22. hoppípolla
title: hoppípolla
chapters: 4/6
fandom: the vampire diaries
character/pairing: klaus/caroline, tyler/caroline, damon/elena, matt/elena, hints of rebekah/stefan, stefan+caroline+damon, klaus+stefan, rebekah+caroline, bonnie
rating: t
word count: ~8800
summary: "Do you remember what I told you, the night of the ball? The world's going to need some of that light after I'm done with him." Klaus looks up at the setting sun and with one breath, blows it out.
previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3
flesh and bone telephone, of the sexy stebekahs and heart-stopping klarolines: read her, you must. also, it's her cousin's (belated) birthday! EVERYONE HOLLA.
anyway. this chapter sucks, i was sleep-deprived, been struggling with it for days etc etc. ye have been warned.
(props to candicemorgans on tumblr for being the only one to notice where the chapter titles are from, lol)
(also, why is this so long?)
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hoppípolla
iv
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"Well." Stefan leans back against the brick wall, one hand in his pocket and the other dangling over the railing. The night blinks bright lights up at them and from this view, this penthouse view, Stefan sees Paris in a way he never has before. "That went well."
"Shut up, Stefan," Klaus says simply, too tired to threaten and definitely too tired to growl. He takes a sip of his Bourbon instead. "That's new. The cigarettes."
Stefan tilts his head back and blows a curled wisp of smoke into the night air. "Smoke rings," he explains placidly. "Passes the time."
Klaus grants him a smile, but only a brief one. "Hope you're not passing it on to anybody?"
"Caroline's doing fine on her own," Stefan chuckles, but it dies down in his throat soon after. He joins Klaus, slouched at the railings, and flicks his cigarette over the edge. Their eyes follow the butt glowing orange in its descent, before disappearing altogether into the dark.
"Surprised you haven't told her yet," Stefan says (sheepishly, begrudgingly) after a beat or two.
"I'm surprised you haven't, either," Klaus replies.
Stefan pushes away from the railing and walks to the center of the balcony, hands alternating between being borrowed in his pocket or dangling uselessly at his sides. The chaise lounge chair, he realizes, is like the one at home. How similar Rebekah and Caroline's tastes are. He turns back to Klaus. "You owed me."
"And now you owe me. Is that all there is to it?" Klaus finishes off the last of his drink. "I owe you something, you owe me something. How many more times do we need to owe each other for you to admit it?"
"Admit what?"
"You asked for a favour and I said yes." Klaus is still looking out into the distance. "Because that's what mates do."
Mates. Friends. Brothers. Next Klaus will be saying he's going to move in with them. Stefan won't quite know how to respond to that.
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circa 2012.
There's something about 4:39am that reminds Caroline of daddy-not dad, the one with the Stepford smiles and the one-happy-family-at-home pretenses and the starch plaid shirts, but daddy, the one who stays at home and makes her ice-cream breakfasts in bed, the one who wears sauce-stained t-shirts with holes in the neck, the one who'd read story after story after story to her when she can't sleep at night. He'd tell her of how Sleeping Beauty helped her Prince Charming slay the dragon, how Belle was the one who'd pushed Gaston off of the Beast; how Little Red Riding Hood was best friends with the wolf. He'd rock her in his lap and whisper some obscure poem in her ear, over and over again like a crackly broken record in the backdrop of her yellow room.
As she grew older, and as Liz never came back until after 10pm on a good day and as dad never came back at all, the stories became fewer and sparser in between, and with changes to them. Starting with how Sleeping Beauty wasn't at all interested in knowing her birthright, and then how Belle ran home after being released by the beast and never set foot in the forest again, and Little Red disappeared altogether.
The day he left, he took all her fairytales with him and told her to stay safe, be good, keep a level head on your shoulders; listen to Liz. Shortly after that, vampires came to town. Suddenly everything made sense, but that still didn't stop her from wanting to throw herself on her bed and weep when she'd seen how empty her bookshelf looked.
Two years later, with her bookshelf laden with picture frames and cheer trophies and miscellaneous little knick knacks instead, Caroline opens her eyes at 4:39am on a Saturday morning at almost the exact same moment Klaus does.
It's still dark out (a mix of dusty dark blues and swirly greys), and she can smell rain. Not the light rain that comes with unexpected surprises, but the heavy, pounding rain that only makes you want to curl up on the windowsill and reflect the day away. Listener, be not frightened, sings from a dusty corner of her mind as she trails her eyes back to Klaus-so young, with an almost child-like quality to the quirk of his brows in the obscenely early hour. They don't do anything, just stare at each other with the heavy-lidded eyes of morning-hers expectant, his wary.
She can almost hear the rumble of a voice close to her ear, a whisper of, I and the werewolf, side by side. She reaches a hand out to touch him, and she's not surprised when his eyes widen just the slightest bit as her finger traces his jaw line. "You're still here."
"That's because you haven't kicked me out yet," he replies, voice just as soft. There's something about 4:39am that makes one whisper their words into the pillows, hunch their shoulders into the warm covers, their feet tangling in the blankets but never in each others.
Caroline moves closer, and this time Klaus' arms are ready. On the small of her back they feel steady and strong, and she tries not to think of another pair of arms as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He smells like ash and nutmeg and crushed mint leaves, and somehow it works. She breathes in again, thinking of red leaves and new parchment and apple cider, and decides that he smells like autumn. "Won't Rebekah be wondering where you are?"
Klaus chuckles against her hair. "I think she's preoccupied with that busboy of hers at the moment."
Caroline refrains from rolling her eyes. Rebekah had spent the last week droning on and on (and on) about how petty he was, all strong cheek bones and Michelangelo arms but absolutely empty of substance; how he never called back, how he always forgot dates-and yet she drops everything with no reservations when Matt swings by with a daisy (Rebekah thinks roses are overrated and they make her sneeze) and pistachio macaroons, topped with a half-assed garble of apologies.
"Of course, she doesn't seem to realize that that boy is only interested in the doppelganger," Klaus continues, and Caroline stiffens at the venom in his voice. He sighs; rubbing soothing circles into her back, and says: "Did you really think I don't notice these things?" She pulls back to look at him, into his impassive eyes as he continues, "Because I do."
Caroline bites her lower lip-she knows where this is headed.
He brushes his lip against her soft lashes. "Morning's coming soon." Tyler's coming back soon.
"It always does." I always knew he would.
Klaus lets out another long, slow breath. Counts the light dusting of freckles on her nose, the one no one's allowed to see because she covers them with foundation the minute the sun peeks out over the horizon. "What are you going to do today?" What happens now?
Caroline puts her hand on his cheek, brushes across the stubble on his jaw. She can see him trying not to give in to it, but his eyes close anyway. She takes a deep breath and puts her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close.
Her lips move against his the way only certain first kisses do-softly, sweetly, and he tastes the way he smells. She's about to pull away but his hands keep her in place, deepens until she can feel his tongue skirting (almost shyly) against her own, until she starts leaning into it as well, until her hand starts roaming the expanse of his chest, until she's completely forgotten about the way he smells because the way he's kissing her now-it's a whole new experience altogether.
Klaus peppers her jaw with butterfly kisses as she pulls away, and it burns away; a keepsake in the back of her mind. She grazes a finger across his lips, red from kissing, and when she looks up at him one last time there's a hint of resignation in his eyes. It feels like a goodbye.
listener, be not frightened,
i and the wolf together,
side by side, through the long, long night,
hid from the awful weather
-j. b. taylor
"Well, this is awkward," Damon announces, spearing his ravioli with his fork and chewing it with gusto. Three sets of eyes-Rebekah's, Stefan's and Caroline's-turn sharply to him, but all he does is set his napkin down, prim and proper, and asks Klaus to pass the salt, yo.
Stefan stabs at his food, his fork scraping across the porcelain plate mimicking his chagrin. And as if Damon isn't bad enough with his impromptu, completely without being pre-discussed birthday present-
("Rebekah!" Damon exclaims upon seeing her, and pulls her in for an exaggerated air-kiss (or three). "Heard it was your birthday. Totally got you something." And he whips a package from behind his back, winking all the way.
Klaus sits back (mildly amused) and Caroline rolls her eyes (not amused at all), and Rebekah cautiously peels back the tape to the crudely-wrapped present to unearth (to Stefan's horror) a hot pink t-shirt proclaiming DANGER: TOXIC SEXINESS across the boob area and in the back, with font just as loud and garish, MAY RESULT IN: DEATH.
He then proceeded to prod and jostle and push Rebekah into throwing it over the burgundy Oscar de la Renta dress she had on, and she's too bewildered to protest when Damon gets exasperated and pulls it on for her.
Really, Stefan would have thrown Damon off the sky-high, revolving restaurant had Caroline not stabbed his thigh under the table with her butter knife.)
-Caroline's refusing to look at Klaus at all, instead snatching up the salt from Damon when Klaus complimented her appearance, humming the theme song to Friends under her breath when Rebekah muttered about the shortcomings of Italian restaurants, and slurping up her spaghetti like a child in retaliation to Stefan nudging her shin (none too gently) under the table.
Every so often Klaus would find excuses to touch Caroline-a subtle graze of fingers as he passes whatever condiment she's demanded from Damon; helping her adjust the napkin on her thigh. She ignores him steadfastly, and her wineglass remains empty because the bottle is next to Klaus' plate, and she's too stubborn to talk to him directly.
After a while, Stefan gives up.
Stefan's mouth is saying "Caroline, would you like some more wine?" but his eyes are screaming At the very least look at him, Caroline.
Caroline's mouth is saying "Yes, please-what a saint you are to offer, Stefan", but her eyes are screaming Bite me.
Damon just frowns, waving his fork at them. "Why are you talking weird?", and Rebekah sighs, "Why are we having dinner with these imbeciles if we're to be ignored?" (and just about three hundred variations of that, including but not limited to) "You've got sauce on your chin, Damon-oh no, it's just your chin", "This is the worst birthday ever", and "I wanted Jambon Blanc." and Klaus (with his face set like stone) snaps, "Rebekah-a word."
He and Rebekah push back from the table (Rebekah jerks the bottle of wine away from Caroline and brings it along with her; Caroline snarls) and make their way through the flickering candle light and the many tables to the outdoor terrace.
Damon's immediately hounding on Caroline. "Barbie, what's your problem?"
Stefan brushes aside Rebekah's balled-up birthday present and leans forward, his voice low and urgent. "Would it kill you to talk to him?"
"Yes, it would," Caroline replies promptly, shoving another forkful of pasta in her mouth.
"Quit it, Caroline," Damon snarls. "Do you know how much I-how much we have to lose if you ruin tonight?"
Caroline slams her fork down, ignoring the scandalized looks the patrons are shooting her. "Do you know how much my skin crawls sitting next to him?" She turns to Stefan. "Do you know how it feels to have him look at me and want to just hurl myself off this fricken restaurant?"
Stefan looks like he wants to say something, but Caroline's already pushed her chair back, her napkin dropping to the floor. "Do you know how painful it is that no matter how hard I try, I'll always see-" Her breath catches in her throat but she ploughs on, "I always see Tyler when I look at him?" She shakes her head, jerking her hand away from Damon's when he reaches for her. "Every time. It was that way a hundred years ago, and it's still-and it's still the same now."
Stefan lets out a sharp breath and scrapes his chair closer. "Caroline-Caroline, look at me. I need you to breathe for a second." He puts a surprisingly warm hand on her chin, props it up so she'll look at him. "Caroline, breathe. Breathe."
Damon leans forward as well, all pretenses lost. "Listen to him, Caroline." There's a look in his eyes that she hasn't seen in a long time, and she flicks her eyes back to Stefan's and sees the same look there as well. "We need you to calm down. Think you can do that?"
Caroline sucks in a shaky breath, nodding her head once. Stefan leans closer and speaks so quietly she has to strain her ears to listen. "I didn't want to tell you this but I guess I have no choice now. You need to be strong for us right now, not just for your sake but for Todd's. Klaus…" Stefan shakes his head and continues, "Klaus is going to kill Todd if tonight doesn't go as planned."
Caroline can feel her throat doing funny things again, but Damon rests a heavy hand on her arm and says again: "Breathe."
"Caroline-Caroline, look at me. Shh," Stefan says soothingly, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. "No matter how hard this is, no matter how much you feel like running, you fight it. You bury it." Stefan's hand presses onto hers. "When you feel like you can't go through with this, you look at me. I'm right here."
Caroline swallows and looks back to Damon, who nods curtly. "You can do this. Breathe."
"Breathe," Caroline repeats shakily. She inhales and lets it out slowly, but all resolve goes with that breath. "Why is he doing this?"
Something twitches in Stefan's jaw and he doesn't answer immediately-he seems to be mulling it over. "I don't know. I wish I did. But whatever it is…" He presses down on her hand again, warm and reassuring, and his eyes bear into hers. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
And just like in another room, in another time that seems so long ago, she believes him.
.
.
circa 2012.
"Let me in, A-lah-ric," Caroline draws his name out in frustration, her hand sore from banging on the door for almost an hour now. "I know you're in there-I heard you put down your stupid coffee mug. I can also hear Damon telling you to quietly set down your stupid coffee mug."
She bangs on the door again. "Let me see him!"
She's about to kick the door down-courtesy can kiss her ass-when the door swings open just the slightest bit, revealing a sliver of Damon's face. "Fancy seeing you here, Blondie."
Caroline heaves into the door as much as hard as she can, but Damon's got about 146 years on her. She curls back her upper lip, hoping her fang is threatening enough.
All it does is make Damon chuckle. "I don't think so, Caroline. Tyler here's on a little time out." His eyes darken considerably as he leans closer and says, "No exceptions."
"Just-Damon." Caroline heaves a sigh and leans into the door, her nose almost brushing against his. "I need to know he's alright."
"As far as psycho heart-ripping hybrids go, I guess he's pretty alright." Damon moves to close the door, but Caroline's obstinate face is still in the way. He sighs, and his voice drops a notch. "I know you're the patron saint of forgiveness and light, but even you've got to admit he has wholeheartedly-if you'll excuse the pun-fucked up tonight. What more will it take for you to see that, Blondie?"
"You didn't see-before he broke…" Caroline winces and tries again, "Before he… hurt Stefan, he told me to get away. He didn't hurt me, Tyler. He could control whatever it is that's taken over his head when I'm around-it's just… it's just a momentary thing."
"True love conquers all, huh?" Damon says sardonically. "Caroline. In addition to snapping Stefan's neck like it was no big deal, he drank his blood. Tried to drain him dry. Stefan's still out cold. Tyler ripped Jeremy's heart out. He tried to do the same to Alaric when we were trying to placate him. Elena is at home crying. And you're here asking for permission to comfort the person who killed her brother, instead of comforting her." Damon shakes his head slowly, still not budging from the door. "What's gotten into you?"
Caroline lunges forward, desperation showing in the way she claws at Damon's shirt. "If you'll just let me talk to h-"
"Buh-bye, Blondie."
Damon slams the door in her face.
It's a hundred years later and she still shivers in the cold. If muscle memory serves her right, the hair on her arms would be standing on end right now and her fingers would probably be swollen and stiff-it is February after all, and she's out on the terrace without her coat. Caroline breathes a sigh and drums her fingers lightly on the railing, and tries to imagine how the night would bite at her cheeks, make her want to fold in on herself.
She shivers again, and closes her eyes.
"I missed that about you."
The drumming of her fingers stop, but her eyes remain closed. It's not cold anymore-far from it, in fact. She can feel his eyes-the kind of blue you can only find sparkling in those trickling streams in the forest-burning across her cheeks, and she tries to stop herself from swallowing as she turns around slowly.
Opens her eyes.
Klaus is standing closer than she'd expected and she almost takes a step back, almost jerks herself away, but she remembers Stefan and thinks of Damon and takes a deep breath and lets it out, in and out and in and out. Caroline raises her eyes to his, and she wants to say something, anything to show that she's totally unaffected by his being here, but her lips end up parting with no words to come out of them.
"Enjoying the cold, Caroline?" Klaus asks, taking a step back as though sensing her discomfort. "You always did have remarkable memory."
And then it happens. Her first words to him after a hundred years: "Seriously?" She shakes her head, scoffs even, and turns away from him back to the glittering Paris skyline. "Vampires. We never forget." Never, she would have liked to continue savagely, but before she can Klaus is already next to her, and her eyes are already closing-already bracing herself for whatever it is Klaus is about to unleash upon her... but nothing comes.
Caroline opens her eyes just a smidge and what she sees makes her start. Klaus is holding out the bottle of Pétrus she'd been eyeing all dinner long, and he looks mildly offended for the shortest of moments before stepping back behind wall he's built around himself all those years ago. Not that she minds-she doesn't feel like talking much anyway.
She takes the bottle from him, but there are no glasses, so she swigs straight from the bottle instead, five-thousand-dollar wine be damned.
"Thanks," she says, although rather begrudgingly. She may hate the guy, but she hasn't forgotten her manners (she's a vampire, after all). He nods in response, hands in his pockets, just watching her down the alcohol like the seasoned drinker she likes to pretend she is. Watching her like he's waiting for an invitation.
She scoffs against the lip of the bottle. Like hell. He can stand there for as long as he wants, she's sure as hell not going to initiate any more conversation tonight. She's said one word too many already. But then she remembers late afternoons and a slip of his touch and how his eyes would trail lazily down her arms as she's swathed in the sunshine, hazy and golden. How he used to wait for her, how he'll probably always wait for her-how he'll never stop.
She remembers how she felt during those first few years of escaping Mystic Falls, how no place was perfect, how no place was secluded enough, how no place as inconspicuous as she'd like it to be. Always having to double check the locks on the door. Always having to look over her shoulder as she goes grocery shopping (The List hadn't been concocted yet). Always jumping at the slightest sound Damon makes when he ransacks the kitchen for a snack in the middle of the night.
She'd wake up in the morning, with dark circles under her eyes and hair tousled beyond her control. She'd locked the doors behind her, went shopping, and when she'd come home she'd slammed a glass jar the size of a baby elephant down in the middle of their apartment, and much to Stefan's amusement (and Damon's chagrin), had announced: "If we're going to make this work, there's going to have to be a few changes around here."
"That," Damon says, sipping daintily from a blood bag, "is one bigass jar."
"Rule number one: No insulting the Jar. For that, you drop a dollar in it," she'd said firmly. "Go on."
Damon blinks owlishly up at her, spluttering, "But I didn't even say anyth-you're insane."
"Rule number two," she talks over him, prowling around the Jar like a panther would its prey, "No insulting or contradicting Caroline while she's talking about the Jar. You just lost yourself a fiver, Damon."
Damon exchanges a look with Stefan, but Caroline pounces on it. "Jeers, leers, shared looks, cutting remarks and-slash-or passive aggressive comments fall under the category of contradiction. Another five dollars." Her glare doesn't give way until Damon practically throws his whole wallet inside the Jar.
"You were a lot more fun when you were wallowing around like an abused hippo," Damon groused.
"People change," she says airily over her shoulders, but not before singing, "Another dollar, Damon Salvatore."
Damon had looked at his brother for backup, but all Stefan had done was shrug, that half smile lighting up his face. "Hey, people change-so drop yours in there."
She remembers sitting back at breakfast, mug of coffee in hand, watching Stefan and Damon argue over who has to drop a fifty because they'd forgotten to lock the door. They compromised by assuring her one of them-Stefan-will never leave her alone in the house after 5pm, how one of them-Damon-will never let her drink alone. Ten, thirty, fifty years down the line, with no Klaus in sight, she'd finally begun sleeping with the window open, started freaking out less when Stefan was the slightest bit late stepping inside the door; started going out, getting a job even.
Started to live again. She remembers the look in Stefan's eyes one morning when she'd woken up and announced she's ready to move on. "Somewhere with lots of people," she'd gushed. "How about Tokyo?"
Caroline's a vampire, and she doesn't want to forget how it feels to live.
Maybe that's why she holds the bottle out to Klaus, and maybe that's why he takes it.
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circa 2013.
Elena has yellow flowers in her hair. Pale yellow; the kind of yellow that you can only find shining in puddles after some terrestrial rainstorm. The kind of yellow that seems to bring out the glow in Elena's dress, the smile in her cheeks, the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. It's Elena's wedding day and instead of a veil she has goddamn flowers in her hair, which was what Caroline would have opted for instead if it had been her wedding.
She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at this, but chooses the former because her makeup had taken nearly two hours and she'd be damned if she's going to spend another two fixing up her mascara.
"Look at the beautiful, blushing bride," Caroline sings softly from her place on the ottoman, and Elena does indeed blush, meeting her eyes through the reflection of her vanity. Bonnie smiles down at Elena and touches one of the gardenias in her hair, runs a hand through the glossy locks that curl tastefully around her neck.
"Today's the day," Elena practically gushes; her face aglow with so much light Caroline has to look away. She feels her smile faltering and a sharp prickling in the corner of her eyes and-oh hell she really is going to cry. She masks it with a little sneeze and hastily stands up to slap Elena's hand away from her hair.
"Don't," Caroline says, raising a reprimanding eyebrow. "It looks perfect."
Elena looks at their reflection again, at the three of them together-Bonnie's hand on her shoulder, Caroline's hand on hers, Bonnie's arm on Caroline's back-and smiles. "This was how I'd always imagined it."
Caroline laughs then, and she doesn't want to bring anything weird up but the elephant in the room practically begged it to. "Believe it or not, I always imagined a Salvatore on your arm."
"Caroline-" Bonnie starts to say, but Caroline just pushes away from them, pacing back and forth on the white faux fur rug.
"And-and don't you think it's a little early; a little too soon?" Caroline presses, and the crestfallen look on Elena's face is like a twist of a knife in her still heart. "You're nineteen, Elena. You have all these opportunities to do all these things, like go to college or-or getting an actual ID whereas I..." Caroline slumps back down on the ottoman, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. "I'll have to use a fake ID. I'll always have to use a fake ID." She buries her face in her hands, cursing the day-cursing herself. "Look, 'Lena, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make it about me-it's your big day and I'm messing everything up, and it's just..."
It's just shit. Total and utter shit.
Caroline trails off as she feels Elena's arms around her; hears Bonnie's mumbling an excuse of going to find Ric before he wrecks the open bar or something of the like. She uncurls her fists from her eyes and peeks at Elena, but the brunette's not angry, not in the least. In fact, she seems to have an oddly understanding look in her eyes, and in the way she gently brushes Caroline's hair from her eyes.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" Elena asks as Caroline closes her eyes, leans into her touch; lets out a sigh.
"A while," Caroline admits, biting down on her lower lip. "I guess it just really hit me this morning, you know? Elena Gilbert's really getting married."
"I really am," Elena says, and there's a silence. Curling a tendril of her hair in her fingers, Elena continues, "I love him, Caroline. He is right. This is right. And as for the right now..." Elena's hand stills for a moment as she tries to figure out a way to word it without bringing him up, an unspoken agreement of theirs. "I guess... ever since that day in the rain, it just hit me that if Matt died, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. He was here for me before all this craziness started; he was here for me when it left me with nothing. I've lost enough people that I love, Care."
Such is life, Caroline hears in the recess of her mind, but shoves it away. Instead, she looks at her, all cutting eyes and set lips. "Why'd you invite Klaus then?"
Elena looks away. "I owe him."
"We don't owe him anyth-" Caroline starts to hiss, but Elena just says, "Matt's alive because of him. You have to respect that."
Matt's alive because I sold my soul to the devil for him, Caroline wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, she asks: "You're happy, right? Because that's all I ever want you to be."
Elena nods, and there is no doubt in her eyes at all when she says, "Yes. I'm happy."
Caroline lets out a breath of a laugh. "Mrs. Elena Donovan."
"Damn straight."
Right on cue, Bonnie's head peeks through the door; eyebrow quirked, everything alright?
Elena just nods, and as her best friends fuss over her bouquet and the appliqué on her wedding dress, she says again: "This was how I always imagined it. The three of us, together, on the best day of my life."
The clock strikes ten and Elena tightens her grip around her flowers.
.
.
He sees her floating down the hall like a dream, eyes dewy and shining golden. His heart twists at the smile on her face, the grip on her flowers, and he has the strangest urge to step up, sweep her off her feet, kiss sense into her and just run. Where to, he's not quite sure, but they'll figure it out along the way because in the epic he's written in his mind, Damon loves Elena and Elena loves Damon and everything's great and everything's swell, because love, man. Love conquers all.
Damon knows he shouldn't be there right now, he should be sitting in the pews with Alaric on his left and Stefan on his right, counting down the seconds til the wedding march strikes up and the heads turn to see the face of the bride, the face of the soon-to-be Mrs Matt Donovan.
He watches Bonnie brush a teary-eyed kiss against Elena's cheek before pushing the door open, and then Caroline takes a deep breath, giggling under her breath as she whispers a Goodbye, Miss Gilbert, counting the steps and waiting for the beat in the song until it's her turn to walk down the aisle.
And then Elena's alone in the hall, not moving, not breathing-not doing anything, really. Just looking ahead with those flowers in her hand, and he wishes her knuckles are whitened or her that her eyes would lose that goddamned shine to them, but before he can say it out loud the music swells. Elena takes a step forward.
Damon doesn't think.
He has Elena in his arms before he even realizes it, trapping her against the wall at the far end of the hall, burying his face in the soft dip of her shoulder blades. She's gasping, her flowers are on the floor, and he's stepped on the hem of her dress.
"Damon, what the he-"
"Don't," he says, his hand covering her lips. "Just-just stay here for a few more minutes. A few more seconds, even. I'm not ready yet." He looks into her eyes, hopes she can see the truth in them. "I'm not ready."
"Not ready for what?" Elena asks, but she's looking like she already knows the answer as she scoops her flowers back into her arms. They can hear the wedding march playing in an awkward loop again; can hear the chatter of dialogue like an incessant buzzing. Damon kicks himself mentally, cursing his unscrupulous ways.
Kidnapping the bride? he can hear Stefan grousing in the back of his mind. Really, Damon?
Well, it appears to be the case now, so Yes, really brother. He looks back at Elena, tries to figure out how to word his next sentence, but then decides, in all honesty, "I'm not ready to let you go."
Elena backs away then, almost fearfully. "Damon..."
"No. Stop it, Elena." Damon reaches for her, pulls her close again. "Stop running."
"Who says I'm running?" she whispers against his suit jacket. "I lov-"
"Don't say that," Damon says harshly. He wants to shake her, wants to yell at her-but he also wants to kiss her. Looking down at her, he doesn't know where to start.
"Damon." Elena rests a hand on his shoulder and it's like a sigh as she says carefully, deliberately, "I love Matt, I need him, I-look at me, Damon. You need to hear this."
He shakes his head, tries to touch her hands, tried to touch her face. "It's too soon."
"Not everyone has all the time in the world like you do, Damon," Elena says softly. "I want to start on the rest of my life, as soon as possible. Not a second to waste."
"Technically," they hear the sharp voice of Bonnie behind them, "this has been a lot more than one second."
Damon turns to see Bonnie standing there, an accusatory look in her eyes, one hand angled on her hips. "Everything okay, 'Lena?"
Elena nods. "Yeah-it's fine. Is everyone alright in there?"
"They're awfully suspicious, but I think I can stall." Bonnie turns to leave, but not without shooting Damon a look. "But not for much longer."
Elena spares him a smile, small and apologetic. "I should go."
"I love you." It comes out like a curse, a Freudian slip, and he catches her elbow and wills her to stay, to hear him out, to-something. But all she's doing is standing there, not pulling away, but not coming to him either. Damon takes a deep breath. "I love you, Elena. And I wish you could say it back to me-not the way you do, but the way I want you to. I love you."
Elena presses her pink lips together, something glassy wavering in her eyes. She pries his fingers off her arm, gently. "I could say it, Damon. And I would mean it with all of my heart-but it's just not the way you want me to love you. I can't." She shakes her head, backing away. "I have to go. Everyone's waiting."
"Elena," he tries calling after her, but she never once looks back.
"You've been busy," Klaus comments, handing the bottle back to her after he's had his fill of the wine. When Caroline looks at him questioningly, he shrugs and says, "I visited the little gallery you work in. Nice Monets. Pity about the lack of Peploe, though. He always was overlooked. I like the work you've done so far."
Caroline curls further in on herself. "Always following me."
"Always running from me."
Her grip around the neck of the bottle tightens. "I haven't been ru-"
Klaus steps forward abruptly and reaches a hand out to touch her face, and smirks when she immediately jerks away. "Care to retract your previous statement?"
"Why'd you even come back?" she snarls, cheeks red from drinking. "Everything's finally perfect-Stefan finally doesn't have to worry about me waking up screaming and Damon... Damon's finally learning to deal. And then you just come along and ruin everything." The limited edition, thousand-dollar bottle of wine crashes against the wall by Klaus' head, but he doesn't even flinch. Doesn't even blink.
Caroline licks her suddenly dry lips, aware of how her hair's falling out of its immaculate twist. "If you've back to apologize, you're sorely disappointed-" her hands find its way to his hands, shoving with all her might, "you cruel-you vile-"
He grabs her wrist and holds them in place, his eyes lighting up like a thunderstorm. "I came back," he says through gritted teeth, "because you still owe me."
"Why am I not surprised?" she bites out against his chest. "Let go of me."
"Why? Because you hate me? I don't think you do. Hating me would make everything easier. A convenient excuse-wouldn't it?" Klaus tightens his hold on her. "Hear me out, Caroline. You owe me that much."
"I don't owe you anyth-"
"Yes you do," he hisses. "You haven't been running-yes, running-from me all these years because you haven't forgiven me. No, Caroline-you're running because you have." He stops, looks straight into her eyes, lets it sink in. "And you're ashamed of it. Ashamed of what Tyler might think. Wake up, Caroline. He's gone and not coming back-he can't live through you. I won't let him."
"You don't get to have a say in how I choose to live." Caroline shoves against him and wrenches out of his grip. Her hands are beginning to shake again and she thinks of Damon, thinks of Stefan, thinks of taking deep and steady breaths, anything to stop them. "You make me sick, standing there with your self-righteous speeches on moving on, like you haven't been plaguing my life all these years."
"Caroline-" He reaches for her again, but she all but hurls him against the wall, ruining his suit as it mingles with the wine dripping down the bricks.
"Don't touch me," she spits, her nails digging deep into his shoulder blades. It pokes through the fabric of his jacket and the smell of blood permeates the air around them. She shivers in it. "Don't touch me, you murderer."
"Caroline, just listen-" Klaus has a helpless look in his eyes as he tries to talk over her, but she slams him against the wall again.
"What makes you think I will?" Her breathing's starting to come out in quick bursts as she clings on to him, trying not to let her legs give way. "You killed Tyler. You told me you'd help him, promised me you'd fixed him-and then you killed him."
Her knees shake and shudder and then suddenly it all stops as she starts to fall.
.
.
.
"Caroline, I don't think-"
Caroline presses a frantic finger against Rebekah's lips, widening her eyes just a smidge. She points at the ceiling above them, mouths Alaric.
Rebekah rolls her eyes, doesn't mention the fact that he sleeps like the dead (sleeps like he's been dead a couple of times) and blows the lock off the door with just a flick of her fingers. The air around them immediately starts to smell musty and wet, and Caroline takes cautious steps down the stone steps, fingers running carefully against the wall.
Rebekah follows closely behind her.
"I'll have you know," she hisses, "that I think this is the worst idea you've ever had. Even worse than putting Elena on the top of the pyramid."
"Then why are you here?" Caroline turns to look back at her, but her feet slip and she feels herself falling backwards-Rebekah catches her at the last minute.
"Are you really asking me that?" Rebekah rolls her eyes as she uprights the younger vampire with one hand. The other is still clenched firmly around her crossbow, which Caroline eyes fearfully.
"Just in case," Rebekah had said with a chilling smile.
"This place reeks of something awful," Rebekah whines. "Like a wet dog that hasn't been let out in a week."
"Three weeks," Caroline corrects quietly as her eyes fall on Tyler's rumpled form in the corner of the room. The chains around his wrist, chest and ankles look bloody and raw, and Caroline feels something sick rising in her throat as she drops to her knees to rip off the chains. "Rebekah-help."
Rebekah wrinkles her nose but leans down anyway, taking off the chains with just one sweep of her hands. Tyler moans at her touch, and she quickly pulls her hands away. "What now?"
Caroline gestures to the door with her head, and props one of Tyler's arms around her neck. Rebekah snorts and pushes her off, grabbing Tyler around the waist and hoisting him up the stairs easily. Caroline peeks her head around the corner, the eerie silence ringing around her and settling in her bones. The sooner they get out of the Salvatore Dungeon of Torture and Doom, the better.
Something-a name? Was it hers?-slips through Tyler's lips and she shushes him, runs a hand through his hair; presses soft kisses down his jaw. "Just a little bit more, Tyler. Stay with me."
"How sweet," Rebekah grunts as she all but throws his limp body across the hall and out the front door. "There-makes our job much easier."
"And ours infinitely harder," says a voice in Caroline's ear, and suddenly she's being flung through the open door and out onto the grass as well. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Damon yells in her face, and Caroline shuts her eyes-too close, too angry, no, stop it Damon, you don't understand, I was only trying to help Tyler-she glances at him, and he's already on his feet, looking around with darkening eyes, something guttural and raw coming from his throat-
"Stefan!" Damon shouts, "He's getting up!"
There's a grunt from inside, and Stefan calls out, "A little preoccupied, Damon!"
A second later Stefan comes flying out as well, Rebekah appearing through the doorway and dusting off her palms. "I suggest you get off of her, Damon."
But Damon's not listening anymore, because Tyler's gotten Damon into a choke-hold, hands wrapping easily around his throat. Caroline kicks away, grasping at the cold grass and blinking in the moonlight. "Tyler, no!"
"You locked me up for three weeks and now you're hurting Caroline?" Tyler slams Damon against the grass. The veins around his eyes are starting to show and his fangs are whispering in and out. "Not cool."
"Stefan!" Damon calls again, kicking Tyler off. "The stakes-" An arrow sinks deep inside his thigh and he hisses, and Rebekah all but sings: "Oops. Was aiming for the Lockwood boy."
"Rebekah!" Caroline cries out, horrified. She lunges for Tyler, throwing her arms around him. "What are you doing?"
Rebekah shakes her head and steps closer. "He tried to bite Matt, Caroline. Tried to bite Damon, too. You said he was better," she adds a little accusingly, already readying her crossbow.
"He is," Caroline begs, but Tyler's snarling in her arms, writhing and jerking and twisting to get away. "It's just-he's just a little disoriented-"
"He's a lot more than just disoriented, Caroline," Stefan says, crouching low like he's prepared to fight Tyler out of her grip. "He lost his mind trying to break free of Klaus' sire bond. You know it, we all know it."
No, he's lying, Tyler's okay, he really is, locking him up won't help, no, she shakes her head
Tears are starting to swim in her eyes as she grasps Tyler nearer, snarling as Damon tries to step closer. "I'm not going to let you hurt him." But even as she says it Tyler's gnashing his teeth at her face, twisting her arm behind her back and she gasps, because it hurts.
"Caroline!" Rebekah lets the arrow fly and it narrowly misses Tyler's head, burying itself in the far tree instead. Suddenly Caroline's sprawled on the grass, Damon pressing his hands everywhere, Are you okay? Did he bite you? You idiot, are you hurt? God Blondie, did he bite-
"Tyler-fucki-no!"
Caroline and Damon whip their heads around to see Stefan running faster than they've ever seen him run-but it's too late, Rebekah's already staggering, already clasping at the gash in her neck, already widening her eyes at the amount of blood that's trickling down her wrist, already swinging her free arm uselessly at Tyler as red drips from his lips down onto her collarbone, his eyes gleaming feral in the moonlight.
"Tyler," Caroline chokes out, and she wants to run, but Damon has her locked in place. "Tyler." Her shoulders shake and her mascara runs. "Tyler," she says again, and she feels Damon tightening his hold around her as her body wracks with sobs. Tyler. Tyler. "Tyler!" and suddenly she's screaming it, tearing it through her throat because Tyler has his teeth around Rebekah's neck again, Tyler's stifling Rebekah's screams with his palm, Tyler's drinking her blood-
Damon, Stefan and Caroline reach them at the same time-Damon's thrown Tyler into the bushes, running back inside the house to check on Alaric-knocked out cold by Rebekah-and Stefan's already kneeling down, already wrapping an arm around Rebekah, pushing strands of hair out of her eyes. "Shh, it's going to be alright-we're gonna get you to Klaus-shh, no, don't cry-"
Caroline turns to Tyler and swallows, reaching out a shaky hand, pressing it down against his chest. His eyes are closed and his face is still smeared with blood, but in the darkness it could be chocolate. In the darkness he could be sleeping, exhausted from a day of messing around with Matt. In the darkness he could still be Tyler, sweet Tyler would go to great lengths to be free from Klaus, to finally be with her. More tears slide down her cheeks as she pushes his hair away from his forehead; wipes away some of the blood with the sleeve of her favourite cashmere sweater. She's about to brush away some of the dirt from his t-shirt when his eyes open suddenly.
They're not Tyler's eyes. They're yellow and beady and so animal, and they're looking directly at her.
Tyler pulls her hand closer to his chest, breathes in deep when her curls tickle his face. Puts his nose to the column of her neck and takes another deep breath. exhales slowly. She feels his hot breath ghosting her neck and she knows she should scream, knows she should back the hell of, but she's too perplexed; too shaken to pull away.
And then he smiles, and it's chilling-all teeth and pointed fangs.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she can hear her father whispering that long-forgotten poem, the one she can't remember the words to anymore, and she smiles valiantly, thinking Oh what a lovely way to die. With the cool grass on her knees and the stars in the sky, with her boyfriend's lips on her neck and her father in her eyes.
"Good bye," she half-whispers, half-sobs, and closes her eyes.
There's the burn when he bites into her, she had been expecting that. What she hadn't expected was how painful it is, to be able to feel her veins tightening underneath her skin, to feel her body curl in on itself as he draws the blood out of her, sweet and slow-to feel the tremors from the tips of her toes to the throbbing in her neck, to want to scream out and cry but be unable to, because everything seems to be stoppered at the exact place where his teeth are breaking her skin.
Everything dims and she doesn't know if it's from the screaming in her head or the burning in her skin-all she knows is she sinks into it with ease, grasping at the darkness with relief as waves of something cold washes over her feet, dances around in it, until she comes to a slow stop. Death shouldn't be this freeing... should it?
She opens her eyes, and Tyler's teeth aren't tearing at her neck anymore, because Klaus is standing before her, shaking and yelling something inaudible, and then suddenly he's snarling and throwing Tyler down, and it's like the world's spinning in slow motion because she doesn't understand at all when Tyler lolls towards her, his lips moving wordlessly. She doesn't understand why everything is a ringing in her ears and not actual sounds. She doesn't understand when Klaus suddenly has his hand plunged deep into Tyler's chest, doesn't understand the look he's giving her-it's not one of permission, it's not apologetic, it's not remorse-it's just a long look, made longer with the night surrounding them.
And then Tyler's head is in her lap and Tyler's heart is in Klaus' hands, and suddenly the night is alive again-
but Tyler isn't.
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tbc
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I don't usually like putting A/Ns at the end of stories but I just feel the need to apologize for the state of this chapter. Please stick around-I promise things will get better. Really. :l Tell me what you thought of this?