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

[ghostphone]

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.

Comments

[channellings]

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."

[ghostphone]

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.

[channellings]

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.

[ghostphone]

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.

[channellings]

"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.

[ghostphone]

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.

[channellings]

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.

[ghostphone]

"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.

[channellings]

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.

[ghostphone]

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?"

[channellings]

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.

[ghostphone]

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.

[channellings]

"Aw, gee, kid." He sighs, releases an arm and reaches to wipe away the tears with the back of his knuckles, mouth downturning when younger Klaus starts going off again. God, he wishes he could blurt everything out all at once or just Paul this shit by touching the other male's forehead and transferring all meaning of life to him-- okay, not that much information, but enough to help him understand that shit's awful and things get way worse before they get better. "It means it's okay to accept these feelings? I... I wouldn't say they're normal, but well..." Goddamnit, why's everything so flawed with this explanation? He's explaining, that's gotta be why. "Accepting the fact you need help is the first step." And he doesn't sound any better by spewing this rehabilitation shit, but it's true.

"Thank God for that, then. At some point, you're going to hit this spot where you feel like you need it, which is when it'll change. Things will be more reckless and at that point, you'll do anything to keep getting high," he hesitates, glances toward the dogtags hanging against his chest then clutches Klaus's face in his hands, forces their eyes to meet. "But everything will be worth it in the end once you get clean."

[ghostphone]

Everything about everything tonight just keeps feeling like too much, everywhere he looks, every time he blinks, every time Klaus says something else well-intended, but muddied into more of a mess than he's aiming for it to become. The emotional toll of their conversation alone might be enough to make him fall apart, but the rest of the night's events, Dad, Ben, and everything else that led him to the party in the first place all spins it so much faster, makes it hit so much harder. Not to mention the physical exhaustion that has sunk in like a boulder on top of him, suddenly. Maybe. With all of the moving pieces that connect to make this night and this moment possible in the first place? Maybe it isn't so hard to see why he would just give up. He curls forward, and if not for the older man sitting there, he would have doubled completely over his knees, but instead he presses against Klaus, his earlier sobs still shaking his voice a little when he speaks. "I'm so tired..." His cheek presses against the metal of the dogtags hanging around Klaus' neck and he frowns, reaching up with one hand to slide the tag along the chain, squinting at it. They weren't Klaus' own at all. But he isn't sure he can handle hearing anything else about how bad their life gets, later, so he lets it drop and doesn't ask at all.

[channellings]

"Ah," is all that comes out once more of Klaus's weight slumps against him. God, he's... he's so small. Was he really this little at one point? Is he still this slight to some people? His head dips, attention flickering down to where the boy is leaning, dark-ringed eyes widening when he fumbles with the chain around his neck until he can get a hold of the tags.

Can he really open the can of worms that's Dave as well while they're at it? Chewing his cheek for a long moment, Klaus weighs his options: the teen's already exhausted – and who can blame him? – after everything that's already happened. If he opens up about a man his doppelganger knows nothing about, dumps all those mixed emotions on top of the overdose, the (technical) car crash, their father's return, and Ben's death? Something's going to splinter completely and crack even more of his psyche.

So, no, it's not an option. "Then just close your eyes and try to get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere else, promise." Aside from maybe getting up to grab his coffee cups and stuff, but he's going to need the caffeine to stay awake and watch over his tiny self. Thank the stars, there's a working lamp and television in the room he can turn on after he's certain the other male won't rouse, which Klaus can use to distract himself until he's awake again.

[ghostphone]

Luckily, with his head tucked against his chest, Klaus doesn't notice the older man seeming to debate something before insisting he should just get some sleep. Klaus nods a little, that is probably really the best idea at this point. "'Kay. But you have'ta stay." A beat passes before he adds, "Not just in the room, like-- here." He vaguely waves one hand to indicate the bed. Yeah, it was kind of small, but honestly so were both of them. Maybe it's weird to basically be demanding his older twin lay with him while he sleeps, but Klaus doesn't care. He knows the solid feeling of not being alone will help him sleep. He doesn't wait for the other man to answer before he shifts to lay back against the pillows. Once they're both settled in whatever is the most comfortable possible position for both of them, it won't take him long to fade into sleep-- he's exhausted.

[channellings]

Wait, what? Without his coffee? Klaus peers toward both cups from the corner of his eye, bites his lower lip between his teeth and turns back to his counterpart, letting out an exasperated but accepting sigh. "Alright, fine," he grumbles, playfully nudging the teen with a warmhearted grin. "Gonna be a little cramped, but we'll make it work."

To most people, snuggling up to a younger version of oneself would be completely and utterly weird; it feels no different than letting one of his other siblings lay in bed with him though, except it's... himself? Meaning he should understand exactly why he's being asked to stay.

He, on the other hand, does wait until his teenage self is comfortable before nestling in beside him, one arm stretched above their heads while the other wraps around Klaus's middle. His fingers trace small circles along his spine, hoping it'll lull him into sleep faster, although once he peeks down and sees he's already out, it's hard to be surprised.

When he remembers his nifty telekinesis trick – that he stopped a car with, holy shit – Klaus floats a coffee over, removes the lid to add creamer and sugar, silently sips, pacified by the steady in and out of the resting body beside him, even with his racing thoughts. At some point (he doesn't remember when) after the caffeine is downed, he'd flicked the television on, scrolled a few minutes then decided on a shitty reality show, getting all settled in-- and promptly dozing off about ten minutes later.

Kind of a long night for everyone, honestly, and he can't recall the last time he'd been able to fall asleep without seeing any ghosts.