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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The first time Butcher saw him was at the bodega.

Unfortunately, the one by his old place (the one he was burned out of in less than 2 weeks) has better egg sandwiches. It's not terribly like Butcher to get attached to small things like that, but contentment is in short supply and he has nothing to distract himself. It was 10 am and no amount of turmoil has ever put a bottle in his hand that early. He knows what it looks like to be watched and knows how to pretend he doesn't notice. That was 3 days ago.

Since then, Butcher's seem him all kinds of places. The dumb fucker has a recognizable car and it's on every corner Butcher passes. Just to be sure, Butcher hops a couple bars, just a drink at each to keep his head clear-ish. When he leaves the second, he stalks over to an alley that any criminal cunt with a lick of sense would never have followed him into. The second his steps leave the light, Butcher grabs him by the arm and slams his head into the wall. The guy is stunned. Butcher flips him and hits him right where the fuck the wall hit him a second ago, eyes wild. The crunch of footsteps behind him doesn't slow him down. Any sorry piece of shite that is stupid enough to approach is welcome to receive some of the same. The voice makes him shift his wild gaze just a touch.

It's Klaus. Of course it's Klaus. There's a mix of relief and annoyance: relief because he's not going to have to explain himself to a stranger, and annoyance because Klaus is going to try and stop him.

"This cunt's been following me for days," Butcher responds through gritted teeth. He's got him by the neck now, and the itch to end him is a steady beat behind his eyes. "And I want to fucking know why."

They speak in Japanese for a second and Butcher's rage flares again. He squeezes harder on the bloke's windpipe. Somewhere far away, Butcher might be impressed if they weren't talking over him. He demands in a low growl, leaving no room for argument, "tell me what he said."

Billy turns that threatening growl on him and Klaus placidly raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t react. He’s well aware that Billy is big, burly, and tough, but Klaus was raised as a weapon under the thumb of Reginald Hargreeves. He doesn’t scare so easily.

“We’re having a conversation,” Klaus replies, lifting one hand from his pocket to gesture at the man’s red face. “And he won’t be able to give any answers if you choke him to death.”

“Why are you following him?“ Klaus asks the man, who glares at him but says nothing, and Klaus rolls his eyes. “You could answer me or he could choke you out in this alley.“

“My boss told me to tail him,” the guy grits out, still fighting against Billy’s grip on his throat. “He’s pissed about this asshole blowing up his boat.”

“That sounds about right,” Klaus says, and then turns to Billy to continue in English. “You blew up a boat?”

The guy wheezes, and Klaus huffs out a tired breath. “Let him go. He’s just a lackey.”

"I know you speak English," Billy spits, his fury blasting outward from behind his eyes to the entire mask of his face. "I heard you on the fuckin' phone." He's losing control; he can feel it, and Klaus' nonchalant dismissal is not helping. There's a nuclear blast building and he's almost too far gone to feel the shame that might keep it from happening. If this cunt isn't going to respond, that will be the last choice he makes. Butcher's breathing is pumping blood through his system but he can't find relief in it. The only thing that's going to stop this is putting this fucking dog down.

Klaus makes progress. They speak to each other briefly. The bloke's face is red. There's a faint crackling beneath Butcher's fingers. Too much longer and there will be no space for this fuck to breathe and that can't come soon enough. It's been a long time since Butcher's had the luxury of remorse.

Once Butcher has his answer, he drops the lad with some force so he crumbles down hard. The hard hand of inevitability is squeezing breath from his chest. He's not scared that he pissed off a mafioso, he's ready to send a fucking message. A boot comes down on his hand with a slow, deliberate crunch.

No answer is lobbied to Klaus about the boat. Butcher reaches into the back of his coat to produce the handgun that lives there. He cocks the thing and responds with a cold, dead, "no."

This is so far beyond what Klaus signed up for. It isn’t fun. It just makes his stomach turn.

“If you kill him, he becomes my fucking problem,” Klaus says with his own angry tone, finally losing his calm edge. This is all so fucking unnecessary, and he wants no part of it. He looks at Butcher with fury in his eyes, and maybe something a little like pity.

“Fine. We’re done here,” Klaus tells him, spinning on his heel to stalk out of the alley. He’s not going to sit here and watch, or make himself party to this. It’s awful, and he doesn’t want it. “Don’t come find me.”

It's the tone that gets through to him. He's heard it before. It's the one that happens before people walk away and he never sees them again. Every time he tells himself that it's good, that the more people turn away, the less messiness there is to do what needs to be done.

But this isn't London. Or the Gulf. Or Guantanamo. Or New York. And this man isn't a Supe. And Billy can't leave. And he doesn't have anyone. And he's heard that pitch before. And it breaks his fucking heart every time.

With gritted teeth, furious with himself, he smacks the butt of the gun against the bloke's temple. He passes out immediately.

"Wait," Butcher calls after Klaus, eyes down so he doesn't have to watch him walk away if he does. He tucks the gun back and drops his arms in a vague resignation - a sort of surrender.

Edited 2020-12-03 20:01 (UTC)

Klaus tenses as he walks away, preparing himself for a gunshot and the guilt of not doing more, but it doesn’t come. Instead he hears Billy calling after him and Klaus pauses, taking one last drag from his cigarette before dropping it and crushing the butt under his boot.

When he turns, he sees the man on the ground, unconscious but free of bullet holes. Klaus is just about to yell at him to put the fucking gun away if he wants to talk, but then he does and Klaus looks at him for a long moment.

He should walk away. Billy has issues, and a lot of them. He’s dangerous, a wildcard, and Klaus shouldn’t want to be around him. But plenty of people have said the same thing about Klaus, and maybe if someone hadn’t walked away from him, things would be different.

“You got your point across,” Klaus says pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the man on the ground. And then he looks at Billy again, and holds out his hand, palm up. GOODBYE. “If you want this conversation to continue, give me the bullets.”

There's been a billion pauses like this. Butcher takes shit too far, someone walks away, he calls out, they pause and then they're gone. The ache of it is so unfortunately familiar that he's caught between two trauma responses: shouting some dumb bullshit after him and fighting back fucking tears while he finished the unconscious cunt out of spite and resignation to his own fate.

There's a good amount of space between them, and Billy's just watching, freeing his face of as much expression as he can. There's a knit to his brows that telegraphs his turmoil. He hates this, top to bottom - the way Klaus is looking at him and the way he feels like he's lost something in not being able to finish the guy off. He doesn't want it. Any of it.

He doesn't want to give Klaus the clip. There's plenty more about and it's not about being without ammo, though it is about being voluntarily disarmed. He wants to shout that he fucking stopped, what the fuck else does he want? MM's voice pipes up. Butcher. Let him save you from yourself.

The gun is produced (slowly) from the back of his pants. He clicks the clip out with a thumb and lets it fall the the ground. With a gentle flick of his boot, he sends the clip skidding across the gravel to Klaus' feet. The gun is tucked away once again. His eyes lift to Klaus' face. He doesn't want to need anyone, especially not another canary to his coal mine, but neither of them has to wonder what would have happened if Klaus hadn't come along.

Some people might think that Klaus has no sense of self-preservation, but that isn’t true. He was a crime fighter, a world famous teenage heartthrob, and an addict all at the same time. He bounced around the world putting himself in sticky situations, and he’s always fine, because he may not be good at taking care of himself, but he knows how to keep himself alive.

That’s why he asks for the bullets. It’s not as if he thinks that Billy will try to hurt him, not really, but he’s proven himself to be violent and unpredictable, so Klaus’s trust is a little shaky. He thinks that’s fair.

He leans down to grab the clip and puts it in the pocket of his coat, watching Billy for a long moment and letting his gaze drop to the man’s hand. It’s covered in blood, again, and Klaus sighs.

“I’m not patching you up again,” he says flatly, and then jerks his chin for Billy to follow him. “But you can come with me to the fucking bodega.”

It's not like Butcher asked to be patched up. Or stopped. Or scooped into another dimension where there's nothing to fucking do but drink and try not to go mad. There is nothing for him here. No one that cares about him here. It's been a month and he's got no friends - maybe Sweeney, kind of, who at least seems to sort of like him and who Butcher appreciates - no allies. Vengence can't even keep him warm here.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promises, and while the word of Billy Butcher doesn't mean much, he means that. He wants his clip back. That's secondary; he wants to go back to 5 minutes ago before Klaus was looking at him like that - the way everyone fucking else does.

In equal measure Butcher wants to go with him and he doesn't. He doesn't want to be alone. Also, he doesn't want to feel like he's following Klaus around like a puppy. There's also the matter of the unconscious man in the alley that anyone could stop and see.

Butcher jerks his head toward the alley and says, "got something to take care of. Can't leave him for the police to find." But does he want to go to a bodega and hope that the flourescents burn him clean of this whole mess outside and liquor for his shitty insides? Absolutely.

Cautiously, he adds, "could use a little help. Car's parked right there." Now he's nodding toward a very blue GT California. "Not a subtle choice for a henchmen. Hard to keep a low profile." This can be a joke if Klaus wants to play, or it can be an observation and Klaus can note it and go on with his night. His life. Whatever.

"I don't think that you would," Klaus says, more sincere now that he's watched Billy morph into something completely different than what he was just a few minutes ago. He'll give the clip back, but not just yet. It's not even entirely about Billy. This whole thing has rattled him more than he expected, and he's too close to sober. He just wants a little bit of control over the situation. "But I was trained to be careful."

Klaus looks deeper into the alley and sighs, turning a bit and pushing his coat sleeves up in a way that feels practiced. So, are we burnin' or buryin'?

There are very few people that Klaus would help hide a body these days, and Billy hasn't made that list yet, but he'll help him get out of this jam. He steps back into the alley and reaches up to pull his hair back into a bun, using the tie around his wrist to secure it. "What are you going to do with him?"

Relief floods him in an ice-cold current. Not many people come back from that. Back in the real world, Butcher had a wide world to put between himself and a person that couldn't bear to know the truth of him. Here he can't even hop more than a few streets over; the unconscious cunt in the alley is proof of that.

Klaus rolls his sleeves up. Butcher realizes that Klaus' training can't have meant what Butcher thought it meant. A soldier is taught to be a lot of things, but careful is not necessarily one.

"Two options," Butcher begins. He's sprung into action, now, all business until he can find a plan that ensures he's left alone, at least for tonight. He's stalking with purpose toward the bloke and he trusts that Klaus is following by the way he's fixing to keep his hair out of the way. "We could toss him in his trunk and drive him out to the middle of nowhere which'll only take 5 minutes because we live in a little fucking glass dome, or," he exhales, kneeling next to the body to check and see if he's still breathing, "lock him in a fucking dumpster and we got a car for the night." He rises and looks back at Klaus patiently. It's not how he thought this would go, but Goddamn if he doesn't love a good creative solution.

"Yeah, let's go with the one that gets me out of this situation quicker," Klaus tells him, because he isn't really in the mood to add grand theft auto to his list of activities tonight. Klaus looks at the man skeptically as Billy checks his pulse, and then breathes out a sigh of relief when he's confirmed to still be alive. Fresh spirits are some of the worst.

"I'll get his legs," Klaus says, stepping over the man and twisting to lean down and get a grip on his calves, waiting for Billy to get him under the arms before they heft him up. "So what, you pissed off the Japanese mob already? Didn't think Darrow had a Yakuza branch."

"I hate to be insensitive," Butcher says, and in this one instance, that's true. Klaus is helping him cover up a crime he's just deescalated. "But the quickest option involves leaving him in a trunk a few blocks down. So I'm gonna need to know where that sits on your morality scale." Butcher hefts the man up under his arms by his torso with a grunt of effort.

Of the mob question, Butcher smirks and asks, "you lookin' for the long version or the short version of that story?" He hitches the unconscious body up one more time and - since time is a factor, apparently - starts toward the car.

“Exactly. Get him out of the way, and get away from him,” Klaus says flatly, raising an eyebrow as he steers Billy backwards toward the mouth of the alley. “You’ve only been here a few weeks. How is there a long version?”

Klaus pauses and then shakes his head, laughing in bemusement. “Never mind. I’ve met you. I answered my own question.”

They make it to the edge of the alley and Klaus shifts the guy so that both feet are under one arm, pinned to his hip. “Is the coast clear?”

"Aye," Billy answers once he is sure that there is no one around. He nods to the lad's front pocket and says, "grab his keys and let's get on."

Once they've dragged the man over and the trunk is open, Butcher spies a roll of duct tape. This stupid cunt. Always keep the binding agents in the glove compartment. It's like he's asking to be shut into his trunk.

Butcher must have clocked him good because he is still unconscious after the tape is fastened around his mouth and hands. The trunk slams shut and Butcher holds his hand out for the keys. He wants to thank Klaus or apologize or something. But his work isn't finished yet.

"You comin' with or should I meet you at the bodega?" It's just all business now because that's how it is when there's a job to be done. Especially when he just wants it to be done so he can get to drowning the awful feeling still roiling below.

“Is that really necessary?” Klaus asks, feeling his stomach turn slightly as Billy tapes up the man, which feels wildly like overkill. “How’s he supposed to get out?”

Klaus holds out the keys and shakes his head definitively, because he wants away from this whole situation. He wants to have never walked by this alley in the first place.

“I’m not going with you,” he says firmly, taking a few steps back. He’s also not giving the clip yet back, even though he’s well aware that there are plenty more ways to kill a person. “You can have your shit back at the bodega.”

Klaus doesn’t wait for an answer, and instead turns away with a whirl of his coat to keep walking in the other direction, immediately reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, lighting it as he rounds a corner.

"He gets out in the next hour, he comes and finds me," Billy explains, having at least the good sense to look like he doesn't fucking like that it's true. He continues, a little quieter, "He finds me, I got nowhere to hide here."

Klaus is gone and Billy does what he has to. He's in the car a few minutes by himself. It would be so easy, and as far as Billy knows, Klaus would never have to know. He could just kill him, dump his car, and it anyone ever asked, Butcher would lie his whole fucking face off and he'd probably get away with it. For a little while, at least.

Suddenly, Butcher is furious. He punches the fucking dashboard ineffectually, doing nothing, solving nothing, just fucking furious at the sad sack piece of shit he's become. In the last month, he's spared countless lives that didn't fucking deserve it. He loses and he loses and he fucking loses, and now he doesn't even feel any satisfaction when he takes something else away. His girl, his boys, the things he's seen and the things people have done for him when they didn't have to... His fucking Boys. They never owed Billy anything. In fact, Billy owed them thousands of things he could never repay. Moments with their families. Safety. Security. A choice to live their lives they way they wanted. And still, they help him. Every single time. They would if they were here.

Butcher is still murmuring a long string of curses as he pops the trunk open. The lad is awake, but still incredibly out of it. Producing a knife from his pocket. He pulls the lad up to a sitting position by his hair. The knife gleams vaguely under the lamplight above, in front of keen, wild eyes. He splits the tape binding the man's hands. He looks terrified. Butcher is glad.

"You have 10 seconds to disappear," Butcher growls, softly furious. "Come for me again and I'll fucking kill you." The tape is ripped savagely off the cunt's face. There's a moment where he sits there, stunned. Then, he's gone, running frantic toward the other side of town with not so much as a look back. Several minutes pass where Billy is in his thoughts - fuming, devastated, alone, trapped. His eyes sting. His heart is a lead stone in his stomach. It's too late for him to be a good person. What is even the point of trying?

He legs it back to the bodega, two cigarettes deep by the time he makes it there. Part of him expects to see Klaus gone, and he tells himself that would be fine. What's another retreating back heading as far away as they can? Still, he takes a look around for the lad.

There's a ghost about half a block up from the bodega, and Klaus lets out an irritated huff because that whole situation completely burned off his minor buzz. Now the spirit looks fully solid to him, enough that Klaus can tell that he was probably beaten to death. Both of his eyes are black. Some teeth are missing. He's got blood all down the front of his shirt.

"No," Klaus says as he walks by, holding up a hand as he keeps his eyes straight ahead. The spirit yells after him and Klaus squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to block it out as he turns to bodega. He grabs the fucking taco chips that he doesn't even really want anymore, and turns to head up to the counter. There's a discount bin on the counter full of those little airplane bottles of cheap vodka, and Klaus grabs two handfuls from them and puts them on the counter as well.

The cashier rings him up and Klaus waves off a bag, just stuffing the little bottles into the pockets of his coat. He tucks the bag of chips under his arm and cracks open one of the little bottles, draining the entire thing as he steps back out onto the street.

"Look at this tough guy!" The ghost yells, slurred due to his injuries, and Klaus looks over to see Billy walking toward him. He looks at him placidly, tosses the empty bottle into the trash can next to the door, and then slips another from his pocket.

"That was fast," Klaus says easily, watching him as he slowly unscrews the little bottle.

A mix of relief and something like dread settles in Butcher's stomach when he sees that Klaus is still there. Sometimes people never look at him the same again after they've seen what Klaus has seen. He's not like Frenchie or MM, hardened by understanding. It's hard to compare him to Hughie because of what's gone down between them before, but there is a certain do-gooder thing that clearly comes from a different place. Hughie comes off so aggressively normal until he's backed into a corner. Klaus and Hughie might as well be from different planets and, hey, turns out they just might fucking be.

There's none of that on his face by the time Klaus would be close enough to see it. At Klaus' words, Butcher kind of shrugs as if to say I did what had to be done. If Klaus thinks that he killed the other man, good. That's the kind of man he is, he thinks, even though the fact that the bloke is still alive might suggest otherwise. There is no reason for Butcher to suspect that Klaus might know differently, the same way he will never know that he is being heckled by a bloody ghost.

Billy's hands go passively into his pockets and it looks like Klaus is about to do the same, but he produces a small bottle of clear liquor. A quirk of a half-grin is amused out of Butcher.

"Looks like you're all set, then," he muses, producing cash from his pocket. He checks the bills quickly to see what's there and seems satisfied. "You gonna let me go in and catch up? Or do I gotta go to a bar and get pissed in shite low lighting?"

He gets a casual shrug in response, and Klaus rolls his eyes as he knocks back the rest of his drink. Once it's empty, he tosses it into the trash and slides his hand back into his pocket, curling his fingers around the clip for a moment before deciding to leave it there.

"Tough guy," the ghost shouts, waving his bloody hands behind Billy's head.

"Tough guy," Klaus echoes, tearing open his chips as he wanders over to lean casually against a streetlight, ankles crossed as he plucks a chip out of the bag with two thin fingers.

"Go for it," he says easily, nodding towards the store. "I'm definitely not in the mood for some shitty bar."

This answer satisfies Billy. "Brilliant." He's already got a cigarette out, so he just leaves it between his lips. The tough guy thing pings in his brain as strange, but he's ready make progress toward being drunk, so he finds the thing that will do the job best: tequila - clear so Klaus can mix his alcohols, if he chooses.

The little bell jingles again. Billy's got his pack of cigarettes and large bottle of tequila. Klaus is perched against a pole looking unbothered enough. Billy tosses an almost-done pack of cigarettes to the lad, lights his own, and tosses over the lighter, too.

Pointing with his cigarete, Billy says, "mine's that way." Fairly close, really. Too close now that he knows he's been followed. Fuck, he doesn't want to move again. "Alright?"

"I've had about enough," Klaus says blandly watching as the ghost wanders in circles around him, staring at him with his blacked eyes and smiling with his bloody mouth. The cigarettes sail right through the guy's head, and they're cold when Klaus snatches the pack out of the air.

He lights one and then pockets the rest, because he figures that he's owed a few smokes. The chips are already rolled up and tucked away under one arm, because between the scene in the alley and the bloody guy all up in his business, he's completely lost his appetite.

"Switched places already, huh?" Klaus lifts a brow and lets out a bemused chuckle. Again, it isn't as if he's afraid of Billy, but he's also not super eager to follow him back to some empty apartment just yet. He feels too uneasy, again because of the alley, and the fucking asshole ghost dancing all over his last nerve. "And what are your entertainment plans for the evening if I were to follow you, hm?"

Billy's eyes narrow when Klaus pockets the pack. It's two fucking cigarettes and they're going to the same place. Probably.

"Décor was wrong for my skin tone," Butcher says, exhaling again. To address the next question, he turns to face Klaus.

"What do you want me to say? I'll prepare the charcuterie? Ain't got no plans but to drink." It's not like he's trying to be an asshole, he's just not used to answering a question straight, no sarcasm. Sometimes it's better to ease into it. And if Klaus wants an explanation or context or whatever it was he stuck around for, he wants to give him that, too. He tries again.

A little quieter, gentler, he says, "if you got questions or you want answers, it's more likely you'll get them there." The rest isn't spoken. Klaus has his clip and lighter, and he waited for Billy to come out of the bodega when he could have fucked off, like Billy could have fucked off and gone things his way in the alley, but here they are.

"I don't need to know your business," Klaus tells him, because he doesn't want to be wrapped in it. That, and him asking Billy questions would just be an open invitation for Billy to ask him questions, and he doesn't want that either.

He's well aware of what they got up to last time Klaus went to Billy's place and get drunk, and he's definitely not in the mood for that tonight. Violence is a turn-off of his, as are annoying ghosts.

"I tried to rob my dealer," the ghost says, close enough to Klaus that he shivers at the cold. "That was a mistake! My forever bad, I guess."

Klaus rolls his eyes and pushes away from the pole, because he needs to get the hell out of here, away from it. He starts walking in the direction that Billy indicated, sucking hard on his cigarette as he waits for the man to follow.

"Just drinking," Klaus says, because that sounds very good right now. If he drinks enough, that ghost won't fucking be there on his walk home later. "But, for future reference, I always respond well to charcuterie boards."

Butcher nods. He gets it, but they're about to go get drunk and it's not like Butcher has video games at his apartment, so they're going to talk about something, and it's not on the front of Butcher's mind to pass the time like that did the last. Seems to Butcher like they're inextricably tied to each other's business now, but there's not point in saying.

"Noted," he says instead. Klaus is walking in the direction Billy pointed, so he follows, turning him right by the shoulders after a few blocks.

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