A/N: This one was has a special place in my heart. Do let me know your thoughts in the reviews! And I definitely plan on adding to this collection with more drabbles about Klamonnie and their adventures in New Orleans :)

Nights like this, Bonnie wishes she could fly, like the witches in children's storybooks. Fly and let the cool night air cut her skin and clear her head.

From her window she can see that Damon is still in the parlor, hours after Stefan left, drinking his way through Klaus' extravagant collection of alcohol like there's no tomorrow.

She'd locked herself in her room so she wouldn't hear the brothers arguing, rehashing old wounds and flaying new ones.

She glanced at the clock.

4 am.

She couldn't wait anymore.

Padding downstairs, she finds Damon sprawled on a leather chair, a decanter dangling from one hand and catching the firelight like so many small knives.

"Hey..," she says quietly, sitting down next to him.

"Don't."

The brusque response startles her. "Don't what?"

"The Hallmark card you're gonna read to me about being a good brother and 'forgiveness'." He makes air quotes around the last word, and some liquor splashes onto the carpet.

"Actually, I was gonna say I think Stefan was being harsh-,"

"Insufferable, I believe is the word you're looking for love." Klaus strolls in, frowning at the carpet stain. "Thousands of dollars of crystal at your disposal and still my rug suffers. Should I commission you a sippy-cup?"

Damon sighs in exasperation and stares up at the ceiling "Great. And now it's Klaus Mikaelson comedy hour."

Klaus rolls his eyes, "And your plan is what exactly hmm? Out-brood your brooding sibling? Good luck with that one mate."

"Right. As if I could out-do Stefan at anything," Damon mutters darkly, "Enlighten me Klaus, how do you not punch Elijah's lights out everyday?"

"By reminding myself how much the furniture costs and what a bloody pain it is to renovate," he drawls.

A moment passes during which Bonnie wonders absently if she should pour herself a drink.

"Stefan is afraid," Klaus says abruptly.

Damon blinks.

The Original continues, "Always has been. Afraid of who he is, what he is. You, Damon, might be a drunkard and a layabout who's never learned to keep his muddy boots off the rug - ,"

"Thanks dude."

"- but you've never been afraid. And for that, Stefan will always envy you."

Damon blinks almost in confusion, as if each word is new.

Klaus strides across the floor and swiftly, firmly takes the bottle from Damon's hand.

"You've had enough. Now, let Bonnie see you to bed."

They are settling in under the covers, Bonnie brushing the wayward strands of dark hair off Damon's forehead, when Klaus appears, placing a glass of some tonic on the end table for Damon's guaranteed hangover.

Bonnie raises her head to murmur a thank you but Damon beats her to it.

"Get under the covers dude. Someone's gotta keep us warm in this mausoleum you call a house."

"Until you cover the electric bill, Damon, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself," Klaus returns smoothly. But Bonnie hears him strip his shirt off and soon she's pressed against a warm hybrid chest. She curls up tighter with a small of hum of approval.

"No fair, she always gets warmed up first," Damon mumbles.

"Life is unfair."

"Guys I'm trying to sleep."

She feels Damon hook a leg over her and grab Klaus' shin.

"Ahh, nothing like a little hybrid foot warmer."

Klaus grunts a little but doesn't entirely protest. Bonnie pulls the cover over their shoulders.

Nights like this, she wonders if birds feel this way when they fly: grateful for the unseen balance holding their bones afloat.