly phase him. But a glance at the time makes him realize he really should get going and he pushes himself to his feet.

"Where's my phone?" he mutters quietly, words slurred more than he'd admit just then. When he can't seem to grab it from her, one of the girls presses the phone into his hand and presses the other against his chest as she kisses him. "If you gotta leave, I guess I gotta let you, huh?" She pouts at him and tugs a little at his collar.

He gives her a grin as lopsided as the one he'd given the boy earlier and nods, "It's the only choice you got, baby." He chuckles at himself and pulls away from her, stumbling his way out the door and down the hall toward the elevator.

Maybe it was the too-cold air of the hotel hallway that made it obvious how hot he was; maybe it was the queasy way his stomach flipped as he sank against the wall in the elevator, watching the doors slowly slide shut. Whatever it was, something seemed to send him teetering over an edge he hadn't realized he was so precariously perched upon until it was too late.

"Oooh...dizzy." He mutters to himself, reaching to grab the railing at one side of the elevator car, but he misses and slips, falling in a slump down to the floor of the elevator. His head feels like it's spinning and he tugs his phone out, punching a number he knows belongs to one Klaus in particular. He curls up into a ball in the corner of he elevator and when the line picks up, all he says is:

"Su-Sunrise Hotel on ninth. Klaus... I don't feel so good... " he ends the call, more to raise the urgency of the moment than anything else-- he needs someone, and quick.

Edited 2019-04-22 14:14 (UTC)

Praise God (or whoever, really), he's awake when his phone rings, and thank fuck he's sober after he answers, realizes it's his younger self on the other line. "Wait, what? Why are you out there? Klaus—" but the line goes dead before he can ask anything else. His initial reaction is that the worst thing has happened-- imagine his surprise (and shame) when it turns out he's actually right for once.

Sunrise Hotel, Sunrise Hotel, Klaus repeats over and over again, making sure he won't forget while he makes his way there. This is one of those moments where he wishes he'd gotten his license already; he hadn't been able to get ahold of Diego (any of them), meaning his last-ditch choice was either stealing a car himself or— well, the alternative option: a goddamn bus. Ain't nobody got time for that, so whatever siblings get pissed off at him for stealing Reginald's car, they'll have to deal.

Somehow, he makes it there in one piece, without getting pulled over – even though he'd sped like a madman – and finally finds the teenager slumped in the elevator. "JesusfuckingChrist," comes out all at once as soon as he crouches down beside his counterpart, slides an arm beneath his shoulders and props him up. "Hey, Klaus, I'm here." His voices wavers, free hand moving to Klaus's cheek, tapping lightly, yet with a firm enough pressure to be felt.

"Can you hear me? Come on, half-pint..." Another pap against his face, followed by an abrupt shake that'll hopefully rattle him into coherency, no matter how brief a moment it may be.

He is a little in-and-out right now, not completely aware of anything, but he's sort of conscious. Enough that he hears words coming at him, even if he doesn't really comprehend what they mean. He squints to try and make out the person that owns the voice, but it feels like too much effort to try, so he lets his eyes fall shut again.

"I don't-- ...too much, I took, I--" his words are slurred and hardly intelligible, mostly just mumbled sounds that try their best to become real words. "M'so dizzy." he manages to get out.

Took too much, he says, making the older man's heart free-fall straight into his gut. His immediate thought is to ask, 'Took too much what?' but rather than do that, Klaus secures the arm around his doppelganger's middle, slides the other arm underneath his knees and scoops him up off the floor. "Don't worry, I've got you." Then he hauls ass back to the car, gingerly puts the boy in the passenger's seat, makes sure his seatbelt is secured and Bo Duke slides his way across the hood (only less gracefully).

"Stay with me, yeah?" He gets the vehicle started, puts it in drive and slams on the gas. "Just hang in there, kid. I'm gonna get help."

There's absolutely no fight from Klaus as he's scooped up and carried away to the car; he doesn't insist he can do the seatbelt himself, thanks; he seems so complicit that it's almost eerie, and only speaks to just how bad this is.

He tries to say okay, or give some sign of understanding, hearing that request, but it only comes out as a soft groan as Klaus pulls out of the parking lot. Everything feels so heavy, like his entire body is made of lead and every breath takes twice the effort to pull in.

It's completely fucking terrifying and considering how fast he's already going by the time they get onto the street, he won't be surprised if they do end up with a cop tailing them on their way to the hospital. Not that it matters, since he will not be stopping until they reach the emergency room.

He reaches a hand off the wheel, clasps his counterpart's shoulder, squeezes hard. Fuck, he remembers this too well: back when he was younger himself and then right before finding out about their father's death. The rising panic is clenching his chest like a vice, but he'll be damned if he's going to let his past self die on his watch. "I know it's hard, but I gotta keep you conscious."

He groans a little at the sharpness of the hand on his shoulder, the words sort of registering, but only enough to mumble out a slurred, "s'hard."

He blinks, hard, trying to force himself to stay awake. He had to stay awake, it wouldn't be long. They'd be at the hospital soon and--

A muttered mush of syllables that don't quite make his name pour out of his mouth before he crashes limp against the seat, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Edited 2019-04-23 03:36 (UTC)

"I know, I know," he says over and over, still attempting to quell his ever-rising anxiety. "We're a-almost there, okay? Just— just a little bit longer." Klaus turns back to the road, pushes harder on the gas pedal, as if he can physically encourage the car to go faster, Goddamnit.

The sound of the other's voice captures his attention a second time and while he knows he shouldn't look, he does anyhow, eyes becoming inhumanly wide. "Shit," he curses. "Shit, shit, fuck!" It's the least of their problems though, because as he whips his head back around, there's a car suddenly in front of them and they're probably going to be fucked, even if he were to pump the brakes.

This is it, this is how we're both fucking going. He clenches the hand harder on the teen's shoulder, exhales a breath then lets his eyelids flicker shut, bracing for impact—

And it's a sensation that doesn't come, which eventually prompts him to reopen his eyes, his surprise obvious by the incredulous gasp he lets out when he realizes: everything has come to an absolute stand-still. The front-end has to be inches away from the other car's bumper; he's even able to see the shock on the person's face where they've turned in their seat, that's how close they've gotten.

Later, once he's not fearing for either of their lives, he'll register that the heat dripping down his neck is not sweat, but until then, he's taking this moment and moving. "Hey," he whispers, harsh and guttural, initially trying to shake him awake before deciding 'Fuck it' and undoing both seatbelts, straining as he drags younger Klaus across the middle console. 'Difficult' doesn't begin to describe striving through using his telekinesis to hold a car while moving another person.

Somewhere between everything blurring into nothing and being bodily dragged out of his seat, Klaus came to again-- just in time to blink and see the impending crash that was coming their way. But he's barely conscious and it's hard to focus other than panic, which is probably not helping the narcotics pumping through his system.

He groans and tries to get up, but everything still feels too heavy and the world is spinning. He tilts his head back and stares up at the older man. "What-- the fuck, man, wha-" he cuts himself off, not really sure what he's getting at, except that he's freaking the fuck out right. "M'gonna die." He's not sure that what he's feeling could be anything else, except seconds away becoming one of the ones that taunts him and, fuck if there isn't a sick irony in that.

"No. The fuck. You aren't." Not while I'm still breathing, he thinks again, although he's wondering how long that'll last if he continues pushing this new power of his. The taller male pops the door latch, kicks it open and plants his feet, sliding out ever so slightly until he can lift the younger back into his arms.

Thankfully, the person in the other car has exited as well to figure out what the fuck is going on. "Get away from your car," he insists while stumbling his way toward the sidewalk. The man deems it unnecessary to argue, hurries in the same direction they're going and Klaus lets go—

Sorry, Daddy Dearest (except not really?) He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding and the automobile he'd been driving slams into the one in front of it at full force, sends them both flying forward, but mercifully, nobody's inside either. Feels real wrong to flee a hit and run scene; he'd made sure the other driver was fine though, so it should be okay? At least for now because he hasn't got the time to argue-- he's going to keep heading toward the hospital, even if he's on foot now.

He hears things in the way it's heard when he's underwater-- muffled and not quite clear. His head is swimming and his vision is blurry, but nothing could have stopped him from seeing the epic way the cars collide as Klaus darts down the street with him folded up in his arms. "Oh, fuck--"

He's out of it enough he didn't catch the entire scene, so somewhere in the distant back of his mind there's a rising panic about the people in the other car, but he's feeling lightheaded again and sinks heavier against the older man. He hopes they get to the hospital soon.

"It's fine," he consoles, breathing slightly labored. "Nobody's hurt and we're practically there." His voice sounds off, too-- a little dull, kind of too tedious, as if it's hard for him to speak. Every muscle in his body feels sore, regardless of the fact they'd avoided any serious injury.

Klaus clutches his counterpart to his chest, picks up the pace of his sprint, relief flooding through him when he spots the emergency room sign. Had it not been for the automatic doors, he might've kicked those open as well, but they slide aside and he stumbles in, whips his head toward the nearest nurse with a breathless, "Help," which immediately causes her to spring into action. Could possibly be the fact there's blood running from his right ear and nose; either way, another pair of attendants come rushing out and he moves to set him on the gurney. "We made it, kid."

And he doesn't plan on leaving Klaus's side (until they force him to, anyway).

"Hargreeves, right?" One of the nurses stays behind to find out the details of the situation before she disappears, sending a page for a Dr. Vickars.

There are hands on him and lights too bright to open his eyes for, codes and numbers that he doesn't understand being shouted as he's shifted from Klaus' hold onto a bed and roll, roll, rolling down a hall to the next available room. He doesn't really remember what they did or how close they said he came to not being here in time. For all that Klaus can tell, he was in his doppelganger's arms, he blinked, and he was waking up in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm.

"Oh, God..." he barely breathes the words out as everything else filters in suddenly-- the club, the hotel room, the elevator, the cars. Klaus. Where's Klaus? He's looking, but all his eyes taken in is an empty room with no sign of another person having existed in it at all. He can hear the sounds the cars from the wreck down the street made, like the whole scene is repeating in his head on loop. But where's Klaus, he had to be okay, he had to be, he was how he'd gotten here.

"Klaus?" he calls out, his voice higher pitched than he'd like while panic dug its claws into his chest. His head is spinning with thoughts about the night, how far from what he'd intended it had spun, how close he came to dying on two different occasions in the same fucking night. "Ohmygod." He puts his hands over his ears and folds inward on himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

Okay, so, maybe he could've chosen a better time for a coffee break (such as when his younger self had woken up), but after being grilled and poked and prodded a bit himself, the caffeine felt necessary-- but especially after the dull, aching throb at his temples had begun to intensify. They questioned him too, of course, but most of the answers he gave were vague or didn't have much detail aside from: "Told me he took too much of something." And from there, it wasn't difficult to figure out. OD'ing is nothing new to him, keeping his own experiences in mind, so why wouldn't he be able to recognize the signs?

With two cups in hand and his pockets stuffed full of creamer and sugar, he's on his way back to the hospital room when he hears his name being called some feet away from the door, immediately recognizes it as the teenager. "Ah, fuck," he curses under his breath, glad there'd been lids to put over these things once he increases his pace to a powerwalk.

He breezes back into the room, nudges the door shut with his foot and tenses at the sight of Klaus curling into himself, trying to become as small as possible, even though he's already so tiny in his older self's opinion. "Hey, hey—" Both cups are unceremoniously dropped onto the nearest flat surface then he rushes toward the boy, drops a hand on his shoulder and reaches to touch his knee with the other one.

"It's okay," the taller male whispers. "I'm here, yeah? And sorry that I left you alone." He squeezes a little, brow furrowing worriedly. "Deep breaths, half-pint. You're alright."

He stiffens and jerks when there are hands on his shoulder and knee suddenly, only to be greeted with his older twin's face hovering inches from his own, concern etched into his features.

But deep breaths aren't something that are coming easy right now. The only ones he can make are short and stuttered, only punctuated by a rough, jagged sob before he shakes his head, messy curls bouncing with the action-- he is not okay, but he can't find the words to say it at all. So instead, he grasps wildly at the older man, clinging tightly as he hides against him.

Edited 2019-04-26 03:17 (UTC)

Which almost makes Klaus recoil in kind, but he holds firm instead, studying the boy with slowly widening eyes. Shit, he's going to have to talk himself (in such a bizarrely literal sense) down from a panic attack? Hooboy.

Klaus scowls hard – to steel himself is all – clutches his mirror-image close with one arm and uses the other to scooch him over so he can climb up onto the hospital bed beside him. Then he enfolds him completely, both arms squeezing. "I know it's hard, but try to slow down. Inhale as slow as you can through your nose, feel it deep in your belly then let it all out from your mouth. We'll count if we gotta." Slowly but surely, he's realizing that remembering how Diego would help calm him down is helpful in this situation.

The instructions seem to go in one ear and out the other, or perhaps he just is too hysterical at the start and needs to be allowed that before he can get a grip. Not that he should ride the panic all the way down. His fingers fist in short strands of the older man's hair near his neck, though he doesn't tug or pull.

"I-- can't. Cant- breathe." He chokes out between still too-fast breaths. And he can't stop sobbing, either, which is getting Klaus' shirt all wet, and makes him nearly choke on air as it tries to come into and leave his lungs in nearly the same second.

"Okay, okay." Time for a change of plans, then. He reaches to clasp Klaus's forearms, presses his thumbs against the undersides of his wrists-- but not to urge him to let go. Instead, he rubs soothing circles, continues doing so with one hand after he decides to reach out and draw the boy closer.

Screw his shirt, little self, your comfort's way more important. "It's alright," he says softly, trying to mollify by giving the other what he needs for a few minutes before deciding to try again on what they should do about it.

The sudden shift stutters his breath a little deeper and the circles against his wrist give him something else to focus on, which goes a long way in calming him down, too. He curls against him easily when he tugs him close again. Even the smallest of touches have always been able to ground him. Who better to know all the best ways to calm him down than himself, apparently.

"No it's not," he argues, but the words are as clear as any ever can be when they're being spoken around tears, and there's pointedly nothing stammered out between gasps for air, either.

Well, he's gotta give it to his younger self: the kid's right about it not being alright. "No, it's really not, but I'm here and I'm not... criticizing you? I'm just glad you're okay." The truth, he thinks, might be his best option. The older Klaus had been worried out of his mind – still is, in some sense – and wanted to be angry, but he just. Can't be.

He doesn't know how to explain it.

"And whenever you wanna talk about it, I'll be ready to listen." Of that, he's completely sure, even if it takes longer than his patience can handle.

"Kinda why I called you." He admits quietly. "I don't-" he sniffs and runs a hand roughly under both eyes as he pulls away and presses himself back against the pillows at the head of the bed. "I don't think I could deal with that. All the- you know, judgey bullshit." Because whether they meant well or not, he knows without a doubt his siblings would inevitably end up painting the moment in criticisms.

He's quiet for a long moment, staring down at his fingers and their busywork fidgeting with the blanket he's pulled up into his lap. "Are they gonna hold me-- you know, like- a psych hold? I-it wasn't like... on purpose or an attempt at--" He waves one hand in a vague circle, unable to even say it, how is he supposed to talk about it, Klaus?

Another stretch of silence that feels as claustrophobic as the crypts his father liked to shove him into draws on again before he finds another question, too. Far more personal this time. "Have you ever--" he waves his hand in the empty space between them, as if to indicate the situation as a whole, as an end to the not-really-asked question.

Hard to criticize yourself when you've gone through the same thing, huh? Klaus bites down on his cheek, spares a glance over his shoulder, ponders the semi-lecture that's going through his head a few long seconds then immediately scraps the idea. All their other siblings will surely be coming by to give him a talking to; the last person he needs it from is someone he's putting his trust in to not tearing him a new one. "It isn't what you need right now, so." He gestures offhandedly, lowers the arm afterward, lets his fingers pat the younger's knee through his blanket.

His eyebrows arch the minute Klaus asks if they're going to hold him for psych evaluation. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I told them it was an accident since—" he stops, gives his twin a look then furrows his brow and averts his gaze. "—that's what it was, of course? You wouldn't have... done it deliberately." He's sounding a bit unsure only because he hadn't been there, but he's trusting him to tell the truth and if he needs help, they'll get it-- together.

Then his entire body decides to go rigid at the second inquiry. He clutches the blanket tight, clenches his arm around the teen and grits his teeth, yet without missing a beat, "Twice," comes out in a hiss, something pain-tainted as he continues, "In my mid-twenties, I went to this party and tried heroin for the first time? It was ah-maaazing." Another ragged breath because damn, he didn't expect it to be this difficult to talk about. "The second time wasn't, though. Then my second OD was... er. Right before I found out about dear ol' Dad dying? I'd just gotten out of rehab." Which should be enough of an explanation, honestly, although if his other self wants to know more, he won't sugar-coat anything.

That look, so apprehensive and suddenly doubting the validity of his own story to the medical team earlier, makes his stomach flip. The fumbled words after only make the sticky feeling of shame so much worse. "No. NO! I didn't mean t- It wasn't like tha- I don't wanna die!" He curls in on himself again, hands over his face.

It's so easy, so, so incredibly easy to see why anyone would ever even make an assumption like that, how easy-believable and possible it seemed to be, and maybe that's what's even more upsetting about having it not-quite-but-close-to thrown at him like that. He hasn't gotten quite to the level of traumatized and numb that some of the other older Klauses seem to have gotten at some point; he hasn't had that deep-inner conversation with himself that he isn't seeking death, but he isn't so sure it matters to him if it happens, either. So the idea of it, at all, terrifies him.

However, breakdown aside, he lifts up to listen to the story the older man has to tell him. He's... not sure he meant to say that middle part, exactly, about how amazing heroin was. But he pushes that thought aside when he continues and points out that he overdosed the second time he used it. A testimonial with real power, if for nothing else other than it's coming from him. A potential very real future version of himself. "Really? That recent?"

Edited (typossss) 2019-04-29 02:33 (UTC)

Mistake! Big mistake! "Listen," the older of them starts, shifting around so he can clasp his counterpart's wrists again, but he doesn't attempt to remove his hands. "I know you don't. I'm not meaning for it to sound like you do, it's just—" he bites his tongue before he can finish, tries to think of a different way to word it, even though nothing particular comes to mind. "Sometimes, things are going to be hard and you're going to think about it and it's okay to have those thoughts. Talking does help, I mean, so if you ever need to...?" He loosens a hand, gestures weakly over himself. "I'll listen." And the fact he understands is just a bonus (a morbid one, but details).

Foot in mouth syndrome really is a problem the Klauses have got; he'd thought he was doing better, except this – what, slip-up? – mishap of his has proven that wrong real quick. Mentioning heroin as being 'amazing' probably wasn't the brightest idea either, but these are bridges he's going to have to cross later because the point is: tiny Klaus didn't want to die.

"Yeah," he confirms, squeezing the smaller male's arm for reassurance, other hand moving to gingerly ruffle the messy curls he calls hair. "I'd just gotten out of being in rehab for a month, so you know what that means." Have an EMT on standby since overdosing is quite possible? Yes, a brilliant idea, someone give this idiot an award.

Edited (kayla just ignore me i'm on crack everything is fine) 2019-04-29 05:37 (UTC)

He takes a few, stuttering breaths when he's told to listen, lifts his head when Klaus' fingers are around his wrists again, still looking quite the broken mess for all the good this conversation seems to be doing him at all. A set of fresh tears track down his face as he listens, just like he was asked to. "It's okay?" He echoes, a frown wrinkling his features. "Wha- what does that even mean-- it's okay? How is that ever okay, Klaus?! I- what are you even saying- it- it's-- just... normal now?" He knew the older versions of him were... considerably more wrecked than he is, if only because they are older and more down-trodden by the world at large, but... to think he could ever, ever, ever just normalize those kind of thoughts might be just as scary as realizing how close he'd really come to dying tonight.

"No... not really? I haven't been to rehab." Though it was all, clearly, becoming a much deeper problem than he was ready and willing to admit to, it was still sort of in a realm of fun-party-time than something he felt he needed to function. Mostly.

{I'm not afraid of the dark, perhaps that's part of the problem

{Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city | @hellseher

☈ no matter where you go, know you're not alone and i'm only one call away

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