Klaus Mikaelson hadn't had a good night of sleep since the 1920s, and this night would be no different.

After the twentieth century, the world had become so very loud. Yet, nothing could ever be louder than the nightmares haunting Klaus' mind every night. And not even death could be as deafening silent as the suffocating regret building in his chest every time Klaus woke up from his nightmares.

Klaus crawled out of bed, his heart clawing at his chest. He stumbled to the side room, the second safest room in the house. He planned to use it as a painting study some day, but with all the with the traveling, he never got around to it. So the room was still empty, and having only white walls and a few windows, it was the perfect place for him to hide from his night terrors. Klaus still glanced around at the shadows in his room to make sure nothing hid within them. He felt childish doing so, but his nightmares always made him feel like a boy, lost in the woods, begging his father to come rescue him from the monsters in the shadows.

But now, after a thousand years, his own father was the monster Klaus feared.

Breathing heavily, he sat under the nearest window, pressing his back against the cold wall. In the night's darkness, the white paint on the walls tried to reflect the city lights coming from the window. But not even the morning sun had enough light to kill all the shadows in Klaus's mind.

With his trembling fingers, he took out the golden arm-ring he had around his wrist. Sighing, he closed his fist around it. Mikael had given Klaus the arm-ring the last time they saw each other. It was an unusual gift, but one Klaus should have received many centuries before, as a sign of his transition from boy to man. He had dreamt about receiving his own arm-ring since he could barely understand the stories his father told him. But, with Viking culture dead, the arm-ring had no practical societal use–no one but very dedicated a historian would understand its meaning. The only practically useful quality of the arm-ring was its magical powers, which Klaus could never really understand. Still, it was Klaus' most cherished possession.

As he pressed the relic against his chest, staring at the distant wall in front of him, Klaus could feel the magic of the arm-ring pulling him closer to his father.

"Another nightmare, my boy?" Mikael's voice echoed sweetly through the room. An astral projection of Mikael had magically appeared besides Klaus.

Klaus sighed, fearful relief making his chest heavy. "Hello, father." he said, a small smile on his lips as he turned to face Mikael.

"You know, my boy, I do love our conversations…" Mikael said, smiling while he stared at the wall in front of them. "But…" he glance at Klaus, his smile fading despite his best efforts. "Maybe you should talk to your siblings too…" he said, trying to keep his voice casual as he turned his attention to the cup of beer in his hand. "They were always better at talking than I am. We both know I'm not so good with my words, boy…" he sighed, his voice unsteady and far from casual.

"You seem talkative enough for me, father." Klaus said, shrugging his fears away. "More than usual." he added, guilt making his heart twist in his chest. The mention of his siblings was the last thing he needed.

"Yes, well…" he said, scratching the back of his head. "I just don't think I'm the best person to… well, you know…" he sighed, leaning his head against the white wall and waving his hand. "Besides… I've heard Elijah is on his own. But I assumed…." he swallowed, the next words came out of his mouth slowly, as though he was afraid to say them out loud. "Finn, Kol and Rebekah are… still with you…" he glanced at Klaus, his eyes analyzing his son's every move. "Maybe you can talk to them for a bit? After you tire of me, that is…" Mikael smiled halfheartedly, his eyes still fixed on his son's face, as though something in the way Klaus exhaled could be a clue to finding where he hid the coffins.

Klaus' heart sank into the hollowness of his chest. "My siblings are preoccupied at the moment, father…" he said, swallowing his guilt. "They have matters to attend." he added, biting his tongue.

What else could he say? The last thing Klaus wanted was to make his father hate him even more. Not now that he had gotten so used to talking to Mikael again…. not now that Klaus could finally pretend, for a few hours, that his father did not hate him… Klaus couldn't bear not lose his father again, not when this version of Mikael was as kind as the Mikael who Klaus remember from his golden childhood years.

"Oh… is that so?" Mikael said, barely contained anger ringing in his voice. "Hmm… you know, my boy, you could tell me the truth." He said slowly, forcing his voice to sound as calm as he could manage. Mikael sighed, trying to smile as he turned to face his son.

Klaus avoided his father's gaze, staring at the wall as though his life depended on it. Perhaps it did. Mikael was desperate. Klaus knew it. He also knew his father had not believed the rumors about him keeping his siblings in coffins. But now, things had changed. His father's tearful and desperate gaze cut through Klaus's bones. He could hear it in Mikael's voice. His father was begging him for the truth. If Klaus hadn't taken a minute to calm down after his nightmare, if Mikael had been there as soon as Klaus woke up…. He would have said the truth. But now, Klaus could already think somewhat clearly. So the truth stick to his throat like poison ivy, and the truthful words died long before they could reach his lips.

"There's nothing else to say." Klaus muttered, so low Mikael would not have heard him without his vampire hearing.

Mikael scoffed, staring at the same spot on the wall as before. "Just once… just one bloody time, Klaus…." he sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "You could tell me the truth, boy… just once…" With a bitter laugh stuck in his throat, Mikael took his cup to his lips, hoping once he could see the bottom of the cup everything would be better.

Klaus glance at his father, straightening his back. He pressed his head against the wall, fidgeting with his arm-ring. His mind fell into chaos trying to find something to say that would, if not completely satisfy Mikael's desperation, at least prevent him from being angry with Klaus.

Mikael rarely asked questions or pried for information on Klaus's whereabouts. Although Klaus sometimes asked about Mikael's current location, which his father seemed always more or less comfortable to give out. But they had an unspoken understanding that their meetings were cut off from reality. For a few moments, whenever one of them needed and "called" for the other, they would pretend nothing bad ever happened. For as long as their conversation lasted, Klaus and Mikael could be father and son again, as they were before tragedy, with no mentions of betrayals, deaths, and heartbreak. They were both always aware of it. The pain and misery was underneath their every word. But they were not supposed to talk about, not directly at least. They could never talk of it… or else the spell—the sweet make-believe they had built—it would be broken beyond repair.

"I see you are busy…" Klaus said bitterly, nodding at the cup of beer in his father's hand. "We don't need to talk… It's fine by me." He lied and his mouth went dry. Klaus desperately wanted to speak with his father. His nightmare had triggered too many memories and emotions. He would go mad thinking about them if Mikael left him alone.

Klaus was never one to run away from danger or dangerous topics. But everything regarding Mikael was a different matter. Klaus would rather give up on their precious conversation if it meant they would not get into a fight. If they so much as nodded to their reality, the safety of the dream that was their conversations would be lost forever. He had to preserve the dream.

"No, no." Mikael said, promptly putting his cup down. "It's fine, my boy. Let's talk." he shook his head and took a deep breath, as though he was pushing his rage back in its cage. "I want to. I really do, my boy." he added, looking at his son with his kindest smile.

"Alright," Klaus said, a bright smile on his lips. "So… what are you celebrating, Father?" he half shrugged, nodding to his father's cup again. He wanted to pretend their conversation did not mean as much to him as it truly did.

"I'm being held hostage and being forced to celebrate my fucking birthday. There might even be a bloody cake…" Mikael said, chuckling as he gazed at the wall again. "Wanna come see?" he said, turning to his son, his kind smile still playing on his lips. "Might help you get your mind off whatever you dreamt about, my boy…"

With his father's hopeful eyes almost shrinking his soul, Klaus nodded. A jealousy fueled anger boiled in his stomach, clouding his best attempts to stay reasonable. Sighing, Klaus allowed the magic of his arm-ring sent an astral projection of himself to the place Mikael was celebrating his birthday.

Klaus Mikaelson found himself in a crowded bar. The bright light hurt his eyes for the briefest of moments. Mikael sat across from Klaus with a wide smile. Their table was far from the bar, in the corner, beside a window and away from most of the loud chattering. The old wooden table had cracks and some bad drawings carved on it that would seem distasteful to a priest. Mikael had his ridiculously large cup of beer, now only half full, in front of him. But he also had another, smaller cup for shots, which he refilled, with one of the few still half full bottles he had over the table. He pushed aside the empty bottles and waved his hand, asking for more bottles, as soon as Klaus turned away to glance at the bar.

"Where is this?" Klaus asked, looking around, his eager eyes taking in the familiar surroundings. Curiosity had quieted down his anger just in time for a young blonde bartender to catch his eye. "The Estates?" he said, but already had his answer once he glanced at the bar. Klaus had great days drinking there in the 1890s.

"You hide every time you wish to talk to me so I won't see as much as a blank wall," Mikael said, a half smile on his face, his voice full of fake seriousness. "But I must tell you where the hell I am? How is that fair, my boy?" Mikael chuckled, his voice light and playful.

It was clearly a jest. Mikael never really cared if Klaus knew where he was. Besides, Klaus had already figured out where they were: The Rousseau's. Klaus' favorite bar in New Orleans. Yet, knowing his father was only joking did not make his words anger him any less.

"I haven't been hunting you down for a thousand years with the sole aim of carving a stake in your heart and kill you, father…" Klaus spitted out, looking down at his hands. "So forgive me for taking precautions against the man whose only purpose on this earth is to make me cease to exist!" he said, his cheeks red with anger. Yet he regretted his words as soon as they flew off his tongue. He lowered his head, hoping his father would ignore the forbidden topic Klaus had brought up in his fit of rage.

"I'm in your city." Mikael said, taking a sip of his cup. Looking down, all traces of a smile gone from his face, and only a faint shame lighting his features, he looked much older. "But I know you're smart, my boy. And I know you had that figured out already." Mikael said with a small smile as he raised his gaze to Klaus. "New Orleans. Marcel is running the place. He's… doing well."

"I can see that." Klaus scoffed, looking around again. He had known Marcel survived the 1914 fire for some years now. But Klaus always avoided thinking about his old friend, a man he once saw as a brother. The memories hurt too much, and besides, Marcel never looked for Klaus, so why should he bother? Klaus sighed, moving his attention away from his father's words and letting his eyes wander through the bar. But watching the festivities did nothing to better his mood.

"So it's your birthday then, father." Klaus spitted the words, losing control of his anger once again. "Funny… you now see fit to celebrate it with strangers… But you always yelled at me for trying to craft a gift for you when I was a boy…"

Niklaus had truly wished to avoid fighting with his father. But keeping his temper in check and pretending everything was alright had been so much easier in his poorly lit room. In The Rousseau's, amidst all the noise, the chaos, the crowd, and with Mikael saying all the wrong things, letting reality pierce the dream… Klaus truly couldn't help himself. Rage was the only emotion he was comfortable with most days.

"Only because I'd much rather your gift to me was a promise that you'd stop stealing my bloody knives, boy." Mikael said, with a weak chuckle. But the seriousness in his voice was not as fake this time. "I mean hell, Niklaus! I lost count of how many times I almost went mad thinking I'd find you dead with one of my knives stuck in your eye!" he managed a nervous laughed, but only barely. The subject made him clearly uncomfortable, but, as stubborn as ever, Mikael seemed determined to make it sound as lightly as it could.

"It's probably not as many times as you shamed me for my 'useless art', as you liked to call it…" Klaus said, bitterly swallowing the foul taste the words left in his mouth. Gods, how Klaus wished he were physically in the bar with Mikael. The mere thought of it terrified him, of course, but at least then he could drink his sorrows away, like Mikael was trying to do.

"I wouldn't have a problem with your art if it didn't involve dangerous weapons…" Mikael replied, looking down, the words jumping out of his mouth. He tried to smile, desperate to make his words sound less harsh than they truly were. "If you weren't so bloody reckless, Niklaus…" he muttered to himself, looking down and swallowing his smile. But he had not meant to say it out loud. His eyes shot up in a mild shock once he heard his voice.

"I only wanted to give you a present…" Klaus said, choking on his own voice. The next words jumped out of his mouth, anger and misery pushing them out faster than he could stop them. "I was a child, for god's sake! All you had to do was to be my father! Even then…. you hated me… I was always a disappointment to you, weren't I?"

"No. You–you weren't a disappointment, boy. I didn't–I really never–hate–I just–Everything—I just…" Mikael said, running over the words as though he would die before he finished speaking them. "I know, my boy. I know… you only wanted to give me a gift… But knives, Niklaus, you were a child playing with knives! I… I just worried…" he sighed, a bitter laugh stuck in his throat again. "I know–I know I wasn't always a good father–I know––I've never wanted to hurt–That's not why–It's not why I'm looking for you–I know–I really should have done–I should have said something before. But I–you to know–you must know–I loved y–." his voice died before he could finish, just as Mikael had dreaded. His trembling hands reached for the cups and bottles, anything he could find to make his mind numb.

Klaus stared at his father. His goal to not fight with Mikael had long slipped out of his mind. If he was still trying to keep the peace and keep reality from interfering with their conversation, Klaus knew the smart thing was to leave. Right then. If he simply let go of his arm-ring, he would be back in his empty room. If Klaus left, he could talk to his father in a few days again, and pretend nothing had happened. All their bickering so far might have stirred his temper, but it would be nothing compared to what could come next. Mikael was so very close to mentioning the most forbidden subject of their conversations: his hunt. In his fit of rage, Klaus had mentioned it earlier, almost without noticing–even if he had cursed himself for talking about it. But it was different when Mikael did. He had wisely avoided the subject when Klaus brought it up earlier. But now he had opened the can of worms, and unless both of them walked away from it, there would be no turning back.

Now, Klaus barely had his rage and paranoia to keep company to his misery. His father's words had burned out almost all of his anger, leaving too much sorrow behind. He stared at Mikael, unable to look away as his father swallowed every drop of alcohol he could find on their table. With his eyes silently begging his father to say more, Klaus waited. His mouth was half open, and his heart drumming in his chest. He waited, and waited, but not even his desperate heart could avoid his father's silence.

"Is that all you have to say, father?" his voice trembled with every word, no matter how much effort he put on making his voice steady. There was no use. His lips trembled, the rage and sorrow boiling in his chest threatened to push tears out of his eyes. But Klaus kept staring at Mikael, still hoping…

"It doesn't matter." Mikael said with a broken voice while he avoided meeting his son's eyes. "It doesn't matter what I say… It won't change a thing…" he scoffed, his hands shaking as he fidgeted with his empty glass. "None of this matters. It's just a dream. You won't believe me. If I told you the truth about everything, you wouldn't even believe me…" Mikael laughed bitterly, glancing up at Klaus, his eyes begging his son to forget his words. "Even if I told you everything you want to hear, Niklaus… you'd never even believe me…" he lowered his eyes again, shaking his head and covering his trembling lips with his hand. "Even… even if you believed I still care for you… what difference would that make now, son?"

Something inside Klaus Mikaelson broke. It was rage, or maybe pain, who broke it. But it ended broken all the same, and it took all the drops of fear Klaus had in his heart. If this were to be their last conversation… then so be it.

"Would you believe me if I did the same?" Klaus asked, anger shaking his voice. "If I told you a truth you wanted to hear, would you believe me?" He looked into his father's eyes, holding back tears.

Mikael swallowed his own tears. "If you can tell me something true, my son," he said, looking up and smiling, his kindest smile. "If you can do that, my darling boy, I'll believe you in a heartbeat."

His father's tender gaze made his heart shrink. With bitter tears running down his face, Klaus thought of a thousand truths he could scream at his father. "I hate you, I've always hated you!" was among the top three truths. But there were others. Some were even more bitter, almost none entirely true: "I wish I was never born."

"I wished I had killed you instead of mother."

"I wish you could just kill me already and be done with it. I hate you for the hope you give me every time you talk to me."

"I know you hate me. That's the only truth. I know you lie. You pity your poor bastard son. And I know it's because you're a bastard too, father."

So many half-truths. Klaus knew it. If he said any of them out loud, it would still be a lie. He could not lie to Mikael. Not now.

"I…" Klaus closed his eyes and swallowed his tears. "I miss you, father…" he said, using all his courage to look up and meet his father's gaze.

Mikael smiled, his eyes shining. "I miss you too, Niklaus." He said, looking away before tears rolled down his cheeks. "I miss you, my boy…" he sighed, cleaning his face with his hand, and tapping his fingers on his glass. "So bloody much, my boy…" he laughed, turning to face Klaus with a broken smile and covering his mouth with his hand.

"Father…" Klaus opened his mouth, tears blinding his vision. "I…"

"I'll fix it some day." Mikael blurted out, letting his hand fall down, as close to Klaus' as he could manage. "Everything will be alright someday… I'll fix it. I promise, my boy, I promise I will… I just need you to—." he shook his head, pushing away tears. "Never mind that. I just need you to know that I–." He lowered his head, his voice had failed him again. "Niklaus, I–."

"I know, father." Klaus said, with the steadiest voice he could manage with trembling lips. "I know." he smiled, reaching for his father's hand. It was a thoughtless act. They could not touch each other. But, gods, all Klaus wanted was a hug from his father… still, staring at Mikael, while they both smiled, was still better than crying himself to sleep.

A loud beeping noise brought both Mikael and Klaus back to the empty white room. Klaus' alarm clock. It was time to get back to reality.

"I'm sorry. I need to–."

"It's alright." Mikael smiled, glancing at his son. "My son is a busy man. I understand." he shrugged with a grin. "You shouldn't waste your time with me... and," Mikael sighed, looking around the room. "I should get back to that bloody part, anyway… Although," he turned back to Klaus, a fake matter-of-fact look on his face. "You really must know that it wasn't my choice to have a party. Like I said–I was forced–practically kidnapped… Held against my will!" Mikael said, with his silliest voice, waving his hands and doing his best to carve a smile out of his son.

It worked. "I can see that…" Klaus laughed for the first time in weeks. "You seem to be in genuine distress, father…" he said, a wide grin on his face. His nightmares were long forgotten.

"I truly am…." Mikael said, holding back a chuckle. "But, anyway, I won't keep you, then." He added, turning to leave.

"Father?" Klaus called, his voice almost breaking.

"Yes?" Mikael glanced back, smiling.

"Happy birthday." Klaus couldn't smile, but he looked at Mikael, hoping his eyes would tell his father what his words could not.

Mikael stared at him, a different smile on his lips. "Thank you, son." He waved goodbye, throwing one last tender look at Klaus before disappearing into the thin air.

As usual, Klaus sat there, staring at the place his father had occupied beside him just moments ago. He blinked his tears away, fidgeting with his arm-ring. Most days, Klaus couldn't be sure if his conversations with Mikael were real. In fact, he was never truly sure of it once Mikael had left. It felt like a dream... why would it be anything else? Perhaps illusion was the true power of his cursed arm-ring.

But Klaus Mikaelson never allowed himself to think of such things. He could never have that luxury, not until his werewolf curse had been broken.

Whenever Klaus allowed himself to think briefly on such matters, however, he liked to think the arm-ring confirmed his favorite theory about Mikael's madness and his hunt for Klaus. In this theory, someone—an evil witch, most likely—had cursed Mikael into hunting down his children. To Klaus, Mikael's curse hid his love for his children, locking it away and preventing him from being their father. Of course, in his mind, his father's curse was also somehow connected to the curse binding Klaus' werewolf side, preventing him from becoming a true hybrid... Wouldn't it be such a sweet fairy tale ending, if Klaus, after freeing himself, also freed Mikael?

It was Klaus's best way to justify, and explain, his desperation to break his curse. And it was one of the few fairy tale lies Klaus still believed. This sweet lie had saved his life too many times for him not to believe it.

"Gods," Klaus prayed quietly, watching the first light pierce through the window. "Please let this be real…" he begged in a broken voice, hugging his knees. "Let me be right... just this once... let me be right. Let me have my father back..."

He waited for the sun to raise in its full glory, drowning the room with light. Only then he stood up and got on with his day. Mikael was right, after all. Klaus had a lot to do. He had a doppelgänger to find and a thousand year old curse to break. After the curse was broken... If Klaus was right... then he and Mikael could drink together with all the Mikaelsons... someday...

Mikael promised everything would be alright. Even if it all had been a fever dream, a hallucination Klaus made up to feel better after his nightmares... even then, Mikael promised. Klaus knew not even Death could force his father to break a promise.