Chapter Text
Ludford’s fucking late. Again.
Klaus shifts his weight from one foot to the other, tries and fails to not look like he’s about to buy drugs off of a well known dealer. This lateness is a show that Klaus has no patience for, the guys screwing with him just because Klaus insisted on the location.
Rain’s sluicing down and bubbling in torrents, flooding the street, it has him yanking the hood of his jacket higher, not helping with the imagery but it’ll have to do because he’s already soaked and the last thing he needs is a cold. This wouldn’t have been necessary, Klaus should be passed out on his couch blitzed out of his mind instead of standing around in this week long storm that seems to get worse with each fucking day.
He has no guilt over blaming Diego for his current predicament.
The scraggly college student he normally hits up won’t come near him anymore, it’s not his fault, Klaus would have scarpered as well. It’s not everyday that your usual customers wannabe Batman bodyguard lands a twenty foot drop and threatens to slice their throat open if they go for the weapon tucked into their belt.
Klaus’ voice cracks as he hisses his displeasure when Diego tries to defend his actions.
“He could have killed you!”
“Every dealer carries. It’s a fucking accessory shitbird!”
So that options out, and the next two he comes across are complete strangers that he’s tracked down. Mind focusing for once on the task of finding a substance that’ll erase the sensation of spiders scuttling across his flesh.
One only has the cheap, cut down shit and Klaus gets cocky, thinks that he has time to find better, like he’s suddenly developed morals. The other guy…
“You were right one time.” The confession tastes acrid on his tongue.
“You're welcome.”
“Fuck off.”
“Who called who first?”
Klaus scowls and decides against pointing out that he hadn’t signed up for a knock off superhero fucking up his dealings. He rests himself against a dumpster covered partially by a fire escape, shivering hands flicking at his lighter as he smokes up the last of his weed. Diego’s wiping the blood off of his blade and Klaus refuses to acknowledge the curve of his mouth as it quirks up.
It was rather amusing to watch the greasy shit reaching for his gun and before the things untucked from his waist band- so fucking original- there’s a familiar whistle and an impressive spray of blood from a relatively minor cut spanning the guys bicep.
Typical for Klaus’ luck the fucker only drops the gun when he bolts.
He has to collar Diego before the furious man gives chase, the last thing he needs is a dead dealer coming back to bite him in the ass. And not in the way he likes either.
Ludford’s a monumental prick, but he’s a straight up type of dealer, there’s none of the shady behaviour that you get from the others, he knows who Klaus is, who his ‘father’ is and that means he’ll bring some decent shit. Klaus waits out this power play and tries not to wince when he thinks about the premiums he’s about to get hit with. Mentally reviews his list of curses to use on the bastard he knows is perched up on the rooftop opposite them, the perfect viewpoint.
He gives the quickest of glances towards the building, satisfied that the terrace cover he’d previously spotted keeps the worst of the weather at bay.
Klaus has nothing against Diego getting something out of this fucked up arrangement.
What he has an issue with is the futile attempts at expanding the times they spend together outside of Diego fucking his anxious brain silent.
He’s does a rather spectacular job of distracting Two whenever the topics bought up, superior as their genes are, there’s nothing that scrambles the thought process better than somebody dropping to their knees in front of you.
Klaus tries not to smirk when an audible gulp clashes with the gratifying click of Diego’s belt buckle. He trails a path of broken kisses and harsh bites across firm abdominals, descending down until he’s mouthing the hard line under those briefs and there’s fingers grasping, beautifully tight, in his hair. He works Diego’s cock free and traces the throbbing vein with his tongue.
“Klaus, you don’t have to-”
He cuts Two off by taking him to the back of his throat, groaning when hips buck and he hums around the weight. He’s always enjoyed coaxing hoarse noises out of people, gotten off to them more often than not, and the suppressed whines that Diego hides behind the knuckles of a clenched fist are particularly potent.
Diego's other hand rests in Klaus’ hair, fingers fisted around the curls and they aren’t trying to guide or move him in anyway. They’re just unignorably there and it’s the preconstruction playing out in his mind, of Diego using his mouth to fuck himself through his own pleasure that has Klaus moaning around his length.
He takes him deep, forcing Diego’s cock as far back as he can, ignoring the spasm that quivers in his throat, at the limits of what he can take, there’s too much saliva and precome that he knows it’s drooling down his chin. Klaus doesn’t give two shits when he has Diego’s trembling hips firmly pinned to the wall, and he can feel minute ripples racing over tan flesh. Diego lets him keep this pretence of immobility, like the guy couldn’t break Klaus’ hold with the barest of efforts.
It’s a fatal mistake to glance up.
Diego’s watching him, eyes burning with desire that has Klaus’ dick twitching uncomfortably and he presses a hand against his cock, grinds into the pressure in a feeble attempt to slake the worst of his hunger. When he hollows his cheeks and his tongue flicks teasing touches to the swollen head leaking copious amounts of precome into his gluttonous mouth, Two’s growl breaks off into something nearing a whine.
His blood quickens as he realises that Diego’s a wreck, destroyed because of Klaus.
Diego comes with an invocation of Klaus’ name, a litany that tumbles from his mouth in rough gasps and Klaus sucks him down, greedily swallowing the bitter pulses of fluid. It’s been a long time since Klaus remembers enjoying this, whining around the heat and pressure that has his jaw aching in the most delicious way.
His brain clouds with a wave of need and he tries to divert that haze with the distraction of Diego’s overstimulated flinch when Klaus lazily laps at his softening cock. He feels strangely defeated when Diego pulls him up into a searing kiss that his him squirming, because fuck he’s hard. He isn’t expecting much in return, at this point it’s sad to admit but Klaus thinks he can get off by rutting against Diego’s thigh, beyond any shame such an act would bring.
It’s unexpected when a hand slides under his boxers, closes around him and squeezes, a hot mouth swallows his whimper and Klaus should know by now that Diego can’t tolerate the balance being uneven. He doesn’t complain when the man wrecks him with just his lips and teeth and tongue.
Klaus will deny the needy, keening noises he makes until the day he dies.
Ben comes back to him.
Klaus has made tremendous effort in lugging his weary body onto the couch to watch some generic sitcom. Diego’s been suggesting he does something other than lounging in bed getting high. Klaus wouldn’t listen normally but he’s a little bit out of it when he’s being railed over his kitchen counter and the bastard sneaks the comment in.
Klaus gasps out a promise between the quaking pleasure from Diego’s slowly twisting hips hitting his prostate with unerring accuracy, canines biting and bruising a mark possessively along the slope of his shoulder. He never returns the gesture, even when he knows that they’d be gratefully received, he has no claim over Diego, repudiates Two whenever he tries to say otherwise.
They're both painfully aware what marks like that announce to the world, what they declare between them, that Klaus has accepted there’s no golden path in the future that’ll lead him back to Dave. He has to endure an existence where he’ll never see that handsome smile again.
Klaus deliberately forgets in these moments how much he begs for more. For harder.
Diego takes pity on him as his pace turns punishing and there’s going to be a day when he doesn’t relent to Klaus’ pleas, he’ll gently guide Klaus through the intimacy he’s been avoiding with soft hands and that terribly fond smile.
Klaus is petrified of the day he’ll want it.
So he makes this small concession, follows through on it because after all he’s a man of his word. Fucking liar. The couch counts as moving.
Klaus is about to wind down, the mind numbing buzz he’s achieved through a precise balance of ethanol and sleep deprivation is starting to tip towards a dozy haze.
He’s as afraid of sleeping as he’s become of dying.
Klaus’ considering whether the effort of hauling himself to the kitchen and making a coffee is worth his time when there’s a tingle along his scalp and he knows that Ben’s perched by his feet. “You watch some weird stuff.”
“Change the channel then.” He can’t resist peeking a glance just to be sure that Ben’s really there. He is. And it’s so fucking wonderful that his head aches with a sombre adoration for his brother.
“Ever the funny sibling” Ben eyes him over, Klaus waits for the same lecture he’s heard a thousand different variations of over the last few months. “You don’t look shit for once.”
“Says the dead man.”
“That’s my excuse, what’s yours?”
Klaus wants to smile at his brother, his only companion that’ll never truly leave him behind. He’s not quite there yet, and from Ben’s crooked grin it’s evident that he gets it. They watch the piss poor excuse for a show, Ben deconstructs the scenes and makes scathing comments on each character, not leaving a space for Klaus to join in. One day he’ll let his brother know how grateful he is for the kind act.
Klaus isn’t aware that he drifts off, the only indicator between blinking is the sudden change in light. The cast over grey of pre dawn and the flickering light bulb over head is replaced by shafts of sunlight between his shuttered blinds and Klaus takes a very human moment to breath whilst he looks around the room.
Ben’s gone.
He’ll be back though. Klaus ignores the prickling of his eyes at the thought.
What, in the ever loving fuck, is this?
Klaus scowls at his intruder, the little shit stalks through his apartment with no consideration to the noise it’s claws make on the floorboards as it mewls, the noise of it sets his skin on edge while he’s smoking in the shower to defend himself against the chill that’s intent on obliterating the fraying control that he’s reclaimed recently.
He could listen to Ben, as he sits cross legged on the toilet, and just call Diego to come and fuck him back into something resembling a person. At the same time, no fucking thank you, his joint does a perfectly good job without the added complications Two brings with him.
So Klaus doesn’t appreciate being dragged away from such an important task to track down the source of the racket, he’s considering stabbing the feline when he finally finds it, sat on a counter as it surveys the room with, in Klaus’ unbias opinion, a snootily disdainful look.
Prick.
He doesn’t think it’s alive to begin with, not that he’s had much experience with undead animals, it just seems much more likely than a real living cat showing up out of nowhere. He ignores it, resuming his activities in the shower stall, blurring between coherency and the glittering sheen slowly webbing across his vision.
“Ow! Son of a-”
Pain lances out of the claw marks on his hand, pulls him out of that perfect blend and Klaus isn’t fucking happy about the blood beading up. The ginger queen shakes herself in a manner that tells Klaus that he’d better pay attention or there’s more of that on the way.
There’s a fucking cat in his apartment.
He stumbles to the sink and splashes tepid water to his skin, bleary eyes staring back in the cracked mirror. He doesn’t bother drying as he spins on his heel in time to see her hopping up onto the radiator.
It’s ludicrous, he lives on the fourth floor. How the hell did she get in?
“You have a cat.” Ben cackles by Klaus’ shoulder.
No he fucking doesn’t.
“Isn’t she… you know…” He pretends to make a noose, tilting his head and crossing his eyes.
“Don’t be stupid Klaus.” Which isn’t exactly an answer.
He grouches and side steps carefully around her when she tries to approach him, rapidly retreating towards the kitchen. He does not jump when she sneaks behind him and scales his back like a fucking monkey, and despite Ben’s snicker he does not shriek when she settles down on his shoulder. He does however shift her off and waves some leftover Chinese in a carton as a deterrent when shrewd eyes size him up.
“She looks underweight, maybe it’s a stray?” His brother muses as Klaus lingers against the far wall whilst it demolishes the takeaway food. She does appear rather battered and filthy, an obnoxious pang reverberates through his chest when he spies a grotesque scar running along one ear and tapering off near the edge of her mouth, marring the ruffled fur.
“Don’t care, she’s gotta go.” He can’t even drag his own life up from the dirt, let alone take on a dependant.
The battle wages for a week, much to Ben’s delight. Klaus has met a worthy adversary in the shape of a bedraggled feline. But he’s a veteran, he’s fought much worse enemies than this, and he will not be defeated by an entitled ginger menace.
Klaus shoos her out the front door.
She haughtily slinks into his bedroom and hops up to judge him when he’s attending to personal needs.
He travels down to the buildings lobby, ignoring soft purrs as he clutches her to his chest before leaving her on the sidewalk.
She shatters a stained ceramic mug, kicking it off of the table as she hikes along it.
He drops her off at the local vets, trying not to flip off the receptionist when she snarkily informs him that they prefer not to take strays.
She rakes her claws down his bare chest in the rare moment he falls asleep.
Extreme measures are taken, the windows are fastened shut, he locks the door, slamming the dead bolt across, going so far as to ram one of his kimonos under the fingernail width of a gap at the base and Klaus refuses all visitors for the next 48 hours as he camps down to wait the feline out. Well he technically only has one person left alive that comes over. Diego chuckles as Klaus tries to explain how he’s being held hostage by the furry bastard, and before Klaus can tell him to do something questionable to his own anatomy, there’s crashing and grunting and- was that a fucking gunshot?
“Don’t worry about it.” Diego answers before he can ask. “I’m out with Luther.”
Klaus decides against pushing the matter, if Diego was in any real harm then he wouldn’t be answering his god damn phone and laughing at Klaus’ problem. He hangs up and glowers at the device before collecting a bottle and downing shot after shot, only for the reason that he’s pissed off at the world, not because there’s a sheen of sweat coating his skin suddenly.
(Later when the screen lights up with a message asking for updates on the siege, Klaus stares for an extraordinarily long time, until his eyes blur from the strain).
“Isn’t this a bit extreme?” Ben says from his position reclining on the floor, leaning up on his arms and his mirthful countenance is the flint striking Klaus’ exhausted tinder.
“I swear to god I’ll douse you in holy water.
“Oooh don’t just stop there, spank me with a bible daddy.” Ben’s sarcastically retorts.
There’s something infuriating about his foot gliding through his brothers form as he tries to kick him, even worse when he doesn’t stop the momentum in time and he rebounds off a table leg. In between bouts of cursing so blue it would make a sailor blush, Ben guffaws, rolling across the floor as he clutches his side.
Klaus holds up a single digit.
It’s his victory when they’re still clear the next day and just as he’s patting himself on the back, Klaus hears a quiet chirp and there’s a resounding smash followed by scrabbling paws. He barely dares to look at the broken glass and alcohol pooling across the floor.
Klaus is done!
He swipes her up and sneaks out of his own fucking apartment like a god damn criminal in the early hours of the morning, skulks blindly down street after street until his feet sting, calls a mother fucking taxi and at the last minute dives inside, slamming the door behind him. Not really required when he twists to look out of the window, she stares at the retreating vehicle, head cocking to the side.
There’s not a drop of guilt fizzling in his gut, not one little bit.
He repeats the mantra on a loop when he climbs out of the taxi and makes his way towards the front entrance. It’s fucking embarrassing the smile that cracks Klaus’ stiff face when he feels something thump against his back, scrambles, and a disgruntled feline purrs on his shoulder, claws digging in through his shirt.
He takes the bat to his ear and starts the long climb up the stairwell.
“If you wanna stay then you need a bath.” He informs her as he inhales a noxious odour, she peers down at him, golden eyes telling him precisely where he can shove that idea.
One pitifully short attempt later Klaus is sat cradling his hand - whole fucking arm - to his chest and taking shots of vodka, for medicinal purposes. She joins him, sitting on the table, daintily cleaning away the evidence of Klaus’ DNA and he swears she’s grinning at him.
“Blood thirsty little shit!” He hums to cover the laugh that buzzes in his throat when she bobs her head.
Klaus owns a fucking cat.
Klaus isn’t in the mood when Diego shows up.
He hasn’t slept in days, hasn’t showered or eaten in almost as long, his stomach burns and Klaus doesn’t care for much of anything. Ben’s sitting cross legged on a kitchen chair Klaus managed to drag over earlier, thankfully Six is quiet, the fracturing pain bursting through Klaus’ temples doesn’t allow conversation. Their trashiest sitcom is on and Klaus can’t even care enough to point out when they utilise the stereotypical miscommunication trope that Ben normally sneers at.
Diego lets himself in, the sound of the lock turning makes Klaus’ brain crack into long piercing shards.
He vaguely remembers a text yesterday, some plan for this evening that involves a Klaus that’s far less fucked up than this one. If such a thing is possible.
It’s the sprinkles on the top of his shit show of a day, he’s going to decline sex one time and Diego’s going to realise that Klaus isn’t good for a fuck. Won’t try on any other day when Klaus isn’t weighed down by day’s of exhaustion and living nightmares of war and blood.
Instead there’s a hand nudging his leg, giving up when it’s evident that Klaus isn’t moving, he suppresses a yelp when his limbs are casually lifted up. Klaus props his weight on his elbows, tries to express his distaste at being moved and shudders instead when Diego settles Klaus’ feet on his lap. One large hand rests on his ankle, it sears through his flesh and Klaus is about to snap that he’s really not in the mood.
Diego doesn’t move. There’s no accidental motion, fingers don’t skirt along his calf in a paltry attempt to tease him. Instead Klaus clenches his jaw against the soothing circles Diego’s thumb rubs lazily over his skin, smothering the sigh that almost filters out.
He doesn’t relax, not initially, even when he turns on his side to block out the sight beside him, wincing when it jars his fragile head. It hurts to think but his mind is racing without his permission, panic settling over his frame.
What the fuck did Diego want from him? Why was he so insistent on pushing for more? There’s no chance that the idiot can really want the colossal clusterfuck that is Klaus. The thought has a cheap laugh bubbling behind his lips before he flinches away from it, paranoia and insecurity and fatigue builds. He can picture it now, like rows of mortar and brick, a culmination of all the pain and terror, solidifying into an impenetrable barricade, his stronghold against the world.
It’s miserable, the stiffness in his joints eases under firm touches and Klaus has this nasty suspicion that he knows that this is the sort of connection that Diego tries to push him for.
He surreptitiously takes a peek over his shoulder, scans Diego’s expression for the real reason he’s doing this. It’s a nice face, when he lets himself accept the observation, one that he can see someone whiling away their life mapping out the curves of. He’s really fucked up when he can marvel at the sharp angles of Diego’s cheekbones and at the same time wonder whether he can shatter himself against them.
There’s a quiet hush to the air, but it's not a silence that's empty. Klaus has spent so many years trying to scream louder than the ghosts surrounding him that this nothingness doesn’t scare him like it should. Their two people that have done so much, know each other so implicitly that they can fill the void with their presence alone and Klaus realises this at the same time he notices the way his muscles have gone lax under talented fingers.
His brain feels like there’s someone levigating it and Klaus wants the same blissful sensation to spread along his skull. He could do with a deity to give him wisdom and guidance for this situation, when no flash of lightening or toga wearing, bearded fucker shows up he’s left with two choices.
Something akin to resolves settles over Klaus. He makes the decision. With as much fluidity as his shuddering body can allow Klaus clambers to his knees and switches his position, gracelessly dropping down, head settling into Diego’s lap, and fuck if the space isn’t just right.
There’s is a god to thank, Diego doesn’t falter, fingers ease over his clammy scalp and then he’s applying just the right sort of pressure that dulls out the pain.
He wonders whether it’s wise to trust the hands he’s seen so many times take Klaus apart with little more than a wicked smile, so close, when he’s so very vulnerable.
He buries a smile in the warmth of Diego’s thighs when nails gently drag through his hair.
Klaus has always trusted Diego, for better or worse, it’s acidic the betrayal he knows he should feel in this moment as he clenches the dog tags in a tight fist, he can feel the imprint branding itself into his palm. He’s fucking everything up and honestly… Klaus couldn’t care less if the moon exploded on them here and now, as long as those fingers stay buried in his hair.
“Good boy.”
This is such a ghastly idea.
Klaus grimaces as he shuffles nervously up and down the aisle, trying to reason with himself about what the fuck he’s doing moderately sober on a Wednesday afternoon shopping for cat food. He doesn’t blame one parent who clutches her shiny child to her side like Klaus is going to grab her and dash for the door, he feels displaced and suffocated. There’s too many people around him, normal fucking people. What was wrong with them all, going about their day like they weren’t all miserable in the banality of their lives.
It doesn’t help when all he can think about is the mortifying way his body hummed and quivered at the low pitch of Diego’s ‘good boy’, he’s lost the upper hand, it’s long fucking gone, probably carried away with his pathetic whimper. Diego keeps managing to take the inch Klaus is willing to offer, the wavering steps, and his enthusiasm blasts them unsteadily along. Klaus is still deciding how he feels about the matter.
What the hell was it with Diego’s talent for wrecking him with two words.
“Klaus?"
Vanya’s waving her hand, Klaus jolts when he realises that he’s been agitatedly muttering in front of the shelves for the last few minutes and there’s far lesser people around him than before. Like they’ve never seen a man in sheer panel leggings and a crop top arguing with a bag of dry kibble before.
“Talking to Ben?”
“Yeah.” He lies.
“How’re you doing Ben?”
Klaus subconsciously relaxes, Vanya since she first found out about their brother has made a habit of addressing Ben and relying on Klaus for answers only. It’s the conscientious effort he’s come to expect from the sibling who they’d all happily allowed to live in the shadows for most of their lives.
He feeds her another small lie. “He’s good.”
“So… you have anything specific in mind?” She gets straight to the point and he awkwardly gestures around them.
“Not a clue.”
“What have you been feeding her so far?”
Klaus shuffles guiltily. “A bit of this and that.”
Vanya doesn’t scoff at him, she’s too busy tossing things in a basket that he never thought to pick up, Klaus eyes the growing pile warily, compares the prices with how many pills he can obtain for the same amount. Klaus shakes his head, resolutely making an effort to peer over her shoulder at the selection.
“Cat isn’t there all of the time, she fucks off a lot, comes back every now and then.” He offers uselessly, starting to feel surplus, Vanya has this under control.
“What’s her name?”
“Cat.”
“I know that she’s a cat, what have you called her?”
“Cat.” Klaus frowns, he’s pretty sure that Vanya isn’t going deaf, though she’s sure as fuck acting like it.
“Please don’t tell me you haven’t named the poor thing.” Vanya wouldn’t say that if she’d been there this morning when the little psycho had woken him up by sinking her fangs into one of his toes.
“She’s a bitch Vanya.” A sharply dressed man tuts loudly as he passes and Klaus, without any thought, winks audaciously straight to his ruddy face.
Vanya stares, and a fraction of a second later Klaus realises what he’s done.
He panics, this is going too fast, fatigue already hovers over his body from the strain of Diego’s words and this is another blow to his psyche. It’s nauseating and yet there’s a traitorously small part that exclaims over unearthing that little glint of Klaus buried under all of the rot. A tiny, precious, uncorrupted piece of him that, with a little care, might still be worth something at the end of all this.
Vanya says nothing but there’s a glimmer of something unidentifiable in those clever eyes, and Klaus feels dangerously exposed from the scrutiny of that gaze.
He does the impossible and carves out another gem of old Klaus to deflect the attention.
“I suppose I could call her FUBAR.” Vanya gapes at his meretricious smile, her surprise manages to cover the way his nervous fingers twitch. “Too much?”
“Stick with Cat you monster.” Klaus almost pushes for a more genuine reaction as Vanya beams up at him. He diverts the energy, storing it deep in case there’s another minefield to navigate.
He falters at the checkout counter for no other reason than the teen behind the till calls him sir. Vanya’s swiping her card and steering him out of the store before he can quite work out why he’s short of breath. They get half way through the parking lot before Klaus is swinging around, fishing through the pockets of the oversized leather jacket that he’d swiped off his bedroom floor that morning. He is not a charity case, Vanya stops him with one hand hesitantly placed on his sleeve.
“Think of it as pay back for all of the entertainment I’ve had.”
“What?” His eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Five’s obsession with creating a fire proof suit for Dolores.”
The words register, his brain sluggishly provides the memory after a moment.
“Diego keeps dropping lighters around the house and Five’s started carrying a fire extinguisher around wherever he goes, he’s swearing blind that you’ve been sneaking back in to fuck with him.”
Klaus parses through the information, brows furrowing. “What about the camera’s dear old dad set up?”
Vanya smirks and Klaus likes the mischievous expression that loosens her usually stiff façade. “Luther may have accidentally fallen into some of the terminals, you know how big and clumsy he can be. Five was rather unkind when he found out, started suggesting it was done on purpose and Allison overheard him ranting when he was trying to fix the damage. It wasn’t civil. Diego really didn’t help when he started playing that burning love song on his phone, Five lost it and threw a screwdriver at his head.”
Klaus swallows as he imagines the scene his absurd family made, and then laughs. Howls and gasps through the tears catching in his eyes, and he’s bending over from the force shivering through his frame. Vanya’s giggles join him and Klaus doesn’t realise that he’s got a hand on her shoulder to steady himself, and she’s pressing her knuckles against her mouth and Klaus is almost hiccupping and crying with the purest of releases.
The day spirals violently out of control when Klaus finds the eye liner pencil tucked away behind a pile of dirty laundry.
The discovery initially excites him, another kernel of light glowing inside his chest. There was a time that this was Klaus’ shield against the world and he wonders if it might give him that power now. He balances against the sink, Cat hovers on her spot atop the radiator and Klaus can tell she approves of his work as he swipes bold lines along his eyelids. Ben’s face when he shows up spurs Klaus on.
The finished effect takes him back years, to a Klaus that thought the worse life had to throw at him was his fathers obsession. Now he’s standing in this cheap, shitty apartment with a cat that sporadically disappears and a brother who hasn’t a choice but to linger. He suddenly can’t cope with thinking about Two right now, not when he realises that this is it. What was enough beforehand is a pittance to the future Klaus could have had, with a love who’s absence leaves him in ruins.
It crashes down on him then, with no scrap of mercy to soften the blow. This is his life now. Dave’s never going to walk beside him again, he’ll never see those warm eyes crinkle from the smiles that he gifted to Klaus like they cost nothing. He’s never going to dance with the man that made his weary heart skip and stutter, there’s no more safety from a hand gripping his when he’s afraid. Klaus is going to age and wither away through the years and Dave won’t be there to experience it all with him.
Bring him back. Please. I’ll do anything.
He can’t endure this, can’t breath, can’t live without…
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Klaus pulls away from the sink, blindly staggers towards the stash he’s hidden at the back of his kitchen cabinet, crashing to the floor as he drowns the pills with long drains from a nearby bottle.
I can’t breathe.
The barrier he’s maintained for so long crumbles, erodes with every pump of his heart, each beat one that Dave will never have, will never share with Klaus. The pop of gunfire rains down on his stronghold as he scrambles to hold Dave’s face in his mind, makes bargains with the immortals for something he’ll never have.
I haven’t forgotten you Dave.
“Klaus?”
Where has Ben come from?
“Klaus, what have you taken?”
If he’d shut the fuck up Klaus might be able to find the right string of letters to form the perfect barter for Dave’s life. Five once told him that the right words can change the world.
I was praying you and I would end up together.
Everything’s going to be alright, Dave’s outline blurs and Klaus pushes more alcohol down, he’ll split himself apart to cling to his soldier.
It’s all dark.
“Klaus!”
There’s something happening to him, sinister poison trickling through his system since the worse night of his life. I don’t know what's wrong. I want it to Stop! The memories he possess are gone, fluttering away in ribbons of light and Klaus knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he must have something left to cling to. The soldier. The feeling’s there, but there’s also an emptiness. Like someone’s scooped out his innards and left only the shell of Klaus behind. Where there had been soldier now there’s a blank, a greyed out mental afterimage with no face, no name, and not a scrap of a memory.
Ben’s screaming at him, pushing to gain a corporeal form as he kneels. It’s funny, Klaus has never realised that a spirit can cry.
A shroud of warmth beckons him closer as it descends and Klaus thinks that it might be quite pleasant to surrender his cold body. He tries to lift his head, giggles when it bounces uselessly, chin tapping against his chest.
He’s so tired.
If Ben would be quiet then Klaus might finally get to sleep. Each nerve scraping word his brother roars has a jagged spear of pain lancing through his skull, it’s when he goes to snap back and his tongues lolls uselessly, Klaus’ realises with a startling clarity what’s happening.
He’s going to die.
The realisation hit’s him as sharply as Cat’s claws flaying his arm apart.
No.No.No.No.No.No.No.No.
He’s rising and stumbling, legs failing at the last moment as he collapses against the toilet and Klaus is ramming fingers down his throat and hurling up bile and vomit until his stomachs empty and his body’s broken on the floor.
“-Klaus”
Ben’s lying down, face pressed against the tiles as his fingers glitch through Klaus’ skin. He tries to summon enough energy, but there’s nothing and he’s screaming as his body feels horrifyingly foreign.
“I’m here Klaus.” Ben, his most treasured companion, Klaus repays that love by almost making him watch…
Purring warmth scolds his chest as Cat forces a space for herself against his sluggish heart, and the three of them stay curled up on the floor together whilst Klaus clutches the feline closer to his skin and shame floods his body at the tears streaking down his brothers face.
“Call him.”
It’s never going to be enough.
Klaus can’t do this, he’s not strong enough.
“If something happens I’m useless, I can’t do anything. Please Klaus.” A helpless choking sob breaks the pitiful remains of his heart, forces him to move.
“Don’t let me sleep.” He thinks that’s what comes out of his shredded throat.
Ben’s nodding, still crying, shaking in a way that no spirit should and Klaus wants to burn for doing this to him.
Ben crawls with him as he takes on the monumental task of crossing to the bedroom, gentle encouragements help, Cat joins them, pushes him forward with soft nips to his side when he falters. Stretching to grab the phone off the bed covers drains every drop of his reserves and the lack of heat or even ice terrifies Klaus. Hollow stillness settles in his bones and there’s only one person who’s been able to inject molten heat into his veins, only one alive and willing to bother, and Klaus needs him here before he flickers out.
The empty, stretching void drawing him in has his fingers fumbling for the right number, fucking it up once, twice, shit, the third try lands and the husky voice that answers destroys the last feeble pieces of his barricade. Klaus can’t stop the hysteria, searching for air as his words clog and choke in his throat, there’s an exhalation on the line and a muffled thump.
“You still there?”
He nods uselessly, gasping for breath, for oxygen that doesn’t want to come.
Diego understands. “Good, now listen to me very carefully-”
Klaus focuses on the nonsensical string of words, on the pitch of each syllable, Cat kneads her paws into his arm, her fur grazing his tingling fingers, and Klaus holds Ben’s eyes because his brother has saved his life and there’s no words that’ll ever convey how fucking grateful he is. Each breath is a labour and it’s disgusting how desperately he savours them, how he almost destroyed this finite existence for a mind numbing high because he was too weak to cope.
Diego’s voice anchors him in this miserable reality.
Klaus is in bad shape, an understatement that’s emphasized when the tinny vocals morph and he doesn’t realise, not even when there’s a crack whipping through the air and later he’ll realise that he needs a new dead bolt.
In the present he’s balled up on the floor, soaked in sweat and vomit and blood, and Diego looms in the open doorway, face bleaching of colour as he takes in the mess that Klaus has created.
“I need you.”
The whisper tears and catches, hitching as his shoulders shake through another sob and Klaus has to shut his eyes from the shame. Diego’s arms startle his overwrought nerves, they become a cage encasing him and it’s suffocating, too much contact for his broken body, and never has Klaus felt safer.