Sometimes harsh is what people need to snap back into reality. And sometimes harsh just makes them withdraw all the more. Klaus doesn't turn around as Diego rails into him, gripping tightly to the desk the hotplate is on, trying to focus on breathing, on the tea steeping, on anything other than snapping and turning around duking it out with his brother.
He's sharp knives and snap judgments, isn't he? And does Diego honestly think he doesn't know these things? That dad tortured all of them, that all of this isn't a contest? He knows damn well that dad hurt all of them, but his powers? Those ghosts that he'd seen since he was a child, broken and bloody and bruised? None of them understood what it was like- except for Ben. Ben, who had seen the blood and gore he'd witnessed in the handful of times he'd been sober enough to see ghosts in his adult life. Except for Vanya, who had witnessed his powers on the train, who had seen Leonard as he was at death.
Honestly, he just wants to tell Diego to get out. That Diego doesn't know about his fights with Allison, that he doesn't like feeling constantly observed and judged as he tries to fight what he knows is an uphill battle. It's why he's been keeping odd hours, so he won't be observed. Because he feels like he's under a microscope. Like every mistake he makes is magnified and every struggle, every accomplishment is discarded as an outlier.
He had been proud of himself for cutting off from the harder shit. For coming back, still with the taste of that high that the power enhancer had given him and depressed from his failure, and not immediately chasing down the nearest ecstasy dealer. He had been proud of taking a job in Jeopardy, at a Psychic shop, learning to get over his fears with the shop mascot, Mary. He had been proud of actually going to the fight with OTO, for helping capture an agent, for what sacrifices he'd made when he was confronted by Clotho, even if he couldn't remember them exactly.
And none of it mattered, did it?
None of it mattered because, despite all his growth and progress, he'd had setbacks. He'd had shit from back home come to haunt him here. He'd fucked up and fucked himself over and he feels like he might as well be right back where he started.
So when he answers, its with the quietest voice. Tired, and holding so much back, because he doesn't know how to put his frustration into the right words. It's a discussion he'd had briefly with Vanya, when he'd first come back from that strange space between here and home, between life and death. It's something he's turned over in his mind in the dark of the night, when standing outside smoking and watching the stars as the moon hangs low overhead.
It's something he says in the softest whisper, because even he's not sure its what he wants.
no subject
He's sharp knives and snap judgments, isn't he? And does Diego honestly think he doesn't know these things? That dad tortured all of them, that all of this isn't a contest? He knows damn well that dad hurt all of them, but his powers? Those ghosts that he'd seen since he was a child, broken and bloody and bruised? None of them understood what it was like- except for Ben. Ben, who had seen the blood and gore he'd witnessed in the handful of times he'd been sober enough to see ghosts in his adult life. Except for Vanya, who had witnessed his powers on the train, who had seen Leonard as he was at death.
Honestly, he just wants to tell Diego to get out. That Diego doesn't know about his fights with Allison, that he doesn't like feeling constantly observed and judged as he tries to fight what he knows is an uphill battle. It's why he's been keeping odd hours, so he won't be observed. Because he feels like he's under a microscope. Like every mistake he makes is magnified and every struggle, every accomplishment is discarded as an outlier.
He had been proud of himself for cutting off from the harder shit. For coming back, still with the taste of that high that the power enhancer had given him and depressed from his failure, and not immediately chasing down the nearest ecstasy dealer. He had been proud of taking a job in Jeopardy, at a Psychic shop, learning to get over his fears with the shop mascot, Mary. He had been proud of actually going to the fight with OTO, for helping capture an agent, for what sacrifices he'd made when he was confronted by Clotho, even if he couldn't remember them exactly.
And none of it mattered, did it?
None of it mattered because, despite all his growth and progress, he'd had setbacks. He'd had shit from back home come to haunt him here. He'd fucked up and fucked himself over and he feels like he might as well be right back where he started.
So when he answers, its with the quietest voice. Tired, and holding so much back, because he doesn't know how to put his frustration into the right words.
It's a discussion he'd had briefly with Vanya, when he'd first come back from that strange space between here and home, between life and death. It's something he's turned over in his mind in the dark of the night, when standing outside smoking and watching the stars as the moon hangs low overhead.
It's something he says in the softest whisper, because even he's not sure its what he wants.
"Maybe I should just move out."