terriblymisguided (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terriblymisguided) wrote2021-02-21 04:16 am
terriblymisguided) wrote2021-02-21 04:16 am
turn me out and i'll wander, baby
(cw: grief, alcoholism, addiction, mentions of death, vague references to attempted sexual misconduct)
As the day approaches, Klaus feels himself start to withdraw. The night before, he sits at dinner with his family, poking at a take out salad without eating a single bite, without engaging in any conversation, and then he goes up to his room and crawls into bed, staring at the wall with his hands over his ears until he succumbs to exhaustion.
When he wakes up the morning of (more like the noon of), he stares at the ceiling for a long time. It isn't the first anniversary of Dave's passing that Klaus has had to deal with, but it's the first time since his miserable failure in Dallas. It's only now that he's realizing that on these past few February 21sts, he held onto a foolish sort of hope. He was in the early 60s. Dave was still alive somewhere, and maybe Klaus could save him if he tried.
But no, he messed it up like he messes up most things. He actually drove Dave into enlisting even faster, managing to achieve the exact opposite of what he was going for, and now it's over. He blew his chance, and Dave is dead. He's really dead this time, and on this anniversary, the grief feels brand new. It feels so heavy, like it's dragging him down into some deep, dark abyss, and Klaus rolls out of bed to go for a futile attempt of a different sort.
For the first time since arriving in Darrow, Klaus tries to conjure someone. He tries to conjure Dave, gritting his teeth as his fists light up blue, but nothing happens. He knew it wouldn't, because Dave doesn't even exist here in Darrow, but he had to try. He tries and tries until all he hears is phantom gunfire and tears are streaming down his face, and then he gives up and turns to the snatch the bottle of whiskey off of his desk, flicking the cap off and tipping the bottle back. The liquid burns as he gulps it down, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight and ignores it. He pulls the bottle away with a gasp and wipes at his mouth with his forearm as he looks around the room with a panicked gaze.
He can't be here, not trapped in this room, but he can't face his siblings either because he's been trying so hard to be better, to make them proud, and he already knows that this is the day that he fucks it all up. None of them will be surprised, he's sure. This is what he does.
After getting dressed, he opens his sock drawer and digs until he finds the plastic baggie stuffed into the back of it. He lifts it up and stares at the pills inside, feeling a loathsome sort of pull to them, hating himself as he pulls a few out and tosses them into his mouth, washing them back with more whiskey. He's in pain and he hates himself and the room is full of ghosts from his attempt to find one that isn't even here. He's miserable and panicking but soon it starts to fade.
The whiskey dulls everything, putting a blurry haze over all of those sharp, awful thoughts. Soon the pills will add to that, and Klaus knows that he has to get out of the house. He leaves by way of the fire escape, running away like a coward rather than risk running into any disappointed faces. His boots hit the pavement and he flees, just wanting to get away, and then things go a bit fuzzy.
When awareness comes back to him, he's pushing his way through a bar, which makes sense. He thinks that maybe he'll get a few more drinks and make a few more bad decisions, until he goes back into that empty sort of numbness that keeps him from feeling anything at all. He's teetering right there on the edge of oblivion anyway, and he might as well jump right in. But then the song changes, and Klaus stops in his tracks, feeling a flush run through his body as his heart starts to pound.
Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen
Warm my mind near your gentle stove
Turn me out and I'll wander, baby
Stumblin' in the neon groves
The flashing lights seem to start to swirl around him, and suddenly he's back in that bar in Vietnam, back on that battlefield, kissing Dave, pressing his hands against the hole in Dave's chest and watching them turn crimson. Klaus puts his hands over his ears and closes his eyes, but all he can see is Dave, covered in blood, gasping for breath. He watching the light leave Dave's eyes, watching him die, and he can't stop seeing it. It's been years now, and it's still always right there behind his eyelids.
Someone puts their arm around his waist and tugs him in close and Klaus feels as if he might heave. The man says that he knows where they could go to have a good time, and Klaus knows what he looks like: a strung out junkie, up for anything, too out of it to say no. He's the kind of monster that Klaus would have left with, back before Dad died, before the apocalypse, before Dave. Before Obi-Wan and his siblings foolishly saw him as something better than he is.
The man holds up a tiny baggie of off-white powder and Klaus's eyes widen. It's the kind of drug that he hasn't touched in years, since he was at his messiest. He feels his stomach lurch, stumbling as the man tries to drag him towards the door. Maybe he should just go with it, let himself be whisked away and dragged back down into the gutter, but he sees flashes of all those beautiful faces of people who care about him for some reason, and it gives him the small burst of resolve that he needs.
Well, the clock says it's time to close now
I know I have to go now
Klaus pushes the man away and turns to leave, ignoring all the names that the guy calls after him. He gets outside and is surprised to find that it's nighttime, and he pulls another pill out of his pocket and pops it into his mouth. No, he won't inject himself with anything, not ever again, but these were always his drug of choice anyway.
Somewhere on the way back to the house, he stops to buy another bottle of whiskey. The cashier looks at him like he's pathetic, but money is money, so he makes the sale. He almost makes it home, wondering how the hell he's going to climb up the fire escape like this, when he approaches the small park just up the street from the house.
There's a bench on the edge of the grass, facing the sidewalk, and there's something resting on it, illuminated by the streetlight. Once Klaus gets closer, he realizes that it's a military helmet, jungle green and standard issue. His vision goes double for a long moment as he stares unblinkingly, and then the D. KATZ in black ink along the back comes into focus, and the bottle of whiskey drops from Klaus's hand to land on the sidewalk with a thud, tipping over and rolling along the pavement, arcing until the lid is pointing at the helmet like some fucked up game of spin the bottle.
Klaus lurches toward the bench and picks up the helmet, running his trembling fingers over the ink. He was there when Dave put it there, and Klaus remembers laughing and asking him why, pointing out that they were standard. This one is mine, he had said, and Klaus had rolled his eyes and winked at him because there were too many people around to kiss him like he wanted.
He turns the helmet over and brings it to his face, feeling his legs give out as he takes in the scent of sweat and jungle and Dave, woodsy and a little like sunshine. Klaus had almost forgotten how good he always smelled. His ass meets the bench and he stares down at the helmet, turning it over to rest it on his thighs. For a long time, he's too out of it to do anything at all. The numbness that he's been chasing is right there, and Klaus knows that just one more pill will get him there. He could pull that bag out of his pocket, but instead he clutches at the helmet and bursts into tears.
Not even booze and pills could numb him, not today. He threw everything he'd been working toward away and set himself back, and it didn't even work. He's still sitting here sobbing over a helmet that shouldn't even be here, and a dead man who deserved more than pretty much anyone else to live.
Klaus doesn't know how long he sits there crying, sitting there in the cold in just a thin shirt because he didn't think to bring a jacket. His fingertips seem devoid of color as he wraps his arms around the helmet, curling around it as his shoulders quake.
He tried so hard to save Dave. He would have done anything to save him, would have swapped places in an instant, but he failed and now it seems that he's destined to be reminded of that forever. He thought he could be better, but maybe he was just fooling himself.
Maybe this is just who he is.
As the day approaches, Klaus feels himself start to withdraw. The night before, he sits at dinner with his family, poking at a take out salad without eating a single bite, without engaging in any conversation, and then he goes up to his room and crawls into bed, staring at the wall with his hands over his ears until he succumbs to exhaustion.
When he wakes up the morning of (more like the noon of), he stares at the ceiling for a long time. It isn't the first anniversary of Dave's passing that Klaus has had to deal with, but it's the first time since his miserable failure in Dallas. It's only now that he's realizing that on these past few February 21sts, he held onto a foolish sort of hope. He was in the early 60s. Dave was still alive somewhere, and maybe Klaus could save him if he tried.
But no, he messed it up like he messes up most things. He actually drove Dave into enlisting even faster, managing to achieve the exact opposite of what he was going for, and now it's over. He blew his chance, and Dave is dead. He's really dead this time, and on this anniversary, the grief feels brand new. It feels so heavy, like it's dragging him down into some deep, dark abyss, and Klaus rolls out of bed to go for a futile attempt of a different sort.
For the first time since arriving in Darrow, Klaus tries to conjure someone. He tries to conjure Dave, gritting his teeth as his fists light up blue, but nothing happens. He knew it wouldn't, because Dave doesn't even exist here in Darrow, but he had to try. He tries and tries until all he hears is phantom gunfire and tears are streaming down his face, and then he gives up and turns to the snatch the bottle of whiskey off of his desk, flicking the cap off and tipping the bottle back. The liquid burns as he gulps it down, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight and ignores it. He pulls the bottle away with a gasp and wipes at his mouth with his forearm as he looks around the room with a panicked gaze.
He can't be here, not trapped in this room, but he can't face his siblings either because he's been trying so hard to be better, to make them proud, and he already knows that this is the day that he fucks it all up. None of them will be surprised, he's sure. This is what he does.
After getting dressed, he opens his sock drawer and digs until he finds the plastic baggie stuffed into the back of it. He lifts it up and stares at the pills inside, feeling a loathsome sort of pull to them, hating himself as he pulls a few out and tosses them into his mouth, washing them back with more whiskey. He's in pain and he hates himself and the room is full of ghosts from his attempt to find one that isn't even here. He's miserable and panicking but soon it starts to fade.
The whiskey dulls everything, putting a blurry haze over all of those sharp, awful thoughts. Soon the pills will add to that, and Klaus knows that he has to get out of the house. He leaves by way of the fire escape, running away like a coward rather than risk running into any disappointed faces. His boots hit the pavement and he flees, just wanting to get away, and then things go a bit fuzzy.
When awareness comes back to him, he's pushing his way through a bar, which makes sense. He thinks that maybe he'll get a few more drinks and make a few more bad decisions, until he goes back into that empty sort of numbness that keeps him from feeling anything at all. He's teetering right there on the edge of oblivion anyway, and he might as well jump right in. But then the song changes, and Klaus stops in his tracks, feeling a flush run through his body as his heart starts to pound.
Let me sleep all night in your soul kitchen
Warm my mind near your gentle stove
Turn me out and I'll wander, baby
Stumblin' in the neon groves
The flashing lights seem to start to swirl around him, and suddenly he's back in that bar in Vietnam, back on that battlefield, kissing Dave, pressing his hands against the hole in Dave's chest and watching them turn crimson. Klaus puts his hands over his ears and closes his eyes, but all he can see is Dave, covered in blood, gasping for breath. He watching the light leave Dave's eyes, watching him die, and he can't stop seeing it. It's been years now, and it's still always right there behind his eyelids.
Someone puts their arm around his waist and tugs him in close and Klaus feels as if he might heave. The man says that he knows where they could go to have a good time, and Klaus knows what he looks like: a strung out junkie, up for anything, too out of it to say no. He's the kind of monster that Klaus would have left with, back before Dad died, before the apocalypse, before Dave. Before Obi-Wan and his siblings foolishly saw him as something better than he is.
The man holds up a tiny baggie of off-white powder and Klaus's eyes widen. It's the kind of drug that he hasn't touched in years, since he was at his messiest. He feels his stomach lurch, stumbling as the man tries to drag him towards the door. Maybe he should just go with it, let himself be whisked away and dragged back down into the gutter, but he sees flashes of all those beautiful faces of people who care about him for some reason, and it gives him the small burst of resolve that he needs.
Well, the clock says it's time to close now
I know I have to go now
Klaus pushes the man away and turns to leave, ignoring all the names that the guy calls after him. He gets outside and is surprised to find that it's nighttime, and he pulls another pill out of his pocket and pops it into his mouth. No, he won't inject himself with anything, not ever again, but these were always his drug of choice anyway.
Somewhere on the way back to the house, he stops to buy another bottle of whiskey. The cashier looks at him like he's pathetic, but money is money, so he makes the sale. He almost makes it home, wondering how the hell he's going to climb up the fire escape like this, when he approaches the small park just up the street from the house.
There's a bench on the edge of the grass, facing the sidewalk, and there's something resting on it, illuminated by the streetlight. Once Klaus gets closer, he realizes that it's a military helmet, jungle green and standard issue. His vision goes double for a long moment as he stares unblinkingly, and then the D. KATZ in black ink along the back comes into focus, and the bottle of whiskey drops from Klaus's hand to land on the sidewalk with a thud, tipping over and rolling along the pavement, arcing until the lid is pointing at the helmet like some fucked up game of spin the bottle.
Klaus lurches toward the bench and picks up the helmet, running his trembling fingers over the ink. He was there when Dave put it there, and Klaus remembers laughing and asking him why, pointing out that they were standard. This one is mine, he had said, and Klaus had rolled his eyes and winked at him because there were too many people around to kiss him like he wanted.
He turns the helmet over and brings it to his face, feeling his legs give out as he takes in the scent of sweat and jungle and Dave, woodsy and a little like sunshine. Klaus had almost forgotten how good he always smelled. His ass meets the bench and he stares down at the helmet, turning it over to rest it on his thighs. For a long time, he's too out of it to do anything at all. The numbness that he's been chasing is right there, and Klaus knows that just one more pill will get him there. He could pull that bag out of his pocket, but instead he clutches at the helmet and bursts into tears.
Not even booze and pills could numb him, not today. He threw everything he'd been working toward away and set himself back, and it didn't even work. He's still sitting here sobbing over a helmet that shouldn't even be here, and a dead man who deserved more than pretty much anyone else to live.
Klaus doesn't know how long he sits there crying, sitting there in the cold in just a thin shirt because he didn't think to bring a jacket. His fingertips seem devoid of color as he wraps his arms around the helmet, curling around it as his shoulders quake.
He tried so hard to save Dave. He would have done anything to save him, would have swapped places in an instant, but he failed and now it seems that he's destined to be reminded of that forever. He thought he could be better, but maybe he was just fooling himself.
Maybe this is just who he is.
no subject
He frowns at Klaus's words, glancing down at the helmet. Five remembers the day that Klaus showed up without the briefcase, with a new tattoo, and dog tags Five didn't remember him having before. He'd had his own guesses for where Klaus had been, but they hadn't gotten into specifics.
"And that helmet just turned up, I take it?" Five asks, remembering a day not too long ago in Petros park, Dolores turning up on a bench out of nowhere.
After a moment of contemplation, Five peels off his suit jacket and offers it to Klaus. It's a cold night.
no subject
There's suddenly a shadow over his face, and Klaus looks up to see Five holding out his jacket. Klaus stares blankly for a moment, surprised by the gesture, but he reaches out to take it. He's moving sluggishly so it takes a fumbling moment, but he manages to get his arms through the sleeves before reaching up to wipe his face with his hands.
"I went on the bender before I even saw this," Klaus admits, though he's sure Five knew that already. He takes a breath and goes to speak, pauses, and then looks up at Five again. "I tried to save him, you know. Back in Dallas."
He knows that Five was deeply unimpressed with him in Dallas, but Five always seems unimpressed with him. Klaus knows that he should have tried harder to hold his shit together and help his family. There are a lot of things he should have done. "It didn't work. He still enlisted. He's still going to die. Or-- or did die. Who fucking knows what timeline we're even in anymore."
no subject
But instead of going through all that again, Five just frowns, looking down on his brother on the bench.
"I think we're outside the timeline actually. Nothing we do here actually impacts anything back home," Five says, though that's probably not what Klaus needs to hear right now. Dimensional theory and time travel explanations can probably come at another time. Five sits next to his brother then, taking a long look at the helmet and the name on the side.
"I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone and not be able to do anything about it," he says, sincere. Of course, he knows it's not the same; Five lost everyone and everything he ever cared about, but finding one perfect person is something else entirely.
"What was he like?"
no subject
The question makes him take a shuddering breath and he smiles fondly down at the helmet, trying his best to focus on the good memories, rather than all that blood on his hands. Even in the middle of a war, there so many good parts.
"He was so kind. Never let war change him," Klaus says with a smile. "He was strong, and he was so beautiful. Wasn't afraid to be vulnerable."
The more he speaks of Dave, the more Klaus realizes that he apparently has a type. "If anyone deserved to live, it was him."
no subject
Every one of them has lost someone, and even if it was supposed to happen, it doesn't mean it should have. And it doesn't mean it hurts any less.
"I wish I could have met him," he says.
no subject
"I wish you all could have." He smiles a little and then looks up at Five again, shrugging helplessly. "I tried to conjure him earlier. I knew it wouldn't work, but I still tried."
He never could conjure Dave. He was never sober enough in the right timeline, and now he's cut off from that plane of existence entirely. He can't conjure anyone who didn't die in Darrow, which is usually fine by him.
With a heavy sigh, Klaus drags himself to his feet and looks down at Five, before blinking and adjusting his eyeline to this new, taller, older Five. The mustache is such a bold choice. He respects it. "When we were in Vietnam, Dave always talked about how badly he wanted a good American cheeseburger when he got home. This isn't America, but the burgers are close enough."
Klaus gives Five a bit of a hopeful smile. "Do you want to go get one with me?"