Finn, thankfully, doesn't question your sudden arrival at his house. Though, that may have more to do with whatever Kol told him than his eternal offering to let you stay with him.

"It's good to see you," Finn says after saying your name with such warmth it almost burns you.

Everyone else has pet names for you. Finn's the only one who solely calls you by your real name.

"Thanks for letting me stay. I know it's out of the blue."

He smiles. "You are always welcome. I was just about to make lunch."

"I didn't know you cooked."

"I find myself learning," he says, "Have a seat."

You sit at his dining table, a round thing tucked underneath a large window, wooden beams above your head. Finn's home is somewhere between farmhouse-chic and a log cabin. Oak cabinets. Muddy boots on the shoe rack near the door. High ceilings and wide planked hardwood floors.

"I really do like your house, you know. It's so," you struggle for the right word for the warm walls around you and utter sense of security, "cozy."

"I've done the best I could," Finn says dryly, "It was a great effort keeping Elijah out of here."

You stiffen at the mention of Elijah. Finn notices, but doesn't say anything. (So careful with you— more careful than you deserve.)

"How much has Kol told you?"

He looks up at you from his cutting board.

"Not much, I'm afraid. My little brother prefers to play it close to the chest."

"Oh." You're silent for a moment, and then uncertainly, "Do you think he doesn't want me to tell you?"

Finn looks at you, amused.

"I think there is very little you could do to anger my brother."

Ah. You suppose that's true. Still, you keep quiet.

You want to pretend things are normal, just for a little longer.

"Anything I can do to help?" you ask, changing the subject. Finn snorts.

"You cook for us enough. Don't you ever want a day off?"

"From you? No."

You think you imagine the way Finn's ears flush. You want to make them even redder.

"Regardless," he finally says, "Take a rest from cooking. For me."

You lean back in your seat.

"If you insist."

He smiles. "Thank you."

"What are you making?" you ask.

"Rye bread and a stew my mother used to make during hunting season."

"Oh." You're not sure what to say to that. You know the Mikaelsons have a rough relationship with their mother— actually not sure if 'rough' characterizes it. 'Murderous', maybe. But you don't know the intricacies of it.

And you know the feeling of hating your mother but still using her recipes.

"I know it may seem odd," Finn says before you get a chance to say anything, "given our… history. I am unused to modern food. I wanted something that resembled what I was brought up on."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," you say quietly, "I understand."

He looks up at you briefly for a moment.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Always."

He smiles softly. "Can I interest you in anything? Tea? Wine? I'm assuming not espresso."

"You'd be right." You still shudder thinking of all the caffeine you ingested during your month with Finn. "You mentioned wine?"

Finn smiles.

He pours himself a double measure of what he serves you, something you'd protest if you weren't human and if he didn't have a vampiric tolerance. He sips it slowly. Unlike you.

"Rebekah said this was one of the best wines in Elijah's collection," he muses, "She stole it just for me. Sad thing is, I really can't tell the difference."

"What?" you say, amused, "Not a wine snob?"

"I skipped out on the period of time where my siblings' tastes evolved."

Right. It's nigh impossible for you to imagine missing nine hundred years. More impossible to imagine your siblings letting it happen.

"… Is it ever hard for you to speak to them?" you finally ask.

"You mean since Niklaus left me daggered and the others did precisely nothing about it?"

"Yeah, that."

Finn uses the blunt edge of his knife to toss cabbage in the pot, scraping harshly against the cutting board.

"Sometimes," he muses, "They did keep me company, in a way. Our dreams. Not that they remember it now."

You suppose that makes sense.

"It was easier to be angry with them before," he continues, "Before I died. Before I sided with our mother against them. When I still wanted to die. Now I am stuck in the position of being able to have my family nearly as we were."

"What do you mean?"

He levels you with an intent look.

"We all have a common goal in caring for you and keeping you safe," he says simply, like any of this is simple, "It's allowed us to put aside some of our grudges."

You laugh, not out of humor, but out of nervous instinct.

"That's a lot of pressure to put on one person."

He smiles faintly.

"I believe you're up for the task."

You hope you are. You admire his optimism.

The wine goes to your head too quickly. You twirl the stem of the glass between your fingers.

"I used to have a rule against drinking before dinner," you say. Finn quirks an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh, did you?"

"That went out the window with you guys." You pause. "So did most things, though."

He smiles wryly. "Fair enough. I narrowly avoided claiming blame for interrupting your life. All because my siblings got to you first."

"What do you think would've happened if we had met sooner?" you muse, "The only reason you first spoke to me was because of the amulet Kol gave me, right?"

Finn reluctantly nods his head. "Yes, out of paranoia from my mother. I'd like to think that I would have approached you regardless."

"Why?"

He looks at you frankly. "Your beauty is beyond measure."

You flush deeply.

"Oh, Finn."

"You may think me guilty of hyperbole, but I assure you I am not."

You take a sip from your glass, averting your gaze. "You're lucky I'm not an ego maniac."

He laughs. You watch as he putters around the kitchen, at home in his own space. You find a sense of nostalgia and warmth seep into you: an intrinsic human kindness that occurs when you see someone you love at peace.

You're glad you have him now.

Glad you have him at all.

"Kol mentioned Sage," you say hesitantly, "Why haven't you talked about her before?"

"Ah." Finn pauses for a moment, pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven. "I take it Kol was not kind in his depiction."

"… You could say that."

"Sage is the first and only person I have ever turned," he says finally, "We were in love. She was amazingly kind and quick-witted. I thought we shared similar values. Unfortunately, she took a turn after she became a vampire. Drank from people until they died. Still, nothing like my siblings— at least not that I was aware of."

"And then?"

"And then I was daggered," Finn says bitterly, "I hear she… changed. I got to see her again, briefly, before the Salvatores killed me and my line with me."

"I'm sorry," you say quietly.

He smiles, tight across the face.

"It's alright."

"Not really."

"No," he sighs, "I suppose it isn't."

"Do you miss her?"

You're worried it's too brutal a question to ask— missing someone isn't cut and dry. Sometimes it's like a vital organ is gone.

Other times it's a tumor.

Finn inhales. "I think I'll always miss her, in some way. We carry our loved ones with us, do we not?"

You think you do.

"Anyway," Finn says, breaking out of his musing, "Enough of us being depressing. You'd think we would have gotten it all out of our systems by now."

"Cheers," you say, and finish your glass. Finn pours you another.

Lunch is amazing. You don't know what kind of stew Finn made— nor does he know the name for it— but it's good all the same.

"I hand churned some butter in a jar," he says wryly, "I think I'm in mourning for my human years."

"How old were you? When you turned?"

"My dear baker," he says dryly, "Are you asking my age?"

You flush. You've gotten so used to all of them being a thousand years old that the idea of their physical ages barely crossed your mind.

"I suppose I am."

"I was nearly thirty," he says, "There's a decade between me and Rebekah."

You blink. You suppose that makes sense. Finn is the most levelheaded of the siblings— save maybe Freya, but you have less experience with her. You wonder what it feels like being both the eldest and the youngest. Finn has spent the least years on Earth, but the most human ones.

(You think those matter the most.)

After lunch, you wander aimlessly around Finn's living room.

"You look like an animal trapped in a cage," he says with no small amount of amusement.

You smile wryly. "Probably because I've been inside for a week."

He cocks his head.

"Would you like to go on a walk around the property? There's no one around for miles."

You think it says something about your friendship that that's comforting instead of threatening.

"Sure. No chance you have boots my size, right?"

Turns out, you and Freya are nearly the same size. You wiggle your toes in the extra space. Finn doesn't bother to lock the paint-chipped door after you. You follow him down a worn path leading to the woods.

"Do you come here often?"

Finn hums. "When I need to think. I bought the acreage surrounding my home so I wouldn't have to deal with humans stumbling upon me."

"How did you pay for it?"

He flashes you a mischievous grin, reminiscent of Kol.

"Niklaus has endless amounts of money and very little desire for me to guilt him for eternity."

You laugh.

"Smart. You know, one of them probably would have done it anyway."

"True," he says, "But this was more fun."

You can't argue with that.

"It's beautiful out here," you say, gazing up at the vast expanse of trees around you. The sky is slowly swallowed by leaf-less branches until you can barely see any of it at all. A self contained snow globe.

Finn hums.

"It's my escape," he says with a sigh so deep you can feel it in your bones, "You can't hear the hum of electricity. No light pollution."

It's easier to pretend. You take his hand in yours.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you," you say quietly, "but part of me is glad it did if just because it allowed us to meet."

"I suppose a thousand years is quite a gap."

"Yes," you say dryly, "It is."

You walk further along the path. Most of the forest is still asleep, tired and lazy from Winter's cold. Occasionally, a bird flits overhead.

"Trees should go into bud soon," Finn says, "then the early spring flowers: crocuses, snowdrops. Daffodils. Then it'll be time for me to plant my garden."

"What are you going to grow?"

Finn turns to you, eyes glittering. "I can show you."

Finn's greenhouse is tucked behind his house, surrounded by fir trees that shield it with their evergreen needles. It's mostly glass panes, supported by white panels with peeling paint revealing the softness of pine underneath. Mist fogs the windows. It looks worn— like a favorite sweater with holes in the cuffs.

"One of my neighbors, if I can even use that term, has been collecting heirloom seeds her entire life. She's gathered quite the collection. She deigned to share the spoils with me."

"Finn, this is…" You're at a loss for words. Myriad sprouts decorate every square inch of his work tables. There can't be less than a hundred, maybe more like two. "Where are you going to put all of these?"

He hums. "I'm not sure yet. I've been drawing up plans for a crescent garden around the house."

"Oh," you say, "Can I see?"

He shows you. He talks amiably about his plans and you get a rush of sorrow that his life has been so fraught with danger and daggers that he never got to sit back and have a simple life.

(Now, you think treacherously, it's too late to have a simple life. You're not sure if vampirism can ever be simple.)

You spend the rest of the day chatting until it's late in the night. Most of your conversations take place at night. (Maybe, you think, it feels safer there.) You go to sleep in the guest room.

Bex didn't know, you read through squinted eyes immediately upon waking, She figured out someone replaced your tea when she drank from you.

You reply back to Kol. Are you sure she's telling the truth?

Three dots pop up immediately.

Positive. Then another message, I tortured it out of her.

You snort. You better be joking.

I am. Mostly. Bex says Elijah admitted to it during an argument at your dinner.

That would explain why they got into it.

Thanks Kol, you send, I appreciate it.

He replies with a sunglasses emoji.

Well you think, staring up at the ceiling, that's that. Somehow, it would be easier if Elijah had compelled you. Easier to understand, anyway. But no, he went through the effort to replace your tea with something that tastes similar enough you didn't notice, leaving you vulnerable to others compelling or attacking you, out of what? A need for control? The off chance that there might be some emergency he absolutely needs to compel you for?

You press your palms into your eyes and groan.

You care for Elijah as much as the others, but his controlling habits grow old fast. It's a wonder his siblings haven't broken him of it. (Well, you think wryly, they all suffer from it to some extent. Maybe you should get used to it.)

Unlikely.

There's a rap at your door.

"I made breakfast," Finn says, dishtowel in his hand, "How do you feel about pancakes?"

You pull your hands off of your eyes to peer at him.

"Generally good."

"Wonderful. There's syrup on the table."

"Do you have peanut butter?" you ask hopefully. Finn's face of disgust suggests not.

You brush your teeth and get ready in clothes that aren't yours— you're not sure when you started just expecting the Mikaelsons to have wardrobes for you at their homes. Maybe you're just a leech.

You're prepared to be a leech if it means you get free breakfast food. Finn's decked out the table with a stack of pancakes nearly as tall as you, a fruit bowl with strawberries and blueberries, and a pitcher of orange juice.

"I searched, but all I found was this," Finn says, setting down a small container of almond butter, "I suspect it's Freya's."

Your forehead creases. "Won't she mind?"

"I doubt it," Finn says dryly, sitting down next to you, "She's been through worse."

"True!" You clink your glasses of together. "Cheers."

He smiles faintly. You eat together.

"May I ask what had you so upset this morning?" he asks halfway through his second stack.

You can't help the expression that flits across your face.

"Your brother," you say, stabbing an almond butter slathered bite of your pancake, "Elijah's definitely the one who took me off vervain."

Finn's knife clatters to his plate.

"You're not on vervain?"

"Didn't Kol tell you?"

Finn huffs an aggravated breath. "I think you'll find no one tells me much of anything."

"No chance I can get in on your group chat, is there?" you say dryly, "Anyway. Short version: Elijah took me off of vervain in case he, I guess, needed to compel me, was going to dagger Kol because he thought we were getting too close, and the cherry on top of all of that is that Klaus is missing."

Finn's eyebrows knit together.

"Why would Elijah be afraid of you and Kol growing close? Is that not the goal?"

"Yes, but—" you falter. It's going to take you longer than a month to become comfortable speaking about your sex life to any degree. "He didn't want us to before— before Klaus. He was afraid Klaus would get jealous and… Honestly, I don't even know. You'll have to ask him."

Finn stares at you for a moment.

"Would you like a drink?"

"It is nine am."

You have a drink. (Well, a mimosa. That's brunch appropriate, right?) Finn tops your glass off and sets it on the coffee table for you.

"Finn, have I ever told you you're my favorite?"

He gives you a wry smile before capping the bottle and putting it back in the fridge.

"I'm positive that's not just because I gave you half a bottle of champagne."

"Okay, maybe a little."

"For what it's worth," he says, joining you reclining on the couch, "I'm sorry about Elijah. I suppose we should have seen this coming. It seems he was more traumatized by what happened with Anya than I realized."

You snort. "You are all so far passed traumatized, I don't even know what to call it at this point."

Finn smiles wryly.

"I suppose you have a point."

You look up at him from where you're slouched over on the too-deep leather couch. You don't think you're going to be able to get up.

"I'm sorry you're going to have to deal with your parents again. I know you just want to get away from everything."

"Oh my dear," he sighs, brushing a stray curl out of your face, "It's not your fault. It's my birthright."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"I appreciate that."

Finn shifts to allow you to lean against his chest your head resting against his shoulder.

"Sometimes I miss when it was just us," you admit. You've had the thought before, but never said it aloud. "Everything seemed simpler." Even with your nightmares, it was bearable with him.

"Appearances can be deceiving," he says dryly. A heartbeat passes. "I miss it sometimes as well."

"Assuming we… get rid of your parents, what comes after?"

It's something you've wondered before. You love the Mikaelsons, you do. But you think there's a limit to your relationship as it stands.

You can only have dinner parties for so long.

"I think it's a certainty that my siblings will try their utmost to convince you to become a vampire," Finn says with no small amount of trepidation, "and I think it likely that one of them would turn you even if you said no."

You shiver.

"Oh."

It doesn't surprise you, not really. Bonnie's the first person to make you even think about turning. It didn't even seem like an option. (Of course, you know now that it was always in the cards. Always a possibility, if not a direct path into your future.) You're not sure if you want it or not. Not sure if you'll have a choice, if what Finn says is true.

You lick your lips.

"I want turning to be on my terms," you say firmly, "If it happens at all."

He strokes your shoulder. "Of course. It is not something to be taken lightly."

"I know," you say, squeezing his hand. "What do you want for your future?"

Finn sighs. You feel the vibrations in his chest.

"Peace," he says after a long moment, "Not having to look over my shoulder constantly."

You laugh. "Might be a bit too much to ask for with your family."

"Yes," he says dryly, "I suspect you're right." He turns to look at you. "What do you want?"

You take a moment to think. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I've been thinking more about what I want to spend my days doing. I might go back to work eventually. Nothing like before, but just a chance to get out."

"And make human friends," Finn finishes dryly.

"… And that," you say, feeling somewhat guilty but conversely knowing you're also right. "I— I think it would be very easy to let myself be consumed by all of you."

"Yes," Finn says, "I believe you're correct."

"What does peace look like for you?"

Finn hums. "I suppose I'll settle for not having our parents trying to murder us. My siblings mostly content. You coming over for dinner."

"Finn" you say, "Are you saying you're settling for me?"

He brushes his finger on your chin, tilting your head so you can see the slight smile pulls across his face.

"I would never," he says and kisses you.

(If you kiss back, that's a secret.)

((If you can't seem to stop, that's also a secret.))

Your back is still pressed against his front, his arms wrapped around you, rendering you unable to move, as he kisses you endlessly. None of them ever seem to end, fading into each other until you're warm with it.

Finn pulls back, gasping your name into the crook of your neck. He says it endlessly— like a prayer muttered hushed against your skin.

"Finn."

"We should stop," he says, eyes so bright and green you can barely stand to look in them.

"Yes," you say, out of breath, "That would probably be a good idea."

You don't stop. You can't seem to. (Finn has always had a piece of your heart, even when he was just a human, unconnected to any of this.)

You're infinitely grateful he's a Mikaelson.

Grateful you can have him.

Finn's hands form claws around your arms, afraid of his own desires but wanting them all the same.

"It's okay," you say against his lips, not quite sure what you're reassuring him of, "It's okay."

You don't know whether he believes you or not, but his iron grip loosens. He takes in a shuddering breath.

"I find myself—" he breaks off, hands pulsing on your flesh, "— wanting you quite badly."

You press yourself against him. He bites his lip, blood welling to the surface. He struggles to stop himself from grinding into you.

"You can have me."

He still holds himself back.

"Finn," you say, nearly begging, "Please."

That's all it takes for Finn to snap, sweeping you up in his arms. He lays you gently on the bed. Afraid you'll break.

You know you won't.

You tug him on top of you and roll him over until you're sitting on him. Finn lets out a little choked sound, grinding up against you like he can't help it. You bite your lip, wanting nothing more than to sink down again and again and again.

"My apologies," he manages to grit out, "I'm afraid it's been a rather long time for me."

"Really?" you say, smile curling at the edge of your lips, "Why?"

He looks up at you with his too-beautiful eyes and high cheekbones and light stubble.

"Between being dead and you, there really wasn't time for anything else."

"Me?"

Finn's head tilts back with a groan.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You smile, leaning closer to the warm heat of his neck.

"I would never," you say and press a kiss to the delicate skin. Finn breaks.

You feel rather than see him roll you over onto your back, legs splayed around him. Your skirt flips up and there's only thin cotton between you and Finn— you can't help yourself as you gasp and reel, nothing assuaging the yawning hunger in your stomach.

Finn knows it too.

"I—" he breaks off, swallowing, "May I?"

You know what he means, mouth so close to the wetness leaking out of you. Still, sometimes you feel like being cruel.

"I don't know what you mean."

He makes a gut-punched sound, a groan and a plea wrapped into one.

"Don't tease, please," he rasps, "I don't know if I can stand it."

You shiver, a full body roll. You don't answer, just lift your hips for him to pull your underwear down. He seals his mouth over your dripping wetness and sucks. You reel, body bending and coiling as the tension rackets inside you. Slick movements against your clit. You feel wild— driven to insanity by Finn's kindness and soft touches.

You want him.

"Finn," you manage to say, right before you come. It explodes in you, unexpected and unplanned for, washing you out with the tide.

Finn lets out a wounded sound as you scramble further down and unbutton his pants, wretched emptiness in you that needs to be filled.

He rasps your name as you free his cock and stroke him slowly, solid weight of him in your hand. He hunches over— wavering between getting closer and pulling away.

You can feel him twitching in your hand, driving his hips ever so gently into your loose fist. He ducks his head, nuzzling the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin. The tip of his cock brushes you on every downstroke and it's almost like he's fucking you.

You don't just want 'almost'.

"Oh, my dear," he says. He's good mannered enough to try and conceal the desperation in his voice, but not nearly talented enough to hide it completely.

You can't take any more of this.

You flip him over on the bed and Finn lets you, arms stretched out to his sides, long fingers clenching the sheets.

"I love you, you know," you say and sink down. Finn lets out what could unkindly be referred to as a wail. The warmth of his cock burns you from the inside out. You try to move. Finn catches hold of your hips before you can. He lets out a breathless laugh.

"I'm— I'm afraid I need a moment," he gasps, hands pulsing in an uneven rhythm on the fat of your hips.

You give him one.

You start with slow rocking movements that make Finn twitch underneath you. Slow kisses to his jaw that trail toward his slack mouth— too overcome with pleasure to do anything about it. You bite his lip and taste iron.

He comes quickly, the first time, with a soft cry you wish you could bottle. He never softens in you, just keeps rocking you back and forth, hands forcibly moving you hips to endless expansive joy. You come somewhere around his second orgasm, gasping.

"You can bite me," you manage to say, "if you want to."

It's unkind to say it now, you know that, when Finn's half out of his mind and you're not entirely there either.

Finn, the smarter of the two of you, slows to a stop. He catches his breath, chest rising erratically.

"Are— darling, are you sure?"

You cling to his shoulders.

"Yes."

Finn, most careful of his siblings, takes in a shaking breath and looks at you with his too-green eyes.

"I love you," he murmurs and sinks his teeth delicately into the crook of your neck.

It's strange, that something so violent can feel so loving.

Finn's cock fills you over and over and over as he slowly drinks. You feel dizzy— but from what end, you're not sure.

You orgasm, stars filling your vision. Finn follows shortly after— a gasp like a dying universe.

You come to, still laying on top of Finn, his fingers stroking your back. He's saying your name.

"Are you alright? Was that too much?"

You reach up and squeeze his wrist, hoping to stave off the anxiety you know lies dormant in Finn nearly all of the time.

"You were perfect, Finn, really."

His muscles relax.

"If you're sure."

"I am, I promise."

You prop your head up on his chest so you can look at him.

"You worry too much. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Finn laughs. "You would be entirely unsurprised to note that yes, I have been told that. On many occasion."

You smile at him, unbidden, and roll over so you're laying side by side. His eyes fall to your neck.

"You're still bleeding," he notes, note of worry his voice. He touches the wound gingerly, afraid of hurting you. He doesn't know that he couldn't if he tried.

Finn bites his thumb. "Here," he says. You suck the red droplet off his skin and feel skin knit back together, a cooling sensation that sweeps through your body and makes your nerves sing.

You reach out to brush his cheek.

"You're beautiful, you know."

Find ducks his head.

"I want you to know that I do understand things said in the heat of the moment, as you will. I will not be offended if you feel it necessary to rescind any previous declarations."

You smile softly. "Finn, are you asking me if I meant it when I said I loved you?"

His mouth opens and clicks shut before he answers. "I suppose I am."

You kiss him, the stupid stupid man.

"I meant it," you say.

Finn cracks against you, splintering and embedding himself in you to the point where no tweezers in the world could get him out.

You fall asleep in Finn's arms. You stay wrapped around him like you can shield him from the horrors of the outside world if you try hard enough.

Like he needs to be shielded.

(He does, in a way.)

You drift off to sleep, contented and warm.

The night is dark and quiet. You're not sure what wakes you— if anything at all— before you get a yawning sense of dread.

Something is pressing you into the mattress.

You think, for a moment, it's just your imagination. A night terror. The Mikaelsons are all having them; you're due for a turn. That's before you hear the quiet, low chanting. Before your eyes adjust to the dark to see someone crouched over you, hand pressed to your lower stomach.

You taste cold saltwater. Bitter and rotten sulfur.

"Freya?"

She doesn't stop chanting. You try to squirm away. Something holds you in place.

"Freya," you say again, voice rising in fear, "What are you doing?"

She doesn't answer, but falters in her chanting before starting up again. Finn is still beside you on the bed, stiff and unmoving.

You can't tell if he's breathing.

"What did you do to Finn?" you demand in a blind panic.

She doesn't answer.

"Freya please— I don't know what you're doing, but we can help you! Your family loves you— please don't do this—"

"I didn't hurt Finn," she finally says, voice strange and unnaturally raw, "I— I would never hurt him. Any of them."

You sense she's telling the truth. (Honey.)

"Okay, okay," you say and take in a shaking breath, "Why don't you tell me what you're doing."

"You wouldn't understand."

You taste the despair in her voice— the absolute knowing that nothing you do can help. You lick your lips.

"Try me."

"NO," she says forcefully— her magic echoes her, pressing you into the mattress with a jolt, "There's nothing you can do!"

You swallow around the terror in your throat, some primal fear hardcoded into your DNA. "Freya please, I promise. You don't have to do this."

"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, edge of hysteria entering her voice, "But you cannot get pregnant."

Your eyebrows knit together.

"Freya, that's not going to happen. I'm not pregnant."

"I know," she says bitterly, "But I can't let it happen. Ever."

Understanding dawns in you.

"You know about Klaus."

You can make out her nod in the moonlight.

"He came to me," she says, "I didn't know what to do."

Distantly, you're aware it's a good thing she's talking.

You can barely hear her over the rushing in your ears.

"What did you do to Klaus?"

"He's fine," she insists, "I wouldn't hurt him. He's just asleep."

"You can't do that to your family!"

"I'm trying to protect my family!" she yells, face getting close to yours, close enough you can see the sheer terror in her eyes, "You don't understand—"

The idea of parenthood makes you want to throw up. But the look of stricken terror on Freya's face doesn't fit.

Dread dips into your stomach like the world's worst IV.

"Freya, what are you talking about?"

"Dahlia. Our aunt, our mother's sister. She's the one that kept me away from my family— the one who killed my baby."

Your head spins. "Freya, I—"

She interrupts you. "She comes for the first born in every generation and raises them to be her prisoners. She's been looking for me ever since I woke up. She will do the same to your baby and worse to you."

So that's what she was afraid of. The figure in your dreams.

"Freya," you say, so softly it barely breaks the blanket of silence around you, "You don't have to do this, we can help you."

"No one can help me," she says bitterly.

"That's not true— you have all of us."

"All the witches in the world couldn't take her down. You don't stand a chance."

"That's not true," you say desperately, "There's always a way."

Freya's face is solemn as she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry. There's not." She reaches for you again and you arch out of her touch. "This won't kill you, it just renders you infertile."

"Why are you doing this to me? What about Klaus?"

Her mouth forms a thin line.

"I'm working on him. Now hush."

You suck in a breath to scream. But then a gust of wind rushes over you and Freya is thrown from your body.

No, you realize, not wind. Finn.

"What?" Freya gasps, "How did you—"

"I've spent enough time in comas for them to have any real meaning anymore," Finn says, voice hard, "Sorry, sister."

"Finn—" Her voice wavers, raw and hurt. "I wasn't—"

"It doesn't matter. You are going to free Niklaus and we will wait for the others to get here."

Freya looks up at him.

"And then what?"

Finn stares back. "And then you will explain everything you've been hiding."

Yes this chapter took forever but it is also like 6000 words. Trade offs.