Hello all, I know I should be writing a chapter for my story that I haven't updated in months but I just got inspired and wrote this all out on my phone since TUA is my new obsession. I honestly don't really know what this is, it was supposed to have Diego in it and be a song fic but then it somehow turned into this. I hope you guys enjoy it, let me know below! Also, sorry for any mistakes it was written and edited in like an hour by yours truly.
P.S. The song that inspired this was High Enough by
It is the inspiration for my title and I recommend listening to it while reading
P.P.S This is Gen but turned out a little gayer than I thought (so, I guess Ben/Klaus if you squint?)
"Do you hear that, Benny?" Klaus yells, his voice getting lost in the crowd of grinding bodies.
Ben simply shakes his head, screwing up his features in distaste as a couple right next to him began to dry hump, the sparse clothing they had on doing little for the imagination. It was one thing seeing Klaus do this, although seeing your brother in disarray like that wasn't particularly Ben's idea of a good time, at least he had known Klaus long enough to know all of him.
Okay, to be fair that point doesn't even make sense to Ben himself, but it's just different with Klaus.
They've been around each other, constantly, for a very long time. More time than Ben was alive, actually. Although there are periods in which Ben disappears throughout the day and things, he definitely isn't present for, he's always just been there. Not an observer per se, because Klaus always goes the extra mile to include him, no matter how crazy he looks, but not quite a participant either. He falls somewhere more in the middle, yearning to influence and touch, to stop the horrible things his brother does to cease the voices in his head (even his sometimes) but never quite being able to do so.
"It's my favourite song!" Klaus announces, voice cutting through his thoughts.
Instead of waiting for a reply, which Ben is doubting he'll hear through the little round pills he popped earlier, he begins to sway his hips, arms reaching for the ceiling and fingers dancing on their own accord. His skirt, short and torn, fans out around him exposing pale thighs and fingerprint bruises.
Ben isn't sure if Klaus knows this but when he's high and the ghosts are drowned out and it's finally silent and still, Ben is still there. Sometimes he's screaming at Klaus, not in anger (although that has happened too) but with worry and heartache. Because he's taken too much. Because that guy isn't going to stop when you say no. Because for the love of god you're killing yourself and I love you.
Klaus is freely swaying now, eyes closed and hips rolling in the air. His hands are making wave motions above him: Hello. Goodbye. Hello. Goodbye. Ben can tell exactly where he is in his high, he's seen it a million times, he's completely peaking. It's funny how much he knows about drugs now, having never done so much as to share a joint with his brother. This is the best part of the high for Klaus, he's blissed out and numb, but sober enough (for now) to stay upright and maintain a semblance of a normal conversation, albeit by Klaus standards anyways.
His movements haven't turned sloppy yet, still managing to be sensual and light, and it makes something akin to a lump appear in Ben's throat when a man appears behind his brother, taking his much too small hips in his hands. His moves Klaus like he's an object, not a person, pressing him where he likes and touching where he wants. Klaus is becoming pliant, lips moving soundlessly to the song he claims to love and eyes opening to only roll back into his head.
Ben's seen this too many times.
He appears in front of Klaus, trying to shake his shoulders even though he knows it won't do any good, not even if he could touch him.
"Klaus, wake up. Come on, we should go home." Ben begs, eyes flickering to the stranger's hands leaving imprints in his brothers' skin as his hand flutters underneath the edge of his skirt, fingers getting caught in the fishnet stockings that are more torn holes than regular.
Ben isn't quite sure where he's referring to, knowing home has never really been something tangible and real, not even when they lived back at the mansion. The mansion had an essence of home, all the right pieces: siblings, parents, a roof and four walls, but they all know it never really was one. And ever since he left, nothing more than a scrawny teenager whose softness had long since been mangled into sadness, he'd crashed on couches (if he was lucky), tried his luck at homeless shelters or alleyways, or slept in a stranger's bed that he had to seduce his way into (when he wasn't so lucky). But god, wherever they end up has to be better than where he knows this night is going.
Klaus must not be as far gone as he thinks, because he manages to look around, almost like he can't place Ben in the crowd, before his eyes land on his. He smiles, it's charming, of course. But he knows that it's all liquor and white powder and nothing like his real one.
"Benny," he mumbles, fingers reaching out to him like they could make contact, before falling at his side.
"I'll be whoever you want, baby," replies the man, whose hand is currently down his pants (well, skirt).
Ben wants to kill him.
Okay, not really, because the only person softer than Klaus in this world was Ben. You wouldn't guess it with all the theatrics, dark hoodies, and shadowy ghost and all, but god is he soft. He knows it. Klaus knows it. The whole damn world knows it. But Ben certainly wouldn't be against just straight up punching this guy right in his dumb face.
Okay so definitely not his best insult, but come on, his face is dumb.
Klaus's head falls back on the guy's shoulder but his eyes are still locked with Ben's and he knows that look. God, he hates that look. It's Klaus, knowing exactly where this is going, having been through it countless times, but being too high to care.
And maybe Klaus just wants somewhere to sleep tonight, that's warm and soft, and he thinks if he gets on his knees and does what he's told he'll get that. Because everything has a price and more often than not Klaus fits the bill just fine.
"Please," Ben begs, not caring that his voice is cracking and his hands are shaking.
He's sick of seeing this. He can't take it anymore. Neither of them can.
He's left before, for longer periods of time, when he couldn't take seeing Klaus like this. When Klaus can't hear or see him because he's too drugged up and Ben just can't stomach the site of his brother with a needle in his arm or on his knees for another second longer.
He's tried to talk to Klaus about it, but that went just as well as you might think.
He sees it before it happens, the change in Klaus is almost palpable. Maybe Klaus listens more than he gives him credit for.
"Mm stop it, man" Klaus murmurs, skinny fingers wrapping around the guy's wrist.
And Ben is smiling.
"Come on, I know you want it," the guy growls in his ear, fingers curling into his hip bones.
And then he's not.
"I don't" Klaus whines, beginning to wiggle in his skin, trying to loosen the man's grip.
"So what, you're just a fucking tease then?" He barks back, using his arm as a bar to brace the smaller boy against his chest.
And suddenly, like Ben somehow could forget the kind of men Klaus finds himself around, he remembers why Klaus just takes it. He told him once even, coming off a month-long bender and only sobering up slightly when he ran out of cash: it's a lot easier to give them what they want than to let them beat you down and take it.
And even though he would never tell Klaus to sit down and take it he feels like he's going to puke because he doesn't want to see where this could lead, where he told Klaus to take it.
"I-I was just dancing," Klaus slurs, eyes beginning to droop as the downward rush begins to hit him all once.
This is the worst part of the high. Where everything he's taken is beginning to hit him all at once and suck him down, down, down.
"Klaus!" Ben yells, trying to snap the last bit of life into his brother that he can see draining out of him. Because fuck, fuck, fuck. He has to do something.
It's kind of funny actually, Ben spends his whole existence (or lack thereof) trying to will himself to life and Klaus spends his trying to kill any life in him at all.
His eyes snap open again, green and hazy, lined with smudge black liner and there's a new life in them that gives Ben hope that maybe he isn't as high as he thought.
"I said no, asshole!" Klaus yells this time his voice only shaking slightly and his nails, chipped with black paint, dig into the man's skin until deep red begins to pinprick to the surface.
"Fuck!" The burly man curses, pulling back his hand and using the other to shove Klaus, till he's falling forward onto his knees, arms too heavy and weighed with drugs to brace his fall.
Klaus manages to flip onto his back after a moment, his skirt flaring indecently at his thighs and his knees bruised and red, before sitting up on his elbows and letting his head lean back towards the ceiling. His hair is sticking to the back of his neck, knotted and sweaty, and a stray curl is flopped onto his forehead, forever finding purchase in his eyes. There's glitter and confetti falling down now and it's getting stuck in his hair and landing on his lashes, or sticking to his skin because of the sweat. It glimmers in the streaming lights and illuminates the shadows and dips of his skin where his bones pull and tug it taught and he just looks beautiful.
Ben always thought Klaus was pretty. Not in a weird way, because no, that's his brother. But in an objective way, in an artistic way. He was all sharp edges and contrasting colours, dark on pale with brushes of greens and pinks. There were even freckles on his skin if you looked close enough. And Klaus was always the best at straddling the line of fluidity, managing to look both soft and feminine but hard and boyish. And at that moment, that was high strung and scary and dark, he sees it more than he has in a long time.
"Fucking faggot anyway," the man finally spits, having bored of Klaus, thankfully. He stomps away, stepping on Klaus' hand as he leaves.
Klaus only whines in response, a sad, high pitched sound from the back of his throat, but he doesn't take his eyes away from the roof, the sparkling flecks drawing his attention more than the pain.
Ben decides at that moment he was wrong. He could, in fact, kill that man.
He moves to sit beside Klaus, so close that if it were possible their knees would touch.
He wants to reach out and fix his skirt, stop him from showing the world everything it's so ready to take from him.
He wants to smooth down his hair and bandage his wounds.
He wants to sober him up.
He wants to let him heal, inside and out, because at this point it's bruises layered on bruises and not just the ones on his skin.
"How's your hand?" He asks instead, leaning across to take a look at it.
Klaus shrugs, his limbs lose and disconnected like he was a marionette.
Ben sighs and knows he's pretty much lost Klaus for the night, in fact, he's probably lucky he can still hear him at all.
It worries him, that Klaus is alone, although he can't do much, Klaus at least knows he's there. Can look at him for comfort or cry out to him. But when he's this high or this drunk, or even a bit more so, he's truly alone, as far as he's concerned anyway.
Ben leans back so he too is resting on his elbows, looking up at the glitter and flecks of colour raining down on them.
"What do you see up there?" He asks because he knows it has to be more than what he does.
Klaus sighs, head lolling back and forth on his shoulders like it takes everything in him to be able to move his lips and it probably does.
"It's hard to explain, Benz-y" he starts, grinning slightly at his own joke.
"Do not nickname me after a drug," Ben interrupts, his mouth pulled down at the corners.
Klaus simply waves his hand towards Ben, dismissal of his intrusive comment, the goodbye clear not only in his gesture but also on his palm.
"Well try," Ben continues, trying to pull Klaus back to earth as the dazed look in his eyes only grows.
He knows he doesn't have long before Klaus can't hear him, can't see him, at all and he wants to draw it out as long as possible.
He guesses, figures really, at that moment, he too doesn't like being alone.
Without Klaus, it's a lot like being dead. And yes he knows he really is, ya know, dead. But with Klaus there, it never really feels that way.
He supposes they're all each other's really got.
"It's just..." he sighs again, fingers playing with the torn fishnets, "it's pretty."
"...and?" Ben supplies, knowing there's more to it than that.
"I just...we don't see a lot of pretty things anymore, ya know?" He pauses, eyes practically rolling in his skull to look over at Ben "It's nice to see something beautiful in this shit world we live in."
Ben smiles, faint and sad, a lot like he did on his last day.
"Yeah," he reasons, voice airy and light but the words heavy all the same "I guess you're right."
They're still looking at one another, but Ben is starting to flicker, to darken around the edges and Klaus frowns before looking back up towards the ceiling.
"I think I could stay here forever," he muses, eyes watery now.
Ben shifts his eyes to look up with him, his voice struggling to break through the veil.
"The floor of an abandoned warehouse during a rave isn't exactly heaven on earth, Klaus."
"Hmm," Klaus breaths, "maybe it is for me. It's kind of as good as it gets you know?"
But before Ben can answer, he's gone. Faded into the background and silenced once again.
Klaus frowns. He doesn't have to look to know his brother is gone.
He hates the ghosts. The noises. The begging and crying. The screaming of his name. But sometimes he thinks it's not that bad if only to see his brother.
Klaus stays there for the rest of the night. Till the lights have long been turned off and the rave cleared. Till the only glitter and confetti that remain are the pieces on the floor or stuck to his skin. Till he starts to shiver and can see his breath.
It's as good as place as any for the night, he decides. Curling his fur-trimmed jacket tighter around him and laying all the way back, using a left behind bag on the floor as a pillow. He's cursing his fashion sense at this point; a crop top and mini skirt aren't the best choices for a chilly November but damn do they look good.
And he swears for a moment he can hear Ben cursing him and his fashion sense, telling him he's going to freeze to death on this concrete floor. But he knows he doesn't.
He pops a few pills he found on the ground, just to sleep, before settling in.
He lays on his side, because he doesn't wanna die choking on his vomit and because Ben always tells him to lay in the 'recovery position'.
There's a couple of glow sticks wrapped around his ankle, that only emits a dull glow at this point. So, he cracks a few more and connects them at different joints in his body. He never did like the dark.
His head is turned to the side, where Ben would normally sit, except there's nothing there.
It's quiet, almost too quiet, which is funny since all he ever does is try to silence the voices.
But he misses Ben.
And come to think of it he misses Diego.
And Five
And Allison.
And Vanya.
And Luther.
And Pogo.
And Mom.
But not Reginald. Never him.
But he misses all the rest. A lot.
He curls up in on himself, long limbs wrapping around one another till it's the only thing holding him together. And he starts to cry.
Not sobbing hysterically or hiccuping snot, a silent cry that's just tears and a watery throat. The kind of crying that you get used to doing when you can't make any noise.
And Klaus doesn't know it, can't hear it or feel it. But Ben's there and he's crying too.
He's sitting cross-legged beside his brother, hand itching to reach out and comfort him, voice clawing inside of him to make him feel better. To tell him he's not alone.
But, he supposes, right now, they both are. Alone.