Maybe They're Born With It, Maybe It's Trauma
Summary: You make a new friend at rehab.
Content Warning: Drugs, rehab
TUA MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST
“I hoped we wouldn’t be seeing you back here so soon.” The dour face of Dr Hartleben greeted you as you waltzed into the rehab centre, a grin splitting your face in two.
“How could I stay away? I simply adore the early morning yoga sessions and going around in a circle after lunch explaining why we’re all so fucked up.”
Dr Hartleben’s pursed lips and sour expression conveyed all she had to say on the matter as you turned sharply on the ball of your foot. She took large strides down the corridor, and you had to jog to catch up, your scruffy trainers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor. This place was like a second home to you, having been in and out every few months for the past 7 or so years.
You’d tried to hold down a steady job, really, you had. But all you had to show for it was a place as a flautist in the local orchestra, which did not pay, and a spacious but surprisingly cheap apartment in the dodgy part of the city. That you’d bought with money from your past life, when everything had been fine and on track to at least a minimal amount of success. But all in all, you’d decided that there was no point in trying to regain some semblance of normalcy in your life when all you ever did was try to escape the ghosts from your past.
Dr Hartleben pushed open the dull aluminium door with your foot, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. Ah, home sweet home. The stale scent of iodoform and sweat wafted out and you breathed deeply. This was the one thing that never changed, no matter what.
“You know your way around, the top bunk on the far left is vacant. I expect to see you adding your name to the duty rosters and coming to group therapy this afternoon,” Dr Hartleben was itching to leave you in the confined patient dormitories, barely even standing on the faded doorstep of the room. “Your stuff will be brought to you as soon as it has all been checked.”
You scoffed. “I’m always a model patient, I’d never jeopardise my spot in this wonderful place by bringing shit in with me.”
“Then why are you back again? I’ll leave you to get settled and make your bed. Your sheets should be on the end of your bunk. The others are in the garden, one of the nurses will be round in 10 minutes to escort you.”
With that, the door swung closed, and you were left standing in the dank and poorly lit room. The frosted windows were too grimy to let much light in and the bulb in the lamp buzzed a faint yellow. At least this time you had a top bunk, which was clearly the superior spot.
That was the problem in having so many drug overdoses on your medical record; every so often you’d be sent back into rehab, with or without a court order to stay. You had forgotten the strict rules that had to be followed and the lack of freedom; you didn’t need a babysitter. At least in rehab you wouldn’t be quite so lonely, you had roommates to keep you company now. And everyone had their own demons to face, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. There was no room for judging.
The crisp sheets smelt of starched linen, over washed and firm to the touch. No more comfy bed sheets, you mourned. The mattress was lumpy and had a suspicious dark stain on the plastic that you straight up refused to touch, choosing to flip it over instead and hope that the other side was less grimy.
“Y/N?” A knock sounded at the door and a nurse popped his head round the door, clutching your overflowing crochet shoulder bag. It was a face you hadn’t seen before, and you quickly plastered on your friendliest grin.
“Hi, yep, that’s me. Is my stuff all okay for me to take?” All there was in the bag was a change of clothes, some toiletries and spare underwear. No point bringing anything too nice, someone was bound to nick it otherwise.
“Yeah, yeah.” The nurse returned your smile, holding out the bag for you to quickly grab and sling over the end of your bed. He was quite young, you would guess late 20s to early 30s. You pitied the poor guy, having to deal with them all the time. Well, he had chosen this.
“Dr Hartleben said that the other patients were all in the garden, can I join them?” You skipped over to the door, your colourfully patterned skirt swishing round your ankles. You hadn’t been quite sure that your outfit was particularly fitting for the centre; it had felt a bit too bohemian but seeing the drab and dreary walls reminded you that a pop of colour would do this place some good.
The garden was a bit of an overstatement really. It was more of a paved courtyard with weeds growing between the cracks in the slabs and a couple of small flowerbeds, one of which had been a vegetable garden the last time you had been here but now appeared to have been taken over by weeds. It was the space for the newest patients, who couldn’t be trusted to go into the slightly more expansive grounds yet. It was depressingly barren, and you eyed the patients morosely milling around with a grimace. How boring.
“What’s growing in the beds at the moment?” You turned to the nurse, whose name you hadn’t learnt yet, with a dazzling smile.
“I don’t think there’s anything particular being grown.”
You pursed your lips. How sad. Any life or nature in this place really was stifled and stamped out in the end.
--
You trudged into the group therapy room, eyes following your feet as they left scuff marks on the shiny floor. You slipped into a spare seat, barely making eye contact with anyone else. If you could get out of this without a single person trying to become your new bosom pal, you’d count it as a win.
“Hi, I’m Ella and today we have someone new joining us, so I’d like everyone to go round in the circle and introduce themselves by saying their name and why they’re here. Louisa, if you wouldn’t mind starting off for us.” The irritatingly cheery voice of the therapist was grating on your nerves, you hated these sessions with a passion. What was the need in sharing the same stories every week?
“I’m Louisa and I’m an alcoholic.”
“I’m Mark and I’m a heroin addict.”
“I’m Susanna and I’m a drug addict.”
“I’m Brent and I’m an alcoholic.”
The droning of voices soon became a wave of background noise that washed over you like a sea of calm, each introduction as monotonously boring as the next. The person to your left spoke and you yawned softly, daintily lifting a hand to cover your mouth. “I’m Y/N and I’m an addict.”
There was something so tiring about rehab. Between the withdrawals and the endless therapy and need to be in touch with emotions, it was draining both physically and mentally. You couldn’t wait to get out; you only had a couple more weeks to go.
“And, our newest member, would you like to introduce yourself?” You could practically hear the beaming grin in Ella’s voice, and you rolled your eyes. Bit much.
“I’m Klaus and I’d like to say I’m a tortured soul-” Your head snapped up to look curiously at the newbie. Heavily eyelinered brown eyes stared back at you, a mischievous twinkle shining in them. “But to stick with the same pattern as everyone else, I’m an addict.”
He lifted a ringed hand to wave to the circle, winking at you. And you felt yourself flush, ducking your head from his intense gaze.
Group therapy had never felt so long as today, not that you could recall anything discussed, not when your eyes kept straying towards Klaus. And boy, did he notice. Every time his eyes met yours, he held the eye contact, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you flushed redder and redder.
How unfair that someone this gorgeous was at rehab; how were you meant to even attempt to recover when he kept looking at you!
It wasn’t until the end of the session, as you all shuffled out, that he properly made his way over to you, a cheeky grin on his face. You glanced at him, turning your head back to the door with a small smile which you tried your hardest to fight back.
“Hello, Y/N,” he murmured, voice so low it felt like a conversation that was only for you. And you bit at the inside of your cheek to squash the blush crawling up inside you.
“Hiya,” you whispered, hoping you didn’t sound quite as excited as you felt.
“Come here often?”
You giggled, hating how much like a schoolgirl you sounded, and finally plucked up the courage to make eye contact with him. “Yes, unfortunately.”
“Court mandated as well?”
You nodded, picking at a stray thread on your skirt.
“Well, we’ve got each other now.”
And you chewed at your bottom lip, beaming grin splitting across your face as a heady rush of giddiness filled your chest. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
“Want to go see the garden with me?”
You nodded, a little too quickly and eagerly, and he just chuckled at you.
Maybe rehab wouldn’t be as bad this time around.
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I just finished binging, but here are writing decisions I genuinely liked in S4:
- Claire’s characterization. Mostly. I like that she’s an actual character.
-The whole Thunderbolt subplot was random af, the writers clearly didn’t know how to keep Klaus and Allison busy, but they are probably my favorite pairing in general, and Allison being the one to take care of Klaus ever since they were kids confirms all the headcanons I’ve had about them since s1.
-We finally got a flashback to The Umbrella Academy going a mission! I loved seeing kid Luther be dorky about getting ready, Allison and Klaus ofc, Viktor and Ben, and maybe I’m crazy, but I thought the younger actors for Ben and Jennifer had more chemistry than their adult actors. I actually like his death scene a lot, him finding Jennifer and Reggie killing them both was shocking. It’s just the other poor choices made for their storyline that soils it.
- Ngl, the Baby Shark scenes were funny.
- Luther is just a goofy stripper now (still should’ve mentioned Sloane more than once.)
- Gene and Jean dancing should NOT have replaced a family dance scene, but I did like it on its own.
- Viktor telling Allison they’re not friends.
- Luther and Klaus grabbing each other’s arms when they’re about to die. I just like moments like that.
May grow to hate some of these things or like some other things, but for now these are just my first impressions.
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Klaus Hargreeves Headcanons
Tw: Possible spoilers if you haven't seen past like Season 1/Season 2 [Like me], Suicidal thoughts/indications,
[Also, just found out (because I remembered reading about it and searched it up) that Klaus uses 'They/Them' pronouns, so that's what I'll refer to them from now on out. I apologize for the inconvenience/misgendering Klaus]
God, they have such a whirlwind of emotion [Talk abt whiplash]
They would do anything for you and I mean ANYTHING [Previously, they would have died for you, but... since they can't die anymore...]
They're very clingy and needy
Always wants to hold you
Big cuddler. Probably small spoon because they like being held
In the height of their addiction, they avoid you, because they don't want you to see them like that
You'll have to go searching for them and you'll probably find them in an alley
They're just surprised you haven't left them yet
They get insecure rather quickly, so they are always asking for reassurance
Klaus feels like they don't deserve you, because you're so understanding and kind and... well, you're to good for them
You're everything they wanted as a child and it means so much to them that they have you now
Whenever they're sober, they'll talk to any dead person you want. It's the only time they're power actually works, because they want to make you happy
If you were to die, they would not take it well, but it would push them to get sober so they can talk to you
^ At first they're worried, because what if you don't want to talk to them?
^ Goes to your grave everyday, trying to talk to you
^ They want to get better for you and they wished they could have done it when you were alive
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