terriblymisguided | [for billy]

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billy

[for billy]

Klaus can't sleep, but that isn't anything new. He's used to only catching a few hours of sleep a night, and existing in a constantly half-exhausted state. Thankfully, the eyeliner he smudges onto his lids does a good job of concealing the bags under his eyes.

Well, he has had a few decent nights of sleep in the past week, when he's in the right place.

Tonight, he stayed home and annoyed Five until he went to bed, and then drank some whiskey, smoked a joint on the fire escape, and decided that he had to go to the bodega a few blocks away at precisely that exact moment, because he absolutely needs some of those spicy taco chips they sell.

He climbs down the fire escape rather than going back through the apartment, and drops down into the alley to head toward the bodega. He immediately lights a cigarette, and makes it just over two blocks before passing what is obviously a fight happening in an alley. It's not his business so he doesn't even slow, but then what he saw out of the corner of his eye finally filters through the haze of his buzz and he stops, sighing deeply before pivoting.

"Now, what did this one do?" Klaus asks casually, hands in the pockets of his coat as he strolls into the alley. Billy has a man pinned against the brick, dragged up onto his toes as Billy pulls his fist back for another punch. Klaus rolls his eyes and brings his cigarette back to his mouth, and then raises a brow when the man starts to yell in Japanese. It's a language that Klaus knows well. Reginald made sure they learned it growing up, and he has spent time in Japan. It was one of his favorite places to live.

"He's fucking crazy," the man shouts, and Klaus smirks as he takes a few steps closer. "This is bullshit!"

"Well, that's true," Klaus replies in practiced Japanese, looking casually between the two of them as he exhales smoke through his nose. The man pins him with a surprised look, and Klaus squints as he takes another drag. "But you must have done something. He does have a very easy trigger, but I'm sure that you still pulled it."

"I didn't!" The man shouts, and Klaus exhales again, turning to quirk a brow at Billy.

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"Alright, leave it out," Butcher drawls, smiling easy enough. He looks down at the glass in his hand, steadied against the arm of the couch and with just a bit of tequila left. He'll stop after he finishes it, he thinks. It's for the best.

"Self-preservation skills might need work," he adds after a light beat. "Following me home after what you seen."

"You started it," Klaus points out, settling back against the corner of the sofa and lifting his long legs to stretch across it, crossing his bare feet at the ankle and lifting one arm to curl it behind his head.

He gives Billy a long look, considering his words. Why did he come back here with Billy? No, he isn't in danger himself, but Billy is still dangerous. He is a killer.

"I'm not sure," he admits, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk in a wry smile. "But I've seen what someone looks like when they're completely gone, and you're not there yet."

Billy doesn't move a muscle as Klaus stretches out, his legs spanning almost the entire distance of the couch between tnem. The lad understands the unasked question and gives an answer that Butcher finds extremely generous. He wants to say that Klaus is making a mistake. That he doesn't know what Butcher has done in war and for revenge. In the US Government's most protected documents, Butcher's name is striped across many pages. It's not like he came out of the get spanking Supes. Even if he had, there have to be scores of innocent lives he's had a part in ending.

And he would do it again - all of it - for just one or two things.

Since Klaus doesn't see it that way and Butcher doesn't want him to, he lays a hand on Klaus's leg between them, just at his calf. There's an appreciative squeeze before he murmurs, as if he would rather piss nails than say so, "suppose it's a good thing you were there."

He adds, "not for me. I'm fucked. Might have to move again, thanks to you." It seems like he's still putting some sort of effort into playing at a stubborn grudge, but it's all theatrics stretched over emotional constipation. The hand not on Klaus' leg produces a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Well, you've already shown us how easy it is for you, so you should be fine," Klaus says easily, smirking as he leans forward to snatch the cigarette from Billy's fingers. He settles back again and shifts his hips so he can reach back and pull the lighter from his back pocket.

He doesn't think that Billy is actually upset with Klaus's intervening, anyway. He lights his cigarette and quirks a brow, giving Billy a curious look as he inhales and takes it between two fingers.

"As I recall, I walked away," Klaus tells him, pointing at him with the cigarette. "So, don't blame me for your choice."

"Oi, fuck off," Butcher protests when the cigarette is taken from him. He doesn't bother to chase it, just uses the time to finish his drink and deposit the glass on the table. But when he leans back and the cigarette is not yet being offered back, he snatches back it from Klaus' fingers as they point at him. He's still glaring mistrustfully at Klaus while he takes a drag until he swaps the hand holding it for the one outside.

"Shite sharer for a bloke with six brothers and sisters," Butcher drawls, warm and buzzy and ready to be off this topic that keeps him feeling like he lives in a world with no place for him.

"Hm, we must have skipped that lesson in training," Klaus breathes out, letting his head fall back against the arm of the sofa as he presses the balls of his feet into Billy's thigh.

"Two sisters, four brothers." He holds up both hands with the corresponding number of fingers raised on each, wiggling them a bit as he lifts his head and lets his hands fall to his stomach. "We weren't big on sharing. It was probably my sister that I shared with most, and by sharing I mean that I raided her closet on a semi-regular basis."

Butcher raises a brow, not at the pressure of Klaus' foot against the outside of his leg, but because of what Klaus has just said.

"Training," he echos, nodding his head slowly, a smile twisting at his mouth. He perches the cigarette between his lips and twists so he's sitting facing Klaus. He finally feels like the hard line that winds his shoulders is softening. A dearly welcome chill has permeated. It seems by the way he's lounging that Klaus feels the vibe. Butcher works the thumbs of both hands into the ball of one of Klaus' feet. "What's it you're training for, out there in your sister's clothes?"

"Life," Klaus replies, unapologetically vague. It's not inaccurate. They were just being trained for a different sort of life than most. "Schooling," he adds, waving a hand. "Whatever."

Billy grabs his foot and starts to massage it, and Klaus reaches forward to pluck the cigarette from Billy's mouth before leaning back again, humming his approval at the attention. He keeps going, and eventually Klaus loosens up a little.

"We were all adopted," he says after taking a long drag from the cigarette, giving Billy a shrug as if he say that it isn't a very interesting story. "Your typical eccentric billionaire wants a child army of his very own type story. I'm sure you've heard it a billion times."

He's going to keep the part about his powers to himself. That isn't just his secret, for one. For another, very few people even know about it and it feels safer that way. He kind of likes the anonymity of it, after a lifetime of having none at all.

Billy's lips twitch against a real smile for a second. This almost feels normal. They're in a magic city and this is a kind of casual, easy closeness that Butcher has shared with exactly no one. Most of his life he's been running from home or chasing something like love or revenge. Butcher's not sure he's ever had a friend, save for MM, and that's different in at least two significant ways.

The little noise Klaus makes is nice and easy, too. Butcher listens to his sounds and his voice; he is happy to let the stoney sensation of Klaus' soft skin and the shifting of the muscle below his thumbs be part of the general comfort he's too faded to be bothered by.

"Fuckin' hell," Butcher responds to this piece of unexpected backstory. People who collect people aren't typical doing it for the good of humanity.

"Father of the year, I bet." And there's something in his voice that says he knows a thing or a hundred about having a shite old man.

"I cheered when he died," Klaus says with a lazy smile, too drunk and stoned to really work up any sort of lather. "Yay."

He recognizes the look on Billy's face, and it's no real surprise to learn that he has a couple daddy issues of his own. Klaus wonders if it was the more standard tragic fare, like maybe he was beaten. Reginald never really hit them, but Klaus thinks that he might have preferred to be a punching bag.

Klaus can get up from being hit. Wounds heal; he can shake it off. But the deep psychological torture that Reginald put him through, hours of it day after day, well. That left a scar that will never quite heal.

"He branded us when we were thirteen," Klaus says in a oddly cheery sort of tone, holding out his forearm to show off the umbrella tattoo on his forearm like he's dissociating from the whole thing. "Anyway, that's why I can speak Japanese."

He lifts a finger in the air as if he had forgotten something. "And why I know first aid." A second finger raises to join the first. "And why I love drugs."

A small smile plays at Butcher's lips for a second in response to Klaus'. Before Darrow, Butcher had plans for the day the ass cancer finally takes his dad. He'd get the first plane ticket back. He'd get to his mum first and hug her as long as she needed. The second she fell asleep, he'd take to his father's grave to smoke a cigar on one hand and piss on his grave with the other.

The smile is gone. As he looks down at the brand - a small black tattoo in the shape of an open umbrella - he thinks about little thirteen year old arms being sat down to endure this. Did he hold them down? Or was his watchful eye so terrible and ever-present that no one needed to?

The ever-present push to strike is knocking between his eyes, again. The smile is gone. At some point he's shifted his hands' attention to Klaus' other foot, but he doesn't recall.

"Ain't a lotta dads were worse than mine. Yours just might be," Butcher says, swallowing to keep the rumbling fury out of his voice the best he can. He takes the cigarette gently from Klaus, taking a quick, long drag and handing it back. The Butchers were never branded - not with tattoos - but there wasn't a bone in Butcher's body that hadn't been broken before he was old enough to drink. And you know who didn't give a fuck? Anyone. Least of all social services.

"Mine'll be dead soon," Butcher reports, equally cheerful - as much as he is capable of. "Couple'a right bastards drinkin' piss in Hell." He's almost smiling now. Shame he's never going to get to hear his mum's voice tell him the forty-something year nightmare is over. She'll be free. Since Butcher can't ever be, that's all he's wanted.

And this sort of thing - showing affection to a lad that wore a skirt the last time Butcher saw him, digging his thumbs into his feet like he doesn't care he gives a shit, that would kill him again. Good.

Edited (brain no longer tapioca ) 2021-01-03 21:28 (UTC)

"It's not a competition," Klaus says easily, because sure, his father was an unfeeling piece of shit, but he's not here to say he had it worse than anyone else. It's all subjective, anyway. "But he was a real evil bastard. Wore a fucking monocle. Like, unironically."

He leans forward for the cigarette, but pats Billy's scruffy cheek a few times before taking it and leaning back again. "I'm alright, big guy."

After taking a long drag, he laughs at Billy's assessment and raises the cigarette in a sarcastic sort of toast. Billy's strong, calloused thumbs pressing into Klaus's feet make him relax, eyes drooping slightly as he holds the cigarette out. "Did you have siblings?"

"You're joking," Butcher growls. At this news about the monocle, he fully laughs - just a single sound, not cruel to Klaus in any way, just something tugged out of him by weed, alcohol and a fucking Mr. Peanut looking motherfucker. He wonders briefly if he was an engineered super villian. That sounds like some Vought cuntery for sure.

"Didn't say you ain't," he continues, but Klaus pats his face and his mouth twists in disapproval. His thumbs dig especially hard into his foot as a friendly retaliation. Then, he's already scooting forward on the couch to grab another drink when Klaus' question comes.

There's no way he could have known - like there's no way for Butcher to have known what he was asking the night they met and he asked about the dog tags. It's that moment in reverse - Butcher's mouth falls open to speak, but it's a second before he does.

"Had one," he says softly, only a touch louder than the sound of the liquid splashing into the glass. He sits back and lets his arm find the back of the couch so as not to entirely displace Klaus' legs near him. "A brother." That's more than he's said about it to anyone in a long time. By his count, only one other person knew about Lenny and she's not around. He takes a deep drink, then offers it to Klaus across the couch without really looking at him for too long.

As sad as he is to hear it, Klaus isn't exactly surprised to find out that there was more heartbreak in Billy's life.

"I lost two of mine," he says after a long moment. He wasn't planning on drinking more, but he accepts the glass and takes a sip in honor of Billy's brother before handing it back. Both of his came back, in different ways, but he felt the pain of Five's disappearance for the better part of two decades, never knowing what happened. He tried to conjure Five from time to time, just to see if he could find out if he was dead or not, but never succeeded. For awhile that gave him hope, but eventually that died, too.

Being in Darrow made Klaus realize that he never really did process Ben's death, mostly because Ben was never really gone for him. He is now, though. He isn't in Darrow or anywhere else, and Klaus lets out a shuddering breath. "One the day before I got here, actually."

The night has taken several turns Butcher hadn't anticipated. This is just the latest one: drinking to fallen siblings after a rousing game of Drink at Trash TV. Klaus is - with the rest of the world gone or out of reach - the only person that knows anything about his family. He's a big talker, but not about important things like this.

"Good thing it ain't a contest," Butcher says lowly, a bit of a sad smile working the side of his mouth. He'd been fresh off losing something, too the day he found himself here, and he figures that's understood without needing to say. That could be the joint talking.

"C'mere." It's a gentle direction. Klaus is too far away for Butcher's drunk brain to engineer a way he can put an arm around him. There's three-and-a-half feet of leg between them, and Butcher would rather be on the torso end, if he gets to choose.

Either Klaus is going to settle in or he's not. Regardless, he wants to know, "what happened?"

"It's not," Klaus says easily, mirroring that sad sort of smile. Loss is loss, and it isn't up to him to quantify it. Billy gestures him closer and Klaus quirks a brow, pausing for a moment before he drags himself into a sitting position next to the other man.

"Lost them on missions." It isn't exactly true, not in Five's case, but it's easier to say than he time traveled somewhere beyond our reach and didn't come back for sixteen years. His tone makes it clear that he isn't willing to offer more detail, not right now. Because he's not about to explain how he lost Ben twice, not to someone who doesn't know what he can do.

He leans back against the sofa next to Billy, tipping his head back as he kicks his feet up onto the table and crosses his ankles. "What about you?"

Billy stretches his arm out behind Klaus on the couch once he's closer. Right. It hadn't occurred to him that this question would come back to him. As he's digging reaching forward for another cigarette, he's thinking about how Klaus is careful with his words and how best Butcher can be, as well.

"Checked out early," Butcher says, dropping his head to catch the filter of this new cigarette in his mouth. He lights it and checks in with Klaus for a quick second before he finds his gaze elsewhere; like on scooting a little ash tray dish closer with his foot. Before he killed himself, Lenny never touched a gun, and he swore he never would. And Butcher swore he'd keep him safe. They're both liars.

It's a strange place they've found themselves in, Klaus and him. Whatever Billy was going to go through tonight would have been at least 100 times worse without his friend's intervention.

"Sorry about your brothers," Butcher says lowly, swiveling his head to look back down at Klaus, now. "Mine - people liked to say he made me less..." Lenny makes Billy less Billy, is what people would say, but he's always hated it.

"...less likely to do the things you seen me doin'."

"And I'm sorry about yours," Klaus tells him, quiet but sincere. He's drunk, and wasn't expecting their conversation to take this sort of turn. Then again, he's learning that he can't really expect anything when it comes to spending time with Billy.

"Mine was like that. Ben." Saying the name makes him let out a shuddering breath, and he tips head back to look up at the ceiling. "He tried hard to keep me from fucking myself up, with varying levels of success."

He shrugs and blinks a few times, reaching up to press his palms into his eyes.
"I find myself torn between wanting to go off the rails and doing what he would want me to do."

As Klaus' gentle apology comes back, Butcher slips his arm around Klaus' shoulders, threading between him and the couch. It's the things he's not feeling that he notices. There's no pity there, no angling to find benefit. He doesn't feel alone or out of control, even though he doesn't know how he got to this place tonight or where his life in Darrow will take him. All he knows is he feels... something. Safe, maybe. And that makes him feel like a fucking idiot.

Butcher angles himself slightly to shift Klaus in a bit. Once he settles, Butcher rests his cheek against Klaus' head.

"Aye," Butcher pipes up, because he hears him and he understands. "Word of advice: don't let his voice out of your head. 'Cuz once you lost it, it don't come back." After a drag on his cigarette, he puts the filter to Klaus' lips with his free hand and adds, "not sayin' there ain't a time and place to go off the rails. Who'm I to judge? What I mean is: don't wait 'til you're some sad old fuck chasin' demons what don't exist no more." He smiles a little sadly and puts the cigarette back at his own lips.

He adds, "'n don't be afraid to double-condition in the shower. Looks like you got that bit under control."

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[for billy]

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