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 sad truth is, I never got a license. You get caught driving without a license while under the influence one stinkin' time..."

A little smile back, and he gives the kid another squeeze. The walk to the diner isn't really all that far, thankfully, and once they're inside, Klaus waits for his younger self to slide into a booth before sliding in next to him instead of across from him. Contact is good, contact is nice.

Resting an elbow on the table, he slides his fingers into his own hair and scrapes blunt nails against his scalp.

"Waffles, for me. The kind with strawberries and whipped cream."

A pause, and he tilts his head, shooting a canny look at his younger self.

"Eggs, huh? You got a hangover?"

"Aw, man... that sucks." He wrinkles his nose a little. It definitely sounds like something that would happen to him, though.

He slides into the booth and smiles a little when the older man slips in next to him. One good thing about having some kind of big-brother-connection with the older versions of himself is... there's almost no chance of him not knowing all the best ways to help.

"Just not super hungry." He admits with a half-hearted shrug.

"Right? I mean, I can drive, but I'd rather not get arrested so..."

A shrug, and he lifts one arm to drape across the back of the booth, stretches his legs out and rests his feet on the empty seat across from them. When the server comes over, he orders himself an orange juice and a coffee (lots of milk and sugar), then looks over at the kid, waits for him to order whatever he wants.

Once the server leaves, he tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling, because the less eye contact the better for this kind of thing.

"Ah yes. Don't blame you."

"Generally the best plan." He nods his agreement and settles back against the seat in the booth, the ball of his shoes against the edge of the seat on the other side of the booth, right foot bouncing with pent up nervous energy.

He orders eggs and bacon with orange juice and watches the server take quick steps away from the table, disappearing in the back to deliver their order to the kitchens.

There's a long moment of silence that stretches between them, which eats at him because silence is the worst. Maybe the need to just have something to say at all is what makes his next set of words bubble up and out of his mouth. "Does everybody in the house know?" his voice is low and his gaze is fixed on a middle distance point on the table in front of him. He can't bring himself to look up at the other man.

That's exactly what Klaus was counting on. His own inability to deal with silence - eventually, he'll need to wordvomit something out, just to fill it up, and with a bit of delicate prompting...well, there it is.

He slides his arm off the back of the booth and around the kid's shoulders again.

"Oh probably. You know the Hargreeves family. We just love to gossip."

For a moment, he looks at the ceiling, licks his lips and then exhales, closes his eyes.

"But we mean well. Generally. Most of us. You know how it is." He's quiet, for a beat, and then he continues, "What part of it's bugging you the most? The fact everyone knows, or how close you came? Man, last time I did it, it was a trip. At a certain point I realized it didn't even bother me anymore, and that was what really got under my skin."

When their drinks are delivered seconds after his future-doppelganger drops those ideas and questions into the minimal space between them, Klaus immediately grabs the glass in front of him and takes a sip. Better to have something to do with his hands, and an excuse to not speak right away, than just sit there as all of that really sinks in.

But the glass is set back down and he only barely resists the urge to slide it back and forth between his hands on the table-- it's still a bit full, might make a mess and he doesn't wanna deal with that. Instead, he settles for continuing to bounce his foot against the seat across from them as he debates the real answer to that question. It's easier, somehow, to be more upfront and even brutally honest at times, with the older-hims. Maybe because he knows it's just a piece of where he'll find himself eventually.

He wonders if he'll remember any of this if-when he ever gets sent back to the part of the timeline he's supposed to live in. And if he did, if it would mean he could change it, and if it would ripple out and change everything for the other ones, too. Maybe he could make their life (lives?) better if--

Stalling. He's stalling, even in his own thoughts in his own head, before anything ever even manages to make it out of his mouth. "I don't know." he admits abruptly, "Both?" He casts a glance to his right to peek curiously at the older Klaus. "What d- what d'you mean... how does almost dying ever stop..." He frowns and his gaze drops again. "...how many times have you..." his mouth moves wordlessly for a moment before he just stops trying all together.

While Klaus waits to see if he's dumped too much on his younger self and only exacerbated a problem that he was trying valiantly to help patch up, he busies his own hands with setting up his coffee. Two creamers, then four packets of sugar, a bit of a stir, another packet of sugar. Opens a third creamer and drinks it straight like a shot of vodka. Takes another sip of his coffee and sighs contentedly, holding it between his two hands, letting the warmth seep into his fingers, which always seem to feel cold.

Then the kid is talking, and Klaus turns to look at him for a moment, eyes searching the younger boy's face while he talks. While he processes the things that Klaus just told him, asks how many times Klaus has overdosed. For a moment, he tries to count, and then he doesn't anymore because the fact he can't remember if he's missing some is a little unnerving. And it hits home for him, too, in that moment. That all of this is part of why he's getting sober, because almost dying had gotten commonplace, enough that he just forgets about it in the haze of highs and the valleys between, where his whole life consists of trying to find the next high. Like an animal.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of."

He says it, quietly and more seriously than anything else he's said this morning, maybe more seriously than anything he's said in the past few years.

"So don't worry about that. You've got problems, you're trying to fix them best you know how, and no one taught you any better way to do it. Your dad was a sadistic prick, your siblings had their own issues, so don't you be ashamed of trying to keep yourself sane, okay?"

He realizes he's breathing heavy, chest rising and falling fast and a little shallow, his heartbeat fluttering under his breastbone, too fast. He turns a little in the booth, so he can look at the kid, even though he doubts the kid will be looking back at him.

"Doesn't mean it's okay or it's the right thing to do. I won't tell you that. It's no kind of life to be living, and that's how almost dying stops being a big deal."

A pause, and he feels his eyes go wet and red around the edges because things hurt so much more when you're sober. And things matter so much more when you're sober.

"You deserve better than that. And everything is gonna be okay."

A hollow, mirthless sound that can't really be called a laugh escapes him at that first remark. "Yeah, okay." He laughs again, the same lack of happiness found there, shaking his head. "Just nearly killed myself by being a complete idiot, but your family sucks, so it's fine," he makes overly sarcastic jazz-hands with those last two words and scoffs again. He knows that isn't... really what he was getting at, but for all that he was forced to grow up much faster than he ever should have due to the circumstances of his raising... Klaus is still only seventeen and he still has so very specifically teenager reactions to things.

He still can't wrap his mind around this thing that Klaus keeps telling him. That somehow, just the fact that it's happened over and over, meant that even the act of dying, or almost dying, just stops being scary. He, what, got desensitized to it? Cocky about it because it kept almost-happening, but never actually went all the way?

"No it's not." he hates how absolutely broken his voice is with those three tiny words. Like they hold the weight of the entire universe in them and are straining under it all. "If I go back, somehow, then-- Ben's gonna die. Like any day, apparently. The other one- other us- he said. He said I had to be really close to when it happened because Ben didn't even make it to our next birthday. I can't..." He shakes his head, his mop of curls bouncing with the action. "How do you ever--" 'Get over that' is just not something he can bring himself to put words to, and instead he takes in a sharp breath and a whole new flood of words pours out in its place.

"I mean, I know you're not really supposed to have a favorite sibling or whatever, but you know Ben is definitely mine and the one I'm closest to and how do you- I can't- I don't wanna do this. I can't," He shakes his head again, annoyed that tears are making his vision blurry and why did he ever agree to leave the house, this was the worst plan ever, he was not ready for the public. "I can't." He knows he's breathing too fast, and he can hear his own heartbeat pounding like sneakers on pavement, fast and steady, in his ears-- but he can't stop any of it, either. He doesn't really have much in the way of skills to control how hard these panicked spells hit him

Klaus rolls his eyes at that laugh, and the response to his little pep talk isn't exactly unexpected for all that it's not ideal. He probably wouldn't have taken the same speech seriously last year, let alone when he was 17, which is a hazy period of history that might as well be the time of the dinosaurs for all he remembers that part of his life.

"I said not to be ashamed, and that it's gonna be fine someday, squirt. You really think you're ever gonna grow up into the type of person who gives after school special PSA bullshit speeches that don't mean anything? Please."

There's a certain lightness to the ribbing, a gentle reminder of who he is - who they are - to his younger self, who must've mistaken Klaus for an actual adult.

But the moment passes, and the kid is tearing up, saying it's not okay, talking about Ben's death, and fuck if that doesn't still bother him, every single day. Even while Ben hovers right beside him judging his coping mechanisms, talking him out of that last line that might kill him, getting him riled up and angry when he needs to be, telling him what he needs to hear, he still misses him. He still remembers how it felt when Ben died, remembers the weeks-long bender he'd gone on, desperate not to see ghosts because what if Ben came back like the rest of them, injured and angry and desperate and screaming his name over and over again? Remembers seeing him again and trying to hug him and going right through...

"Hey...hey hey hey, come on, now..." His voice is soft, has an edge of tenderness to it as he slides his arm around the kid's shoulders, pulls him in close to his chest, shifts in his seat so his body is blocking anyone's view of his younger self so he can cry a bit in peace. Lord knows sometimes they just need to cry it out. So he just holds him around the shoulders, digs fingers into his thick curls and speaks softly, gently.

"Come on, breathe slow and even, right along with me okay? Keep breathing, deep as you can, hold it for a second, let it out slow..."

It was something Dave taught him, when he was freaking out on the battlefield, the words come back naturally, he just repeats what he'd been told. Doesn't expect it to stick. He'd never been able to get the hang of it, not in the worst of the panic, unless Dave's arms had been around him like a safety net made of muscle and bone and blood.

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and rides it out for a moment, before he speaks again.

"I know, I know. Losing Ben...it's impossible. It's impossible. It never goes away, there's always this empty spot, because he mattered. Did the other...the other us tell you that Ben's never gonna leave you? That he's gonna stick around and nag and give you that eyebrow...you know the one, the disapproving one...and tell you where not to pass out and be the first thing you see when your head starts clearing after everything wears off? Did he tell you that someday you'll be able to make it so you can touch Ben again?"

"Yeah?" He shoots the words at him like a bullet, meant to wound, because he's hurting and confused and scared. "And how much better in your someday is it, really, then? Cause, I've seen you guys running around the house and none of you really seem like you have your shit any more together than I do and I can't say that's all too inspiring right now." He knows that at least some of them seem to be making attempts at sobriety but what good are attempts that you fail from eventually, anyway? And near-death experiences, multiple and uncounted because it became too much to keep track of or just stopped mattering, didn't ever make a difference, so what would, what ever even could?

All that fiery snap is gone when Klaus wraps his arms around him and lets him cry against him. He can't resist the pull of it, like having that kind of compassion, and the permission, means it's okay and the rest of the world doesn't matter while he's being shielded from it for now. He crumbles and curls against him, crying quietly into the older man's chest.

When he talks, pointing out all these other parts that tie themselves around Ben's death like they could be shaped like hope, he pauses and pulls away to look up at him. "What...?" He frowns a little and tries to think through suddenly muddied thoughts to remember. "N- no, I don't think.... but- wait, doesn't that mean-- I don't know, that something's fucked up for him still or whatever? He's stuck, like the rest of them-- is it, does he look--" 'However he did when he died?' He's full of questions he can't give real voice to today, apparently.

"Touch-- wait, how?" That one is absolutely desperation-drenched. He needs that answer more than any of the others, suddenly, like it's a life line he didn't even know he needed until it was presented to him.

Klaus laughs at that, a laugh that's half sob, and shakes his head, just keeps holding the younger version of himself close against his chest, rubbing his back in even, gentle circles, continuing to tug and stroke at his hair while he cries it out. There's no judgement here, they might sling insults and sharp, sarcastic words at each other, but there's no judgement.

"Yeah yeah...asking any of us to get our shit together is a little much. Not sure any of us is cut out for that. But man, I've been sober for like a week and I have reasons to get sober that aren't just 'getting my shit together,' so I think that's something."

He lets the rest of it go, for a moment, just letting the younger version of himself cling and cry and he keeps holding him close, giving him permission and compassion and no judgement, never any judgement. Everyone else in the world might tell Klaus that his addictions are weakness, that he's just being pathetic and a wimp, even Ben, but Klaus knows better, he'll never tell himself that. Who does this Klaus have to rely on other than himself, and Ben, who he's going to lose soon? No. Someone needs to remind him that he's got this, or at least that he'll get it eventually.

And when the kid pulls himself back from the embrace, looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and asks if things are still fucked up for Ben, how he can touch him. Those fingers clutch at Klaus' arms, digging into the patchwork jacket he's wearing over his vest from 'Nam, and he smiles a little, lifts a hand and brushes away some of the tears on the kid's cheeks.

"No. When he died, I went on a bender for like...probably two or three weeks, because I was so fucking scared I was going to see him like that, like all the rest of them. But eventually you can't just...you know. You can't stay that way. And I saw him, and he's perfect, he's just like he always was. He's not...he's not angry and hurting and he doesn't scream. Gets a little judgey sometimes, but that's Ben, you know?"

Klaus slides his fingers behind the kid's neck, squeezes lightly at either side of the back of his neck, just where he knows it feels good to get squeezed when he has a headache from crying. Something else Dave had taught him about himself during the war - Klaus had never been used to that kind of touch when he was hurting, not until Dave, and it changed him.

"Your powers, Klaus. They're not just seeing. You can summon them, you can make them manifest so you can touch them, and Ben's gonna be there to help you learn. You're gonna meet other people too, who you want to bring back. You're gonna be loved, and you're gonna lose it, but it's gonna be worth it, you hear me? There are reasons to get sober. Won't be easy, but..."

He shrugs again, offers his younger self a watery smile.

"What reasons?" Because, God, he'd love to hear that one. But he's a little embittered after this last particular bomb that had been dropped in his lap a week ago, and he can't help but assume that he might not tell him at all.

He stares up at the other man, tears still tracking down his face periodically because even if he isn't sobbing, apparently his eyes haven't caught up with the rest of him and stopped. "He- he's okay?" A beat passes and he makes a cruel sort of scoff, "I mean- y- you know what I mean." His gaze drops down to his fingers, fidgeting uselessly.

He closes his eyes against the fingers on his neck, surprised at just how good it feels. But he still listens as Klaus continues, explaining more about his- their-- powers. He frowns a little and opens his eyes again. "Why would I wanna call them?" He scoffs in half-amused disbelief. "Wait, what... what do you mean... why is- why is having something just to lose it good, that doesn't make sense." Maybe that's just his age, but he can't fathom it. Good things being taken away does sound like par for the course for his life, though, so he isn't even surprised by it, if he's honest.

When the kid lets his eyes sink shut at the squeezing on his neck, Klaus smiles a slightly wry, mostly tender smile, and keeps rubbing, gentle and firm.

"Because I needed to bring Ben back, to...to let him see the others and interact with them. Because Five came back and we had to save the world. Because I fell in love with someone and he loved me back and then he died, and I needed to see him again..."

That takes his breath away for a moment, and he closes his eyes, sighs.

"It's good because having it and losing it was better than not having it. He changed me, for the better. And Ben...yeah he's fine, as fine as he can be. Not like the others, he's just...he's Ben."

"How- how far apart do we get? All of us... I mean- I know it's never been perfect, but..." His mouth tugs downward and he tries to keep himself from letting his breathing get off-track again. "do we really see each other much, after we all leave the house?"

"I'm glad you did..." He fidgets with his fingers in nervous habit, some incessant need to be moving, all the time. The fact that Klaus has mentioned things Vanya told him already, too, only make him more fidgety. "One of... one of the Vanya's told me about the Apocalypse. Why am I not surprised we're the reason behind the end of the world?" He laughs dryly, shaking his head. He frowns a little at the last part, looking up at the older man again. "The real kind?" The question is soft, like asking it at all might break the words into unrecognizable pieces.

"I don't get that... If you have it and you lose it, then you still lose. And if you just never had it, then you don't know what it was like to have it to be taken away in the first place. And you never know to miss it, either." And to him? That sounds better. Like being a pessimist, because you're surprised or right, and either way it's a win.

That's a rough question, and it takes Klaus a moment to process it, to work out how to answer it. It doesn't occur to him to hide things from his younger self - if he'd known in advance, some of the things that were gonna happen to him, he might've been prepared instead of falling down the hole he fell in, and honestly while he might not remember being this kid's age, he knows that his life has never been easy and carefree. It's been hell as long as he can remember. Giving the kid a heads up isn't going to make it anymore hellish than it already was.

While he's thinking, the server comes back with their food, and Klaus starts a little, glancing up and giving her a bright, if slightly wet-eyed, smile and she realizes that they're best left alone. After a coffee refill, she's off to her other customers, and Klaus turns back to his younger self.

"Some of us do, but we scatter pretty far. I ran into Diego off and on, he'd give me a ride somewhere or check up on me if the cops picked me up. Ben was always with me, and I used to see Vanya sometimes, but we never talked much. I think we all just wanted to get away from that house and that life as soon as possible, you know? But we always end up back together. It's a blessing and a curse."

A sigh, and he scoops up a forkful of whipped cream, shoves it in his mouth and groans softly, only to get caught off guard by the next question, when he asks 'the real kind?' like there's no way someone could love him like that. And Klaus gets it, oh he gets it. He hadn't believed it himself, not until months after Dave had said it that first time, had only barely accepted it was true when Dave died.

"Yeah. The real kind. And I loved him the same way. It's..." His voice trails off, it hurts to talk about, but he forces himself to do it anyway, "Being loved like that changes you. Even when you lose the person, the love stays, you start thinking that if that person loved you that way, maybe you're worth loving, and that changes...that changes everything. The love is bigger than the hurt, it's the first thing besides drugs that's ever been bigger than the hurt, and god, it feels so much better than drugs."

He can feel the tension in the other man when the serve approaches them again and maybe it's instinct, maybe it's something else, but Klaus puts a hand on his shoulder. Like maybe he could ground whatever nerves made the waitress suddenly appearing so unnerving. Once she's gone, he moves a little back into the space by the wall and slides his plate closer before popping a bite of egg in his mouth.

What he has to say is kind of bleak, which is hardly a surprise, but it's still kind of disheartening to hear. "Doesn't sound like we're even a family-- more like strangers in a house with the same last name..." He feels like it must have gotten infinitely worse, somehow, after Ben. Because everything he hears, everything he's witnessed in just watching the older versions of himself, and the rest of his siblings, seems so different than even what he just left not all that long ago.

"Oh..." He supposed it's kind of anti-climatic response to everything he'd just said, but Klaus isn't sure what else to say; it's kind of a lot to take in and consider. He can't even picture it, even in his wildest, furthest off in Wonderland kind of fantasy anything ever being bigger than the hurt, big enough that it mattered so much it mattered even after it was gone. It's too much, too big of a concept for him to really grasp in the right way. But it is big. And it's a lot. And he's pretty sure 'The love is bigger than the hurt' is a phrase that's going to stick to him forever.

Edited (html will be the death of me) 2019-04-23 22:51 (UTC)

It's mostly just that he's caught off guard, a little startled, but it's still nice when the kid puts his hand on his shoulder and tries to ground him a bit. Klaus can't help but toss him a thankful little smile, and then it's settling in. He can see how it feels, written all over the kid's face, when he comments that they sound like strangers in a house with the same last name.

Klaus shakes his head, lifting a hand and pointing at the kid, "That's not true at all. I mean, things are tense, we lose touch, we scatter, but the minute we're all back in the room it's, well, mostly like things were back then. A little more aggressive, but we bicker and compete and Luther and Diego fight and the rest of us roll our eyes. Just because don't do Thanksgiving doesn't mean we're not family."

And maybe that's something the other siblings the kid has run into haven't told him yet, probably because Klaus is pretty sure he's the only one who'd admit it out loud.

The rest of it, about Dave, that's something he doesn't blame the kid for just saying 'oh' to. It's a lot to process. He might not have been able to process it before he spent 10 months in Vietnam with Dave.

Reaching out, he just squeezes at the kid's neck again, and smiles in a tired, fond, wasted sort of way.

"I guess." He mumbles, taking another bite of his food. But it feels like so much more than 'we don't do Thanksgiving', especially with words like 'lose touch' and 'scatter' thrown into the explanation. Like once they leave the Academy, they have nothing left to hold them together. He blinks back the tears that try to spill and is just glad that, for once, they don't spill in spite of him when he tries.

He gives a tired, sad quirk of his lips that doesn't really quite make its way to becoming a true smile at the squeeze on his neck again. He appreciates everything he's done- is doing- right now, even if a lot of it feels too heavy, too big to hold.

A silence that he hates--because Klaus hates most, if not all, silences--draws on for several long, intertwined moments. Mostly, he focuses on eating and at least that gives him a reason not to be talking, which he can deal with better than being quiet for the sake of it. But eventually, he has to say something, anything at all, to fill it-- even if he knows the question resting on the edge of his tongue is not going to do anything to make this conversation lighter or smaller.

With his forehead resting in the hollow of his fingers--elbows propped on the table, fingers laced, thumbs almost steepled on either of his temple--Klaus tilts his head to the side to give his doppelganger a sidelong glance, chewing on his lip before finally trying to speak. "You said...that eventually you kind of... stopped caring if you died, right? Does- does that mean... I mean--" His haze drops and his palms press against his eyes.

How do you actively ask someone if they're suicidal?

It's an awkward silence, and that's not Klaus' favourite either. There's a lot of heaviness hanging between them in the quiet, while the kid eats and Klaus turns his attention to the waffles. His appetite's pretty much gone, but he forges ahead anyway, scoops up a forkful of straight whipped cream and puts it in his mouth, then cuts down through waffles and strawberries with the side of the fork and follows the whipped cream with it. He manages two more bites before he's feeling full and just pushing soggy strawberries around the plate with his fork.

Thankfully, the kid saves him from continuing to pretend to eat by asking a question, and it only takes a second to realize that answering it is going to be somehow even more complicated and difficult than this whole situation has been so far.

With a deep sigh, Klaus closes his eyes and rubs at the lids with his fingertips, and makes a soft 'mm' in his throat.

"It's easy to stop caring about things when you're high or coming down. Even things like dying." He pauses, looks over at the kid, "But that's not what you're asking, is it?"

He knows it's hard and heavy and a lot and would absolutely understand if Klaus didn't actually want to talk about it at all. Who could blame him, really? He doesn't really want to talk about it either, but this whole ordeal has shaken him up pretty hard. Who better to talk to about it than an older version of himself?

He shakes his head slowly, managing to whisper, "No..." But before he gets the wrong idea--or maybe it's the right idea and he just keeps trying to classify it differently to make himself feel better--he adds, "It's not that-- I mean, I don't really... want to die. That's- that's not what happened, I swear, it was an accident, but..." he fidgets with his fingers in nervous habit after trying to qualify the point he was making. "I don't know, it's just like... dying scares me and that really isn't what I want, but at the same time, maybe sometimes just not existing would be good." He glances over at the older man, "I- does that make sense? It's not the same, to me, it's different."

"Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah....that's. It makes sense."

Klaus' voice is soft and a little distant, and he keeps his eyes on his plate of food. It does make sense, what the kid says. That there's a difference between wanting to be dead and wanting to just get away from your life. To not exist. Isn't that where the drug problem started?

He laughs softly, a little helplessly, closes his eyes and rests his elbow on the table, rubs at his eyes with his fingers.

"You just wanna live like a normal person, right? To just shut them down and make them go away and...that's why we started drugs, isn't it? Trying to escape. I get it. I don't want to die either, and now that I'm sober it's..." A pause, "It's hard, dealing with corpses, but it's not as hard now as it was when I was your age."

Another pause, another laugh, "Wow, I sound like an old guy. Wow. Anyway, without dear old Papa flinging us into crypts and having Ben around all the time, it's a lot less of a pain in the ass. Not easy, but not total shit either."

"Sometimes, yeah," he admits with a little nod at the question about being normal. "But-- I dunno, sometimes it's like...more than that. Like... I just don't even wanna be here. I don't wanna die, but... I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna do anything or be anybody at all. I just... I just wanna disappear for awhile." The drugs really, really do help with that a lot, if he's honest. He doesn't have to be himself, or anyone-or-anything when he's high. He can lose everything about who he is in those moments and it's so freeing. That may be more addictive than the drugs themselves, sometimes.

"You are an old guy." His lips twitch the tiniest bit, unable to take a potshot when it's presented, despite the gravity of what they're discussing. It settles though, in seconds, any hint of smirk or smile faded like it had never existed at all. "When you left home... did he leave you alone? Dad, I mean."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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