š„ Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment
some meme idk / @timejumps
Klaus has never been one to wake peacefully. Every morning comes with a series of shudders, breath catching in his throat as heās dragged into consciousness by ghosts and no, no, no, please. These days itās worse than it ever has been. Klaus no longer jerks awake, he bolts upright in his bed gasping like a man drowned or else with a name on his lips, or a warning. Vietcong are in he trees but he can do nothing about it, or heās trapped in the mausoleum, or Hazel and Cha Cha are there holding him down as he drips blood. Every night is like the worlds shittiest roulette: what night terror will he have the joy of experiencing today?Ā
Last night was awful, Klaus had screamed himself awake at four am and hadnāt calmed down for almost fifteen minutes of Ben talking slowly from the corner of the room. Itās a good thing Reginald soundproofed Klausā room, really, he thinks his siblings would appreciate the screaming and shouting about as much as he does, which is to say not at all. Going back to sleep was out of the question so Klaus spends the day exhausted and on edge. A helecopter flying overhead stops the blood in his veins, he steps on his eyeliner pencil and has to stop himself from yelling at Carter to watch his fucking step before he gets them all shot, in the kitchen Luther puts a mug down slightly too hard and Klaus bolts from the room faster than you can say shell shocked. Now heās sat in the living room smoking a cigarette and daring Ben to say anything about it because God knows he could do with something stronger. Ben says nothing though, probably figuring some arguments just arenāt worth having while Klaus is in this state. Which is stupid really because Klaus is fine, he is-or heās managing anyway, so whatever. Itās fine.Ā
Then somewhere near the mansion a car backfires, and all hell breaks loose.Ā
He flings himself to the ground, hands already scrambling for his rifle, he must have dropped it when the first grenade went off-idiot. Itās dark, they do this, come at night when the 173rd are half asleep and clumsy with fatigue. The jungle floor feels strange against his fingers, smooth, cold and almost like he isnāt in the jungle at all. Opening his eyes (when did he close them?) makes things even worse because what heās seeing isnāt the same as what he should be seeing. Instead of jungle, Daveās boots, his rifle, there is polished wood floor and old furniture. It makes him feel sick, like everything around him keeps changing and shifting too fast to keep up with. He wants Dave, but Dave is dead. Wants Carter or Smith to make bad jokes with, but Smith stepped on a mine, and Carter was shot through the head by a sniper not two weeks after. Theyāre in the jungle together, crouching low, but heās also in the mansion pulling at his hair desperate for something, anything, to ground him. A terrible keening noise escapes him, raw and primal and terrified.Ā
For a while, Klaus floats. Everything is muffled but the sound of his own gasping breaths gunfire that he doesnāt know is real or not. Sometimes he felt like a ghost, stuck in the middle and belonging nowhere. Vietnam is in his bones, his sleep, in every fucking helicopter or too loud noise, but heās also at the mansion ignoring all the signs of his father, shivering whenever he walks past the office. Klaus is tired of not knowing where or when he is, not knowing if heās sweating to death in the heat of Vietnam or sat in the kitchen while Grace hums. So he slips, he closes his eyes in the kitchen and opens them again half an hour later in his bedroom with no idea how he got there. His days are aimless, spent wondering the halls of his old home and in the mirror his face is pale and worn as any ghost heās ever seen. It would almost be funny if he werenāt so very tired and so very, very afraid.Ā
Thereās a voice. One that doesnāt belong in Vietnam and is only just starting to belong in the mansion again. Five, talking about something Klaus cannot make out over the blood pounding in his ears, but talking all the same. He focuses on it, forces himself to forget everything else until the muffled sounds become words and he can finally open his eyes again. Fiveās sat in front of him, crossed legged in the floor talking about-maths? Klaus isnāt sure, the words are words again but the meaning still escapes him. He blinks, slowly lowers his hands from his head.Ā
āFive?ā his voice is rough, as if heās been screaming. He has. Five looks at him properly then, frowning slightly eyes full of something Klaus would almost mistake for concern if that wasnāt such a stupid idea.Ā
āBack with us?ā Five asks in that same no-nonsense voice of his which is far more calming than it has any right to be, all things considered. Klaus nods, a pained jerking motion that doesnāt feel like it comes from him but Five seems to understand anyway.Ā āGood.āĀ they lapse into silence, Klausā scratching the backs of his hands and trying to steady his breathing out, Five simply watching as if heās a puzzle to be solved. Itās nice. Having someone alive here too. Makes it easier for Klaus to ground himself.Ā
ā1968,ā he says suddenly, surprising himself.Ā āWhen you asked-the briefcase-I went to 1968-Vietnam. I served. Ten months.ā he doesnāt explain further than that, doesnāt go into why he didnāt come back sooner even with all the death and gunfire and nightmares. Five spent years finding a way back to his family, and Klaus spent ten months believing heād never come back again. Probably that makes Five the better person out of the two of them, which wouldnāt surprise Klaus. Most people are better than he is, really.
āOh,ā says Five because heās not one to coddle but heās acknowledging it anyway, accepting the truth of the thing which Klaus is grateful for beyond what words can express. Klaus nods, mouths the word yeah but canāt seem to make his voice work again. Silence settles between them again because there really is nothing more to say. Klausā hands are still shaking, his face caked with sweat and tears, but he feels more grounded than he has all day, calmer too.
āDonāt mention it.āĀ