Warning: Mentions of blood, death and violence in this chapter.


Get You Out


Pensacola turned out to be a complete and utter disappointment, much to Klaus' frustration and chagrin. After he compelled what felt like half the bloody state of Florida, he was no closer to making his first hybrids than he had been before the ritual. And while he wasn't going to complain about glutting himself on the blood of innocent, expendable people, he'd been alone long enough, had waited and plotted and planned, and this final hurdle was really starting to try his patience.

At least Stefan was decent company.

Of course, he still had that annoyingly tedious stick up his eternal arse, but he seemed to become more like his old self with every fresh corpse they left behind them, and although the young vampire hadn't exactly started out on this little trip with him willingly, Klaus couldn't help but hope that he was enjoying giving in to his most primal himself, at least a little. Plus, being away from that idiot elder brother of his must be a bonus. He knew he was certainly enjoying the time away from Elijah, the knowledge that he'd conspired which such childish imbeciles in the hopes of destroying him once and for all understandably still smarting. The fact that his older brother had somehow awoken from the dagger should have concerned him, but right now he was content to enjoy himself until he found a pack to test out his latest theories on; he'd catch up with Elijah soon enough. His little check-up would have to suffice for the time being.

Sauntering in through the doors of the five-star hotel he'd found for his little Florida vacation, Klaus aimed a winning smile at the receptionist at the desk as he made his way across the mezzanine to the elevator, unable to hold in his chuckle when she visibly blushed and lowered her head to her computer screen. Nice to know he still had it with the opposite sex. His room was, of course, on the top floor, the penthouse suit, with Stefan just down the hall, not that he gave any outward signs of appreciation for the view. Klaus had to admit it wasn't half bad, and the blazing sunshine was indeed beneficial to painting, sparking off the glass and chrome in a thousand enchanting rainbows. Of course, not that he'd ever be caught dead admiring rainbows: he was Klaus bloody Mikaelson, after all, and had a most gruesome reputation to uphold.

And uphold it he did.

Death, mayhem, carnage, he dolled all of them out in spades. Lucky for him, Florida was comprised of many a sandy beach; perfect hiding spots for bodies, and to get a quick snack from a local when the need arose. And with Klaus Mikaleson, there was always such a need. A need for blood, a need for vengeance, a need for beauty...

And, apparently, a need for a decent bottle of wine, since despite being one of the fanciest hotels this side of L.A, the staff couldn't tell a bottle of red wine from a can of grape soda. Bloody amateurs. Discarding the dark-green bottle with a careless toss, Klaus decided he should seek other venues for entertainment -and inebriation. He didn't bother knocking -he was too cool and nonchalant for that- but he did clear his throat in some modicum of politeness before snatching the copy of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde from his friend's engrossed fingers and examining it with a wry smile.

"A bit on the nose, don't you think?" he drawled smugly, relishing in the flash of shame he elicited in the depths of Stefan's dark eyes, but the young vampire, in a rare moment of spine, only raised a brow and asked in a monotone voice better found in the corporate bowels of a telecom service, "What do you want, Klaus?"

"Ohh, did I strike a nerve with the young Salvatore? Shame on me." He flounced into the desk chair, an ankle draped regally over a knee, and templed his fingers under his chin as he surveyed his -once upon a time, in gone-by days of somewhat happiness- partner in crime. "I felt like getting up to a little fun this evening. Care to join me?"

"Are you actually implying I have some degree of choice in the matter?"

Well, that kind of attitude just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Especially since he was contemplating waking Rebekah: he could do with a sibling on his side, especially if Elijah was up to something unsavoury. Leaning forward, he donned his 'I'm an evil hybrid, and I could kill you with a snap of my teeth, so shut the hell up and listen to me' face, which usually worked incredibly well. Must be the crazy eyes, Klaus mused idly. No one likes to look crazy in the face too long, as he rasped threateningly, "Let me remind you, dear Stefan, that I did not force this on you, any of it. You chose to come to me in order to save your beloved brother. You chose to drink the blood bags I set before you. You are the only one who enjoys the kill as much as I. This is all you, my friend. All you. So, stop with this insipid 'woe is me' routine and be grateful that I didn't kill you the first chance I got."

He rose from his chair, gripping Stefan's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity as he had done so many times in the twenties -although the young vampire in question was completely unaware of this, of course- and offered him a smile. "Cheer up, mate; I don't let just anyone tag along on my endeavours. Consider this an upgrade from your pitiful existence in Mystic Falls."

Stefan shrugged off his touch as if the Hybrid's skin was coated in vervain. "It wasn't pitiful, Klaus. I was with the woman I loved, had friends and people I cared about, and who cared about me, too. And I had my brother on my side, for the first time since we'd turned, or perhaps even before that."

"Really?" Klaus arched a brow in derogatory suspicion. "You constitute watching your brother pant after your girlfriend like a dehydrated dog in the Sahara as 'being on your side?' I must say, Stefan, that's a low familial standard, and I should know, given the fact that I was you a thousand years ago, floundering about in my own little love triangle with the first Petrova doppelgänger."

"You and Elijah loved the same woman?" Surprise and a hint of curiosity flickered in his hazel eyes. It seemed the younger Salvatore hadn't lost his penchant for listening to stories. Klaus decided to indulge him, if only to gain more of his trust. Besides, a small part chimed in at the back of his mind, it was a thousand years ago. You've long grown past the point of caring about ancient history, or anything in general.

"Yes, we did, just not in the same way, of course. Elijah, stuffy prune that he is -and has always been, even when we were all human and fragile and finite and whatnot- was entirely noble and stalwart with his affections, whereas me..." the Hybrid shrugged his shoulders, a gesture of 'What can I say?' that was almost as old as him. "Well, I just wanted some fun, truth be told, and there weren't exactly a parade of interesting candidates to take my pick from. But she knew how to dance, I'll give her that. If only she'd had that refinement and sensitivity when it came to prospective matches, things might have turned out quite differently."

Stefan leveled him with a knowing look. "I take it from your bitter tone she chose Elijah over you, then."

Klaus grinned, sharp as a razor, but cutting deeper than steel ever could. "That she did, my friend. That she did. It was always him over me, no matter the circumstances. The favourite brother, the favourite son, the favoured companion. And while that may sound to some like an unfortunate way to live, I don't hold it against him; I never have."

"Why?"

The Original explained as if it should be obvious -because it was, at least to him, "The same reason you don't hold it against yours, Stefan: he's your blood, your family. You've never been in a world without him, and no matter what he does, you'd never want to."

Stefan smiled, and it was perhaps the most genuine, raw smile Klaus had been in the receiving end in almost a century. When was the last time he'd smiled like that? When Marcel came home from the war? When he met up with Elijah for the first time after fleeing from Mikael, when he'd heard his brother's voice for the first time in over a decade and realized just how hard it had been to not have that voice paradoxically chastising him and supporting him all in the same breath? Perhaps. Or maybe just being around this broody Salvatore was starting to rub off on him more than he'd expected.

"You're right," Stefan admitted. "Love and hate walk hand in hand when it comes to family, or more accurately older brothers."

"Words I'd never thought I'd hear from you," Klaus intoned smugly. "Must be grounds for a national holiday."

The young vampire rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't push it, Klaus. I'm still me and you're...," he waved a hand, encompassing all Klaus was, "still you."

"And since I am so very me...have you changed your mind about having a night on the town?"

Sighing, Stefan replaced his book on the bedside table and motioned to the door. "Lead the way."

And lead it, he did.


Twelve hours later, Klaus awoke in his hotel bed, with a hotel pillow burrowed under his head, with a gorgeous redhead sprawled across his chest that aforementioned hotel had definitely not provided him with. Or, if they had, he had better reconsider the tips he was intending to leave when he eventually grew bored and moved on. Nothing captured his interest for long; one of the drawbacks of immortality. He'd seen and done it all, so if anything garnered more than a passing glance of his attention, they should consider themselves very lucky. Like this redhead, sound asleep as if she wasn't using the world's most deadly creature as an impromptu pillow. Not that he could blame her, of course: he was incredibly comfy.

Carefully extricating her head from his chest and onto a pillow, Klaus checked that the bite marks on her neck had healed -they had- before throwing on the nearest available set of clothes and pouring himself a generous glass of orange juice -properly pleasuring a lady was thirsty work- as well as one for her when she awoke before going in search of his laptop. Opening it up, he was disappointed when a quick survey of his email garnered him with no new information on the latest werewolf pack he'd been trying to track down. In the supernatural community nowadays, they were rarer than gold, but far more valuable to him. They'd been hunted almost to the point of extinction, the poor creatures -of course, his mind couldn't help but torment him with thoughts of August and his fanatics, raving about maintaining the purity of the vampire species. Idiots, the lot of them- savaged and brutalized and murdered in cold blood all because of a choice that they themselves had had no say in -oh how he could relate- and now that he'd broken his curse he wanted to do as much for them as he could.

Klaus wanted to make them better. Stronger, faster, more bloodthirsty, more bold, able to turn at will. In short, he wanted to make them just like him. But he couldn't do that if he didn't have a them to start with, could he?

If only there was a Werewolf Facebook Page where they all hung out and traded stories of running through the woods and scaring adolescent campers out of their minds, Klaus thought absently. That would be extremely useful, far more so than twenty five trillion pages dedicated to Harry Styles' current haircut.

With his vampire hearing, he detected the faint rustling of sheets over the click as he closed his laptop. Plucking up the full glass of orange juice, Klaus sauntered into the bedroom and handed it to the groggy woman. "Drink up, love, you'll feel better." She took the glass gratefully, downing it in one go. "Thanks," she murmured, glancing up at him from under her lashes. "That was quite a night last night."

"Yes," the blond agreed with a chuckle as he sat down in the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his added weight, "it was." Blue met brown, and held. "And now you're going to forget all about it. You'll forget meeting me at the bar, or that we spent the night together." He'd already compelled her to forget he'd fed off her, just in case she'd awoken before him and bolted before he could erase it all. "You'll get dressed and leave the hotel, going about your day as if you didn't just have mind-blowing sex with an Original God-"

A throat cleared behind him. Angry. Impatient. And totally not impressed. If he didn't know better, he'd say Elijah had tracked him down, but he hadn't, so there was only one answer left. "Good morning, Stefan. As you can see, I'm a bit busy at the moment, so whatever grievance you have with me, can you please shelve it for the next five seconds?" he demanded without looking over his shoulder.

His request was unfortunately denied. "Klaus, why the hell did I wake up with two girls in my room?"

"Ah," he reigned in a smile. "You didn't like my gift? I thought they were your type. Bland, whiny, shallow and lacking self-preservation instincts?"

"Elena was never any of those things."

"Oh, no? So she didn't stab herself in the stomach just to get my brother to make a deal for your safety, as well as all the other dolts she happened to care about? And then proceed to dagger him on your behalf, of course?" Klaus teased mercilessly. The incident still amused him whenever he thought about it: Elijah Mikaelson, bested by a seventeen year old girl. If only he could wake up Kol, just to see his face when he told him. It's be priceless. Well, almost priceless. The price would be his leverage, and their safety.

"What Elena did she did out of bravery, not stupidity," Stefan insisted, and it was all very touching and sweet, him defending his dead love and all. But now he had to compel this girl to forget all of their conversation as well.

"Hold on," Klaus held up a finger. "Id be delighted to tell you why you're wrong once I've taken care of this." He leaned in once again. "You're going to forget every word you just heard, and you're going to take it easy for the next few days, since you lost quite a lot of blood when you slipped and fell on a piece of glass, but you're all better now, no need to worry.."

"I'll take it easy," the woman murmured back to him. "I lost a lot of blood when I fell, but there's no need for me to worry."

"Excellent." He tucked a fiery strand behind her ear before closing the door and prodding Stefan into the living area all with a glance. Being bad had it's perks. Taking up a spot by the wall, he curled his hands in the pockets of his jeans and grinned with an impish glee, "Where were we? Ah, yes, you were saying how your six-feet-under girlfriend wasn't a wall-flowering martyr and I was just about to prove you wrong."

If Stefan's glare was any hotter, it would have burned straight through the fabric of his grey Henley and seared the flesh of his blackened, rotting and entirely rotten heart.

"Newsflash, old sport, Elena Gilbert was never going to last long. She was a human, you decidedly are not. No need for me to point out the math, we all know one plus one equals either a dead honey or a turned-against-their-will-and-now-seeks-revenge psycho ex."

Stefan mumbled, just loud enough for Klaus to hear, "Elena never wanted to turn. She never wanted that for herself, and I never wanted it for her."

The elder vampire splayed his hand, all problems seemingly solved. "There you have it. At least she died as she wanted, still human, protecting those she loved." He didn't know why he said it -maybe it was because they'd been friends, or maybe it was because he'd seen firsthand the way he'd looked at Rebekah, and did it for her- but Klaus sighed deeply and offered, "For what it's worth, I tried to make it as painless as I could. It wasn't personal, Stefan, and she didn't try to run, and I respect that kind of bravery, that love of family. I always have."

"Too bad Elijah didn't see it that way."

"Yes, well, me and my brother don't see eye to eye on many things, the state of our family being one of them."

"It must get lonely, being so old, having had experiences that no one else can relate to, or, if they can, they're asleep in a box somewhere."

"Or running around the eastern seaboard, mad at me. Elijah's awake," he clarified, off of his companion's perplexed look, "and I haven't a bloody clue how, and everyone I've sent to check on him has either miraculously dropped out of cellphone range or dropped a vital organ somewhere..." Just then, as if the universe had been listening in, a knock sounded at the door, brusque and hurried. Looks like someone from his enforcer squad had deigned to report in after all.

Without another word, Klaus turned on his heel, yanking open the door with enough force to smash a minivan.

"Start talking," he barked, with just the hint of bite. "Now."

The vampire -Klaus believed his name might be Kristopher, but he wouldn't bet his Tuscan villa on it- cleared his throat and said, "He killed them all, sir. Every last one of them. Said how he didn't do not want any part in your games, and the next time you sent children to do your dirty work, he wouldn't be so generous as to leave any alive."

"And that's supposed to...what? Intimidate me? Make me take up yoga and rethink my life choices? After all this time, one would think my brother knew me better than to believe I'd listen to his idle threats. I suppose he left you alive in order to deliver this message to me?"

"Yes, Mr Mikaelson."

"And now that job is done, there's no reason for me to keep you around, is there, Kristopher."

"No, Mr Mikaelson."

"Glad we're on the same page then," Klaus smirked, and, with a twirl of his wrist, snatched the heart from Kristopher's chest, leaving it to thump carelessly onto his shirt, before going back inside and snaring Stefan with a predatory smile. "You don't mind taking out the trash, do you?"


Dead vampire disposed off, carpets clean with none the wiser, and a promising new lead on Ray Sutton -courtesy of a compelled police officer from the state P.D. Yes, today had been a good day. But something felt...off to Klaus, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, nor shake out of his system. It crawled under his skin, restless and buzzing, and no matter how he tried to distract himself -be it alcohol or blood or books or even, in a moment of weakness, an episode of mind-numbing adolescent television- it would not leave him by. All this culminated in the decision that led to his current sanctuary, a secluded bit of beach closed off to the public due to the rockiness of the tides; they could change on a dime.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, boots discarded farther back the shore, grains of sand clinging to his feet like hungry coral, desperate to have a place to call their own, to belong. He suspected that was what was itching at him. Now that he'd fully embraced his werewolf nature, a part of him craved that pack mentality, of fitting in somewhere and having people he could call his own, who understood him in all his infinite complexities and cruelties. It was a disconcerting and utterly annoying feeling, Klaus quickly learned, like someone had shaken up his insides as if they were a bottle of soda, just waiting for the cap to burst and the pressure to fizz out into the world. He was always in control, of himself, other people, his surroundings, a master of his domain. He'd been a king and a brother, a father and a lover, a killer and a negotiator and a trickster and a liar and an artist, but the one thing he'd never been was a good person willing to give in to others, to help those in need simply because they needed it. Where had his help been, a thousand years ago when his father beat him bloody? Yes, Elijah had done what he could, and he would never forget the sight of Rebekah picking up that sword and aiming it at their father, but none of that had helped him.

It had only made him more miserable, to know that he was the source of their unhappiness, their tears and their quarrels over how to stop Mikael. Would making hybrids of his own really solve anything? Would it give him power, would it fix the broken parts of him, or would whoever he turned merely be impaled on his sharp edges when they eventually failed the expectations he'd set before them? Would any smile from them be as pure as the ones he'd coaxed from Rebekah when he left crowns made of the first flowers of spring for her to wear? Would any laugh be as merry as Kol's when they watched Harry Houdini's first magic act together, just them to marvelling at the wonder that was the creative mind? Klaus doubted it. But what he doubted most was himself, and his ability to be a leader. He'd built New Orleans from the ground up, his blood -and others'- and sweat and tears the very foundation the city had been erected from. And then he'd watched it burn. He'd watched it all burn, along with Marcellus and any happiness he might have once clung to.

What was the point of building something if you just watched it fall? Like the sandcastle, standing a few feet from him, decorated with shells and glittering seaweed. Some child must have snuck under the chain, ignoring the flame-red 'No Admittance Beyond This Point' sign or perhaps spurred on by it, and made something beautiful, yet still content with the knowledge it would likely be gone by the next time they visited. And wasn't there a kind of exhilarating defiance in that, in saying, 'Yes, I know this won't last, but I'm going to make it anyway, simply because I want to, because I can'? Shouldn't he, after all this time alive, know that if you feel strongly about something, you shouldn't let anyone or anything hold you back, not even experience or time or rationality, if you feel it's right?

But was making hybrids the right thing? Maybe for him, but for them... He'd be ruining a pack, making himself Alpha, taking away the inherent freedom that was being a wolf. Yet, they could turn whenever they pleased, if at all, could have whatever their heart desired, so long as they remained loyal to him. Didn't that sound like a good deal? It did to him. If someone had offered Klaus that same opportunity after he'd first turned, before his father had forced their mother to delve into the darkest arts and cleave apart his very self, he suspected he would have taken it. But then he wouldn't have had all those centuries with his siblings, and while he knew that he may act otherwise, he missed them. Klaus Mikaleson missed being loved, the real kind of love that comes from knowing someone completely, all their foibles and drawbacks and insecurities, and loving them anyway. The unconditional love of family. People say imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but somehow he thought his siblings would think otherwise if they awoke to find he'd tried to replace them.

No one could replace the Originals -as they'd learnt the hard way from Aurora and Tristan and Lucien. No one should ever dare try, lest they wish their head to be removed from their bodies with the utmost swiftness and precision. Yet maybe, just maybe, he could build something like them, something with one glaring difference: there would be no sticking together, always and forever. It would be his way, or no way, and no way meant death. Of the permanent kind. Klaus would be king once again, king of the wolves. King of the Wild things.

And he'd love every minute of it.


Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but I felt it best that this one stand on its own. Sooo...I finished watching The Originals. All of it. And I am devastated beyond belief at the ending; my heart is broken. Maybe that's why Klaus isn't mega evil in this chapter, just normal levels of evil for him. I would really love to know what you thought of my characterisation, if you think it's canon enough or nor canon enough. I had so much fun writing for him, and will definitely be doing more in the future.

Just so you know, because I have watched Originals I may make references to some plotlines and/or characters from it, simply because a) I can't stop myself and b) I probably thought it was relevant. Sorry if it's confusing or weird for anyone who hasn't watched. But really, do I need an excuse to mention Lucien Castle? No, no I don't, cause I LOVE HIM!

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a lovely weekend!

Until next time.

All my love, Temperance Cain.