terriblymisguided (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terriblymisguided) wrote2022-06-27 02:02 pm
terriblymisguided) wrote2022-06-27 02:02 pm
Entry tags:
death is but the next great adventure
Klaus has a funny relationship with death. Mostly, he's a little surprised that after a childhood spent being a rather worthless superhero, followed by over a decade of addiction and one stupid decision after another, death hasn't come for him yet. It's sort of a miracle that he's even stayed alive this long, given the circumstances .
There have been close calls, of course. Perhaps none closer than that night with Luther where he struck his head against a cement floor and went to wherever that was where he spoke with that bitchy child and his bitchier father.
It had even gotten to the point where Klaus thought that maybe he'd end up cheating death entirely, but it seems that he was wrong about that. Death will come for him. He thinks maybe it's coming for him now.
Death is at the front of his mind, but that isn't surprising. What else is there to think about when you're bleeding out on the sidewalk?
It all happens very fast.
Klaus is walking along the street, sipping iced coffee and gesticulating wildly as he recounts an embellished story about a drag king he'd befriended in Amsterdam, when suddenly there's a wild cacophony of sound. A peaceful afternoon is disrupted when a car runs a red light and crashes into the side of another car, sending it spinning wildly into the front of a bakery just a few yards from where they're standing.
Glass and metal explode outward and litter the ground, which startles Klaus enough that he drops his iced coffee. The plastic breaks as it hits the pavement and the coffee spills, sending the liquid outward to follow the patterns of cracks and grooves in the sidewalk.
"That was a close one, huh?" Klaus says to the person next to him, but his voice sounds strange. His throat tickles and when he tries to clear it, the taste of copper fills his mouth and he coughs a little in surprise, blinking as blood trickles out from the corner of his mouth.
He hears a scream and coughs again, starting to shake as he tips his head down to look at his chest. There's so much blood there suddenly, pumping out of a hole in his chest and staining the thin pink tee that he's wearing. It spreads outwards like the coffee on the ground, growing and taking over whatever dry space it can reach.
Klaus reaches up to touch his trembling fingers to the edge of the jagged wound, coughing again as he slowly turns to look behind him. There's a piece of metal on the ground, rebar shrapnel, and it too is covered in crimson red. “Fuck.”
It's only once he realizes what's happened that it starts to hurt, and he feels like a child that's fallen down but doesn't start to cry until he spots the blood on his knee. It hurts so bad that Klaus can't breathe, or maybe that's because his lungs are filling up with blood.
He gives the person next to him a panicked look and then stumbles backwards, collapsing back onto the pavement and staring up at the sky. There's blood in his throat, pooling in his mouth until he chokes, and a part of him wants to laugh.
All those dangerous missions, all those years ruining himself with drugs. Multiple apocalypses. Frontline combat in Vietnam. All of that and this is how he's going to go-- random happenstance. A horrible accident. It'd be hilarious if it wasn't so fucking depressing.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out to the person kneeling at his side, because he loves them and he doesn't want them to have to deal with this. He doesn't want to leave them, but everything is getting dark and cold and he's being called away to somewhere else.
Death is pulling him away, sick of being cheated out of the chance to reap Klaus Hargreeves, and this time, he can't seem to fight it.
This time, he has to go, even though it's the most that he's ever wanted to stay.
There have been close calls, of course. Perhaps none closer than that night with Luther where he struck his head against a cement floor and went to wherever that was where he spoke with that bitchy child and his bitchier father.
It had even gotten to the point where Klaus thought that maybe he'd end up cheating death entirely, but it seems that he was wrong about that. Death will come for him. He thinks maybe it's coming for him now.
Death is at the front of his mind, but that isn't surprising. What else is there to think about when you're bleeding out on the sidewalk?
It all happens very fast.
Klaus is walking along the street, sipping iced coffee and gesticulating wildly as he recounts an embellished story about a drag king he'd befriended in Amsterdam, when suddenly there's a wild cacophony of sound. A peaceful afternoon is disrupted when a car runs a red light and crashes into the side of another car, sending it spinning wildly into the front of a bakery just a few yards from where they're standing.
Glass and metal explode outward and litter the ground, which startles Klaus enough that he drops his iced coffee. The plastic breaks as it hits the pavement and the coffee spills, sending the liquid outward to follow the patterns of cracks and grooves in the sidewalk.
"That was a close one, huh?" Klaus says to the person next to him, but his voice sounds strange. His throat tickles and when he tries to clear it, the taste of copper fills his mouth and he coughs a little in surprise, blinking as blood trickles out from the corner of his mouth.
He hears a scream and coughs again, starting to shake as he tips his head down to look at his chest. There's so much blood there suddenly, pumping out of a hole in his chest and staining the thin pink tee that he's wearing. It spreads outwards like the coffee on the ground, growing and taking over whatever dry space it can reach.
Klaus reaches up to touch his trembling fingers to the edge of the jagged wound, coughing again as he slowly turns to look behind him. There's a piece of metal on the ground, rebar shrapnel, and it too is covered in crimson red. “Fuck.”
It's only once he realizes what's happened that it starts to hurt, and he feels like a child that's fallen down but doesn't start to cry until he spots the blood on his knee. It hurts so bad that Klaus can't breathe, or maybe that's because his lungs are filling up with blood.
He gives the person next to him a panicked look and then stumbles backwards, collapsing back onto the pavement and staring up at the sky. There's blood in his throat, pooling in his mouth until he chokes, and a part of him wants to laugh.
All those dangerous missions, all those years ruining himself with drugs. Multiple apocalypses. Frontline combat in Vietnam. All of that and this is how he's going to go-- random happenstance. A horrible accident. It'd be hilarious if it wasn't so fucking depressing.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out to the person kneeling at his side, because he loves them and he doesn't want them to have to deal with this. He doesn't want to leave them, but everything is getting dark and cold and he's being called away to somewhere else.
Death is pulling him away, sick of being cheated out of the chance to reap Klaus Hargreeves, and this time, he can't seem to fight it.
This time, he has to go, even though it's the most that he's ever wanted to stay.
no subject
The people are shrieking and scrambling around them, healers looking as confused as Lan Wangji feels and they must leave. He must hold himself together.
"Hold on to me, we will talk," he promises, scooping Klaus's gangly form up as it he weighed nothing. "How far is your home?" He does not think Klaus could stay on the sword if he were to fly him, having just risen from the dead.
no subject
"Have you really never been to my house?" Klaus asks, because it's easier to think about that then, well, everything else. He shakes his head a little and then takes a deep breath, wincing as it pulls at the gaping wound in his chest, the should be fatal wound, the one that is slowly starting to close up as he's carried down the street.
"It's not far. Turn left at the light," Klaus tells him, focusing on breathing and healing. Eventually they make it to Hargreeves House, and Klaus hopes desperately that no one else is home. He doesn't want them to see him like this, because then he'll have to explain it, which means that he'll have to really examine it, and that sounds awful.
"Here," he says, grunting as he reaches into his pocket for his keys, one silver and one brass, one for each of his homes. "It's this one."
no subject
He has willed himself steady and strong and held nearly perfectly together until he can be assured that Klaus is truly okay. Only his red eyes and white knuckled grip on Klaus's long limbs could give him away.
"Are you in pain?" he asks, voice hoarse as he looks around for their lounging room. "I can heal you more. I can fix it."
no subject
Not important. He's still being held by a man who, before today, would flinch away from nearly every casual, friendly touch that Klaus ever tried to give him. Special circumstances, he supposes.
"There's a hole in my chest, so yeah," Klaus replies to the question, but he shakes his head at the offer to heal him. Lan Wangji didn't bring him back from the dead Klaus did that all by himself, somehow, and he kind of wants to see how it plays out. "Just put me on the floor. I don't want to fuck up the couch."
no subject
"Let me ease your pain," he insists, eyes wide with worry as the stares down at Klau's pale face. There is blood on it, on his chest, all over and he does not understand what is happening. "Please."
no subject
He's about to decline Lan Wangji's offer but refrains when he sees the look on his face, obviously upset and wanting to help.
"You can take my pain," Klaus says raggedly, and then holds up one bloody hand to point at him. "Just my pain. Don't heal me, okay? I seem to be handling that part on my own and I want to ride it out."