maskormenacelogs | [open] And the nights, they last forever...

"... We haven't, yeah." Klaus looks out the window of the gift shop, because it's easier than looking Luther in the eye. How much had Allison told him? The details? How long he'd been gone?

What he'd said to her, lashing out in fear and anger at his own powers, how her train of thought had been like a swarm of angry bees, how it almost felt like she blamed him for not wanting to open up.

It was hard, being open. Hard because, throughout childhood, he'd always felt his place was to try and cheer the others up. The lookout and the wisecracker, making jokes after a rough mission so the rest of his siblings could smile, because he wasn't there in the middle of it all. Support class hero with no offensive applications for his powers.

At least. Not until he'd summoned Ben.

"... How much did she tell you, Luth? About...?"

The whole team had been such a finely-tuned gyroscope: Diego and Ben obeying orders dutifully, Allison backing them up in combat, Klaus keeping their spirits high, Luther keeping them focused and motivated. The moment you removed one of those elements, specifically snipped Ben out of the equation, the whole thing crumbled. A jenga tower tumbling.

But these debriefs are important. It's been twelve, thirteen years since Luther's had cause to drag a status report out of one of his brothers like this, but the importance of them still feels marrow-deep. Checking in. Seeing how they're ticking, how they're feeling. If they're still functioning.

Luther is a little sheepish admitting how much he already knows, but-- maybe that'll make it easier on Klaus. Not having to re-hash it all from scratch.

And who's even surprised that Allison told Luther everything she knew, anyway?

He tries to keep it simple, though: "She said there was a-- dance hall in your memories, mixed with the rave, and a battlefield." And a man. You were with someone. "That you stole one of the briefcases and spent ten months in the Vietnam War."

Debrief.

It's been a hell of a long time since he'd done one, especially to Luther. When even was the last time they'd gone on mission together? After Ben had died it had been a handful of times, and none of the four that were left seemed to really have things sorted out.

Then Diego left. Then him.

He hadn't looked back, not until he was waking up in the back of an ambulance, seeing that his father- his adopted father- had died.

"... His name was Dave." He says quietly, gripping his dog tags under his shirt.
"The man. His name was Dave. We were soldiers together."
It's a shaky sigh that parts his lips, and Klaus exhales slowly, closing his eyes shut tight.
"... Yeah, sorry, I think she saw you when you were high on... Shit, was it estascy or ketamine?"

"I don't even know what it was, to be honest." His gaze darts down to the stupid souvenir mug, not meeting Klaus' eyes for a moment; shame twisting in his gut. Luther had accepted the pills blindly, unquestioningly, from someone else on the dance floor. It hadn't been smart. Had been colossally stupid, even.

But then he drags his focus back to Klaus. "So you were literally on the battlefield, the actual Vietnam battlefield, for almost a whole year? With Dave."

Yeah, it had been colossally stupid, taking pills like that from a stranger. And yet Klaus had done it for over half his life. Even before he was 18, he was stealing whiskey from the bar, stronger stuff from the medicine cabinet. Breaking his jaw at 12? Had changed his life forever.

Knowing that he could shut them out, that drugging himself muted his powers- it was a delight. It meant not waking up to random ghosts, to people clawing at his skin, screaming his name. And he had accepted each and every way to get them out of his head.

Still. He can't blame Luther. He can't blame One. Always had the pressure of leadership on his shoulders, forced to account for every mistake, every bad choice. The golden son who had been abused just as badly as the rest of them. Just. In a different way.

"--Yeah, yeah! Though, we weren't always fighting, I mean- We had leave sometimes. Go out to the city. Disco in the 60's? Way better than any rave." And god, how Dave had looked at him. That sly little smile, the softness of his lips...

And he couldn't be summoned. Not here.

Not ever.

He'd never even existed here.

The smile falls slowly from his face, and he looks away.
"I took their briefcase thinking there was cash or valuables or something. And I hid it. For ten months."

No one had seen him come home. Not with the blood of his beloved on his hands. Shell shocked and despairing. Five had only seen the aftermath, had cared too much about the briefcase, Diego had only seen him drinking- and Ben. Ben knew everything. Because he couldn't keep secrets from his closest sibling.

"... Look, I don't... Do we have to talk about this?"

"We don't have to. But I'd like to." A beat. Trying to find the right words. "Look. It's just... I'm trying this new thing, it's called 'talking to each other'? Learning about the things we've gone through, the stuff affecting us. There's been enough years of radio silence and enough years where none of us knew the whole story. And I want us to be better about that, going forward."

Luther sets the souvenir mug back on the shelf, careful to not knock over any others. "But if you're not ready to, or not comfortable. We don't have to."

It's easy to pretend that he's only looking into this as a team leader, as Number One needing to know that Number Four is functional. But the more Luther examines the instinct, the more he knows it's not just that. It's checking in on his brother, too.

"... I'm just... not used to any of you believing me, you know? As many times as I talked about Ben-" No, that isn't fair. That isn't fair of him to shove on Luther, and he tries again, clearing his throat.
"... I just. What am I supposed to say? Dave died. Hole blown into his chest like Ben's. I didn't- I came home."

He doesn't look at him. Doesn't want his pity or his judgement or anything else. Doesn't want his blame for Ben's death, or how he'd failed to help him, or anything else for that matter. He wants this conversation to be done.

"I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone. Or did you?"

"I didn't," he admits, simply. Because if he's going to champion transparency in this family, he has to be transparent. Bluntly honest, as Luther can be, sometimes. "You were gone... what, a day and a half? The house was attacked. Mom was deactivated. A lot was going on. But I-- I'm sorry I didn't notice."

Klaus and Five had been like wild neighbourhood cats that week: coming-and-going unpredictably, wandering off on their own inscrutable errands. That had been a time, once upon a time, that the team leader knew where every single one of the Academy was, at most moments of the day. Sir Reginald's obsessive monitoring had made sure of it. Luther would've planted trackers in all of them too if he could've, to keep them safe. But lately—

"I know it's not really a good excuse, but it's been a few years since we were in touch. Since you were in the house. I wasn't sure if you were going to stick around. So I lost track. That won't happen again."

He watches Klaus, watches the way the other man's gaze slides away.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I... I missed all of that. The attack, everything." He'd been too busy drowning his ghosts, metaphorically and literally, with a joint and pills and a good long bath. It had certainly made his escape and subsequent arrival in Vietnam... interesting. Dave had always wondered how the hell he'd shown up there in nothing but a towel and an overcoat.

The smile flickers again as he remembers him, and fades just as quickly.

"Yeah... No. No, I'm fine, I'm just-" He fiddles with his dog tags, and still can't look Luther in the face.
"I'm just trying to remember that he never existed here."

It's such a stark reminder that some of them missing people, whole pieces carved out of themselves and left behind in a place where they can't go, a world they can't retrieve. Dave. Claire.

Luther hasn't often thought of himself as lucky, but he does now. All of his family is here. The only people he loves are here.

There's an unreadable expression flickering across his face, as he puts those pieces together. "So you can't summon him," he says.

There's a soft shake of his head, and he finds himself leaning against the wall, pressing fingertips to the drywall of the giftshop. A soft heave of his shoulders as he sighs, as he rolls his head, as he tries to keep it all back anyway.

"We go back in time and fix everything? Do what Five's planning? He's not going to remember me anyway. Can't be in Vietnam if I was never kidnapped or took the briefcase to begin with, right?" It's such a hollow, tired laugh that comes to his lips, and he crosses his arms, straightening himself out.

"... I need a smoke."

Though Luther can be cruelly pragmatic, he can also be stubbornly optimistic sometimes -- and that streak reveals itself now. "Depending on exactly when we go back to," he points out, "we can thread the needle. Find the right day, the right hour. So, after your kidnapping but before everything goes to hell in a handbasket. There's a few days in there we can work with."

He says it with such confidence, that the old outlines of Number One show at the edges.

"We'll find a way, Klaus."

And then, at his brother's next words, Luther's caught by a burst of inspiration. He pokes through the shelves and boxes until he finds a souvenir zippo lighter emblazoned with Tessie's outline, and purchases it. "Alright. Let's get some air."

Edited 2019-08-11 03:44 (UTC)

He's too sober by far, really. Hasn't had his usual hits because the lake has been lovely, the company wonderful. Far enough away from the ghosts and the chattering of other people that it's tolerable. And Luther- well, Luther's stubborn optimism gets him smiling despite himself.

There hadn't been much time- a handful of days. And honestly, most of it was a blur. But he remembers how solid Ben's hand had felt on his shoulder at the theatre. How when he looked across from him, it was a younger Allison staring back at him, a smaller Diego holding his hand.

And he can't shake the feeling that whenever they get back? They'll be thirty year olds in kids bodies, sitting around the table right after Five ran off to join the post-apocalyptic future.

All the same, Luther buys a lighter, and gestures for them to step outside, and Klaus tries to clear his head. Optimism. Maybe he should try and think like Luther more often.

Too bad, when he opens the door, he walks into a living nightmare...

[open] And the nights, they last forever...

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