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
Vanya tugs her tiny gloves onto his hands and Klaus can't help but to smile, just a little. She seems upset and he doesn't want to be the reason why, so he nods a little and sits up, clutching the helmet to his chest.
"We can go home," he says after a moment, glancing in the direction of their house and pulling himself unsteadily to his feet. "Will you stay with me?"
no subject
"Of course I'll stay with you," she promises, giving his cold forehead a little kiss. Tiny Vanya gathers her brother up in her arms as best she can and helps him to his feet. It's easy to duck under his arm and curl hers around his waist, ready to hold him steady, if he needs it. She suspects he might.
Does he want to hold Dave's helmet? Would it be better if she did? It would take words to respectfully execute this gesture, and she doesn't know if she can find them.
"Do you want to talk about any of it?" She doesn't know what he's on, where he went, how he's feeling. "We don't have to." Klaus can set the pace and the tone and she'll keep it. Right now it's about getting him through.
no subject
"I'm not sure," he says honestly, swaying a bit as they head for the house. Of all of his siblings, Vanya is the easiest for him to talk to (aside from Ben, who seems to exist in his own category of spiritually conjoined twin), but he doesn't really know where to begin, or if talking will help at all. He's just so used to keeping everything inside.
"Ask me again after we order a pizza." They make it to the house and Klaus steps up to the door, biting his lip in worry. His expression is downtrodden for a moment, but then he takes a breath and lifts his chin, letting his brow smooth out as he lets the aloof mask take over his features, complete with the easy smile. "Alright, let's do this."
no subject
"I have other questions before the pizza," she says once they're just in front of the door. "Like what do you want on your pizza?" She finds she's taking a breath here herself. Living in a house full of people means answering to them. For Vanya, it's a thrill every time someone asks where she's going or where she's been. In this case, that might not be such a welcome question and definitely not hers to answer. There's a Vanya-neutral that she long-ago schooled her face into so no one could know how easy it was to hurt her. It's less natural without the pills, but it's a place she can always get back to.
Klaus' transformation is more impressive. She looks up at him and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear in solidarity. The door pushes open.
There's no one in the foyer. No on in the kitchen or library. The chances that they are alone are very slim, but it looks like they may have somehow happened upon a quiet house. Maybe one or two of the others are in their rooms, but the lack of hustle and bustle is strange, but it might be a huge relief.
"Are you okay to walk? I can get you some dry clothes o-or start some coffee if you want to be alone." She wants to make sure he knows he doesn't have to worry about her feelings and to make sure her feelings know not to be hurt, if that's a thing.
no subject
"I want to make a joke about meat lover's, but it's not worth the heartburn." He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then opens a cupboard to grab his box of Lactaid before dropping into a seat at the table. "Something with lots of veggies. And pepperoni."
After taking a long sip of water, he furrows his brow and looks up at Vanya. "What's your favorite pizza? That feels like something I should know."
no subject
Even still, Klaus makes an effort. Without taking care of himself, he works to take care of Vanya, asking questions and providing validation that leaves little space for Vanya to feel unwelcome, anyway. She would do anything to bring him peace if she could.
She can't. So, she brings him a blanket instead.
"Meat lovers," she responds dryly, her hands squeezing his shoulders over the blanket she's placed there. Her eyes land on the helmet. She wants to take it from him, as if replacing it with a coffee cup would ease some of his pain. It won't, she knows, and she doesn't want to be another person that takes from him. From anyone.
"Pepperoni and veggies sounds great," she amends. She pries herself away from him and starts to make coffee. Then, she makes a call for pizza using her little pocket phone. It is her understanding that there are easier ways to do this, but she hasn't committed herself to learning to use apps or understand the internet. Not yet. There's too much else to learn right now.
"Half an hour or so," she says, once the call is done. From her perch at the sink, she cocks her head, inspecting her brother.
Carefully, she asks, "can you... try and tell me what I can do to help you? What would be best for you right now?" There's a chance he doesn't know specifics, and that's fine. Asking for help is tough, but trying to assume she knows how to help him might only end in tension and she would hate to be another weight on Klaus' shoulders right now. It's good to communicate, when they can.
no subject
"You're doing it," he says in response to her question, looking up with a smile and a helpless shrug as he tucks his hair behind his ears. "You're here."
She cares enough to look deeper than the mess he's made of himself, and to try and figure out what's really going on. She cares about him. That's more than enough.
"I'll be okay," he assures her after a moment, smiling a little and resting his hand on top of the helmet, patting it a few times. "It's just a bad day. I'm not going to spiral."
Maybe some other time, he would have, but not now. He has too many good things going for him right now to throw it all away.
no subject
"Even if you do," Vanya begins, placing coffee, sugar and creamer in front of him, "or did. I'm here for you. No matter what." She means it so deeply that it doesn't even feel like a heavy thing in her chest. It's hard to see him hurt - and in the times she saw him really spiral, it was hard to see him hurt himself - but the Hargreeves show up for each other. Period.