A/N: Hi again, everyone. So, it's been a while, but I have a feeling when you read these next two updates, you'll understand. It's very difficult to be in the right place to write this story. It's dark, and it only gets darker.
I'm not sure how good the writing is in this part, but I hope it's not too bad. The chapter title is a play on the parable The Prodigal Son.
Just two chapters in and I got over 70 follows, 20 favourites, and 20 reviews. That's spectacular! I can't even say how happy it has made me. Thank you for those who believed in this story from the beginning, and I really, really hope you'll stick with me until the end.
"And my back has been breaking
From this heavy heart."
Part 2.i - The Bastard Son Returns
Two Years Later:
He storms into the school building, a wild rage of anger and hatred and panic. Blood pounds in his head. It hits his temples harshly and he grabs his short curls in a haphazard attempt to stop the pain. Students bustle past him holding books in their arms. Some give him strange looks that twist his lips into wild snarls, but most ignore him—push past him as if he is nothing more than a pathetic door blocking them from getting where they must be.
Usually Niklaus keeps his head down in the hallways. The harsh lights blind him, the heavy weight on his shoulders too much to bear. Today is different. That weight has all but disappeared and in its place is a constant electric shock zapping at his skin.
He knows he shouldn't have opened that box. He knew it the minute the Salvatore's sat him down yesterday and gave it to him. Mr. Salvatore told him they'd been waiting for two years to let him have it. Mrs. Salvatore said they wanted to be sure he was ready.
He'd stared at the cardboard box for a full thirty minutes after they'd left. Emblazoned on the side in black, inky chicken scratch was the word Mikaelson. Immediately he'd recognised that handwriting. One word flamed in his tired mind at the sight of it—Mikael. His instincts told him to throw it away and burn it. He wanted to see flames lick the container. What could possibly be in there that he wanted to know? Mikael's demonic plans to kill his entire family? His sick account of all the affairs he'd had over the years?
Niklaus' gut told him to push the box away. But he was bad and he loved to torture himself. So, he sat on his blood-red bed sheets, felt the plush mattress sink with his fourteen-year-old weight, and pulled the chest in front of him. It was surprisingly light for being such a large thing. He had lifted it with ease on the bed, placing it next to himself.
Holding his breath, he had torn the box open, irrationally afraid that the ghost of his father would come spilling over the edge and through the cracks. He had exhaled a whoosh of poisoned air when nothing creeped out, chastising himself for being so weak.
His father was dead. Mikael could no longer harm him.
Physically, he thought with a sneer, because it was no secret that Mikael still had his thick fingers around his throat. It was no secret that Niklaus still woke in the middle of the night, screams sticking to the tip of his tongue, the fading images of his sister's, his brother's, his mother's broken faces shining on his bedroom walls.
He couldn't see inside the box, but his arms were long enough to reach in and grab whatever monster was hidden within the cardboard walls. Using his callused fingers, Niklaus had grappled at the object nearest the top. It felt like a book, thick and rectangular, but when he had pulled it out he saw it was nothing more than a journal. Niklaus had blinked fast and opened the diary, refusing to be afraid of an inanimate object.
The teenaged boy half-expected the pages to be blotted in blood. He had laughed almost maniacally when he saw the entries were written in simple black ink.
A swirling cloud of something sinister was building inside of him as he searched through his father's long-forgotten anthologies. Each time he turned a page, a new picture slammed into his brain. He could see his father, big and out for blood, whacking Elijah until welts settled on top of his skin. He saw Rebekah screaming at Niklaus to stop the pain. He saw himself—helpless and broken, a heap of nothingness on the floor of their kitchen.
Mikael had written it down. His dirty hands—coated in the blood of his own children—had taken a pen and scribbled all he had done to them. Every bruise, every scar, every tear.
Niklaus had been ready to throw up then, the acid in his stomach churning, slipping up his throat, burning his inside of his mouth. But he had held it in, for his own sanity if nothing else.
When the exhausted child had reached the last page, just as the sun was brimming the horizon in place of the moon, was when he had seen it. Those words had almost tipped him over the edge. Black rimmed his vision, a swirling vortex sucked the last remains of happiness from his mind. If he had ever had any joy, it was dead now.
He had thrown the book—the vile, evil, soul-crushing book—to his floor. Something seared in his throat and he realised too late that it was the bile he had been trying so hard to keep down. He had run to the bathroom and, after retching for what seemed like hours, had laid his head on the tiled floor, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Hours later he awoke to find himself in his bedroom, the blinds drawn. He had fallen asleep again, wishing there was a soft blond next to him telling him everything would be alright.
But now, when he closes his eyes and walks through the different hallways that seem to be going nowhere, all he sees is that one line. Sleep is no safe haven, he is sure of it. Instead of worrying about catching glimpses of the rotting bodies of his siblings, he must now fear the whip of those words. The force of them is much harsher than Mikael's belt ever was.
He needs her. Needs to see her, to touch her, to hold her. The minute the bell rings today, he will rush out of the building and find her. She is the only one who can take even a fraction of this all-consuming pain away. If he could, he would beg her to stay with him tonight. She takes away his nightmares. She makes him feel protected.
He knows it is too much to put on the shoulders of a young girl. She is only twelve, the age he was when they met. But there is something about her, something so intelligent and aged. He sees it in her eyes as they sparkle in the sunlight when she smiles at him.
On the way to school this morning, Stefan took notice of his silent fury and asked if he was okay. Niklaus had refuse to answer. He had twisted his head away as some strange poke of guilt bit his chest. Damon laughed, said something about women and Tyler and itches that can't be scratched.
Giuseppe Salvatore had shouted at the raven-haired child to stop, because he should know better than to tease Niklaus. Damon willingly complied. Niklaus sunk his teeth so hard into his tongue he tasted blood.
No matter how long he lives here, he will always be the twisted boy whose father committed a horrible crime that killed his entire remaining family. The people in tranquil Mystic Falls will never treat him like a normal boy. They will never get over what happened to him. And neither will Niklaus.
It has been two years since it happened. He has been a member of the Salvatore family for more than 730 days and nights, but still does not belong. He remains a ghost, floating between the earth and the sky. Stuck in a never-ending purgatory.
Caroline Forbes is his shelter from his own demons. She is the one who stays at the Salvatore's while her mother is at work even though she is old enough to lounge at home by herself. She is the one who refuses to sleepover at her other friends' houses when she has the opportunity to stay the night with him and his adopted family.
She is the one who sneaks into his bedroom when the lights have depleted. The one who climbs in his bed and shakes him out of his nightmares. She is the one who strokes his clammy, cold forehead with the backs of her soft fingers and sings him to sleep.
She is the one who leaves a warm imprint in his bed when he awakens, and who smiles so secretively at him during breakfast, as though they spent the night doing dastardly deeds instead of comforting one another under the glow of the nightlight he keeps in his room for when she creeps inside.
"Hey, Annie! Long time, no see!"
Niklaus snaps his head up, not realising he had lowered it, at the sound of his vile nickname. Sniggers sound around him. He sees Tyler Lockwood and his band of sinister followers circling him, their faces warped into taunting smiles.
His hands burn. Oh, how he wants to thrash his arms out and clip his knuckles on each of these boys' chins. Stefan is not here to wind him down, nor is sweet Caroline. The only thing that stops him is the look he caught on Mr. Salvatore's face the first time he snapped during school last year, like the man was utterly disappointed.
He does not want to be sent away, does not want to leave Mystic Falls, so he balls his hands and locks them by his sides.
At least six inches taller than these pubescent children, Niklaus towers over them, but never before has he felt so small. These boys fight with their tongues, rarely their fists. It is a new form of torture, one Niklaus is not used to. It terrifies him.
Words slice his skin like knives, leaving scars in their wake that shine silver when met with moonlight.
Tyler steps away from the circle and stands directly in front of Niklaus. His black eyes are melted into angry slits. "You're fucking pathetic, Annie," he hisses, and Niklaus cannot disagree. "Little Orphan Annie, all alone," he jeers.
Calm, must remain calm, he reminds himself. All he wants though is for Caroline to come and rescue him. But this is Jr. High. His blond angel cannot save him here. She is holed up behind the brick walls of elementary school, learning of fractions and constellations while he is in this hallway, his resolve threatening to crack.
How often does he wish he were outside, sitting on a swing next to her?
"Leave him alone, Tyler," a voice calls. It is high-pitched and angry, and the only thing that stops Niklaus' arm from swinging.
He watches a tall girl with brown, wavy hair burst through the circle of adolescent men. She approaches Tyler who, surprisingly, takes a step back.
"What do you want, Wolf-Girl?" Tyler asks in an annoyed huff. His chest has deflated a bit and he looks worn all of a sudden.
The girl frowns. "I want you to leave him alone."
Niklaus cannot help it. He is thrown back in time to when Caroline had said those same words. Leave him alone. Will he always have random girls coming to help him? But this is different. He feels no warmth, no protection. He resents this girl for intervening.
Tyler laughs, showing off his too-white teeth. "Oh, yeah? And why should I?"
Wolf-Girl tilts her head to one side and smiles innocently. "Because I just heard they're doing a locker search in a few minutes."
Tyler's face freezes. Obvious fear replaces his misguided anger and he retreats without another glance at Niklaus, whistling for his friends to follow. The curly-haired Brit watches their bodies sulk away.
"He's a real dick-head, isn't he?" Wolf-Girl says, her question rhetorical.
Niklaus nods, staring at her. She is nearly as tall as him. Perhaps two inches shorter. She is slim with no apparent curves.
Pressed to the centre of her purple t-shirt is the growling emblem of a wolf.
Wolf-Girl.
"You don't talk much," she points out. He says nothing to dispel her theory. "Well, I'm Haley. Nice to meet you."
"Niklaus," he says automatically. His voice is crackly and he wonders if he screamed at all during his nightmares last night.
Her dark eyes glitter just as a body of faculty round the corner. "I know," she says quickly, her gaze stuck on the hideous dents in his face. "We have three classes together."
Do we? He questions to himself. He looks at her again, his eyes travelling up and down her body. He doesn't recognise her.
"Oh," is all he says in reply. The bell will ring soon and he has yet to grab the books he needs for first period.
Haley looks between Niklaus and the adults who have begun opening lockers. "I gotta go. I'll see you in a couple of minutes for English."
She runs in the opposite direction of the staff, but she throws him a quick, wolfish grin over her shoulder as she disappears.
Niklaus startles back, her blatant show of teenage lust setting his skin on fire. No one has ever looked at him like that before, and he isn't sure he ever wants them to again.
.1.
The autumn chill is harsh against his skin when he steps out of the building. A wild rush of students bombard past him, their laughs making his eardrums ache.
Haley was right. They have three classes together. He did his best to stay far away from her during those few hours, but whenever he so much as glanced at her, he noticed her eyes glued to him.
He rubs a hand over his chin and feels fresh stubble pinch his fingertips. He does not know why he is the only fourteen-year-old boy who seems to be done with puberty. It's odd that out of the three boys living at the Salvatore Boarding House, he is the one needing to slide a razor against his neck and cheeks. Damon is jealous, he knows.
Giuseppe tells him he is somewhat of an anomaly. Niklaus is unsure if this is a good or a bad thing.
Caroline teases him the mornings she stays over when she spots the shadows dancing across the lower half of his face. She runs her fingers across his jaw and calls him a gorilla. He usually shoves her hand away, but he secretly adores the affectionate touch.
"Niklaus!" Stefan runs to him wearing a boyish smile. "You coming to Elena's? It's Monday, so they've got a half-day. Damon, Matt and I are heading there now."
Poor Stefan, he thinks to himself. Elena Gilbert, already such a temptress. Full breasts, soft curves. Hair that travels to her belly in gentle waves. If only she weren't so young.
Niklaus often hears Damon and Stefan arguing over the girl. More often than not the twin's fencing practices are masked battles for her devotion.
"Caroline's already there," Stefan says, knowing Niklaus cannot refuse that name.
The Gilbert's house is average in size and always very warm. Mrs. Gilbert works from home while her husband spends his days at his medical practice in the town square. Niklaus has had to go there only once since arriving in this small dome of a world for some prescription sleeping pills.
Stepping over the threshold, Niklaus promptly begins his search for Caroline. Everyone is talking around him, chattering about how difficult homework is becoming and how unfair it is that they can no longer bring peanuts to the lunchroom because too many people are allergic. Their voices crowd his head and he can feel himself slipping.
He started getting panic attacks seven months ago. Each time one begins he feels as though the air is being sucked from his lungs. Tears will slide down his face in desperation and his cheeks will flame from embarrassment.
In this room, surrounded by people who claim to know him, but who know nothing other than how he came to live in Mystic Falls, he cannot lose control.
He excuses himself without a word, noticing bitterly how no one calls after him.
He searches for the bathroom.
"Klaus! How was school? I was just coming to find you." And just like that, his panic subsides. Caroline, her sunny hair and rosy cheeks coming right for him, smiles such a genuine smile that Niklaus has to suppress the urge to cover his darkened eyes.
"Stefan said you might come today. I'm glad you did," she adds when she reaches him. Her hair is up in some intricate pattern he can only assume was done by Elena and she is decorated in a grey t-shirt.
Beautiful. He itches to be in possession of a paintbrush, so he can immortalise her upon a canvas.
Niklaus abandons his issues for a moment so he can get lost in her excitement. "I…wanted to see you," he says softly. He clears his throat, annoyed that he sounds like a scared child.
The look of understanding flashes across her gorgeous face. He takes a mental snapshot of it and puts it away to be drawn later. "What's the matter?"
Air becomes lead in Niklaus' lungs.
"You can tell me anything, Klaus. Remember that."
She'd told him that over a year ago after the adoption officially went through on the first anniversary of his father's murder-suicide. "Whether you're Niklaus Mikaelson, or Niklaus Salvatore, you're still one of my greatest friends and I need you to trust me."
She was eleven at the time. Young, but far too wise. He always jokes she is a philosopher trapped inside a child's lanky body.
And he knows the reason is because unlike so many children she has lived a thousand lives. Her father leaving—declaring he no longer wanted to be a part of her life—ruined her. Different, of course, from how he is ruined, but ruined all the same.
He only hopes he is able to patch her wounds the way she is able to patch his.
"I found something," he chokes, gripping his hair until his head pulses. Warm hands take ahold of his wrists. He looks into her eyes as she brings his arms down. She rubs soothing circles on his skin with her thumbs.
She smiles and tells him to breathe. "In and out, just once." So he does, and he feels better. "Now, tell me, what did you find?"
Leading him to Elena's bedroom, Caroline closes the door and sits him on the bed. Pink pillows and stuffed animals overwhelm the queen-sized bed and he has to laugh at the clear girly-ness of the room.
"She loves pink," Caroline explains.
"I figured."
She giggles at his deadpan, half-assed joke. "It is kinda obvious, I guess. I remember when her parents finally let her remodel this room. She was super happy, wouldn't shut up about it. She started bringing all of these magazines and pointing out the things she wanted. I wonder how long it'll take her to decide she hates the stuff she picked."
Something Niklaus discovered early in their friendship is Caroline babbles when she's nervous. Why she is nervous now, he has no clue. He is the one with the secret, with the shame. Not her.
"I'm adopted," he says quietly, but loud enough that she snaps her lips shut.
"I know…"
He shakes his head. "…No, you don't. I'm a bastard."
"A what?" She asks, her eyebrows raised.
He sees her naïvety painted clearly on her delicate features and frowns. "Mikael—" Caroline gasps. Niklaus never says that name—"he wasn't my dad."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…I mean my mother had an affair. She got pregnant, with me, and that's why Mikael hated me so much." A sob escapes his mouth and he clamps a shaky hand over his lips. He clenches his eyes shut. "That's why he beat me more than the others. Because I was a reminder that he had been fooled, that he had been outplayed. And he HATED me for it!"
The bed jerks and he grows cold, but before he can worry that Caroline is gone, that she is afraid of him, he opens his eyes. She stands above him, tears cascading down her red cheeks.
"Caroline, I'm sorry," he whispers, ashamed. He reaches up and gathers her tears. "I didn't mean to shout."
"Oh, Klaus, please, please don't be sorry," she begs. "I don't know what to say," she admits after a moment.
"Don't say anything. Just—" but he doesn't get to finish his sentence.
Damon barges through the door.
Niklaus abruptly gets on his feet and stands in front of Caroline, shielding her from the Salvatore's icy-blue gaze.
Damon holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't worry, I won't tell Elena you guys were getting down and dirty in her bed." Niklaus wants to lunge at the boy and rip the suggestive smirk off his face. "We're about to pop a movie in. Elena's chosen something called Crazy, Stupid, Love. Interested?"
"Yeah, that's not too bad of a movie," Caroline says. Her fingers encase his bicep and he notices a tremor flow through his bones. "Coming, Klaus?"
"Actually, Blondie, I need to ask Niklaus a question. We'll meet you down there in a second."
Looking at Niklaus with trepidation, she leaves grudgingly when he gives her a small nod. He feels her absence the minute her feet step from the room.
"You're whipped, man. Do you know that?" Damon asks, wandering over to Elena's chest-of-drawers. He starts looking through the jewellery boxes, holding certain things up that peak his interest. "Fourteen and you've already lost your manhood."
Niklaus senses the jealousy in Damon's voice. He disapproves of it severely. Caroline is neither of theirs' to be envious over.
"What did you want?" He asks. There is a stark contrast between the Salvatore twins. Where Stefan is kind, Damon is cruel. Where Stefan is warm, Damon is glacial. Stefan is taller, his eyes are gentler.
It isn't that Niklaus dislikes Damon, he simply doesn't enjoy spending time with him.
For once, Damon's face softens. It catches Niklaus off guard. "I want to invite you somewhere," he says cryptically.
Niklaus' eyebrows bunch in confusion. "Where?"
"The woods."
"And what would we be doing there?"
Smiling, Damon pockets a pair of Elena Gilbert's underwear, winking at Niklaus who swallows the acidic taste in his mouth at the sight. What sick creature will this boy grow into?
"Well, what would you say if I told you," Damon starts, "that a few of us have a hidden stash of alcohol in the woods that we like to indulge in from time to time?"
"I'd ask why you think this holds any meaning to me," Niklaus counters quickly.
A flash of anger shoots across Damon's face. "Aren't you a witty bastard?"
Something akin to pure venom sinks into Niklaus' skin as Damon's word bash into his ears. His lungs constrict. His throat burns. His heart is nearly out of his chest.
"You were listening?" Niklaus seethes. Never before has he wanted to kill someone, but Damon is looking like a good place to start.
"Oh, give it rest, James Bond. I was trying to figure out if you were finally sealing the deal with Blondie and I just so happened to overhear that you are a bastard child," he says by way of explanation, even though it explains absolutely nothing other than the horrid fact that at fourteen, this demonic child is even more disgusting than Niklaus.
"God, don't give yourself a heart attack," Damon chastises. "Just come drink with us tonight. You'll be fine after a few sips of vodka. You'll most likely forget all about your problems come morning."
He doesn't want to spend another minute in Damon's company. He wants to rush downstairs and head to the creek. He wants to jump in the freezing water and wake from whatever nightmare he's been pushed into.
But he knows he's awake.
"Okay," he agrees.
"Excellent!" Damon comes and claps him on the back, not noticing Niklaus' flinch at the contact. "I'll sneak you out of the house Saturday night and have you back in your bed before the sun comes up on Sunday."
He exists the room, leaving Niklaus all on his own.
Pushing the urgent need to vomit, to collapse—to die—down his throat, Niklaus flees Elena's pink-infested bedroom and goes downstairs. The movie has already begun.
He sits next to Caroline.
"Are you okay?" She whispers, her eyes still on the screen.
Knowing she can't see the pained look on his face gives him some form of mild comfort. "Later," he says and presses his thigh to hers.
A/N 2: Thoughts?
I'll have the next bit of this part up by either much later tonight or sometime tomorrow. Sorry if it sucked, really. I'm not a huge fan of it, but I wanted to get it out to you all.
-LoveIsATemple