Klaus feels steady enough on his feet, but he doesn't care what he looks like as he strolls through the sterile hospital halls. He has Allison's hand in his and for the first time in years he feels a little bit more like himself, even if the withdrawal symptoms have started to kick in.
He's seen nothing but the closed doors of the Academy since he left, nary a peek from the windows into the lives of Grace, Pogo and Luther still within. He doesn't consider his dad inside, knowing he waited on the stoop for days. He can't think about that. But Allison here at his side, her hand real and warm in his own, feels like a slice of home. It's miniscule, fleeting. He knows that all it takes is one slip up and the door will slam shut again. She left, after all. She has a family— a baby she's growing, he reminds himself— back in California. Why would she want anything to do with a place like this again?
He smiles sadly, though it's not a her commentary. "Mm, sleeping in the car sounds de-light-ful." He seems to walk a little straighter, with more purpose as he heads toward the door. "So no wheelchair. I like walking on my own two feet every now and then, thank you very much." He squeezes her hand a little tighter as they approach the doors, and he pauses just a few steps outside, taking in the light and the crisp, fresh air. A car rolls up, parking and putting its emergency flashers on.
"I want to promise that I won't disappoint you, Al, but you know I can't."
He wants to. He wants to say he'll overcome the monsters in his head, that he'll find a way to stop the itching need for numbness in his veins, that he'll stop being such a deadbeat, the one person in the family everyone overlooks. But he can't. He can't even promise himself that, let alone someone else.
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Klaus feels steady enough on his feet, but he doesn't care what he looks like as he strolls through the sterile hospital halls. He has Allison's hand in his and for the first time in years he feels a little bit more like himself, even if the withdrawal symptoms have started to kick in.
He's seen nothing but the closed doors of the Academy since he left, nary a peek from the windows into the lives of Grace, Pogo and Luther still within. He doesn't consider his dad inside, knowing he waited on the stoop for days. He can't think about that. But Allison here at his side, her hand real and warm in his own, feels like a slice of home. It's miniscule, fleeting. He knows that all it takes is one slip up and the door will slam shut again. She left, after all. She has a family— a baby she's growing, he reminds himself— back in California. Why would she want anything to do with a place like this again?
He smiles sadly, though it's not a her commentary. "Mm, sleeping in the car sounds de-light-ful." He seems to walk a little straighter, with more purpose as he heads toward the door. "So no wheelchair. I like walking on my own two feet every now and then, thank you very much." He squeezes her hand a little tighter as they approach the doors, and he pauses just a few steps outside, taking in the light and the crisp, fresh air. A car rolls up, parking and putting its emergency flashers on.
"I want to promise that I won't disappoint you, Al, but you know I can't."
He wants to. He wants to say he'll overcome the monsters in his head, that he'll find a way to stop the itching need for numbness in his veins, that he'll stop being such a deadbeat, the one person in the family everyone overlooks. But he can't. He can't even promise himself that, let alone someone else.
"But I'll try."