Red Right Hand: 3/?
Title: Red Right Hand
Chapter Title: Something There
Fandom: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Pairing: Klaus/Stefan
Wordcount: ~4000 for this chapter, 10,000 total
Rating: T
Summary: After Stefan rescues Klaus from a mysterious enemy of even greater power, he is surprised to discover an entirely new side to his former enemy.
The cool Parisian air rushed over Stefan’s face as he wound his way through the labyrinthine streets until reaching the familiar red door marking the entrance to the mansion. Though he normally strode through its entry without a second thought - Klaus had ensured that its previous last owners were long dead - Stefan felt a strange sense of foreboding as he drew closer and instead opened it quietly before slipping inside.
The second he reached the foyer, Stefan discerned faint voices coming from one of the upstairs rooms. In an effort to both conceal his presence and investigate further, he crept into a dark corner by the kitchen and endeavored to listen in on the intruders. Using his enhanced senses, Stefan could just make out the words being said.
“Where is your companion?” a surly voice shouted.
“I have told you already,” came a second voice, which Stefan recognized as Klaus’s, though it sounded considerably strained, “I am alone.”
Stefan’s stomach began to do strange little flips as he realized that not only were these men looking for him, but for some reason he could not fathom, Klaus appeared to be protecting him from them.
“Then who sleeps in the bedroom across the hallway?” the voice demanded again.
Stefan could just make out a small chuckle from Klaus before he replied, “Who doesn’t sleep there? My bed is large, to be sure, but sometimes I have need for...additional accommodations.”
The next thing Stefan heard was a scream that he was almost certain came from Klaus.
“I’m so sorry, my hand slipped,” came an unctuous, new voice, “Did that hurt? I really should be more careful - I’ve heard vervane can be quite painful, especially when mixed with silver.”
“Think nothing of it, dear fellow,” came Klaus’s reply, the bravado in his voice not entirely masking his pain, “The exclamation you just heard was merely an expression of my surprise.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the man replied, continuing to use a tone of false civility. “Now, I have no idea why you are lying about being alone here, but it is of no consequence. Whenever this mysterious associate returns, he shall quickly be apprehended and disposed of by my men. My desire for his identity merely stemmed from my, I must confess, somewhat obsessive need to tidy up loose ends.”
“Then this one shall forever plague you, I’m afraid, for I am quite alone in this house,” Klaus said firmly.
“This is the one and only lie I will allow you to utter without consequence this evening, Lord Niklaus,” the man said, his voice suddenly hard. “The vervane was but a trifle. You do not wish to find out what I consider to be real punishment.”
“I have been alive for thousands of years,” Klaus shot back haughtily. “I am the ultimate evolution of two superior races. Do you really think you frighten me, sir?”
“So old, ancient even, yet your arrogance is that of the young,” the man said contemplatively. “How is it that you have gained no wisdom in the millennia you have walked this earth? No perspective? No sense of something greater than yourself?”
“And tell me, what is there greater than myself?” Klaus challenged him.
“Forces even a specimen as admittedly impressive as yourself cannot possibly comprehend,” the man replied, in a tone that sent a chill rattling through Stefan’s body. “Now, why are you here in Paris, Lord Niklaus?”
“I have a soft spot for the cuisine,” Klaus returned casually, “I am sorry that I polished off the last of my...leftovers last night, or I could offer you some.”
The scream Klaus let out at this point was like nothing Stefan had ever heard before; the closest parallel he could summon was how he had always imagined the screams of the damned when the local parson had preached of them in his youth. It was all he could do not to run up the stairs at that instant to try and help. No one, not even Klaus, deserved to feel the kind of pain that made them emit a sound like that.
“I trust you understand now I that I am quite serious about my need for absolute truth,” the man said cooly. “A little concoction of my own making; I won’t bore you with the ingredients. Balance, Klaus - may I call you Klaus? I feel like I know you so well now that we may dispense with the formalities - you of all people should know that balance is the key to everything. It is why the witches bound your powers so many years ago; did it not occur to you that counteracting their spell would summon a power equally potent to match you?”
In the silence that followed, Stefan took the opportunity to mentally summarize the situation and assess his options. There was a man upstairs more powerful than Klaus who wished at the very least to harm them both. As far as he knew, his presence had thus far gone unnoticed. He could, he realized, simply walk out the door and not look back. Even if Klaus made it through the night, it was unlikely that finding Stefan would be high on his priorities list. He could make his way to the airport, find the soonest flight to the US, compel a couple flight attendants to give him a seat, and be on his way. He could go home.
He had been dreaming of home so intensely that he was all the way to the door before he realized that his plan was impossible. He couldn’t just leave and let a man the equal of Klaus roam the streets of Paris unchecked, let alone with Klaus in his custody. The kind of man who could make Klaus scream like that could also surely destroy scores of humans and even normal vampires with very little effort, and, what’s more, this one clearly had big plans.
There was also the not insignificant fact that Klaus had lied to protect him. Not only lied, Stefan considered, but lied under torture, just so Stefan could have a chance at escaping. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Stefan realized that he couldn’t live with himself if he simply left Klaus to his fate; he owed him a debt, and it demanded repayment. Damon would have laughed at his display of honor in the face of probable destruction, he thought ruefully, but Stefan didn’t care; he’d learned the hard way that sometimes living with one’s crimes was a fate worse than death.
Now that he’d, probably foolishly, decided to save Klaus there was the small matter of how exactly he was going to go about rescuing him from a man whose power seemed immense, yet completely shrouded in mystery, not to mention an unspecified number of supernatural lackeys.
“Now, Klaus, let’s try again,” the man from upstairs spoke once more, “Why are you in Paris? And don’t bother trying to lie - I will know.”
“You come to my home, torture me, address me by my true name, and yet you do not give me yours,” Klaus said weakly. “It seems a true breech of etiquette not to at least give me something to call you.”
There was a pause as the man apparently considered this, then replied, “Very well, I believe you have earned that much. My true name has no comparable word in your language, but for the sake of convenience, you may call me, ‘Malachi’ - It means “the messenger.” I trust that by now you have gotten the message.”
Stefan knew that if he waited much longer, there was a chance there wouldn’t be anything left of Klaus to save. He took a quick accounting of his advantages, and was depressed to find they amounted to only one thing: the element of surprise. Well, Stefan thought wryly, he would just have to make it one hell of a surprise.
Doubling his efforts to move absolutely silently, Stefan stole into the kitchen and looked around for anything he could use, hoping desperately that there had been unofficial occupants since the last owners held the house more than a century earlier. In plain sight, he found up a box of matches lying by the stove, a couple rusted knives hanging over the sink, and a pile of wood in the corner by the antique stove. A more intensive search of the cabinets yielded a half full bottle of vodka, one very ratty dish towel, a few empty wine bottles, and, to Stefan’s delight, a full container of gasoline, presumably for the stove.
Setting to work as quickly and quietly as he was able, Stefan picked up the least useless of the knives and began whittling rough stakes out of some of the smaller pieces of wood. After carefully placing two of these in the back pockets of his jeans, Stefan started in on the more delicate preparations.
Hoping that his memory of making objects of violence still served, Stefan poured the gasoline into one of the empty wine bottles before stoppering it with a cork. He then soaked the dish towel in the vodka and tied it securely around the mouth of the bottle before slipping the matches into his jacket pocket.
Grabbing the bottle and making sure the stakes were still firmly in his pockets, Stefan crept up the stairs until he was hidden behind a bookshelf right outside the door to Klaus’s bedroom. After listening to ascertain that the intruders were still in the room, he picked up a book with his spare hand, flung it hard down the stairs, and waited.
“What was that?” Malachi hissed from inside the room. “Lucius, go see if we have another guest to bring to our party.”
Stefan waited until the tall, lanky vampire had completely cleared the room before whipping the stake out of his pocket and plunging it into his back in one clean stroke. The one called Lucius made a sort of choking noise, as if gasping for air he had not breathed for many years, before falling lifelessly to the carpet.
Wasting no time, Stefan removed a match from his pocket, kicked the door open, and lit the dish towel on fire, and let go. Malachi was just raising his hands toward Stefan, presumably to perform some sort of spell, when the bottle broke over his body and covered every inch of him in an explosion of flame. The second vampire was too busy jumping back in surprise and pain at the fire to notice Stefan approaching him with the second stake until it was too late.
With Malachi’s henchmen dispatched of and the man himself temporarily incapacitated, Stefan turned his attention to Klaus, who had been secured to his four poster bed with heavy silver chains. Stefan began swiftly untying the chains, doing his best to ignore the way the silver burned his hands, and, when he finally finished, caught Klaus before he could topple to the floor.
Manually wrapping Klaus’s arms around his neck, Stefan murmured, “Hold on,” before whisking them both out of the house as fast as he could possibly go. It was only when they had reached the Seine and Stefan was confident they weren’t being followed that he realized he hadn’t actually planned out what to do after the escape. In truth, he hadn’t really believed his scheme would work, so planning any further than throwing a Molotov cocktail at a powerful sorcerer and running like mad had just seemed like tempting fate.
“Stefan,” came a weak whisper from beside him, and Stefan was startled to realize that it had come from Klaus. As he moved his head to really look at Klaus for the first time that night, Stefan was shocked by what he saw: the habitual glossy whiteness of his skin had somehow morphed into a dull, yellowish color, his entire upper body was covered with gashes and burns, and those unforgettable blue eyes, always glinting, flashing, challenging, were now lifeless and bloodshot. Stefan was so used to watching Klaus be arrogant and completely in control that seeing him in such a weakened state caught completely off guard.
“I...need...blood,” Klaus spoke again, seemingly trying to return Stefan’s gaze, but unable to lift his head more than a few inches from where it lay resting on Stefan’s shoulder.
“Klaus, I don’t know-” was all Stefan was able to say before Klaus had lunged away from him in a flash. Stefan turned rapidly to find him holding a strung-out looking prostitute up against a wall, his fangs unsheathed. But just as Stefan was running to pull him off her, Klaus screamed and raised his hands to his head in pain, releasing the girl in the process.
Stefan contemplated compelling the girl, but she seemed to be strangely unperturbed by the incident, probably the result of drug or alcohol abuse, Stefan mused. As she continued to stagger her way down the alley as if nothing had happened, Stefan turned his attention to Klaus, who had collapsed on the ground, presumably having used up what little strength he had on the botched attack.
“Klaus? Klaus?” Stefan shouted, shaking him urgently, but with no visible result. Stefan dragged one of Klaus’s arms over his shoulders and yanked him into a standing position. His rapid deterioration increased the urgency of the situation, and Stefan knew in a flash that there was only one place they could go.
Keeping one hand around Klaus’s waist and the other clamping Klaus’s hand to his shoulder, Stefan sped them across the river and back to the Third District. After reaching his destination, Stefan began to pound on the door of the only person in Paris who could help him now: Jacqueline Dupont.
After a few seconds, the door was opened by a flustered Jaqueline; though she was fully dressed, her rumpled hair and hastily buttoned blouse indicated that she had received only a little advance knowledge of their arrival.
“You cannot be here, Stefan,” she hissed, “It’s far too dangerous.” Jacqueline attempted to slam the door in his face, but Stefan swiftly wedged his body in it.
“Please, Jacqueline, you’re the only chance we’ve got of escaping Malachi. And currently, we’re the only chance anyone has of stopping him from doing God knows what. You said it yourself, dark things are coming. Well, I’ve got some bad news for you; they’re already here.”
Jacqueline’s dark eyes flashed for a moment, but she opened the door a few inches more to allow them in. “Come, I have a place where you can hide out for a little while,” she said, motioning toward the back of the shop. Stefan followed, dragging Klaus’s unconscious form with him, and watched in amazement as Jacqueline tilted a small crystal pyramid upward, causing the bookcase it was situated on to swing out and reveal a narrow, lamplit staircase.
“My grandfather was an engineer, and a cautious one,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “During the Second World War, he created this chamber to hide his family in case the Nazis decided to add witches to the list of the persecuted. Though it never came to that, my family has nevertheless found this room to be a valuable asset.”
As they wound their way down the stairs, with Jacqueline and a torch leading the way, there came into view a cozy, little room, containing an antique double bed, desk and chair with writing materials, a bookcase, and a large wardrobe. Stefan stepped forward, deposited Klaus on the bed, and, after subconsciously adjusting Klaus into a more comfortable position, sat down next to him.
“You should be safe here for a few days,” Jacqueline said, “And if anyone should bother you...” She strode over to the wardrobe and opened it to reveal a row of guns, crossbows, and various other instruments of violence.
“Thank you, Jacqueline,” Stefan said sincerely, adding, “I am sorry to drag you into this.”
“You have dragged me into nothing, cheri,” she replied, waving him off, “I am involved because, for some reason I do not yet know, it is necessary that I be. Now, what is wrong with your friend?”
“He’s not - I don’t know,” said Stefan with a sigh. “I thought it was just the torture, but he should have healed from even the most severe of normal wounds long before now. There’s something supernatural at work.”
“Let me go grab a few of my tools, and I’ll see what I can do,” she said thoughtfully and, with a soft rustle of her skirt, she was gone, winding her way back up into the main part of the shop. Stefan leaned back against the bed frame with a sigh and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face. Clearly the night’s adventures were beginning to catch up with him.
When he opened his eyes again, Jacqueline had returned and was busying herself placing candles and quartz crystals in alternation on the edges of the room and pouring a circle of salt around the bed itself.
“You might want to move for this part,” she suggested, and as soon as Stefan had cleared the bed, the candles simultaneously sprang to life. He watched in alarm as Jacqueline raised her hands, at which point, Klaus’s eyes shot open and he began to scream again. Jacqueline started chanting words in some language Stefan could not understand, and Klaus’s hands quickly grasped the thin bedclothes in an iron-like grip as his body arched up and twitched violently in pain.
“Is this really necessary?” Stefan demanded. When she didn’t answer him, he rushed forward to try calming Klaus down, but was shocked to find himself hurled backward at the wall the second he reached the circle of salt.
Jacqueline turned slowly toward him, hands still raised, and he was startled to see that her eyes had turned a bright, unearthly shade of blue. “This is powerful sorcery, Stefan,” she said firmly, “It will not reveal itself to me without a fight.”
He remained quiet after that and spent his time trying not to think about the fact that it actually hurt him to see Klaus be tortured for the second time that evening. After what seemed like an eternity of chanting and screaming, Jacqueline finally lowered her hands, causing the candles to blow out and Klaus to fall back onto the bed, shaking and covered in sweat.
Stefan instinctively lunged forward toward the bed and called out, “Klaus? Klaus? Are you all right?”
Inexplicable relief flooded him when Klaus turned his head in his direction and Stefan could see that his blue eyes, though tired and full of pain, were once again alert. “Marvelous, dear boy, thank you for inquiring,” Klaus said with some effort. “And, tell me, who is this lovely creature whom I am to thank for my latest round of torture?”
“Jacqueline Dupont,” she said proudly from her place beside the bed, “And you should be thanking me, Lord Niklaus. Without my intervention, not only would you still be catatonic, but your brave friend here would have no idea what you are up against.”
“Then I thank you sincerely for all your assistance, Miss Dupont,” Klaus said, attempting to execute a little gentlemanly bow, but managing only a slight gesture of the hand. “Tell me, what exactly are we up against?”
Jacqueline’s expression clouded as she began to answer, then apparently thought the better of it, replying instead, “It can wait until morning. Believe me, there’s a long fight ahead, and you’ll both be needing whatever rest you can get.” With a meaningful glance at both of them, Jacqueline departed, heading up the stairs and bearing the torch with her, shutting the bookcase marking the entrance on her way out.
“She’s right, you should get your rest,” Stefan said to Klaus, rising to settle himself down in the desk chair for the night.
“Stefan,” Klaus murmured, catching Stefan’s wrist in a weak grip, which caused Stefan to turn and find Klaus staring imploringly at him. “You saved me tonight, and you didn’t have to. Why?”
Stefan paused, unsure how to answer, finally sighed and responded with his own question, “I don’t know Klaus, why did you protect me when you didn’t have to?”
Klaus gave him a tired, little smile and said, “I already ruined your life, Stefan, not getting you killed seemed like the least I could do.”
It took Stefan a moment to fully process the idea that Klaus actually acknowledged what he had taken from Stefan, and what’s more, was almost apologizing for it. Before he could formulate an adequate reply, Klaus continued, “You can consider your debt to me officially paid. You can leave whenever you like. Jacqueline and I will sort out Malachi.”
“No,” Stefan said, surprising both Klaus and himself with the firmness of his answer, “I’m not leaving. Malachi is a greater threat than any I’ve ever come across, yourself included, and I’m not going anywhere until he is dealt with.”
An expression Stefan could not quite decipher passed over Klaus’s face for a moment before he shrugged and said, “On your head be it, then, my friend.” Klaus shifted his body to try and settle down for the night, but winced the second he attempted to lift his torso and fell ignominiously down again onto the bed.
“Here,” Stefan murmured, as he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Klaus’s waist, gently turning him onto his side. When he attempted to withdraw, however, Stefan was surprised to find Klaus’s hand wrapped around his right forearm, and even more surprised to hear him utter a soft, “Thank you.”
Stefan smiled in spite of himself at the absurdity of the world’s oldest known vampire thanking him for essentially tucking him in for the night, or perhaps acting like his knight in shining armor, and was about to leave when he realized that Klaus was still clinging to his arm and showing no signs of letting go. For no specific reason he could name - sympathy, perhaps, or maybe just a weariness of resisting - Stefan found himself also settling down on the bed, resting his head beside Klaus’s on the pillow.
Klaus said nothing, but shifted his body just enough so that it was pressed up against Stefan’s and slid his hand down from Stefan’s arm so that their fingers were linked. Lying there next to him in a dimly lit room on an ancient bed, Stefan was struck again by how vulnerable Klaus looked in repose, not at all like the commanding, cruel Klaus he had seen too often during his waking hours.
Klaus’s voice from beside him interrupted Stefan’s musings. “Stefan?” he asked hesitantly, keeping his face turned away.
“Mmmm?” Stefan replied sleepily.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “For all of it. You’re more than I deserve.” Though he then lapsed once more into silence, Klaus placed his other hand on top of the one he had joined with Stefan’s.
“Go to sleep, Klaus,” Stefan murmured, though he was oddly touched, “We can talk about it tomorrow.” Without consciously meaning to, he suddenly found himself using his spare hand to stroke Klaus’s hair, which seemed to lull the other vampire into an almost immediate slumber.
Perhaps, Stefan thought, closing his eyes, just perhaps, there was more to Klaus than he wanted people to believe. This was a thought he deemed distinctly worthy of investigating, but on another day. For now, all he wanted to do was sleep, and if he slept a little better with his arms around Klaus, then so be it.
Read Next Chapter
Chapter Title: Something There
Fandom: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Pairing: Klaus/Stefan
Wordcount: ~4000 for this chapter, 10,000 total
Rating: T
Summary: After Stefan rescues Klaus from a mysterious enemy of even greater power, he is surprised to discover an entirely new side to his former enemy.
The cool Parisian air rushed over Stefan’s face as he wound his way through the labyrinthine streets until reaching the familiar red door marking the entrance to the mansion. Though he normally strode through its entry without a second thought - Klaus had ensured that its previous last owners were long dead - Stefan felt a strange sense of foreboding as he drew closer and instead opened it quietly before slipping inside.
The second he reached the foyer, Stefan discerned faint voices coming from one of the upstairs rooms. In an effort to both conceal his presence and investigate further, he crept into a dark corner by the kitchen and endeavored to listen in on the intruders. Using his enhanced senses, Stefan could just make out the words being said.
“Where is your companion?” a surly voice shouted.
“I have told you already,” came a second voice, which Stefan recognized as Klaus’s, though it sounded considerably strained, “I am alone.”
Stefan’s stomach began to do strange little flips as he realized that not only were these men looking for him, but for some reason he could not fathom, Klaus appeared to be protecting him from them.
“Then who sleeps in the bedroom across the hallway?” the voice demanded again.
Stefan could just make out a small chuckle from Klaus before he replied, “Who doesn’t sleep there? My bed is large, to be sure, but sometimes I have need for...additional accommodations.”
The next thing Stefan heard was a scream that he was almost certain came from Klaus.
“I’m so sorry, my hand slipped,” came an unctuous, new voice, “Did that hurt? I really should be more careful - I’ve heard vervane can be quite painful, especially when mixed with silver.”
“Think nothing of it, dear fellow,” came Klaus’s reply, the bravado in his voice not entirely masking his pain, “The exclamation you just heard was merely an expression of my surprise.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the man replied, continuing to use a tone of false civility. “Now, I have no idea why you are lying about being alone here, but it is of no consequence. Whenever this mysterious associate returns, he shall quickly be apprehended and disposed of by my men. My desire for his identity merely stemmed from my, I must confess, somewhat obsessive need to tidy up loose ends.”
“Then this one shall forever plague you, I’m afraid, for I am quite alone in this house,” Klaus said firmly.
“This is the one and only lie I will allow you to utter without consequence this evening, Lord Niklaus,” the man said, his voice suddenly hard. “The vervane was but a trifle. You do not wish to find out what I consider to be real punishment.”
“I have been alive for thousands of years,” Klaus shot back haughtily. “I am the ultimate evolution of two superior races. Do you really think you frighten me, sir?”
“So old, ancient even, yet your arrogance is that of the young,” the man said contemplatively. “How is it that you have gained no wisdom in the millennia you have walked this earth? No perspective? No sense of something greater than yourself?”
“And tell me, what is there greater than myself?” Klaus challenged him.
“Forces even a specimen as admittedly impressive as yourself cannot possibly comprehend,” the man replied, in a tone that sent a chill rattling through Stefan’s body. “Now, why are you here in Paris, Lord Niklaus?”
“I have a soft spot for the cuisine,” Klaus returned casually, “I am sorry that I polished off the last of my...leftovers last night, or I could offer you some.”
The scream Klaus let out at this point was like nothing Stefan had ever heard before; the closest parallel he could summon was how he had always imagined the screams of the damned when the local parson had preached of them in his youth. It was all he could do not to run up the stairs at that instant to try and help. No one, not even Klaus, deserved to feel the kind of pain that made them emit a sound like that.
“I trust you understand now I that I am quite serious about my need for absolute truth,” the man said cooly. “A little concoction of my own making; I won’t bore you with the ingredients. Balance, Klaus - may I call you Klaus? I feel like I know you so well now that we may dispense with the formalities - you of all people should know that balance is the key to everything. It is why the witches bound your powers so many years ago; did it not occur to you that counteracting their spell would summon a power equally potent to match you?”
In the silence that followed, Stefan took the opportunity to mentally summarize the situation and assess his options. There was a man upstairs more powerful than Klaus who wished at the very least to harm them both. As far as he knew, his presence had thus far gone unnoticed. He could, he realized, simply walk out the door and not look back. Even if Klaus made it through the night, it was unlikely that finding Stefan would be high on his priorities list. He could make his way to the airport, find the soonest flight to the US, compel a couple flight attendants to give him a seat, and be on his way. He could go home.
He had been dreaming of home so intensely that he was all the way to the door before he realized that his plan was impossible. He couldn’t just leave and let a man the equal of Klaus roam the streets of Paris unchecked, let alone with Klaus in his custody. The kind of man who could make Klaus scream like that could also surely destroy scores of humans and even normal vampires with very little effort, and, what’s more, this one clearly had big plans.
There was also the not insignificant fact that Klaus had lied to protect him. Not only lied, Stefan considered, but lied under torture, just so Stefan could have a chance at escaping. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Stefan realized that he couldn’t live with himself if he simply left Klaus to his fate; he owed him a debt, and it demanded repayment. Damon would have laughed at his display of honor in the face of probable destruction, he thought ruefully, but Stefan didn’t care; he’d learned the hard way that sometimes living with one’s crimes was a fate worse than death.
Now that he’d, probably foolishly, decided to save Klaus there was the small matter of how exactly he was going to go about rescuing him from a man whose power seemed immense, yet completely shrouded in mystery, not to mention an unspecified number of supernatural lackeys.
“Now, Klaus, let’s try again,” the man from upstairs spoke once more, “Why are you in Paris? And don’t bother trying to lie - I will know.”
“You come to my home, torture me, address me by my true name, and yet you do not give me yours,” Klaus said weakly. “It seems a true breech of etiquette not to at least give me something to call you.”
There was a pause as the man apparently considered this, then replied, “Very well, I believe you have earned that much. My true name has no comparable word in your language, but for the sake of convenience, you may call me, ‘Malachi’ - It means “the messenger.” I trust that by now you have gotten the message.”
Stefan knew that if he waited much longer, there was a chance there wouldn’t be anything left of Klaus to save. He took a quick accounting of his advantages, and was depressed to find they amounted to only one thing: the element of surprise. Well, Stefan thought wryly, he would just have to make it one hell of a surprise.
Doubling his efforts to move absolutely silently, Stefan stole into the kitchen and looked around for anything he could use, hoping desperately that there had been unofficial occupants since the last owners held the house more than a century earlier. In plain sight, he found up a box of matches lying by the stove, a couple rusted knives hanging over the sink, and a pile of wood in the corner by the antique stove. A more intensive search of the cabinets yielded a half full bottle of vodka, one very ratty dish towel, a few empty wine bottles, and, to Stefan’s delight, a full container of gasoline, presumably for the stove.
Setting to work as quickly and quietly as he was able, Stefan picked up the least useless of the knives and began whittling rough stakes out of some of the smaller pieces of wood. After carefully placing two of these in the back pockets of his jeans, Stefan started in on the more delicate preparations.
Hoping that his memory of making objects of violence still served, Stefan poured the gasoline into one of the empty wine bottles before stoppering it with a cork. He then soaked the dish towel in the vodka and tied it securely around the mouth of the bottle before slipping the matches into his jacket pocket.
Grabbing the bottle and making sure the stakes were still firmly in his pockets, Stefan crept up the stairs until he was hidden behind a bookshelf right outside the door to Klaus’s bedroom. After listening to ascertain that the intruders were still in the room, he picked up a book with his spare hand, flung it hard down the stairs, and waited.
“What was that?” Malachi hissed from inside the room. “Lucius, go see if we have another guest to bring to our party.”
Stefan waited until the tall, lanky vampire had completely cleared the room before whipping the stake out of his pocket and plunging it into his back in one clean stroke. The one called Lucius made a sort of choking noise, as if gasping for air he had not breathed for many years, before falling lifelessly to the carpet.
Wasting no time, Stefan removed a match from his pocket, kicked the door open, and lit the dish towel on fire, and let go. Malachi was just raising his hands toward Stefan, presumably to perform some sort of spell, when the bottle broke over his body and covered every inch of him in an explosion of flame. The second vampire was too busy jumping back in surprise and pain at the fire to notice Stefan approaching him with the second stake until it was too late.
With Malachi’s henchmen dispatched of and the man himself temporarily incapacitated, Stefan turned his attention to Klaus, who had been secured to his four poster bed with heavy silver chains. Stefan began swiftly untying the chains, doing his best to ignore the way the silver burned his hands, and, when he finally finished, caught Klaus before he could topple to the floor.
Manually wrapping Klaus’s arms around his neck, Stefan murmured, “Hold on,” before whisking them both out of the house as fast as he could possibly go. It was only when they had reached the Seine and Stefan was confident they weren’t being followed that he realized he hadn’t actually planned out what to do after the escape. In truth, he hadn’t really believed his scheme would work, so planning any further than throwing a Molotov cocktail at a powerful sorcerer and running like mad had just seemed like tempting fate.
“Stefan,” came a weak whisper from beside him, and Stefan was startled to realize that it had come from Klaus. As he moved his head to really look at Klaus for the first time that night, Stefan was shocked by what he saw: the habitual glossy whiteness of his skin had somehow morphed into a dull, yellowish color, his entire upper body was covered with gashes and burns, and those unforgettable blue eyes, always glinting, flashing, challenging, were now lifeless and bloodshot. Stefan was so used to watching Klaus be arrogant and completely in control that seeing him in such a weakened state caught completely off guard.
“I...need...blood,” Klaus spoke again, seemingly trying to return Stefan’s gaze, but unable to lift his head more than a few inches from where it lay resting on Stefan’s shoulder.
“Klaus, I don’t know-” was all Stefan was able to say before Klaus had lunged away from him in a flash. Stefan turned rapidly to find him holding a strung-out looking prostitute up against a wall, his fangs unsheathed. But just as Stefan was running to pull him off her, Klaus screamed and raised his hands to his head in pain, releasing the girl in the process.
Stefan contemplated compelling the girl, but she seemed to be strangely unperturbed by the incident, probably the result of drug or alcohol abuse, Stefan mused. As she continued to stagger her way down the alley as if nothing had happened, Stefan turned his attention to Klaus, who had collapsed on the ground, presumably having used up what little strength he had on the botched attack.
“Klaus? Klaus?” Stefan shouted, shaking him urgently, but with no visible result. Stefan dragged one of Klaus’s arms over his shoulders and yanked him into a standing position. His rapid deterioration increased the urgency of the situation, and Stefan knew in a flash that there was only one place they could go.
Keeping one hand around Klaus’s waist and the other clamping Klaus’s hand to his shoulder, Stefan sped them across the river and back to the Third District. After reaching his destination, Stefan began to pound on the door of the only person in Paris who could help him now: Jacqueline Dupont.
After a few seconds, the door was opened by a flustered Jaqueline; though she was fully dressed, her rumpled hair and hastily buttoned blouse indicated that she had received only a little advance knowledge of their arrival.
“You cannot be here, Stefan,” she hissed, “It’s far too dangerous.” Jacqueline attempted to slam the door in his face, but Stefan swiftly wedged his body in it.
“Please, Jacqueline, you’re the only chance we’ve got of escaping Malachi. And currently, we’re the only chance anyone has of stopping him from doing God knows what. You said it yourself, dark things are coming. Well, I’ve got some bad news for you; they’re already here.”
Jacqueline’s dark eyes flashed for a moment, but she opened the door a few inches more to allow them in. “Come, I have a place where you can hide out for a little while,” she said, motioning toward the back of the shop. Stefan followed, dragging Klaus’s unconscious form with him, and watched in amazement as Jacqueline tilted a small crystal pyramid upward, causing the bookcase it was situated on to swing out and reveal a narrow, lamplit staircase.
“My grandfather was an engineer, and a cautious one,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “During the Second World War, he created this chamber to hide his family in case the Nazis decided to add witches to the list of the persecuted. Though it never came to that, my family has nevertheless found this room to be a valuable asset.”
As they wound their way down the stairs, with Jacqueline and a torch leading the way, there came into view a cozy, little room, containing an antique double bed, desk and chair with writing materials, a bookcase, and a large wardrobe. Stefan stepped forward, deposited Klaus on the bed, and, after subconsciously adjusting Klaus into a more comfortable position, sat down next to him.
“You should be safe here for a few days,” Jacqueline said, “And if anyone should bother you...” She strode over to the wardrobe and opened it to reveal a row of guns, crossbows, and various other instruments of violence.
“Thank you, Jacqueline,” Stefan said sincerely, adding, “I am sorry to drag you into this.”
“You have dragged me into nothing, cheri,” she replied, waving him off, “I am involved because, for some reason I do not yet know, it is necessary that I be. Now, what is wrong with your friend?”
“He’s not - I don’t know,” said Stefan with a sigh. “I thought it was just the torture, but he should have healed from even the most severe of normal wounds long before now. There’s something supernatural at work.”
“Let me go grab a few of my tools, and I’ll see what I can do,” she said thoughtfully and, with a soft rustle of her skirt, she was gone, winding her way back up into the main part of the shop. Stefan leaned back against the bed frame with a sigh and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face. Clearly the night’s adventures were beginning to catch up with him.
When he opened his eyes again, Jacqueline had returned and was busying herself placing candles and quartz crystals in alternation on the edges of the room and pouring a circle of salt around the bed itself.
“You might want to move for this part,” she suggested, and as soon as Stefan had cleared the bed, the candles simultaneously sprang to life. He watched in alarm as Jacqueline raised her hands, at which point, Klaus’s eyes shot open and he began to scream again. Jacqueline started chanting words in some language Stefan could not understand, and Klaus’s hands quickly grasped the thin bedclothes in an iron-like grip as his body arched up and twitched violently in pain.
“Is this really necessary?” Stefan demanded. When she didn’t answer him, he rushed forward to try calming Klaus down, but was shocked to find himself hurled backward at the wall the second he reached the circle of salt.
Jacqueline turned slowly toward him, hands still raised, and he was startled to see that her eyes had turned a bright, unearthly shade of blue. “This is powerful sorcery, Stefan,” she said firmly, “It will not reveal itself to me without a fight.”
He remained quiet after that and spent his time trying not to think about the fact that it actually hurt him to see Klaus be tortured for the second time that evening. After what seemed like an eternity of chanting and screaming, Jacqueline finally lowered her hands, causing the candles to blow out and Klaus to fall back onto the bed, shaking and covered in sweat.
Stefan instinctively lunged forward toward the bed and called out, “Klaus? Klaus? Are you all right?”
Inexplicable relief flooded him when Klaus turned his head in his direction and Stefan could see that his blue eyes, though tired and full of pain, were once again alert. “Marvelous, dear boy, thank you for inquiring,” Klaus said with some effort. “And, tell me, who is this lovely creature whom I am to thank for my latest round of torture?”
“Jacqueline Dupont,” she said proudly from her place beside the bed, “And you should be thanking me, Lord Niklaus. Without my intervention, not only would you still be catatonic, but your brave friend here would have no idea what you are up against.”
“Then I thank you sincerely for all your assistance, Miss Dupont,” Klaus said, attempting to execute a little gentlemanly bow, but managing only a slight gesture of the hand. “Tell me, what exactly are we up against?”
Jacqueline’s expression clouded as she began to answer, then apparently thought the better of it, replying instead, “It can wait until morning. Believe me, there’s a long fight ahead, and you’ll both be needing whatever rest you can get.” With a meaningful glance at both of them, Jacqueline departed, heading up the stairs and bearing the torch with her, shutting the bookcase marking the entrance on her way out.
“She’s right, you should get your rest,” Stefan said to Klaus, rising to settle himself down in the desk chair for the night.
“Stefan,” Klaus murmured, catching Stefan’s wrist in a weak grip, which caused Stefan to turn and find Klaus staring imploringly at him. “You saved me tonight, and you didn’t have to. Why?”
Stefan paused, unsure how to answer, finally sighed and responded with his own question, “I don’t know Klaus, why did you protect me when you didn’t have to?”
Klaus gave him a tired, little smile and said, “I already ruined your life, Stefan, not getting you killed seemed like the least I could do.”
It took Stefan a moment to fully process the idea that Klaus actually acknowledged what he had taken from Stefan, and what’s more, was almost apologizing for it. Before he could formulate an adequate reply, Klaus continued, “You can consider your debt to me officially paid. You can leave whenever you like. Jacqueline and I will sort out Malachi.”
“No,” Stefan said, surprising both Klaus and himself with the firmness of his answer, “I’m not leaving. Malachi is a greater threat than any I’ve ever come across, yourself included, and I’m not going anywhere until he is dealt with.”
An expression Stefan could not quite decipher passed over Klaus’s face for a moment before he shrugged and said, “On your head be it, then, my friend.” Klaus shifted his body to try and settle down for the night, but winced the second he attempted to lift his torso and fell ignominiously down again onto the bed.
“Here,” Stefan murmured, as he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Klaus’s waist, gently turning him onto his side. When he attempted to withdraw, however, Stefan was surprised to find Klaus’s hand wrapped around his right forearm, and even more surprised to hear him utter a soft, “Thank you.”
Stefan smiled in spite of himself at the absurdity of the world’s oldest known vampire thanking him for essentially tucking him in for the night, or perhaps acting like his knight in shining armor, and was about to leave when he realized that Klaus was still clinging to his arm and showing no signs of letting go. For no specific reason he could name - sympathy, perhaps, or maybe just a weariness of resisting - Stefan found himself also settling down on the bed, resting his head beside Klaus’s on the pillow.
Klaus said nothing, but shifted his body just enough so that it was pressed up against Stefan’s and slid his hand down from Stefan’s arm so that their fingers were linked. Lying there next to him in a dimly lit room on an ancient bed, Stefan was struck again by how vulnerable Klaus looked in repose, not at all like the commanding, cruel Klaus he had seen too often during his waking hours.
Klaus’s voice from beside him interrupted Stefan’s musings. “Stefan?” he asked hesitantly, keeping his face turned away.
“Mmmm?” Stefan replied sleepily.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “For all of it. You’re more than I deserve.” Though he then lapsed once more into silence, Klaus placed his other hand on top of the one he had joined with Stefan’s.
“Go to sleep, Klaus,” Stefan murmured, though he was oddly touched, “We can talk about it tomorrow.” Without consciously meaning to, he suddenly found himself using his spare hand to stroke Klaus’s hair, which seemed to lull the other vampire into an almost immediate slumber.
Perhaps, Stefan thought, closing his eyes, just perhaps, there was more to Klaus than he wanted people to believe. This was a thought he deemed distinctly worthy of investigating, but on another day. For now, all he wanted to do was sleep, and if he slept a little better with his arms around Klaus, then so be it.
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