Chapter Nine: Vestige
/'vestij/
Noun: A surviving trace of something that once was
An unearthly wind drifted through the cellar as Freya chanted under her breath. Dust whirled around her until the energy suddenly imploded inwards. A dust cloud enveloped Freya as she coughed violently.
Freya slammed her grimoire shut and cursed as she held her head in her hands. She had been working on breaking the siphoning for days. Even though she had released Niklaus from the sigil, it wasn't enough. Her guilt was destroying her – evident by the hollows under her eyes and the wooziness of low blood sugar whenever she stood up or turned too quickly.
"Come on Freya, think," she muttered to herself as she pulled at her hair. She had designed the spell as unbreakable as a curse, and yet Dahlia had figured out a way to escape the siphoning. Her aunt hadn't killed the warlocks who drained her magic, nor did she manage to steal and break the talisman. Without magic, Freya could only assume that Dahlia had the help of another witch to set her free from the spell.
Freya scowled and thumped her fist on the table. As much as she regretted that evil act, she more so regretted the fact that Dahlia had evaded her vengeance within just one year. It had been four hundred years, and yet Freya still hated this woman with all of her heart. She saw her beloved in her mind's eye and felt the illusion of gentle kicks in her stomach.
Rage and grief blinded her as she stood up, picked up her wooden stool, and slammed it against the stone basement walls until the legs splinted apart and fell to the ground. Panting as her heart raced, Freya gathered her grimoire and made her way back upstairs to her bedroom. She couldn't focus anymore, and her blurry vision told her that she needed to rest for a few more hours.
As Freya opened her bedroom door, she felt a familiar presence.
"Kol?" she called as the door swung open.
There was no answer, but her heart nearly stopped when she saw that her brother was sitting on the floor with all of her journals open and strew on the floor. Freya could hardly breath.
"How did you get those?" she whispered.
Her journals had been protected by her strongest spell work, but he didn't answer.
"My dear sister," he said with dark and shadowed eyes, "who knew you had it in you?"
Thoughts racing, she didn't reply.
"Well, I knew," he said through gritted teeth, "After what you did to Davina, I knew what you were."
Kol then stood and held up the journal that had been in his lap. He held up the page that contained Freya's original siphoning spellwork, with his finger tapping against the rough sketch of the fertility talisman.
Her mouth was dry with fear, and all the blood had drained from her face. Her siblings couldn't find out that she had done something so awful. That she had been the root of Niklaus' tragedy.
"How?" she asked again, desperate to make sense of this invasion of privacy. "I protected those books…"
"Magic," said Kol. Then – with smug, widening smirk – he pulled the faintly glowing talisman out from under his shirt. Kol swung the talisman in front of him briefly before tucking it away again.
Freya gasped in disbelief.
"Is that," she started.
"The talisman that's draining our brother's power?" he asked nonchalantly, "Yes, it is."
Freya shook her head, positive that she was hallucinating due to lack of sleep.
"Give that to me," she ordered as she stepped forward to take the talisman, "I need to destroy it immediately."
"Ah, ah, ah dear sister," said Kol with a lilt in his voice as he sidestepped her advances. "You'll do no such thing. I'm still playing."
Freya grabbed for the talisman again and Kol shoved her backwards against the door. She rubbed her head and blinked stars out of her eyes. Kol gathered all of her journals into his arms with a flick of his wrist. He had a glint in his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the ability to do magic even in his vampire state.
He tsked at her and said, "you know, I knew you fell into a moral grey area, but what you did to our Aunt Dahila…" Kol sucked his teeth and whistled. "That was next level fucked up, Freya."
Freya frowned and tilted her head. She didn't understand why Kol was acting the way he was.
"That was a long time ago," said Freya hesitantly, unsure of how much he knew, but increasingly positive that Kol wasn't on their side.
Feeling there was no other option, Freya raised her hands and prepared to give Kol the worst aneurysms of his life, but Kol chanted under his breath and a magical barrier glimmered into existence between them. Freya's magic couldn't penetrate the shield. She scowled and Kol laughed gleefully five feet away – untouchable.
Kol leaned against the bedside table and relaxed as he responded.
"A long time ago?" he muttered. His carefree disposition vanished and his mouth was set in a hard, disapproving line.
Freya nodded. "I've changed," she said and Kol laughed sharply. The sound bit into Freya's heart.
"Time cannot forgive you for having your aunt raped by an entire coven of warlocks," said Kol. "Nor can you be forgiven for what you did to Davina."
Freya felt a chill run down her spine. Kol definitely wasn't on their side anymore.
"You disgust me," he spat and the saliva dripped down the transparent shield between them.
"You're no better if you use that talisman," said Freya. "You read my journals. You must have spoken with Mikael or Marcel. How can you work with the man who – who did that to your brother?"
Kol looked down at the ground and squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out her voice.
"Shut up," he whispered before turning his back on Freya so that she couldn't see the conflict on his face.
"You berate me and throw stones from your glass house," she said, "All the while, you're benefiting from the aftermath of your brother's rape and torture."
"Half-brother," he said darkly, and Freya knew that she couldn't talk him out of this. "Always and forever never included me or the people I loved. And I didn't do this – so shut the fuck up and don't pretend that we're equals here."
"Listen to me Kol, whatever you're doing with that talisman almost killed him," she said angrily, but he didn't reply as he crossed his arms. "You can help stop this right now. If this is about lashing out because you're still grieving – I understand – but Klaus didn't do anything. What happened to Davina was my fault and my idea – make me suffer instead."
"Do not say her name, you foul bitch," shouted Kol suddenly, responding only to his pain and Freya's betrayal.
Freya fell back from the intensity of his hatred.
Kol blurred forward to the edge of the magical barrier between them. A deep scowl made his handsome features demonic, and Freya was positive that he would rip her throat out if given the chance. And to be honest, despite her magical abilities, she wasn't sure that she could take him while he was using the siphoning talisman.
"I came here looking for mother's grimoire, but I found your nasty little secrets instead," he said with a snarl. "I suppose it's fortunate, because now we can work out a deal."
Freya went ashen.
"You help me bring back Davina with this siphoning talisman, and I won't tell our siblings how this is all your fault," he said as the ghost of a smug smirk returned to his lips. "They'll hate you, you know. They'll probably kill you – or worse."
Freya swallowed rapidly. Kol was right, but something wasn't quite adding up.
"Why would Mikael let you use that talisman?" she asked.
Kol snorted, "he made another one when you protected Klaus with that sigil."
Freya felt tears well up in her eyes again. How many other people would suffer because of her?
"Okay then," she whispered, "I'll help you bring her back – but promise me that we'll destroy that talisman and avenge Niklaus."
Kol laughed and shrugged.
"You're not in a position to bargain, sister, but we'll see," he said.
With that, Kol jumped from her window with her journals under his arm, and Freya was left to collapse and cry in her bed.
Far from sober, Elijah awoke in the middle of the night to find Niklaus snuggled in his arms. His heart skipped a beat, and he wondered if this was okay. But, in the haze of the moonlight, nothing seemed real and that made everything feel right. He would hold on to this moment just a while longer. Elijah leaned over to check Niklaus face for desiccation. There were no dark veins, but he still felt breathless. Elijah had never see such a peaceful expression on his brother's face, and in that moment, Elijah vowed to see that expression when Niklaus was awake as well.
"Sweet dreams, hjertet mitt," he whispered into the moonlight, knowing the words would be taken far away.
Elijah nuzzled his nose forward into Niklaus' curls, breathing in the smell of Norwegian spruce trees. Memories of lazy days walking along the fjords with Niklaus drifted through his mind as he slowly fell back to sleep. It seemed that nothing could go wrong.
Hours later, morning sunbeams crept through the windows and broke the illusion of moonlit peace. The harsh light made Niklaus open his eyes, and a familiar sensation made him freeze. Heavy arms weighed down his rib cage and made it hard to breathe. An intrusive, pulsating hardness was pressed against his pajama bottoms. His eyes wide and his skin prickled. Logic told him that every man experienced morning erections. Trauma told him that he was in danger, but he couldn't make himself move.
Within a few moments, the sunlight woke Elijah as well.
"Good morning," said Elijah groggily, still half-asleep. Instinctively interested in the warm body in his arms, but drifting back to sleep, Elijah pulled Niklaus closer and tilted his hips forward and up against Niklaus' tailbone.
Klaus jerked forward in surprise and tried to gently wriggle away, but Elijah had a stone grip in his sleep. The squirming made Elijah harder, and Klaus blanched when he felt an aching warmth start building in his loins as well. This unwelcome arousal dampened his fear and he stopped trying to get away.
Suddenly, Niklaus felt the need to feel Elijah's lips on the back of his neck. He wondered how soft they were, and what they could do. He wanted to feel Elijah's teeth drifting over his skin, penetrating him and taking his blood. Images of undressing slowly and exploring each other's bodies drifted through his mind, but they soon felt stale and un-relatable. He couldn't connect to the gentle caresses. He wanted Elijah, but not like that, not as if they had taken each other as loves. No, his imagination took a dark turn towards masochism.
Brutal cravings flooded his body until he could almost feel Elijah's hand wrapped around his throat. He pictured Elijah pinning open his legs with his knees and ripping away his pajama bottoms. Niklaus wanted the warmth of Elijah's body holding him down. He wanted Elijah to use his body and fuck him raw until he erased every last vestige of Marcellus and their Father. He wanted Elijah to hurt him until the pain left him numb, empty, and new.
These violent fantasies made his erection harden until tears were streaming over his nose and down his temple. He bit his lower lip until he drew blood and trembled in Elijah's arms. As badly as he wanted these fantasies to become reality, they revolted him. The intrusive thoughts made him sick, and he didn't understand them. Had a lifetime of reoccurring abuse finally broken him and damaged him beyond repair? How else could he explain wanting Elijah to hurt him in the same ways that he had been hurt so many times before? His self-loathing and disgust grew until he wanted to rip his own skin off.
Then, without regard for his brother's peaceful sleep, Niklaus shoved Elijah away and tumbled out of bed. He stumbled a few paces until he could slouch down against the far wall and sink into the floorboards.
Elijah woke with a start and his chest felt cold without Niklaus in his arms. As he came too, this absence made him inexplicably sad. Elijah blinked the sleep from his eyes and searched the room until he saw his brother hunched over and nearly pulling his own hair out in the corner of the room.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, but Niklaus just shook his head.
"I can't…" he started and stopped. He couldn't look at his brother. He couldn't taint the image of Elijah while feeling these painfully intrusive desires. There were so many reasons why this wasn't right. Elijah was his half-brother and these masochistic fantasies felt like an invitation for abuse – as if he had wanted what Mikael and Marcellus had done – as if he had asked for that pain and violation. He felt dirty inside and out.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times before the right words came to him. There were no right words, but he knew what he needed now, because he couldn't live like this.
He needed to die.
This realization steadied him. He inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly. His self-hatred and disgust was replaced by a welcome hollowness. The aching erection in his pajama pants softened as violent images of Elijah taking him against the wall were replaced by graphic images of his own lifeblood spilling out of his open heart. He could only imagine how good it would feel for his heart to slowly stop beating as his body was emptied of everything that kept him tied to this hellish existence.
Finally, Niklaus looked up with softened eyes, and Elijah almost smiled. Niklaus' expression was as peaceful as if he had been sleeping.
"You can talk to me," said Elijah gently.
Niklaus looked away. He couldn't lie while he looked straight into Elijah's kind soul.
"I've been having nightmares lately," he said, barely above a whisper.
Elijah nodded and said, "you've been through so much. There's no shame in that."
"I know but..." he paused, wondering if he could really go through with this.
He could.
"I would feel safer if I had the white oak with me," said Niklaus with finality.
The room was silent as Elijah processed this request. The siblings had agreed to never give Niklaus access to the white oak ever again. He was volatile at best and often untrustworthy, but Elijah had faith that his brother was different now.
"Of course," said Elijah; he would do anything that would ease his brother's suffering and make him feel safe again.
Then, Elijah disappeared in a blur of motion. When he returned, he dropped the object into his brother's shaking palm without a second thought. Niklaus rolled the white oak bullet between his fingers. He contemplated this small, innocent looking thing. It had once terrified him, and yet now he welcomed it like an old friend. It promised him peace.
"Thank you," whispered Niklaus as he avoided looking back up at Elijah. He couldn't look into Elijah's noble brown eyes and imagine the anguish that he was about to create.
"You are safe with me," insisted Elijah.
Klaus didn't react. It was the fact that he didn't want to feel safe with Elijah that was killing him.
He squeezed the white oak in his fist and held it against his heart.
"Do you want to come back to bed?" asked Elijah gently.
Klaus shook his head slightly as he stood up and moved towards the door without making eye contact.
"I just need to take a walk and get some fresh air," he said as he squeezed the doorknob. "I don't want you to worry about me anymore. I'll be okay. Thank you for everything, Elijah."
Niklaus looked back once to see nobility and kindness embodied in his brother. He waited to watch the lines on Elijah's face relax before he could look away and cherish that last image.
"I am sorry, really," he said over his shoulder.
"You don't need to apologize," said Elijah.
But he did, and then he left.