A/N
So… gotta say, 3x02 was incredible. Here's a little one-shot that popped into my head after watching. Forgive any mistakes, it's 1 AM and I'm running on adrenaline and peanut butter.
Because I'm a sucker for a lost cause, and I see Klaus as one of those people who is too dangerous to live, but will break your heart (and every other part of you) anyway.
Enjoy and review!
-Iri
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He was sadistic, a torturer, the worst of earth's creatures. Once his mother's pride and joy, the beautiful boy grown into a beautiful man, now the very stuff of nightmares. Remorseless, vicious, and playful, his tendencies towards the cruel and twisted, the deadliest of combinations.
And yet, here he was, alone once more. Centuries of searching, of hunting, of killing. He'd thought that lifting the curse would fulfill him. Moving onto the creation of his new companions had become an obsession, had consumed him entirely. Months of travel, of labor, of rising hope, all for nothing.
He surveyed the carnage around him silently, detachedly. It wasn't the blood the bothered him, the unnatural angles of their limbs, half-turned, the expressions of utter torment on their faces.
It was the damned silence.
Forever it lasted, never another voice to share in the dark revelries, never an equal to understand the pure joy of his freedom. No, he was always alone, that beautiful boy become a beautiful man, and still beautiful even in his terrible loneliness. His own family had grown to hate him. Elijah, his brother, who had met death at his hands. He couldn't bear the look in his eyes in those final moments. Pitying, as if Klaus were a mistake, something ugly that could someday be fixed or corrected. Not a brother, not someone to empathize with or embrace. A monster, pitiable and twisted. It was always so.
Dirt and leaves shifted under vampiric feet, usually silent but made heavier by the added weight of the body slung across the younger man's shoulders. So they had all failed, then. Every last one. The pain rose up with surprising intensity, choking him, gripping him too tightly for speech. He drowned in it for a long moment.
The young one waited, panting slightly, the smell of rotting flesh pervading the small clearing. "They went rabid. Some of them, I killed. The others just…bled out." And now he was truly afraid, for the first time in his life, because he was rambling, babbling like a drunk man, and to make things worse, he didn't want to stop. The curse should have been lifted, it had to have been lifted, he couldn't live like this forever, unable to embrace his full nature. But it hadn't worked. He was still alone. Always alone.
The crash of the breaking glass did little to soothe his aching and fractured chest as he screamed his pain and anger and terror to the heavens. And then the young one reminded him of his injury, and Klaus shuddered back to reality, bound himself once more in fettering chains of formidable self-control and sadistic wit. The young one drank, from the bottle, though, because he didn't think he could handle physical contact right now. Still, the young one could not die. He was weak, tethered to his past life and singular nature, yes, but he was here, and he could not be allowed to die.
"It appears you are the only comrade I have left."
And the loneliness choked him once more as Klaus slid through the trees to hunt.