"Tick tock, I should hear chanting by now."

Bonnie stares at the strange hand and the strange mouth, which is moving rapidly. No sound. She is not in the dark dirty alley but inside another mansion, another lavish residence. Boots. The hybrid's heavy boots she can hear clearly on the marble behind her and the stranger's ice blue eyes peering up at her from where he hung in chains, battered and bruised, from the ceiling.

TICK. TOCK.

Her ears are RINGINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. Blood? Where was the blood from? She can still feel the beating of the wings and the sting of the pecking at her skin. Her arms are covered in blood, staining her costume crimson. And Feathers, so many feathers, black feathers everywhere, feathers clouding her vision, hovering mid-air.

Grams just showed me this. You're gonna love it. You Ready? A confused brunette concentrates on Bonnie as she levitates feathers. Everything Grams told me is true. I'm a witch.

The tentative hand brushes her shoulder. Vampire. She shoots up abruptly from squatting on the alley floor, flicks her wrist, snapping his neck, his corpse flying, carried by a gust of wind, crashing into a crowded daiquiri stand across the street.

It is time to fucking run.

Her feet kick up feathers as she bails down the opposite end of the alley, away from the stranger, away from death, away from the disorientation of memory.

"I'm still studying the unlinking spell. It's not that easy. Especially under duress." She says to a menacing hybrid.

The red mouth stretches cruelly, "You have been warned. If you're looking for a way to send for help, I will kill anyone who comes to your rescue."

Pulse loud in her throat, she runs for Bourbon, colliding into a group of masked revelers, who drunkenly stumbled off the beaten path into the dank alley. Five of them. Lifting up masks. All smiles. At first. One, two, three, four, five smiles. Her hearing hasn't acclimated to voices yet, just the phantom flapping of crows. They are all wide-eyed and disturbed, their brows crinkled into question marks, standing shoulder to shoulder, preventing her from moving out of the alley, and they seem to be hiding a sixth person in the midst, a girl in a dirty white night gown, her head is shaved, and under the luminescent street light Bonnie can see the purple bruises of bite marks all over her.

They might as well had come with pitchforks for Bonnie.

The mish mosh of witches, women and men, they were the likes of their coven, of their ancestral neighborhoods, the ones belonging to the five covens of the five young witches that Marcel mutilated.

Smiles fade to reveal their vengeance. The pain first starts at her temples. Rolling migraines. Her spine on fire as she convulses from each searing blow of their magic.

A beautiful older woman, same butterscotch skin and mossy green eyes as Bonnie emerges in the cloud of pain. Bonnie sits with her at her breakfast table in a warm bungalow, the morning light shining on them both. "Now that you know what you are," the older woman asks, "What do you plan to do with it?"

She does not need to hear them or be a lip reader to know what they yell out, what they accuse her of as ten palms aim towards her, their magic flattening her to the concrete.

She stutters out Antoinette's name, her insides searing. She just needed them to speak to Antoinette, to quiet them so she could explain, make them understand.

Blood runs from her nose and mouth.

"This is the spell, I just don't know if I'm strong enough "She said, rising from the leather chesterfield, nervous that the hybrid will hurt yet another person she loves. And the hybrid following her closely, "Then you should have a little more faith in yourself, Bonnie.

Limbs heavy and burning, she forces one hand off the ground, stretching it out towards them.

Somnum!

Five fall. Their bodies collapsing, limbs crumpling on top of one another, their faces frozen in horror.

A forced coma. A trapping of their selves in a frozen state. She didn't kill them. She just wanted them to stop hurting her.

Bonnie, exhausted, rolls on to her back, her exhalations rapid and thin. She sees from the corner of her eye, a skittish ghost, the witch in the night gown nervous and aghast at the sight of her kin. The witch rocks back and forth, rubbing her arms, spitting questions at Bonnie, and Bonnie weakly tries to rise, attempts to calm down the witch and let her know despite how things looked, she was really on their side. But before Bonnie is able to croak out an apology, the witch lunges for Bonnie, pinning Bonnie down with her knees, crushing Bonnie's arms, sticking the knife she had hidden in that nightgown deep into Bonnie's ribs.

Frantic, but trapped, tears seep out the edges of Bonnie's eyes. Each breath, the blade tearing at her organs, she mouths without a voice at the raging witch. Go to sleep.

The witch's crazed eyes glaze over, her shaven head lolls backward, and her sinewy frame slumps and falls sideways off of Bonnie's battered body.

Convulsing from tears of relief, she winces, gripping the handle of the knife, the athame is embedded so deep into Bonnie's side that the intricately carved ivory handle is the only piece visible.

"We could have been on the shores of the south Pacific right now. But here you are, stabbed in an alley, "He tuts his tongue disapprovingly, making light of the dark, staring down at the frightening sight that is Bonnie Bennett, "You know love, if you still have the idea of helping the New Orleans witches, then I hope this altercation elucidates for you that they maybe do not want your help."

She would laugh. She would laugh from fucking pure joy, at the sound of his voice, if the reflex didn't kill her.

She can hear. She can hear Klaus clearly.

A weak crooked smile passes across her beautiful face.

A calm rolls over her, at the sight and sound of him. When he caresses her face, she presses her cheek firm into his cold palm. "On three, my love, "He says to her, his eyes yellow and glowing, and he deftly and swiftly removes the knife before the count, and when she screams, he clasps his open wrist over her open mouth for her to drink.

His blood roils inside of her and she vomits it back up, blood spattering in his face. "Well that is interesting, "He remarks, smiling down at her cradled in his arms, his jaunty tone not quite matching the alarm darkening his face.

Words require too much of what is left of her. But she manages to get out.

Knife.

Magic.

Won't close.

"Very well," He says, as if that was that, as if there were no use crying over spoiled milk, scooping her up, gripping her tightly, the gash of her side pressed closed against him, embracing her close to his chest, getting ready to take her to god knows where.

But someone arrives. Someone who dared to come down the damn alley with all the bodies and the blood and dead birds. Someone Klaus is not pleased to see.

The someone speaks. And Klaus orders, "If you care about her so much then you will do as I say. You will shut up and bring your piece of shit around immediately."

BKBKBK

Damon barrels the Camaro across town, peering into his rearview mirror, disbelieving the backseat image filling the glass.

The leather of the backseat is slippery with witch blood, as Bonnie lays prostrate across the span of the seat, her head in Klaus's lap, the scent of her blood pungent and intoxicating the small space of the vehicle, making both vampire's fangs ache and elongate.

"I love your costume," Klaus jokes, smiling down at her slack face, "You are a stunning Cleopatra," he remarks, engaging her, trying to keep her with him, to buy them time, to perform a miracle.

Damon yells out for directions. Klaus tells him to cross the bridge.

Bonnie crinkles her forehead, barely nudging her head in Klaus's lap toward the driver.

"Nobody." He answers, his hand covered in her blood and glued to her wound to stop the blood from flowing so freely, its futile he knows, but he has never so felt helpless, the feeling is completely foreign to him.

"She snapped my neck," Damon says to Klaus without taking his eyes off the road.

"Good." Klaus responds, brushing Bonnie's dark hair from her brow, locking his gaze on the intensity in her green eyes slowly begin to fade, "We should be there already. Drive faster."

Damon yells, "I don't know where I'm fucking going."

Bonnie gently, closes her eyes.

"No," Klaus protests, shaking her desperately, "No, Bonnie, wake up, baby, you cannot go to sleep, sleep is death, stay awake." He repeats over and over for her to wake, the aplomb he displayed for her benefit gone, the fear he was disguising now taking over his body and mind.

He calls out to her to come back to him until her eyes flash open.

Damon glances up in the rearview to see Klaus kissing Bonnie's blood-caked forehead and rocking her tenderly.

"I am going to tell you a story to keep you awake, okay my love? But you have to stay with me, "He orders, listening to her shallow breath but strong heartbeat, "You have to use every bit of life you have left to stay here with me and by the time my story is over, you will be healed, safe and surrounded by people you love."

Klaus meets Damon's gaze in the mirror when he says the last line.

And burying his nose into his lover's hair, he deeply inhales her scent, relaxes and begins, "Once upon a time, there lived, a very selfish Lord, who had a cold and vicious heart, who wanted nothing more than to be crowned King. The lord had tried all of his usual tricks to become King, but he made no progress, for no one wanted to be around a Lord, with a cold and vicious heart. But eager for clarity and power, the Lord went to see the oracle, who told him that the kingdom would be his, if he could convince the most powerful witch of the land to deem him worthy of the crown. And this was deeply upsetting to the Lord, because you see, this witch was the kindest and most loving witch and did not like the Lord. She detested him. And with good reason. He was rotten. Especially to her."

Klaus pauses, looking up at the blur of highway lights, and his reflection in the passenger side window. "But nevertheless, the lord went to the see the witch and requested she crown him as King, and as expected, she denied him and told him to never bother her again. Undeterred, he went back two more times, and each time she denied him, and answered the same. Defeated and angry, the Lord went back to see the oracle who told him to try one more time, but this time she told him to bring a gift. But the Lord could not think of any gift that he could offer the witch that she would accept as him being a cold and vicious Lord. So, he cloaked his face and body in a disguise, and this time, when he went to the witch, she greeted him warmly and invited him in, embraced him as a friend and listened to him intently. And when he presented his gift, a promise it was, a promise to always protect her and be loyal to her until time ceased, the witch was so moved, for she believed the gift was a promise from his disguise. And when the cloaked Lord asked her if she would crown him a king, she did not hesitate to magically place the crown on his head."

The car stops. They are over the bridge and Damon has pulled over. He turns around slowly, looking down at the limp body in Klaus's arms. "She's not breathing."

"Follow me," Klaus orders, opening the car door and picking up Bonnie into his arms, "There is still a heartbeat.