Freya is quiet as you wait for her siblings. She tells you Klaus has been concealed in the forest outside Finn's house since the two of you returned from New York. She lifted the spell. He still hasn't woken.

You don't say anything to her— too afraid that anything that comes out of your mouth will be laced with "how could you" or "you idiot" or any of frustrated rage that's warring in you.

Nullified only by the sympathy that comes of knowing how this behavior first took root.

(Nullified by the stream of bitter grief and regret you taste in the air: rotten and thick on your tongue.)

You hold Klaus's hand to avoid doing anything you shouldn't.

He's not desiccated in the way the others have explained daggering creates. He looks normal. Cheeks pink and lips flushed red. Too vibrant to be asleep.

To be dead.

But he's not dead, and you know that, and everyone knows that, and he'll wake up and be okay and all you have to do is wait.

(You've spent too much of your life waiting.)

All you can do is look at his dead eyes, dead lips, dead dead dead.

Rebekah and Kol arrive in quick succession, apologies and threats on their lips. Neither offer any sympathy toward their daggered brother, something you can't fault them for.

Klaus hast't exactly endeared himself to his siblings over the years.

(Really only endeared himself to you.)

They try to coax you away from the bo— from Klaus, to little effect.

"It may take days for him to wake," Freya mutters when pressed, "There's no way to tell."

Then you'll wait here for days.

Kol stands over his brother, cruel look in his eye. You suddenly remember the first time you met, before he loved you, before he wouldn't hurt you.

You're glad he loves you. Glad they all love you.

"Are you sure we can't just leave him?" Kol says. Freya, somehow, curls even deeper in on herself.

"Kol," Finn warns, "Be polite when you're in my home."

Kol rolls his eyes and throws himself in an armchair.

"I can't say I've never wanted to put him into a coma either," Rebekah remarks, ignoring the way Freya is still holding her head in her hands, "Well done sister."

Freya doesn't answer.

"Shall we get started?" Kol interrupts.

"We're still waiting for Elijah," Finn interjects. Kol's face ripples.

"Tragic," he says, baring his teeth, "I thought we'd be happy to leave him out considering what he did to our poor baker."

"And I'm certain none of your righteous anger is because he had a dagger tucked away with your name on it," Finn says, a tad too capriciously for your tastes, but you can't find it in you to shame him for it when Kol didn't protest him being daggered for 900 years.

That's family business, not yours.

Kol snaps back at him, only settling down when Rebekah stops him.

"Calm yourself," she hisses, "We have more important matters."

Shockingly, Kol obeys, only pausing to bare his teeth before settling down in his chair, scowl on his face.

You close your eyes and wait.

Finn brings you tea, vervain, according to him. He says it's not smart to remain unprotected.

You ignore the pointed look he sends to Rebekah as he says it.

Honey slicks your throat, soothing the ache there. You drink the entire cup.

"Bex, dearest," Kol says, sharp grin, "Speaking of which, anything you want to say to our baker?"

"Kol," you say, hushed, "Don't."

He ignores you.

"He's right," Rebekah manages to bite out. "I'm so sorry about the vervain, darling," she says, nearly desperate with the desire for your forgiveness, "I should have told you."

"Why didn't you?" Kol asks in absence of your own voice.

Instead of glaring at him, Rebekah's eyes dip lower.

"I thought perhaps you had stopped taking it of your own volition. For us. A presumption I shouldn't have taken. I only thought to check your tea the night of the dinner party."

You remember Rebekah yelling at Elijah. You remember her leaving him with you, all alone.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Elijah said he'd do it, he—" she bites her tongue. "I wanted to give him a chance."

You're caught between two thing: feeling stung Rebekah trusted the word of her ever-manipulating brother over your safety and knowing you have also made the error of trusting Elijah.

(Also knowing you can't be mad at him forever. He won't let you.)

((You don't have it in you.))

"I don't blame you," you say and it's true. Rebekah's face melts and reforms.

"Are you sure?" she asks, trepidatious.

"Pinkie promise," you say dryly and Kol snorts.

Still, though, you feel more settled. It's an uncomfortable and irritating sensation, tension between the Mikaelsons.

Well, you amend when there's a knock at the door, there's also that pervasive feeling of dread.

Elijah steps inside Finn's home only for Kol to throw him unceremoniously against the wall, back hitting the solid wood with a resounding thud. You wince in sympathy for the wall— surprised it didn't splinter into pieces.

"A dagger?" Kol demands derisively, "Really 'Lijah? How original."

"I expected this reaction," Elijah says wearily.

"You—!" You're not sure when Kol stole a knife from the kitchen, or if he just had it on him the whole time. He stabs into Elijah's gut, visceral wet sound squelching out of the wound. You yelp, seeing the red spurting out, only to be immediately hidden by a mass of fabric that moves in front of you.

"Kol!" Finn says firmly from his stance, blocking your view, "Not in my home. Take it outside. You're upsetting our baker."

The floorboard creaks under Kol's feet as he steps away.

"My apologies. I was simply overcome with emotion."

"Yes," Rebekah mocks, "That's why you were hiding a knife up your sleeve for the past hour."

Finn steps away in time for you to see Kol's sharp grin.

"My emotions gave me advance notice."

Finn and Rebekah remain unimpressed. Elijah pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and attempts cleaning himself off. His abdomen is a lost cause, sticky with blood clots, the edges beginning to flake off as they dry.

"No chance you have an extra shirt, brother?" Elijah says dryly. Finn clenches his jaw.

"Let me see," he says, far more graciously than you would have. His bedroom door clicks shut behind him, abandoning Elijah to the mercy and grace of his two youngest siblings. Freya's head remains firmly lodged in her hands.

They're silent for much longer than you anticipated.

Eventually, Elijah is the one to break it.

"My dear, would you do me the favor of accompanying me on a walk?"

Rebekah snorts before you can answer.

"You're joking, surely," she drawls, "Be alone with the person who took her off of vervain? Her protection against our enemies? Or have you blissfully forgotten our mother hunts us still?"

Elijah's fingers flutter, the only indication of his discomfort.

"A… regrettable lapse on my part. I want to apologize."

"Then you can do it in front of us," Kol says, "I'm still waiting on my apology as well."

"Oh please," Rebekah says, rolling her eyes, "You'll be waiting a long while. Elijah's never wrong, you know that."

"Stop—" you say and the room falls silent, shrinking in front of your quiet voice, "Elijah I'll hear you out, but I'm not leaving Klaus."

The room is silent a moment longer, lingering between heartbeats.

"Darling," Rebekah starts carefully, "You don't have to stay near him. We'll alert you when he wakes."

"No," you say forcefully, squeezing Klaus's hand, "I need to be here. I won't leave him."

They fall silent.

Freya, of all people, breaks it.

"We…" she clears her voice, "We can leave the house. It's only fair."

"Oh yes," Rebekah snipes, "Because you're a connoisseur of 'fair'."

"Rebekah," Elijah says evenly, "I'm sure we can all empathize with Freya's inclination to put our brother down. You not even a year ago wanted to do the same."

Rebekah sneers. "Exactly, I wanted to, but I didn't. I have some measure of control over my actions, unlike our overgrown toddler of a sister."

"That's not fair!" Freya bites back, "None of you understand."

(She believes it; you can taste it.)

"Enough," Kol says, shockingly, "If our darling baker wants some privacy with Elijah, then that is what she shall have." He turns to face Elijah. "And if one hair on her head is harmed or altered in any way, we get to kill him. I'd call that a win."

There it is.

You don't bother to protest Elijah hurting you, you doubt they think he would actually do anything to you. But you don't want to stir their ire towards him anymore than what they're already feeling.

"A sentiment I agree with," Finn says. You jump, unsure when he emerged from his room. "I found an old t-shirt. I'm afraid you'll have to make do."

Elijah smiles faintly. "I've suffered worse."

"I'm sure," Finn says coolly.

They leave without too much of a fuss, Freya following behind. The taste of sulfur disappears the instant she leaves the room. The front door clicks shut behind them, leaving Elijah in his borrowed ratty t-shirt with you alone in Finn's living room. You open your mouth once they leave, but Elijah hushes you, head tilted toward the door.

"They're gone," he says after a moment, "They shouldn't be able to hear us now."

"Yes," you say bitingly, "Because being overheard would simply be too much."

Elijah inhales, tongue poised at his teeth.

"I had a speech planned," he says, "A detailed and exorbitant apology. It doesn't seem to be fitting now."

"Rehearsed apologies rarely do," you say. Elijah ducks his head. You contemplate leaving him there, stuck in the mud of his own guilt. He'd deserve it. His siblings wouldn't fault you for it one bit.

You take pity on him.

"What were your main points?"

"My main points?" he says, stepping closer to you, still far enough away as to give you space, "Something along the lines of 'I'm sorry'. I'm afraid this offense is unforgivable."

"But you want me to forgive you anyway?"

"I don't deserve it."

"That's not what I asked."

Elijah hesitates. "Yes," he says eventually, "I want that very much."

"Why did you do it?" you ask, at a loss, "Any of it?"

"I—" You think this is the first time you've seen Elijah at a loss for words. "I cannot explain myself in a satisfactory manner."

"Try."

He takes a deep breath, catching it behind his teeth.

"I've expounded on my reasoning for daggering Kol. I am grateful I didn't. Despite what my siblings, or you, might think, I don't take pleasure in hurting my loved ones."

Distantly, you remember Klaus saying something similar.

"But you do anyway."

"Yes," he says quietly, "I'm afraid I do."

"Do you regret it?" you ask, still holding Klaus's limp hand in your own, "Now?"

Elijah looks at you silently.

"I am glad things came out the way they did," he says finally.

You hold in the bitter laugh you want to release. Of course he is.

"What I do regret," he says and comes to settle kneeling at your feet, "Is the vervain. I am so sorry. I know what I did was cruel and selfish. It was an escape hatch, for my own controlling tendencies. I needed to leave that option open to myself."

"What would you have done?" you ask, morbidly curious, "What would you have compelled me to do?"

"Lessen your concern if Kol disappeared, if any of them disappeared. Compel you in case of emergency, to keep you safe. To make you forget."

You swallow the bile in your throat.

"And did you?" you ask despite knowing the answer. Your parents did this sometimes, you remember. Ask you a question they already know the truth to just to see if you'll lie.

(Sometimes, though, they didn't know the truth. The key is to be able to tell when they're bluffing.)

"No."

"When did it start?"

Here, Elijah hesitates. You watch every tremor of his hand, the flutter of his eyelashes. Deepening lines around his eyes.

"Before New York."

You hiss and suck your teeth. "The roll top desk?"

He just looks at you silently.

It'd be easy to hate him if he wasn't embedded in you. You want to hate him, for taking away your independence. For planning webs around and around and around you until you're caught in a cocoon of his making.

But you have claws too. And you will hate him later when you have time for it— when the danger has passed and you have room for the emotions tangling inside you.

You tilt your head, looking into his deep dark eyes. "Will you do it again?"

"No," Elijah says. You hear the lie in his voice. Your jaw twitches and you can't bear to look alt him anymore— directing your gaze out the window to the early spring on the horizon.

"Elijah," you sigh, "Sometimes I wonder if you're all stuck in a rut so deep you'll never escape. You've had a thousand years to settle in your ways. It seems pointless to ask you to learn new tricks now."

Elijah looks at you, careful and drawn.

"I don't know if I am able to change."

"I don't need you to," you say and take his hand, "I just need you to try."

He nods, once and solemnly.

"And if you don't," you continue, finally looking at him, "I can't promise you can be in my life."

Elijah's eyes tighten at that— whether in panic or from the grating nature of ultimatums. But he makes no protest.

The others return within the hour.

You sit by Klaus for another thirty-six hours, Mikaelson siblings coming in and out as they plot and plan to while away eternity. Their nightmares are growing worse. Not sleeping. Their mother growing ever closer. Finn brings you food and tea while you sit next to Klaus on his deathbed. You sleep fitfully, in-between moments. Elijah leaves for a blood run from the nearest hospital. Kol's expression eases as he leaves.

(You think yours does too.)

The siblings glut themselves when Elijah returns. You're not sure why they don't want to leave— when they've spent centuries a piece wanting Klaus daggered. You're grateful they haven't left.

(Grateful they haven't left you.)

You're not sure how much time has passed before Rebekah tears you away.

"Beloved, you know we love you more than anything. You need to shower."

"Shut up, Rebekah."

"It's true," she says bluntly, " Also I got something for you: here."

She hands you a charm bracelet, pinching it carefully by the tag, silver charms glinting from slender chain.

"They're hollow," she says, "I had them filled with vervain in case you forget to take your tea."

"That's a nice euphemism."

Rebekah's lips curl.

"Yes," she says, "I thought so."

You take a shower, quickly and blank-faced. The bracelet jangles on your wrist as you shampoo your hair. You can't bear to be away for long.

"If Nik is going to take this long to wake, I say we start without him," Kol argues as you emerge from the steam of the bathroom.

"Agreed," Rebekah says crisply.

"No," Freya says, of all people, "We should wait. What I have to say involves him most of all."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before putting him into an eternal sleep," Rebekah snipes.

"Sister, that's enough," Elijah says. Rebekah cuts him off before he gets a chance to continue.

"Don't test me Elijah, you're on thin ice enough as it is."

"Everyone shut up!" you command, "He's waking up."

Klaus's hand twitches in your own, burning hot, before his eyes open, revealing burning icy blue. Your heart rises in your throat.

Vampire speed blurs your vision, tossing you into the wind only to land seeing Klaus pinning his eldest sister to the floor. Somehow, you're not surprised.

"Niklaus!"

His siblings attempt to pry him off— or at least, Elijah and Finn do. Rebekah and Kol seem content to watch the action.

Freya doesn't protest as her brother attacks her, barely even putting up a fight against his claws and hate.

(Almost like she thinks she deserves it.)

"I'm going to murder you, sister mine," Klaus snarls as Elijah and Finn manage to pin him down, "Make no mistake."

Freya just wheezes, clutching her throat.

"Niklaus," Elijah reprimands, "That's enough."

"That's enough?" Klaus mocks, hysterical, voice raw on the edges, "Are you joking? She put me into a coma!"

"Yes," Kol says dryly, "because you've never done that to any of your siblings."

"Shut up Kol," he snarls, "I only do it for your own good."

"I did it for your own good as well," Freya says hoarsely and the room falls silent.

"Thank God," Rebekah says, sighing, "Are you finally going to explain?"

"If you all give me a minute," she snaps and somehow it's good to see the anger flash across Freya's face— any break from the relentless guilt that's been painted there for the past two days.

Finn rests a hand on her shoulder. Silent comfort.

"Our mother made a deal with her sister. She was unable to bear children. Dahlia granted her that in exchange—" Freya falters. "In exchange for the firstborn in every generation. She's the one who came up with the spell to keep us young. We sleep for a century to wake for a single year."

"And why have you not shared this?" Klaus says callously, "If this tale is true."

"It was my burden to bear, but now—" Freya blinks away the wetness in her eyes, steels herself and stands tall. You taste saltwater taffy. "Now that we know you can have children, we are all in danger."

"I would like to say, once again for the class, that I am not pregnant," you say.

"Be that as it may, as long as Niklaus lives there is a chance."

"And what about you, dearest sister," he snarls, "I presume you have a functioning womb."

"I have learned my lesson," she snaps, the words bursting out of her, language taken violent form, "My child was taken from me, killed before birth, out of her cruelty."

The room falls silent. Her siblings didn't know that part apparently.

"Dahlia is cruel in ways you cannot imagine: however bad our parents are, our aunt is worse. She will stop at nothing to get what she deems she deserves."

"How did you escape?"

"I hid, centuries ago now. Every year I wake, I find a new place to hide myself."

"Have you broken the spell?"

Freya averts her gaze from you.

"No," she bites out, "I've tried hundreds of times. The only thing I can think that would break it is the death of the caster."

The siblings are silent for a long while.

"Well," Kol eventually says, "It sounds like we know have three relations to murder. Any suggestions?"

"Why don't we get the help of Elijah's cult?" Rebekah says with faux-innocence.

"With his what?"

No one explains.

"The Stryx is not a cult," Elijah sighs.

Rebekah snorts. "Could have fooled me."

"They have simply lost their way in absence of my guidance."

"You mean they've grown to epically large proportions as the most annoying group of pseudo-intellectual braggarts the world has ever seen."

"And what about Marcel?" Kol interjects, shooting a sharp threatening grin to his brother, "Surely now you have to consider using him."

"The little princeling has shown no signs of wanting to help us of all people," Klaus sneers.

"Not true," Kol says, throwing himself carelessly into Finn's armchair, "He gave me his number. Seems a sign of friendly relations."

Klaus barks a laugh. "Marcel gave you, of all people, his phone number? When on earth did this happen? Or are you simply lying again, as is your nature."

Kol opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off.

"Kol's covering for me," you say, "Marcel gave me his number when we were in New Orleans."

There's a careful beat of silence.

"And why," Elijah states carefully, "do you believe he gave it to you."

"He wanted to give me an out. If I needed to escape from you all."

There's no clatter, not rush of excitement nor pandaemonium. Still, the feeling of all their eyes trained on you like a hare in front of wolves makes your hair stand upright.

Klaus, the man you held the hand of for nearly two days straight while he laid dead and flushed, steps a threatening step in front of you.

"And why," he says evenly, restrained rage busting at the seams, "have you not told us before now?"

Two can play at that game.

You don't particularly like being threatened.

"Klaus, I really would love for you to take a look at yourself right now. That might answer your question."

He snarls and it's been so long since Klaus has treated you with anything other than kindness that your heart speeds up, pitter pattering a rhythm in your chest.

"Niklaus, enough," Elijah commands, "It's enough that she's telling us now."

"She told me ages ago," Kol drawls, a mild exaggeration. Klaus bares his teeth at him, but makes no other moves to intimidate him.

"Can you all save your arguments for later," Freya commands, "We need a plan. Now."

You open your mouth to agree, but Finn's living room is consumed by a burst of white light.

.

.

.

You know no more.

Hope you guys liked the chapter :)