Contains non-sexual age regression. A simple one-shot that I may add to at some point. I had this idea rattling around my brain for awhile. Following the death of Davina, Marcel slipped into a depression that he was unable to climb out of. As he couldn't, he never would've been able to stop the witches from killing Hope and Hayley for good. Leaving Klaus alone, at least he thinks.

I just couldn't shake the idea of Marcel regressing to cope with his pain and Klaus falling into daddy (or more accurately, papa) mode to deal with his own.

Fair warning: there is mention of suicidal thoughts and implied attempted suicide here. As well as mention of canon/semi-canon character death, though it's not shown.

Marcel regresses a little younger than I usually write him, but he has really been through it here. And we all know that Klaus will never miss an opportunity to baby the hell out of him.

Anyway, please let me know what you think. This wouldn't be a traditional verse, but maybe I'd add to it here and there should anyone be interested. As always, feel free to leave prompts or ask me questions! I am on Tumblr and love communicating on there, as well as in the comments!

Klaus hasn't slept in 4 days. Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees that awful day in the church. Hayley held down to the slab of concrete as she delivers the baby. The witches taking out the last bit of hope he clung tightly to. Then the woman who began to bring the family together. Elijah won't speak to him.

"I...let this person in. I let her in. I don't let people in. You knew this, and you've taken her from me. I needed her and you've broken me."

He's truly lost everything that mattered to him. What even is the point in trying to be good when this is where it gets him? Alone. A shattered heart.

Once being the original hybrid felt comforting. He doesn't require a daylight ring. It takes more than your average stake to get rid of him.

More than anything, he wishes he could easily take off a stupid piece of jewelry or find a plank of wood. End every bit of pain he feels in his soul.

Deep coughing pulls him from his trance as he walks mindlessly throughout the mansion. Rebekah has split her time between tending to both brothers. Today, she's with Elijah. Cami's stopped by but Klaus holds her at arm's length. All he brings is threats and harm. He lost Hayley and his daughter. Losing her would perhaps push him over the edge. He checked in with his Mystic Falls contacts to ensure that Caroline is safe.

How did he ever wish to have her in New Orleans? That'd only bring her harm. It's best she stays with the Salvatores and Gilberts. They'll protect her in a way he never could. Sure, they have their own enemies. Alas, they never seem as dangerous as him.

That only leaves one other person. Klaus doesn't bother knocking as he pushes his way into Marcel's room. He hasn't seen the man for weeks now. Wrapped in his own grief of losing his daughter, he's holed up far away. Klaus checked up on him at first but soon his attention went to Hayley and the baby.

His grief mixes with guilt when he finds his son curled up in a ball on his bed. His skin has developed a greyish hue. Klaus drops beside him and gently turns him over. Marcel fights back but his body is frail. Some of his muscles have dissipated. Klaus' eyes widen as he takes in his sunken cheeks and all the venom slipping from his forehead.

"No," he whispers breathlessly.

"Leave," Marcel moans.

"No," Klaus repeats, allowing some ferocity to his voice.

He sits Marcel up a bit and forces him against his chest. A quick bite to his wrist causes some blood to drip down. Marcel ducks his head. Klaus holds his wrist to his mouth.

"Drink," he commands. Marcel shakes his head furiously. Klaus growls. "Marcellus Mikaelson."

It's the first time he's regarded himself in over a century. Marcel changed his last name during their time apart. Hearing him referred to as "Marcel Gerard" broke every bit of Klaus' soul. He wouldn't even go by "Marcellus" anymore. Klaus gave him the name. A home. A life. He was once his.

He expects Marcel to argue against it. The few times he's referred to him as "Marcellus" have led to scoffs and eye rolls. Proclamations that he is no longer that little boy who hung onto his father's every word.

Instead, Marcel merely whines. Klaus holds the wrist closer to his lips.

"I have lost enough in the past days," he growls. Sadness creeps across Marcel's eyes. Klaus frowns. "Drink for Papa."

The words slip out before he can help it. Marcel teeth dig into his skin as he begins to drink. Klaus loosens a bit and cradles the back of his head.

"Yes, that's my good warrior."

Marcel regains his beautiful complexion fairly quick. Klaus feels the muscles shift in his skin. The original hybrid blood works fast as it adds the soft fat back to his cheeks. Not exactly the baby fat he had in his early teens, but healthily plump nonetheless. Klaus lets out a small sigh of relief.

He doesn't pull away until he's sure Marcel is full. The venom is long gone, but the sadness and grief remain. Klaus continues to cradle his head as one would a newborn.

"I am so sorry," he whispers. Marcel whimpers. "I have been so wrapped up in my own battle…my own grief…" Klaus swallows, ducking his head. "I did not think of what you were going through."

Marcel doesn't respond. He simply keeps his wide eyes locked with his. Klaus puts his free hand on his chin.

"No more," he vows.

"In the days after I fled this city, I thought you were dead. It was years before I could speak so keenly, did I feel that loss. I'm sorry."

In that moment following Davina's death, he held his sobbing son and bared his soul. He made a promise to be there. One he swiftly broke in the name of his own problems. He forgot all about the grieving man that lived in his home. The one that mere minutes ago was on the brink of starvation.

He nearly lost yet another member of his family. Another person he cared for with the little heart that remains within.

"Papa," Marcel whispers, his voice weak.

Klaus lets out a choked sob. Marcel hasn't called him that since the early 1900s.

"Papa's here," Klaus promises. He links arm under his knees and gently rocks him. "Papa's right here."

Marcel rests his head against his chest. Klaus kisses his temple. He whispers soft nonsense of comfort, unsure of what he's really saying. After about 5 minutes, Klaus watches as Marcel's fingers enter his mouth. He continues the rocking as his brain spins.

The man sucked his thumb after Klaus saved him back in the 1800s. Elijah said it was a horrid habit that they needed to nip in the bud. Klaus indulged it. The boy had been through far too much. Eventually, Elijah's influence won out. Klaus secretly resented his brother for taking away something that kept Marcel so young, so innocent.

Now, it's not just his thumb. It's his index and middle as well. He makes little noises as he sucks on them. His ring and pinky wrap around his chin.

Klaus sits there for an hour rocking his son. Marcel eventually drifts off to sleep, his fingers still in his mouth. Klaus exhales through his nose. He kisses the top of his head.

"Papa will be right back," he promises the sleeping boy.

He pulls back the covers and lays Marcel against the bottom sheet. The man fusses a bit. Klaus rubs his tummy until he settles once more. He pulls the top sheet and duvet over him.

"Sleep well. Papa shall return."

Klaus escapes up to the attic. He rummages through a few trunks. There isn't much he can take from Marcel's younger years. A stuffed frog that Klaus picked up from the market and a few books. He turns to the trunk from Marcel's adulthood with the family. Klaus tried in vain to keep him as young as possible. Usually, the most he could get away with were the pajamas with blocky stripes. The only pairs that remain are the ones with dark stripes against cream coloring. Klaus is surprised to find they are still in great condition. A bit more digging finds him lightweight cotton sleeveless and short leg underwear. At the time it looked almost like a romper. Most men were drifting towards the new wrestler boxers, but Marcel still wore the romper, by his own choosing.

He's halfway down the stairs when he hears cries echoing from Marcel's wing. Klaus vamps there. Marcel is wiggling in bed, kicking his legs. He's no longer sucking on his fingers but his face is frantic. Klaus deposits his findings to the top of the dresser. He vamps to Marcel's bed and sits by his head, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Marcel relaxes a bit once he sees his papa.

"Shhh, shhh, my little warrior," he coos. "You're alright."

"Gone," Marcel whines.

"I know, I'm sorry." Klaus manages a smile. "Papa went to get you some jammies. Something better than these yucky clothes. These jeans can't be very comfy."

Marcel whimpers. His fingers go back in his mouth. Klaus rubs his tummy.

"Papa shall get you in a bath. Then we can worry about all that."

Marcel holds up his arms. Klaus scoops him up. Once again, he cradles the back of his head. He keeps him as close as possible as he carries him to the ensuite.

"Shut those eyes," he instructs. "There's about to be a bit of light."

Marcel buries his head in his shoulder. Klaus flickers on the overhead. He shifts Marcel to his hip as they cross to the tub. Klaus fiddles with the handles until he feels the right temperature coming out.

He turns his focus to getting Marcel dressed. It proves difficult with how the man insists on keeping some sort of grip on him. Klaus has to gently pry his fingers away. Marcel whines and pouts. Eventually, Klaus redirects the fingers back to his mouth.

"You can't very well take a bath in these clothes," Klaus gently reprimands. "You need to let me put you down for a minute."

"Mean," Marcel makes out from behind his fingers.

"Meanest papa alive," Klaus agrees, only half in jest.

He manages to get him ready for his best and deposits him into the tub. Marcel relaxes beneath the warm water. Klaus is unable to locate bubbles, so he focuses on getting him clean. The bath brush is lathered up with the cocoa butter body wash. Just as when he was young, water seems to be what calms him.

"I am so sorry," Klaus says yet again. "I should have paid better attention."

Marcel shrugs. "I'm sorry too," he whispers. "The baby…"

Klaus shakes his head. He clears his throat. "We shall not talk about that."

"But…"

"Marcel." Klaus' voice turns sharp. His son shrinks back a bit. Klaus sighs, pausing the bath brush. "Little Warrior, please. Let us not discuss that. That is a very grown-up matter."

Proving he is not himself, Marcel nods. Klaus pats his cheek and goes back to cleaning him. Marcel leans against the porcelain tub.

"I am going to be better," Klaus vows as he moves down to his stomach. "The papa you need. I will not let you go again."

Marcel's lip quivers. "I ran away."

"If you try that again, I shall follow. Though, I hope you stay."

Marcel hesitates then nods. "Uncle 'Lijah…mad…"

"He shall find a way to move on. We all will."

It's not that easy, but Klaus isn't about to say all that.

Marcel allows his papa to clean him everywhere then rinse him off. Once they're done, Klaus wraps him up in a towel. He digs through the cabinets and locates some lotion. Klaus carries him into the bedroom and lays him back on the bed. Marcel clings to the towel and rubs it against his cheek. Klaus starts off with the lotion on his legs and feet. He gently tickles the soles of his feet. That earns him a small giggle but it quickly melts away. Klaus' stomach aches off the pained look on his little boy's face.

He rubs the lotion on every inch of his body, taking special care on his bottom before moving up his back and shoulders. Marcel relaxes a bit as he gets his face. He tilts his head when Klaus grabs the undergarments and clothes.

"Papa will get you dressed."

The undergarment snaps into place and fit snugly on Marcel. For a moment, Klaus debates leaving him like that. He looks so young, sucking on his fingers and kicking his legs a little. A slight chill comes over the room. Klaus will bring them to his where a fire is lit.

He dresses Marcel into the pajamas and is soon glad he did. He looks even more like a toddler. Klaus never knew him as such, but he will always envision him as such.

Klaus holds up the frog. Marcel's eyes light up and he makes grabby hands for it. Klaus tucks it into his grasp. Marcel hugs it tight with the hand that's not bringing his mouth comfort. Klaus watches him for a moment. His big, bad warrior sucking his fingers, kicking his legs and snuggling a stuffed animal.

"Come to Papa," he coos.

He lifts him back into his grip and carries him out of the room. The halls are empty as he walks down to the master bedroom. He settles on the bed and keeps Marcel in his grasp. Klaus wraps a dark blue throw around him and nestles him into the crook of his arm.

"I love you, my sweet warrior," Klaus whispers.

Marcel gazes up at him with sleepy eyes. He drops his slobbery fingers and grips onto Klaus' v-neck. "Don't leave me," he begs.

Klaus shakes his head. "Never," he vows. "It's you and I. Always and forever."

Marcel's breath shifts. Klaus reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the worn copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. He's tried to do a reread for months now, but life would not allow it. Klaus manages to balance holding his son and reading aloud. Perhaps not the best bedtime story, but it's how he taught him to read centuries ago. The dysfunctional tales brought some comfort to Marcel's already crazy world.

His son's fingers return to his fingers as he snuggles against his papa and clings to him. Klaus isn't naïve enough to believe that the grief is gone for either of them. They will hang onto it for the foreseeable future. Perhaps forever.

Alas, Marcel needs his papa. Klaus needs him, perhaps even more.