Let the sun Flare on
Even when you have gone
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Death marches forward like the beating of drums – loud and endlessly consuming.
You'll cower and you'll shiver as the sound becomes louder, the reverberations dancing into your very soul. It creeps through your resistance; till tears fall from your eyes... Because you cannot outrun this, not from an enemy that can never be killed. (After all, how does one abolish something that is already dead?)
You'll shudder and you will beg – with knees to the floor and a wish stitched to your sleeve – as death draws in nearer, as death laughs at your prayer.
But the drums only endure, they feed on the fear – they become louder, till us humans surrender and finally, the drums stop their beating… along with our hearts.
He'll hold them in the palm of his hands; lick the blood clean from his fingers. Smile at the hollow remains of his victims; because this is what it means to be powerful.
We are something he will never become, it's pathetic, these people – now but a sack of frail bones – clutching onto humanity, when all that is certain is the death they will meet.
They've heard whispers of a man who'll lead them into darkness, who will snatch away their life with a ruthless smile.
He's a bringer of pain, an angel of death.
Niklaus supposes one day, he'll let them see the face he wore once as a human, before shredding them to pieces to toss them away into the wind.
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I want to be human, I want to have a family and grow old.
It's a poetic notion; a hopeless dream that has spun a web of deceitful happiness. How prosperous, how beautiful? To be mortal… with ageing skin and withering bones and memories faded. To be weak and vulnerable to all horrors that roam the earth with cool indifference to human suffering.
How pathetic you are sister. How pathetic you are.
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"The girl is carrying your child."
Perhaps irony is a god that lingers in all corners – awaiting its' queue, before lurching, before striking.
She, the girl with flowers plaited through her hair, like a princess, has yearned for this (ridiculous) miracle. To bring life, to shape and nurture it, into this ever changing world.
And yet nature forbade it. Nature rebuked it.
And yet, nature did not foresee it, did not predict this loophole that would scar its interminable lengths.
Niklaus – the man whose name is whispered in the shadows, hushed tones trembling with fear – is the one to receive it. To have it thrust into his possession, to reside in his protection.
Oh, how he refuses it. Oh, how he hates it.
This possibility, this miracle… This Weakness.
"Kill her and the baby."
It's a source of magic, dark and malicious – to wield it against him, to manipulate him into caring.
He is Klaus… the original, the man who spins hatred and destruction with the slur of his words and the flick of his wrists.
"It's a gift." Elijah's words pull Klaus back. "It's your chance, our chance. To start over. To take back everything we lost, everything that was taken from us."
The one he admires steps forward still, does not frighten away from the notorious hybrid people deem to be legend… a myth (Oh, how illusory… how adorable.)
"We can be a family."
There's a lurching in his chest – not his heart, he no longer has one, remember? And yet, it still beats strong, demands it be acknowledged behind the plate of bone in his chest. It hammers on, like the sound of drums.
Take it you fool. He hears, like a chant in his ears, do not run away, you coward!
The words are pregnant with memories that have stained this being red.
They reignite the dark purples and blues and red that decorated his skin when he was but a mere child – these bruises did not fade. They lingered, they seeped into his bloodstream and poisoned him completely.
Elijah's eyes strips this monster bare, they force Klaus back to the day he had crumbled to the floor, his thirteen year old hands scraping the rocky path.
He can still smell it; the dried blood that crusted in his hair, the metallic taste that coated the skin of his teeth. Mother, please help me.
But, she only turned away, ignored her son as he implored her gentle hand. The wounds reopened.
He's her mistake, her greatest shame – her fault and yet, it was he (still is), who suffers.
Who clenched his jaw as his father would strike him down; it was he who dug nails into the palm of his hand as Mikael cursed his existence, wishing him nothing but misery.
It was Niklaus, the young boy – human and weak – that knew nothing but fear.
Elijah's hand clamps tighter, tries to reach into the cavity that traps his brothers heart. His fingers are barely a whisper away – just one last tug –
Klaus' fingers hook around Elijah's neck and he draws him closer and for a wild heart wrenching moment – their faces leveled, their eyes uncovered – Elijah catches a glimpse of the boy this monster used to be.
"We will build a home here, together."
Then Klaus' eyes blaze with the weight of a thousand years of betrayal and longing and loneliness, and so the illusion is shattered. Klaus snaps the drumsticks - silences the march of drums.
"No."
The hybrid turns on his heels and staunches away, and he does not look back.
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The sky is burning fire.
It has a streak of black that whistles through – its' the wailing of soldiers, the crying of children.
It tarnishes the world; it marks an era of loss. What a waste of blood.
Not even death enjoys the arts of war, with his grating teeth and thirst for corruption.
A woman cradles the head of her husband to her bosom, rocks him back and forth and back again. Tries to sway him into waking. Rock him into peace.
"Please," she wails – voice broken, words falling away like sand in an hour glass. Crying as it passes into ashes between her fingers.
"Please wake up. Please!"
By the wayside, a man with blue endless eyes (the colour the sky is supposed to be), watches. He can hear the gunshot fires, the marching of men that walk straight to their ends. Perhaps they think it noble, perhaps they think it righteous.
"Why does this always happen to good people?"
Her question stops short when the man, lurking and waiting, moves forward. Stopping just by her husband's shoulder. She doesn't ask who he is, she doesn't care… he can tell by her eyes, the chapping of her small pink lips. (What a beautiful smile they could have).
"Because, my dear," he says, the veins beneath his eyes snaking to life, "no one is good."
The woman doesn't scream, she supposes he just might be right.
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"You could show her a little more sympathy, Nik."
Klaus doesn't answer immediately, rather, lets his lips linger on the rim of his glass before breathing, "and why is that sister?"
"Because she has no choice but to carry the child of a man who refuses to look at her!"
"Forced?" Klaus chuckles, bemused, "I assure you, her willingness was evident. She thoroughly enjoyed it."
Rebekah grips the glass from his hand and slams it on the kitchen bench top, looking over to the werewolf girl, more human than animal.
Rage begins to simmer, but Rebekah beats him to it.
"Maybe I was right, maybe you shouldn't be in this child's life at all. You will destroy it; bring it nothing but hell in its unfortunate existence."
She steps around him to brew some tea for Haley. She's been Klaus sister far too long, he muses bitterly; she knows well how to torment him.
"You'll be the one thing you hated most, dear brother." She says, catching his eyes, refusing to relinquish her hold. Because, this is what it means to overpower the biggest bad that has even wandered these lands.
"And what's that?" He leans against the cupboard.
She gives him a smile, her eyes dagger him with the white oak stake. And just as she reaches the door she says with certain finality,
"Our father."
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Months pass and the girls stomach swells. Haley rubs tenderly on her womb, hopes to soothe the child from its jerking and, though it painful, the girl smiles gingerly. Imagines what a strapping young man this babe will grow to be. She bends slightly to pick up a box to carry it to her room, but a demanding voice halts her movements.
"What do you think you're doing?"
She startles, holding her breath when Klaus stands by her. A stern expression marring his features.
"I only wanted to take this into the nursery." Her voice wavers and she hates it. He should be hanging his nose in shame for his absentee ways.
"Seems rather idiotic, hauling those boxes around. Especially in your condition, don't you think?"
She gives him a glare that could shake down nations. Only a wolf he thinks.
"Well maybe courtesy would tell you to assist the young lady with her luggage." She suggest with mock-ignorance.
"Now, why would I do that when I have minions to do my bidding?
'Must be nice," she drawls, trying to maneuver the weight in her arms over to alleviate the pressure. Positively surprised when Klaus rolls his eyes before gripping the crate with one hand and placing it on the table beside them with ease.
"And what's that?"
"Being able to just click your fingers and have everyone jump on demand."
He doesn't disagree; instead he leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Though it must burn you." She continues. "All that power and yet the one person you want – "
Klaus smile dissipates and there is a sudden thunderstorm in his eyes. "careful." His voice is warning enough. Except, she doesn't abide by its caution.
"Caroline doesn't want you Klaus! She'll never want you. She's probably jumping into bed with Tyler as we speak."
The once abundant storm raging in Klaus' eyes fade away and falls into his laughter.
"Oh, I see." He murmurs, pulling away from the wall like a feline before flashing to Hayley in an instant. Circling her like the true predator he is.
"Does it sadden you?" His voice is low and husky as it ghost across her neck, "Knowing that, despite his knowledge of you being here with me, he has yet to care about your well being? Doesn't bother to see you, at the very least, to ensure your safety?"
When she cannot bring the words past her lips as the truth dawns on her in waves of grief, he chuckles and (with hands resting at the dip of his back) stands before her. Leans into her space and takes great pleasure when her eyes avert his.
"Careful, little wolf. This is no game for you to play."
Defeated, and immeasurably heart-broken, she hastily turns and begins down the grand stairwell, her boxes forgotten. But with vision blurred, not even her werewolf senses catch her when she staggers on the second step. Stealing away her balance and pushing her into flight as the world spins still.
Klaus' catches her, one hand across her chest and the other around her stomach keeping her back flush against his front. She can already feel the rage in the fiery touch of his finger tips.
"You're a fool! Have you any idea wha – "
When his fingers on her abdomen tighten slightly and the silence stretches on too long, she peeks up at him past her dark lashes.
"It's moving?" He asks hoarsely. Voice broken. She dares a courageous look upward. And it's then she understands, it's his world that has frozen over.
Haley doesn't speak, instead she twist around to face him and with little courage, her fingers circle his wrists (the way they did the night he ravished her), and guides his hands forward till they rest over her stomach.
Her small hands warm his as they hold them to her. And then the child kicks, reaching out to its parents with eager joy. When she dares a glance up to the beast, her heart hitches – the world has started spinning again. His fingers tremble against her and when the baby meets his hand again, Haley swears she sees tears in Klaus' eyes.
The Hybrid snatches his hands away, not a word said as he begins down the stairs looking for an escape.
"Klaus." He turns and grants her his attention.
"This baby, Klaus. Will be the only thing in this world that will love you unconditionally.
He'll be all that you have."
It is Hayley, this time, to walk away and leave him to his silence.
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Wooden swords clash together, they splinter and crack, and yet the boys play on – regardless of the damage.
"Keep your head up, Henrik," Niklaus speaks in a poignant delight as his youngest brother stumbles to keep up with his long strides.
"Don't think so much, brother. Your eyes will aim for you; your arms will bring the strength you require."
The older of the two laughs when the younger steps forward and swings the weapon forward with such ease and fluency it knocks Klaus' sword from his grasp. "There's my boy."
"Nik… do you think we could go see the wolves?" Niklaus stuttered to a halt – eyes' darting to ensure their father was not close by. "Henrik, I do not think –"
"Please Niklaus. I see how you look at them. You wish to see them as much as I."
"Henrik –" Niklaus spots Kol by the side, instructing his older brother remain silent with a finger to his lips. With a grin – suiting nothing but a mischievous devil – Niklaus spoke once more.
"Would you like to see one now?"
The boy's eyes lit up, legs now atremble.
Kol, only a few years younger than what he now remains, jumped out of the bushes and swooped his sibling into his arms, playfully biting his neck, "I am positively starving!" Kol declared as he nibbled Henriks fingers, "I think you shall do."
The boys laughter filtered the air, it left true happiness in its wake as the older boys joined in.
"Will you ever show me the werewolves?" the boy tips his head deliberately, "the real ones."
Niklaus slumps by them and ruffles his kid-brothers hair. "Yes. I promise." when the child remains quiet, Nik asks,
"Do I ever break a promise?"
"No." the boy answers honestly, "No you have never."
"And I never will."
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It's a hurricane, the apocalypse – the end of the world. So at least, that is what the hybrid man believes. The air has become thicker, the ground has yet to seize its trembling. Or perhaps it's just his hands, the quivering of his heart that races on with a quaking thump thump thump thump relentlessly pulling him under with its weight of absolute fear.
There is barely a wall, barely a sheet separating him from the future that's pulling the werewolf girl apart. Straining on to greet the world wrapped in a blanket of sweet innocence.
Questions, possibilities, all the dangers that will be born with the birth of this child amalgamate. Conform, condense and lodge themselves into his throat, invade the once defiant strong hold that belonged to him alone. His mind.
How can he possibly do this, how can he? He's all the accusations that have been thrown at him, all the helpless cries and screams of the victims he tore into with a wretched hatred that was aimed at no one but him.
You're a curse on this earth
Life tore away what little humanity you had left. Created in this person, before me, someone I can barely even recognize as my own brother.
You will be the one thing you hated most, dear brother... Our father.
He can barely speak, he cannot breathe. His head is being pulled under the surface and for a moment he actually thinks he's drowning, like Carol had - fighting for air that will not come. Air he does not need.
He's drowning and there's no hand for him to hold.
"Niklaus"
Elijah the good, Elijah the rock by which Klaus has never felt slip from beneath his feet, stands before him. There's blood (that has a scent all its own) staining his brothers hands, but not much - not enough to warrant anything more than basic trivial concern. Elijah wipes his fingers clean and Klaus can swear, when he meets his brothers' eyes, all the pungent worry that wrung itself around his neck and strung itself taught loosens - just so - he can take a shallow breath. Because, there, in the dark brown almond eyes that hold knowledge older than the deep soil beneath your feet, there's a look of unabashed adoration. A pledge that knits itself with the star dust sailing in the seas above; nothing will harm this child.
"There's someone who wants to see you."
And here is the moment that will begin the alteration of his reality; he's no clairvoyant master, simply a man turning the page of a book. His story.
When he steps into the room, there's a hushed silence, heavy with a daring vibe of excitement and an incredible unknowing. Klaus eyes fall onto the girl with beads of sweat trailing down her flushed face. Her breathing is still heavy, but her werewolf qualities have begun their process of rejuvenation. Now, she wants rest.
He steps towards her, hand falling onto her shoulder (unable to ignore her hopeful eyes filled with a gut wrenching desire to have his affection) and gives a gentle squeeze. Content with giving her at least this much after her troubled labour.
It seems to satisfy her, before her voice, broken from exhaustion, heaves, "Rebekah, the baby"
The youngest original turns now, something warm and alive wrapped in a bundle of blankets in her vampire arms. Klaus doesn't want to see that look in her eyes, a look he's only seen for the first time in Elijah eyes this very night.
But it's there, and so he lets himself fall carelessly into a trap. Following the very distinct, (very human), beating... Thump thump thump...
Rebekah begins shifting a weight, so light, so pliable, into her brothers' arms; he barely hears her words, "hold your son, Niklaus... He has your eyes."
There's a beating of drums somewhere in the distance, though, when his hands cradle the delicate crown of this... This toy, he somehow finds the floor again. Setting his feet on solid ground when the child's eyes fix on his, a glaze of ignorance shadowing the deep blue that mirrors his own.
The child, it's breakable - he'll destroy it, corrupt it. A wave of heat falls over him, so he looks to rid himself of the burning coal lying in his murderous hands. Yet, when he tries to give the burden over to his sister, Elijah refuses him the act. Instead, grips his brother wrist, reigns in his eyes and whispers "just look at him brother. The child is yours."
It's oddly strange, it's hideously terrifying, wonderfully enthralling. In his hands he holds flesh born from his own flesh, bone from his bone, blood laced with that of Klaus - the monster - and perhaps some of (or mostly) the blood of Niklaus. The man long gone, dead and gone.
Is this his reincarnation, his second chance, his gift - to revive the man Tatia once loved?
No, he thinks, this is something new
The beating does not intensify, and yet, neither does it seize. It continues and he realizes, this will be his song. And like all things in this world (that is not a curse - doomed to forever), must come to an end.
/
TBC
If you got this far, I thank you for reading, but I have One more favour to ask...
Please leave a review, just so I can get an idea on whether or not I should continue this :)
This will be a three shot and don't worry, Caroline will be introduced into this. Anyone who was missing Kol, never you fear, he'll be around to stir up some trouble.