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dead ∙ letter

noun

noun: dead letter; plural noun: dead letters

1. a law or treaty which has not been repealed but is ineffectual or defunct in practice.

2. an unclaimed or undelivered piece of mail.

CHAPTER ONE ∙ Return to Sender

May 13th, 2026

Klaus thumbed through the letters, barely feeling the paper on his skin. They were marked with locations he barely remembered visiting, all stamped with the same, angry red type: RETURN TO SENDER.

He picked up the first he found. It was heavier than it had any right to be. He flipped it over and broke the envelope's seal with his fingers. It was the first time he'd ever opened a modern envelope without a pang of nostalgia for the days of cracked wax seals and parchment.

Perhaps he'd spoken too soon, he wondered as a slip of parchment fell emerged from the envelope. He recognised it as torn from one of his old art journals. The penmanship was bold and blocky, written with a ballpoint pen rather than the calligraphy ink this parchment was suited for. It made sense—Hayley would never have the patience to work with smudge-able ink.

He wondered how much more he could discern about the letter without actually reading it.

Shoring up his wits, Klaus forged on and read.

It was one of the hardest things Klaus had ever done, not creasing the paper in shaking hands. He folded it with slow, controlled movements and slid it back into the envelope. He closed the seal, smoothing his thumbs over it until it lay flat.

As long as he didn't release it, he could pretend the seal had never been broken.


June 2nd, 2022

Hayley raised a hand to cover her phone, shielding it from the splash of lake water sent her way. Even sitting on the front porch of Mary's place wasn't far enough to protect her from the water-bombs the kids were doing into the lake.

No new messages. No texts. No voicemails. No indication that her own many, many texts and voicemails had been received. Hayley knew the situation was serious, but that didn't stop her from calling Klaus' current behaviour what it was: a sulk.

"Still nothing?"

Hayley raised a hand to keep the sun out of her eyes as she caught a good look at Lisina. "Nope."

"I'm sure he'll come around." Lisina didn't sound convinced, but then she wasn't Klaus' biggest fan. None of the wolves were, but Lisina did a better job of hiding her distaste than the others. "I think we're about to purge the crawfish. Wanna pitch in?"

"Of course." Hayley tucked her phone away and took the hand Lisina offered to help her stand. She searched for Hope out in the water, heart skipping a beat when she was confronted with a distinct lack of strawberry blonde hair bobbing up and down in the water.

"She's with Mary," said Lisina. "Maybe she'll want to help us?"

"I'll go see. You can get started without us, though." Mary's actual place was some miles away, but she'd agreed to move to the shack by the lake to be closer to the road—and everyone that wanted to check on her. And 'shack' was a loose term at that point, since the pack had spent the better part of last month doing the place up with fresh paint and new insulation in the walls. There was even an AC, something Mary had fought tooth and nail against … until she was moved in, at which point she went oddly silent.

Hayley found Keelin in the kitchen-slash-dining area. After Mary refused a live-in nurse to care for her ("I don't want no stranger in my house and in my business!"), Keelin stepped forward and used her lone wolf mojo to convince Mary she was trustworthy enough to keep around. At this point, if Keelin wasn't on shift at the hospital, she was here. It wasn't sustainable, but it wasn't meant to be.

There was already a pall of death over the house. It wouldn't be long now.

"She's with Mary," said Keelin, voice soft.

The door between the living area and the bedroom was slightly ajar. Soft singing filtered out from it. Hope.

Keelin stood and slipped her fingers into Hayley's arm. "Still nothing from him?"

Hayley shook her head, biting back the well of emotion inching up into the back of her throat. "I think something broke there. I just don't know what it is."

"I can talk to Hope for you," Keelin offered. "Maybe she'll tell her favourite aunt."

Don't let Rebekah hear you say that, Hayley almost joked. The words stopped on her tongue. Rebekah wasn't here. If she was, none of this moody Mikaelson bullshit would be happening.

"It's fine," Hayley told Keelin. "She'll come to me when she feels she can."

The singing continued, filling the silence. Hayley had to strain her senses to hear the rasp of Mary's breathing beneath the song. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.

"She's been at it for almost an hour," said Keelin. "Started with stories, moved onto songs when she ran out of material."

Hayley dabbed at her tears. "Is that—"

"Simon and Garfunkel? Yeah, I think so."

"Oh, god." Hayley chuckled through her tears. "I guess I didn't exactly sing her nursery rhymes growing up."

"It's cute," Keelin assured her, squeezing her arm. "You should take Hope out for the purge. I hear crawfish boils are a big deal around these parts."

"Something like that." Hayley turned into Keelin's half-embrace for a moment. "Thank you for being here. I know nursing terminal patients isn't really your area, doctor."

"I go where I'm needed. And we both know Mary would've chased away anyone else you sent by."

"True." Hayley disengaged from the hug and cracked the door open, sticking her head inside. Hope stopped singing when she realised she wasn't alone. "It's time to purge and clean the crawfish, Hope."

"But Mom—"

"Do as you're told," said Mary, pinching Hope's cheek. "Crawfish boils were my favourite part of summer when I was your age."

"You didn't have Netflix when you were my age."

Hayley's objection was smothered first by Mary's laughter, then by her coughs. Ironically, her lungs were one of the only places the cancer hadn't spread yet.

"Are you okay, Mary?" Hope asked.

Mary nodded, making it through the last of her coughs before saying, "Of course," with a rough, phlegmy voice. "Now give me a kiss and go cook some crawfish."

Hope pressed a kiss to Mary's weathered cheek. "Do you want us to bring some back for you?"

"I'm not sure I could stomach it, baby. You promise to enjoy it twice as much for me and tell me all about it?"

"We could make some into a smoothie for you! Aunt Freya can bring over her thermomix."

"Come on, Hope," said Hayley, extending her hand to her daughter. "Let's not keep Mary from her rest."

Sighing, Hope took Hayley's hand and let herself be led out. Hayley gave Mary a reassuring smile before snatching a giggling Hope up into her arms and leaving.


They'd cleaned most of the crawfish by the time Christophe Benoit turning the hose in his hand away from the bucket and towards his son, Henry, instead. Henry squealed, cackling as he dove away from the water and ducked behind Lisina.

"Sina! Sina!" he shrieked, trying to clamber up onto her back. His cries of laughter turned to those of betrayal when she swept him up in her arms and held him in front of her, exposing him to his father's watery assault. Hayley and the other adults trusted with the hoses followed suit, taking gleeful aim at the kids.

From there, it became pandemonium. What had started as a coordinated attack by the adults became chaos when Hope used magic to steal Christophe's hose, turning it on him. Henry freed himself from Lisina's grip (she set him down gently and let him think it was his achievement) and joined Hope's rebellion.

The water fight became a mud fight, parents against children until everyone had to be dunked into the lake just to clean themselves off. Hayley barely rescued her phone from the onslaught, though others weren't so lucky.

Hayley had just finished sloughing the mud out of Hope's hair when Keelin stepped out of the shack. Hayley locked eyes with her, finding a solemn gaze staring back at her. A quick listen for Mary's rattled breathing confirmed was she suspected, as she did the slight shake of Keelin's head.

Hayley took a moment to breathe—in, then out, then in again—before she turned back to her daughter. "Come on, sweetie," she said, tucking her into her grip and pulling them both up onto the boardwalk. "Time to dry off."


Hayley, Hope, and Keelin arrived back home late that night. Hope was napping in the back, belly full of crawfish and the smores they'd cooked over the fire. Hayley carried her out of the car, into the compound's courtyard where Freya was waiting with a novel and a glass of wine. She perked up at the sight of Keelin.

"You're home," Freya said, delighted. Then her face fell. "Does that mean …"

Keelin nodded. "A couple hours ago."

"I'm going to put Hope to bed," said Hayley. The adults had managed to coordinate and keep the kids from knowing about Mary just yet, and Hayley wanted to keep it that way. Hope should at least sleep well tonight.

She woke, of course, the moment Hayley put her down into bed. It brought back memories of her infancy—rather, the later stages Hayley was privy to, after Rebekah had her and before Klaus cursed Hayley and took her daughter away.

"Mom?" Hope asked, blinked dazedly.

"We're home." Hayley smoothed a hand over her hair, still damp and straggly from the lake water. "It's time to get some sleep."

Hope readjusted herself in the sheets, looking less likely to drop back off like Hayley had hoped. "Can we go and see Mary in the morning? I didn't get to tell her about the boil."

"We'll see," said Hayley, slipping into the bed beside Hope. "For now, it's time to sleep." She held out her arms to let Hope clamber into them, tucking her head under Hayley's chin. Hayley stopped fighting back her tears, letting them slide down her temple and onto the pillow just as long as Hope couldn't see them.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"You're never gonna get sick, right?"

"I'm part-vampire—I can't get sick."

"So you won't get old like Mary?"

"No, I won't. And neither will you."

Hayley felt Hope nod against her chest. "Good."

"Why do you ask, sweetie?"

"Because I think it would be scary if you did get sick and die like Mary."

Hayley froze, taking a moment to remind herself that Hope didn't know, not yet. The die was hypothetical. "Well, you don't have to worry," Hayley promised. "I'm not going anywhere."

Hope stopped asking questions after that. Her breathing evened out, heart slowing until she was really asleep. Hayley waited another hour before easing herself out of the bed. She kissed her fingers and pressed them to Hope's nose, then crept out of the room.


Hayley took the longest shower known to man, scrubbing the bayou out of her hair and skin until she smelled like another one of the endless pretentious soaps Klaus had stocked the compound with. He'd made the order when she was still pregnant with Hope; they still hadn't run out.

Freya and Keelin had gone to bed by the time Hayley came out, clad only in a bathrobe and with her hair twisted up into a towel. She checked her phone for messages, still finding none.

God, she was tired of being ignored.

Hayley brought up the text conversation, embarrassed to find she would have to scroll up for several minutes to find the last time he had sent a message. The entire space was populated with her begging him to respond. Evidently, she needed to switch tactics.

Klaus' painting studio was the same as he'd left it. He hadn't had much time for art the last time he'd been here, focusing on Hope. There was a half-finished painting of Hope and Hayley on the easel. She brushed her fingers against it, almost wishing the paint was still wet if only because it meant he'd still be here.

She located one of his art notebooks, the expensive ones with parchment inside. Tearing off a sheet, she fished around the desk for a pen. There were several ink pots and some dip pens, but nothing she'd be caught dead using in a million years.

Giving up, Hayley brought the sheaf of parchment back downstairs with her, into the ground floor sitting room. There was a tin of pens on the bureau left of the doorway, and Hayley selected the largest one triumphantly and clicked the nib out like she was cocking a gun. She sat down on the same chair Freya had been on, using the discarded novel to press the letter against.

And froze.

She was angry—angry that she'd been left alone in this, alone in her worries, alone in her daughter's life. Klaus had promised to call, to stay in touch and make sure they were all right. He'd made all sorts of promises, and now all he gave them was silence.

Did this make her a single parent?

Hayley took a moment to swallow her anger. There'd been plenty of that in the thousands of messages she'd left him before.

When she touched pen to paper, it was different.

Dear Klaus,

You'd have been proud of Hope today. She's back home for summer break. I brought her out to the bayou for the crawfish boil, hoping she'd play with the other crescent kids, but I turned around and she was gone. I found her inside at Mary's bedside, telling her stories and singing to her.

Sometimes I think about all the unlikely things that led to her existence. You and I, born a thousand years apart, and all of the petty crap that brought us to that one night in Mystic Falls. It's been hard … but the truth us, I watched her curled up next to that dying woman and I knew I wouldn't change a thing. In all my life, I've never felt lucky before her.

She froze, pen hovering above the paper. Kind regards? Best wishes? All my love?

No:

Anyway, we miss you,

Hayley


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