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It would be a lie to say that all is good in Klaus’s life. But right now, his head’s swimming pleasantly from opiates, he’s got a pocket full of percocet and diazepam, and he’s fairly certain he knows where he’ll be sleeping tonight.
So what if it’s snowing? The meds have left him feeling mellow and relaxed, and he can’t bring himself to fret about little things like survival and self-care. Things will work out. They always do.
Klaus can’t help but notice how pretty and glittery the drifting snow is in the dull midafternoon light.
His unfocused and wandering gaze eventually lands on Ben. Even though they’d been inseparable for the better part of three years, he is so lost in the drifting fog of his mind that he had nearly forgotten his brother was there. He’s a little impressed; he didn’t expect that sort of high quality forgetfulness from such cheap drugs.
“You’ve got that look like you’re overthinking things again, Benny,” He notes, flashing his brother a lopsided smile. “You know that face you make? It’s like the one you make when I’m doing stupid shit.”
“Here I thought you tuned me out as soon as I started telling you not to do dumb stuff,” Ben replies without any real heat. “Like last week when I told you not to go taking mystery pills from strangers and you did it anyway—”
“—but I haven’t done it since then, right? I listen! Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Ben concedes with a little roll of the eyes. He glances up at the grey sky. “I just noticed the snow’s getting heavier.”
Klaus hums a few bars of Walking in a Winter Wonderland, watching the snow fall while he stands, smoking, under the evergreen. The park he’s loitering at the edge of is nice. It’s so peaceful, he feels like even if he was sober, he would barely be seeing any ghosts. “Don’t be a grinch. Snow’s great,” he comments, but the slightly distracted air to his words lets Ben know that he’s at least thinking about it.
A gust of wind sends snow whirling under the lower boughs of the tree, and Klaus cups the cigarette to protect it. The wind cuts through his coat like it’s not even there, and he shivers.
“I wish you’d stolen a sweater instead of those shoes.”
“Yeah, well, maybe next time.”
Klaus isn’t as incompetent as Ben seems to think he is, really. Okay, so yes, maybe he shouldn’t have made a beeline for the heels the second he entered that Salvation Army. But his old shoes were starting to come apart at the seams, and at least he didn’t take the really nice teal-dotted pumps! His new boots are water-resistant leather, and almost knee-high. They have sturdy spool heels, which are almost impossible to mess up walking in. Not to mention they look fantastic on him.
The three-inch heels are not slowing Klaus down at all in this snow and ice, but Ben’s sure it’s just a matter of time until he slips.
Ben had tried to talk Klaus into getting more sensible shoes, like the flat ones with the nice fuzzy lining and good tread that looked perfect for winter, but Klaus had just made a face and said, “Uggs? Really?”
When Ben had tried to push the matter, Klaus had whined, “Just let me have something nice for once,” as he tried fumblingly to shove the boots under his too-tight shirt. At that point Ben noticed a hole in the ignored shoes, so he dropped the matter, even if he still thought Klaus wasn’t being too smart about it all.
When trying to hide the shoes under his shirt failed, Klaus gave him a hopeful smile. “Ben? Benny? Benvolio? Would you keep an eye out?”
“...fine. Just this once.”
Just this once? What a lie. They both know that he won’t deny Klaus help.
Ben always gets put on lookout duty when Klaus shoplifts. Even if he doesn’t approve, he always finds it hard to say no. He is so limited, after all. At least he can help here. Anyways, he knows his brother would just go ahead and get caught if he put his foot down and refused.
Looking around at the thickly falling snow, Ben half thinks he should’ve just let Klaus get caught. He wouldn’t exactly get jail time for stealing $12 shoes, though the handful of assorted pills might cause trouble. Diego would get called in to bail them out again, and for all his grousing he would try to at least make sure Klaus got hot food and a shower and a night’s sleep in a safe place, and Ben wouldn’t have to watch his brother toughing it out in a snowstorm...
As tempting as the thought is, he would never actually go against Klaus’s trust like that, and he knows it. Klaus will keep relying on him and he’ll keep reluctantly helping, trying not to enable his brother’s various addictions.
Ben doesn’t bother suggesting they try to contact Diego. He knows how strongly Klaus feels about burdening his family. His brother would rather freeze out here.
“Well, come on,” Ben says, glancing up at the sky again. “We should move before the snow gets too heavy. This tree isn’t doing anything for you against the wind.”
Klaus gives a little shrug, shivering still. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette. “The shelter open yet?”
“Five more hours.”
“Christ alive, what do they expect us to do all day?” Klaus mumbles around the cigarette. “Real ‘out of sight, out of mind’, huh?” He takes one last inhale of smoke, then tosses the butt into the snow. He steps out from under the heavy boughs and pulls the collar of his jacket up in a frail attempt to protect against the wind. “Alright, alright, I’m ready. Any places that still might let me in?”
“How about Hasting’s Grill? You know they sometimes let you work off bills.”
“Not hungry,” Klaus sighs, gazing into shops as they walk down the sidewalk. Looking at the warm and happy people, who look straight out of a cheap Christmas movie. He puzzles over them for a moment, still feeling hazy and absentminded. Do people actually look like that? He can’t imagine his siblings tolerating him for the duration of a meal, much less smiling and laughing like that. And can he honestly blame them?
Something glittery in the reflection catches his attention and he turns away to look at the snow again. How sharply, blindingly it catches the light when it falls, and how quickly it’s ground into dirty slush. One of the blessings of percs, Klaus finds, is how completely they shut down deep, serious thinking. Every tiny thing is worthwhile and he feels like he’s gliding, only half-present as he’s carried along on a lovely high. Thirty seconds of looking at snow and he already cannot remember what he’d been thinking about before.
“You should eat. You haven’t had anything since last night.”
Klaus makes a noncommittal sound and slouches, staring at a shop window. It’s a hat store, and his attention is drawn by a lovely dark purple hat with a minimalistic flower on the brim. He tilts his head so that it looks like his reflection is wearing the hat. Nice.
“I mean it,” Ben insists. He’s lived with Klaus for long enough to not be brushed off so easily. “When it’s cold you need to eat more. Keep your temperature up. You know that.”
“I don’t need you mother henning me, Ben! I don’t need a... a ghost babysitter!”
Ben sighs. “Well then prove it and take care of yourself.”
Klaus starts to amble down the sidewalk again. He thinks he was cold, but if he was, it must have been a long time ago. “Have I ever told you that you’re one of my favourite brothers?”
“Once or twice.” He pauses. “One of your favourites? Who am I tied with?”
“You’re in the top four,” Klaus tells him encouragingly.
“Lucky me. I’m tied with literally everybody else,” Ben replies drily, but when Klaus beams at him he can’t help but smile in return.
Klaus is in high spirits - this is a good day, for him - but Ben cannot share his careless, happy attitude. To Ben, Klaus seems a little too unfocused, too erratic, too lethargic. Many little unintended changes from many little cocktails of slow poison. It reminds Ben sharply that whatever his brother says is being filtered through a lot of drugs. Not that the drugs are anything new, but he doesn’t like to be reminded how much Klaus has to do just to make it through a day.
For all that Ben hates the drugs - hates the fact that Klaus needs them to function at all - he can’t hate his brother, especially not for wanting an escape.
“Don’t be jealous, Benny. You know I love you!”
“Love you too. Now will you at least get inside?”
Klaus laughs, “Looking like this? I’ll get kicked out before I can even think about a place. I’ll set a new record!”
Ben looks around. Klaus has stopped shivering again, and in this snowstorm, he really does need to get inside. But he has a point. Though he’s done his best to maintain his appearance, his visibly unwashed hair sticks out in tight unbrushed curls. He is gaunt and pale, unshaven and grungy, and there’s something just a bit too unfocused about him even on a good day. His tight black pants are ripped at the knees in a way that almost looks deliberate, though it’s really from wear. He does have a coat, which is good, if oversized, but his t-shirt underneath is cheap thin cotton. His clothes are wrinkled and subtly sweat-stained from being worn for a few days straight.
The closest shelter only lets people stay for seven days at a time. There are others, of course, but this one is stricter than most when it comes to keeping its patrons safe. Klaus might not have much of a survival instinct, but he tries to sleep in safe places when he can, and most shelters are simply more dangerous than sleeping on the street. Klaus had been making do with an alley, then a lobby, then a 24-hour coffee shop in the university district - he had confidently bragged to the bored-looking staff that he was doing a masters degree on the effects of LSD on octopi. He had gone into over-the-top detail, trying to get a laugh out of Ben. He did get a rather undignified snort of laughter from his brother when he explained the study’s biggest difficulty as seriously as he could - namely, that octopi are really straight-laced for such wriggly little weirdos - but to the credit of the staff, they didn’t bat an eyelash. They weren’t even fazed when he talked directly to Ben. That was a nice place, but he did wonder what the hell they saw on an average day.
Anyway, since the homeless shelter was most definitely a limited resource, Klaus had been holding off on staying there until the weather became bad, like it is now. He looks and smells like he’s been sleeping on the streets, and he’s still overenthusiastic and distractible and giddy, buzzing from the percs’ euphoric rush.
It’s not going to be easy to find a place to while away the daytime hours.
There’s a whirl of powdery snow, and Klaus looks up. When did the snow get so glittery…?
“Hey!” Ben cuts in, interrupting Klaus’s addled train of thought. “Why don’t we go there?”
Klaus squints at the brownstone building down the street. It’s looming and imperious in the way that government buildings normally are, he notices with some skepticism. It has gold-painted letters above too-tall wooden double doors, but visibility is too low for him to read them.
“Looks weird and official. D’you think those doors are big enough to ride a horse through?” Klaus wonders absentmindedly. He falls quiet, trying to puzzle out what sort of official-looking building might admit cowboys.
“Probably not. It’s the library.”
“Cowboy loans…?” Klaus wonders aloud, completely ignoring Ben.
“Library,” Ben repeats louder.
Klaus gives his brother a look. “Why do you need one of those? Can’t you just—” he waves his hands vaguely. “—summon up books? Ghost magic? I’ve seen you do it before.”
“Only with books I’ve read before. Anyhow, this isn’t for me. Libraries don’t kick people out for not spending money.”
“Oh, right.” It takes a long moment to process what Ben’s said, and then Klaus’s eyes light up. “Right! Library! Okay, library!”
Klaus turns and steps off the curb, stumbling a bit at the sudden drop. He crosses the street, heedless of honking traffic. Thankfully, he is a slow enough figure, his dark outline clear even in the blowing snow, that the cars have time to stop.
The library doors seem taller up close, and Klaus vaguely wonders what sort of extremely tall people the library was designed for. Maybe it’s the basketball library?
“No, it’s the central branch,” Ben replies.
Klaus blinks, confused. “You know, you’re getting really good at guessing my thoughts.”
Ben shoots him a look, worried but resigned. “You… know you asked all that out loud, right?”
“Course I did,” Klaus replies quickly, waving away Ben’s concern.
Klaus holds the door for his ghost brother even though he knows full well that Ben, as an actual ghost, could just drift through the wall.
That's one of the nice little things about Klaus, Ben thinks. He doesn't treat Ben differently just for being dead. They actually get along better now, having reached a level of understanding that they'd never quite managed when they were in the land of the living.
When they step through the door, Klaus is greeted with a rush of air that feels hot on his freezing, wet skin. It takes a second for him to orient himself; the change from blinding storm and biting winds to soft yellow lights and the smell of books is a dramatic one. He rubs his hands together, trying to hurry the uncomfortable prickling as numbness recedes and sensation returns.
Ben seems happy, though. He’s looking around at everything with interest, and Klaus recalls that Ben probably never had the chance to visit while alive.
Well. He can’t deny it was a good idea. As long as he stays quiet he’s free to sit and bask in the warmth, and, oh! They even have big comfy armchairs to lounge in! Klaus eyes the seats with interest.
“Good, right?” Ben asks, and Klaus nods. Somehow he doubts that the library people will be as blasé about chatting with apparitions as the university coffee shop staff were.
“Just gonna go clean myself up,” he mumbles quietly, making a beeline for the restrooms without waiting for a response.
Klaus is searching in his pockets and downing another dose of opiates the second the door is closed. After a moment’s hesitation - Ben would be pissed, he knows - he quickly takes a second tablet.
Look, it’s not a betrayal of trust, alright? It’s just that Ben never gives him any privacy, and whenever he sees Klaus doing drugs he does that kicked-puppy expression, or worse, he gets sad and disappointed— and what is Klaus supposed to do?
Klaus does actually clean himself up. It wasn’t a lie, he desperately needs to fix his appearance. The taps only reach a mediocre lukewarm, but it’s better than meltwater, and at least he has a mirror. So, he washes his face and hands, and soon the redness and numbness fade from his windburned skin. He brushes the snow out of his curly hair and runs his fingers through it a few times to make it look properly combed. With finishing touches from some dollar store eyeliner, he feels a little more himself.
It’s not much, but he’s managed to tame his disheveled appearance to a weather-appropriate level of storm-swept and damp. He actually looks more or less presentable, instead of like a frost-bitten zombie.
When he comes out of the bathroom, Ben looks at him consideringly.
“What?”
“You’re looking much better.”
Klaus preens under the attention. “I feel better.”
He starts humming I Feel Pretty, following Ben between the shelves. His steps are so springy that they’re more dance than walk. It’s hard to stay quiet and restrained when he can feel the energy and confidence starting to bubble in his chest again. Perfect cloudiness, levity in a capsule, spreading slow and sticky through his veins. He does feel pretty, and he wants to laugh.
It’s times like this when he kind of wishes he had more control over ghosts. Because honestly? To his unmoored mind it sounds perfectly reasonable that ghost powers should come with the ability to affect a ghost’s state. The thought of getting absolutely blitzed with Ben sounds like the best time ever, and he stifles a giggle at the mental image. Klaus glances at his brother to see if Ben has noticed, or if he is somehow sharing the resurging euphoria from the latest dose of drugs.
Ben’s just looking around at the shelves as if he’s genuinely interested in the books they pass, as calm as anything. Klaus mentally scratches ‘do drugs with the ghosts’ off his list of ways to actually make his shitty powers useful.
Ben slows at a display, his gaze dragging over the books like he wishes he could just surround himself in stories and shut himself out from the world for an afternoon the way he loved to do. Finally, Klaus notices the wistful way his brother is looking around.
Ben’s starting to look lost in the way he always does whenever he’s feeling incapable and intangible. Whenever he’s spiraling into feeling too ghostly. So of course Klaus starts searching for a pick-me-up for his brother.
Klaus starts looking at the books more intently, actually paying attention to the flashy covers. He looks closely at the Popular Family Classics display. These aren’t books they know from their childhood because their dear old dad didn’t see the practical use in fiction books. So, he randomly snags a thin white book with cute animals on it from a display. It looks like exactly the sort of lighthearted fluff that he’s imagined kids’ books are supposed to be, and if it’s rubbish then at least they can mock it together.
“How’s this one?”
Ben glances over, looking puzzled. “It looks… fine? Wait, isn’t Charlotte’s Web a kids’ book?”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Klaus states, wandering towards an out-of-the-way little corner of the library. His faux-innocuous tone does nothing to ease Ben, who can tell by the mischievous sparkle in his eye that he’s up to something.
“I don’t want something complicated, I just want something nice,” Klaus continues, glancing at the book he’s holding. “And this one’s like a farm story with talking animals. I am so down for that.”
Ben hesitates. “It does look nice.” He brightens up almost imperceptibly, standing a touch straighter. “Are you going to turn the pages for me?”
“Nope!” Klaus gestures grandly to a comfortable-looking armchair. "Go on, sit down!"
Ben shoots him a quizzical look, slowly taking a seat. “You’re not going to...”
“Yes I absolutely am, mon frère.”
Ben smiles a bit, shaking his head. “Just— keep it quiet? We only just got here.”
“Oh, sure, sure!” Klaus agrees airily in a dramatically hushed voice. He throws himself down in a big armchair with a whump, before making himself comfortable. He kicks off his boots and turns to sit sideways, propping his legs up on the armrest, and then flips the book open.
Klaus begins reading Charlotte’s Web in a hushed voice. He pitches his voice higher in poor falsetto impersonation of the little girl protagonist, because how could he not? What’s the point of reading to someone if you don’t do the voices? Over-the-top character voices are half the fun of reading out loud. The urge to be showy and melodramatic still tugs insistently at him, and who is he to say no to that? It’s the little pleasures that matter, after all, and he’s enjoying it.
The ever-present tension eases out of Ben’s posture as he listens to his brother give the story his all. Klaus is a showman, after all, with an excellent flair for the dramatic. Naturally rambunctious, he’s sparing no effort in bringing the story to life, and it is too easy to slip away and forget life for a short while. Ben deserves a little escapism.
He is genuinely enjoying himself.
For now, he is not worried about tomorrow.
The first snow of the winter has fallen, but Klaus is bright and vivacious and unbowed, and somehow Ben cannot imagine a little bad weather ever keeping him down.