#diegoklaus

“Sorry,” Diego stammers. Exhaustion tends to do that. Pain, too, and, judging by the way that Diego’s moving, there’s a good bit of that going on.

Klaus slides out of bed and makes his way to Diego. He stops him when he starts to struggle to pull on the leather harness. “Just relax,” he whispers. He’s not irritated. Sleep hasn’t ever been much of a friend to him anyways, and helping Diego gives him the perfect opportunity to examine him for anything too serious.

Diego drops his arms back down to his sides and lets himself be manhandled without protest. There’s an occasional wince as Klaus works, but that’s largely due to the bruises underneath his clothes.

“You know,” Klaus starts while his fingers work, “I usually go for all the leather and the black and the mysterious thing, but why does it have to be such a pain in the ass?” He doesn’t expect an actual answer. If anything, he’s talking to distract them both. Diego from his pain, and himself from his worry. There’s a lot of bruising, and it covers nearly all the colors possible. Some are massive, wrapping around Diego’s ribs in a way that makes Klaus fairly sure that there’s at least one fracture in there somewhere.

“You need a catsuit. With a zipper. Built in harness that doesn’t interfere with the zipper. None of this buckle stuff,” Klaus doesn’t stop talking the whole while. Diego’s easy. Exhausted and achey, and that makes him pliable. Klaus could probably knock him over with a breath of air. There’s a good chance Diego wouldn’t get back up until tomorrow. Mattress be damned.

“Hey,” the sudden alarm in Klaus’ voice makes Diego open his eyes. He hadn’t fully realized he’d closed them, but he blinks them tiredly now.

“You really can’t do that breath holdy thing to me right now,” Klaus says in a voice that’s barely above a whisper.

Diego looks puzzled for a moment, but he puts it together. He’d been holding his breath subconsciously to avoid aggravating his injured rib more than necessary. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Klaus manages a small smile, and it’s only partially forced. He kisses the corner of Diego’s mouth. “I’m almost done with these,” he tugs on the belt holding Diego’s pants tightly around his hips, “Then you can sit on the bed, and I’ll get your boots, okay?”

“M’hm.”

“Good. Now, what was I saying?” Klaus resumes his babbling.

Time passes in a blur for Diego until he’s being pushed backwards. His knees hit the bed, and he doesn’t bother restraining himself. The flop he does is graceless, and it jars his ribs in the worst way, but he’s finally lying down. Nothing else matters.

If it weren’t for Klaus, he’d sleep in his combat boots.

If it weren’t for Klaus, he’d sleep with his knives still attached, too, and that has never been a great idea.

Klaus nudges him gently when he finishes up. “C’mon, gotta move one more time.”

Diego groans, but he does as he’s told and scoots up the bed enough that his head is resting on a pillow. Whose, he doesn’t know, but that’s something for Klaus to deal with.

Klaus disappears for a moment, and, when he comes back, Diego finds himself holding out his hand instinctively. The sound of ibuprofen rattling in the bottle is his equivalent of Pavlov’s bell, and he pops the pills in his mouth, swallowing them dry without a second thought, though he appreciates the small glass of water that Klaus pushes into his hands next. He hands it back when he’s managed to drain it.

Klaus sets the cup on the bedside table. It’s something he can deal with tomorrow. Right now, all he wants to do is to curl up behind Diego, and that’s exactly what he does, with his arms wrapping around Diego’s waist. He buries his nose in Diego’s hair. His hand finds its way over Diego’s heart, resting there so that he can relax knowing that Diego’s still alive, regardless of whether or not his chest rises and falls.

Tonight, like many others, he contemplates the idea of joining them. He reminisces in his own misery. Recalls every instance that he’s made himself out to be more trouble than help. He knows his bad outweighs his good so many times over that he won’t ever see anything other than red.

His skin is on fire, yet his chewed up nails grant him no mercy. They have a mind of their own now. With a focus of keeping him locked in this personal hell.

Just as he thinks he won’t be able to find relief, calloused hands find his. The grip is firm. Enough to keep him from struggling too hard. He needs the pain. It’s the only thing that might be grounding him right now, but the pressure is as relentless as the voices.

“You’re going to upset Ben,” a familiar voice whispers.

Klaus snorts because he already has. All he ever does is upset. Inconvenience. Annoy. Taint. Ruin.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, but he’s not sorry for what he’s doing to Ben now. He’s sorry that Ben’s stuck with him in the first place.

“That’s…” Diego goes quiet for a moment. Thinking. Probably overthinking. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Klaus whispers.

There’s the exterior silence that Klaus wishes reflected what goes on in his head at any given moment. He can’t imagine what it must actually be like. Dissociation, maybe. He’s heard silences can be comfortable, but he doesn’t think he believes it.

Diego shifts his hold so that he’s pulling Klaus against his chest, arms crossing over Klaus’ to keep him from scratching. The pressure is nice and awful all at once. Klaus wants to kick and scream until he lets go. Maybe until he leaves. Then he won’t have to feel guilty about what he does to himself, but Diego’s voice fills the air again. This time it’s so quiet Klaus has to focus to make sense of the words. It doesn’t help that they keep right on hollering, but he knows the song. Recognizes it as one Grace use to sing to them. Mostly Diego, though, not infrequently, she would sing it for Klaus as well.

Klaus closes his eyes and tries to imagine it. Diego, small and quiet, listening so intently to their mom’s voice, hanging on every word like he might never hear another. Klaus guesses that’s what happens when a kid gets cut off from the rest of the speaking world. He remembers feeling jealous once. Maybe he still is, though he knows it’s wrong.

He sags into Diego’s grip eventually. The fight is gone. He doesn’t have the energy to hurt himself anymore, and he certainly isn’t at risk of going out and doing anything stupid. All he wants to do is sleep.

Diego moves them until they’re both lying back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t stop singing. Instead, he disentangles one arm enough that he can run his fingers through Klaus’ hair with nails that graze at his scalp gently.