"Of course you need a drink," Diego said with a slight slowness to his voice. He hadn't responded to Klaus calling out his number because he hadn't been fully aware at that moment. He'd come to awareness as Klaus called out Seven, and declared his need for a drink. "You always need a drink." Diego enjoyed a cold beer once in a while, maybe something a bit harder from time to time, but he didn't have a problem. He didn't need to drink. He preferred to stay sober, and in complete control, thank you very much.
Control was big with Diego. He had been drunk off his ass a few times. Times he could count on both his hands, because he didn't like how it made him feel. If he was going to do stupid shit, he was damn sure going to make a conscious choice to do those things. He'd done plenty of stupid things, and suffered the consequences. But it was his choice, full and square. He didn't have the 'but I was drunk' excuse, and didn't want it. He took responsibility for his fuck ups. Mostly.
But then he didn't see the dead. Sobriety didn't bring a litany of literal ghosts into his awareness. He couldn't even imagine what that was like for Klaus, and he didn't try to imagine it. Didn't want to. That was Klaus' special hell, and Diego was happy to let him have it. He sympathised, sure. But being sympathetic didn't mean he really understood what his brother had to deal with. He couldn't really understand it because he didn't live with it.
The only dead people he'd seen were physical dead bodies. He'd seen plenty of them, and some of them haunted his dreams, but it wasn't the same thing. Not by a long shot, and he knew it. Didn't even compare.
"Have to say, this isn't what I expected," Diego muttered, glancing around where he stood. He was a few feet from Klaus, and thinking maybe he should pull in closer. No one else seemed to be around. Where the hell were their brothers and sisters?