Author's note: I'm turning my Klaroline one-shot in A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapters 105 & 130: Beer and pizza prompt) into a multi-chap. Thanks for all of the asks and encouragement! You guys really motivated me to finally get this one started! Klaus is a prince of hell trying to adjust to his banishment on earth when he meets a perky blonde human willing to help out the clueless weirdo. Of course, she didn't realize just how weird things were about to get...
It was a matter of falling up. And falling down. Hell dimensions aren't as insipid mortal folklore assumes — there is no 'fixed' location as though the totality of infinite mortal suffering could be contained solely within the supernatural equivalent of a basement.
Klaus did not cry out when he fell — he would never give Mikael the satisfaction. The corporeal form may twist and shatter thousands of times as it is cast from hell, but it always reforms. And Mikael had ensured his banishment was as painful as possible, forcing him to endure his flesh knitting itself together over and over as he tumbled to earth. Perhaps Klaus would've given voice to the unfathomable pain, but more troubling revelations plagued his mind.
He was a prince of hell, a devil descended from a noble line of devils, whose royal bloodline ruled hell. Except he wasn't. For it had been revealed that Klaus was not of Mikael's lineage; he was the product of his mother's affair with a demon named Ansel. Esther always had been a deceitful devil, her handfasting to Mikael a carefully calculated ploy to sink her claws into the hellfire throne. However, she'd vastly overestimated her influence, and the past few days had been a stunning display of violence — even by hell's standards.
As Klaus shot to the earth, he carried with him the cold blue fire of Mikael's gaze as he cast him out of hell. The stinging rebuke of the only sire he'd known had been a wretched, clawing thing to his chest. But Klaus would not dwell on such nonsense. Feelings were for beings of a lesser origin. Like humans.
As the portal mercilessly tore at his ragged flesh, Klaus sought comfort in the knowledge that one day he would have his vengeance. He vowed to destroy Mikael and ascend the hellfire throne.
The impact to earth was a thundering shudder, felling trees in every direction as he curled into a pitiful ball, wheezing. Klaus once held the phenomenal powers of every hell dimension in the palm of his hand. With the snap of his claws, even the most bloodthirsty and depraved of their demon legions would tremble. And now he wheezed.
The foul odors of this insignificant mortal plane assaulted him, and he blearily opened his eyes to survey his meager surroundings. Nothing more than clumps of dirt covered in spores and buzzing, mindless insects. A too-bright sun with its irritating cheerfulness. Frowning, he squinted hard, searching in vain for anything remotely noteworthy. No searing flames of damnation. No mighty archway of bones. They didn't even have a welcome hydra.
Stripped of his immortal powers, he slowly sat up, wincing at the bizarre creaking and popping noises that suddenly emitted from his weak, far-too-human-smelling body. Klaus found he did not care for this jarring turn of events and uttered a series of human curses he overheard as he fell to earth. "Fucking thundercunt of a shittyiphone." He wasn't entirely cognizant of the meaning, but based on its vigorous repetition by the humans, shittyiphone appeared to evoke a maniacal wrath. It must be an especially vicious breed of imp or goblin.
One of the unfortunate results of being cast from hell was that Klaus' insatiable bloodlust had been replaced by a voracious appetite. He'd hunted small prey in the forests, but had grown weary of the foul taste of stringy flesh. For two weeks, Klaus had wandered this world, still reeling from the shock of everything he thought he knew suddenly being wrong. Who he was, what he was — everything was different. However, there was no time to consider what it meant to be a half-devil and half-demon, because nearly within the same breath of learning his lineage, his powers had been ripped away.
He'd eventually made his way to the streets, an aimless, gnawing sensation haunting him. Perhaps he'd discovered this insufferable planet's limbo? Limbo hadn't been under his domain, but he knew they had the leviathan pipe in a devastating mix of despondency and heartsickness every day (or, at least they did until the serpent unions all went on strike for a four-day work week).
He'd attempted to converse with some of the subcreatures on this miserable planet to learn how to banish this deep-rooted ache he felt, but they merely flicked furry tails with disinterest and chittered incoherently. His temper flared at their obvious rudeness, and he invoked the cursed phrase "shittyiphone" as they scampered away. When Klaus impatiently explained to the armed sentry that he merely was inquiring how the subcreatures of this realm banished their feelings of melancholy, he was told he'd "earned himself a stay in the drunk tank".
It was a peculiar earth custom. Also, it was neither a tank nor was it drunk.
Upon his release, Klaus was faced once more with the stark reality of a voracious appetite. However, he understood enough of this mortal realm to know that without their currency, he was unable to purchase food. It was with deepest shame and self-loathing that he'd stumbled upon a large metal receptacle behind an eating establishment and attempted to scrounge for something to eat.
Hip-deep in grease-spotted cardboard boxes and black plastic bags overflowing with rotted greens, expired eggs and leaking cartons, Klaus held his breath, stomach churning at the foul smells that assaulted him. The scents of this world were disgusting, and his self-loathing threatened to overwhelm him once he realized that his body now carried the same atrocious odors. He smelled human. Gone was the comforting, familiar smells of brimstone and cleansing fire.
His hell was being human.
Just when Klaus was ready to tear at his threadbare clothes and sweat-soaked curls, casting aside the last vestiges of his dignity to cry out to his indifferent and cruel gods, there was a rustling off to the side that captured his attention. He flicked his weary gaze up, and immediately was ensnared by an inquisitive pair of blue eyes that regarded him warmly. The morning's rays turned her blonde curls into a golden halo, and he marveled that an angel would deign to walk upon such a dismal mortal plane.
When she opened her mouth, he heard the sweetest of voices ask, "Do you need some help?" It was as though she was breathing new life into his veins, filling his empty shell with the most curious of medicines. Hope.