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 was from Texas," Klaus says, even though he knows that Obi-Wan won't understand he significance of such a thing. "He always said he was going to show me real barbeque. He missed ribs and hamburgers."
He lifts his hand to wipe his face with the back of his wrist, and then tucks his hair behind his ear. "And apple pie," he adds, huffing out a laugh as he finally lifts his head to look at Obi-Wan. "You don't know it, but that is the most cliché American thing."
no subject
"How about this?" he asks, tilting the phone so Klaus can see the screen.
It may not be quite what Dave wanted, given where they've found themselves, in this vastly different city. And Obi-Wan has to admit Dave probably never imagined Klaus would go somewhere like this without another man, but it's still something. Maybe something that will ease a bit of the grief.
no subject
"Yeah, that sounds good." He's probably too much of a mess to go into a restaurant, but eating something will surely help. He sits up and wipes his eyes, and then takes the elastic from his wrist to pull his messy hair up into bun. He stands, wobbling slightly, and then looks down at the bottle of whiskey resting on the ground for a moment. Eventually, he kicks it under the bench. It can be a nice treat for some other sloppy drunk.
"Do I look somewhat presentable?" Klaus asks, reaching out for Obi-Wan's hand. "Enough to go drunkenly eat one of the messiest foods in the world, at least?"
no subject
"Yes," he says. "But if you'd like me to order ahead for take out, I'll be happy to do so. We can bring it right back here, make a mess in the park. Or you can come home with me."
There is nothing suggestive in his tone. All he wants now is to make sure Klaus is safe and maybe, if he feels safe, that he can get some rest.
no subject
Come home with me. Those are words that Klaus has heard countless times in his life, but it means something entirely different when Obi-Wan says them now. Something soft and intimate, something so far beyond sex. The way he says home makes Klaus's breath hitch for reasons he couldn't explain, but he knows that he would follow Obi-Wan anywhere.
"Take out and home," Klaus repeats, giving Obi-Wan a small, genuine smile as he reaches up to curl his hands around the other man's wrists. "I'd like that very much."
no subject
And if Dave is out there, part of the Force now, Obi-Wan hopes he understands. He hopes he feels how much Klaus loves him, what a gift he's been given, even if his own life was cut short.
They are lucky men, he and Dave, to experience someone's love like Klaus's.
no subject
"Uh, a rack of ribs and brisket," Klaus begins. The screen is kind of blurry, but he recognizes the restaurant. It's the one ran by David's hot friend, his eyebrow twin. It's good. They have barbecue and pie. Dave would have loved it. "Potato salad, baked beans, and an apple pie. A whole apple pie."
Now that he's talking about food, he realizes how hungry he is. He hasn't really eaten all day, and he can't help but to be grateful to Obi-Wan for this. It's a wonderful idea, a happy way to celebrate the memory of someone he loved so much with someone he loves now, someone who respects the place Dave holds in his heart.
"I should have just come to you in the first place," he says with a sigh, because it was dumb to think he could handle today on his own.
no subject
"Ready for pickup in twenty minutes," he says once he's placed the order. The phone is returned to the pocket of his trousers and he turns his attention to what Klaus has said about coming to find him. With a small shake of his head, he frowns. It isn't that he doesn't want Klaus to come to him in moments of difficulty, only that he doesn't see a purpose in Klaus regretting the decisions he made.
They were his choices. The ones he thought best in the moment. Perhaps next time they'll be different, but for now these are the ones he made.
"You did what you needed to this time," he answers. "And we're together now."
no subject
"In a way, I'm kind of glad you saw how much of a mess I can be," Klaus finds himself saying as he takes Obi-Wan's hand once his phone is put away. "I was worried about it. But now you've seen it, and you're still here. You still love me."
Because it's obvious that Obi-Wan does. It's not as it he genuinely thought that Obi-Wan would give up on him so easily, but anxiety is an awful thing. It's tough to fight against all the terrible things in his head on the best days, and tougher still on days like this. But he knows. No matter what his stupid brain tells him, Obi-Wan loves him. Even when he's a mess.
no subject
But Obi-Wan can't imagine why this would ever change what he felt.
"Of course I do," he says, then lifts Klaus's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "No one would ever love anyone if we expected them to be perfect at all times. There's so much more to all of us than that."
The imperfections are part of what he loves. Klaus may fall down, but he's too stubborn to stay there. He may have been hurt, but he still loves with his whole heart, giving of himself to his family, his friends. To Obi-Wan.
no subject
He truly believes that Obi-Wan could be with anyone he wanted. He's handsome, and charming, and kind. He's wonderful, and he loves Klaus. He wants to be with Klaus, even with all his issues, and he's just so grateful for that.
For a long moment, he just stands there staring at Obi-Wan, and then lunges forward to throw his arms around Obi-Wan's shoulders and pull him into a hug, because he doesn't know what else to do.
"I can't believe that I found you," he says quietly, tucking his cold face into the warm curve of Obi-Wan's neck. Against all odds, Klaus found him.
no subject
He is not a man who believes in fate or that things are pre-determined. At the very basis of everything he's learned is choice and free will. Everyone connected to the Force has a choice to make whenever they use it, for good or for ill, and although neither of them chose to be here in Darrow, they choose what to do with the time they're given.
Whether or not they'd have found each other elsewhere is irrelevant. They've found one another here and they're making their choices every day to do right by the other in a way that makes sense for them. It's what matters. The journey is the best part of everything, not the destination, and Obi-Wan is happy to be on this journey now, in this city, with all these people around him, and with Klaus.