Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TPL Jesper POV

"I don't think I should go in there, Klaus."

The woodsman stared at Jesper, his face devoid of any emotion. Jesper rolled his eyes, secretly cursing his laziness earlier for this mishap. Usually, when letters were left during the one-hour nap he took between delivering presents and receiving letters, he went over the letters before heading over to Klaus's cabin, to weed out the bad ones. 

And this is certainly a bad one,  Jesper thought, glancing at the eerie house he'd entered once a fortnight ago. The kid wasn't a problem, he really was quite sweet, leaving Jesper snowmen and brushing off the snow on his doorsteps. But his father...

Jesper shivered. "I think I'll just give Michael his toy when he visits tomorrow. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Besides, Michael's father really doesn't like me, and I think he'll just break the toy again like he did last time, and he might even be waiting up for me, so I—" 

Klaus interrupted him by slowly raising his arm, pointing at the house. 

"Yeah, I get that you want me to go inside," Jesper scowled, pursing his lips. "But even beyond the whole Ellingboe and Krum Shakespearean-feud they've got going on, that man is wrong. The way Viggo stands, the way he looks—hey!"

Jesper glared up at Klaus, painfully pushing himself to his feet from where he'd been shoved off the cart. "Look, I get that you make the toys and I deliver them. I do. But we've been doing this for months now, so can you please just trust me when I say that—"

Klaus grabbed the toy, shoving it into Jesper's hands.

 "Last delivery for the night. Don't be lazy."  

Fumbling for a moment, Jesper finally got a good grip on the  package, when he felt the familiar sensation of Klaus's hands around his arms. "No, wait, Klaus don't—"

Jesper bit back his scream as he went flying through the air, landing in a thick pile of snow on the, thankfully, minimally slanted roof. Forcing back a shiver, Jesper winced, cursing underneath his breath. As awful as it was to be thrown in such a way, on repeat, for weeks in a row, at least Klaus had decent aim. A few feet off, and well...

I wouldn't be dealing with delivering presents anymore, to say the least, Jesper mentally grumbled, carefully wading through the snow to the chimney. No more cleaning soot stains, no more shivering myself to sleep, no more foraging for scraps...honestly, could be—

Jesper froze in his shimmy down the chimney, realizing abruptly that the bottom wasn't quite as dim as it should be, a faint orangish glow emanating from below. Swallowing hard, Jesper mentally prepped himself for the heat of the bricks, waiting for the precise second he would have to push himself out of the chimney to prevent being burned by the embers. While this wasn't the first time Jesper had had to do make this leap, it was slightly concerning, considering that such an action was not necessary the last time he was at Michael's house. 

Jesper clenched his teeth, trying to mentally shove down the feeling that something was off, that he had been right to tell Klaus not to come here. Bracing himself, he pushed off with his hands, ignoring the too-hot feel of the brick as he quietly jumped out of the—

PAIN, PAIN, STABBING STOP WHY—don't scream don't scream that only makes it worse you can't —

Jesper forced back a hiss as he fell back into the very embers he'd been trying to avoid. Forcing back the tears, he took stock of what he was feeling, cataloguing his injuries in an, unfortunately, quite familiar manner. Burnt hands trembling, he closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. 

Pain, both feet, sharp, went through boots, likely a trap. Hands, burned, still painful so likely second degree. Toy? Jesper patted the front of his jacket, breathing a sigh of relief that at least the wooden train seemed to be intact. Course of action—remove pain, deliver toy, leave. 

Nodding once to himself, he opened his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness. His pants had enough padding that, fortunately, they were able to put out the last of the sparks from the dying flame. Staring out into the living room, Jesper balked at the sight of dozens of nails standing point up, surrounding the fireplace. Grabbing his foot, he swore mentally, biting his lip at the sight of the metal sticking out of his foot. 

Now, or later...there might be more traps. He might have a gun. Jesper winced, ignoring the sharp tang of iron now invading his mouth. Best to just...

Taking a fortifying breath, Jesper pulled the nail out from the heel of his right foot, biting back a scream so hard he almost choked on his own saliva. As soon as he was able, he reached for his left foot, yanking out the nail from his arch with one quick tug, internally very grateful for not inheriting his father's flat feet. Panting heavily, Jesper took off his scarf, using it to clear the nails of any undried blood prior to putting them in his front pocket. Then, ripping the garment in half, he cleaned up what blood there was on the ground before tightly wrapping a half around each of his feet. 

With any luck, Viggo wouldn't know exactly how many nails he'd left out, and there would be no blood left to clue him in to my presence. Maybe if he never knows I was here, I can just...

Jesper hobbled around the nails in the dim moonlight let in by the window, making his way slowly to the door. Jesper had never been the most athletic of children, and he could barely balance on one foot on a good day, so it took him much longer than he would have liked to finally reach the exit. Blinking back the dark spots now floating in front of his eyes, Jesper bent over and shoved the small toy into Michael's shoe, praying the boy would be smart enough not to show his father this one as well. 

Jesper inspected the door for a moment, but upon finding no obvious threats, he shuffled out into the cold once more. Glancing ahead, he saw Klaus standing in front of the cart, his crossed arms visible in the growing pre-dawn light. Rolling his eyes as his "partner" pointed at the rising sun, Jesper cautiously made his way to the cart, taking care to only walk in old-footsteps and that he didn't leave any drops of red behind. 

When he finally reached the cart, Klaus at least had the decency to look confused, his bushy eyebrows all scrunched up. Well, you know what? Tough. I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for him in the first place, Jesper silently fumed, his face falling into a well-practiced blank mask as he hauled himself into his seat. And for what? To have a shot at going back to living with my father, which I don't even want in the first place? What difference did it make, really, if he was tortured and hated here versus a shallow facade of a home? 

Jesper braced himself as Klaus sat down next to him, his teeth clenched tight against the pain of Klaus's body pressing against his bruises, his ribs digging in to the metal side of the cart. Ignoring the rapidly forming blisters, Jesper gripped the reigns, guiding his horse away from the house for what he knew would be the last time, regardless of what Klaus thought on the matter. 

"Your hands..."

Jesper blinked, numbly surprised the man was capable of speech without prompting. 

Now he speaks. Now he wants answers, when he refused to listen to me an hour ago. 

Jesper stared straight ahead, pretending he hadn't heard anything at all. 

Screw that. Screw him and his mightier-than-thou attitude, pretending like I don't exist until it's convenient for him. Treating me worse than the mud underneath his boots. Well, news flash!

"Jesper...?"

Two can play at that game. 

Chapter Text

TPL Klaus POV

This is certainly a...development, Klaus thought, glancing between Jesper's expressionless face and burned hands. If you had asked him a week ago—or even this morning, really—if Klaus would be delighted were Jesper to stop yapping the night away, the answer would have been decidedly yes. The woodsman had never been one for idle chatter, especially not so late at night, when he was far too tired to even think about maintaining a conversation. Unfortunately, the young postman never seemed to get the hint, often talking enough for the both of them—and then some. 

It was not uncommon, in fact, for Klaus to breathe a sigh of relief once he was back home, the silence welcoming after the barrage of information Jesper would dump on him each night about his day. Klaus had never known a man that could talk so much until he'd met the slight postman, until the day he'd come barreling into his life. And now...

Klaus shifted in his seat, finding he didn't like the silent treatment quite so much when it was himself on the receiving end. However, perhaps he deserved it, if the wounds on Jesper's hands were any indication. Klaus was duly impressed that the man wasn't crying out in pain, or really showing any signs of distress. While Klaus was careful around fire, burns were an inevitable experience when it came to cooking and working with wood; he knew firsthand how much those wounds had to hurt, how such marks could bring the toughest of men to their knees in agony. 

To be able to withstand such pain, to not even remark on it...Klaus was beginning to think he'd misjudged the man. And now, when Klaus actually wanted the man to talk, to try to figure out what had happened, Jesper was quieter than a hibernating bear. And Klaus, well...who was he to try to pry secrets from the young man? Klaus didn't exactly want to share anything with him either, let alone talk about any of the pains he felt. What right did he have to ask for Jesper to speak of troubles when he himself kept his locked where no one could find? 

Klaus mentally shook his head. Regardless of Jesper's unusual behavior, Klaus was starting to sense that it hadn't been just laziness that had him not wanting to deliver that last toy. 

Maybe it wasn't laziness at all, Klaus considered, eyeing the deep eye bags on his partner's alarmingly pale face. Usually the man at least had a rosy tint to his cheeks, but in the growing light it was clear to see that the only color on the man's face was the bluish hue to his lips, a rather concerning discovery. 

Is he sick? Klaus wondered, noting absently that the man seemed even skinnier than when he had first met him, as if all it would take was a good, strong wind to push him over. Have I been pushing him too hard? He always seemed to have so much energy, but tonight...

Klaus paused at the hard set of the man's jaw, the way his eyes seemed to stay open through sheer force of will alone. Making up his mind, he cleared his throat. 

"I could hold the reins while you rest," Klaus offered, gesturing for the rope. 

A sharp shake of his head was Jesper's only response. 

A couple minutes more passed in silence, save for the sound of the horse's hooves crunching in the snow mixed with the rattling of the cart. 

"It's really no trouble."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

This is going to be a long trip.

Klaus shifted again, noticing how uncomfortable the bench was now that he had nothing to distract him from the sensation.

And to think, I actually wanted silence. 

~•~

The sun was nearly entirely above the horizon when Klaus realized they were taking the longer route back to his home, the one which took them past the post office. It had been many years since Klaus had been to the abandoned building, and he couldn't help but frown when the cart stopped in front of it. 

This is where Jesper works? If I'd have known, I'd have at least repaired the roof. Heaven knows those twigs for arms aren't strong enough to handle an ax, let alone cut down a tree. The Ellingboes and Krums certainly wouldn't help him, and Mogens is just as likely to laugh as—

"Stay here." Jesper ordered, stumbling off the cart. 

Klaus blinked, surprised at the order. He squinted as the man walked away, noting how he seemed to hobble even now that he wasn't avoiding making new footsteps. And was that his scarf wrapped around his feet? What on earth...?

Realizing he wasn't going to get any answers by sitting still, he too left the cart, wrapping the reigns around the old fence before silently following after the injured man. Taking care not to let the door creak, Klaus noiselessly made his way inside, freezing at what he saw. 

While the building looked run-down from the outside, it was nothing compared to the inside. Piles of snow went up to the ceiling in some areas, the roof letting in the dawn light through the multiple gaps in the slats. And what remained of the planks was covered in a dark greenish-black mould that encroached on the walls, filling the place with a musty, rotting stench. Klaus was dimly surprised the rest of the roof hadn't fallen in already, and noted that if the cold alone wasn't enough to make the postman sick, the mould definitely was. 

The building actually seemed colder than the outside, what with the lack of direct sunlight, and Klaus glanced around for the fireplace. Spotting it to his left, his frown grew at the lack of soot, let alone firewood. 

Doesn't he know how to start a fire?  He could at least pick up twigs nearby, and flint is only a couple pence. Surely he's smart enough to understand that he will freeze to death without a fire going, Klaus shook his head, carefully walking farther into the building. It's a miracle that he's not—

For the second time that day, Klaus found himself at a loss for words at the sight before him. Previously blocked by a rather large of pile of snow, Klaus stared at the remains of an old bed—or, more specifically, the man leaning against the broken frame. The man Klaus had thought was a spoiled, bratty, frankly self-absorbed nuisance. 

The man with bruises layered like icing on top of old, pink and red scars. Marks that hugged his shoulders and upper arms, some clearly extending beyond the man's pants. Swallowing hard, Klaus didn't realize he'd begun to count them until he forced himself to stop, knowing it would be futile with how some scars were nearly layered on top of others. 

Not in the way he could count his ribs, see his spine, so easily. Klaus's eyes burned as he took in the mottled shades of purple and yellow overlapped by fresh blues and blacks. He knew that the people in the town didn't accept Jesper, that they'd sooner see him run out of Smeerensburg with his tail between his legs than welcome him with open arms, but this...this was—

Klaus inhaled sharply, the noise loud enough to make Jesper whip around as much as he could while seated. 

Making the Klaus-shaped bruises around his arms, the handprints around his chest, all the more visible. 

This was me. 

Jesper opened his mouth. 

This was my fault. 

Jesper's voice was venomous as he spit out a protest about—about—

I hurt him. 

And Jesper was saying something, and Klaus wanted to listen, but all he could do was turn to the nearest lump of snow, vomiting into the pristine pile of white.