warning: minor violence and minor character death and mind control

DISCLAIMER: THIS FIC IS SET HEAVILY IN THE MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE, AND THE AUTHOR HIGHLY ADVISES THAT READERS BE FAMILIAR WITH THE CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVIES AND/OR THE AVENGERS.

honestly, this fic is less of a crossover and more of a fusion, and the only real characters from TVD and/or TO to be mainly featured will be Klaus and Caroline.

i will update the tags as i post more chapters so always pay attention to that.

thank you to everyone who expressed interest at this being an actual fic on tumblr, klaroline magazine, and my wonderful new beta stephanie who can found klarolinedrabbles on tumblr.

i am slightly terrified at posting this. i'm not sure if anyone will actually read it.

i hope you enjoy this.

to see the picspam that goes along with this fic, check out this link ( post/147276380484/klarolineau-red-room-prelude).

Prelude

In 1984, Nicholas and Caroline Forbes live in a mint-green house in small-town Mystic Falls, Virginia. They are neighbors with Stefan and Elena Salvatore, their close friends. Stefan and Nick both work in the Mystic Falls Police Department, Stefan as Deputy Sheriff and Nick, despite disadvantages from his prosthetic arm, as the Sheriff. Caroline and Elena are best friends, and, as a former trained ballerina, Carolina teaches dance classes at the studio that the Salvatores own.

The couple moved to Mystic Falls two years previous, searching for a fresh start after a devastating car accident cost Nick his left arm and left both husband and wife with a memory spottier than Swiss cheese. Despite their inability to remember their first meeting or wedding, Nick and Caroline remain devoted to each other and are adored by their fellow residents of the town. They are an incredibly social couple that attends each town event. Caroline's bright blue eyes, sunshine-blond curls, and bountiful optimism brings a smile to anyone and everyone, and half the town's female population crushes heavily on Nick's lilting English accent and roguishly-handsome looks.

They are completely, completely ordinary, and no one has reason to suspect otherwise, not even themselves.

The last day of their little bubble of self-awareness begins as a normal morning.

Freshly showered and dressed, Caroline fiddles with their coffeemaker as Nick tends to his cooking pancakes on the stove.

"Would you like chocolate chips in your pancakes, sweetheart?" Nick asks casually as he flips a single pancake and adds it to a stack on a plate on the dining table.

Caroline hums sweetly, stalking up to her husband and pressing butterfly kisses on his right shoulder. "Yes, that would be wonderful," she replies distractedly.

After setting the last pancake on the plate, Nick reaches over and turns the stove off before turning to gather Caroline in his arms. He cranes his neck to kiss her softly, and they remain in their embrace for several passionate moments.

Stroking Nick's cheek and rough stubble, Caroline's hand traces over a faint scar along his jawline. As far as she is aware, that scar has always been there, but neither Nick or Caroline have any idea of its origin.

Finally, Nick and Caroline step apart and take their seats at respective ends of the dining table.

Over the sound of forks scraping against the plates, Caroline tells her husband about some performance coming up at Elena's dance studio, waving her hands animatedly as she explains.

Nick smiles fondly at her, rising from his chair to place his dish into the sink. He is hovering at the sink when their front and back doors burst open, and Caroline gasps sharply in surprise and drops her fork to the ground loudly.

In a matter of seconds, both Nick and Caroline are surrounded by two dozen men outfitted identically in black Kevlar and sturdy helmets. There are six rifles pointed at her husband's head, another six at her head. The rest stand, forming a perimeter around the kitchen.

Aware of her swiftly-beating heart, Caroline opens her mouth but is cut off by a jab to her head.

Her assailant growls roughly at her, "Make one sound, even move, and there will be six different holes in your brain from our bullets." He gestures towards Nick. "Same goes for you."

She swallows quietly, a lump deep in her throat, and nods silently. Her body is registering fear now, dark tendrils creeping silently over her brain, her heart a train wreck in her chest.

Near the sink, Nick is standing loosely still. Her husband has always been non-expressive in his emotions, and, if Caroline hadn't been married to him, she would have missed the slight trembling in his hands and slightly-darkened eyes.

Their back door swings open again with a squeak, and a man strolls straight in to stand near the table.

He's dapper in a well-pressed three-piece grey suit, with reddish-blond hair that is prematurely streaked with white, sky-blue eyes, and a proud chin, completely out of place in Caroline's quaint kitchen.

He begins to speak, and immediately, the men pointing guns at Caroline's and her husband's head snap to attention, surveying him with a gaze that makes it obvious that he is their superior. "My name is Alexander Pierce."

There is a pause, and Caroline wonders if she is supposed to recognize this Alexander Pierce.

"I don't give a fuck who you are!" Nick exclaims gruffly with unexpected timing. "Get the bloody fuck out of our house!"

One of the men reacts suddenly, jabbing the tip of his rifle above Nick's ear threateningly. Nick flinches though stares at Pierce with an expressive glower.

Pierce frowns; it is clear that he was not expecting this. Immediately, though, his expression changes into a relaxed smile. "It is clear that your former employers were too permissive when they deprogrammed you. You both have received a bit of too much freedom. Obviously, that is going to change now. We cannot take liberties with you."

There is silence as Caroline gapes up at Pierce.

He continues, "The two of you, working side-by-side for us, you will shape the world into the next century. You were both designed to be impressive weapons; that is exactly what you will be for HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA!" two dozen voices exclaim in unison as Pierce nods in approval.

A memory loosens at the back of Caroline's mind. She is young, a child, and flipping through a textbook. HYDRA, it says, was the Nazi science and research division, taken down by Captain America and his team of specially-skilled soldiers called the Howling Commandos during World War II. The memory is tainted with a dreamy quality; Caroline is watching it through an ocean of water, muffled and distorted.

"We are human beings!" Caroline protests, the words forced from somewhere in her throat. "You can't do this to us. This is illegal!"

Pierce ignores her, instead snapping his fingers and calling for a man named Rollins.

A young man in his early twenties who appears more of a boy steps forward and hands Pierce a little red book with a black star.

Pierce snorts at the book but flips it open anyway, stepping closer to the sink until he is face-to-face with Nick.

Pierce opens his mouth and begins to speak in a calm, unwavering voice. The words flowing from his lips are not English, and Caroline's distorted brain identifies them as Russian, understanding them completely even though she has never learned or spoken the language before in her life.

"Longing."

Nick flinches, and Caroline's gaze snaps to him in concern. His body is beginning to tense up, shoulders stiffening.

"Rusted."

Caroline glances up at one of the men surrounding her. She can see her own reflection in the mirror of his visor, a warped thing surrounded by dark blobs.

"Seventeen. Daybreak."

"What are you doing?" Nick rasps in a daze.

Caroline's eyes met his, and suddenly, she is frightened. There is confusion in her husband's eyes, but, also, sheer terror, something she has never seen before.

Her palms begin to sweat, and she jiggles her knee up and down nervously.

"Furnace."

"Stop!" Caroline cries before she can think. "Leave him alone! What are you doing to him?"

"Get her to shut up," someone drawls from besides Nick.

"No need," Rollins says lazily.

"Nine."

Caroline can sense something in Nick shatter, and his eyes begin to haze, losing focus. His body is loosening, pliant enough to need to be supported from one of the men.

"Benign."

Nick's eyes flutter shut, his face going lax, appearing younger and boyish, more vulnerable.

"Homecoming. One. Freight car."

Then there is silence.

"Nick?" Caroline whispers softly, but her husband doesn't respond.

Pierce speaks again, tone sharp but steady. "Soldat?"

Nick straightens, standing with a loose stance, hands stiff by his side. His head is bowed slightly, but as his eyes flicker open, there is a sea of blue emptiness, everything hollow, no sign or spark. "Ready to comply," he responds in a dull monotone of Russian. Speaking again in English, his English accent is completely gone, his voice even. "Awaiting orders."

"Nick?" Caroline whimpers. Her husband doesn't even glance at her; this person, whoever he is, is not her husband anymore. The hair on the back of Caroline's neck raise, tingling, and Caroline is acutely aware of the pimply goosebumps on her smooth skin.

"Excellent," Pierce says with obvious approval. He turns to face Caroline. "Now, for you-"

"Caroline?" a quiet, confused voice calls as Elena's sleek brunette head appear into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

"No!" Caroline moans quietly.

"Caroline?" Elena repeats sharply, eyeing the men with the guns with suddenly-frightened eyes. "Nick?"

"Run, Elena!" Caroline screams at her friend, heart pounding in her chest. "Get out of here!"

Immediately, Elena turns on her heel and swiftly disappears from the kitchen.

Pierce sighs in irritation. "Soldat, you know what to do."

The Soldat stalks after Elena and drags her back into the kitchen, hand clutching her straight hair with a punishing grip.

Elena has frozen, shrinking in the confines of his grip, eyes wide and skin paling.

The Soldat places both hands of either side of Elena's neck and twists.

There is an audible snap, and Elena's body slumps to the floor, neck broken at an unnatural angle.

Caroline sobs shrilly and attempts to lunge out of her chair. The men grab for her, but she slips underneath them.

Caroline is inches from the door when there is a hand in her hair, pulling her backwards. She screams as she is pulled into the Soldat's chest and his forearms lock over her stomach in an iron grip. She is too frozen in terror to even think about struggling.

"She's a fighter," Pierce comments dryly, moving into Caroline's frame of view. He steps closer.

Without even thinking about it, Caroline attempts to head-butt the older man. Dodging her blow, Pierce snaps his fingers, and a strong hand comes to cruelly clutch Caroline's jaw, holding her completely immobilized.

Pierce stares Caroline down, wrinkling his forehead in concentration. Then he speaks in a hard tone, "Sputnik. Eight. Ten. One. Nine. Forty-eight. Spider."

Her mind blanks as realization comes crashing down.

She is not Caroline Forbes.

Caroline Forbes is no one, nothing; Caroline Forbes is a lie.

She is a weapon; she is a Widow.

"Widow?" Pierce asks softly.

I am Caroline Forbes

"Ready to comply."

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