Mr.D. @mr-d1g-bick - Tumblr Blog

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.

Klaus had never, not once in his 7 years at camp seen Dionysus cry.

He had seen Dionysus angry.

Annoyed. Sarcastic. Disappointed. Content.

But he’d never seen him cry.

He took a step forward, then another. His image shimmering slightly — Almost like a hologram. But something in the gods gut told him that was his son.

“Hermes ain’t here yet.” He noted. Though in all honesty Klaus wasn’t sure if the messenger god would come for him. He had seen death before, and never had it looked like this.

“I’ll have to leave a bad review. ‘1 Star, slow arrival. Would not recommend’” he chuckled, Oh Klaus…Still cracking jokes even now.

Old habits died hard.

Harder than he had, apparently.

“Jesus Christ-” He actually laughed. In spite of himself. It melted into a sob. This kid. Stupid idiot was still making him laugh after death. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he’d died like this. So soon. Because of him.

“I love you.” It was sappy. Sappy and so out of character, but it was genuine. “So much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m sorry, it-“ The man cut himself off.

“It will never be enough. But I’m sorry. And I love you.”

The wind whistled through the trees outside, crickets chirped, monsters howled somewhere in the forest. Monsters that killed his son.

The night lived on, even if he wished it didn’t. It shouldn’t have. Not after his son couldn’t live on with it.

Klaus didn’t comment on that. At least, not for a moment. He shrugged lazily, moving over to flop down in an arm chair opposite of his father.

He wanted to hate his father. For years, all he wanted was to be able to hate the god of wine. He was never able too, at least — not completely.

Hate demanded that one person be entirely wrong and the other entirely right.

Nothing about Dionysus and Klaus had ever been that simple.

They were too alike.

That had always been the problem.

Klaus had spent years accusing Dionysus of being cold, only to realize that whenever he was hurt, he shut people out in exactly the same way.

His father hid pain behind jokes and sarcasm, Klaus did precisely that.

He mocked Dionysus for how decades ago — before camp half-blood — he had believed tomorrow could deal with today's consequences. The doenst was the present and his future could deal with tomorrow. Klaus was the same way.

He thought his father was reckless because he believed himself untouchable.

Klaus believed the very same thing.

He was untouchable, Free, alive—

—Until he wasn't.

“I don’t think it’s yer fault.” Klaus sighed, his accent slipping out — an odd mix of something southern and somthign else. Nobody had ever been able to place it. Hell, klaus couldn’t tell you where it came from.

“At least, not really. I’ve never been a very lucky guy I was just dealt…shitty cards. That’s life.”

“Don’t say that.” He shivered, never letting his gaze sway from his son. “It is. It is my fault.”

Too much. Too alike. That…that described the both of them.

Too little. Too uncaring. That…described the relationship between them.

No- that described how Dionysus treated him. And he would spend the rest of eternity regretting it.

“I gave you some of those.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re too much like me.”

Klaus shrugged again, his purple eye sparkling just slightly. “Ma did too, Well— the fates did. Dunno what i did to those old lady but…”

He chuckled awkwardly to himself. “Not a fan of mine i can tell ya that much.”

‘You’re too much like me.’

Klaus knew that was true.

Klaus was a mirror of everything Dionysus had once been.

Reckless, Free, and consumed by indulgence.

Ever scones the god had been forced into sobriety at Camp Half-Blood, he couldn’t look at his son without seeing the ghost of his own lost freedom.

Klaus was the too human parts of his father. Even in his final moments, Klaus looked like Dionysus, not in his divine glory, but in that crumbling, too human kind of way.

“Maybe.” A pause.

and then a swallow.

“But who ever said that was an entirely bad thing? Aside from Zeus, maybe.” He snickered.

And for once, thunder did not boom from the distance. Maybe the king of the gods didn’t care about what this now dead boy said about him.

Dionysus listened. He listened to his words, listened to his silence.

His son, who was everything he was and wasn’t.

Then he smiled. “It’s not.” He looked back up at the ceiling.

“Klaus. You are every good thing I’ve ever been. If I have ever been any good, all that goodness went into you. You are everything I wasn’t. You’re every great thing I was, too.” He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face as he hiccuped.

“I’m sorry it took your death, and this much alcohol to say that.” Dionysus shook his head. Blunt, just like Klaus.

“I got shitty cards too, ψυχούλης. But I shouldn’t have passed that down. I’m sorry.”

Klaus wasnt sure if ghosts could cry.

But gods, was he was close to it.

It was odd, hearing something like this, something so deep, so pure, so heartfelt and vulnerable from god who had been nothing but sarcastic and grumpy for as long as Klaus had known him.

It was such a stark difference to the things Klaus had heard growing up.

"...Thanks dad." He sniffled, voice shaky. It cracked when he spoke.

"I was gonna ask about that-" He murmured

'I'm poison. You're poison, Klaus. We have poison inside of us and we destroy everything we touch. There's no cure for us.'

"-the bottles. I mean. Didn't know....that was allowed."

'You have your father to blame for that."

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just the truth.” He mumbled, trying to sit up and struggling for a moment—before straightening up.

“It is. For you.” For your death, was more accurate. But it got the message across. “I probably wouldn’t be saying any of this, if it wasn’t for the drinks.” Dionysus admitted.

“I’m a coward. You know that.” He sighed. “Zeus…knows it too, this is him..being merciful.”

Klaus smiled, once again bittersweet. Everything about tonight was bittersweet. "It would've been nice if ya told me sooner." He sighed, no malice in his voice.

'You think I wanted this?'

"But really. Thanks." He chuckled softly. "I wouldn't be either." Normally, Klaus would have preferred a drink to help him get through a conversation like this.

But he wanted to be sure he would remember this.

'Every time I look at you, I remember what he took from me and what i did to myself.'

"A cowardly god. I'd say its ironic but..." He paused, waiting for the boom of thunder. He seemed pleased by the silence that followed. "You know how...gods can be."

#ghost!klaus #i wonder who that small text is....hmmm #klaus’s cannon non-ghost death coming to theatre a near you this august.#GRRRR #wine about it. 🍷

“I know. I know kid. I’m sorry it took this long.” Dionysus rubbed his forehead, groaning at the incoming headache he had.

He laughed at that, looking back up at him.

“Yeah. I do.” The look on his face was…bittersweet. Just like everything about this moment. The man’s eyes drifted to another bottle.

“…You’re a good kid. But if this isn’t just another trick of my brain, I don’t deserve this. You should be…at peace. In the underworld already. Not- stuck talking with me.”

Klaus was dead. Sammy's little brother, one of the only people she opened up to about her past, was dead. He died on a quest to retrieve Dionysus's goblet, the quest Sammy failed.

Most campers were staying away from the Big House, lest they faced Dionysus's wrath, but Sammy couldn't. Both literally, because she lived there, and figuratively, because she refused to let Dionysus get away with this.

She came down from here room, where she'd been sulking all day, and found her dad sitting at the dining room table in silence.

"You." She spat, standing in the doorway. "What have you done?"

Sammy didn't sound sad, or grieved. She had left those emotions in her room, all she had inside her now was rage.

Dionysus sat at the dining table, head dropping the moment he heard footsteps—resting his forehead on the cold, wooden table. He was shaking when Sammy entered.

The man swallowed thickly.

“I…” the words choked in his throat, and he had to cough to get them unstuck. Another thing that made him lesser. Mortal sensations affected him all too much.

I what? Murdered your brother?

Yes. Because that’s what he did. And it’s what he planned on admitting. His damn throat just wouldn’t work with him.

Too mortal. That is too mortal of a statement. You can control your own body because you don’t have one. There is nothing physically restraining you. Do it.

Say it.

His chest rose up and down too fast, his hands were held together in front of him on the table, squeezing until his knuckles went white. “Shit- I don’t…I can’t..” Dionysus screwed his eyes shut.

"No. No you don't get to do that! You don't get to be upset right now!" Sammy demanded, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't get to- this is your fault!"

She regretted the words, but she'd regret lying even more. She blamed herself, in part. For not completing her quest, for passing the torch to Klaus. But she didn't pass the torch, Dionysus did. Dionysus decided that Klaus needed to pay for Sammy's failure.

She approached the table, glaring down at her father, down at the man she'd always defended, always insisted wasn't like the other gods. She had been wrong, clearly.

"I always told Klaus that you loved him, in your own way. I wish I never did, then he might've told you no." Sammy said through gritted teeth, her nails digging into her palms from how tightly her fists were clenched.

"I wish I had told him the truth, because this-" She gestured at her dad, at the entire tragedy. "Is proof enough that Klaus was right. You're just a god."

“I know. I know.” He kept repeating it, like a mantra. He bit his tongue, lifting his head slowly.

“I know. It’s my fault. I murdered him. Im sorry.” Dionysus’s fingernails dug into skin. Fake. Not real. Skin that wasn’t supposed to bleed.

It did. It dripped slowly onto the table, burning through the wood with a sizzle.

“It will never be enough. I’m sorry. I know it will never be good enough. I’m sorry. Don’t forgive me.” His sentences started to fall apart, nonsensical. Insanity breathed into the air.

“I’m sorry. You won’t forgive me. Don’t forgive me.”

He went silent. Just for a moment.

“I’m not just a god.” The only part he denied.

Because he was worse. Part of him was human. Ugly and imperfect and shameful.

Sammy went silent for a minute, watching her dad come apart in front of her. "....are you sorry he died, or are you sorry that there are consequences?" She finally spat, looking away from her dad, she couldn't bear the sight of him right now.

"Because I doubt you'd be this upset if Klaus died any other way, in any way that wouldn't make you own up and take responsibility for once." Sammy looked out the window. It was too beautiful, the world didn't deserve to be so pretty without Klaus in it.

"I always went to bat for you. I always insisted you were a good dad, and I always talked about everything you've done for me. But I get it now. I get why Klaus didn't like you, I get why Gigi left. I get why none of the satyrs look you in the eye." Sammy always felt different from the other campers, because she had been raised by her godly parent. Because at any point, at any time of day, she could call for her dad and he'd be right there, he'd move heaven and Earth for her.

But now...she was just another camper. She didn't look at Dionysus and see a loving dad, she didn't see the man who raised her. She saw what everyone else saw: a god.

“I’m sorry I took him away from you. I’m sorry that I took him away from the world.” I’m sorry he never got to live, fully and entirely.

He wanted to argue. Say he would be upset either way. Because he would. But he didn’t.

“You would someday.” Was all he said in reply.

Because this is how it always ended, wasn’t it? He screwed something up. Just like he did Klaus, and Genevieve, and everything else. He drove his family to insanity, he ruined their lives, he got people killed. And as a reward, he got godhood.

Worst part about being a god? It can’t end. The pain doesn’t end because it can’t. You can’t shut the guilt off. You can’t take a bullet to your head, or a stab to the heart, or a fall from the heavens. You just have to exist in it.

And he had for years.

“…….He cracked a joke.” Dionysus mumbled. “As he bled out.” Blunt. Direct. Because there was no way to sugarcoat death, even if mortals tried.

“He’s too much like me.” No past tense. “Except he’s nothing like me, too.”

“If I was ever anything good, all that goodness went into him. He was every good bit of…” my heart? My soul?

“Of me. Except he was better.”

"Just stop!" Sammy screamed, thick vines cracking through the floorboards. "Stop trying to grieve like a human! Because you're not! You have no idea what it's like! Not anymore, at least."

Sammy had tried to fight it off, that nagging rage deep inside her, that ancient presence she picked up in the labyrinth. She didn't want to make her dad face that, but this wasn't her dad. This was the asshole who killed her brother, and that asshole needed to pay.

She approached him, fists shaking. "So what am I, then? If Klaus is all your goodness, what the hell am I?" Sammy demanded, grabbing Dionysus by the shirt. "If Klaus was just a better you, then I guess that makes me the worse version of you?" She questioned, shaking him a little.

Sammy raised her fist back, except it wasn't Sammy anymore. Sammy couldn't bring herself to truly hate her dad, so she turned control over to someone who hated Dionysus far too easily.

Ichor splattered on Sammy's fist as it connected with Dionysus's nose, a sickening crack echoing through the room. Her eyes, shifted to that sickly shade of green, held nothing but contempt for Dionysus.

Dionysus took it.

Over and over, and over again. The rhythmic noise filled the room as he gently tugged away, never a real effort. If he was really trying, he’d have to put his hands on his daughter. And he wouldn’t ever do that.

Or he’d have to teleport. Which he wouldn’t. He hated teleportation. It made him feel sick.

Another human thing about him.

“Stop trying to grieve like a human! Because you’re not! You have no idea what it’s like! Not anymore, at least.”

He’d been nothing but human for years. Mortal when he was supposed to be immortal. Demigod when he was supposed to be a full deity.

“Sammy. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Crunch.

“The ichors gonna burn your hands.” Crack.

“You might not care, but she needs her fingers intact.” Ouch.

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.

Klaus had never, not once in his 7 years at camp seen Dionysus cry.

He had seen Dionysus angry.

Annoyed. Sarcastic. Disappointed. Content.

But he’d never seen him cry.

He took a step forward, then another. His image shimmering slightly — Almost like a hologram. But something in the gods gut told him that was his son.

“Hermes ain’t here yet.” He noted. Though in all honesty Klaus wasn’t sure if the messenger god would come for him. He had seen death before, and never had it looked like this.

“I’ll have to leave a bad review. ‘1 Star, slow arrival. Would not recommend’” he chuckled, Oh Klaus…Still cracking jokes even now.

Old habits died hard.

Harder than he had, apparently.

“Jesus Christ-” He actually laughed. In spite of himself. It melted into a sob. This kid. Stupid idiot was still making him laugh after death. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he’d died like this. So soon. Because of him.

“I love you.” It was sappy. Sappy and so out of character, but it was genuine. “So much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m sorry, it-“ The man cut himself off.

“It will never be enough. But I’m sorry. And I love you.”

The wind whistled through the trees outside, crickets chirped, monsters howled somewhere in the forest. Monsters that killed his son.

The night lived on, even if he wished it didn’t. It shouldn’t have. Not after his son couldn’t live on with it.

Klaus didn’t comment on that. At least, not for a moment. He shrugged lazily, moving over to flop down in an arm chair opposite of his father.

He wanted to hate his father. For years, all he wanted was to be able to hate the god of wine. He was never able too, at least — not completely.

Hate demanded that one person be entirely wrong and the other entirely right.

Nothing about Dionysus and Klaus had ever been that simple.

They were too alike.

That had always been the problem.

Klaus had spent years accusing Dionysus of being cold, only to realize that whenever he was hurt, he shut people out in exactly the same way.

His father hid pain behind jokes and sarcasm, Klaus did precisely that.

He mocked Dionysus for how decades ago — before camp half-blood — he had believed tomorrow could deal with today's consequences. The doenst was the present and his future could deal with tomorrow. Klaus was the same way.

He thought his father was reckless because he believed himself untouchable.

Klaus believed the very same thing.

He was untouchable, Free, alive—

—Until he wasn't.

“I don’t think it’s yer fault.” Klaus sighed, his accent slipping out — an odd mix of something southern and somthign else. Nobody had ever been able to place it. Hell, klaus couldn’t tell you where it came from.

“At least, not really. I’ve never been a very lucky guy I was just dealt…shitty cards. That’s life.”

“Don’t say that.” He shivered, never letting his gaze sway from his son. “It is. It is my fault.”

Too much. Too alike. That…that described the both of them.

Too little. Too uncaring. That…described the relationship between them.

No- that described how Dionysus treated him. And he would spend the rest of eternity regretting it.

“I gave you some of those.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re too much like me.”

Klaus shrugged again, his purple eye sparkling just slightly. “Ma did too, Well— the fates did. Dunno what i did to those old lady but…”

He chuckled awkwardly to himself. “Not a fan of mine i can tell ya that much.”

‘You’re too much like me.’

Klaus knew that was true.

Klaus was a mirror of everything Dionysus had once been.

Reckless, Free, and consumed by indulgence.

Ever scones the god had been forced into sobriety at Camp Half-Blood, he couldn’t look at his son without seeing the ghost of his own lost freedom.

Klaus was the too human parts of his father. Even in his final moments, Klaus looked like Dionysus, not in his divine glory, but in that crumbling, too human kind of way.

“Maybe.” A pause.

and then a swallow.

“But who ever said that was an entirely bad thing? Aside from Zeus, maybe.” He snickered.

And for once, thunder did not boom from the distance. Maybe the king of the gods didn’t care about what this now dead boy said about him.

Dionysus listened. He listened to his words, listened to his silence.

His son, who was everything he was and wasn’t.

Then he smiled. “It’s not.” He looked back up at the ceiling.

“Klaus. You are every good thing I’ve ever been. If I have ever been any good, all that goodness went into you. You are everything I wasn’t. You’re every great thing I was, too.” He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face as he hiccuped.

“I’m sorry it took your death, and this much alcohol to say that.” Dionysus shook his head. Blunt, just like Klaus.

“I got shitty cards too, ψυχούλης. But I shouldn’t have passed that down. I’m sorry.”

Klaus wasnt sure if ghosts could cry.

But gods, was he was close to it.

It was odd, hearing something like this, something so deep, so pure, so heartfelt and vulnerable from god who had been nothing but sarcastic and grumpy for as long as Klaus had known him.

It was such a stark difference to the things Klaus had heard growing up.

"...Thanks dad." He sniffled, voice shaky. It cracked when he spoke.

"I was gonna ask about that-" He murmured

'I'm poison. You're poison, Klaus. We have poison inside of us and we destroy everything we touch. There's no cure for us.'

"-the bottles. I mean. Didn't know....that was allowed."

'You have your father to blame for that."

#ghost!klaus #wine about it. 🍷

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s just the truth.” He mumbled, trying to sit up and struggling for a moment—before straightening up.

“It is. For you.” For your death, was more accurate. But it got the message across. “I probably wouldn’t be saying any of this, if it wasn’t for the drinks.” Dionysus admitted.

“I’m a coward. You know that.” He sighed. “Zeus…knows it too, this is him..being merciful.”

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.

Klaus had never, not once in his 7 years at camp seen Dionysus cry.

He had seen Dionysus angry.

Annoyed. Sarcastic. Disappointed. Content.

But he’d never seen him cry.

He took a step forward, then another. His image shimmering slightly — Almost like a hologram. But something in the gods gut told him that was his son.

“Hermes ain’t here yet.” He noted. Though in all honesty Klaus wasn’t sure if the messenger god would come for him. He had seen death before, and never had it looked like this.

“I’ll have to leave a bad review. ‘1 Star, slow arrival. Would not recommend’” he chuckled, Oh Klaus…Still cracking jokes even now.

Old habits died hard.

Harder than he had, apparently.

“Jesus Christ-” He actually laughed. In spite of himself. It melted into a sob. This kid. Stupid idiot was still making him laugh after death. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he’d died like this. So soon. Because of him.

“I love you.” It was sappy. Sappy and so out of character, but it was genuine. “So much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m sorry, it-“ The man cut himself off.

“It will never be enough. But I’m sorry. And I love you.”

The wind whistled through the trees outside, crickets chirped, monsters howled somewhere in the forest. Monsters that killed his son.

The night lived on, even if he wished it didn’t. It shouldn’t have. Not after his son couldn’t live on with it.

Klaus didn’t comment on that. At least, not for a moment. He shrugged lazily, moving over to flop down in an arm chair opposite of his father.

He wanted to hate his father. For years, all he wanted was to be able to hate the god of wine. He was never able too, at least — not completely.

Hate demanded that one person be entirely wrong and the other entirely right.

Nothing about Dionysus and Klaus had ever been that simple.

They were too alike.

That had always been the problem.

Klaus had spent years accusing Dionysus of being cold, only to realize that whenever he was hurt, he shut people out in exactly the same way.

His father hid pain behind jokes and sarcasm, Klaus did precisely that.

He mocked Dionysus for how decades ago — before camp half-blood — he had believed tomorrow could deal with today's consequences. The doenst was the present and his future could deal with tomorrow. Klaus was the same way.

He thought his father was reckless because he believed himself untouchable.

Klaus believed the very same thing.

He was untouchable, Free, alive—

—Until he wasn't.

“I don’t think it’s yer fault.” Klaus sighed, his accent slipping out — an odd mix of something southern and somthign else. Nobody had ever been able to place it. Hell, klaus couldn’t tell you where it came from.

“At least, not really. I’ve never been a very lucky guy I was just dealt…shitty cards. That’s life.”

“Don’t say that.” He shivered, never letting his gaze sway from his son. “It is. It is my fault.”

Too much. Too alike. That…that described the both of them.

Too little. Too uncaring. That…described the relationship between them.

No- that described how Dionysus treated him. And he would spend the rest of eternity regretting it.

“I gave you some of those.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re too much like me.”

Klaus shrugged again, his purple eye sparkling just slightly. “Ma did too, Well— the fates did. Dunno what i did to those old lady but…”

He chuckled awkwardly to himself. “Not a fan of mine i can tell ya that much.”

‘You’re too much like me.’

Klaus knew that was true.

Klaus was a mirror of everything Dionysus had once been.

Reckless, Free, and consumed by indulgence.

Ever scones the god had been forced into sobriety at Camp Half-Blood, he couldn’t look at his son without seeing the ghost of his own lost freedom.

Klaus was the too human parts of his father. Even in his final moments, Klaus looked like Dionysus, not in his divine glory, but in that crumbling, too human kind of way.

“Maybe.” A pause.

and then a swallow.

“But who ever said that was an entirely bad thing? Aside from Zeus, maybe.” He snickered.

And for once, thunder did not boom from the distance. Maybe the king of the gods didn’t care about what this now dead boy said about him.

#translates to little soul btw.#ghost!klaus #wine about it. 🍷

Dionysus listened. He listened to his words, listened to his silence.

His son, who was everything he was and wasn’t.

Then he smiled. “It’s not.” He looked back up at the ceiling.

“Klaus. You are every good thing I’ve ever been. If I have ever been any good, all that goodness went into you. You are everything I wasn’t. You’re every great thing I was, too.” He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face as he hiccuped.

“I’m sorry it took your death, and this much alcohol to say that.” Dionysus shook his head. Blunt, just like Klaus.

“I got shitty cards too, ψυχούλης. But I shouldn’t have passed that down. I’m sorry.”

Klaus was dead. Sammy's little brother, one of the only people she opened up to about her past, was dead. He died on a quest to retrieve Dionysus's goblet, the quest Sammy failed.

Most campers were staying away from the Big House, lest they faced Dionysus's wrath, but Sammy couldn't. Both literally, because she lived there, and figuratively, because she refused to let Dionysus get away with this.

She came down from here room, where she'd been sulking all day, and found her dad sitting at the dining room table in silence.

"You." She spat, standing in the doorway. "What have you done?"

Sammy didn't sound sad, or grieved. She had left those emotions in her room, all she had inside her now was rage.

Dionysus sat at the dining table, head dropping the moment he heard footsteps—resting his forehead on the cold, wooden table. He was shaking when Sammy entered.

The man swallowed thickly.

“I…” the words choked in his throat, and he had to cough to get them unstuck. Another thing that made him lesser. Mortal sensations affected him all too much.

I what? Murdered your brother?

Yes. Because that’s what he did. And it’s what he planned on admitting. His damn throat just wouldn’t work with him.

Too mortal. That is too mortal of a statement. You can control your own body because you don’t have one. There is nothing physically restraining you. Do it.

Say it.

His chest rose up and down too fast, his hands were held together in front of him on the table, squeezing until his knuckles went white. “Shit- I don’t…I can’t..” Dionysus screwed his eyes shut.

"No. No you don't get to do that! You don't get to be upset right now!" Sammy demanded, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't get to- this is your fault!"

She regretted the words, but she'd regret lying even more. She blamed herself, in part. For not completing her quest, for passing the torch to Klaus. But she didn't pass the torch, Dionysus did. Dionysus decided that Klaus needed to pay for Sammy's failure.

She approached the table, glaring down at her father, down at the man she'd always defended, always insisted wasn't like the other gods. She had been wrong, clearly.

"I always told Klaus that you loved him, in your own way. I wish I never did, then he might've told you no." Sammy said through gritted teeth, her nails digging into her palms from how tightly her fists were clenched.

"I wish I had told him the truth, because this-" She gestured at her dad, at the entire tragedy. "Is proof enough that Klaus was right. You're just a god."

“I know. I know.” He kept repeating it, like a mantra. He bit his tongue, lifting his head slowly.

“I know. It’s my fault. I murdered him. Im sorry.” Dionysus’s fingernails dug into skin. Fake. Not real. Skin that wasn’t supposed to bleed.

It did. It dripped slowly onto the table, burning through the wood with a sizzle.

“It will never be enough. I’m sorry. I know it will never be good enough. I’m sorry. Don’t forgive me.” His sentences started to fall apart, nonsensical. Insanity breathed into the air.

“I’m sorry. You won’t forgive me. Don’t forgive me.”

He went silent. Just for a moment.

“I’m not just a god.” The only part he denied.

Because he was worse. Part of him was human. Ugly and imperfect and shameful.

Sammy went silent for a minute, watching her dad come apart in front of her. "....are you sorry he died, or are you sorry that there are consequences?" She finally spat, looking away from her dad, she couldn't bear the sight of him right now.

"Because I doubt you'd be this upset if Klaus died any other way, in any way that wouldn't make you own up and take responsibility for once." Sammy looked out the window. It was too beautiful, the world didn't deserve to be so pretty without Klaus in it.

"I always went to bat for you. I always insisted you were a good dad, and I always talked about everything you've done for me. But I get it now. I get why Klaus didn't like you, I get why Gigi left. I get why none of the satyrs look you in the eye." Sammy always felt different from the other campers, because she had been raised by her godly parent. Because at any point, at any time of day, she could call for her dad and he'd be right there, he'd move heaven and Earth for her.

But now...she was just another camper. She didn't look at Dionysus and see a loving dad, she didn't see the man who raised her. She saw what everyone else saw: a god.

“I’m sorry I took him away from you. I’m sorry that I took him away from the world.” I’m sorry he never got to live, fully and entirely.

He wanted to argue. Say he would be upset either way. Because he would. But he didn’t.

“You would someday.” Was all he said in reply.

Because this is how it always ended, wasn’t it? He screwed something up. Just like he did Klaus, and Genevieve, and everything else. He drove his family to insanity, he ruined their lives, he got people killed. And as a reward, he got godhood.

Worst part about being a god? It can’t end. The pain doesn’t end because it can’t. You can’t shut the guilt off. You can’t take a bullet to your head, or a stab to the heart, or a fall from the heavens. You just have to exist in it.

And he had for years.

“…….He cracked a joke.” Dionysus mumbled. “As he bled out.” Blunt. Direct. Because there was no way to sugarcoat death, even if mortals tried.

“He’s too much like me.” No past tense. “Except he’s nothing like me, too.”

“If I was ever anything good, all that goodness went into him. He was every good bit of…” my heart? My soul?

“Of me. Except he was better.”

Klaus was dead. Sammy's little brother, one of the only people she opened up to about her past, was dead. He died on a quest to retrieve Dionysus's goblet, the quest Sammy failed.

Most campers were staying away from the Big House, lest they faced Dionysus's wrath, but Sammy couldn't. Both literally, because she lived there, and figuratively, because she refused to let Dionysus get away with this.

She came down from here room, where she'd been sulking all day, and found her dad sitting at the dining room table in silence.

"You." She spat, standing in the doorway. "What have you done?"

Sammy didn't sound sad, or grieved. She had left those emotions in her room, all she had inside her now was rage.

Dionysus sat at the dining table, head dropping the moment he heard footsteps—resting his forehead on the cold, wooden table. He was shaking when Sammy entered.

The man swallowed thickly.

“I…” the words choked in his throat, and he had to cough to get them unstuck. Another thing that made him lesser. Mortal sensations affected him all too much.

I what? Murdered your brother?

Yes. Because that’s what he did. And it’s what he planned on admitting. His damn throat just wouldn’t work with him.

Too mortal. That is too mortal of a statement. You can control your own body because you don’t have one. There is nothing physically restraining you. Do it.

Say it.

His chest rose up and down too fast, his hands were held together in front of him on the table, squeezing until his knuckles went white. “Shit- I don’t…I can’t..” Dionysus screwed his eyes shut.

"No. No you don't get to do that! You don't get to be upset right now!" Sammy demanded, tears welling in her eyes. "You don't get to- this is your fault!"

She regretted the words, but she'd regret lying even more. She blamed herself, in part. For not completing her quest, for passing the torch to Klaus. But she didn't pass the torch, Dionysus did. Dionysus decided that Klaus needed to pay for Sammy's failure.

She approached the table, glaring down at her father, down at the man she'd always defended, always insisted wasn't like the other gods. She had been wrong, clearly.

"I always told Klaus that you loved him, in your own way. I wish I never did, then he might've told you no." Sammy said through gritted teeth, her nails digging into her palms from how tightly her fists were clenched.

"I wish I had told him the truth, because this-" She gestured at her dad, at the entire tragedy. "Is proof enough that Klaus was right. You're just a god."

“I know. I know.” He kept repeating it, like a mantra. He bit his tongue, lifting his head slowly.

“I know. It’s my fault. I murdered him. Im sorry.” Dionysus’s fingernails dug into skin. Fake. Not real. Skin that wasn’t supposed to bleed.

It did. It dripped slowly onto the table, burning through the wood with a sizzle.

“It will never be enough. I’m sorry. I know it will never be good enough. I’m sorry. Don’t forgive me.” His sentences started to fall apart, nonsensical. Insanity breathed into the air.

“I’m sorry. You won’t forgive me. Don’t forgive me.”

He went silent. Just for a moment.

“I’m not just a god.” The only part he denied.

Because he was worse. Part of him was human. Ugly and imperfect and shameful.

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.

Klaus had never, not once in his 7 years at camp seen Dionysus cry.

He had seen Dionysus angry.

Annoyed. Sarcastic. Disappointed. Content.

But he’d never seen him cry.

He took a step forward, then another. His image shimmering slightly — Almost like a hologram. But something in the gods gut told him that was his son.

“Hermes ain’t here yet.” He noted. Though in all honesty Klaus wasn’t sure if the messenger god would come for him. He had seen death before, and never had it looked like this.

“I’ll have to leave a bad review. ‘1 Star, slow arrival. Would not recommend’” he chuckled, Oh Klaus…Still cracking jokes even now.

Old habits died hard.

Harder than he had, apparently.

“Jesus Christ-” He actually laughed. In spite of himself. It melted into a sob. This kid. Stupid idiot was still making him laugh after death. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he’d died like this. So soon. Because of him.

“I love you.” It was sappy. Sappy and so out of character, but it was genuine. “So much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m sorry, it-“ The man cut himself off.

“It will never be enough. But I’m sorry. And I love you.”

The wind whistled through the trees outside, crickets chirped, monsters howled somewhere in the forest. Monsters that killed his son.

The night lived on, even if he wished it didn’t. It shouldn’t have. Not after his son couldn’t live on with it.

Klaus didn’t comment on that. At least, not for a moment. He shrugged lazily, moving over to flop down in an arm chair opposite of his father.

He wanted to hate his father. For years, all he wanted was to be able to hate the god of wine. He was never able too, at least — not completely.

Hate demanded that one person be entirely wrong and the other entirely right.

Nothing about Dionysus and Klaus had ever been that simple.

They were too alike.

That had always been the problem.

Klaus had spent years accusing Dionysus of being cold, only to realize that whenever he was hurt, he shut people out in exactly the same way.

His father hid pain behind jokes and sarcasm, Klaus did precisely that.

He mocked Dionysus for how decades ago — before camp half-blood — he had believed tomorrow could deal with today's consequences. The doenst was the present and his future could deal with tomorrow. Klaus was the same way.

He thought his father was reckless because he believed himself untouchable.

Klaus believed the very same thing.

He was untouchable, Free, alive—

—Until he wasn't.

“I don’t think it’s yer fault.” Klaus sighed, his accent slipping out — an odd mix of something southern and somthign else. Nobody had ever been able to place it. Hell, klaus couldn’t tell you where it came from.

“At least, not really. I’ve never been a very lucky guy I was just dealt…shitty cards. That’s life.”

#ghost!klaus #wine about it. 🍷

“Don’t say that.” He shivered, never letting his gaze sway from his son. “It is. It is my fault.”

Too much. Too alike. That…that described the both of them.

Too little. Too uncaring. That…described the relationship between them.

No- that described how Dionysus treated him. And he would spend the rest of eternity regretting it.

“I gave you some of those.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re too much like me.”

Klaus was dead. Sammy's little brother, one of the only people she opened up to about her past, was dead. He died on a quest to retrieve Dionysus's goblet, the quest Sammy failed.

Most campers were staying away from the Big House, lest they faced Dionysus's wrath, but Sammy couldn't. Both literally, because she lived there, and figuratively, because she refused to let Dionysus get away with this.

She came down from here room, where she'd been sulking all day, and found her dad sitting at the dining room table in silence.

"You." She spat, standing in the doorway. "What have you done?"

Sammy didn't sound sad, or grieved. She had left those emotions in her room, all she had inside her now was rage.

Dionysus sat at the dining table, head dropping the moment he heard footsteps—resting his forehead on the cold, wooden table. He was shaking when Sammy entered.

The man swallowed thickly.

“I…” the words choked in his throat, and he had to cough to get them unstuck. Another thing that made him lesser. Mortal sensations affected him all too much.

I what? Murdered your brother?

Yes. Because that’s what he did. And it’s what he planned on admitting. His damn throat just wouldn’t work with him.

Too mortal. That is too mortal of a statement. You can control your own body because you don’t have one. There is nothing physically restraining you. Do it.

Say it.

His chest rose up and down too fast, his hands were held together in front of him on the table, squeezing until his knuckles went white. “Shit- I don’t…I can’t..” Dionysus screwed his eyes shut.

#wine about it. 🍷#answering asks

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.

Klaus had never, not once in his 7 years at camp seen Dionysus cry.

He had seen Dionysus angry.

Annoyed. Sarcastic. Disappointed. Content.

But he’d never seen him cry.

He took a step forward, then another. His image shimmering slightly — Almost like a hologram. But something in the gods gut told him that was his son.

“Hermes ain’t here yet.” He noted. Though in all honesty Klaus wasn’t sure if the messenger god would come for him. He had seen death before, and never had it looked like this.

“I’ll have to leave a bad review. ‘1 Star, slow arrival. Would not recommend’” he chuckled, Oh Klaus…Still cracking jokes even now.

Old habits died hard.

Harder than he had, apparently.

#ghost!klaus #wine about it. 🍷

“Jesus Christ-” He actually laughed. In spite of himself. It melted into a sob. This kid. Stupid idiot was still making him laugh after death. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he’d died like this. So soon. Because of him.

“I love you.” It was sappy. Sappy and so out of character, but it was genuine. “So much.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- I’m sorry, it-“ The man cut himself off.

“It will never be enough. But I’m sorry. And I love you.”

The wind whistled through the trees outside, crickets chirped, monsters howled somewhere in the forest. Monsters that killed his son.

The night lived on, even if he wished it didn’t. It shouldn’t have. Not after his son couldn’t live on with it.

Klaus was dead.

…

There was nothing else to say. It was the cold, harsh truth. It felt like a knife, and hurt like a motherfucker.

Most people seemed to think Dionysus mostly tolerated his children—that wasn’t true. He loved them. Deep down. Sometimes it was just a little too deep down, and it was only reached when you hit rock bottom.

Klaus died tonight. That was the thought that had everyone out of the big house that night, avoiding the wrath of a god with a human soul.

Klaus died here, so close to home- to help. To saving. That knowledge is what had him smashing everything in his room, as crops died around the globe and mortals went mad. Thunder boomed outside, and an unspoken understanding happened. A rule was lifted.

Klaus died, and it was his fault. That had him picking up the bottles. Again, and again, and again.

Klaus was dead.

Did he die knowing he loved him? Did he die angry at him? Did he know he had to every right to be?

Did he die knowing his father was a coward?

Yes. He must’ve. Anyone could see it. The gods, Chiron, even his own children. For Pete’s sake- Peter could.

It was a cup. It didn’t matter. Not as much as his son’s life- his safety. Why’d he send him there? It wasn’t worth it. Not worth his son dying in front of him, cracking jokes even as he bled to death.

Dionysus stared up at the ceiling blankly. Wine bottles and broken glasses were scattered about the room. The moonlight filtered in through the window. It was pretty. Too pretty for a night like this.

The floor creaked. His eyes snapped over to it.

The god hiccuped. “Klaus?”

- @mr-d1g-bick [ghost!klaus au.. IM SORRY]

That night on half-blood hill was beautiful in a way that only death could be.

Death didn’t take Klaus clean.

Why would it? It made sense, at least to him. After years of hardship and struggles why would now be any different?

He had always imagined death would be...

Different.

A tunnel.

A light.

A calm ride across the styx to Elysium. Where the loved ones he lost would greet him with open arms.

Not this.

Klaus smiled — A small smile. Bittersweet. Klaus still looked like Klaus.

Death hadn't changed that.

He still had the same dark curls that never quite listened to gravity, always falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed them back.

He still had his father's face. Anyone who knew Dionysus could see it immediately. The same sharp nose, the same eyes, and that smile…

That familiar, lopsided grin that warned everyone around him he was about to say something clever, pull some harmless prank, or get himself into trouble.

He looked...normal. Or, at least as normal as Klaus had ever looked. Aside from the wound in his gut.

But his skin no longer looked like skin.

It shimmered faintly, translucent like a river glimmering in the moonlight.

“That’s me.” He murmured, a small, sad smile creeping up onto his face.

Dionysus was quiet for a long moment. He stared. Not through him this time,

At him. Finally. After so long—of looking past, away. Away from a boy who looked all too much like himself.

The worst parts. The imperfections. The smile that meant he was most likely gonna make a mistake, screw something up, be an embarrassment. His nose, his facial features.

The human parts.

The best parts.

“…Come here.” A beat.

“Please.” His voice wavered, as if his very being might fall apart at any moment.