A/N: It's late, or early. Both, I guess.
This is the end of Part 2 and I can assure you there will be mistakes.
Thanks again for the support, and don't forget to enjoy.
"And the record won't stop skipping,
And our lies just won't stop slipping."
Part 2 (ii) - The Bastard Son Returns
Caroline:
Time ticks by as she stares at the alarm clock on the bedside table in the Salvatore's guest bedroom. Sparkles of sunlight have already started to streak through the blinds. She can see pictures hanging on the walls, placed there to make her feel more at home during the nights she spends here.
One is of her and Klaus sitting on the swings outside the elementary school. He's laughing at something, his lips contorted into a beautiful smile. She wishes he'd smile like that more often—carefree and unafraid. But now she worries he'll never smile again.
It is only six o'clock in the morning, but she cannot find the strength to sleep. Ever since Klaus told her about his true parentage four days ago she has been struggling with nightmares. They are similar to the nightmares she started having after her father left and she wonders if perhaps she's having them for Klaus rather than for herself.
They all begin the same way—her, frightened of something terrible she can't see or hear, but something she can feel. Instead of her being alone (as she usually is), Klaus is there, holding her. He strokes her cheek, but never utters a word.
He is torn from her, though, by a faceless monster, and she is forced to watch as blood pours relentlessly from his mouth.
Then she awakens in a cold sweat, her hair sticking to the nape of her neck in tangles.
It is the same thing night after night.
Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, her toes hit the cold wooden floor. She inhales a groan when her twelve-year-old back spasms painfully. She creeps through the expansive hallways of the west wing of the house and walks downstairs, ignoring the ache pulling her brain.
The boys are all awake, she knows; they leave for school fairly soon. Caroline places a trembling hand on the banister and descends the staircase, hearing banter between Klaus and Giuseppe in the living room. The television is quietly blasting a recap of some rugby game, a sport the old man and the young boy are fond of. Her feet go silently past them, ignoring the automatic pull to find Klaus.
Damon is in his bedroom. She hears his thrashing music rumbling through the walls.
When she peeks inside the kitchen, she isn't surprised to see Stefan alone. He chews his cereal softly as he concentrates on the book lying on the table in front of him.
"Stefan?" She calls meekly. Her hand is still trembling, and she needs it to stop before Stefan notices.
He looks up from his book, spoon hanging out of his mouth. It drops into the bowl with a light clang that Caroline can feel in her chest. "Hey, Caroline. You're up early," he says in surprise.
"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you." Her body moves into the chair across from the boy with the green eyes. "Can I?"
Stefan nods. "Of course," he breathes. "What's the matter?"
"Klaus," she replies. She casts her eyes down and picks at a piece of splintered wood. It pinches her skin, but the pain is welcome—it charges her.
A look of recognition glows in the smile he offers her and she can think of nothing else at the moment other than the sheer, blatant dissimilarities there are between the twin boys she has grown to know well since childhood. Where Stefan is charming and strong and mature, Damon is cruel and dark and venomous.
"What about him?" The boy asks, as if they are discussing something trivial and unimportant. His eyes flick to the doorway where the chatter of rugby statistics streams through.
Caroline inhales through her nose and blinks. She has never been very verbose, but her ability to speak, to think, seems to have been pulled from her entirely. Sometimes she forgets she is only twelve, but she is always slammed with the reality of her petty age when she attempts to have meaningful conversations.
"How is he?" She asks, because that is the small version of what she wants to know. If she could, she would pour herself into Klaus' mind to get this information, even if he does often warn her of the darkness inside his skull.
Stefan looks at her warily, almost like he doesn't trust her. I'm his best friend! she wants to shout at him. I know things you don't! she wants to add, but even thinking of the things the boy in front of her does not know churns the acid in her stomach and sends a shard of glass up her throat.
"Okay, I think. I don't think he's been sleeping, though."
Stefan goes back to his book and Caroline knows the conversation is over before it even began. The twins put up with Klaus as much as they need to. They take him places. They sometimes go to him when he is being teased and help loosen his clenched fingers. But even now they have yet to accept him.
He is still the orphan boy to them, haunted by the shadows' of his father and mother and siblings.
Caroline lifts herself off the chair and travels back to the guest room—her room. Only when the door closes does she allow the tears she's been keeping in for days to splash to the floor.
.1.
"Hey there, lovely girl," a voice whispers to her. The still-thick British accent hits her square in the chest and she feels a new wave of sadness throw her overboard and into the raging sea. "What's wrong?"
Klaus strokes her hair and holds her against him. Her salty tears are staining his blue shirt, her choked breaths are batting his skin.
"I'm sorry, Klaus," she whimpers, and he tightens his hold on her, "I know you don't want to be the one comforting me, but—"
"—Shh," he interrupts with an elegant type of calm she assumes he's practiced since birth. "Don't apologise to me. You never have to apologise to me."
And he holds her in his arms until her heaves stop. Mr. Salvatore calls up with news that it is time to leave.
"Don't go," she croaks, knowing full well how selfish she sounds. How selfish she always is with him.
Gently, Klaus removes himself from her. He gives her a small smile that doesn't nearly reach his beautiful, watery blue eyes. "I must," he says.
She nods, not trusting herself to speak.
After his thumbs brush under her lashes, he goes to leave.
Caroline watches him with eager eyes as he steps through the doorframe. She can see that heavy weight pressing his shoulders down and wishes she were stronger so she could walk to him and lift it off of him.
But she is small and her arms are weak.
Instead, she listens for the sound of his footsteps abandoning the house and prays to some man in the sky that Klaus will be okay, unsure if the man is paying attention.
.1.
Swings used to bring her comfort. She would sit on them and pump her legs and forget. Forget her father tore a hole in her happy, small town family; forget she had a best friend whose father tore him to pieces. Now, though, they simply remind her that she can no longer forget, and so she is forced to surrender herself to remembering.
As Elena snaps on about boys and math homework, she remembers when Klaus first started at Jr. High—the way he phoned her the night before, terrified. Rarely does Klaus ever let his guard down. She is able to count on one hand the amount of times he has opened up to her. When she heard his voice on the other line, cracked and dry and frightened, it broke her tiny heart.
"I won't be able to survive," he'd said. "I'm not strong enough."
"You are," she'd urged, pressing the phone to her ear, wishing with all her small might that she could squeeze her body through the receiver and be with him.
"I'm really not."
"But you are."
He'd gone in the next morning and when she had seen him later that same day, he wore a purpling bruise on his cheek.
She shivers, pretending that it is due to the breeze rather than the memory.
She remembers the second time he crept to her bedroom. It was in the middle of a snow storm, something so rare for their part of Virginia. She was freezing, bundled tight with blankets and a fancy heating fan given to her by one the maids.
"I had a nightmare" was all he needed to tell her before she flung the blankets off and instead let his sticky skin warm her through the cold night.
"Caroline, Earth to Caroline!" Elena whines, waving an olive hand in front of her face.
"Hmm?" She mumbles carelessly.
"Damon kissed me!" Elena squeals. "Last night when he was helping me with history. It was amazing. I couldn't breathe."
Caroline frowns. Damon is a careless boy who should not be hunting after someone like Elena. She has seen his lips on many girls before, but none as immature and little as the bouncing brunette in front of her.
"Elena, don't get too excited," Bonnie chides softly. "You're both really young and—"
"—Shut it, Bon-Bon. I don't want to hear it." Elena holds her manicured hand up, the harsh shade of dark burgundy glinting in the sun. Bonnie shuts her mouth, stunned. "I'm not marrying the guy. He's fun, I'm fun. We're a good match."
But even as she says the words, Caroline can see Elena's thought bubble, full of wedding dresses and diamonds and I do's.
"What about Stefan?" Caroline asks without thinking. Her mouth clicks shut the second her mind registers what it's just blurted. Bringing Stefan into a conversation about Damon is a bad idea.
Quiet confusion seeps from Elena's wooden eyes. "He doesn't know about it," she says carefully. "And why would he? It's none of his business."
And though she doesn't truly think of her Stefan as great friends, she cannot help but feel utterly sorry for him. Nearly every time she is at the boarding house, he begs her to tell him all about Elena, about how to woo her and make her smile.
Stupid, she thinks. They're all idiots.
The sheriff told her long ago to be wary of men, for you never knew where their hearts truly were. Caroline had asked what she meant, because weren't all men's hearts in their chest? Her mother had smiled sadly and said it was too late in the evening for Caroline to be asking so many questions.
.1.
"Bye, Caroline!" Matt calls as he walks down the street towards his own broken home.
She gives him a small wave and opens her front door, stepping over the worn Welcome mat and into the scent of cinnamon and sugar.
Cookies. Her mother is baking cookies. Her mother never bakes cookies.
"Mom?" Caroline wanders to the kitchen and gently places her backpack on the ground. "Where are you?"
Liz Forbes, wearing an apron, stands up from where she was kneeling in front of the oven. "Hey, baby. You want a cookie?" The older woman points to a plate of snicker doodles on the kitchen island.
"I'm not hungry," Caroline says, her voice wary. "Why are you baking? You hate sugar."
The sheriff frowns. "I do not hate sugar. I just don't think it's good to have too much of it. Besides, I feel like haven't seen you a lot recently. I wanted to do something special for you." Her mother smiles and grabs a cookie off the tray.
"You haven't seen me a lot recently. You've been working," Caroline mutters.
"I have. So I can support this family and protect this town. I've got to do the work of mother and father here, Caroline. Your dad hasn't made it easy on me."
Sighing, Caroline leans over and takes one of the cookies. Her mother smiles again and Caroline doesn't mention that sometimes it feels like she's lost both of her parents. That would just break her mother in two.
"But…there is something I wanted to talk to you about," the sheriff says.
Rocks, tons and tons of rocks, plummet to the bottom of Caroline's stomach. She sags. "What is it?"
"Could you sit down?"
"Mom, just tell me."
"Sit."
She sits at the kitchen table, cookie still in hand. Liz takes the seat opposite her and gives her the strangest look.
"Mom, you're scaring me," Caroline says, crippling fear pricking her fingers and toes. The last time her mother looked at her the way she is in this very moment, she had told Caroline her father was never coming home.
Was her mom leaving too? Were they going together, getting out of this one pony town?
Liz's face softens, but this new look only intensifies Caroline's anxiety. "Don't worry, it's nothing life threatening."
Caroline doesn't relax. "Then just tell me what's wrong," she says through gritted teeth.
"Don't get snippy with me, young lady. I've told you not to worry, now please, don't. I want to talk to you about that boy, Niklaus."
Panic rises in her throat and she can no longer breathe. "What—" she gasps "—what about him?"
Has something happened to him? She can see the scorching image of her best friend lying somewhere, helpless and alone and unresponsive.
The sheriff does not seem to notice the pain on Caroline's face. "I think you've been spending too much time with him."
Her panic ceases and gives way to bewilderment. Knitting her eyebrows together, she presses her index fingers to her temples."What?" She questions, completely thrown.
Liz Forbes clicks her tongue. "You heard me, Caroline. That boy is going through some stuff right now. You shouldn't be spending so much time with him."
"What stuff? What stuff is he going through? And why would his personal struggles make it not okay for me to see him?"
"He can't use you like a therapist, sweetie. He's got one of those already. Piling his troubles on a twelve-year-old isn't decent behaviour."
Caroline can't help it; she's angry. "Mom! I'm helping him. Can't you see that? He needs me."
"He needs a doctor, Caroline. I was okay with you talking to him back when you were both a bit younger, but I think he's relying too much on you. And you on him." Her mother has put on her sheriff voice, but Caroline isn't afraid of it.
"No. This isn't fair. He's my best friend," she says defiantly. Her heart is cracking her ribs and there's an odd thumping echoing around in her ears. This isn't right, none of it is. When did her life become such a jumbled mess? Wasn't she innocent just a little while ago?
Now her mother is dictating who she can and cannot see due to their instabilities. But what the sheriff sees as weakness and therefore a sign that she should stay away, Caroline sees as strength and more reason to stick by Klaus' side.
Liz stands and walks to the sink, her back to Caroline. The small, fragile girl wants to run away. She wants to run to Klaus and sink into his messed-up world. At least there she feels safe.
"Caroline—"
"—No. You can't do this. Don't you realise that you're the reason I'm friends with him in the first place? If you weren't so busy with work, I'd never need to be at the Salvatore's. I'd probably have never even met Klaus."
She can see her mother's knuckles glow white as the older woman grips the sink. "Enough, Caroline. That isn't true. You always have the option of going to the Gilbert's or the Bennett's, but you constantly decide that you'd rather be with the Salvatore's. I understand—or I did. But with what Giuseppe's told me, I don't think it's a reasonable option anymore.
"I want you safe. That…boy…isn't stable."
Caroline sits at the table in stunned silence. Her lip trembles as her brain replays and replays and replays her mother's words. Never seeing Klaus again…she can't imagine it. The hollowness of her life without him is incomprehensible. At ten, she found her safe haven. At twelve, it's being ripped from her.
And yes, she agrees; she may rely on him too much, and he may rely too much on her. But they were each other's life jackets. Without him she would surely drown.
"Mom," she wheezes, already feeling the pull of the deep, dark ocean underbelly.
Turning around, her mother sighs in irritation. "See what I mean? You're far too attached."
Caroline wants to say no, she isn't. She's attached, yes, of course, but that isn't why she's on the verge of tears. She isn't upset because her mother is telling her she can no longer spend time with Klaus.
She's upset because her mother is making judgment about somebody she's never taken the time to know. Somebody who happens to be Caroline's best friend. She's upset because her mother believes Klaus' horrible previous life—a life full of beatings and blood and constant fear—will ruin him and that it will, in turn, ruin Caroline.
"I'm going on a walk," Caroline informs her mother after a beat of deafening silence. "I've got my cell phone, I won't be gone long."
Before her mother can object, Caroline flies up from the table and quietly, swiftly, exits the house. The sheriff does not come after her.
.1.
"And they won't mind?" She asks, struggling to pull herself together for him. She needs him to get better and her being sad will only destroy him further.
"They've already given me the thumbs-up, Caroline. I'll be there as soon as I can, alright?" He sounds happy, which is excellent.
She grins. "Okay, I'll see you soon."
"See you then."
.1.
They sit together on the schoolyard swings, side by side, watching the darkening clouds cascade above their heads. His dirty blond hair glimmers despite the lack of sunshine and his cheeks have already begun to shadow with bristles.
He looks at her every now and again. Blue against blue, an intense and meaningful gaze.
The playground looks different without countless little children running wild within its high fence. She misses, so badly misses, lounging on these swings with him. Having him next to her now, though, with his sullen mouth and black and blue clothing, takes some of the pain away.
Funny, how she's mourning the loss of something she still has.
"My mom doesn't want to us to see each other anymore." Might as well bite the bullet, she decides.
Klaus' entire face dips into a frown. His eyes narrow, his lips turn down, his eyebrows glue together. His scars cast dangerous silhouettes across his cheeks. "What do you mean?" He asks, but she knows he understands.
"I don't want to listen to her," Caroline confesses, kicking the mulch beneath her feet. She tightens her grip on her swing's metal chain, feeling the rust prick her delicate, soft skin. "I mean, she can't really do that. Not seeing you wouldn't help anyone."
Turning his body towards her, Klaus cocks his head to one side like a confused dog. "Why?"
And Caroline must think carefully. She is still extremely confused about the situation herself. "I think it has something to do with…with the…accident."
"What about it?" He looks as though he is about to sink into the ground.
She doesn't want to do this. Talking about the accident up is never a good idea. "I'm not sure."
"It was two years ago. More than two years ago. She's deciding to broach the topic now?" He sounds incredulous, something which Caroline cannot blame him for. "This makes no sense. These are my problems, not yours. She can't be punishing you for the things that have happened to me."
He speaks as though he is so old and so wise and it shreds a new piece of her heart.
"But she is," she says sadly, like the child she truly is. "Klaus, I can't. I can't not see you. Which sounds weird and potentially creepy, but it's the truth."
"Maybe she'll change her mind," Klaus suggests, though she doubts he believes himself.
Caroline scoffs. "She's not really good at doing that."
"Must be where you get it from."
Raising her eyebrows, Caroline gapes at Klaus. "Did you just make a joke?"
He laughs, though the noise is harsh and most definitely forced. But they need to be distracted from those ominous clouds coming their way, and laughing is their way of forgetting.
"I think I did. Did you find it funny?"
Caroline nods, her hair bouncing enthusiastically around her shoulders. "Yeah, I did."
.1.
"I always knew," Klaus mutters suddenly. Caroline perks her ears and waits for him to continue. His voice has grown soft, as it always does when he is about to share the deepest and darkest parts of his soul. "I always knew that Mikael hated me more than the others. I just never knew why." He looks at her desperately, his eyes cutting through her heart, which shoots into her mouth. She tastes foul metal. "And my mum, she always told me I was being silly, that I shouldn't let it bother me, but I always knew. And now I really know."
His body is hung low, drooping against the swing's chain just to keep upright. She watches a battle of emotions storm over his features.
She remains silent.
"He didn't say who it was in the book, but I can only guess they're not aware I exist. They're probably dead too. Or busy impregnating other married women," he says through tight lips.
"Oh, Caroline," he whimpers and she immediately abandons her swing and gathers him in her arms.
He collapses into her embrace.
She is surprised she can hold his weight.
"I've got you," she assures him, her head spinning. She already decided long ago that she despised his father. Now she wishes he were still alive, just so she could kill him with her own two hands.
Caroline drags the broken boy to the nearest bench and continues to comfort him, though she has no idea what to do or what to say. Her fingers make patterns over his back and she tries to ignore the scalding tears soaking her t-shirt.
They remain like that until Caroline's phone buzzes with a message from her mother, telling her to come home.
.1.
Caroline is brushing her teeth when her mother knocks on the bathroom door.
"Gim me mini," she splutters, her mouth foaming with toothpaste.
She spits, suppressing the urge to vomit once more, and opens the door. Her mother stands there, arms crossed and lips pulled into an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry," the sheriff says quietly. Caroline is cruelly tempted to ask her to repeat herself, but decides against the wayward thought.
Waiting expectantly, Caroline rinses her mouth and turns back to her mother, noticing not for the first time the silver strands of hair that once were so brilliantly blond.
"I got out of hand earlier. I miss you, Caroline. I know I work too much and knowing that you would rather be spending time with somebody else's family hurts more than I expected it to." The older woman pulls Caroline into a hug and she wraps her arms around her mother's waist, hope singing in her chest.
"Of course you can still see Klaus. Of course you can spend time with the Salvatore's, they're a wonderful family. Just don't get carried away, Caroline. There's a darkness in him, I can see it."
Caroline nods against her mother's sternum. But she was already aware of the darkness blossoming inside the orphan child. Inside her best friend.
Klaus:
Tonight, he will enter the woods with Damon by his side. He will consume alcohol and attempt to clear from his mind all that he has come to know in the past week.
He is excited.
Caroline called him last night before bed to tell him that her mother had changed her mind. Guilt ate him from the inside out as she spoke.
He is beginning to keep secrets from her. This will pull them apart.
But then…what her mother said is true. They are too reliant on one another. In many ways her face is more familiar to him than his own, and yet still he can never look at her enough.
Relationships, he has come to learn, end one of two ways. Either you drift apart, or you die. No matter which way it goes, someone is always heartbroken.
So he must pull away, slowly and quietly. And though it kills him, he knows it is right. For they are too young and they are too stupid and he is too damaged.
He cannot be heartbroken again, but he must be.
.1.
Twigs snap under his heavy footsteps as nervous energy swims through him. Damon leads the way, quietly yelling at him to tread softly.
There is a group of two other people when they reach their destination. It looks like every other part of the woods, but there is a dangerous undercurrent here.
He recognises the Wolf-Girl, Haley, but the other face is one he has never seen before.
"Guys, we've got a visitor today," Damon announces. They smile at him, baring their ragged teeth. "Niklaus, this is Enzo and Haley."
"We've met," Haley says, giving him another one of those predatory grins. Her eyes shine under the moonlight.
Damon groans. "Great, Hales, who cares? Now, where are the booze. I'm parched."
The one Damon called Enzo retrieves a plastic bag that clinks and rattles as he handles it. He shoves it in Damon's direction, who reaches in and grabs bottle after bottle of strange-coloured liquid.
"Ever tried alcohol, Niklaus?" Haley asks.
He shakes his head, but it spasms out of control and he has to force himself to stop. "No," he replies. But he knows its scent. He can remember all too well the lingering aroma surrounding Mikael as he crept towards a shivering Niklaus, belt buckle gleaming.
"Well," she says, slinking in his direction with determination. He contemplates running away, but keeps his feet firmly planted in the leaves and dirt. "Here." She offers him a cup full to the brim with a clear, foul-smelling drink. "This is vodka."
You'll be fine after a few sips of vodka, Damon had told him. He takes the cup, careful not to brush his skin against hers, and smiles his thanks.
She stares at him. "How did you get those scars?" She lifts a hand to his cheek, but he ducks out of the way in time. No one, not doctors or the Salvatore's, is allowed to touch his scars. He can only seem to stand it when Caroline traces them with her delicate fingertips.
Haley drops her hand, looking slightly desolate.
"Don't you know?" He questions darkly, because it is a strange thing for a member of the Mystic Falls community to not know where his scars came from. What horrific thing caused them.
"I've heard rumours. Some say car accident, others say you sliced yourself."
"Like the Joker?"
She shrugs. "I guess."
Swallowing, Niklaus responds, "It was a car accident." Minus the accident. Mikael knew what he was doing. Mikael knew that he was going to twist that steering wheel. He knew what would happen.
Niklaus often contemplates if his father—his not-father—is staring up at him from where he burns in hell. He wonders if the beast feels resentment towards Niklaus for surviving. He wonders if he regrets.
Niklaus regrets; oh, how he regrets. If it were not for Caroline, he truly believes he would have found a way to end his life long ago. He still longs for the sound of his sister's giggle, and he cries that he'll never see Elijah's brown eyes. There are so many parts of him missing—so many holes in his precious little heart, holes that can never be filled. Not even by Caroline.
Bringing the cup to his lips, Niklaus takes a large gulp. The stuff singes his throat and tongue. It tastes disgusting. He wants to spit it out, but he swallows instead. This will make him lose himself, and that is exactly what he needs tonight.
"Welcome to the island of misfit toys, Niklaus," Haley says, raising her own cup to the sky.
He nods, taking another sip. Already the world is losing its sharp edge.
Caroline:
Butterflies food her stomach as she walks closer to the noise. Luckily, having a sheriff for a mother means that Caroline mastered stealthy footsteps at a young age.
She's angry, and hurt. If Klaus is here, with Damon, she doesn't know what she'll do.
There's a small clearing up ahead. It glows with firelight and she watches shadows dance, their laughs bursting through the serene wilderness. Her heart thumps an unsteady beat. She is full of fear as she approaches the group.
And then she sees him, and she's overwhelmed. He's safe, but he's swaying. There's a red cup in his hand and a blank look on his face. The scars she finds so beautiful look malicious when he sneers after swallowing whatever is in the cup.
She walks further and further until she can make out the slight irregular bend in his right arm. She sees no one else, but is aware that there are other people. They watch her just as she watches Klaus.
"Klaus," she says, her voice shivering against the cold October wind.
He looks at her, a fuzzy sheen over his eyes. "Caroline," he slurs, but she can already see him sobering. "What are you doing here?"
And she hears the trepidation in his voice as he takes in the disappointment written all over her.
"I'm here to take you home."
Damon scoffs somewhere near her. "Blondie, give it a rest. He can do whatever the fuck he wants."
"How dare you, Damon!" She shouts, surprising even herself. Damon jumps, but recovers quickly enough to glower down at her. "How dare you bring him here."
Damon holds up his hands casually. "Hey, he came here of his own free will."
"I don't believe that for a second," she spits, standing in front of Klaus, blocking him from Damon. "You're sick, do you know that. Just sick. He doesn't need this."
"What does he need, then?" Damon asks. "You?"
Yes! "No. He needs to sleep."
A hand snakes through hers and an instant calm washes over her. Klaus' alcohol-scented breath is brushing her neck. "I thought your mum wasn't working tonight," he says, tugging her around. He still looks so afraid.
Of her?
"There was a change of plans."
Klaus tugs her hand again, bringing her closer. "Why did you come out here?"
"I needed to find you," she gasps. "Stefan said Damon usually goes out on Saturdays, but that Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore don't know about it. And when…when you weren't in the house, I got really worried, so I snuck out to come…find you." Her words escape as near-sobs.
"You could've gotten hurt."
"Don't you dare pull that one on me, Klaus. You're drunk and alone in the woods."
"Hey, we're here," some girl exclaims, frowning at Caroline. But Caroline doesn't bother to respond.
"I'm taking you home," she seethes.
Klaus nods solemnly and lets her drag him away. They both ignore the quiet murmurs of annoyance coming from behind.
When they arrive back at the boarding house, they tiptoe through the halls until they find the living room.
"X-Men?" Caroline asks, already knowing the answer.
"Of course."
She puts in the disc and turns the volume down. Plopping on the sofa, Caroline pats her lap.
"Come here," she says when Klaus raises an eyebrow. "Head on my lap."
He acquiesces, resting his soft hair over her thighs, and she begins threading her fingers through the curls.
"I'm like them," he says sleepily.
"Like who?"
He starts to shake. "The X-Men. A mutant."
"No, you're not a mutant," she coos.
"But I am. My blood, it's different. I'm an anomaly. I'm strange and I don't fit anywhere."
Brushing the tips of her fingers over the jagged scar near his bottom lip, Caroline tilts his head so he is forced to look at her. There are tears in his eyes. "Klaus, you're special, not strange. And you fit here, with me."
Klaus:
His head is still pounding. It feels as though his brain is trying to leak through his ears.
Last night, Caroline and him fell asleep on the sofa. He had no nightmares, but he awoke with an inexplicable sense of dread seeping through his veins.
When he looked at his blond angel as she slept, he realised that there is something pulling them apart. Something weak, but getting stronger.
Is it age? Is it him and his stupid mistakes? Perhaps Mikael—dead, but still hurting him, still bruising his skin?
Caroline is not here now. She went home a few hours ago, making him promise that he would call if he needed anything. And he lied, saying he would do just that.
A lie, because here he is, standing with a bottle of something in his hands taken from the Salvatore's expansive liquor cabinet. His phone is somewhere he cannot see or hear it. Caroline is somewhere, willing him to get better. But he believes he is so far beyond fixable. He's already been smashed into millions upon millions of pieces. Not even dear Caroline can mend him now.
He twists the cap off the bottle and sniffs it, blanching when the acidic scent hits his nostrils. He doesn't care about that, though.
In the woods, he felt free. Even with Damon and his revolting stories. Haley and her lustful smiles. He felt free.
All he wants is to feel free again.
A/N 2: In many ways her face is more familiar to him than his own, and yet still he can never look at her enough: Not my line! I stole it from a wonderfully dark story called Run Softly, For I Speak Not Loud or Long which is a part of the Thor universe on AO3. Check it out if you like Loki.
See ya next time, guys.
-LoveIsATemple