Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Klaus hates the most about this city— besides, you know, all the traumatic childhood memories related to it and the fact that his asshole father lives in it (in his precious Academy not that far away from the dirty alleyway where Klaus is currently waiting for his dealer to show up)— is the shitty weather, no doubt about it. The way the cold chills him to his bones and the always grey sky that only serves to make the city seem even more depressing, making everything and everyone miserable. Winter is still months away for fuck’s sake and yet he can already feel the cold wind starting to pick up. There’s not much Klaus can do about it with his thin clothes.

He should probably start thinking about finding himself a jacket soon.

Klaus hates the thought of having to go back to rehab once winter starts to get near so he doesn’t freeze to death overnight on the streets. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course, but he’s just left his usual clinic and he’s pretty sure if he goes back there the boredom might kill him a lot quicker than the hypothermia would. He’d rather take his chances, thanks. He will manage. He always does.

And if he doesn’t, well.

He never thought he’d live long enough to turn twenty-one anyway, he’s already made it further than expected. It’s no great loss.

“What are you doing again?” Ben asks somewhere behind him, his voice showing so little interest that it barely registers as a question, and Klaus doesn’t have to look at him to know he probably didn’t even bother looking up from his book. Which, rude.

Klaus takes no offense at it though; they’re both far too used to each other by now for that and, well, if he stopped doing things just because Ben disapproves of them then he’d be living a far, far more boring life, and way more haunted than he’d appreciate, thank you very much.

“Killing time,” he answers simply, shrugging like it should be obvious. “There’s still a while to go until Teds comes around.”

Just the mention of the dealer makes the itch under his skin grow more noticeable, and Klaus shivers— he’s thankfully not sober sober, not enough for it to be a problem anyway and you would be surprised at how easy it is to get drugs while at rehab, but that doesn’t mean much these days and he misses the harder stuff. There’s really nothing like the rush of heroin to keep him going.

“By digging through trash?”

Ben doesn’t look too surprised by the sight of him going through garbage as if he were browsing one of Allison’s magazines, but then again, it’s not the first time Klaus has done this; both out of necessity and just for fun. One tends to let go of little things like dignity when they’re starving and already living in the gutter anyway.

And screw what Ben might say, dumpster diving is a legitimate method of entertainment.

“Well now, don’t sound so judgmental, Benjamin! You never know what you can find,” Klaus chides, not bothering to hide his glee as he keeps his search for something useful and/or interesting. “It’s like what they say, one man’s trash is another man’s drug money.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

Klaus waves him off. “Besides, who knows. Maybe I’ll find some trinket to pawn,” he continues like Ben never said anything. “Or a treasure!”

(Once he’d found a skirt someone threw away that made his legs look great, the tears and stains on the fabric only adding to his aesthetic.)

(God, he misses that skirt.)

He can almost feel Ben’s eye roll from where he’s sitting on top of a fire escape, and when Klaus turns around to look at him Ben only stares back with raised eyebrows, looking beyond unconvinced under his hood, though he doesn’t say anything else and soon turns back to his book with only a shake of his head. Honestly, Klaus doesn’t know why he even still tries— all his wisdom is wasted on him. Shameful, really.

A noise catches his attention just as Klaus is about to turn back to his treasure hunting, instantly putting him on guard and making him freeze— if there’s anything that four years of living on the streets have taught him is to be aware of his surroundings and be ready to book it at any instant, a lesson he had to learn the hard way. The noise is quiet at first, unrecognizable and almost easy to dismiss, before it increases in volume and soon it’s impossible to mistake it for anything but a cry, even muffled.

A cold dread races up his spine at the sound.

It can’t be, not now. Klaus isn’t sober enough yet for the ghosts to start showing their faces. He’s made sure of that. He reaches for his pockets with shaking hands, searching uselessly for the little plastic bag that he already knows is empty. Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

This can’t be happening.

“Klaus.”

He flinches, before recognizing the voice as Ben’s and brushing it off. He doesn’t have the time to be scolded for his coping mechanisms, not now when he can already feel himself starting to panic and hyperventilate. Ben can criticize him all he wants once he’s higher than a kite and all the ghosts are gone, but right now all he cares about is getting rid of the apparitions that haunt both his days and his dreams since he was a child.

(There must be something left, right? A forgotten joint, a loose pill, something. Anything. )

“Klaus,” Ben tries to call his attention to no avail, sounding closer than he’d been a moment ago. “Klaus, it’s not a ghost!”

That manages to get his attention and get through him, and he stops his frenzied movements, finally. Klaus opens his eyes, not even having realized he’d closed them shut before, and it takes him a second before he can situate himself while Ben watches him looking worried, a frown on his face as he waits for him to calm down. Klaus blinks. What did he say?

“What?”

Fuck, he hates how small and vulnerable he sounds.

Ben sighs. “I don’t think it’s a ghost,” he repeats, softer than before, despite both of them knowing Klaus heard him well enough.

Klaus nods, uncertain. He forces himself to look around, though now that he’s paying attention he realizes that Ben must be right. It doesn’t sound like a ghost, not really. There’s nothing on either side of the alleyway either, no mangled corpses to be seen. But then, what else could it be?

“Maybe it’s a cat,” Ben muses, apparently wondering the same thing. “It could be hurt.”

That’s a fair guess, he supposes. Klaus stares at the direction of where the noise is coming from, now curious. He jumps out of the dumpster, landing on his feet gracefully (and totally without stumbling and almost falling on his face, shut up Ben, he has the dexterity of a ninja) before carefully approaching the apparent source of the muffled cries that only get louder the closer he gets: another dumpster, further into the piss-covered alleyway and surrounded by trash bags and empty cardboard boxes. He shares a look with Ben, opening the lid to reveal—

A baby.

Wrapped in a ratty off-color blue and yellow blanket and carefully placed lying amidst garbage is a baby, its small little brown face wet with tears as it looks up at him with wide dark eyes— although thankfully it has at least stopped with the screaming, because someone clearly has good pipes. Klaus blinks, trying to process what he’s seeing though no matter how long he stares, it doesn’t help it make any more sense.

Someone threw away a whole fucking baby, what the fuck. 

“As opposed to what, half a baby?” Ben asks snappish, and Klaus realizes with a jolt that he must’ve said it out loud. In spite of his words, Ben looks just as shocked as Klaus himself feels, clearly not having anticipated this. “Of course it’s a fucking baby.”

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do with it?!”

“I don’t know!”

Klaus looks around, frantically, as if waiting for the baby’s parents to magically show up saying they’d only misplaced it or for someone to reveal it was all a prank and there was no abandoned child after all, which given his luck of course doesn’t happen. The baby frowns, making little noises that threaten to restart the crying the longer they leave it there, clearly unhappy with the situation which quite frankly makes two of them. 

Klaus runs his hands through his hair, unable to stop the nervous laughter from leaving his lips. Of course this would happen to him. Of course! It’s not like his life isn’t weird enough already, why not throw in some random abandoned kid too?

At least the two of them have something in common.

“We have to do something,” Klaus insists. He gestures at the baby with both hands as if Ben could have somehow missed it. “I mean, look at it!”

The baby sniffs, cooing unhappily as if in agreement. Oh god, please don’t cry again.

Ben huffs. “I know.”

“Look at it!”

“I know!”

Ben throws his hands up, exasperated— though now without the hood Klaus can see Ben’s just as overwhelmed as him, his eyes wide and anxious as he cautiously approaches the dumpster and gets closer to the baby, his face inches away from it. The baby, of course, remains oblivious to him as he studies it. It somehow looks even tinier, near to Ben. But maybe that’s just how big babies normally are. It’s not like Klaus would know.

Shit, Klaus wishes this was a drug-induced hallucination. At least that he has experience with, and hey, it would mean that he’s high and tripping on some good shit which is always a bonus. He could really go for some drugs right now— it’s why he’s here in the first place.

He doesn’t think it’s the case, though. He’s not that lucky.

Ben frowns, stepping away. “I don’t think—” he starts, though he doesn’t get to finish his thoughts as the baby decides in that instant to suddenly scream, startling the shit out of them and making them both jump two feet off the ground.

“Jesus tap-dancing Christ!” Klaus clutches at his chest, though it does nothing to calm his racing heart. “Why!”

At his side he sees more than feels as Ben’s cold, incorporeal hand goes through his arm as the other tries to push him in the dumpster’s direction, making him shiver at the feeling of it. The sheer panic on his brother’s face as he stares at the baby like it is a bomb he’s afraid can explode at any minute is almost enough to make him laugh, if not for the fact that honestly, Klaus can’t really disagree with the sentiment.

Also, rude!

“Klaus, make it stop,” Ben rushes him, not looking his way as he continues to uselessly try and touch his arm. He doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s even doing it. “C’mon, don’t just leave it there! Pick it up!”

Klaus splutters. “What, why me?! You pick it up!”

“I’m dead!”

“Well…” He starts, but honestly, that’s a good point. Shit. “Alright, fine! But if I drop it, it’s your fault.”

Despite his words, Klaus still hesitates to do it— babies are rather fragile little things, aren’t they? Breakable. The only babies he’s ever been around were his siblings and he doesn’t even have any memory of it given that, you know, he was also a baby then. What if he actually drops it?

He’s so not qualified for this shit.

He turns back to Ben, the baby’s cries quieter now that he’s shuffled closer to it and is again in its view. “Do you think it is hungry?”

Ben shrugs before conceding. “Maybe,” he says. “How am I supposed to know? But I doubt it’s happy laying in the garbage. Now stop stalling.”

“Right.”

Klaus takes a few breaths, feeling a little more shaky than it’s probably reasonable, before taking the last step and carefully moving his hands under the small body and picking it up, quickly moving it closer to his chest so there’s less risk of the baby falling and becoming goo on the floor. He can feel the faint heartbeat with his hands, the baby still sniffling and grumbling but seemingly fascinated enough by his face to stop crying.

That’s when it dawns on him that this is real.

There’s a tiny, tiny human being in his arms, vulnerable and unaware that they’d been abandoned and left for dead by the person supposed to take care of them— the person who was supposed to love them, yet didn’t find them worth keeping.

An innocent child that would’ve died if his dumbass self hadn’t accidentally found them, all because someone decided they didn’t want them.

How could they do that? Why?

“I think you should tell the police,” Ben says after a few moments of quiet. “They’ll probably know what to do.”

Klaus hums ambiguously, distracted, before what Ben said finally catches up to him. 

He freezes. “What?”

“Well, it’s not like you can keep it.”

Right. Of course. 

But it’s not like he can just hand them over either, is it? The police aren't trustworthy. He’s seen how corrupt they can be, how cruel— sneering at and kicking down those they consider lesser, nothing but gutter trash in their eyes. Those like Klaus. Who says they’ll help them?

The baby blinks up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears and a feeling that Klaus can’t name.

“I know.” 

They look so small in his arms. 

“I know that, Ben. I’m not stupid. Of course I’m not going to keep the garbage baby. But I can’t just leave them either, can I?” Klaus defends, though his voice probably comes out a lot softer than intended, from the way Ben raises his eyebrows at him. But, well. It’s not like they want the baby to start crying again, right? It’s reasonable. “I’m not a monster. It’s just temporary, you’ll see.”

He does his best to look sure of himself as Ben stares at him, even though he feels like anything but— holding the baby closer to his chest as if to stop anyone from ripping them away from him and hurting them. That doesn’t mean he’ll keep them, of course. He means that. Klaus is homeless and addicted and far too young, the last thing he should be doing is thinking about looking after a child. This really is just temporary, only until he knows what to do with the baby and find someone or somewhere that he can trust will keep them safe, that's all. That won’t take long at all.

He’s not sure whether he’s trying to convince Ben or himself of that. Maybe both. (It’s probably both.)

Ultimately, Ben sighs.

“Please don’t call the baby that.”

And Klaus can’t help but smile, because he knows a victory when he sees one.

Chapter Text

There’s things Klaus hadn’t thought about when deciding to take in a baby.

Like, for example, pretty much all of it.

Not that he would admit it to Ben, of course— believe it or not but he still has his pride, thank you very much, and Klaus still thinks it’s a good idea even if not a well thought-out one. Or, maybe not a good idea per se, but the right thing to do nonetheless.

He’s sure they make quite the image in this random corner store, the closest thing he could find open that looked like he wouldn’t be immediately kicked out of the second he set foot inside and that has what they need. For all that Klaus does his best to stay clean and look his best, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still clearly homeless and currently covered in glitter from last night’s activities, and he’s sure the baby being clumsily held against his chest and the way he’s arguing with what the poor clerk probably assumes is thin air probably doesn’t help, either. Oh well.

Lucky for Klaus, he stopped giving a shit about what people thought of him years ago.

He eyes the shelves in front of him, more than a little overwhelmed— he didn’t know there were so many types of baby products. How is he supposed to know what half of this stuff is good for? Some are obvious, and Klaus winces to himself at the fact that he forgot about the whole changing diaper situation, but others just leave him at loss. 

Like seriously, a nasal aspirator? What?

“Come on, come on, what do babies even need?” he asks, more to himself than to Ben since he already knows his brother is just as clueless as him in this situation. “I mean, food right? Everyone needs food.” He looks at Ben, then shrugs and amends, “Well, not you, but you know what I mean. What kind though? This all just looks nasty. I’d rather stick to the gooey oatmeal we were forced to eat as kids.”

Ben groans at his side. “God, it tasted like wet cardboard.”

“It did!” Klaus agrees with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, laughing, which only makes the baby in his arms giggle as well. It’s without doubt the cutest thing he’s ever heard. “It did, I never understood how Vanya could eat it without complaining. Thank God for Mom’s pancakes.”

He grabs a bottle of baby food, looking at the label with the badly designed cartoonish grapes drawn on it.

“What are you talking about?”

Klaus frowns, a little distracted. It doesn’t look very appetizing. “What?”

“Vanya hated oatmeal,” Ben tells him, though he sounds a little unsure. “I remember she used to throw tantrums when we were younger, and Dad would always make her stay at the table after we were all done until she ate everything and she always refused.”

“What? No. Remember how Mom used to make her an example to make us eat? She always ate that shit like her life depended on it.”

Klaus rocks the baby a bit, grabbing their attention as he shows them the bottle in his hand to try and see if they’re interested, but garbage baby only stares at it for a few seconds before turning their head away and rubbing it on his chest which, while adorable, doesn’t really tell him much. Crap. Shrugging, Klaus puts the bottle back, grabbing one with a prettier label instead— it’s still gross-looking, except this one is apple flavored and looks slightly more edible and expensive. 

Do people really feed their babies this? Is he missing something?

“Put it back, that one is too expensive,” says Ben, as he looks at the shelf full of different types of diaper packages. “The first one is cheaper.”

“They didn’t like the first one!”

“They— Klaus, it’s a baby. It has no idea what’s in the bottle, it probably just wasn’t shiny enough to be interesting.”

Whatever. Klaus puts the bottle back, giving the baby a look as if to let them know it isn’t his fault, but they seem entirely distracted with staring at the nothing and making noises. Maybe he could manage a way to steal it…? It would be risky, though. Hm.

Someone cleans their throat behind him and Klaus startles, almost dropping the baby before clinging to them tighter and turning around to see the same cashier he’d seen earlier— a stout older man shorter than him, with a white mustache on his face and a name tag that reads “Mr. Vitali.” The old man stares at him with raised eyebrows, and Klaus can feel his heart drop. He spares a glance at the door, wondering if he’d manage to grab a few things and run while also carrying the baby with him, before giving up on the idea.

Shit. 

“The baby’s too young for that,” the old man tells him, a thick italian accent to his voice, as he nods at the shelf full of baby food behind Klaus. “You need formula instead. It’s on the other shelf.”

Klaus frowns, sharing a look with Ben. “But it’s baby food. It’s even in the name!”

The man sighs, muttering something in italian about waifs and a woman’s name under his breath before going around him and grabbing a bottle of said formula at random, showing him the label. “Here. Your baby can’t handle food yet, only milk.”

“Huh.”

He grabs the bottle, reading it with no small amount of skepticism. Mr. Vitali doesn’t seem to be wrong though.

“So, how… how old do they have to be to eat the baby food?” Klaus asks, confused.

“Depends. Usually four months, sometimes older,” comes the answer easily. After a pause, the old man amends, “Your little one seems to be around two, maybe three months old, I would say. I can’t say for sure. But still too young.”

Klaus holds the baby closer to his chest. “I knew that,” he says, unconvincingly even to his own ears. 

Mr. Vitali only raises one eyebrow at him then huffs, gesturing for Klaus to follow him to the counter, which he does with some hesitance after Ben nods at him and only then. “You haven’t had that baby for long, yes?”

Klaus shakes his head, avoiding eye contact and looking at the baby instead so he won’t have to see the sad way in which the old man is looking at him— it makes him want to hiss at him, to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business. If there’s one thing Klaus doesn’t need is pity. But he’s helping, and he hasn’t kicked him out yet even though Klaus is sure the man knows he has a granola bar stuffed in his pants (what? sue him, he needs to eat too.) No, instead Mr. Vitali explains how to hold them and how to prepare the formula, patiently going through the process with him until he’s confident Klaus’ got it. He seems aware of how unqualified Klaus is, his tone growing gentler the more overwhelmed Klaus gets, yet doesn’t question him. It’s… nice.

(It’s suspicious.)

He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth though. Can’t exactly afford to, especially now. So Klaus swallows down his pride and tries not to show his bitterness and the way the charity makes him bristle, doing his best to pay attention to what the man tells him despite the fact that each word only makes it more visible how out of his depth Klaus is and he can feel as the itch under his skin grows harder to ignore by the minute. 

Fuckity fuck, why did he think this was a good idea?

(Maybe Teds will be there already if he goes back to that alley; he doesn’t need a lot, really, just some H and then he can relax a little— Klaus knows he can’t exactly go around spending money now that he has someone else depending on him, but it’s not like it’ll be a problem. Right? He won’t go overboard or anything, he’ll make sure of it. It’s just a little to help settle his nerves, so he can do this without—)

The baby gurgles, spitting some of the milk on both themself and Klaus before going back to drinking it without an issue, uncaring of how much they startled him. That’s just great. Klaus sighs and starts to clean the baby’s face with the sleeve that’s not drenched, before adjusting the bottle like Mr. Vitali taught him. Well, it's not like his clothes aren't already stained as hell.

Still. Gross.

"Ideally, babies should still be nursing at this age," Mr. Vitali tells him, and for all that the man seems pretty no-nonsense, there's no judgement in his voice as he watches Klaus bottle feed with shaky hands and milk-stained clothes. "So they can get borrowed immunity. But I'm assuming that's not an option here."

Klaus' bites at his lower lip, shaking his head. "No."

Mr. Vitali nods unsurprised, and doesn’t question it. Without a word he grabs a few bags and starts packing a few different baby products— a few bottles of the formula they'd used, but also diapers, baby wipes and even a few water bottles. Mr. Vitali bags all of it, stealing a few quick glances at Klaus' ratty, mostly empty stolen backpack as if to make sure it'll all fit in the end, and all Klaus can do is blink at him, confused and speechless, almost letting the bottle slip from his hand in his shock to the annoyance of garbage baby, who doesn't let their unhappiness go unheard.

"Uh… I don't think I can afford all of that, Mr. V."

That only gets him a scoff though while the old man just bags the remaining few things before offering him the plastic bags, sighing when Klaus only continues to stare at him bemused. “How much do you got?” Mr. Vitali asks.

He doesn’t point out that Mr. Vitali didn’t even bother to ring everything up; there’s no point in pretending that this is anything other than charity.

It takes Klaus a moment to figure out how to free one of his hands to hand him his few crumpled dollar bills, and a part of him hurts to see the money go after all the trouble he went through to get it in the first place. It’s the right thing to do though , he tells himself. And for someone who bitched about it the entire way here, Ben sure looks happy as he watches Klaus’ struggle, the smug little shit.

Klaus pretends not to see the pride in his eyes, too. 

Not commenting on the state of the bills, Mr. Vitali quickly counts them before keeping half of it and giving him back the rest. “That’s enough.”

“What? No, that probably doesn’t cover even half of it,” comes out the protest before he can help it, and Klaus winces, telling himself to shut up and accept the offer before the old man regrets it and takes it back. It’s true, though. The money is nowhere near enough. 

Which makes him wonder… 

He gives Mr. Vitali a pointed look, trying to ignore Ben in his peripheral vision and pretend there’s not a baby in his arms, innocent and unaware. “Do you… want something, for it?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and for a moment Klaus is sure the man will take him up on his unspoken offer; it’s clear Mr. Vitali is aware of what he’s implying, as he stares at Klaus with an unreadable look on his face. Klaus doesn’t want to do it, not really. He hopes the man will refuse him, for all that he has no real expectation of such— people don’t just help without wanting something in exchange, and he’s acutely aware of what that something usually is when it’s about him. But he hates it. For all that he may try to pretend otherwise, he hates it so much and the thought of doing it sober and in daylight, with Ben and a child nearby, is enough to make him nauseous.

But he— he would do it, of course. He will, if Mr. Vitali asks him to, and will do so without a single complaint. It’s not a choice for him.

Klaus knows how much they need those things, and that he has no way to afford them himself otherwise. It’s worth it. For the baby, who was unwanted by their family and now has no one else to take care of them but some trashy homeless junkie and a dead teenager, and deserves so much better. For himself, too. It’s his chance to for once in his life not be a selfish asshole.

Klaus has done a lot worse for a lot less.

Mr. Vitali’s face softens. “I just want that baby to be well fed and taken care of. Nothing else.”

Huh. Klaus nods, and by the way Mr. Vitali looks even more saddened, he didn’t quite manage to hide his relief and confusion at the answer. But he can’t deny that he feels wrong-footed at the refusal. It doesn’t make any sense.

He mumbles a thank you, shoving the money back into his pocket and letting his backpack slip down his shoulder as he moves to place it on the counter near the plastic bags, wincing at how grimy it looks in the light, and how empty. Klaus doesn’t own a lot, personally. It’s hard to when everything is so easily either sold for drug money or stolen while he sleeps— he’s pretty sure all he has in it at the moment are a couple of socks, an old music player and headphones, some condoms and a few pairs of underwear, as well as some expired stolen makeup. Mostly, the backpack serves as his pillow when sleeping in alleyways and such. Useful, that.

It only takes a few seconds of Klaus struggling with his only free hand before Mr. Vitali starts helping him, taking the time to tell him what’s in each bag and what they are for. The moment they’re done Klaus thanks him again, just as clumsily as before, and gets ready to leave before the rug can be pulled from under his feet— still not trusting how easy it all went down— when Mr. V calls his attention again just as he's nearing the door, placing a hand on his shoulder that’s quickly removed when Klaus fails to hide his flinch.

There's something apologetic in the old man's eyes when Klaus turns back to him, far too jittery in his attempt to look unbothered and regain some sense of control for it to be believable. He gives Mr. V a smile that struggles to stay up. "Yeah?"

Klaus hates how defeated he sounds.

“It’s starting to get cold out,” Mr. Vitali tells him, and he’s kind enough to not point out why that’s relevant. Instead, he starts stripping off his own coat; an oversized piece made of a heavy material and in a dark greenish color— it looks comfortable, if slightly aged, and something that in a normal day Klaus wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. “Here, take this.”

Klaus blinks at him, frozen.

At his side, Ben tries to nod in encouragement when he fails to accept what’s being offered to him, though he doesn’t look away from the older man, still staring at him in disbelief and suspicion. Ben, like Klaus, is intimately aware of how this world works. “Klaus, take the coat. You’ll need it.”

Kind, gruffy italian old men like Mr. Vitali who’d go through the trouble to help someone like Klaus for no reason aren’t a part of it, that’s for sure.

Klaus clenches his jaw, swallowing down his pride at the obvious handout as he hitches the baby higher with one arm, making sure he won’t drop them as he forces himself to take the coat. He feels the texture of it— it’s a good coat, warm, even if it won’t be winning any beauty contests. He probably will be swimming in it despite being a good few inches taller than the older man.

“I don’t…” he starts, a little unsure as to what he wants to say or even who he’s addressing at first, before giving up and trying again, a little more honest than intended. “Why are you doing all of this?”

Mr. Vitali seems to think about his answer for a moment, and thankfully doesn’t look offended at Klaus’ distrust.

“Well, I don’t want all these items to go to waste, yes? Otherwise my help was for nothing. So I guess you could say I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. That little one needs you.” When Klaus doesn’t say anything, he sighs and adds, a little gentler, “My Stella would never forgive me if I let a waif like you and that baby walk out of here without helping."

Oh.

There aren’t any ghosts around the store that Klaus can see, but that doesn’t mean anything; the longing in Mr. Vitali’s voice says enough. 

Klaus nods, not knowing what else to do. He doesn’t put on the coat immediately, instead holding it with a tight fist as nonsensical baby noises fill the air between them, allowing himself to think it all through. “Won’t you get in trouble for doing this?”

The older man huffs. “I can do what I want, it’s my store.”

Clinging tighter to the baby in his arms Klaus quickly thanks Mr. Vitali in italian, not paying much attention to the man’s surprise at the unexpected usage of his native language as Klaus all but runs out of the store before he can say another word. 

He doesn’t look back, confident that Ben’s following him, only stopping when he reaches the nearest alley— not the same one as before, though truth be told, you see one alleyway you’ve seen them all. Making sure they’re safely hidden behind a dumpster, he allows himself to finally sit down and rest; his backpack hitting the floor next to him with a soft thunk as it slips off his shoulder (and Jesus, Klaus doesn’t think it has ever been that heavy or full before). He runs a hand through his hair, cursing to himself and refusing to spare a glance at Ben.

Not for the first time, Klaus can’t help but wonder: what the fuck is he doing.

Carefully, he props the baby against his raised knees, looking them in the face. The baby stares back. Then, without a warning, they give him a big, gummy smile, wiggling a little and waving their tiny arms around until one of them whacks him in the face.

Klaus laughs, making the baby giggle back.

“Klaus…”

Not bothering to look at Ben, Klaus simply holds the baby’s hands in his own, marvelling at how small they are. “What?”

“You know you can’t afford to look after it, right?” Ben asks him unnecessarily. A broken record, really. “You can barely look after yourself, even less someone else. Hell, you don’t even know anything about babies! This won’t work, and this time, it’s not just you on the line.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Ben. It’s not like I’m keeping them! I think I can handle it for a few days, thanks. Just until we find someone.”

“And who would that be, one of your dealers?” Ben sighs, before continuing, softer this time, “I’m just saying, you have to think about the baby too. And I still think you should tell someone, before you get too attached. You know, like the police. An actual authority.”

He scoffs. “What for, so they can say I stole the baby? Find some bullshit charge to accuse me of and arrest me?” Klaus asks bitterly, and doesn’t allow the other to answer as he goes on to add, “And I am thinking about the baby! Okay? I know this isn’t ideal, but what else can do I, huh? Let them be shoved in some random orphanage to be forgotten, or— or worse, adopted by someone who should’ve never been allowed around kids; who will torture and terrify them throughout their childhood and call it training, until they're just a broken shell of person who doesn't know who they are beyond their pain and the drugs?” Knowing he said too much, Klaus is quick to deflect. “Or even worse! Be named Qwynnifer or, I don’t know, Chad by some asshole nun? You know how straight people are, Ben. We can’t risk it.”

The baby makes some distressed noises in his lap, as if aware there’s something wrong yet not understanding what, but Klaus doesn’t dare to break his eye contact with Ben. After a few minutes, Ben sighs again and looks away, sitting on the floor near him.

“I’m still against this,” he informs, not looking at him, and Klaus nods. He knows.

Ben leans in to look at the baby, before making a series of dumb faces— uselessly really, given that the baby can’t even see him, but it makes the tension in the air disappear nonetheless, and it’s not long before Klaus joins in, making the baby laugh again.

“You need to find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

Shit.

He hadn’t thought of that.