Hiiiiiiii! Did you miss me? I missed all of you so much.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing around with someone else's characters. Title is from Explosions in the Sky.
A/N: AU. (Apparently AH does not mean Alternate History like I thought. Duh at me; this is obviously not All Human.) Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed—and there were a lot of you this time around! I felt so popular for a hot minute. Seriously, though, you have no idea how much it means to me that y'all went THREE WHOLE MONTHS (holy crap I'm so sorry) without an update and were still so very lovely to me.
You guys, my life has been a giant ball of crazy. My dissertation basically took over my brain, I've been job hunting, the Olympics happened, my job hunt became successful, college football started back, it's election season in the US and I'm a political junkie… /excuses. I had about 5,000 words sitting here getting dusty and when I reread them after turning in my dissertation, I really didn't like them. So I've been reworking it. Nothing but my best for you guys.
Just an FYI—a few of you have already discovered this, but I have a tumblr and while I'm not super active, I do use it to post a few Author's Notes. Like progress reports, I guess you could say. So if you're worried that I've forgotten about this fic (no way, it's totally my baby) or if you want to see how far along I am on other fics, drop me a line there. Or PM me here if you prefer/don't have a tumblr. I usually get back to people within a few days, and I'm totally open to chatting about whatever. Comments, (constructive) criticism, questions, shooting the breeze…I welcome it all.
Oh by the way—there's a slightly extended A/N at the end of the chapter, and it kind of clarifies some timeline stuff. Make sure you skim it!
Happy reading! I would love a review if you have the time.
the birth and death of the day
7.
Caroline dreams about Famine.
She dreams that she can feel maggots crawling up her arms with the watery gaze of a vaguely familiar stranger squinting at her as she twists in her bed sheets, trying to throw them off. She looks up and her eyes meet Famine's—he's staring right at her and her cheeks flame, her fangs slicing painfully through her gums. Emptiness gnaws at her stomach, and she's so hungry.
The scene shifts and she's standing in a diner, a table with two chairs in front of her. Dean sits in one, hands clasped together solemnly, and a thin man with sparse white hair sits across from him, one bony hand curled around a long black cane. She tries to speak, but even as she feels her throat working, no sound comes out of her mouth. The thin man is wearing a white ring and Dean's face is pale. They are both talking, their lips moving, but she can hear nothing—not even the sound of Dean's fork as it scrapes against his plate (because of course Dean would be chowing down while sitting across from freaking Death). The silence is utterly deafening despite the storm that rages outside the restaurant.
The ground moves under her feet and she blinks; Klaus is pushing blood bag after blood bag at Stefan, whose eyes become more deranged with each gulp even as self-loathing crawls over his face. She doesn't want to see this, doesn't want to have this image of Stefan burned into her brain, and she gets her wish. There's a blinding light, and with that Caroline finds herself standing over a fresh grave, the dark earth still newly moved, and ice swims in her veins. There is no name on the headstone but a scratchy voice whispers in her ear, Here lies Dean Winchester.
And then it all fades to black.
She wakes herself up when she moans, "No," and, taking several gasping breaths, pushes herself up on her elbows. She has literally no idea how she ended up in her bed, much less how she actually managed to fall asleep. Especially with, you know, everything.
Her door is shut, but the lights in the hallway are turned on and she can hear the hum of low voices. Lifting her covers, she swings her legs carefully down to the floor, pulling a sweatshirt over her head as she reaches for her doorknob. The events of the day before are a messy blur and she rubs her face with her sleeve, trying to mentally prepare herself for not only all the crap she's missed at school but also for the onslaught of freaking Apocalyptic Horsemen. Because what Mystic Falls has really been missing is definitely a Pestilence, War and Famine cocktail. Just one olive in my end of the world martini, barkeep.
Famine. Despite the fact that she can't feel cold—duh, she's dead; she is cold personified—a shiver runs down Caroline's back. God, she hopes Stefan doesn't hate her, even if she totally hates herself. She rubs her arms, trying to shake the feel of horrible little worms inching along her skin.
"Caroline," Castiel says without warning from behind her; she jumps and whirls around, her hand going to her forehead and rubbing exasperatedly.
"Again with the materializing out of thin air," she mumbles, sliding her hands into the pouch on her sweatshirt. Castiel blinks and she shrugs. "What's up, Cas?"
He takes several steps forward so that she has to look up at him. His eyes are dark and serious and the nameless headstone flashes in her mind's eye. "Something's wrong."
Caroline sighs. "Of course it is. Welcome to Team Forbes, where something is always going freaking wrong." Castiel raises an eyebrow at her, and she's positive he picked up this incredulous look from Dean. "I mean, what is it?"
Castiel's eyes flicker to the door behind her. "I don't trust your guest."
"Adam?" At Castiel's nod, she turns slightly, her bare feet padding gently on the floor. "He's human—or at least he smells like it."
"His humanity does not make him trustworthy," Castiel says bluntly.
She frowns up at him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Jeez, Cas, don't mince words or anything. Are you trying to say he's lying about this family stuff?" Her eyes widen and she reaches out to grasp the lapels of Castiel's coat in tight fists. "Is he lying about being John's son?"
Castiel's expression changes and he won't quite meet her eyes as he says uncomfortably, "Not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" she demands, pulling him in slightly closer, her fingers tightening around his collar. "It's kind of a yes or no question."
He finally looks at her and she reads the answer in his face before he confirms it. "He isn't lying about that. John Winchester is his father, Caroline."
Exhaling, she releases him and crosses her arms over her chest. "So what, then? Is he some angel decoy or something?"
Castiel shakes his head in frustration. "I don't know, but something isn't right with him. I feel it." He looks at her curiously. "You don't?"
"Cas, in the past twenty-four hours, I've stared down one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, made a couple of really bad life choices, and had a brand new brother dropped in my lap. Not gonna lie, right now I probably couldn't feel a nuclear explosion." She pauses. "What kind of feeling?"
"It's too coincidental," Castiel says grimly. "Something is wrong." He fixes her with a pointed look. "Do not trust him."
"Believe me," she replies dryly, "I'd be really surprised if anyone did." One finger wraps around a tangled piece of hair and she thinks idly that she really needs to shower because she smells like dirty rainwater. "Do you know why he's here—why he was looking for John?"
Castiel considers her and she gets the frustrated feeling that he knows a lot more than he's letting on. "It is of little import," he says finally. "Just be careful with what you trust him with."
"We're not exactly inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner," she tells him sardonically, nudging her wooden floor with her toe. "Castiel, if you know something, you have to tell me. If it can help save Dean, or, you know, the world—"
The shuffle of feet outside of her door silences her and Caroline inhales sharply before carefully glancing over one shoulder. There's a hesitant knock followed by a whoosh behind her and Caroline doesn't have to look to know that Castiel has vanished.
"Hey," Sam says, poking his head cautiously. "You okay?" He ventures in, his arms crossed over his chest. "Kind of a long night." He glances over his shoulder at the first beams of sunlight breaking through windows and spilling down the hallway. "I know I didn't sleep well."
"Yeah well," Caroline says with a flippancy that proves she is just trying way too hard this morning. "I slept like the dead." She pauses. "Er—no pun intended. I don't think."
Sam doesn't laugh. "You can't pull something like that again, Care. Dean's right on this one."
"Seriously, Sam?" Caroline demands in disbelief. "This from the guy who went on a solitary bender after Dean d—was gone? How many of Grimm's creatures did you take on by yourself? I wasn't even alone."
His expression doesn't change in the slightest and it's a little surprising. "No, you were with three highly volatile vampires, each of them their own terrifying version of unhinged."
It's not the most vitriolic of comments but for reasons she can't totally explain, Caroline seethes. "Where was all this brim and vitriol last night?" she asks sarcastically. "You were all about being Mr. Negotiator then."
Something does flicker in his eyes at that. "Bad dreams," he says gruffly and all the air leaves Caroline's lungs.
"Morning," Liz interrupts from the doorway of the master bedroom, distracting both of them. Judging from the dark smudges under her mother's eyes, Caroline's pretty sure that no one in their house had a peaceful night's sleep.
"Morning," she and Sam echo back and as Liz brushes past them, Caroline hears her mom's heartbeat racing.
"Mom," she calls after her mother, hurrying down the hall after her. "Are you—you, know okay?" Liz gives her a speaking glance and Caroline winces. "Obviously you're not okay okay, but are you…how are you with this?"
Liz pours steaming coffee into her shiny brown thermos and doesn't respond for a few seconds. "John's gone, Care," she says quietly. "There's no point in being angry with his ghost."
"So? Not everything has to have a point, Mom."
Liz shakes her head firmly. "It's a waste of time, and time is one thing that's in short supply right now."
"Mom," Caroline repeats, her eyebrows knitting together. "John had another kid. That's not like, oops he was in a ton of debt, have fun paying off the loan sharks! That's John's son in there!"
"I'm very aware of that," Liz says shortly, "but think of it this way, Care. He's Sam and Dean's brother. That makes him your stepbrother, and that makes him family. We take care of our own here." Her tone makes it perfectly clear there is to be no more discussion of John Winchester's seemingly eternal supply of secrets.
Tucking her hands into the bottom of her sweatshirt, Caroline stares out the kitchen window at the blackbirds milling around the front yard. "What do I even say to him?" She fingers the Sheriff's badge resting on the counter before looking over her shoulder at the guy sleeping on the couch. "Why is he staying here? Don't we have enough problems?"
"Because," Liz says in her I spent sixteen hours in labor with you and I will tolerate no arguments voice, "he's John's son, and this is—was—is John's home. Where else is he supposed to go?" She takes the badge from Caroline's nervous fingers and pats her shoulder, her face softening. "If you want to stay home from school today, honey…."
"I've already missed too much," Caroline reminds her wearily. And besides, she's not totally sure she wants to spend the whole day playing the Newlywed Game with a long lost stepbrother, but she doesn't tell Liz that. "Have a good day at work, Mom," she says as Liz climbs into the Sheriff's car, the beginnings of stress lines already forming on her face.
After Liz's departure, Caroline ventures over to sit cross-legged on the ottoman in front of the couch, trying to summon all of her Miss Mystic Falls charm to aim right at this new addition. She's completely unsurprised when she finds Adam awake, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression.
"Hey," she ventures quietly and Adam turns his head in her direction.
"Hey," he says back.
They sit in an awkward silence; Caroline has no idea what to say this guy and it's painfully obvious that he's equally at a loss. So much for her pageant queen training. "Um," she says finally, "something happened to your mom?"
His mouth tightens and she wishes that her crabby, early-morning self had more tact. "Yeah," he says flatly, "she died. Two weeks ago." He turns back towards the ceiling. "I was coming to tell Da—John."
"I'm sorry," she offers, biting her lip, and maybe he hears the sincerity in her voice because he sits up and faces her.
"Thanks," he says with a short nod and she gestures towards the kitchen.
"Do you want some coffee or something?"
Adam considers her for a few minutes and she wonders just how much older he is than her because he looks so young. "Yeah," he says slowly. "That sounds okay."
... … … …
Caroline leaves Adam to go get ready for school, but once she's done, she pauses and listens to her surroundings. Despite the house's usual noise of the early morning routines of its occupants, there's a strange crackle in the air that she can't quite put her finger on. She makes a note to ask Bonnie about what happens if you combine witchy juju with angel wars (on a scale of one to Mentos in Diet Coke) when she smells something burning and follows it to the kitchen. Her nose wrinkles as smoke wafts off of the pot Dean is standing in front of.
"You're coming straight home after cheerleading, got it?" Dean says from his spot over the stove when he sees her. He fixes her with a look before returning to stare down at his sad attempt at cheese grits. At her scoff, he adds, "Don't think all this made me forget about you skipping town with the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort. No detours after practice, got it?"
After the events of the past twenty-four hours, Caroline's tolerance at being treated like a child is at an all-time low. She rolls her eyes at him and doesn't respond to his provocation, instead gathering her books and saying pointedly, "You're doing that wrong." She nods at his grits. "They'll taste like crap."
"Thanks, Paula Dean," he grumbles irritably and Sam laughs from where he's reading the morning paper at the table. Caroline sends him serious side-eye; he's not off her shit list just yet. "Don't suppose you could help," Dean adds grumpily.
She considers him before shrugging one shoulder. "They look too watery. Your best bet is to abandon ship. I say go for the Pop Tarts." She turns to grab her car keys, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Any other orders, General Patton, or am I free to go?"
He rolls his eyes at her. "It's for your own good," he says, but his voice loses conviction as he trails off and his eyebrows knit together in apparent confusion. "Crap."
"Congratulations," Sam quips over his coffee cup. "You're officially Dad."
Caroline hitches her bag further up her shoulder and, upon glancing around and noticing a glaring absence, asks cautiously, "Where's Adam?" Her voice pauses momentarily over the name and she stumbles on the delivery.
Dean doesn't flinch or cringe, but out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam's face drop slightly. "He decided to stay at the Motel 6 off the interstate," Dean says, dumping his failed attempt at breakfast in the trashcan. Caroline gapes at him.
"What? Why would he do that? He was fine an hour ago! Seriously, I'm in the shower for ten minutes—"
"Why are you being so quick to defend this kid, Care?" Dean demands, scraping forcefully at the remains of his grits sticking to the bottom of the pot, the fork making painful metal-on-metal screeches.
"Why are you so quick to be an ass to him? Or, you know, in general?" she counters, crossing her arms and they glare at each other until Sam hops up and takes Caroline's elbow. "School," he reminds her, leading her out of the house. She scowls at him too because seriously, screw this bullshit.
"Let go," she snaps, yanking away from him and crossing her arms over her chest—the picture of teenage defiance. "You're just as bad as him anyway."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You might want to go easy on everyone, Care," he says irritably and she scowls in response. "Especially Dean. You know how he idealized Dad."
"You know what though, Sam? This isn't just happening to you and Dean," Caroline points out crossly; there's a horrible low hum in her eardrums and a red tint to her vision. "It's happening to me and to my mom. Where's the sympathy for her? God."
They engage in a brief glare-off before Caroline blinks and says slowly, all the angry heat and the buzzing in her ears vanishing, "Wait. What just happened?"
Sam looks dazed. "I think we had a fight," he says with a touch of awe, because seriously, they don't fight. Like, ever. She and Sam are so similar in so many areas that it's kind of bizarre that they aren't actually blood relatives. She feels like someone just dumped a giant bucket of wake the fuck up on her.
"Yeah," she says slowly, her tongue feeling oddly thick and slow, "We did." She gnaws on her lower lip before gripping Sam's hand in hers. "I'm really sorry, Sam. I just…how are you holding up with all of this?"
He gives her a small, slightly forced smile and runs a hand through his hair. "I've been better," he says slowly, "but I've been worse too." He stops and squares his shoulders, looking up at the bright blue sky with an unreadable expression. "It's all really hard to absorb, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," she says quietly and he glances down at her, nudging her shin with his foot.
"What about you, Care? You dealing with everything okay?"
She opens her mouth to brush away his concerns but when he raises an eyebrow at her, she halts and considers him thoughtfully. "I'm tired," she says finally, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I'm really ready for this to be over. But…I've been worse too."
Sam gives her a lopsided half-smile. "I'll talk to Dean about this whole grounding thing. He's just…on edge with everything." He shifts a little awkwardly and adds, "I think Death pulled a number on him."
Caroline straightens and tightens her grip on her bag. "Wait, what do you mean? What kind of a number?" Her voice ticks up an octave. "What happened in Chicago, Sam?"
Sam shakes his head and holds up a hand. "I don't know all the details, Care—he's fine, so don't freak too much, but after he was done talking to Death…" Sam trails off and gestures helplessly. "It was like something shifted in him." Dread pools in her stomach but before she can pry any more information out of him, Sam pushes himself off of her car and opens the driver side door for her. "You'd better go. Don't want to be late for homeroom." She recognizes the tactic. You just got shut down, Forbes.
She rolls her eyes at him, turning to climb inside. "This conversation isn't over, you know," she warns, and he laughs a little.
"Believe me," he says with a hint of irony, "I'm fully aware."
… … … …
"Wait, what?" Bonnie's green eyes are as wide as saucers and Elena's mouth has dropped into a perfect O.
"I told you," Caroline says, eyes downcast at her hurriedly thrown together sandwich. "John has—had another kid. Before he met my mom. Adam."
"And this guy just showed up? No warning?" Elena asks, nose wrinkling in disbelief as Caroline shakes her head in confirmation. "Care—that's a little too…" she waves her hands searchingly in front of her tray. "It's a little too coincidental to be a coincidence."
"Believe me," Carline says dryly, picking a flake of crust off of the wheat bread. "All angles—and angels—are being considered."
"This is unreal," Bonnie breathes, her own brown bagged lunch forgotten at her elbow. Caroline's fingers tighten around her water bottle and she inhales deeply through her nose. Yoga breathing, she thinks with more than a little sourness. Calming, my ass. Maybe aromatherapy is the way to go—she makes a mental note to investigate scented candles later. God, she needs to chill out.
"So what are you guys gonna do?" Elena wants to know and the breeze picks up as Caroline shrugs.
"He stayed with us last night," she says, "and we did all the tricks in the book. Silver, holy water—hell, there's a Devil's trap drawn on the bottom of our welcome mat and I'm telling you, this guy's clean." She shrugs, inwardly marveling at her own continued numbness. "We're all just kind of in shock, I guess."
There's an expression of deep sympathy on Elena's face. "When I found out that my mom—that I was adopted, for days it felt like I couldn't get enough air," she offers quietly. "Like I had had the wind knocked out of me, or something."
"Yeah, well," Caroline says with more fake brightness than she means, "Good thing I don't need to breathe or anything." A flash of hurt crosses Elena's face and Caroline winces. "I'm sorry," she says, leaning forward on her elbows and letting her hands comb through her bangs. "I suck. I'm a horrible friend."
Elena shakes her head without a moment's hesitation. "No," she insists, her hand coming over to rest on Caroline's shoulder. "It's a shock, and it's not easy to get past." She pauses. "How are Sam and Dean taking it?"
Caroline is quiet, her eyes trained on her half-eaten BLT. "Sam's doing better than Dean," she says finally. "Dean's taking it really personally." She pokes unenthusiastically at the sandwich. "Like he and Sam weren't enough for John, you know?"
"Oh, Care," Bonnie says sympathetically and Caroline sighs. "I know. He thinks that Adam's some kind of baddie we haven't run into yet, or an angel trap."
The three are quiet until Elena ventures carefully, "What's he like?"
Caroline shrugs again. "What does it matter?" she asks dejectedly. "If he's a human, he can't hang around us too much or else he won't be one for very long—he'll be lucky to even be alive. And if he's not human…" she lets herself trail off before finishing, "There's no point."
"But he's your family," Elena protests and Caroline inhales through her nose again.
"Come on, Elena," Bonnie says before Caroline has inhaled enough deep yoga breaths to feel calm, "didn't you have Damon erase Jeremy's memories once? Surely you get the protective instinct."
"Just because I get it—"
"Look," Caroline interrupts, calming zen thoughts be damned because they are so failing, "Adam isn't getting involved. If he's the real deal, then John deserves to have at least one branch on his family tree not turn out to be a dead end. And if he's some imposter, then—" she hesitates for the briefest of moments. "—then he's dead anyway."
"Guys," Bonnie says lowly and, noting the tone of her voice, Elena and Caroline both stiffen. "Who's that with Alaric?"
Before Caroline turns around, the hair on her arms stands straight up and her spine tingles like someone has run an ice cube down her nerves. She's so completely positive that when she turns around, it will be Death she sees—with thinning white hair and the gaunt face from her dream—that when she finally does risk a glance over one shoulder, her heart sputters almost as hard as it did when she was alive.
It's not him. The man walking next to Alaric looks nothing like the Death she saw in her nightmare—this man is way younger, and not half-bad in the looks department and very much not Death. The relief that floods through her is almost as paralyzing as the fear it replaces.
He isn't Death, but she has a sinking feeling that that doesn't mean much.
… … … …
The Forbes-Winchester house is still crackling with tension when Caroline comes home (directly from cheerleading, as ordered) and Adam's one duffle bag is still gone. There are several cartons of Chinese takeout sitting on the kitchen table, in what she assumes is Dean's peace offering, but her nerves are frayed and she's pretty much been the direct opposite of laid back all day.
But the hot and sour soup smells really good, so she swallows a little bit of her pride and grabs the waxy bowl just as Dean walks in. The temperature in the room drops a few degrees and they eye each other like boxers in the ring.
It's Dean who finally breaks the silence. "Did you rule your cheertatorship with an iron fist today, Torrence?"
She doesn't even realize her entire body has tensed until her muscles relax at the joke. "I knew you liked Bring It On more than you would admit. Hater."
He flashes her a grin. "Our generation's Citizen Kane, Care." Some of his smile fades and he says, with more hesitancy than she's used to seeing from Dean, "Look—I'm just trying to look out for you, okay?" He shrugs a shoulder, and if most of Caroline's anger hadn't evaporated with his lame attempt at humor, it does at the uncertainty on his face. It's just so un-Dean. "You're the only sister I've got." And yep, there goes all of her righteous indignation, right out the window without so much as a wave goodbye. She melts.
"I know," she says quietly and it means a lot of things—I get it; you're the only Dean I've got; we take care of our own. "Do your worst, Winchester."
He doesn't disappoint.
"So," Dean says as Sam settles in next to Caroline with his sweet and sour pork, looking at them like they're actors on a movie screen. "You want to explain just exactly what was going through your mind—assuming you still have one—" she rolls her eyes at him, because unnecessary, "when you decided to take on a Horseman by yourself?" There is a flutter behind the couch and no one is fazed when Castiel stares down curiously at the takeout before taking a carton and sitting.
"Just so you know, since I basically invited this line of questioning I'm also reserving the right to put the kibosh on it at any time," she tells him primly, "and besides, I wasn't by myself." She stabs at her rice with a chopstick. "Stefan and Damon were there."
"Don't even go there with me, kid," Dean warns, "because trust me, your company is a whole other issue and I've got a lot of yelling planned for that too." She bristles at 'kid' and, despite their fresh reconciliation, considers throwing a piece of egg right at his forehead.
"If I may," Castiel interrupts as his fingers roll clumsily over his chopsticks. "How did you and the other vampires fare with Famine?"
She blinks at him. "What do you mean, how did we fare? Like…what happened?" She turns to Sam. "Is he asking what happened?"
"Think so," Sam says through a mouthful of spring rolls.
Caroline considers her words carefully, because there is just no scenario on earth that plays out with Dean actually needing to know about her game of tonsil hockey with Main Villain Numero Dos (she figures the Apocalyptic-minded all tie for first place). "Well," she says slowly, "Stefan went kind of bonkers, but in retrospect, that's not all that surprising."
Castiel frowns as most of his rice falls uselessly back into his carton. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "Stefan has blood issues." At the continued blank look on Castiel's face, she clarifies, "He can't drink—or be around, really—human blood. He goes crazy, and I mean like, serial killer crazy. Back in the twenties, he killed, like, whole cities." She pauses and shudders. "They called him the Ripper of Monterrey because he ripped people's bodies apart."
"I hate all of your friends," Dean mutters disgustedly and she rolls her eyes at him (even though she totally hates Ripper Stefan too).
"He's been working on his bloodlust," she defends weakly to Castiel, who is gazing thoughtfully at the floor. "He was doing really well, but now…who knows."
"And the others?" he wants to know.
"Damon seemed fine, and I was okay," she says, deliberately avoiding the Klaus issue because really, why set off a bomb when she's doing so well putting out the brush fire? "But I'm kind of a control freak, if you hadn't noticed, so maybe that helped? And Damon…" she shrugs. "I think when it comes to Stefan and Elena, he's got a total one-track mind. Or maybe Famine just wasn't interested in us." She scowls. "Like I really know the inner workings of Famine's psycho brain."
Dean's eyes narrow at her. "You seem to do okay with Klaus's psycho brain. Speaking of, how did your boyfriend handle himself?"
Caroline glares at him. "Okay, one—still not my boyfriend. Two—Famine taunted him some, but to be honest, I was trying to help Damon keep a hold on Stefan so I wasn't paying that close of attention." Liar liar, pants on fire.
Castiel seems to accept that, eyeing his carton of chicken fried rice with disdain. Remembering her conversation with Sam, Caroline turns to Dean and says delicately, "And by the way…you never did tell me how things went with Death." She shudders slightly. "Was he as creepy as the Ghost of Christmas Future?"
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Sam looks up from his carton. Oh, this is so not good. "Spill it already. I'm imagining the worst anyway."
When Dean remains silent, Castiel says, "Death serves the Host. He is present at all mass tragedy, from Noah's flood to your September 11th."
"He's a stickler for rules," Sam adds, poking at the bottom of his carton. "Not a big fan of the Host going against God and doing their own apocalypse."
Her heart lightens slightly. "So he's helping us?"
"Pretty much," Sam says with a shrug. "He called the angels bratty children." Caroline blinks; it's a pretty apt description as far she's concerned. In fact, she thinks Death might have stolen her line.
"I made a deal with him," Dean breaks in quietly and all three of them stare at him in surprise.
"You what?" Sam demands and Caroline's mouth hangs open slightly.
"Made a deal with Death," Dean repeats, inspecting his fortune cookie with far too much interest. "Anything and everything to stop the Apocalypse."
Caroline's skin turns cold and Castiel says, voice gravelly, "Dean."
"I know," Dean snaps, breaking into his fortune cookie with surprising force, crumbs littering the floor around his feet. "But I had to. He can get us weapons that can kill Michael."
"Weapons that can kill you," she corrects flatly. "Because that's still the plan, right?"
"Still looking," he says shortly and Caroline exhales through tightly clenched teeth.
… … … …
It's been two weeks since Michael-Matt has made an appearance at school and teachers are starting to not buy the carefully constructed fabrication that she, Tyler, and Elena have been spinning.
"You tell Mr. Donovan that if he misses another one of my classes, he won't be graduating with his class," says their third period biology teacher, her face pinched with a pointedly disapproving look as she hands Caroline a stack of notes and worksheets.
"If Donovan isn't back in class by the end of the week, I have no choice but to give him an Incomplete on the semester," says their sixth period English teacher and Tyler groans in her ear.
"I'm trying," Alaric says at the boarding house later that afternoon and Elena and Caroline send him identical disgruntled looks. Damon hands him a drink and smirks at whatever it is Damon always smirks at. "But Matt hasn't been in school, and not only that, no one's heard from him. The principal called his house, guys."
"It's not his fault though," Elena protests weakly; Caroline nods in emphatic agreement but Alaric shrugs.
"I can't exactly tell the faculty why he's been absent, Elena," he points out wearily, rubbing his stubble. "I'm running as much interference as I can."
"Try harder," Elena suggests with a hardness to her voice that makes Caroline straighten and Damon shoot her an alarmed glance. "When this is all over—"
"If it's ever over," Stefan says darkly from his spot by the window, staring at something in the distance. "It's not exactly looking good for our side."
Elena glares at him, her eyes flashing, and starts to retort; but Caroline cuts in, a sudden bubble of desperation bursting in her stomach. "Stop it, both of you!" Her voice shakes. "I think—I think Dean made a deal with Death, and that's not happening, so you better bet your ass we're not losing, got it?" She takes in a shaky breath and says, slightly calmer, "It's just not happening, okay?"
Stefan lets out a half growl, half sigh and starts to say something when screaming, echoed by the sound of shattering glass, comes from nearby and interrupts him.
"What the hell?" Damon says in an undertone and as Stefan and Damon vanish, Alaric points at Elena and Caroline.
"Stay here," he says and he follows the Salvatores out the front door.
Caroline exchanges a look with Elena and says in disbelief, "As if," and they run over to the house next door.
None of them had ever really bothered to think about the Salvatores' next door neighbors—duh, they knew the Thompsons because everyone knows everyone in Mystic Falls—but Caroline's mouth still drops open in shock when she sees Mr. Thompson holding the jagged remains of a crystal vase over his wife's bloody, bashed-in skull.
… … … …
"The official line," Liz says quietly as they surround her, "is a domestic dispute. Henry liked to drink, and they had fallen on hard times. Not an uncommon occurrence in this economy."
"And the unofficial line, Liz?" Damon wants to know, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Elena drops her forehead onto Caroline's shoulder and takes in a ragged gasp of air; Caroline can hear her heart hammering speedily away. "It's okay," she whispers, squeezing her friend's elbow gently and Elena inhales again.
Liz looks at him sharply. "You tell me."
"We don't know, Mom," Caroline says meekly. "It just—they just started screaming at each other and then we heard glass breaking and—"
"And now Mrs. Thompson is dead," Elena says flatly, her face ashen; Caroline reaches for her hand and holds it tightly in her own.
There's a heavy sigh from Liz and Elena's hand clenches down on Caroline's. "There was no history of abuse," Liz says, flipping through the report in her hand. "They'd been married for twenty-seven years and have three adult children." She looks up. "We'll do a formal investigation that I expect will go nowhere, and in the meantime, I want you two to stay out of it. No Sherlock reenactments, Care, and I mean it." She turns to Damon and says, "Tell me Ric left to get Mayor Lockwood, Damon. The Council has to have a plan for this." They start to walk away and Damon drags a slightly glassy-eyed Stefan behind him.
"Are you thinking demon?" Elena asks, some of the color returning to her cheeks as they leave the sheriff's station and the humid air wraps around them.
"I don't think so," Caroline says thoughtfully, waiting patiently at Elena's passenger door as her friend roots around her bag for her keys. "Maybe under normal circumstances, yeah, but not when we're on the same side."
"Angels?" Elena offers, and the hand that pulls her car keys out of her bag shakes a little. Caroline frowns as she climbs in.
"It fits," she muses, her fingers drumming on the arm rest, "but—Elena, are you okay?"
"Fine," Elena says unevenly as she steers the car onto the road. "Just…really unnerved, I guess." Her voice quavers. "I—he just killed her, Caroline. He killed her in front of us. How are you so calm about this?"
"I'm not!" she protests, twisting in her seat to look at Elena head on. "I'm not at all calm, Elena, but I think we owe it the Thompsons to figure out what exactly did this to them so that it can't hurt anyone else."
Elena's knuckles are bone-white against the steering wheel. "This is not what I signed up for," she says with rising desperation and Caroline's eyebrows knit together.
"Elena," she says slowly. "Elena, I think maybe you should pull over."
As though someone knocked the wind out of her, Elena nods jerkily and swings the car over to the shoulder of the road.
And promptly staggers off to where the shoulder dips down into the grass and begins to vomit blood.
… … … …
Elena is laying prone in the backseat, only moving to moan and cough up what Caroline is sure are thick blood clots into the paper cup that she had dug out of Elena's trunk. She's careful to not open her mouth or inhale through her nose, and tries desperately to go to her happy place. Ryan Gosling, the south of France, drinking wine and sunbathing…her foot presses down on the gas pedal.
She whips Elena's car into the driveway and practically screeches Dean and Sam's names as she hurls the door open to pull out a staggering Elena. When Sam comes running out of the door, Caroline practically flings Elena at him and blurs inside, not even caring the slightest bit who can see her. All she can think about is the emptiness that had chewed away at her insides in her dream; the only coherent thought in her mind is get away from Elena. In the blink of an eye she's inside her room, the door slamming shut loudly behind her as she pushes her weight down on it.
Don't think about blood, don't think about blood, don't think about blood…her eyes are shut tightly and she presses both of her hands to her mouth.
"Having trouble, sweetheart?" Klaus's voice says amusedly from a place that sounds very far away.
Her eyes fly open because there is seriously no way. Her luck cannot actually be this terrible.
Seriously, who is she kidding? Of course this is really happening. Of course her luck is this freaking bad.
He's sitting on her bed, his back resting against her headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him; he looks way too comfy there for her taste and she lashes out at him for it.
"So you've decided to go full on crazy creepy psycho?" she snaps, focusing all her whirling emotions onto him like a laser. "Stalker much?"
Klaus shrugs, and the fact that he seems utterly unaffected by her upheaval only serves to stoke her flaming temper. He's the picture of serenity and she feels like her hair might actually be on fire. "I have news."
"Then you could pick up a damn phone—" When what he just said sinks in, Caroline slams on her mental brakes so fast that she gives herself whiplash; but whatever it is can wait. Elena is hacking up blood, for God's sake. So she doubles down on her curiosity and says firmly, "You have to go. If anyone sees you—Elena's really sick, and you just—can't be here, Klaus. You have to go, like right now."
She barely blinks when he ignores her, because that really just seems to be his thing. She is surprised, however, when his forehead crinkles and his entire demeanor changes. "What's wrong with Elena?"
And seriously? After all the crap he's put her best friend through, he's suddenly all concerned-Klaus about her health?
"Oh, please," she snorts indelicately (and it would be way more intimidating if her voice didn't crack on the last syllable). "Like you care about Elena now. What, did you get a personality transplant recently? Don't think so."
He doesn't take the bait. "What's wrong with Elena, sweetheart?" And she really, really doesn't like the way his voice has gone all nice and like he actually, genuinely cares. Because this is Klaus, and the things he cares about can be summed up in less than four words: power and family. And last time she checked, he doesn't need Elena healthy—he needs her alive.
So she scoffs at him, but even she can hear the undercurrent of panic in the noise; she scraps the attitude. "She's sick," Caroline says finally, her hand making a fist over her doorknob. "She was driving and then she just started like, puking up blood."
Klaus's face is impassive but the air changes; and maybe he senses that panic is starting to bubble back up in her stomach because he puts both of his hands on her shoulders and says firmly, "Breathe, Caroline."
Her automatic inhalation annoys her in retrospect, but his tone brooks no argument and hey, he's been around forever. He's got to have a few tricks up his sleeve on how to control the horrible, desperate hunger.
The coppery scent of blood slams into her senses and she starts shaking her head almost immediately, cutting off her airways. "You have to help Elena—"
"There's nothing I can do for Elena," Klaus says, his hands tightening slightly on her shoulders when her face crumples. "Come now, love, nice deep breath."
She glares at him and tries to forcibly remove his hands; it doesn't exactly work since he's like a billion years old. "What the hell are you doing right now, Klaus? Elena's vomiting up bodily fluids, we have to do something!"
"You can't do anything to help her right now," he points out sensibly, and he takes her face in his hands, dark blue eyes boring into hers. He's practically hypnotic, like one of those snake charmers with the flutes or whatever. "Take a deep breath."
She so shouldn't. What she should do is kick him out and run downstairs to try and help, but Caroline is nothing if not brutally honest. She can't even come close to guaranteeing she could control the bloodlust.
"Klaus," she says with a hint of pleading, "Klaus, I can't. It's really bad, it's almost never like this—"
"I know," he tells her and she barely recognizes his voice with how gentle it's become. "It's terrible and it's all-consuming. Breathe."
Against all her better judgment, she does. The smell overwhelms her again, but before she can struggle against his grip, Klaus says in the same easy, relaxed tone, "Good girl. Now remember who it is in there. Whose blood that is. Really, truly remember, love." Elena. Elena, who has been her best friend since before she can even remember, Elena who would die for her—and has before.
And the horrible thirst slowly settles until it vanishes completely.
She lets her forehead drops onto his chest, utterly spent. "I almost—"
"No, you didn't," Klaus says quietly, and she stays in his embrace (which is way more comforting than it should be, all things considered) until she hears Castiel's voice from the living room. Fear and worry swirl around in her veins and the hand that closes around the doorknob shakes. She turns around—but seriously, what could she even say? Thanks for helping me not eat my best friend, pal! By the way, we're probably, definitely never making out again, bye!—but her window is open and she's alone.
Caroline's kind of—okay, completely—floored at what just happened, but it's Elena that might be dying in her living room and she makes the executive decision to put everything not related to fixing her best friend out of her brain.
Sam is chanting something in ancient Greek over a World's Best Mom mug while Dean stands in front of the sofa, hard worry etched on his face. Elena is paler than anyone Caroline's ever seen before and she sinks down on the couch next to her, gently coaxing Elena's head into her lap. "We'll fix it," she promises, brushing long brown strands of hair away from her friend's forehead.
"I know," Elena says raggedly, eyes drifting shut.
Caroline looks up and meets Sam's eyes. "Vampire blood?"
Sam shakes his head. "No good. Whatever this is, it isn't natural." At her start of confusion, he explains, "Vampire blood can heal things that happen in nature—it doesn't matter if something supernatural breaks my leg because broken legs are natural occurrences."
"Coughing up blood happens," Caroline protests and Dean says bleakly, "In illnesses. Not in perfectly healthy eighteen-year-olds. Nothing's wrong, Caroline—there's nothing to heal. Besides, do you think she could even keep it down?"
"So she got tuberculosis! That happens in nature!" Caroline desperately grasps at all the straws she can think of. "Where's Bonnie? We need Bonnie!"
"No," Castiel says calmly from the corner of the room. They all turn towards him, Caroline with wide, desperate eyes.
He is staring at Elena with a grave expression, his lips pursed. "Any ideas, Wings?" Dean says and Castiel turns solemn eyes on him.
"The Horsemen," he says darkly. "This is Pestilence."
… … … …
The plan—which, for the record, Caroline is one hundred percent against because it's stupid—hinges on getting in touch with Death. Again. And even though summoning freaking Joe Black went so well last time, apparently everyone decided it was the only option this time around too. Also for the record, she is of the solitary opinion that Sam is a moron for even suggesting it (she won't even get into her idiotic friends who agreed to it); and she totally reserves the right to say I told you so as many times as she wants when it totally fails. If Death doesn't go rogue and kill all of them, that is.
But Elena is curled into the fetal position on the sofa and she's been asleep for hours now. Long enough that Caroline is spiraling into worst-case scenarios and not even the healing herbs Bonnie is burning are calming her down. Long enough that Stefan's eyes haven't moved from the rise and fall of Elena's chest in a good forty-five minutes. And long enough that Damon has been pacing up and down the entryway like a caged animal. Castiel has disappeared, hopefully—please, God in heaven who might hear vampire prayers—to get backup in the form of Anna.
"What if Death just laughs in our faces?" Caroline whispers to Bonnie worriedly and Bonnie's eyebrows slant together.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Bonnie says firmly, her green eyes flickering over to Elena's still form.
Sam's chanting slows down and the electricity dims with a low hum. Bonnie and Caroline exchange a nervous look and the blood starts roaring in Caroline's ears. Her muscles tense in anticipation.
But it isn't Death that shows up.
It isn't even Pestilence.
It's Matt.
… … … …
Or rather, it's Michael and oh God he does not look good.
The bones in his face look like they are trying to break through the skin, with scabs flaking, bleeding and peeling around the sharp edges of his cheeks and chin. He's lost so much weight that his eyes—those eyes that Caroline could have spent hours staring into, once upon a time—look sunken into their sockets and there's nearly nothing of Matt Donovan left in them. Which she thinks might be better than the alternative because at least there's no mistaking Michael for Matt any more.
Her insides feel like lead and one swift look in Dean's direction only confirms her worst fears. He's frozen, a look of quiet horror on his face; Sam's eyes are narrowed and he steps in front of Dean, completely blocking him from Michael's view.
"I think you know what can stop this," Michael says in a raspy imitation of Matt's voice and it looks like the act takes some effort on his part. "Dean."
It's an answer and acknowledgement, but no one moves. No one even blinks.
"Hey assbutt!" Castiel yells from out of nowhere, and they all turn as one.
The angel-banishing sigil is carved into his chest and Castiel gives Michael the patented Dean Winchester game on, bitch face that Caroline knows so well and slams his bleeding hand—his human vessel's hand, she thinks with a wave of sickness washing over her—onto the sigil. The thunderous crack roars through the house and in an instant, Castiel and Michael are both gone.
The silence is deafening until the panic in Caroline wells up to the brim and spills over.
"What just happened?" she cries desperately, looking wildly around at equally shocked and blank faces. "Did he—is he—Sam?"
Before Sam can answer (his stricken face says it all anyway and Caroline thinks she might pass out), Elena pushes herself up onto her elbows and gives a tiny dry cough. When both Salvatores make as though to hover, Bonnie shoots them both glares before turning her full attention to Elena. Damon rolls his eyes at her back.
"How do you feel?" Bonnie asks gently.
Elena shrugs and rubs at her eyes. "Fine. Exhausted, but fine. What's going on?" she wants to know, her gaze sweeping over them. All of her color has returned and except for her chapped lips and the dark circles underneath her eyes, she looks perfectly healthy.
"Michael," Dean says flatly. "Michael happened."
… … … …
Alaric comes by, Jeremy in tow, to get Elena; Sam tells him in a low voice that Caroline can hear all too clearly that what they had concluded was Pestilence was actually Michael, and yeah, he can totally tear up your insides with nary a raised eyebrow.
"We're sitting ducks," Bonnie says flatly, elbows resting on her knees. "Whatever Invisibility Cloak Castiel gave us is useless because Michael knows where we live. He knows where we live and he knows we can't leave because we're not going to stop fighting him." Her head drops into the palms of her hands. "We're trapped."
Dean, who hasn't spoken since Elena left, says tonelessly, "I'm saying yes."
And seriously, after basically seeing Castiel die in front of her, Caroline had really thought nothing could penetrate the shroud of numbness that had settled inside of her.
Of course, she thinks bitterly, it can always get worse. She raises her head to look at Dean, and whatever he sees on her face makes him sigh and say, "Care—"
"Don't," she says hoarsely, staring unblinking at him. "He knew. C-Castiel figured out it was Michael and he—just don't, Dean." She knows what he'll say, can hear his voice in her mind: please understand this, there's no other way; don't hate me forever. And she can't promise any of it right now. Not after watching an angel—their friend, her friend—sacrifice himself for them.
She's starting to wonder if it's even worth it.
… … … …
Somehow Caroline ends up at a church. Her feet just kind of go where they will, and she follows without any conviction whatsoever.
She stares at the closed doors without much feeling. After Sam left for Stanford (and John left to literally chase his demons and Dean left to bounce aimlessly around the country) she and Liz had stopped going to church. Not that Liz had ever been a big fan—Caroline's grandparents had been the main factor in the Forbes' perfect church attendance record. And after a while, she stopped believing in religion—then God, then anything at all.
But she still hesitates at the doorway because if she's seen this movie once, she's seen it a thousand times and she's not totally positive she won't burst into flames or something.
"Balls to the wall, Forbes," she says, then immediately feels sheepish because did she seriously just curse on church property? Like she really needs to give whoever is up there another reason to smite her where she stands. Whatever, they're all probably doomed anyway. So she squares her shoulders and walks inside with far more confidence than she actually feels.
Duh, nothing happens. But relief still makes her limbs sag a little and she sinks into a pew; it sighs and creaks as it adjusts to her weight.
There's a cross on the wall in the front of the church and she props her elbows up on the back of the pew, letting her chin fall into her palms as she stares at it.
"You kind of suck at your job, you know that?" she says to the cross, folding her arms across her chest. "Aren't you supposed to, you know, save people?"
There is only silence and all of the turmoil still swirling around inside of her threatens to bubble over. "Like, what was the point of even making people if you're just gonna let everything go to complete shit? God." She stops and swallows down a ball of tears hardening in her throat before choking out, "Why'd you pick my family to destroy? Are you even real?"
The only noise that breaks the stillness is the hum of the cicadas outside. She bites her lip and slides down to her knees, folding her hands in front of her. "Please, please, please let Cas be okay," she whispers, her eyes squeezing shut before hot tears can leak out.
She doesn't see a shadow in the corner move.
… … … …
The Motel 6 is barely a seven-minute drive from her house, so the next morning, she brings Adam a bowl of cereal, complete with milk and spoon.
"I don't like to cook," she says in greeting when he opens the door, rubbing at his eyes. He considers her and she knows she looks like hell warmed over. Her eyes were puffy when she woke up and her skin hasn't fully recovered from a night of crying and repeated nightmares; she has to concentrate to block the memory of maggots and worms squirming their way down her arms. "But it's the thought that counts, right?"
Adam smiles a little and opens the door a bit wider so that she can come inside. "I appreciate it," he says dryly and she smiles back at him as she sits in the only chair in the room.
"I kind of have an ulterior motive," she tells him and he looks up expectantly. "I wanted to see how you're holding up. With the whole—you know, with John being gone."
He chews thoughtfully and she picks at the newspaper sitting on the bedside table. "I'm not okay," he says finally, stirring the milk around absently. "But John—he was a twice a year kind of dad. A part timer, I guess." He shrugs. "But he was mine, you know?"
"Yeah," she says quietly, "I know."
… … … …
"I figured it out," Bonnie says flatly, leaning against Caroline's locker. At Caroline's questioning look, she elaborates, "The fire. I figured out how to make it big but still control it."
There's a that's what she said joke in there somewhere but Caroline doesn't even have the energy, much less the good humor, to attempt it. "When's it happening?"
Bonnie glances around carefully, but no one is paying them any attention. "Day after tomorrow. Mayor Lockwood has to destroy a gas pipe first." Her eyes narrow over Caroline's shoulder and she says in a suddenly clipped tone, "I'll see you after school, okay? Boarding house."
Caroline blinks at the sudden change in demeanor. "Yeah, okay," she says, forehead wrinkling as Bonnie speeds away from her.
But then her skin prickles and all her instincts—vampire and human—flare in warning.
"You're going to be late for class," a deep, pleasant voice says from behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stands up as she turns.
It's the guy who had been walking with Alaric yesterday, the guy who isn't Death. He smiles at her, and she automatically returns it, but the unease in her gut won't stop swirling.
"Oh, no," she says with an admirable attempt at cheerfulness—she didn't get to be head cheerleader for nothing—and gestures to a nearby room. "My class is just right there." She can feel her smile turn brittle. "Thanks though."
Not-Death raises his eyebrows at her. "This sure is a strange little town," he comments nonchalantly and the red flags turn into giant flashing lights as her internal Sneakoscope goes wild. Stranger Danger!
"Sometimes," she acknowledges carefully, and something is tugging at the back of her mind—something important that she just can't remember. "How long have you been in Mystic Falls?"
He isn't smiling at her anymore; he's baring his teeth and her fight-or-flight is screaming at her to get the hell away. For God's sake, Caroline, he's just a substitute teacher, stop freaking out at every shadow—
"My dear girl," he says and something falls into place, a piece of a puzzle that some part of her brain has been chewing on since before Elena got sick, "I've been here a very long time."
The bell rings and he vanishes into a classroom, leaving her alone in the empty, silent hallway.
… … … …
Caroline leaves.
Well, to be entirely accurate, she totally embarrasses herself and probably cements her image as a psycho freak by bursting into Bonnie's study hall and dragging her out, giving some bullshit excuse that her mouth offers while her brain freaks out, shrieking bloody murder. She thinks she hears herself say something about an algebra assignment.
"But you're both in Calculus," the study hall teacher stammers, but Caroline is long gone, Bonnie with her.
"You're scaring me, Caroline," Bonnie says in an unsteady voice and Caroline can barely hold her keys still to shove them desperately into the ignition.
"It wasn't Death that was with Alaric," she babbles, throwing the transmission into reverse and peeling out of her space, narrowly missing the white Lexus next to her. "It wasn't Death, but we've all been so on edge and fighting and thinking Pestilence was in town because Elena was sick, but he's not Pestilence, he's why we're fighting—"
Bonnie's face is pale. "Slow down," she orders shakily and Caroline's car nearly takes flight as she pushes her foot down on the gas pedal. "What are you saying, Caroline?"
"I'm saying he's War!" Caroline's voice skyrockets in pitch and decibel; Bonnie starts to shiver uncontrollably. "He's War, Bonnie, and he's why Mr. Thompson killed his wife over their damn dinner and he's why I've been sniping with Dean and Sam and this whole time we were distracted because Matt—because Michael was after Elena but now War is in our town."
Other than the trembling that has taken over Bonnie's body, she is the picture of calm. "Take me to the witches' house," she says in a perfectly composed voice and Caroline floors it.
The candles are all lit when they get there. "You should go," Bonnie says lowly, her eyes focused on the flames. "Warn everyone."
"Warn them about what?" Caroline cries, but Bonnie is already lost in her trance and the few rays of sunlight piercing through the decayed wood start to sizzle on her skin. "Seriously?" she shouts as she blurs out into the woods surrounding the ruin, "I'm one of the good ones!"
But there is no answer and she probably totally proves herself to be a big fat liar when she runs to the Mikaelson mansion, abandoning her car in the forest with the keys in the gas cap for Bonnie to get home.
There are sirens in the distant when she arrives at Klaus's door, and she skids to a stop, her heart pounding a terrified tattoo. Sirens mean police and police mean Liz and she knocks on the door so hard she puts a dent in the thick oak.
The look on Klaus's face is hard when he opens the door and she blurts out, "It's War. War is here and he's at the school and we have to do something right now—"
His expression darkens and he pulls her inside. "Start from the beginning, Caroline," he says firmly and it's almost steadying.
Almost.
"That would take too long," she snaps and a ray of amusement flashes across his face before it settles back into grimness, "War is here, Klaus, and he's at the school, and something's happening that involves the police!" The and my mom goes unsaid, but if she knows one thing about Klaus, it's that he picks up on the smallest details.
"I'll call Bekah," Elijah says quietly and her head whirls to the side as he disappears, cell phone in hand; she hadn't even noticed he was there.
The panic is welling up in her lungs and she can feel hyperventilation coming on—come on, Forbes, think zen, think puppies and Sam and Dean and Downton Abbey—and her breathing evens out slightly.
"It's all right, love," Klaus says softly and she realizes that if the worry on his face is any indication, she's got to look like a hot mess.
"It's War," Caroline repeats as everything drains out of her. "It's War and I think…I think Castiel might have—" she chokes on the word died and claps her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from saying it out loud. And something breaks inside of her.
Klaus is silent but he lets her cry into his shirt and he barely smells different from Sam or Dean so she stays there. She has hardly any tears, just great, racking dry sobs that shake her shoulders, and with each one, she feels the hand that's resting on her back tense like it's itching to do violence.
When she's composed herself enough to back away with her arms circled protectively around her middle, she says in a scratchy voice, "It was Ma—Michael. He hurt Elena because he wanted to show that he could. To get to Dean. And Cas banished him with that sigil, but it was h-hacked into his chest. He's g-gone," and she's done with words because putting them into the air makes the meaning behind them real.
Noiselessness stretches between them like a canyon until Klaus says gently, "Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully." His fingers go under her chin to tilt her face upwards. "I've been around for a very long time and I've seen untold numbers of people collapse under less. And you—you have a beautiful future ahead of you, Caroline." He tucks a strand of errant hair behind her ear and there is the weight of a thousand years of existence behind his words. "This too shall pass."
And it's kind of cheesy, but she almost believes him—probably because he's basically ancient and speaking from an entire millennium of experience. It's easy to fall under his spell but she's nothing if not a realist.
Caroline doesn't believe him, but instead of arguing—instead of saying anything—she stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him.
… … … …
tbc.
Hopefully this hit the spot.
A/N: In Supernatural canon, Adam was born in 1990. I'm not changing that, so here's a brief refresher of everyone's ages (in this fic): Dean is 26, Sam is 24, Adam is 20, and Caroline is 18.
Just an FYI—in canon SPN, John came into Adam's life when Adam was 12, which meant that Sam was 18 and had just left for college. However in this fic, if John met Adam at 12, that would put Sam at 16. The general consensus I've always heard (and believed myself) was that John sought Adam out because Sam had just left for Stanford. So I'm tweaking the timeline a smidge—we're going with John met Adam at 14.
Feel free to let me know if this is at all confusing. Fooling around with timelines is a little wonky sometimes. If you see any mistakes, please PM me so I can fix it—I'm a little rusty. :/
Also this is the longest chapter by far and it was incredibly difficult to churn out. I GAVE YOU GUYS OVER 11,000 WORDS. Drop me a review in return?
xx