I started using again

Left my heart in Rocky Hill

Hole burning in my head

Needed a distraction from my head

Devil on my shoulder said try this instead

So I started using again

/

"Using" by Sorority Noise

Klaus's first thought, or precursor to a thought, is that he should be in pain. Not being in pain isn't good. There's something he has to do, and he can only do it if he's in pain. He's pretty sure that's how it works. If not, close enough—the point still stands that nothing hurts and he isn't happy about that.

He recognizes that he's high, of course. It's a soft and sweet sort of high, the kind that one might chase after for years. Whatever he took, it's some good shit. Did he manage to get his hands on some fentanyl? He's only done it a couple times and he's not sure why he'd ever decide to do it again. He's lost some good friends to fentanyl.

His eyes have been open for a long time before he realizes he can see. He can only see and think for a moment before his consciousness escapes him again, like a yo-yo, escaping and diffusing in the atmosphere before precipitating and settling again behind his eyes. This happens a few times before he gets bored of it and decides he's going to sleep now, actually. When his consciousness—his id? Ego?—returns to him he finds he still hasn't closed his eyes.

Allison is sitting next to him. She's reading a book. Klaus tries to twitch his fingers, get her attention, tell her he needs to be in pain, but somehow he falls asleep before he dissolves again.

When Klaus next wakes up, he's actually awake, and he can tell because he's pissed off. It's an unusual feeling for him and it doesn't seem to be tethered to anything, until his eyes flicker over to where Allison sat and find Diego in her place. He feels his breath quickening and his muscles tensing and there's no pain tied to the action, which just confirms his sneaking suspicions. "Hey, fucker," he tries to say, only to realize there's an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Diego looks up—he was sharpening a knife—and his pensive expression morphs into a wide grin, like he has no idea that Klaus is entertaining fantasies of stealing his weapons and using them for nefarious purposes. Diego scoots up close to the cot, and tries to grab the arm that isn't immobilized. Klaus rips it away before he gets the chance and tugs the mask down so it hangs around his neck. "What the fuck," he slurs, because he's still high, and he can't get anything else out because that one statement used up the entirety of his lung capacity.

Diego's face falls, and Klaus isn't sure if it's because he's angry or because he needs a full minute to recover from two seconds of speech. "Klaus," Diego says, his dark eyes wide and beseeching, "we didn't have a choice, man. I'm so sorry."

He looks too sad. He should be angry, should be furious, but instead the lines of his body are bowing inward because he's sad and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out but is scared to do so. This weight is too much for him, just like it's always been, Klaus is always just too much for everyone—

Klaus is startled to feel furious tears sting at the corners of his eyes, and he quickly turns his head away to hide his expression. "Back to square one," he grits, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably when his next feeble breath escapes as a sob.

"Hey, hey, hey," Diego whispers, sounding wrecked. He frames Klaus's face in his hands and pulls him back, leaning close so Klaus has no choice but to meet his stare even as tears spill down his face. "This is not on you, okay? It doesn't erase the progress you've made."

Klaus gives a weak smile and laugh, which hurts like a bitch regardless of the cocktail in his system. "Doesn't it?"

Diego's brows furrow, making the long white scar on his face dance a bit. He's lucky he's not predisposed to keloids, that would suck. He takes his hands away from Klaus's face and Klaus doesn't stop him even though he feels the absence of their warmth and reassurance like a stab in the gut. Diego doesn't say anything, just lets Klaus wrestle back some semblance of control.

Eventually Klaus closes his eyes and lets out a warbling breath. "Ben's gone," he says, consciously aware of it only after it's left his mouth. All the other spirits are blessedly absent, but he doesn't want them gone at the expense of his brother. He hasn't wanted that in a long, long time. "He's never gone, Diego. I don't know where he is."

Diego places one hand on Klaus's. It's not enough, the warm comfort of slight pressure. He feels like he did when he first left the house, before he was so far gone he hardly remembered his own name. In those early days he was so desperate to be touched, to be loved, to just be held still. He'd hoped the drugs had killed the part of him that needed love. It seemed they had, until Klaus stole a briefcase and met someone he didn't need to ask to love him back.

"I'm sorry," Diego says after a while. "Maybe he'll come back once you're off the painkillers, yeah?"

"He's never gone," Klaus repeats, petulant in his own ears. The fear attached to the concept of Ben being gone is slow-coming, but when it does wash over him it takes everything in Klaus's power to keep breathing. He swallows and wets his lips and closes his eyes and wishes he wasn't high. "Oh god, what did I do."

"You didn't do anything," Diego says emphatically, and now Klaus is exponentially more confused.

"I didn't—" he frowns and shifts and is stopped by a bizarre tension throughout his body. He looks down to see his torso, bare and splotched like his first attempt at street art. "Oh," he says, even though he doesn't get it. His arm is in a cast. There are scrapes and cuts everywhere, spidery black stitches pulling his skin taut and patchy bruises making him look haphazardly thrown together. "I didn't OD?"

There's silence between them before Diego finally heaves a broken-sounding sigh. "No, dumbass."

"Oh," Klaus says again. "Are you going to make me a monster wife?"

"Klaus," Diego whispers, "what the fuck are you talking about."

"I look like Frankenstein's creature," Klaus informs him. He should really be more knowledgeable about the classics, they were a huge part of their education. None of the others had ever really shared Klaus's passion for literature, though. If things had gone differently he imagines he would have liked to own a bookstore.

Diego squeezes his hand, bringing Klaus drifting back to Earth. "Hey, man. Why would you automatically assume you OD'd?" His voice is achingly gentle, like he genuinely doesn't understand.

"'Cause I feel like shit and you're sittin' here lookin' all sad," Klaus explains. He has to stop to take a breath in the middle. The pain's a bit worse now, radiating out in spirals from every point of injury on his body. He aches deep inside, like his bones are grinding. "'N Ben's gone. Maybe he's mad."

"He's not mad," Diego says soothingly. He wets his lips and looks back towards the door. Sneaky Diego is always fun. "Look, if—if you don't remember what happened, why were you upset when you woke up? Do you remember anything?"

Klaus doesn't remember being upset. He also doesn't remember waking up. He does, however, remember the most beautiful place he's ever seen, quiet and peaceful. He remembers feeling brave and warm with sunlight suffusing through his veins, feeling invincible in a place so different from his nightmares. Allison was there too. He didn't tell her anything, though, because he didn't want to burden her, not with everything already happening with her voice and her daughter. Instead he talked to Vanya. She was so wonderful about the whole thing.

Diego traces his thumb in idle circles on Klaus's wrist. "There was an accident," he says, "while you were training with Vanya. Something happened, and she lost control. Can you tell me anything about that?"

That's right. Klaus told her too much, too fast, and it freaked her out. Understandable, all things considered. He remembers the creak of old stone fracturing and he remembers shoving Vanya out of the way. What should he have done differently? Not reminding her of her own fucked up childhood trauma would probably have been a good start. He really is just so stupid, he can't blame her for dropping a cliff on him.

"You gave me drugs," Klaus realizes. The anatomical diagrams on the walls blur together in a gory mess. "I was angry at myself because I thought I fucked up but I should be angry at you."

There's no answer, and Klaus turns his head a bit to face Diego. His brother is frowning down at their hands, looking in equal turns guilty and righteous. "Yeah, I mean—" he grimaces, glances up to meet Klaus's eyes very briefly, "that's fair. You have every right to be angry. But you have to understand, you were in bad shape, you still are. We just wanted to help."

Klaus purses his lips, confused. "I'm not mad at you."

"Oh," Diego sits back a bit and looks bemused. "I'm not following."

"I should be angry, but I'm not, so I demand recompense or whatever," Klaus says. It makes sense in his head. "I need help with something."

Diego sighs and drags his unoccupied hand through his short hair. "How are you exhausting to talk to even when you're drugged? Yeah, man, whatever you need."

Klaus nods, satisfied, his eyelids becoming heavier by the second. For a long moment they're both quiet. Klaus breathes in the sterile air that makes his nose burn and listens to the distant sounds of a radio from someone's room. i Unseasonably cold temperatures show no signs of abating,/i says the tinny voice. He could walk out into the cold and no disembodied voice would be there to yell at him. "I might not need help," Klaus says, blinking open eyes he wasn't aware of closing. "I might be cata. Catastroas—uh. Ca-tas-tro-phi-zing."

Diego snorts a soft laugh. "Yeah, okay, tell me about it when you're feeling better, alright?"

"Don't give me any more drugs," Klaus says. He swallows and it hurts and he breathes and it hurts. "Promise me, please."

There's no answer and the warm pressure on his arm disappears. Klaus opens his eyes—which have once again acted on their own accord—and watches Diego retrieve a styrofoam cup from the counter. He returns and slides one hand behind Klaus's head, gently propping him up so he can sip from the cup. It was probably ice chips at some point, because that's what they give you in hospitals, but the lukewarm water still feels like heaven on his dry throat. He drinks greedily until the contents are gone and Diego lowers him back on the bed again.

Klaus watches as Diego sets the cup back down and then just stands there, his back to Klaus. When he turns back, there's a tightness around his mouth that wasn't there before, and his brown skin seems pale. "You're going to be in so much pain," he says, hoarse. He fiddles with his hands and picks at his thumbnail. "Tell me it's worth it, Klaus."

Klaus doesn't think he understands, but then he remembers that Diego knows about Dave. He knows why Klaus is so desperate to stay sober. He doesn't know all the details, but he knows how badly Klaus wants to see his lost love. Klaus thinks about Vanya's training spot, a place Diego used to go with a mysterious someone.

He thinks about how concerned Diego is about the physical pain he's going to be in and wonders how doting he'd be if he knew the whole truth. "It's worth it," Klaus says, his voice all slurred and fading.

The room begins to bleed around him, the anatomical diagrams spilling into the watery sunlight gleaming through the windows. Only Diego manages to stay solid, and that's probably a sign from God or something.

He drifts off to the feeling of a calloused hand running through the wild mess of his hair,