A/N: Warning for non-con, but fear not lovely readers. The angst will surely end, and comfort is coming soon. Thank you for your dedication so far!
Chapter Four: The Evisceration
\i-ˌvi-sə-ˈrā-shən\
Noun: to deprive of vital content or force
Far away in the Appalachian Mountains, the Original family had been woken and healed with the help of Hayley and Vincent.
"I thought we would be trapped in that hell for the rest of our lives!" exclaimed Rebekah. She twirled in the real grass and tilted her face back to feel the real moonlight on her skin. "Oh how good it is to be out in the world again."
"It wasn't hell," muttered Freya bitterly. "It was a mansion with gardens and a brook. You could be a little more grateful."
The sisters, both accustomed to being the alpha female in any situation, had not always gotten along in the suspended reality.
"I suppose you're right. Thank you, Freya," said Rebekah in a singsong voice. She was too happy to hold any grudges. It was rare that she was under a sleeping spell without missing major global events or cultural shifts.
Meanwhile, Elijah and Haley were embracing under an old oak tree. He held her tightly, enjoying the smell of the forest in her hair.
"I've missed you," muttered Elijah into Haley's ear. "More than I can say."
Every day, Elijah wondered what struggles Haley must have endured for their family. Every day, he wondered if she had given up on them, or if an enemy had stolen their bodies and killed her. He was so full of love and awe for this brave woman. He pulled away to stare at her.
"You are the epitome of strength, Haley Marshal," he said. "I could never thank you enough for what you've accomplished here today.:
Haley grinned, just happy to see this man healthy and spouting poetry again.
"You know I would never let anything happen to you, Elijah," she said. "Even if that means seeing Klaus again too."
The atmosphered darkened at the mention of his brother's name, despite the well-intentioned joke. Elijah's face fell and he stepped away from her, turning his back on Hayley as he remembered more pressing matters. Although Elijah had yearned for Haley every day, he worried about Niklaus twice as much. His younger brother must have endured untold suffering for months. Who knew what had caused that terrible wave of grief and despair through their psychic link. The guilt weighed on Elijah, even though there was nothing he could have done.
"We must help him…" muttered Elijah. "Did Vincent give word regarding Niklaus?"
Haley shook her head and grabbed his hand for support "Let's go talk with him," she said, but he didn't take her hand. Elijah never seemed to have time for Hayley where Niklaus was concerned.
Elijah left quickly, with Hayley trailing behind him, to where Vincent and Kol were chatting about the magic that Freya had performed to save everyone. Freya had become somewhat of a rock star in the magic community.
"Vincent," interrupted Elijah as he stared down Vincent with an intensity he usually reserved for reprimanding Klaus. That being said, the bad blood between Elijah and Vincent was palpable. The entire family grew silent to listen in to the conversation. "I have two questions. First, why would you help our family after you aided in our destruction? Secondly, how is our brother Niklaus?" With every word, he stepped close to Vincent. "I advise you to choose your words carefully."
"Watch yourself Elijah, I just spent three days on a road trip without air-conditioning. I don't have time for your attitude," said Vincent with his arms crossed and his eye narrowed. He continued, "We have a few problems in New Orleans that need to be taken care of, so Klaus and I made a deal."
Elijah scoffed at the notion. "What on earth makes you think that we would help you after we rescue our brother?"
Vincent grimaced. He hated Elijah's holier than thou attitude. Finally, he said, "Because I know that you keep your word, Elijah, and so will Klaus. We both want to save the city. It's our home."
"A city that has imprisoned our brother for nearly four months is hardly a home," countered Elijah.
"One month, if it matters," said Vincent, "It just took a while to figure out how to save you guys."
Rebekah gasped, "you saved Nik?"
Vincent nodded, mildly flustered by the sudden attention from the pretty blond.
He puffed his chest out a bit and replied, "Klaus has been mooching off of me for three months now, and it's about time you all take him off my hands so that I can have some goddamn peace and quiet," said Vincent with some exaggeration.
"You saved him," purred Rebekah as she pulled Vincent into a crushing hug. Showing love to her dearest older brother was the quickest way to her heart.
Even Elijah seemed to soften.
"Why did you save him?" asked Elijah.
Vincent pulled away from Rebekah, stared at the ground, and coughed nervously. A shadow cast over his face as he remembered finding Klaus in the tunnels. A bloody and broken body. A decimated spirit.
"I just felt like…Klaus had been through enough," said Vincent awkwardly. Then his phone vibrated and he opened the text from Klaus.
'Hhes hwre' read the text message riddled with typos. Ordinarily, Klaus was strict with formality and grammar. It took no time at all for Vincent to realize that Klaus must have sent this message in a hurry. He's here. The words rung in Vincent's mind and his stomach dropped as he realized to whom Klaus must have been referring.
"What is it?" asked Elijah, stepping forward and becoming rather intense again as he noticed Vincent's change in demeanor, but Vincent did not respond immediately.
Vincent struggled with the choices of either bringing the Mikaelson clan to save Klaus from a cruel fate, or with abiding by Klaus' wishes that his family never know what Marcel had done. Vincent quickly deleted his text log with Klaus and cleared his throat. The family would understand. They would save Klaus, and they would stop Marcel from gaining a terrible power. With two adept witches, three original vampires, and one hybrid, they could surely subdue the mutant Marcel for a few moments.
"Klaus is in trouble. We need to get back to New Orleans. Now." Vincent said these words with a sense of urgency that the Originals didn't question, but he knew in his heart that they would be too late. They were ten hours away if they sped the whole way down and never hit any traffic. Unfortunately, he couldn't prepare himself or the others for the disaster that may very well await them in New Orleans.
Time was up.
"Aren't you going to try and run? Or are you secretly looking forward to it?" asked Marcel at the foot of the bed.
Klaus felt immobilized under his bed sheets. The covers gave him a false sense of security, as if Marcel could not reach him under the pure white comforter. Of course he wanted to run, but he knew that Marcel was faster. A perverse part of him whispered that it would be better to be taken on a soft, warm bed than to be recaptured in a dark alley somewhere in the slums of the city. He was tired of cold, hard stone. And as he had learned from his father, fighting back made everything worse.
As for the last question, whether or not he was looking forward to his fate, Klaus wouldn't dignify that with an answer. Logically, he dreaded everything happening, but something almost felt normal. As if something in him were saying 'Of course this is happening to you. Did you ever really expect anything more from your life?'
It was the same desensitization from his childhood. The abuse from his father had quickly become a regular facet of his life. He had gotten used to that, so Klaus decided that he would get used to this too.
And so as Klaus breathed deeply to steady himself. He imagined that this was just any other day, and that being dehumanized and used was just a common occurrence, like rain on a spring day. These were coping mechanisms he had used 900 years ago, but they still worked just as well. His heart rate slowed.
"Well at least I'm looking forward to it," said Marcel, breaking Klaus from his thoughts.
"As do most rapists," said Klaus calmly.
Marcel simply smirked.
"Rape is the violation of the consent and autonomy of another person," said Marcel.
Klaus hadn't expected such a logical response response, and wasn't sure what to say.
"You're hardly a person, Klaus," continued Marcel as he began to undress. "You're just a thing that aided in the destruction of everything I hold dear." His shirt fell to the ground. "So in the end, is it really rape?" His pants next. "Are you little more than an animate object without a heart or a soul?"
Klaus frowned and looked away. Perhaps he had lost his humanity too long ago for this to actually matter. If Klaus stopped to think about it, he knew he had killed many daughters. Many sons. But he never truly cared, so maybe he deserved this as penance.
"Fair," said Klaus as he thought back to what he would tell himself as a child; he told himself that he deserved his father's rage for being weak, and now he told himself that he deserved this for growing into a devil of a man.
Masochism came easily to Klaus.
Marcel stepped forward and tore the covers from the bed, stealing away Klaus' one comfort, but Klaus hardly blinked. The light of the full moon flooded into the bedroom, highlighted Marcel's muscle bound body. Klaus felt frail in comparison. Klaus was by no means weak, but his body had always been lean and lithe compared to Marcel's massive form.
"Your turn, Klaus," he said, standing naked in the center of the room without shame. The only thing left was the fertility talisman around his neck. "The ritual only works if our skin is touching. So take off your clothes or I'll have to do it myself."
"Do not bother yourself with such tedious things, Marcellus," said Klaus softly. He spoke so formally, as if to distance him self further from Marcel on yet another level.
Klaus took off his t-shirt first, and sighed before slipping off his pants. He took the odd care to fold his clothing, as had been his habit for a millennium. It was just one more thing that never seemed to change.
"Okay," said Klaus. With a sense of tranquility before the storm, Klaus allowed him self to fall back into the bed. He stared at the ceiling until Marcel was ready. Then, Marcel came forward in a blur of motion. Klaus felt the wind escape his lungs under the sudden pressure of the other man's chest. Marcel spread Klaus' legs with ease and pinned his arms. Without hesitation, Marcel thrust into Klaus. A ripping sensation made him cringe and grit his teeth. He squirmed instinctively, but quickly attempted to relax his body around Marcel's width.
"You could at least use some spit, Marcellus," said Klaus with a strained voice. Blood had begun to stain the sheets from that initial intrusion. Klaus prepared himself for the second thrust, but it never came.
They both jolted as the heard the front door open, with footsteps pounding down the hallway.
Suddenly, the bedroom door exploded from some unseen magical force. Shards of wood flew in every direction like shrapnel on the battleground. One particularly large piece careened towards the bed. Just as Marcel looked over his shoulder, a two-foot piece of splintered wood tore through his heart. The tip of the shard was poking out of Marcel's chest and had just barely grazed Klaus' collarbone.
Marcel desiccated – temporarily of course – and collapsed on Niklaus.
"Bloody hell," Klaus rasped, both from the wood shrapnel that sunk into his neck, and from the disgusting feeling of Marcel shriveling and desiccating inside of him.
In another sudden movement, Marcel's body was lifted off of Klaus' body and thrown into a heap on the side of the room. Klaus groaned in pain as he was suddenly emptied.
Dazed from the extremely brief assault and the wound in his neck, Klaus could barely make out who his savior was. He prayed that it wasn't his siblings, but then he cursed the universe for granting his wish in such a twisted way.
There he was, standing before Klaus with a familiar sneer and a flair for the dramatic, the man who just wouldn't stay dead.
His dearest Viking father: Mikael.
"What in the seven hells…" cursed Klaus. He rubbed his eyes, assuming that he was hallucinating while Marcel fucked him senseless. He blinked twice, but Mikael was still there.
"Aren't you going to thank me, boy?" said the man with a haughty look as he fixed his cuff links nonchalantly.
It certainly sounded like his father. He told himself this couldn't be real, even though there was no other explanation for why his door had blown into a hundred pieces, or why Marcel was currently half dead in the corner. Then again, there was no explanation for his father standing there plain as day either. So he reckoned he might as well go with it.
"I've nothing to thank you for, Father," said Klaus as he quickly covered himself with dirty sheets. Klaus hated to feel exposed before this man, real or not.
" I see. Well, I was under the impression that you were unwilling, boy," said Mikael darkly, "Perhaps I was mistaken, and you've become nothing more than an object for public use. If so, then I would apologize for interrupting your work."
"Of course this was unwilling, you perverse old man," said Klaus with an age old bitterness.
Mikael's eyes glimmered with amusement as he replied "I see you've remained a thankless brat well into adulthood then, Niklaus."
"What would you have me say, Father?" asked Klaus sardonically, "that I'm elated to have you here to witness my humiliation and degradation for what – the fiftieth time? The hundredth? I honestly lost count, so excuse me for coming off as mildly fucking ungrateful."
Klaus spat these hateful words, as old emotion came forth like tidal wave of rage. He really felt crazy now. Perhaps he had passed out and this was just another nightmare. Perhaps he was arguing with himself as he went insane from Marcel draining his magic.
"How the fuck are you here anyways?" asked Klaus angrily as he wrapped the bloody sheet like a toga and stood up to face Mikael. "Are you in my head? Are you a hallucination? Although, I wouldn't be surprised if you were alive. You do have a penchant for coming back from the dead."
"My boy, I am very real," said Mikael. "As alive as any vampire could be, anyways."
As if to prove his point, Mikael picked up a shard of the broken door. Like a javelin, he hurled it at Klaus. Physically weak from blood loss, and emotionally weak from both Marcel and Mikael's appearances, Klaus didn't have the energy to dodge.
The shard of wood speared his shoulder, sent him flying backwards, and pinned him to the wall. Klaus grunted at the excruciating pain and finally accepted that his father had come back to life. Perhaps he would have preferred Marcel.
Hanging from a gaping wound in his chest, Klaus did his best to glower at his father. Although, the way Mikael stared made Klaus feel small and childlike. In a battle of wills, Klaus averted his eyes. He knew better than to test Mikael while he was in a weakened state, and he didn't plan on being assaulted twice in one night.
"Why are you here?" Klaus groaned as he bled out. "Why do you even care?"
Mikael approached his crucified bastard son. Mikael brought his hand up to gently brush the side of Klaus' jaw. Klaus closed his eyes. He no longer had the energy to even flinch. Something had surely broken inside of him.
"My boy," said Mikael quietly, "I've been watching you for months now, ever since Marcel first took you in that dreary prison."
Klaus nearly retched. If this was a nightmare, he'd give anything to wake up.
"When Marcel failed to collect the ritual magic that night," he said, "you harnessed it by accident. Your weakness and your fear called out to me, boy. You yourself brought me back to this world."
Klaus felt bile rise in his throat. Mikael continued.
"And because you brought me back to life, we've been linked in a way…" murmured Mikael as he traced Klaus' healing neck wound. "Whenever your emotions run high," said Mikael as he sank his thumb into the puncture wound in Klaus' chest, making his son gasp, "I can look into your mind. Although I hadn't been able to find you until this scoundrel broke down both your wards and your spirit."
Klaus shivered involuntarily at the intrusive violation of his mind. What else could be taken from him in such a short span of time?
Mikael continued, unabated by his son's pain.
"When I saw Marcel in your mind, when I saw the fun you two had…I must admit that I felt possessive, despite having lost interest in your body long ago," He said with a smirk. Then, Mikael gripped Klaus' jaw with inhuman – invampire – strength. He leaned forward and Klaus felt his breath on his cheek, "Regardless of that fact, I thought to myself, no one else should be allowed to own him in the way that I owned him."
"Go fuck yourself," said Klaus with venom, spitting on Mikael's face.
Mikael slapped Klaus hard enough to nearly break his neck.
"Don't fret, boy," said Mikael as he turned to stare into the mirror of the boudoir. He wiped the spit from his face and straightened his tie. "This was a one time visit. I have more important things to attend to." His eyes glimmered blue in the mirror for only a moment before he turned to look at Klaus again and offered, "But if you ask nicely, boy…I might forget your age."
Klaus felt rage building in his chest, or maybe it was the delirium of blood loss.
"GET OUT!" he bellowed with every last bit of energy in his body. "I can't fucking stand you, you goddamned son of bitch. I will rip your lungs out of your throat and feed them to the dogs!"
Klaus thrashed on the wall, screaming obscenities and tearing into his own shoulder until his vision went hazy.
Unfazed, Mikael looked away and saw that Marcel was waking up. Mikael snapped Marcel's neck before lifted the naked, unconscious super vampire over his shoulders.
"I'll just take this then," said Mikael. He reached around to Marcel's neck and snapped off the talisman necklace. It was glowing. Through his delirium, Klaus wondered briefly if the ritual had been completed. Then, in an instant, Mikael took Marcel and the talisman away in a blur.
Klaus stared out into the dark room, panting and breathing raggedly. He was alone at last. The sheet that had been wrapped around his body fell to the floor in a pool of blood. Klaus groaned and tried to pull the wooden spear from his shoulder. It wouldn't budge. Perhaps he could try to fall asleep like this and forget the horrendous evening. Perhaps, by the grace of the gods, he would never wake up again. Finally, Klaus understood the necessity of the last white oak bullet. He couldn't face this eternity without an end in sight.
Klaus keened as the stress overwhelmed him. Tears of frustration poured down his cheeks. In a way, he couldn't care less that Marcel had broken him again, however briefly, but it was the fact that Mikael had shown up to emotionally and physically eviscerate him as well. The depravation and humiliation of the evening hurt, but what stung more was the constant rejection, hatred, and irrational abuse he had endured from his father for centuries. He had spent ten lifetimes attempting to get over what his father had done, but the trauma had returned, just as painful and just as raw, in the blink of an eye. In comparison, Marcel was insignificant.
"Why me," he breathed as he continued to bleed out from his injury. "Just because I had a fucking whore of a mother…"
Klaus blinked slowly until his eyes finally shut.
"Finn was more of an ass…Kol was prettier…" he mumbled, but he didn't mean it. Deep down, Klaus would do anything to keep his family from experiencing the pain he had experienced. That's why he kept them in boxes, safe from Father, safe from the horrors in the night.
Klaus cursed the world as he realized that state his family would find him in.
In order to cope, Klaus buried those feelings deep down in his soul until he couldn't feel anything anymore, not even the bleeding hole through his chest.
For all he cared, he would never let himself feel anything ever again.
That had worked for quite a few centuries.
Finding peace in the idea that he would block out the world, Klaus slipped away into a deep and restful sleep.