Luther Hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
number1_himbo) wrote2023-01-10 05:53 pm
number1_himbo) wrote2023-01-10 05:53 pm
(no subject)
Luther holds on for a little over a week before he hits his limit.
It's longer than a week and a handful of days, of course. It's been months since the Hotel Oblivion got crammed into his head, a whole tangle of realizations and plot twists and feelings he's only barely attempted to put in order.
Any attempt to work this knot of fucked up Hargreeves shit leads to Dad, not Dad ripping him open and bleeding him out, which is a shitty thing to remember, to burst back into the waking world with phantom pains. And should any attempt get any further into the tangle, enough that he sets his death aside, he's left with the very worst thing, the thing he can't touch at all.
I heard a rumor you stay.
The knot won't stay tied like it used to, tight enough to keep everything about Allison on the inside. And there's no reason it should be coming undone now. No fucking reason.
I heard a rumor you want me.
It almost tears out of him at the breakfast table, and no amount of exercise burns off the excess feeling. He takes it instead to a local junk yard where the owner doesn't mind him busting shit up.
That, at least, feels good. Appliances crunching into blocks of concrete, rebar spearing massive rolls of carpet, a totaled out care thrown overhead at another.
Luther loses time, hands scraping up, muscles aching, bits of glass clinging to his arms, and none of it erases the feeling of Allison's struggling body against the pool table.
He starts to tear apart blown-out tires, aware of the sun starting to sink in the sky-- too easy. Back to the blocks of concrete then, huge broken chunks that Luther throws and hammers into one another, his ears filled with his own breathing and heartbeat.
Not gone enough to miss he's not alone in the clearing of wrecked shit he's made. "What," he says, almost dully, fully expecting to be told he needs to leave.
It's longer than a week and a handful of days, of course. It's been months since the Hotel Oblivion got crammed into his head, a whole tangle of realizations and plot twists and feelings he's only barely attempted to put in order.
Any attempt to work this knot of fucked up Hargreeves shit leads to Dad, not Dad ripping him open and bleeding him out, which is a shitty thing to remember, to burst back into the waking world with phantom pains. And should any attempt get any further into the tangle, enough that he sets his death aside, he's left with the very worst thing, the thing he can't touch at all.
I heard a rumor you stay.
The knot won't stay tied like it used to, tight enough to keep everything about Allison on the inside. And there's no reason it should be coming undone now. No fucking reason.
I heard a rumor you want me.
It almost tears out of him at the breakfast table, and no amount of exercise burns off the excess feeling. He takes it instead to a local junk yard where the owner doesn't mind him busting shit up.
That, at least, feels good. Appliances crunching into blocks of concrete, rebar spearing massive rolls of carpet, a totaled out care thrown overhead at another.
Luther loses time, hands scraping up, muscles aching, bits of glass clinging to his arms, and none of it erases the feeling of Allison's struggling body against the pool table.
He starts to tear apart blown-out tires, aware of the sun starting to sink in the sky-- too easy. Back to the blocks of concrete then, huge broken chunks that Luther throws and hammers into one another, his ears filled with his own breathing and heartbeat.
Not gone enough to miss he's not alone in the clearing of wrecked shit he's made. "What," he says, almost dully, fully expecting to be told he needs to leave.
no subject
"If we're going to talk about things that happened back home that make you want to smash shit," Klaus drawls out, "you're going to need to narrow it down a little."
no subject
He turns over an old stove so he can drop heavily onto the back.
"Klaus," he says, and he sounds different to his own ears, younger and scared and angry. "It's one of those things that's going to fuck some stuff up. Uh, from Hotel Oblivion. I'm pretty sure it's going to fuck some things up, and if it doesn't, then somehow that's even worse."
no subject
"Well, that all sounds very ominous," Klaus says after Luther has finished talking, looking his brother up and down. Luther has the tendency to catastrophize things sometimes, because they're all drama queens in their own way, but this seems serious. This is something that's eating him up, and Klaus feels a wave of anxiety that breaks his concentration. He falls from the sky and lands on his feet, stumbling a little before approaching Luther, arms crossed over his chest.
"I hate that you all know more than me," he admits, because it's true. It seems like he's always the last to know things in this family, whether back home or here in Darrow, and while there was a time where he was fine being kept in the dark, that isn't the case anymore. "Just tell me, Luther. I'm no stranger to learning horrific news about my own life."
no subject
He stops, jaw clenched, a fine tremor working through him.
Some part of him wants to apologize, somehow, and then another part of him wants to apologize for that.
"Fuck," he finally settles on.
no subject
But also, she's their sister. She's the one who used her powers to beat them in drills, to get what she wanted from their dad-- to get the roles she wanted and secure her marriage. She's their sister, and she has a ruthless streak. She was used to getting everything she wanted, and then had it all taken from her.
And Luther is his brother, who has no reason to lie. He's visibly shaken, and Klaus swallows hard as he nods. He loves Allison, and she did a horrible thing. Both can be true.
"Shit, Luther," he breathes out, biting his lip before closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Luther's thick middle in a tight hug. "That's fucking awful."