A/N: Welcome, welcome!

This came from the idea: what if Klaus and Caroline grew up together? And I do promise everything will make sense eventually.

I will update tomorrow and publish the first official part (also, there'll be a better explanation), but if the idea sounds remotely fascinating, please don't be afraid to join me in this journey.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries or Fall Out Boy. Which just further supports my belief that dreams really don't come true after all...


"Joke me something awful

Just like kisses on the necks of best friends,

We're the kids who feel like dead ends."

I've Got A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) | Fall Out Boy


Prologue - Driving and Dancing

The road is wet and so are their faces. Rain splatters against the windshield, the wipers working overtime to remove the drops from the glass. It is mid-July, barely 7:00 in the evening, and yet the darkened sky begs to prove otherwise as it shields the population of Washington D.C. from the hopeful sunshine.

Silence fills the packed vehicle. Breathing, rain, and the occasional grumble from a sleeping, whimpering child are the only permitted noises. That suits most of them on a day like today, when they are too tired and worn and beaten to speak. If one looks properly, they will see the streaks of tears lining the Mikaelson offspring's cheeks, a result of yet another angry outburst. What they will not see, what they will always ignore even if they can see, are the small splotches of purple and blue on each child's stomach.

Niklaus, seated between his older brothers, Finn and Elijah in the way, way back, refuses to cry. He is tough, his mother always reassures him of that. Never will he allow his father, his cruel, evil father, to see him weep.

Shifting in his seat is uncomfortable, the well-formed bruises pinching his skin with every slight movement, jerking bile up his throat. But he keeps a stony face. He will not—cannot—give into the pain.

In his twelve years of living, Niklaus has grown used to his father's temper tantrums. The big lawyer works tough cases that require late nights and alcohol. Combine that with a large family and insomnia, and you've got the perfect concoction for an abusive relationship. It never gets any easier, facing the man who is supposed to love you unconditionally only to have him whip his belt through the loops in his slacks and sink the leather into your skin, but he survives.

Protecting his younger siblings is the problem. Henry is only five, but already knows the turmoils of growing up with constant marks on his flesh. Rebekah, the only girl among five brothers, suffers less than the others, but still can not escape it all. And Kol, well, he just asks for it, taunting their father with harsh words and defiance, literally begging for a slap or two across the face as if it will somehow deter the monster with the iron fist. Of course, it never works.

None gets it worse than Niklaus, though. His father has always had a vendetta against him; something he never understood, but is not in the position to question. His mother tells him not to worry, tells him to be brave in the face of danger, for there is nothing to fear but fear itself. He will be all right—okay, even—if he just remembers those few words.

Tonight was meant to be mild celebration for Finn. He had graduated high school here in D.C. and still had the British accent he'd come over with. Two things to be happy about when it came to the foreign Mikaelson family.

It ended up being a sob fest with whiny children arguing over food, something their father would not allow.

The young boy watches as the road twists and turns ahead, barely able to make out the yellow marks in the tar through the brilliant haze of rain and dusty clouds. He blinks away some sleep, noticing silently the lack of street lamps on this particular urban street.

Perhaps if the sun were out, he'd see the miles of city he's been calling his home for the past four years.

A low hum catches his attention, snapping his eyes away from the two-way lane. The sound is different; it isn't the rain, it is a rumble—the ground shakes with its force.

He strains his vision, looking out the front, trying to find something—anything—to attribute the musical noise, but sees only blackness lined with wet streaks and the occasional zig-zag of lightning.

The louder the vibration gets, the heavier Niklaus' heart beats, every nerve in his body pulsing. He bounces with the purr. His skin trembles with it.

Magical, that's what it is. Purely magical.

Until his mother starts screaming.

"Look out, Mikael!" She shrieks, loud enough for the rest of the kids to awaken.

Henry wails upon first opening his eyes, Rebekah following with her own cry.

Elijah squeaks, asking what's wrong.

Kol crosses his arms in annoyance, huffing a breath of air like he has an unlimited supply and can waste each one because right behind it is undeniably another.

Finn rolls his eyes, still lost in his dream about finally getting away from this mess, from this mini van, from this family.

Niklaus' eyes stick on a shimmering object in the near distance and blocks out the disruptive chatter in the car. It looks so beautiful, so magnificent. Like a black stallion with blaring eyes gliding on the water.

"Mikael!" His mother begs, a desperate and frightening sound.

Another flash of lightning, another whimper from his younger siblings, another roll of the eyes from Finn, another question from Elijah. And when the thunder comes, when it claps and booms and destroys, the world stops.

No more sounds fill his ears, no more thunder or lightning or rain or shouts.

All that is the left is the slice of metal imprinting his skin and the toxic scent of burning fuel choking his lungs.


Across the state border and into the heart of Virginia, a little girl is dancing away to quiet music, shimmying her hips and tapping her toes. Her mother sits on the sofa in front of her, pretending to look enthusiastic about her daughter's sudden interest in dance. A storm rages outside, the lights flickering every now and then, startling the older woman out of her observations.

"Caroline Forbes, stop that. You're going to hurt yourself," she scolds, more harshly than she'd originally intended.

Caroline pauses her sugar-induced hopping movements, staring at her mother like she is an alien come fresh from outer space. Maybe she is. She dresses like one at least, all brown and tan with an odd-shaped badge over one of her breasts.

"What is it, mom?" The nine-almost-ten-year-old asks, putting her hands defiantly on her hips.

Liz Forbes shakes her head and smiles, but something seems off. "Honey, come sit down next to me." She pats the bit of sofa next to her uniformed body.

Sighing dramatically, the little, blonde girl drops her arms and goes to sit by her mother. She doesn't look at her, choosing to stare obliviously at her knobbly knees. Her father always teases her about her lankiness, but she has always liked it.

"Caroline," her mother whispers sadly, tucking a thin arm around her. Caroline moulds into her mother's side, wrapping the offered arm tight around her waist. Something definitely isn't right. She waits patiently for her mother to speak again, silently dreading whatever the sheriff is about to say.

Someone sniffles and it takes Caroline a second to realise it is the woman she clings to. This shocks the girl, who has never seen her mother waver in such a way.

"Mama." Caroline hesitates, her body beginning to tremble with anxiety. "Mama, what's wrong?"

Obviously deciding ripping the band-aid is the best solution, Mrs. Forbes squeezes her daughter's shoulder and says through a heavy sob, "Oh, baby, your daddy's not coming home."

Confused, the young child stops her shaking and lifts herself up, eyeing her mother carefully. "Is he working late again?"

"No, sweetie," Liz replies, bowing her head and letting the tears fall. "He's not coming back. He's moving to New York, away from us."

She doesn't sound angry, just sad. Like there is a tear in her side that she can't quite fix. Caroline, on the other hand, wells with insecurities.

"Well, are we moving with him? Are—are we gonna see him soon?" She asks, grabbing the sheriff's face with her tiny, thin hands.

Liz continues falling apart. "I'm sorry, Care," she replies, and Caroline knows that her family has officially broken.


A/N 2: And tomorrow, they meet. Any thoughts?