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❛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘ. ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚ ▎❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ
ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ꒱


❝ SO, I JUST WANT TO SAY,
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY
ENITER LIFE, WITHOUT IRONY,
 THAT MY NAME IS KLAUS  AND
I AM FIGHTING NOT TO BE AN
 ALCOHOLIC AND COMPLETE
DRUG ADDICT  ❞

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"What the fuck was that?" It was darker away from the lights of the farm, but Jennifer didn't need to see Ben's face to know he was masking his panic under fury— he did seem to have anger management issues, after all, if what he'd done to those guards was anything to go by.

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She could feel her own panic still very much present, her heart thudding in her chest even though they'd slowed to a walk a while ago.

He stopped and whirled on her, causing her to stumble to a halt. "What do you mean you don't know? They're your powers!"

"I've never done a prophecy before!" the brunette snapped in reply, their voices loud enough that, if Gene and Jean were to send anyone after them, they'd find them easily.

"You've never done a— oh, great. That's just great! How long have you had these abilities?"

She met his glare with one of her own, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. "I never said I was a very good prophet! I've mostly just had. . . visions, and then I forgot I had powers altogether. When was I supposed to figure out that I could be the Oracle of Delphi?"

"Visions?" Ben repeated. "What kind of visions?"

Jennifer deflated slightly, some of the fight leaving her. She scuffed a toe through the dead leaves under their feet, unwilling to tell him the truth. After all, she'd sound like a psychopath if she told him oh, yeah, I've had dreams about you my entire life and in most of them, we die. Well, it was nice to meet you! No way. Deciding that it was best to deflect for now, she turned the questioning onto him: "we met, what, thirty-six hours ago? In that time, you've killed, like, two dozen people."

"Yeah, to protect you," he responded tightly.

"From what?" When he didn't answer right away, she sighed. "Do you even know?"

"I didn't ask for any of this. I. . . I don't even know what this is," he admitted. "But you and me, we're. . . we're connected somehow." Ben saw recognition flash in her eyes, as if she understood exactly what he was feeling. He pressed on, hoping that would be enough to convince her to stay. "Let's just get some rest and we can figure this out together. Please?"

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Later on, they eventually conceded to the exhaustion they felt and found a motel to stay the night. It was a shabby, run-down place with walls so thin paper would be thicker. They decided that some space would do them good, so they stayed in their separate rooms for a while. After flipping through the channels the TV had to offer, they settled on the same movie. Then, they, unknowingly, sat back-to-back with the wall between them. When they realized they couldn't focus on the show, they reached up and knocked on the wall at the same time.

"Hey."

"Hey," she greeted him back.

"Thought you were sleeping."

She shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "Can't. I keep thinking about the—"

"Prophecy," they finished together.

"Yeah. That, and my visions."

"You wanna tell me what they were about now?"

Jennifer sighed. "You'd think I'm crazy."

Ben huffed a dry laugh. "I think I'm past the point in my life where anything would surprise me."

"Well, I'd say you'd be surprised, but. . ." She trailed off, then steeled herself to admit quietly, "you."

"Me?"

"You," she confirmed. "I've always dreamed about you. Not-not in a romantic sense," the brunette added hastily, feeling warmth flush her face. "But I've seen you, across the timelines. We always manage to meet somehow and then things usually go horribly wrong."

"Cheerful," the Asian man commented sardonically.

"You. . . you never dreamed about me?"

Ben thought back to his previous life— or maybe it wasn't so much previous as past; he'd never gotten the hang of time travel like the other Hargreeves. "Not dreamed, really. It's. . . it's stupid. We weren't really allowed hobbies in my family— it was always about training to be the best we could be— but there was a-a face that haunted me. It drove me to be better because I knew when I met this person, I'd want to be able to protect them. I never saw them with clarity; it was like a part of their face was always covered. The only way I could get them out of my head was if I drew them. And. . . I think that person was you. I sort of recognized you when we first met."

Jennifer smiled faintly, warmed by the conviction in his words. "I recognized you, too, even before I remembered I had powers. It was strange since I never really cared about relationships or. . . or boys before. I think it's because it's always just been me; I. . . my family, they—"

"It's okay," the brunet interrupted her, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it before. "I get it. My family wasn't great either, but they were all I had and now they're dead."  "It's okay," the brunet interrupted her, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it before. "I get it. My family wasn't great either, but they were all I had and now they're dead."

He thought about what Luther had told him— how he and Alexa had apparently found Sloane and Deianira. He still didn't know if he should believe them and, if he did, would he even want to see his sisters? They hadn't reached out to him in all this time; maybe he would be better off if he just declared them all dead to him.

Jennifer took his words at face value. She knew that she should express some sympathy for his loss but having experienced a similar situation herself, she knew empty words of platitude never helped. Instead, she thought it was best to return to their original subject. "Do you think we're fated to be together? Like. . . all these timelines, all these versions of us finding each other— do you think it means something?"

Ben didn't answer right away. He shifted against the wall, leaning his head back as he stared at the ceiling in his dimly lit room. His first instinct was to scoff at the idea of fate. The concept of something as intangible as destiny never sat well with him. But now. . . staring at this dingy ceiling in a rundown motel, with the girl he'd unknowingly drawn for years sitting just a few feet away from him, he wasn't so sure.

"I don't know if I believe in fate," he admitted slowly. "But I do believe in. . . connections. There's something about you— something that feels. . . unfinished. Like I've known you in every version of myself but never had the chance to actually know you."

Jennifer listened intently, her heartbeat quickening. She'd seen as much— they'd always been on the cusp of something but never quite reached it.

"I feel that too," she confessed softly. "It's like. . . no matter where we go, or what timeline we're in, we're meant to meet. But every time we do, something always gets in the way."

Ben let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Yeah, something always does."

A beat of silence passed before the brunette spoke again. "Do you think this time will be different?"

Ben hesitated. He wanted to say yes, but the truth was, he didn't know. His whole life had been filled with chaos, loss, and uncertainty. The idea of things working out— of finally having something stable— seemed almost too foreign to him.

"I don't know," he said. "But I guess we'll find out."

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Jennifer gave up on the idea of sleeping alone. Throwing the bedsheets off herself, she left her room and went to Ben's next door. He opened it not long after she'd knocked. They stared at each other for a moment, half in surprise, but mostly to drink in the sight of the other. Finally, the brunette broke their loaded silence. "I want to see them."

"See. . . what?" he asked.

"Your tentacles. I know I've seen them before but I never got to look at them, you know? I've never met anyone with powers before and. . . I think that's how we're connected. I was found in a giant squid, you are a squid, sort of—" she explained breathlessly.

He hesitated; even with all of his confidence and ambition in this timeline, a part of him— that he'd buried deep, deep down in order to survive— was always wary of the Eldritch horror living in his stomach (well, now his back.) Ben shifted his weight, his gaze flickering with uncharacteristic uncertainty. Showing someone for the sake of it besides a battle made him squirm with unease.

For years, he'd treated the tentacles like a weapon, a part of himself meant for destruction and survival. But now, Jennifer was asking to see them— not out of fear, but out of fascination. He could see it in her eyes. A part of him couldn't resist her curiosity and, more than that, something inside him longed for her acceptance.

Taking a deep breath, Ben straightened his back and stepped aside to let her into the room. He didn't say anything as the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between them suddenly thick with anticipation. Jennifer stood just a few feet away, her eyes locked on his as she waited.

With a sharp inhale, Ben let the familiar sensation crawl up his spine. The tentacles emerged, dark and sleek, writhing in the dim light. They shimmered, their presence immediately shifting the energy in the room. They seemed alive, coiling and uncoiling in the air as if testing their surroundings.

Jennifer's breath caught in her throat, but not because she was afraid. Her eyes widened, filled with awe as she stepped closer, drawn to the sight. The closer she got, the more the tentacles responded— almost instinctively, they gravitated toward her, twitching with a subtle magnetism, like they were recognizing her on some unspoken level. Ben watched her intently, his heart pounding in his chest. She was right there, right in front of him, reaching out.

"I've never seen anything like this," she whispered, her voice reverent. "They're. . . beautiful."

Ben's brow furrowed at that. No one had ever called them beautiful before. Dangerous, monstrous, terrifying— yes. But beautiful? It caught him off guard, leaving him unsure of how to respond.

Then, Jennifer's fingers brushed against one of the tentacles. The moment her skin made contact, a pulse erupted between them— stronger, more potent than the last time when they spoke the prophecy together. The energy crackled in the air, humming with intensity, as if the very universe acknowledged the connection between them.

Ben stumbled back, gasping, as a wave of heat shot through his body. He could feel something shifting deep inside him, the tentacles reacting to her touch in a way they never had before. It wasn't just power— they were communicating, resonating with her in a way that defied explanation.

Jennifer, too, felt the surge. Her eyes fluttered shut as she held onto the tentacle, her breath quickening. It wasn't painful, but overwhelming, like a rush of life surging through her veins. The room seemed to warp around them, the air thick with electricity as their connection deepened. When their eyes opened, their gazes locked on each other. In an unspoken agreement, they surged towards each other, connecting their lips in a heated kiss. Ben pulled the brunette closer to him until their bodies were pressed flush together. His tentacles curled around her, for once not seeking out violence, but an instinctive need to be closer, impossibly closer, until it was hard to tell where one person ended and the other began.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Six hours ago.

Panic.

There wasn't much Klaus would claim he was good at, but freaking out over. . . well, everything was one of them. (Running scared was another.) He'd improved this skill over the last six years, spooking easily whenever someone breathed on him too closely or he saw a car in vaguely the same vicinity as he was crossing the street. He didn't particularly like living like this, but to him, it was the only way he could remain sober and a person that Claire liked. The second reason was the most important to him and the driving motivation to stay clean.

But now, as he hurried along the street, heart racing and footsteps echoing too loudly in his ears, Klaus felt that old, familiar panic bubbling up. He could feel it seeping in, creeping up the back of his neck and pressing down on his chest. He tried to push it away, to shove it down to that quiet corner of his mind where he usually hid his fears. Except, that corner of his mind was also usually numbed with alcohol and drugs. It kept his self-deprecating thoughts at bay and silenced the screaming that he otherwise had to live with. This time, his feelings weren't so effortlessly pushed aside.

He thought of Claire. Of her face— bright, innocent, trusting— and took deep breaths to steady himself. He'd gone through hell to be someone she could look up to, someone she'd be proud to know. And, right now, Claire was the one thing keeping him from completely unraveling. He tried to think of her voice, the way she'd laugh at his jokes no matter how ridiculous, the way she'd reach for his hand when she was scared. She needed him. He couldn't lose it now. He could stay strong for her. He had to stay strong for her.

It wasn't easy to keep his resolve. The sidewalk he was walking down was rather crowded and the people wouldn't move out of his way. He bumped into some of them as he went, causing them to send him irritated glares as he continued on without apologizing. The old habit of personal space made him flinch at every contact— though he supposed that now he had his near-immortality back, he didn't need to worry about that— and he curled in on himself.

"Hey, hey, out of my way! Watch it, watch it," he complained, cringing away from yet another passers-by.

But, as he stepped out of their path, he unknowingly walked right into— no, through— someone else. He shuddered at the sensation as the ghost turned around and grumbled at him, "aw, come on man, really?"

Klaus whirled to face him and snarled, "ow, God! I hate all of you! Hate all of you!"

He knew he must look like a crazy person, yelling at air in the middle of a public space, but he didn't care. He had to get to Allison's. He could hold on for that long. Then, he'd figure out how to deal with the return of his powers— that he really, really didn't want— that didn't involve hard substances. He just had a little problem, which was the fact that ghosts were so damn clingy. The suited man seemed to take offence at his words and pursued him. "Hate's a strong word, buddy."

Klaus rolled his eyes, grinding his teeth. "Hate is exactly the right word!" He shoved his hands into his pockets and quickened his pace. It was harder to ignore the creeping sense of dread he was feeling when the cause of it was right behind him.

"Hey, I'm just here, man. You didn't have to walk through me." He folded his arms, giving Klaus an indignant look. "A little respect for the dead, maybe?"

Klaus threw his hands up. "Well, maybe I wouldn't be tripping over dead people every five seconds if you lot could just give me a fucking break for once!" His voice rose with each word until he was almost shouting, and he could feel that simmering panic clawing at the edges of his mind again.

But then he remembered Claire— her smile, how, when she'd been little, she'd wrapped her small fingers wrapped around his hand, how she looked up to him and went to him when she had gotten into an argument with her mom. She was why he kept fighting. For her, he could stay grounded. He could do this.

The ghost stared at him for a second before he sighed. "Man, you're a mess. Good luck with. . . whatever this is."

He shrugged and faded out of sight, leaving Klaus mercifully alone on the sidewalk once more. He let out a ragged sigh of relief, feeling a wave of tension release with the ghost's departure. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, still jittery with pent-up energy. His footsteps felt heavier with every step and the whole world seemed to close in, magnifying every sound, every brush of someone's sleeve against his, every flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to center himself. Just focus on Allison's house. One step at a time.

The closer he got, the more he told himself this would work. He'd come up with some plan— what had worked in the past? Ben— he'd had Ben to ward off the unwanted spirits. His brother's incessant nagging had acted like white noise, drowning out the screams of the dead. But he didn't have Ben this time. Ben had left him and gone into the Great Beyond (or whatever it was called)— the selfish prick— and left him all alone to deal with things by himself. (And Ben knew he was terrible at dealing with things by himself! That's why he had a co-dependent relationship with a ghost bitch.)

The familiar feeling of inadequacy rose up just beneath the surface. What if he got there and he couldn't stay strong? What if he did exactly what his siblings— who'd seen him struggle, fail, fall— expected him to do, and he had to see them shake their heads and turn away again? What if he lost Claire's trust?

He'd lived with Allison long enough to know that money was in easy reach. It might've been a different timeline but the rules were still the same. He knew how to get into contact with people who could provide him more immediate relief— relief he didn't have to work for or think about. But, it was also different with him this time. He'd stayed sober for almost two years in the sixties and had controlled his powers. He'd worked with his dad to learn more about himself than he ever had before. He even had an additional three years of being clean under his belt for this timeline.

Klaus repeated these facts to himself in a loop and, somewhere— he sure as hell didn't know where it came from— he felt a prickle of irritation at himself. He'd fucking saved the world! He wasn't a scared little kid anymore, plagued by the demons his father forced him to see. He'd faced them head-on and survived. He didn't want to run anymore.

He'd done enough running.

But as he neared Allison's block, Klaus spotted another ghost lingering by a streetlamp, head drooping as if the weight of all eternity rested solely on its shoulders. Most ghosts could blend in with everyday pedestrians, but there were some— the more tortured souls— that noticeably screamed ghost. The sight of it sent a spike of fear lancing through him. They were waiting for him, all of them. His powers had returned and they were ready to pull him back into that world he'd fought so hard to leave.

"Nope. Not today," he said through gritted teeth, fixing his gaze straight ahead and quickening his pace. He was done engaging, done explaining himself to things that weren't even alive. He might've decided not to run, but that didn't mean the courage he needed would appear overnight.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Claire heard the sound of the front door open, which had been thrown back carelessly so a loud bang! echoed through the house. She immediately knew it wasn't her mom, who was always poised— annoyingly so. She jumped up from her computer and ran downstairs in time to see her Uncle Klaus rush inside. She startled at the expression he wore on his face: wild-eyed, frantic, desperate. The brunette reached out a hand and grasped his arm, tugging him to a stop. "Uncle Klaus, what's wrong?"

Klaus jerked his arm out of her grip, stumbling a little as he did so. "Nothing, Claire Bear, nothing's wrong," he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair and staring at the wall like he could bore a hole straight through it. "Just— just need to be alone. That okay with you?"

The girl's brows knitted together and she stepped in front of him, planting herself like a roadblock. "You don't look okay, Uncle Klaus," she said firmly, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. She was so much like her mother, Klaus thought fleetingly, both maddening and grounding all at once. She took a breath, steadying herself before speaking again, softer this time. "Please, tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help?"

For a moment, Klaus just stared at her, caught off guard by her calmness, her determination to see through his excuses. But he didn't want her seeing him like this— didn't want her to know the struggle he was facing, the way his skin was crawling, every fiber of his being vibrating with the urge to either scream or give in. He couldn't be weak in front of her. She'd already seen enough of that side of him in the past.

"Just— leave it, Claire!" he snapped, losing control on his tone of voice, his words coming out harsher every time she pressed. He shut his eyes, trying to find some ounce of calm. But the truth was, he felt like he was drowning, and every well-meaning word his niece might offer would only push him further under. All he wanted to do was lock himself in a room, away— far away— from anything that might try to tempt him, at least until he figured out a more permanent, less harmful solution.

Claire's expression flickered to hurt briefly, but it returned to calm understanding. She could see the way his body was wound tight, like a coil ready to snap. "Whatever it is, you don't have to do it alone, Uncle Klaus. Just. . . tell me how I can help. Let me help you."

He was slipping. He could feel his determination crumbling with every second he stood in that room. He eyed the jar of dollar bills that Allison kept on the half-wall between the kitchen and living room— Claire's chore rewards. No. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the stairs, his escape route. If he could just get up there and close himself off, he might be able to find a way to block out the noise, the pull, the desperation that seemed to pound through his veins. But Claire's face— her soft brown eyes, her steady stance— kept him from his goal.

There was only one solution he could think of that would make her go away. It had worked for everyone else in his life at some point, a tried and true method. He lashed out, no longer willing to control the emotion in his voice. "I said, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

His niece flinched at the volume of his voice and took a few steps back, but he actually didn't care in that moment. He pushed past her and ran up the stairs, making a beeline for a room— any room. Klaus slammed the door to Allison's bedroom and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the solid wood. As expected, the guilt from his actions immediately made itself known— just another nagging reason to be numb to everything. But he fought against the instinct and took a deep breath.

He needed Ben. He'd never missed his brother— his real brother, not the asshole who replaced him— more than he did right then. Sure, Ben would get on his case for treating his family like shit, but he'd welcome the lecture so he could take his mind off things. He knew it was futile to even try reaching out for his brother's spirit. He'd attempted to do so in the Sparrow timeline, just in case he hadn't completely crossed over, but there'd been nothing.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

As Klaus tried to steady himself, the sound of muffled voices from downstairs trickled through the door. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if that could block out the world. Claire's voice was soft but unmistakable, full of hurt and worry. Then came Allison's— a familiar warmth that he both craved and dreaded. He could picture her comforting Claire, her hands on her daughter's shoulders, her voice calm yet firm as she reassured her.

"Klaus is really, really sick, sweetheart," Allison was saying gently to her daughter in the living room a floor below. "Not the kind of sick that makes your body hurt, but the kind that makes your mind hurt. And sometimes, it makes people act in ways they don't mean to."

"But why's he like this now?" Claire asked, her voice trembling. "He's been doing so good. He's been. . . happy."

Allison hesitated, as if weighing her words. "Because it's a fight, every single day. And he's trying, Claire. He really is. But he needs help— help he can't always give himself."

"But. . . how do we help him, Mom? He won't even talk to me. He yelled at me." Her voice broke at the end, and Allison's heart ached for her daughter.

The brunette pulled the younger girl into a tight hug, feeling her return the gesture with equal fierceness. "I know, sweetie, and I'm so sorry you had to see him like this. But you have to remember, it's not about you. When someone's struggling like Klaus is, they say and do things they don't mean because they're hurting so much inside." She took a deep breath, her voice steady. "The best way we can help him right now is to show him that we're here for him, no matter how much he tries to push us away."

Claire sniffled and squeezed her eyes shut as she took comfort in her mother's embrace. "So. . . we just keep trying?"

"Exactly," Allison said, brushing a strand of hair out of her daughter's face. "But we also need to give him the tools to help himself. He's not alone in this. There are people— professionals— who can guide him through this fight. We just need to convince him to take that step."

Claire looked toward the staircase, resolve flickering within her. "Then let's do it. Let's make him go to one of those meetings you told me about."

Allison smiled, a flicker of pride warming her chest despite the heaviness of the situation. "That's my girl." She stood, holding out her hand. "Come on. Let's see if we can get him to open the door."

Moments later, they were standing outside of the room he'd barricaded himself in and announced their presence with a knock. He didn't answer. Another knock— firmer this time, followed by Allison's voice. "Klaus, I know you can hear me."

"Go away," he called out, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

"No," Allison replied, unflinching. "You don't get to shut us out like this. Not this time."

Klaus closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them as if he could squeeze the conversation away. But then came a second voice, small and tentative.

"Uncle Klaus?" Claire. God, Claire. Her voice was so heartbreakingly tender, full of hope that he didn't deserve. "Please. Just. . . talk to us."

The sincerity in her tone cut through his defenses. His chest ached and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He couldn't let her see him like this, couldn't let her be the one to piece him back together. It wasn't her job. It wasn't fair to her.

"I'm fine," he said, though his voice cracked on the words. "I don't need help. Just leave me be."

"You're not fine," Allison said bluntly, her patience fraying. "And that's okay. But what's not okay is pretending everything's alright when you're clearly falling apart. You've been here before, Klaus. You know what you need to do."

He wanted to scream at her, to tell her she didn't understand, but she did. That was the worst part. She understood exactly what he was going through because she'd been the one to see him hit rock bottom countless times before. She'd always been the one to help him. Not his brothers. Not Alexa, who was arguably a good choice, too. Allison had been there because she understood the pain, the anger, the helplessness— her drug had been her Rumors.

"Uncle Klaus," Claire said softly. "If you can't do it for yourself. . . do it for me? Please?"

Her words unraveled something in him, tugging at the frayed edges of his resolve until it fell apart completely. He slid down to the floor, his back against the door, his head in his hands. He couldn't keep running. Not from them, not from himself.

"Fine," he whispered, so quietly he wasn't sure they could hear him. Then, louder: "Fine. I'll go to a damn meeting. Just. . . just give me a minute."

There was a pause, then a soft sigh of relief from his sister. "We'll be right here," she told him.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Of course, even when he tried to do the right thing, the universe seemed to be against him. When Klaus walked into the designated room— after Allison had dropped him off— he was met with an empty circle of chairs and the moderator cleaning up her brochures. She looked up at his approach and gave him a once-over. "Uh, meeting's cancelled."

Despite the pretty clear reason, he frowned. "What? Why?"

"Nobody's here."

"I'm here!"

She brushed off his protest. "Yeah, take a pamphlet."

He sighed, feeling his already fragile determination being tested by this unexpected obstacle. Old Klaus would have happily skipped off if he'd heard there was no meeting, probably to find the nearest narco. New, reformed Klaus— with his niece's best interests in mind— refused to be pushed around so easily. "Listen, lady. I've been to enough of these court-ordered rehabs—"

"Stephanie," the woman corrected him sharply.

"Stephanie," he allowed, then repeated his plea. "I've been to enough of these court-ordered rehabs to know that if one person shows up, then it's a meeting. You might make a motion to adjourn, but I'm not seconding. My life has taken a turn for the worse— which is seriously saying something— and I don't want to react how I always have. This time, I want to break the cycle, for real. And I'm not leaving until I get my one-day chip."

Stephanie inhaled sharply, partly from exasperation— she'd been looking forward to having the afternoon off— but also from admiration; she hadn't met very many people at these meetings who'd been so intent on making a difference in their lives. It was both of these feelings that made her come to her decision. "Fine. Sit."

"Thank you," he said, gratefully. They both did as she'd suggested, with the brunet adding thoughtfully, "where to start? Goodness. . . Well, my name is Klaus—"

She cut him off sternly as she took out the binder she'd just put away. "Ah, ah, ah. If we're going to be fucking about the rules, then we're going to be fucking about the rules."

". . . Okay."

The brunette cleared her throat. "Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of people who share their experience, strengths—"

But, Klaus didn't have the patience for her to read through the mission statement he'd already heard too many times before. He clapped, cutting her off and making her shoot an annoyed look at him. "It's true. Blah, blah, blah. Very important. You've said it a thousand times, I've heard it a thousand times, but could we get to the part where—"

"The floor is now open for sharing," Stephanie finally conceded, much to his relief. "Two minutes." She gave him a stern look. "I repeat: two minutes, with a fifteen second warning." Klaus raised his hand pointedly. "How about you?"

"Moi?" he asked innocently, gesturing to himself. At her agreement, he smiled at her appreciatively. "Thank you, Stephanie." He inhaled deeply, then rose to his feet to speak. "Powerlessness! Powerlessness. Wow. It's. . . it's all right there in the first step. Little words on the page. But I never had any real understanding of what powerlessness meant or could mean until everything I was had been stripped from me.

"Imagine this: your whole life, you've always been told you were less than your siblings— you never lived up to the expectations that were set for you. Eventually, you decide that it's not worth the effort to even try anymore; it was better to be numb to it all. And that numbness felt great! It still feels great, which is the problem. But then— then you get a second chance with the father that had always been disappointed in you, and he helps you come into your own. Now, now you have finally faced your lifelong fears and are the master of your powers.

"Then, in the blink of an eye, it's all gone. You're ordinary again, but a different kind of ordinary that's somehow worse— more fragile. You suddenly understand how quickly everything can change and the life— lives— that you hold dear can be gone before you have the chance to do anything about it. So, you decide the easiest thing to do is be numb once more— but still not quite like before, because now you know how dangerous that is. It's less fun, but safer— something that your family won't snub their noses at." He sat back down with a heavy sigh.

"Three years. Three years, I was clean so I could be someone my niece would be proud of. But the problem is, I regained everything I thought I'd lost. I didn't want these powers back, but my stupid family loves me enough to not let me die. I suppose I should be grateful, but. . . when I've become so scared of life, I could only react badly. In order to save myself, I took my feelings out on people who. . ." He took a shuddering breath. ". . .love me the most, just like I always used to do. I don't want to do that anymore. I need to find a new outlet, some other way to express myself so I don't hurt anyone. So, I just want to say, for the first time in my entire life, without irony, that my name is Klaus and I am fighting not to be an alcoholic and a complete drug addict.

"And!" he added with sudden brightness, "while we're at it, I'm probably addicted to love, and sex, and tweezing all the tiny, little body hairs. . ."

During his speech, Stephanie had been nodding along with what he'd said— though with some confusion regarding the 'powers' part (since she didn't know he'd meant it literally)— but her gaze abruptly shifted past him, towards the door. He turned in his chair and his heart dropped at the sight of his sister and his niece, who were looking at him with expressions full of sympathy and love. "H-how much that did you guys, uh, catch?"

When they approached him, Allison put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "Enough."

Claire reached for his hand, no longer hesitant around him. He reached back to place his hands on top of his sister's as he asked, "but you're still gonna stick around?"

They nodded and he pressed a kiss to each of their hands. He met Stephanie's gaze again, which was softer than he'd ever seen it. "See? Got good people."

When he finally felt ready to leave, he walked out with Allison and Claire by his side, their presence a grounding force after the emotional upheaval he'd just experienced. But, instead of the usual feeling of defeat that had followed every unsuccessful AA meeting in the past, there was a strange, unfamiliar lightness that he hadn't experienced before: hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to get it right this time. He had a long road ahead of him but now, he knew he wasn't walking it alone.

A/n: they did my boy Klaus so dirty (haha, literally) this season. I know I've said it before, but I absolutely hated his sex trafficking arc. I mean, there was no point to it; wasn't relevant to anything at all! So, I wrote what I thought should've happened. I think the chapter ending might be a little cringey but like with Five/Lila, I'm overcompensating for all the wrong that's been done in canon. 

Also, you know that other deleted scene with Diego and Luther talking about Luther's leadership skills? That happens in this book, too, just off screen since I didn't feel like writing the whole CIA plot. 🤣