The others come back within an hour, sans father. Marcel steps out as soon as they arrive, either hoping to avoid them or eavesdropping right outside the door.
You're not actually sure.
"How could you have let him escape!"
"Oh, and you would have done better," Rebekah spits.
"Yes! I would have, as a matter of fact!"
"Then why weren't you there?" she demands, "Or is it because you ran scared like a kicked puppy!"
Elijah intervenes before Klaus can throw a table at his sister.
"That's enough," he proclaims, "Our parents are difficult enough adversaries without adding infighting to the mix."
Klaus snarls. "Fine," he says, "Then perhaps you'll answer what the devil she is doing here!"
Bonnie looks decidedly unamused.
"Miss Bennett," Elijah says, straightening, "Is doing us an extraordinary favor in outlooking our past relationship and helping us rid the world of our parents."
"Oh is she?" Klaus sneers, "And what is the young witch asking in return?"
Elijah opens his mouth to answer. Bonnie cuts him off.
"I want an apology," she says, hands folded placidly behind her back, "From each of you."
There's a pause before Klaus laughs. Desperation tinges the edges.
"Are you joking?" he demands, circling her until he stands staring down at her, violence in his breath, "I assume you are, because I'm sure you know the likelihood of prying an apology out of our mouths rivals the chance that's the only thing you want."
Kol coughs.
"I may have promised a… grimoire or two," Kol tacks on.
"More like thousand," Rebekah mutters.
Klaus looks like he wants to strangle his little brother even more than usual.
"The Armory is already bound by a Bennett witch. It's hers already," Kol argues, "So no need to get your panties in a twist."
"Oh boy," you sigh.
"I am not apologizing to—"
"I can wait," Bonnie drawls, folding her arms, "I have all day. How much time do you have? That is, without my help?"
Klaus grinds his teeth. He looks like he'd rather grind them down to nothing than give Bonnie what she wants. They sit in silent stalemate, Klaus too furious to attempt the imperious slant to his expression he usually wears around his enemies. Bonnie wears the expression better.
She, at least, has leverage.
You wonder how long Klaus would stand there like that, unwilling to give any leeway even when it comes to his murderous parents.
He's lucky his family is more sensible.
Elijah steps forward.
"I am truly sorry for my betrayal and my actions surrounding the sacrifice," the righteous Mikaelson says. You wonder how he can sound so genuine. You wonder if he is. "There is little excuse I could offer."
Bonnie accepts his and steps down the line.
"Sorry for trying to kill baby Gilbert," Kol says cheerfully, "If it helps, my heart wasn't in it."
Rebekah is silent for a moment when it gets to her.
"Sorry for whatever I did to you."
"And Elena," Bonnie prompts.
Rebekah rolls her eyes.
"And Elena."
The words sound like they pain her.
Klaus remains silent for long enough you start to wonder if he's even going to speak at all, damn the consequences.
You wouldn't put it past him.
Eventually, he does. Insincere as it may be.
"I am so terribly sorry for all the havoc my family has brought into your life," he drawls, "I know how anxious you must be for us to leave your life."
You're the only one who can see Bonnie's fists clench behind her back. You feel your own tighten as she steps to Finn.
Bonnie cuts Finn off before he can speak.
"I actually wanted to apologize to you. I'm sorry for my part in killing you. You didn't deserve it, even if your siblings did."
Finn tilts his head, face unreadable.
"Thank you," he says simply and Bonnie nods.
You blink as Bonnie's fists uncurl. You wonder how long she had felt guilty about that.
(Maybe you've been harsher on her than you should have.)
"So," you say, "Is that it?"
"Yep," Bonnie says, placated, "I got what I wanted."
"Does that mean I can keep the Armory?" Kol asks. She shoots him a glare.
"What's our plan?" you ask, "Do we even have one?"
"Oh yes," Elijah says, eyes glimmering, "We have one."
You don't get to know the entirety of whatever plan the Mikaelsons have cooked up. Too long to explain. What you do know is this: others are coming. Marcel agreed to help in return for uncontested control of New Orleans. (That, you suspect, is a promise they will renege on. A problem for the future.) The Salvatores and Co. eventually agreed if only to get the Mikaelsons out of their hair and the promise of an armory full of magical artifacts.
Of coures, the fact that all vampires would perish with the death of the Mikaelson family helped aid things along.
However, that doesn't mean everyone gets along. Elijah's apartment is too small with so many Mikaelsons in it. Fuses run short, if they exist at all.
They rarely do with the Mikaelsons. (And that's without adding in their former enemies turned allies. You're not looking forward to the clash of personalities that entails.)
You're not sure what happened while you were asleep. So much has changed. You can't have been asleep too terribly long, you know that. Twelve hours. Maybe less.
And yet the bickering and planning that preceded your kidnapping is suspiciously not there. None of them could iron out an agreement on a single aspect, let alone a coherent plan that included terrible, terrible things like 'compromise'.
(What changed?)
"Our dearest sister should stay hidden for as long as possible—" Kol says, knocking you out of your thoughts.
"Absolutely not," Klaus counters, "We should strike first and fast. Freya is integral to that."
You think of Mikael at your doorstep.
"I don't think your parents know she's alive," you interject, "Your father at least had no idea."
"Then it's smarter to save her for later," Kol argues, "Wait for them to tire themselves."
Klaus bares his teeth. "This is why you lost the Franco-Prussian war."
"Don't bring that into this!"
Bonnie snorts from her place sprawled on the sofa. You can't find it in yourself to admonish her.
"You are both forgetting another important aspect," Elijah interrupts, "Dahlia is stronger than both our parents. She could be a weapon."
Behind him, Freya tenses.
"You do not want to bring our Aunt into this fight," Freya warns in a low voice that barely shakes, to her credit, "She is stronger than you could imagine."
"Then she may work to our advantage. There is no love lost between our mother and her sister."
"It is too risky a wager," Freya insists, "I won't do it."
Kol shifts in his chair. "… It may be too late for that."
The others turn to look at him.
"What do you mean by that, Kol?" Klaus asks, "I'm sure you didn't do anything stupid without telling us, did you Kol?"
"Nothing stupid, no," he answers airily.
"Did you or did you not contact Dahlia?"
"Define 'contact'."
"You idiot!"
Kol narrowly misses getting strangled by his brother. Again. Elijah jumps out of his seat while Rebekah cackles, lounging in hers.
You think you're the only one who sees the unconsolable terror on Freya's face.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Klaus demands.
Kol coughs, dancing out of range.
"I know perfectly well what I've done," he says, "Do you?"
Klaus just snarls.
"What's done is done," Elijah says grimly, "We shall have to live with it."
Freya balks.
"Is that so?" she says, voice wet. You choke on the taste of soap. Saltwater and lye. "It sounds to me like you all don't have as much to lose as I do."
She storms out of the apartment.
Finn calls after her. "Freya—"
The door slams behind her, untouched.
"Well done guys," Bonnie says dryly, "What a team you have here."
Kol gives her a grin that's more of an excuse to show his teeth than anything friendly.
"Well," you say in the dustless and silent living room, "I'm going to make tea."
You end up heating water in the modern electric kettle sitting in Elijah's cupboard. Kol slinks out of his confrontation to keep you company. Sometimes you wish you had vampire hearing.
"What if she doesn't come back?" you say without raising your eyes. You feel his body heat as he drapes himself over the sink next to you, turning the faucet on.
"She will," he says.
"You don't know that."
"Sure I do. I'm a genius."
You scowl at him. "Still, that wasn't particularly nice of you."
"No," he says, just below the volume of the rushing water, "It wouldn't be, would it?"
You look at him, forehead wrinkled.
"What do you—" A flash of understanding. The brat. " Dahlia doesn't know, does she?"
Kol grins, a quick show of teeth.
"Not yet," he says, "But now they'll plan around her arrival."
Thoughts whirl in your head.
Mostly, they center around Freya.
"How are you even going to contact her?" you hiss, "They shouldn't rely on her coming!"
He shrugs. "It never hurts to be prepared."
"Kol!"
"Shh," he hushes, looking back at the closed door between you and his siblings.
"You don't even know where she is— there's no way to contact her."
"True," Kol acknowledges, "But I suspect she keeps an eye on the news."
"You mean 'hope'."
He shrugs. "Semantics."
"What did you do?" you demand, "Publish an article called 'Hey Aunt Dahlia, I know we've never met, but do you want to come kidnap my sister'?"
"Of course not," Kol says, affronted, "I put it in classifieds."
You groan, well above the volume buffer offered by the running tap.
"And I put it in Old Norse," Kol says with no small amount of satisfaction, "That should be enough to warrant her attention. They publish in two days time."
"You're an idiot."
He laughs, mischief brightening his eyes for a brief moment before sobering.
"You need not worry, we'll take care of you."
You sigh and take the kettle off as it starts its long high-pitched wail.
"It's not me I'm worried about," you say grimly.
Kol doesn't respond.
"Do you really think it'll help? Dahlia being there?" you venture to ask.
Kol shrugs.
"I don't know. But I know that we'll have to get rid of her eventually. We may as well now."
"It's kind of you to do that for your sister."
He hums and his fingers find themselves pressed into the fat of your hips, warm and loving.
"I'm not entirely doing it for her."
The others take their tea while still arguing. You perch yourself on the arm of the sofa next to Bonnie. She waves off the tea when you offer it.
"Do they do this a lot?" she asks.
"What? Arguing or planning how to kill their parents?"
She grimaces. "Touché."
"Still," you say, "I suppose it's happened at least twice. Just statistically."
Bonnie mutters something under her breath.
"Speaking of," Klaus interrupts, eyes alight on Bonnie, "When are your friends coming?"
She doesn't attempt to smile.
"Soon."
"Or," Klaus draws out, "Perhaps they've reneged on their promises. While their self preservation is lacking, I expected them to do more to keep their pretty little Elena safe and alive."
You expect Bonnie to lash out at the obvious threat. Instead she just bristles, jaw tightening.
"They'll be here."
"Such a pity that they're descended from me, out of all my siblings," Klaus says, smiling maliciously, "That must grate terribly."
"You're not our biggest problem anymore Klaus," Bonnie says, "Face it: you've been declawed."
Klaus's face turns stormy. You bite back the laugh bubbling in your throat.
There's a knock at the door.
"Oh look," Bonnie says dryly as it opens, "They came."
Damon and Stefan look equally unhappy to be there.
"What?" Rebekah drawls, "No Elena? Pity."
"I'm here," a voice you haven't heard before says. The Salvatore brothers turn like a lightning strike.
"What are you doing here?" Damon demands.
The girl who must be Elena gives him an even look. "You thought I was going to let my friends fight without me?"
You can hear his teeth grinding from here.
"Elena," Klaus greets, "Brave of you to come."
"Or stupid."
"Damon," Stefan sighs, "Let it go. She's here now."
"Yes, Damon," Klaus says with a grin, "Sit."
Whatever tension that was already brewing in the apartment only increases with the Salvatores' presences. And Elena. The doppelgänger.
She's younger than you expected. Too young.
You realize with a tilting feeling you don't know most of what Klaus has done to her and her friends. Beyond murder and fire. You wonder if there's worse.
(You wonder if it reflects on you that you couldn't muster up the empathy or care for the girl until she was in front of you.)
She catches you examining her, watches you in return with big dark eyes.
Elena doesn't approach you, nor you her. Stefan volleys a cool, concerned glance at you before retuning his attention to larger matters.
Damon perfunctorily ignores you.
Marcel returns with friends in tow. A lot of them. You don't recognize any of the horde— unsure if you met any of them in your sleep-deprived trip to New Orleans. Not sure if they would remember you regardless. Elijah's apartment grows until it's full to bursting. You sit tucked away in the corner, watching silently. Your tea went cold a while ago, unwilling to get up to reheat the kettle. The noise and tension starts to get to you, stressing your already tense nerves.
Finn, no surprise, can tell.
"Come," he says, swinging a winter coat over your shoulders, "Let's go on a blood run."
You smile at him gratefully as he leads you toward the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Klaus interjects.
"Quick errand," Finn replies for you, "This many vampires is a recipe for hunger."
Klaus smiles mockingly, slope of his nose catching the light. The Salvatores watch carefully, eyes bright, at the tennis match. Marcel's people do not bother to disguise their interest.
"Yes, all good and true, but that does not explain why you need her?"
"Klaus," you reassure him, "I'll be fine."
He snorts.
"Were you or were you not just kidnapped? Now is not the time to give yourself up as a bartering chip."
It stings to hear Klaus speak of you so callously.
(You know, though, he doesn't mean it. A show for the others' benefits.)
(He has to show he's king, after all.)
"She'll be fine," Finn says calmly, "I will protect her."
Klaus opens his mouth to argue, stopped by the weight of Elijah's hand on his shoulder.
"Fine," he says stiffly after a long moment, "Hurry back."
Finn's presence is a satisfying weight at your back as you leave into the cold night.
"So," a vampire you don't know the name of says at Marcel's side, "Who's the chick?"
The door clicks shut before you can hear the response.
"Thanks," you say to Finn once you're out on the sidewalk, Elijah's apartment glittering several stories above your heads.
Finn smiles at you and presses a scarf around your neck, tying it in the front and tucking it into your coat. Wool softens against your neck.
"It seemed you needed an escape."
You look up at him into his warm green and hazel eyes and kiss him, hand fisted in the lapels of his coat. His mouth is warm against yours, lips soft. His hand comes up to curl itself in your hair.
"What was that for?" he asks, soft breath warming your face.
You look up at him and think about him holding you. Think about him rescuing you from the spell.
(He's seen you at your worst.)
You want to ask. You can't bear to. Not yet.
The car is already warm, parked in the heated garage next door. You click your seatbelt into place.
"Are we really going to go steal blood?"
Finn sighs and puts the car in reverse.
"Unfortunately," he rumbles, "I recognize it is distasteful."
"It's just…" you trail off, "Don't people need it?"
"Yes," he says grimly, "But it is still better than the alternative."
You think of the apartment full of vampires. You haven't considered vampires a threat to you in a long, long time. (At least, not the vampires you associate with.)
It's odd to remember that they live off your lifeblood. That they could take it if they wished.
You've grown comfortable in the loving embrace of the Mikaelsons.
The drive is quiet and still against the throbbing of your temples. The blood bank is not too terribly far away. Just a far enough trip to calm your nerves before getting anxious about something entirely new.
"How are we supposed to break in without getting arrested? There are cameras everywhere."
Finn unbuckles his seatbelt.
"Normally," he says, stepping out of the car, "I have less to worry about. Vampire speed is too quick for modern cameras to pick it up easily. At least, without slowing it down. Since you are with me—" He pulls a bundle of light blue fabric out of the trunk— "These should suffice."
"Finn," you say, "Why do you have nurse's scrubs?"
He just shrugs which would be much more worrying from any of his other siblings.
Your teeth chatter as you put them on over your clothes, shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat the instant you can. It's still cold during the nights, winter clinging to the earth with as much strength as it can muster.
Finn hands you a surgical mask and covers his face with his own.
"Ready?" he asks.
You nod trepidatiously.
You don't like the idea of breaking into a blood bank— stealing from the sick. But, you think grimly, desperate times. There are too many vampires huddled in Elijah's lair, too many clashing personalities. You don't want to add hunger to the mix.
You're guessing that's Finn's line of reasoning as well.
Finn carefully picks the lock to the janitorial door on the side of the building. It's darker there. Less chance of anyone catching you. The building closed at 7, hours ago, so there's hopefully no one in the building.
You're not sure who would willing work at midnight.
"What if there's someone here?" you ask anyway.
You can't see Finn's mouth, covered by the mask, but you can tell he's smiling by the way his eyes crinkle.
"Hope they're not on vervain," he rumbles, "If not: run."
"Good plan."
The blood bank looks more like an office than a hospital. You're glad. You don't think you could put up with the sickly clean smell and dry air. Not now.
It's always too cold in hospitals.
A chill runs up your spine.
"What happened when I was asleep?" you ask, "You guys got an army together so quickly. I didn't think that many people would…"
"Would help?"
You flush. "Yeah. Even if you gave them their all their hearts' desires."
Finn sighs.
"It was tricky. Especially because of Niklaus, in all honesty. He did not make things easy."
That doesn't surprise you.
"I'm guessing Elijah did a lot of it."
"As always. Elijah is naturally gifted with persuasive abilities. Rounds out Niklaus's sharp edges. But he also had help from Kol."
"Kol?"
Finn hums. "Yes. It's surprising, really."
"Why?"
"Kol, historically, has always run from our father. Apart from me, he was the most excluded from the family after our human lives ended. Before now, he wouldn't lift a finger to help Niklaus."
"Why now?"
Finn looks at you wryly.
"I don't think you need me to answer that question."
Finn turns away just as heat rises to your face. Kind of him. He stops in front of a metal door and pulls out an ID card.
"Where did you get that?"
He shrugs.
"We come here a lot."
The door beeps as it unlocks. Finn holds the door open for you.
Tall coolers with glass doors line the wall, neatly organized dividers full of pouches with dark red liquid inside.
"Here," Finn says, "Could you hold this for me?"
He hands you a cardboard box and starts taking a few bags from each section.
"What if they don't have enough?" you worry.
"We never take more than we have to," Finn answers, "Elijah has artificially inflated the amount of blood this area receives to make up for whatever we might steal."
"Oh." Your shoulders relax some. "That's good."
"Some of us try to do as least harm as possible," he says dryly.
"I know," you say quietly.
"It can be difficult to remember," Finn sighs, "Bloodthirsty as we are."
"I don't think you're bloodthirsty."
He smiles, anemic. "You should."
You remember the deal Mikael offered you.
"Do you really think your father would let the rest of you run free if he killed Klaus?"
Finn pauses for a moment.
"It's hard to say," he says eventually, "I think he would let us go at first. But sooner or later, he would track us down and murder us. He's been hunting Niklaus for a thousand years. I don't think he knows another way to live."
"… What do you think is going to happen?" you ask, "With everything."
He puts the last few blood bags in the box and takes it out of your arms.
"In all honesty," he says, "I don't know."
You follow him back to the car, box of blood in tow.
You stay in your scrubs for the drive back, unwilling to switch into your normal clothes and expose yourself to the cold night air. Your coat stays firmly wrapped around you.
The streetlamps pass you by, receding behind you like stars. A glow trail telling where you've been.
You make a wish.
(You want your loved ones to be safe. Their enemies to not hurt them. Selfishly, you want them to escape any consequence for their wrong doings as long as it means they're safe and yours.)
"What are you thinking about?" Finn asks.
You turn to him.
A flash of his eyes appear. A bucket. Linoleum. An IV. You wonder how long these flashes will follow you, seeping from your head.
"How did you wake me?" you ask, "When I was asleep."
The blinker clicks as Finn changes lanes.
"I confessed to you that due to the extent of my time spent daggered," he finally says, "I gained the ability to communicate with others who were in similar sleep."
You remember.
Your eyebrows knit together.
"Does that mean…"
"Yes," Finn says quietly, "Daggering was a much faster way of putting me in that kind of limbo. I did not want to waste Freya's strength."
Oh, Finn.
"You didn't have to do that for me, there had to have been another way."
He glances at you through the rearview mirror, sight smile on his lips.
"Perhaps. Your safety was my only concern. Even if my siblings deigned to let me rot, I knew you would come to my rescue."
You take his hand and squeeze it.
"Always," you promise.
The star-like streetlights filter into the car, bouncing off the sheen of Finn's hair, the length of his eyelashes. You think of him in the hospital room, you festering in your bed.
"How much did you see?" you venture to ask. Finn pointedly looks at the road.
"Enough," he says with a long breath, "I did not share anything with the others, if that is part of your concern."
"I know," you assure him, even if part of you was uncertain until this very second, "I know."
"But it did worry you."
"Yes," you say after a breath, "I don't—" You falter. "I don't like the idea of the others seeing. Or what they might do with that information."
Finn hums in agreement.
"Neither do I," he shares, "I suspect your parents would be dead before the day's end."
"Yes," you say, "I think so too."
You try to weigh the thought. A world without your parents in it, old and feeble as they are. You don't have a scale large enough.
(You think even if they were dead, it wouldn't have a difference. You would still be damaged and they still would never ever admit that it's because of them.)
Finn pulls into the parking garage under Elijah's apartment building and parts. The two of you linger in the car a moment longer, knowing the chaos the two of you will return to.
You take his hand.
"I love you."
He squeezes.
"I love you, my dear."
You take the elevator up.
The apartment is emptier than it was last, save for one addition.
"Freya," you say.
Salt and lime slither down your throat. Explode on your tongue.
"Good, you're back," she says, "Let's get to business."
Yes this took forever. My bad.