klaus hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
substances) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2019-07-08 10:57 pm
substances) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-07-08 10:57 pm
[open] i'm high, broke, searching for symbols
Who: Klaus Hargreeves; OTA
What: just a catch-all for some threads that don't fit in the intro log and an open prompt (might add more later)
When: month of July
Where: various
Warnings: definitely drug use or thoughts of drug use; anything else tba in the subject lines
👻 aspiring horticulturist
What: just a catch-all for some threads that don't fit in the intro log and an open prompt (might add more later)
When: month of July
Where: various
Warnings: definitely drug use or thoughts of drug use; anything else tba in the subject lines
👻 aspiring horticulturist
It had taken Klaus approximately four days to completely run out of the weed he'd had in his pocket when he came from Hadriel. But since he's not really the type to run rescue missions and doesn't have the technical know-how to fix computers, he's mostly been wandering around the city trying to figure out what he actually can do. Trying to keep his mind occupied now that he doesn't have pot to turn to, trying to keep his mind off the painkillers in his bag back in his room.
When he makes his way to the upper levels, he lifts the bottom of his shirt to hold it over his mouth and nose, because the air up here is awful, and he pokes around a little bit, determined to check out what's going on and get the hell out of here. At least, until he finds the horticultural area. There's a computer there, the screen cracked and flickering, but it seems to be at least a little bit functional. Klaus doesn't know computers, but he's been using a phone since he arrived in Hadriel and that's like a month and a half of experience, so he heads over to the terminal, tapping at buttons under the screen until he figures out which one scrolls through the files of what kind of plants are stored here.
When he hears a sound behind him, he turns halfway to the side, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh hey, do you know anything about computers?"
When he makes his way to the upper levels, he lifts the bottom of his shirt to hold it over his mouth and nose, because the air up here is awful, and he pokes around a little bit, determined to check out what's going on and get the hell out of here. At least, until he finds the horticultural area. There's a computer there, the screen cracked and flickering, but it seems to be at least a little bit functional. Klaus doesn't know computers, but he's been using a phone since he arrived in Hadriel and that's like a month and a half of experience, so he heads over to the terminal, tapping at buttons under the screen until he figures out which one scrolls through the files of what kind of plants are stored here.
When he hears a sound behind him, he turns halfway to the side, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh hey, do you know anything about computers?"
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He has no idea how long he's been asleep when a nightmare wakes him up in a cold sweat and gasping for breath, his hair stuck to his forehead and heart pounding. Sliding out of bed, he winces and stumbles his way into the main room in search of a glass of water. Except when he comes out, he sees Ben at the desk, in exactly the same spot he'd been when Klaus went to sleep.]
Hey Ben.
[His voice is scratchy, and he pours a glass of water, makes his way over and picks up his phone from the desk to check the time. Six hours. He'd been asleep six hours, and Ben is still...sitting there in the same position hunched over the same books and device.]
Did you eat dinner already?
[He pitches it casually, takes a gulp of water, and then holds the cup out to his brother, one brow raised quizzically.]
Or drink any water?
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He looks up from the glass to Klaus, admits, in a voice that comes out smaller than he meant it to: ]
...I forgot.
[ He hadn't forgotten that he was alive again, but it's been so long that he's out of the habit of taking care of himself. The fact is, he's been dead practically as long as he ever was alive. And for most of those years, it had never been his choice, when he could sleep, when he could eat, what were the allowed times to shower or use the bathroom. Of course, Ben's been with Klaus in all the years since then, seen him living outside that rigid routine, but he hadn't been participating in it. He has a lot of practice at nagging Klaus that he needs to eat something, and no practice at following through on self-maintenance himself.
As soon as he puts the cup to his lips and drinks, Ben realizes how dehydrated he must be. The water going down his throat feels amazing, and he quickly drains the rest, gives a grateful little nod.
The exhaustion, and hunger, and light-headedness - all of it contributes in a way. For a long time, it's been easy for Ben to keep a firm handle on his emotions (except anger, which was easier as a ghost than it had ever been when he was alive). It's only now that he's getting that part of the reason that was, was because he didn't have a body. None of those chemicals crashing together inside him, churned up by a heartbeat, impossible to shut off. It's all hitting him again like a flood, and he can't find the shutoff valve. ]
Klaus... I'm alive again. I'm alive-
[ His voice cracks on the word the second time, and he deliberately gets to his feet, stalls by going to pour more water into Klaus's glass, sipping at it before offering it to his brother again, and finishing: ]
I- barely remember how to be alive anymore.
[ It's not the sort of thing Ben would probably have admitted to Klaus if he were thinking straight, if he hadn't already given that away. He has spent a long time being the competent, calm one, faking it even when he wasn't to support his brother. But he hasn't got any faking in him right now. ]
no subject
I figured.
[When Ben says that he's alive again, that he doesn't remember how to be alive anymore, with that tight little pull in his voice and the that expression on his face, Klaus feels something in his gut and his throat tighten up into a little fist all at the same time, and he sighs softly. Crossing the room, he picks up his bag and starts digging around in it, pushing aside the bundles of clothing, the lighter and sheathed knives and all the rest of it until he finds a little wrapped bar at the bottom. Standing up, he heads over to Ben and pushes it into his hand - a protein bar, the high-cal meal replacement kind. Cookies and cream flavoured.]
Here. Come on, come on, let's go sit down...
[Gently, he slides an arm around his brother's shoulders, and when Ben offers the water glass he shakes his head - the glass of water had been for Ben in the first place, Klaus had figured it would be easier to get Ben to drink if they were sharing - and guides his brother into the other room where Klaus' bed is. It's still warm, unmade, the blankets pushed back, and Klaus gently tugs Ben down with him.]
It's okay if you forgot, Ben. You've got me. I mean, I'm certainly not claiming to be a genius when it comes to being alive, but I have got one or two tricks up my sleeve.
[Winking at Ben, he slides his arm back around Ben's waist, and holds a hand out for the protein bar.]
Want me to open that for you while you finish the water?
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I know how to open a wrapper, I'm not a complete idiot.
[ But he lets Klaus open it for him all the same, drinking the rest of the water diligently. The mechanics of it are so much more involved than he'd remembered - the acute sensation of temperature, swallowing, timing it around needing to breathe too. A dozen tiny things that were automatic for living people, would be automatic for him too, eventually, he hopes.
He sets the glass down on the little table by Klaus's bed, opening his mouth to apologize for being so needy, but the words won't come. All he manages is a small: ]
Thanks, Klaus.
[ The experience with the protein bar is similar to the water; it isn't until he starts eating that he identifies how hungry he is. By the time he's three small bites in, he can feel it, there in his guts, twisting away, awful and awfully familiar. Ben shuts his eyes, chastising himself silently for letting it get this bad. He can't afford to forget things like this. He knows that. Knows better. Just because he's a little fucked up about being alive again isn't an excuse to endanger Klaus and Diego and whoever else might be trapped in this place.
Ben's breaths have gone very shaky. He can hear it, knows Klaus will be able to hear it. He's going to have to learn all over again how to hide these things better. But at least it is Klaus, and the room is dim-lit and Klaus isn't looking at him. Finishing the bar mechanically, Ben says, voice unsteady: ]
You're wrong. You're really good at being alive.
[ Not at thriving and succeeding in the ways others might want him to or the ways he might want to, but Klaus is a hell of a survivor. He'd gotten through two wars, survived their home (more than Ben had managed). He'd OD'd so many times and clung on. Even dying at that club hadn't stuck. Klaus has got more than just two tricks up his sleeve, Ben thinks. ]
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You don't have to be an idiot to not be able to open a wrapper one-handed. Drink up.
[It's gentle, teasing, partly to lighten the mood, and Klaus watches quietly while Ben drinks, and then puts the empty glass aside and thanks him. He can't help the fact that it feels kind of nice, being able to do something for Ben for a change. That it feels kind of nice to be the one capable of helping one of his siblings instead of the one failing them and needing to be saved.]
'Course. You're my brother, and we stick together, you and me.
[Nudging his shoulder against Ben's, he watches as his brother eats, taking a few bites and then Ben is closing his eyes and Klaus sees that muscle stand out in Ben's jaw that always pops out when Ben is beating himself up. The suspicion is confirmed when Klaus hears Ben's voice come out in that soft, shaky kind of way that implies he might be close to tears. It takes a couple of moments because it's been so long, but Klaus puts two and two together after a bit of thought.
He doesn't look at Ben, but he shifts a little closer, and slides his arm tighter around Ben's waist, rubs at his back carefully.]
Hey, hey hey hey. Ben. It's fine, nothing happened, okay? We're okay, we're okay.
[His hand slides up to cup around the back of Ben's neck, squeezing gently at the muscle there, trying to work out some of the tension Ben is carrying in his neck and shoulders. The tension of guilt and fear and anxiety and sadness.]
I'm good at staying alive. I don't know about living.
[Klaus' voice is soft and a little careful when he speaks, but he leans over to look over at Ben, trying to catch his eyes.]
I have your back, okay Ben? You've been watching over me for years and years and I gave you so much shit. Now it's my turn.
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As hard as Ben can be on Klaus, he is twice as hard on himself. Ben pictures, with sudden icy clarity, the exact disappointed look their father would give him for being so weak. Even after everything that's happened, and so many years, Ben still thinks in his case, his father's harshness - at least some of it - was justified. You can't afford to be patient with the mishandling of radioactive materials... ]
I should've known better.
[ His thoughts remain snarled and awful, but Klaus's hand rubbing at the back of his neck is nice, and he knows that soon enough the protein bar will settle in his stomach and the ache will subside. He manages a smile for Klaus, when he says it's his turn to look out for Ben. ]
So I get to give you shit, now?
[ But it isn't just a joke; there's a question in it, too. For so many years, the only thing Ben was capable of, the one singular thing, was doing his best to look after Klaus. It was the only impact he had on the world, the only human connection. The only thing that kept him anchored all those years so he didn't end up raving and insane like all the other ghosts. So it's not like Klaus owes him for it. And he wants to be sure that this won't be too much for Klaus - add too much to a plate that is already so full.
Ben holds Klaus's gaze, swallowing. In stops and starts, he admits: ]
I forgot how intense everything is. Being alive. It's not like I didn't have feelings - have emotions - when I was dead, but it was all... muted. I would still be, you know, worried or sad, but I couldn't feel it.
[ And he brings a hand, pressing it flat and splayed against his chest, to show the physicality of it, the way emotions expressed themselves in the body. Ben wonders, now, for the first time, if that's a little what it's like for Klaus when he is on drugs. A similar numbness - not quite the same, but related. And probably a good thing, too. If he'd been acutely aware of the loneliness, the grief, the isolation, or the terror when Klaus was in danger, the hurt when bad things happened to him and Ben couldn't stop them... he isn't sure he could have borne it.
Then, because Klaus said he has his back, because he is looking at him with those eyes full of concern and attention and gentle worry, Ben admits, voice a rasp: ]
I'm so tired.
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Unfortunately, he doesn't really have the words or the clarity of thought that it would take to communicate that to Ben. All he has is instinct and actions, the only things that Klaus has really had for a long time. So instead of agreeing that Ben should've known better, Klaus keeps rubbing his back and his neck and he shakes his head.]
Naw. How long has it been? You get a pass for forgetting about it, and now I'm on board. So yeah, you get to give me shit.
[And then Ben is looking at him, explaining that everything about being alive is so intense, explaining the difference between the feelings you have when you're dead versus the feelings you have when you have a body, and Klaus sees the parallel too. It reminds him of the drugs, how being on them he was just happy, everything was less complicated and terrifying and painful.
Again, he doesn't have the words for it, he just slides his arm around Ben's shoulders and pulls him in close, in a sideways hug, presses his mouth against Ben's hair. When Ben says that he's tired, Klaus feels a sudden and intense surge of relief because he can do something about that.]
Why don't you sleep for a bit, then? I'm tired too, we can just lie here and sleep, like old times. Right? Both of us always slept better with someone else around.
[Klaus' hand moves to the center of Ben's back and he rubs a lazy circle there, encouraging, his eyes still on Ben's face.]
Please?
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[ There is an implicit promise in that small word - that, in the future, when things are bad, he will try to let it be Klaus's turn again. They had leaned on one another equally when they were young, as Ben remembers it. Even in their mid-teens, when Klaus went from being high some of the time to high most of the time, he'd still always been there for Ben if he needed him. It was only after he'd died that things had shifted. He'd never been in danger, never needed anything. And so Klaus had always been the one in distress, Ben had always been the one trying to pull him back to his feet.
He's not sure it's going to be possible, to go back to how it was, as if all those lopsided years hadn't happened. But he's willing to try. At least for tonight.
So when Klaus encourages him to just sleep here, the two of them sharing the bed like they had when they were small, Ben gives a small nod. Even if he hadn't said that many words in total, he feel like he has communicated a lot in the last few minutes, and it's drained him even further. He doesn't say anything else as he kicks off his boots and sinks onto his side, stretching out on the bed on one side.
Klaus had been wise to suggest it. The idea of getting up, choosing one of the empty beds to be his, putting sheets on it, getting the room all set up, and then laying down by himself to sleep for the first time in fourteen years - that all seems so impossibly complicated. But this bed is still warm, already messy, like he's just going back to sleep. Ben exhales long and slow, and there's audible relief in it. ]
These beds are comfier than they look.
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[Things had always felt equal to Klaus - or at least not completely tilted in one direction - even after Ben had died. After all, he'd been high enough that he'd left Ben alone for long stretches of time, hadn't been able to interact or help him or anything. And when he'd been sober enough to interact, he'd held books so Ben could read, he'd gone places with him so he didn't have to go alone, and Ben had helped him in return, watched his back on the streets and tried to talk him into making good choices. Obviously, Ben had been putting in more effort on Klaus' behalf than Klaus had been capable of returning, but it hadn't seemed so imbalanced to him.
So now it's his turn to put in more effort, to be the one capable of returning all the effort Ben has put into him for the past decade while Ben is the one struggling. He remembers the drugs in his bag, feels a surge of guilt, because he wouldn't be able to do any of that if he's back on drugs, and he bites the inside of his lower lip.
Focuses on Ben, looking at his face and watching as Ben nods, as the muscles in his face shift with his microexpressions, as the timbre and strength and speed of his breathing alter slightly, as he looks over at Klaus and then kicks off his boots. As Ben does that, Klaus slips off his Converse and kicks them under the bed, shifts to make room for Ben to lie down, and then clambers in behind him, flopping onto his side and resting his head on his pillow beside Ben's. That exhalation of relief and comfort is music to Klaus' ears, and he makes a soft half-laughing breath, lifts his arm and drapes it loosely over Ben's side, so he can't forget Klaus is there even if they're not pressed together body to body.]
Right? I thought they were going to be awful but then they were really nice.
[His voice is soft and a little mumbly, and his hand idly moves against Ben's waist, just reassuring himself that his brother is warm and solid and present.]
This is nice.
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There comes a point when he could, perhaps, have simply drifted off to sleep. After all the chaotic, emotional events of the day, he is worn out. But despite his exhaustion, as his mind is winding down, it snags on an unpleasant thought. An unpleasant thought that he can't push away, that digs itself deeper and deeper, like a splinter, or a fish hook.
Ben doesn't move. He stays where he is, but bit by bit, tension creeps back into his body. Now, not only is he not giving in to sleep, but he is fighting it. The fear is sharp and thin, pinning him in place. He doesn't even know if Klaus is even still awake when he whispers, so quietly: ]
What if I don't wake up?
[ There's no logic to wondering it, of course. No reason why going to sleep would have some special impact. But then there is no logic to why he is alive again in the first place. It had just happened; an interval of unconsciousness that felt like only a second to Ben but that could have been any length of time, and then he was here, alive, breathing. None of it makes sense. He doesn't know how it happened, so he doesn't know how to keep it from stopping. And irrational as it is, all Ben can think now is that, maybe if he goes to sleep, he won't ever ever wake up again. Not alive, not as a ghost. Just - nothing. ]
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He's relaxed, dozing but not asleep as he feels Ben slowly go boneless, hears his breath evening out into sleep breathing. Klaus is about to relax and let himself fall asleep when he feels the tension start draining back into Ben's body, feels his muscles go tight, his shoulders square, his breath shallow and fast and Klaus is about to ask what's wrong when Ben talks.
It's like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over Klaus' head, and he exhales shakily, brows furrowing.
'What if I don't wake up?'
Klaus actually feels his throat choke up, he pushes up on an elbow and scoots in closer to Ben, pressing his body in against Ben's back, burying his face into the back of his neck. He's trembling, a little, but then he makes a noise in his throat, shakes his head.]
You're going to wake up, Ben. Seriously. You are. I'm gonna have a nightmare in about an hour and wake you up and you're gonna be so mad at me because I disturbed your first night of sleep in fourteen years, and then you're going to go back to sleep. And wake up in the morning. And I will find a way to make some goddamn waffles for you here. Okay?
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There's no evidence for anything that Klaus is saying. It's just wishful thinking - but his voice is full of a conviction so fierce it is almost like anger. Ben wants to believe it is true. He tells himself that it must have happened for a reason. Whatever had given his body back to him had done so for a purpose. That purpose isn't fulfilled yet. So maybe - maybe he won't die.
Ben can't answer at first; he has to just breathe for a little while, controlling his inhales and exhales, keeping it together, if only barely. Klaus's presence helps, and Ben is glad that he moved closer. By small degrees, the worst of the panic fades, leaving Ben feeling stretched thin, transparent with exhaustion. ]
...Okay. Okay. I'm gonna... sleep, and I'm gonna wake up in the morning.
[ Swallowing, Ben shuts his eyes and tries to empty his mind out, to let it be a complete blank so that he can just get some rest. But nothingness proves ineffective at keeping out thoughts that are intruders. So instead, he casts his mind to the last book he had been reading, back at the house, after the funeral. He runs through all the details he remembers from it, trying to sort out the timeline, remember the names of each of the characters - and eventually, the fatigue wins and sweeps him into a deep and dreamless sleep. ]
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For a little while, they're quiet while Ben breathes through his anxiety, calms himself down, and Klaus just rubs gentle circles against his chest in an attempt to help him relax.
And then Ben says that he's going to sleep, he's going to wake up in the morning, and Klaus makes a soft noise of agreement and approval in his throat, nods with his face still against the back of Ben's neck.]
Yes, you are.
[His voice is soft. After Ben finally relaxes and Klaus feels his breathing even out, the tension leave his body, he finally manages to calm himself down enough to fall asleep himself.
It's a surprisingly deep and comfortable sleep, most likely because his brother is with him in bed like he had been so many times during their childhood. Because Klaus just always sleeps better when he's in bed with someone else, and it's half the reason he's had so many on-again-off-again boyfriends, so many friends with benefits, all just to have a safe place to sleep and someone to stay in the bed with him.
In fact, it's not Klaus who wakes Ben up with a nightmare an hour or so after they fall asleep - it's the other way around.]
cw for gore
He doesn't realize it's a nightmare while it is happening. In the dream he doesn't remember anything about being dead, about this new world they are in. There's nothingness, and then he is in that place again. In the dream, his eyes are open, but everything is pitch black, and he knows somehow he isn't blind. He's just in a world without a trace of visible light. There are noises, though. The echoes and the damp tell him it's some kind of cave, somewhere underground and wet, slick and fetid. Everything smells organic - decay, rot, and over all of it, blood. Ben knows the smell of blood so well. He could recognize it anywhere.
His stomach tightens with the recognition, and the awful thing is that in he dream, he doesn't know if it is terror, or hunger. All around him are the slithering sounds of movement. He's never sure if the whispering he hears within it is his brain trying to make patterns out of chaos, or if it's really there. Ben can feel them moving around him. The creatures on the other side of the portal. He is never sure how many of them there are, what they really look like. They could be the size of mountains.
All he knows is they're here and he's here, really here, on the other side of the door. He is amongst them, in their home, tiny and fragile as a mouse. If he moves an inch, makes the slightest sound, they will instantly realize he is there and pull him to pieces. He knows just what it looks like, when they pull a human body to pieces. He's seen it so many times. He knows where bodies will tear when wrenched, which organs will splatter in what ways upon impact. He has seen so many people battered and broken and torn to a pulp. There's no need to imagine any of it.
So he has to stay perfectly, unblinkingly, unbreathingly still. In the dream he can feel tears running down his cheeks. There's a hundred screams bottled up in his chest, but he can't so much as sniffle or it's all over. The pressure of all that terror is unbearable. He feels like he might burst from it. One of the creatures shifts, and in the dark Ben feels it brush against his arm, suckers dragging along his skin, slightly damp. He is going to break. The terror is too much, and he can feel it eating away at the edges of his mind, driving him insane. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with. Cry out and let them end him quickly.
In the bed with Klaus, Ben is not speaking, the way Klaus does in his nightmares - murmuring protests and pleas. He is just as paralyzed as he is inside the dream, still but sweating quite a bit, breaths coming thin and fast and nakedly terrified. ]
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But he is a light sleeper, he has been for most of his life, honed by years of sleeping in unsafe places, alleys and strangers' homes and homeless shelters. So when the way Ben rests against him changes, and he feels the front of his body wet with sweat from Ben's back, and hears the change in the way Ben breathes, it stirs him to consciousness. Slowly, he groans and blinks slowly, groggily. At first he can't remember where he is or who he's sharing a bed with, but after a few moments it clicks, and he pushes himself up on an elbow, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes and looking down at Ben.]
Ahhh, shiiit.
[It's soft, a little whimpery, because it's obvious Ben is having a nightmare. His breath is high and thin and reedy and full of terror, but his eyes are still closed even though his body is tense. Ben is freezing in his sleep, instead of fighting or fleeing, and Klaus' stomach does a heavy flop. Leaning down, he shakes Ben's shoulder lightly.]
Hey, hey Ben, come on man, wake up. You're okay, come on. Okay okay okay...come on man, wake up.
[His hands are gentle and careful because he doesn't want to startle Ben awake, doesn't want him to jerk out of a nightmare and feel threatened and afraid and disoriented and open the portal by accident.]
Ben, come on...it's okay, you're safe, just wake up, I got you man...
[Voice pitched careful and soft, he keeps talking in as reassuring a voice as possible until Ben wakes up.]
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But there is no pain, no wrench, and the darkness here isn't complete. He hears sounds, and it takes a moment for his brain to sort them into words, and then, words he knows, and then, words he knows in Klaus's voice. That is the final puzzle piece that tells Ben he is not on the other side of the portal, not in that cave. Klaus is here and Ben is in his bed and they are in a strange place together and Ben is alive. That is his heart thudding away, his body flooded with adrenaline, covered in sweat, aching from tension.
He covers his face with both hands and sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath. The relief that he is here, and not there, is so profound that he is having a hard time not bursting into tears. The Anchor might be a strange, unknown compound that they were pulled into against their will and are trapped in because of radiation and other assorted dangers, but right now, it feels like the safest, gentlest, best place in the universe. ]
Klaus?
[ His voice is tiny, and Ben reaches out in the darkness, fumbling towards his brother, to feel that he is there and make sure this is real, that he's solid and alive and safe. Here, not there. Now, not any other time. ]
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The minute Ben says his name, Klaus rests his hand back against his brother's shoulder, and then moves it to his chest, pressing it over where his heart is, under the ribcage. Ben is reaching for him, then, and Klaus shifts, flops down on his back and pulls Ben against him, rubbing his back and making soft, groggy noises of comfort, pressing his face into Ben's hair.]
It's okay Ben. It's just me. You're safe, okay? I'm here with you, and Diego is here too. We're together again, and we're gonna watch each others' backs.
[Gently, he squeezes around Ben's shoulders, exhales into his hair and makes a little hum of exhaustion and satisfaction.]
Man, I'm so glad you're here.
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It was the same. The same dream... the same place I used to have those nightmares about. God, I'd forgotten-
[ All his gentle joking when Klaus talked in his sleep, all the times he'd lovingly bullied him to get more rest... Ben hadn't meant to, but he'd let all those years of being dead dull his memories of just how wretched it could be, to be alive, and full of fear. He should have known better. Been more patient. Taken it more seriously.
He sucks in a breath that is half sob, exhausted, head aching. Had the dreams always been this vivid? Now, again, he is terrified that if he falls back to sleep, he will be there again. The old fear - that it is not just a dream, but something real, a vision, that he could really be in danger - rears its head again.
At least Klaus is here, bony elbowed and too warm and infuriating and unquestionably the best thing in Ben's life. Ben turns, hides his face half in the pillow and half against Klaus's shoulder. If only hiding were a permanent solution. But it is nice, even if it can't last more than a few moments. ]
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Klaus remembers those dreams, remembers night after night of holding his brother just like this as he cried and trembled and fought going back to sleep, terrified. Remembers all the nights that Ben had done the same for him, and when Ben hides his face against Klaus' shoulder, he turns a little so he can put an arm over Ben and rub his back more, presses his face into Ben's hair and exhales into it to add another layer of contact, of warmth, of reminder that he's alive and okay. That he's safe.]
Nightmares suck. Believe me, I know. It's all fake though, that's not...you're not there.
[Not for the first time, Klaus wishes that he knew more about how Ben's powers work, that he knew enough to say something logical and comforting about how he doesn't have to be afraid, but Klaus doesn't know enough to make that kind of statement. So he just keeps rubbing Ben's back and breathing into his hair.]
I'm here, Ben. I've got your back and... [His voice drops down to barely above a whisper, a little hesitant.] I love you. You're not alone.
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[ It clearly takes a lot of effort for Ben to get the words out, and he takes the time he needs to say each one, even though his voice is so wrecked with emotion that he's only just comprehensible. Ben had forgotten what it felt like to cry, as a living person. The way his head pounded, how hot the tears were, the choking awful way it crept up on him. He cries almost completely silently - he'd learned that, growing up, and now he wouldn't know any other way. Ben tries to force it down, but the physicality of it, and his overwhelming exhaustion, and Klaus's soft-voiced kindness, are all too much.
It doesn't last long, but for a couple of awful minutes his back shudders with sobs and he keeps his face hidden, ashamed at his own weakness and lack of self-control. Somehow, Klaus's gentleness only intensifies that feeling. When he says he loves Ben, Ben pulls away from him, sitting up cross-legged on the bed and wiping at his face with the sleeves of his hoodie. His tears have stopped, now, but his breathing is still shivery, interrupted by occasional hiccups. Even in the dim light of the room, the redness around his eyes and nose is visible.
He had pulled away not only to recoil from the comfort (though there is a little of that, because being loved hurts) but because he wanted to look at Klaus when he responds. His voice is hoarse from the tears, but there is no longer that bursting pressure behind it. ]
I love you, too. [ Another swipe at his cheek, and then Ben says softly: ] Quit being so- so patient with me. When I've just- all I've been is angry and impatient and judgmental with you for - I don't even know. For so long.
[ It is complicated, and the both of them know that. Their relationship is full of love, but resentment and jealousy and bitterness and regret are marbled through that love. Klaus really could be selfish, unreliable, self-destructive, a genuine piece of shit. But Ben could be judgmental and envious and cold, too. And he's only just now realizing that being dead so long had perhaps made him colder than he realized.
Perhaps, too, there is a part of Ben that struggles with believing he is worthy of any kind of comfort, or reassurance, or kindness. He doesn't deserve that. ]
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So he's quiet again now, just keeps his hand on Ben and rubs his back and makes wordless little noises of comfort, but then Ben is pulling away from him, and he lets go, shifting to give Ben some space. For a few moments, he's anxious because he'd been vulnerable and suddenly he's not sure if Ben is going to reciprocate. But he does, and Klaus sighs as Ben wipes at his face.]
Hey, hey hey hey... [His voice comes out soft and he shakes his head.] Ben, you...I deserved it. It's not like you had a body to stop me from doing stupid shit, but you kept...you didn't give up on me Ben. You're the only one...Diego's been trying, had been trying for the few days before we left, but you've always been there.
[Lifting a hand, he scrubs it over his face and sighs.]
Let me be there for you? What can I do? If...if this bothers you, what can I do?
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[ Ben sighs, then, head hanging. It is so difficult, to be loved. He knows that Klaus loves him - he'd never questioned that - but for so many years, there had only been certain ways for Klaus to show that. And the numbness he'd felt as a ghost had kept it from cutting too deep. Now, there is no barrier, and Ben is recalling all over again that restless, happy, uneasy, frightened feeling of receiving love.
Maybe, he tells himself. Maybe if he just tries to practice, it will get a little easier.
So he lays down again, not quite as near to Klaus, but with his wrist deliberately across one of Klaus's, a point of contact, to show that he is okay with proximity. Closing his eyes, yawning, Ben says: ]
I wouldn't have, you know? Even if I hadn't died. I wouldn't have ever given up on you...
[ It's not something he can prove, of course. The truth is Ben has no idea what all their lives would have been like if he survived. Maybe Klaus would have never gotten so far down the rabbit hole of addiction. Maybe Ben would have ended up growing into an asshole like Luther, still so desperate for their father's approval. But he wants to believe his words are true. And he wants Klaus to know that nothing about his loyalty to Klaus has changed now that he's alive again.
Another yawn creeps up on him, and Ben shuts his eyes after, humming a small noise. The adrenaline is sinking away, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He had gotten so little sleep before that nightmare, and his limbs feel heavy as lead. He doesn't want to dream again, to lose awareness, but it just feels nice, to keep his eyes closed for just a few moments. ]