fic: in your arms, you're only sleeping (tvd; rebekah; rebekah, elijah, klaus)
fic: in your arms, you're only sleeping
characters: rebekah; rebekah, elijah, klaus (ensemble family members)
rating: t
summary: your body shuts down, but your mind's still going.
author's note: set post 4.04. I had a lot of feelings to work out.
Rebekah dreams
Being daggered doesn’t mean things stop. To be sure, she can no longer move around or talk or walk or anything else, but her mind doesn’t cease to exist. It’s like being in a stasis. Like a thick fog that has weight against her chest, keeping her down while her mind coalesces all the emotions of anger and betrayal and sadness and all else.
No, she is not frozen completely.
Rebekah dreams.
Some of them are horrible.
Henrik’s blood cold on her fingers as she’d looked through blurry eyes at his dead body.
The night when Mikael had killed them all.
Klaus slipping the dagger through her chest, warm lips on her forehead some mockery of his love.
Hallucinations of her mother, no, her name was Esther, telling her how damned she had become, her eyes hateful until she could no longer look at her and had turned her cheek in shame, magic that she’d once tried to teach her when she’d been little licking at her fingers to kill her for real.
Each of her brothers slipping away one by one till she’s all that’s left; and how much worse that one is because she finds herself lost with no idea of how to be without them, a pale shadow left behind.
Some of them are terrible in her cruelty.
She kills everyone.
Claws at their eyes, their cheeks, their mouths, rips tendons from skin and flays them alive in her rage. How dare they do this her. And then she’s tearing at herself, deep gashes and gauges, bringing blood forth: because how dare you let them do this to you?
Some of them are nice in their warmth.
She likes these second best; second because the ones of her anger comfort her when all else cannot in the waking world.
Strong arms hold her tight and sometimes the faces are not the same, sometimes they change, but they are all kind and fierce in the way they look upon her. She’s cherished and safe.
She dreams of a laughing voice that greets her as she’s come to watch him play at swords, of hands that slip through her hair and make plaits of her shiny locks, of a kneeling figure allowing her to do the same to his, of the one she loves not less but not more than the other, less because he cannot be the other and more because he is not the other, of always and forever.
Rebekah dreams and then she wakes.
There’s still tears on her face, though she has no way of knowing how long time has passed, but they are still there, cracked and dried on her face. She blinks and allows the hands around her to pull her forward and out of the coffin. “Klaus,” she manages to say.
She’s shushed and her weight shifted to lean against his suit covered body, her head on his shoulder. “Hush, dear sister,” and he says it in a language she’s not heard since they were mortal and young.
It’s then that she notices that his hands are red stained and his clothing slick, the sharp smell of copper and iron in the air.
Elijah’s smile is terrible. “All will be well.”
His bright eyes and terrible smile quicken something inside her. She lets him lead her from the room, safe in the comfort of his destruction and lets her anger bleed into his.
characters: rebekah; rebekah, elijah, klaus (ensemble family members)
rating: t
summary: your body shuts down, but your mind's still going.
author's note: set post 4.04. I had a lot of feelings to work out.
Rebekah dreams
Being daggered doesn’t mean things stop. To be sure, she can no longer move around or talk or walk or anything else, but her mind doesn’t cease to exist. It’s like being in a stasis. Like a thick fog that has weight against her chest, keeping her down while her mind coalesces all the emotions of anger and betrayal and sadness and all else.
No, she is not frozen completely.
Rebekah dreams.
Some of them are horrible.
Henrik’s blood cold on her fingers as she’d looked through blurry eyes at his dead body.
The night when Mikael had killed them all.
Klaus slipping the dagger through her chest, warm lips on her forehead some mockery of his love.
Hallucinations of her mother, no, her name was Esther, telling her how damned she had become, her eyes hateful until she could no longer look at her and had turned her cheek in shame, magic that she’d once tried to teach her when she’d been little licking at her fingers to kill her for real.
Each of her brothers slipping away one by one till she’s all that’s left; and how much worse that one is because she finds herself lost with no idea of how to be without them, a pale shadow left behind.
Some of them are terrible in her cruelty.
She kills everyone.
Claws at their eyes, their cheeks, their mouths, rips tendons from skin and flays them alive in her rage. How dare they do this her. And then she’s tearing at herself, deep gashes and gauges, bringing blood forth: because how dare you let them do this to you?
Some of them are nice in their warmth.
She likes these second best; second because the ones of her anger comfort her when all else cannot in the waking world.
Strong arms hold her tight and sometimes the faces are not the same, sometimes they change, but they are all kind and fierce in the way they look upon her. She’s cherished and safe.
She dreams of a laughing voice that greets her as she’s come to watch him play at swords, of hands that slip through her hair and make plaits of her shiny locks, of a kneeling figure allowing her to do the same to his, of the one she loves not less but not more than the other, less because he cannot be the other and more because he is not the other, of always and forever.
Rebekah dreams and then she wakes.
There’s still tears on her face, though she has no way of knowing how long time has passed, but they are still there, cracked and dried on her face. She blinks and allows the hands around her to pull her forward and out of the coffin. “Klaus,” she manages to say.
She’s shushed and her weight shifted to lean against his suit covered body, her head on his shoulder. “Hush, dear sister,” and he says it in a language she’s not heard since they were mortal and young.
It’s then that she notices that his hands are red stained and his clothing slick, the sharp smell of copper and iron in the air.
Elijah’s smile is terrible. “All will be well.”
His bright eyes and terrible smile quicken something inside her. She lets him lead her from the room, safe in the comfort of his destruction and lets her anger bleed into his.