You wake up in a dream and you know it's a dream, this time. Dirty walls and the sweetness of mildew. You press your palms into your eyes. The asylum is still there when you take them away. You swallow, apprehension gathering in your spine like electricity in a Leyden jar. No one's come to hurt you yet.
That's never happened before.
Well, you may as well explore.
You go upstairs. From what you remember of your dreams, the glass coffin is on the second floor. You don't recall the exact layout. (Your dreams are not that specific). Most of the rooms are empty. There are signs that people live here: rumbled beds and unfinished games of solitaire. But there are none of the witches that took your eyes or your fingertips or crushed your femur beneath their feet.
(No remnants of half-remembered agony).
You suppose you can take that as a good sign.
As good a sign as you can take when you're in a building covered with blood stains. You gag fruitlessly when you accidentally step on something fleshy. You run until you round the corner, shadows at your back.
It's cleaner here, at least. The fluorescents flicker. You find a supply closet with a first-aid kit and fresh linens. You didn't know half-insane witches did laundry.
(Are they witches? You wonder, or are they ghosts too?)
You think you should be nervous no one has revealed themselves yet. But the prowling sense of dread you're used to doesn't arrive. The exhaustion you've suffered is gone. Your head doesn't hurt. It's almost peaceful here.
Another reason to be wary.
"Oh," you say when you open the second door to the left, "There you are."
The glass coffin that haunts you lies in the middle of the room. It's been a while since you've gotten this far. You wander closer and catch your reflection on dust-covered glass.
You freeze. There's no one inside.
"Fuck."
You whirl around, but the woman is standing behind you. A bitten-off scream escapes before you realize it, prickles of dread finally finding their way to you. This is the first time you've ever met your ghost. At least, you think. Freya has never hurt you, you know, but there are gaps in your memory. All your other dreams stayed dreams.
This is something different.
Something new.
"There's no need for any of that," Freya says serenely, "I'm not going to hurt you."
That's reassuring.
You've never heard her voice before. Your eyes scan her out-of-time clothes, tangled curls.
Her pale blue eyes.
Something shifts in the back of your mind. She's familiar, somehow.
"No," you finally manage to say, voice shaky, "But your friends do."
"They're not my friends," she says.
Untempered relief floods over you. At least one spirit isn't trying to hurt you. (Unless Klaus is right and you're just a fool who thinks the best of people).
"Then could you maybe tell me why you're haunting me? I can't imagine I have a lot to interest a ghost."
Her thin eyebrows draw together.
"I'm not a ghost, dear," she says laughing, "I'm a witch. A live one."
You swallow.
Part of you feels stupid for assuming that a spirit and a ghost were the same thing. Another part of you jolts with remembered fear and hurt.
Of course she's a witch. You should have put that together weeks ago. (Maybe you would have if you were able to think clearly. Another wrong you can lay at Freya's feet).
"Okay," you say carefully, not running out the door like you desperately want to, "Then why did you bring me here?"
"I'm trapped here, I need your help."
"I'm not sure why you think I can help you."
"I don't think," Freya states evenly, "I know."
"I hope you have a better reason than that if you're the reason I've been having nightmares."
Freya looks nearly hurt. Your expression softens.
"Sorry. I'm a little on edge."
"No, it's my fault. I did not intend my contact to have unwanted side effects."
"What did you intend?"
Freya pauses.
"A reunion. Freedom. Take your pick."
There's a sadness in her voice you recognize.
You weren't expecting to find much when you got to the asylum. (Not sure what— if anything— you did expect to find there). Bonnie would perform a spell or two and the Mikaelsons would help you be free from this ghost. A simple equation.
This complicates things.
"Why me?"
You've been wondering it for a while.
"Bring your friends with you, all will be clear in time."
"You know, for a witch, you've really nailed the whole 'mysterious spirit' thing down."
Freya, surprisingly, laughs.
"I'm anticipating getting to know you better once I'm free," she says and draws closer. She reaches out like she's going to touch you. You flinch away before she can. Her eyebrows draw together briefly.
"I'm sorry," you blurt out, even though you're not, "It's just—" You falter. "I don't exactly have good memories of this place."
"No, I'm sorry. There's no need to apologize," she murmurs, "I hadn't realized what the others put you through."
"Could you have stopped them?"
You almost don't dare to ask in fear of the answer. Thankfully, she shakes her head.
"I'm only now starting to truly wake. My consciousness was only strong enough to bring your psyche here. I tried to talk to you…" Freya trails off, "You never heard me, did you?"
You shake your head.
"I've been asleep for so long…" Freya says and that feeling— that longing that isn't yours— lingers on the back of your tongue. You swallow it. It tastes of amber.
(You can taste some of her memories in that moment. She hasn't lied to you. You feel magic and running and something like—)
Family.
A desire for love.
Her heartache reflects itself in you. You can trust her, you realize. She's you. Or something close enough.
"How did this happen?"
"All in due time," she promises and tilts her head like she hears something, "You should wake up, someone's here."
"Who?" You ask, but she's already fading.
You open your eyes. Icy blue waits for you.
"Are you okay?" Rebekah queries, eyebrows creased, "You hit your head."
Blue eyes.
Something occurs to you.
No… There's no way.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a wave of nausea. You bolt upright.
"Stop the car," you say desperately, "Now."
The tires squeal as Kol breaks. You barely open the door in time to vomit all over the side of the road.
"Gross," Rebekah says.
"Are you alright?!"
You look up, blinking, at Bonnie as she scrambles out of the car. You don't get the chance to answer before you start heaving. She holds back your hair. You try to not throw up on her shoes in gratitude.
The edge of your ire starts to dull.
"Thanks," you say, voice hoarse, "Does anyone happen to have mouthwash?"
They don't, but Bonnie has a water bottle. You rinse out the taste of vomit and spit it out onto the unpaved shoulder. It helps. Barely. You crawl back into the back seat, cold leather seeping into your skin. Your teeth chatter despite the humid air. Kol turns the heat up.
You send him a quick smile before collapsing back into yourself.
God— everything hurts.
"Where are we?" You ask once you're sure you're not going to throw up again.
"On our way to the asylum," Bonnie answers, "The others stayed behind."
"Can someone please explain what the fuck happened back there?"
Kol, predictably, laughs.
"Let me boil it down for you," he says, staring at Rebekah through the rearview mirror, "Nik's little side project human-turned-adoptive-son from centuries ago, Marcel, is alive. Rebekah's in love with him— and honestly, Nik might be a little too. Juries out on Elijah. There's little else to explain why he's acting a fool currently. The little brat is the reason I got daggered the last time."
"Is there a way to make that sound less weird?"
"Or creepy," Bonnie tacks on.
"Honestly?" Kol says dryly, "No."
"Let's not forget how apparently magic is illegal in the city? They tried to kill me."
"And here you still are," Rebekah says snidely, "Still, unfortunately, with the living."
"I'm sorry, who's helping who right now?"
"Oh please, let's not moralize your actions," Rebekahs says, voice pitched high, "If you do us this favor, we'll owe you."
"Or she could just be doing us a favor," you interject.
"Come off it, darling," she snaps, "She's trying to use your better nature to her advantage. If she helps you, then you're more likely to help protect her and her vapid group of friends from my family."
"I don't have that much power."
"You know exactly how much sway you have over my family, darling, don't be obtuse. The witch isn't."
You're about to tell Rebekah she's being ridiculous. But then you look over to Bonnie and she gives you an apologetic shrug. Your mouth snaps shut.
You're starting to realize that you don't understand the role the Mikaelsons play in this world.
(Not sure if you know your own).
Thankfully, Kol interrupts.
"Moving past that, we should be able to find a way into the asylum with my expertise and our darling Bonnie's power."
"How reassuring."
"— I am not your darling—"
"We'll be able to get rid of this spirit," Kol continues like Bonnie never interrupted, "I promise."
"We don't have to get rid of her," you blurt out.
"Her?" Rebekah echoes and you shrink into your seat. There's a malicious bite to her words. You're not sure you should continue. You do anyway.
"I had another dream while I was out. Also— apparently not just a spirit. She's a real witch. She said something about how she's been asleep for nearly a century."
"Well that makes this more complicated," Bonnie states.
"That's what I thought. But she said she needs our help. I think we should do it."
Kol and Rebekah make careful eye contact.
"Darling, we know you like to think the best of people. This is not a situation where you should do that."
"They're my dreams," you argue, cheeks heating, "I know more than you about what we're walking into."
"That's a very nice fantasy you have there, beloved, but trust me—" Kol responds with a sharp edge in his voice, "She's lying to you. You're too trusting."
"Don't patronize me," you snap.
"Stop trying to get yourself killed."
"Didn't both of you plan to kill me at one point?" You say before you can think. Kol's hands tense on the steering wheel and you immediately regret saying it.
"Drop it, Kol," Rebekah warns before Kol can respond.
Reluctantly, he obeys.
"… Is this how you all act all the time?" Bonnie questions.
Rebekah and Kol don't answer.
Breaking into an asylum full of witches is easier than you expected. Probably because you have a witch helping you. Bonnie put some kind of cloaking spell on all of you (or at least, that's what you think she did. You're not super up to date on magic).
You make a note to buy Bonnie a fruit basket or something after all of this is over. Maybe you could make macarons.
Assuming, that is, you survive this.
Kol is pointedly not speaking to you. It hurts more than it should, but you have other problems.
Namely, Bonnie doesn't know how to fucking walk quietly and if she alerts the witches to your location you're going to murder her, cloaking spell or not. (And then you'll have to give her fruit basket to her next of kin. You don't think that'll be enough to get you off first degree murder charges).
"Can you be any louder?" You hiss.
Bonnie rolls her eyes, but her footsteps get lighter. You'll take it.
Rebekah stays behind you with Bonnie and Kol in front. You're surrounded: nothing can hurt you. At least not without going through what you suspect is one of the most powerful witches to ever live and two immortal vampires.
Still, your teeth are on edge.
Being here in real life is different than your dreams. You were just here— felt the wood grain beneath your feet. You still remember the way to the second floor. But you were safer then. Now there's the very real threat you may not make it out of here. The building itself echos of pain. Pangs of revulsion berate you.
Every fiber of your body wants to leave.
You should listen to it.
Instead, you press on.
The stairwell is deserted. You start to think maybe you were wrong, the asylum is empty after all. There's no one here. Thick silence cloaks your movements.
It doesn't make sense. Why would your dreams be haunted by witches who aren't even here? Maybe Kol is right. Dreams can't be trusted. You're not used to the Mikaelsons being rightfully upset with you. Your eyes glance fugitively over to him. You need to apologize for snapping at him. He's only trying to protect you. You should make things right.
Then, the world tilts.
Kol and Bonnie crumple to the ground. Rebekah slams against the wall beside you. You stop a scream before it can escape.
No.
"Now what do we have here?" You know that voice. You whirl around to see one of the witches from your nightmares. Nausea you've been suppressing rises in your throat and for a split second, you think you're going to vomit again. "Girls! We have company!"
Sound echos thunderously in the hallways— the sound of running feet and excited voices. Bile rises in your throat, but then you notice something strange— a lack of familiarity in her eyes.
(Maybe, they were just dreams. Maybe you're the only one who remembers them).
The witch raises a hand and you know what she's going to do. You dodge to the side and a sound like thunder hits the ground where you were standing. You pant, grin victorious. The witch bares her teeth in a snarl.
You did it— you can get out of this, you tell yourself. You have the upper hand.
You just have to get to the Mikaelsons.
"Little bitch."
She flings her hand out again, but this time you're not fast enough. Something hits you and you know somehow it's a bone-cracking spell. You brace yourself for wracking agony.
Nothing comes.
Other witches hurl jinxes at you— chattering up a cacophony. You feel something: a tingling sensation that barely touches your skin.
It doesn't hurt.
It doesn't hurt.
You're so giddy with relief you don't see Kol push himself to his feet. You watch in vague, uncategorized horror as Kol tears his hand through her sternum. The witch collapses with a bloody hole in her chest. Dark veins sprout under Kol's eyes, hands stained crimson. Your heart palpitates like it doesn't know if it should be scared.
(You should be).
"Get her out of here!" He orders, "I can take care of these."
"We're not going to leave you!" You protest. He gives an impatient jerk of his head towards his sister. You feel Rebekah's arm snake around you, dragging you up the rest of the stairs. You writhe and try to lock your knees.
"Stop!"
They don't listen. Some desperate part of you wishes you were strong enough to resist them.
Bonnie strong arms you up on your feet. The last thing you see is Kol turning to the remaining witches, grinning like a wild thing. Kol will be okay— he has to be. Nothing can hurt them. Nothing can keep them away from you.
The depth of your concern take a back seat to the influx of witches at the top landing. You recognize one of the faces, the one who snapped your arm and left white bone sticking out of your wrist. Pangs of half-remembered fear echo in your sternum.
You want them dead.
(You remember the girl you once were and the woman you grew to be. The one who never got angry. You wonder what happened to her).
Bonnie sends the witches to their feet without blinking. You didn't have a true concept of how powerful Bonnie was until just this moment. You're overwhelmingly grateful that she's here right now.
No wonder even Klaus looks at her with respect.
"Good job," Rebekah says grudgingly.
Bonnie shrugs.
Rebekah helps you step over bodies to the second floor. You don't even care if they're alive or not. Your racing heart starts to subside when the tang of amber alights in the back of your throat.
She's here.
Your eyes zero in on a plain wooden door. A pulsing pressure in your chest threatens to send you to the floor. Your eyelids flutter as a wave of euphoria-vertigo-revulsion-want sweeps over you.
"She's in there," you rasp, light-headed.
"Are you sure?" Rebekah asks.
Bonnie presses a hand to the door before jerking back like it burned her.
"No, she's right. Hold on—"
She stretches out both her hands, palms outward. The door slams open.
"I guess you are good for some things," Rebekah comments.
"Do you ever give it up?"
"Certainly not for you."
You ignore their bickering and step inside. The pulse inside you grows stronger, beating alongside your heart, as you step closer to the coffin. For a brief moment, you contemplate that maybe Kol was right. (It's too late now for second guessing. You're here. If Freya wants to hurt you, there's nothing you can do about it now).
You feel the rhythm in your ears.
Come closer.
You try to obey. Rebekah catches your hand.
"What are you doing?" She demands indignantly, "Are you trying to get possessed?"
"She's not a ghost, Rebekah."
"It's amazing to me you've lived this long."
You try to shake off her hand. (Fruitlessly, as you should have expected). Something white-hot sears your clavicle. You hiss in pain.
"What's wrong?"
You try with shaking hands to undo the clasp.
"My necklace," you yelp, "Get it off."
Rebekah rips it off and then three things all happen at once.
One: The amulet glows gold, so bright it hurts to look at.
Two: The glass coffin opens.
Three: Freya rises from her resting place, smiles at you, before looking warmly at Rebekah.
And then four:
"Hello, sister," she says and Rebekah freezes, cold as ice.
Hope you guys liked the chapter :) I'm very excited to get back to Virginia. Time for this fic to earn its M rating B)