The first time Klaus Hargreeves overdosed, he was fifteen and a half years old. One of his best friends was dead. The other, gone. Disappeared into oblivion. Which fate was worse, he hadn't quite decided.
The year was 2005, and his world was condensing around him, getting smaller and smaller. First it was down to 8 people. Then 7. He knew nothing outside of his adopted family, and now even they were leaving him. He knew that wasn't really what was happening, but he couldn't help but feel that it was. And it certainly didn't help that Ben kept popping up everywhere he looked. Despite his father's attempts, he'd never quite gotten over his fear of the dead, which was unfortunate given that the one thing he'd always known made him special was his ability to commune with them. His life was a series of ticking time bombs, only he couldn't hear the beeps or see the timers. The only thing he had to go off of was the gnawing feeling in his gut that told him, This? It's all going away. It won't last. All he wanted was to disarm the bombs and get rid of the anxiety that followed him everywhere. But there was no way to do that. Well, there was one. But that was a last resort.
And yet, when all was said and done, all he seemed to have left were last resorts.
The Academy, despite being an enormous mansion, was not in a particularly nice area of town, so the third alleyway Klaus checked had exactly what he was looking for. He forked out a roll of cash, for which he had exchanged one of his father's gold plaques. It was for some humanitarian award or another that he didn't deserve, just one out of a dozen, so Klaus didn't think he'd mind. Or notice.
Klaus found himself sitting on the toilet lid, a tiny plastic bag in his hand, and in the bag were three tiny, white pills. He heard a voice in his head saying, No, Klaus. Don't be an idiot. Except it wasn't in his head. It was directly to the left of his head. Ben. Again. Klaus clenched his eyes shut, refusing to look.
"Go away, go away, go away, go-"
"Saying it isn't going to make me do anything, Klaus."
"-away, go away, go away, go aw-"
"Klaus, listen to me!" The volume raised.
"GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY!" With an abrupt scream, Ben vanished and Klaus was once again left sitting alone in the bathroom, staring at the drugs in his hand. One swallow. That's all it would take. Just one.
And just like that, the decision was made. Klaus had never been good at dry-swallowing pills, so he struggled to his feet, suddenly unsteady, and filled the glass on the edge of the sink. One, two, three, he felt the pills slide down his throat. On wobbly legs, he lowered himself into the empty bathtub, stretching his lanky legs out as far as he could, up onto the opposite edge of the tub. He slipped his Walkman on and hit play. The song that came on was that atrocious disco song that Luther loved. It could be heard throughout the house during leisure hours, much to everyone but Luther and Allison's chagrin. And perhaps Grace's.
It didn't make much sense to change it now. Klaus closed his eyes, fell further into the tub, and let himself glide away into limbo.
Before the fog of death and drugs had fully disappeared from Klaus's eyes, before he even recognized where he was, he saw someone sitting next to his bed.
"Ben?" He groaned. It hadn't worked. Or maybe it had, because it wasn't Ben. It was Diego, face solemn and sober (the irony of that word was not lost on Klaus), his eyes downcast. When Klaus moved to prop himself up on his elbows, Diego's head popped up. Without saying a word, he reached over to the table beside him and poured a glass of water. He wrapped Klaus's spindly fingers around it, along with another pair of white pills. "What- what are these?" Klaus coughed twice, his mouth drier than the Sahara.
"Aspirin. Not whatever crap you took that did this to you." Diego's voice seemed to clear some of the cotton stuffing in Klaus's head. He was in the infirmary at the Academy, and he wasn't dead. Those seemed to be the clearest two ideas in his head. Klaus knocked back the drugs and let himself fall backwards on the bed. They sat quietly for a moment.
"You overdosed. Probably would've died if n-n-" Diego groaned, his frustration evident in his every motion as he dragged his hand through his hair and steeled himself. "If not for Mom and Dad."
"Died? Yeah. You probably should have. But Luther saw you go into the bathroom. Once you'd been in there awhile, he decided to bust down the door. Ripped it off its hinges, really. Saw you, picked you up, and brought you down here. Mom and Dad fixed you up." Diego folded his arms. "What the hell, Klaus? Dad's gonna lose his shit when he sees you. Seriously, I don't know what you were thinking."
"I was thinking that I can't..." Tears rose in Klaus's eyes as he tried his best to fight them down. "I can't deal with this! All these ghosts, everywhere, all the time, I just... can't."
"Hey, hey, I- I'm sorry." Diego had a tendency to be abrasive, but the thing that always endeared him to Klaus was that he knew when to back off. He always did. "Look, don't worry, okay? Dad'll calm down eventually. And in the meantime-" Diego shrugged. "I'll protect you." Klaus grinned, the blinding headache behind his eyes dampening just a bit.
"You're a good brother, Diego. Really."
"Come on, Klaus." Diego rolled his eyes, but he reached over, squeezing Klaus's bony hand. "I should call Dad. Let him know you're up."
"Can you- can you wait? Just five more minutes? I'd really prefer this headache to go down before I get screamed at." Diego nodded.
"Five more minutes." And so they sat, in almost total silence, for five more minutes. They didn't talk, they just sat, Diego's rough hands, scarred from years of knife training, wrapped tightly around Klaus's, as pale as the ghosts he talked to. And when the five minutes were up and Diego called Reginald down to the infirmary, and they got the veritable ball of rage they'd expected, they didn't let go. They were two ships passing in the night, holding on for dear life.
It went pretty much the same way for the next two and a half years. Every six months or so, Klaus would try a new drug, or a little too much of an old one, and he'd wake up in the first floor infirmary. And every time, Diego handed him water and aspirin, and they sat together. Ten minutes, every time, and Diego would tell Klaus who found him, in a way that sort of sounded like they were playing Clue. It was Pogo in the attic, or Allison in the courtyard, or Vanya in the kitchen. More often than not, though, it was the same as the first time. Luther found him in the bathroom, his headphones slipped low over his ears, his legs splayed over the rim of the tub, by a few more inches every time.
And every time, Diego held his hand as Reginald tore Klaus a new one. He couldn't kick Klaus out, he couldn't lose a member of the Academy, but he could make his life hell. Even more hellish than it already was. Klaus's outings were limited to just the block, then just the Academy, until he was confined to his room unless he was on a mission. And yet, he still found his way out, got high, and nearly died, leaving his limp and weak body for one of his siblings to find. Diego never left his side, through all of it, though. Their friendship grew, little by little, starting with sitting together at dinner, to reading together in the library, to doing homework side-by-side at Klaus's desk (Diego always let Klaus copy his math, and Klaus always let Diego copy his English), to Diego nearly being shot while watching Klaus's back on a mission. They were attached at the hip, more brothers than any real brothers they had ever seen. One was rarely without the other.
So it was earth-shattering when Klaus woke up two weeks after his 18th birthday in the infirmary, and nobody was sitting in the chair next to him. The light streaming in through the window clouded his vision, so he squinted, trying to see through the haze, wondering if his vision had failed him after all. But no, it hadn't, and he found himself all alone.
"Diego?" No response. After a moment, he remembered. Diego had been gone for exactly one month, two days, and six hours. He had offered, begged Klaus to come with him, to escape the Academy once and for all. And to be quite honest, Klaus could no longer remember why he'd said no. His best friend in the world was gone, and here he was, in pain, powerless, and virtually alone. It was another half an hour before Reginald came down and berated him again, for the last time. And this time, Klaus had no hand to hold. He clung to himself, trying to block out the wrath directed at him. When the storm ended and the raging sea calmed, Klaus's mind was made up. Diego was gone. So was Vanya. And tomorrow, Klaus would join them. Out in the real world, there might be no one to hold his hand, but there wasn't anyone to keep pushing him back either. So he packed a bag and left. The next morning, he found himself in county jail and he laughed, because this was the first time in three years he'd woken up from a drug-induced coma to nobody screaming.
The year was 2019, and Klaus Hargreeves woke up with a pounding head and sore limbs in the same hospital bed he'd woken up in twice a year when he was a teenager. A glass of water was poured and someone wrapped his weak, bony fingers around it, pressing a pair of pills into his other palm. The haze of light and pain faded out, and déjà vu swept over him.
"Ben?" A low, bitter chuckle.
"Nope." Klaus sighed with relief as he felt a familiar hand, albeit much larger, close around his own. "Take the aspirin, Klaus." With a groan, Klaus tossed back the pills and water and flopped back.
"It's been awhile." Diego nodded.
"Twelve years. Fitting that the first time I'd see you again would be like this." Diego paused, then punched Klaus in the shoulder, hard.
"You're an idiot, Klaus. I thought maybe you'd get your shit together, but you really haven't, have you?"
"Nope. I haven't." Klaus grinned, a broad, shit-eating grin. "Welcome back, D." Diego slid his hand into Klaus's and squeezed. "So, who found me this time?"
"Mom, actually. In the kitchen."
"Yeah." They looked at each other silently. "Dad's not here to yell at you anymore."
"Nope." Klaus looked down. "The bastard's dead."
"Yep. I should probably go tell the others you're okay."
"Right. Of course." Neither one let go.
"Ten more minutes?" Diego kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed.
