WARNING: Mikael is a dickhead. Title comes from, of course, Dear Theodosia.
Original!Caroline AU because that’s my jam, featuring Marcel. Let me know if you want more of this AU, because I’d love to write it.
Read and review here. Sequel here.
Caroline ran her hands through the boy’s hair, comforting him as best she could. “He tries, Marcel. He does.”
Marcel’s shoulders shook with sobs, and Caroline, in that moment, hated Mikael more than ever before. It was Mikael who ruined Klaus, who now ruined Marcel.
“Why, mama? Why is he so mean?” The young boy pleaded. He curled into her, and her heart shattered at the sight of her son, laid so low.
She laid down with him, determined to stay the night. Klaus would just have to sleep alone, that night.
In a whisper, she told her son the secret they’d been keeping from him for two years. “Marcel, I have to be honest with you. The truth is ugly but in order to understand why your father is the way he is, you must know.”
He sniffled, “okay.” With wide eyes, his innocence was still intact, at least a little bit. She didn’t doubt that the next death he witnessed at his father’s hand would rip it away from him.
“Your father was born of an illegal relationship. His father was not the same as Aunt Rebekah and Uncle Elijah’s father. Their father, Mikael, knew that Klaus was not his son and treated him as such. Your father received beatings for every little thing he did. He was never shown love, just anger and aggression.”
“He isn’t angry and aggressive with you,” he pointed out, wiping away his tears.
“You’re right,” she conceded. “But that is because I have been loyal to him since we were children, over 800 years ago now. He has learned to be affectionate with me, but he has not with you. Though he would never hurt you,” she hurried to assure. “He just does not know how to be anything but cruel, and doesn’t think about how you will react to it.”
Marcel looked away, blinking suspiciously again. “Will you tell him that I don’t want to see his business please? I don’t think I can.”
“Of course, darling,” she soothed, rubbing his back.
“Thank you, mama,” he sighed. “Can we talk about somethin’ else now?”
They talked until his eyes drooped. “You go on to bed, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
He nodded, mostly asleep. The moment she was out of the bed, he curled into a tighter circle, more on the spot she’d been in than in his own.
She slunk out silently. As soon as she hit the steps, Klaus was there with his arms crossed. “Done coddling the boy, are you?”
“I think you mean, ‘done comforting our son, are you?’,” she snapped. The urge to push him down the staircase was strong, but she knew she couldn’t hurt him. All she could do was sass him ‘til the sun rose and there would be no emotional harm done. Sass didn’t remind him of what Mikael did to him.
She loved him more than any other being on the planet, and she could not do that to him. No matter how annoying he was.
He glowered at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. Her refusal to do as other wives do and just slap him silly when he needed a good whack was something they pointedly ignored, but don’t be fooled. He knew exactly why she didn’t. “He shouldn’t need comforting!”
Her hands went to her hips instantly. “He is twelve, and dealing with having you for a father. Some comfort could go a long way in ensuring he doesn’t turn against you in the future.” Gods, if only he used his brain and realized that. She wouldn’t be able to bear being caught between her husband and her son.
His eyes, usually lovely and sweet, were hard. “No matter what I do, he will go against me, I who has saved him from torment, who has fed and clothed him, treated him as my own, who -- “
She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Not another word, Niklaus. Think about what you are saying. Think about who you are emulating right now, and how you felt when you were in Marcel’s place. Then perhaps you will realize just why I am choosing him over you.”
She turned, ready to return to her child. He wasn’t hers by blood, and she hadn’t chosen him, but she’d loved him since he stepped into her home, Klaus right behind him.
“You dare compare me to Mikael?” He spit, reaching for her. She spun, grabbing his wrist and twisting.
“Yes,” she said simply. “And before I forget, Marcel has decided he wants nothing of your ‘family business’. So leave him out of it, or you will regret it.” You’re lucky I love you hung between them, not needing to be said.
She left him in the hallway, a glare chasing her to her baby’s room.
The next morning, a charcoal drawing of Caroline cradling Marcel in her arms sat innocently on his bedside table. On the bottom, he’d written, you have given me something to aspire for, All My Love, Klaus.
With a sigh, Caroline left it. It would do Marcel some good to see the human side of his father, after all.
It didn’t mean he was off her hit list, but it was a start. That was all she could ask for.
Warnings for Silas, angst + hurt/comfort, and lots of Delena (both together and individual) bashing. Maybe a little OOC.
Set in s4 of TVD. Rated T/SFW.
Silas played his little game with them all, none more so than the vampires of the group.
Which meant Giuseppe Salvatore and Lexi Branson and even Lucien Castle appeared in Mystic Falls. They were always angry, but still enough like their true selves to not cause suspicion until Silas wanted you suspicious. There was an edge of pure, unmitigated danger in each of them, uncontrollable and unpredictable.
Klaus had to remind himself that it was just Silas, insisting on getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Kind of like himself but worse, Caroline said. She joked that it was the worst thing about Mystic Falls -- there were two of him.
That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part, Klaus thought, was the others around he and Caroline. Always scheming, always thinking the world revolved around them. No one cares that Elena is being mildly inconvenienced by this, he wanted to say every single time he was roped into one of their stupid, foolish plans. No one with half a brain cell cares about Elena, period. (Elijah didn’t count. It wasn’t his fault he fell for the same face every time, it was the person behind the face’s fault for manipulating him into affection.)
Speaking of, Elena was going on and on about one of those stupid, foolish plans, one that was clearly Damon’s opinions regurgitated into a plan (sponsored by Damon, Caroline liked to say). He was being forced to sit at the table, Caroline practically in his lap since they were in a booth meant for four, maybe five people. It was seating eight people, nine if you counted Elena and Damon as separate entities.
Ostensibly, they were there for several reasons: they wanted to be kept up-to-date, Caroline was slowly cracking Bonnie’s shell so she would be open to a friendship, Rebekah didn’t want to be there alone, etc. There were more, he was sure.
In reality, they were there because Caroline liked to watch the trainwreck that was the Salvatores + Doppelganger. Entertainment at it’s finest.
Klaus buried his nose into Caroline’s hair and forced himself to hide his distaste. He’d rather hear literally any person on the planet droning on more than her. Aurora de Martel would be nice, right about now, with her nails-on-a-chalkboard-voice, obvious flirting, and even more obvious hatred. Caroline would probably claw her eyes out -- and what a wonderful sight that would be. Much more entertaining than Damon Squared and The Judgement Squad.
The doppelganger stuttered and stopped; his head popped up, intrigued. Maybe Damon had cut her stream off; the power imbalance was a delicious little treat. (Caroline found it disgusting, but he disagreed. It really added to the not-boring factor that was so often left lacking.)
But no, she was looking towards the doors. Her mouth was open in evident confusion (and the fact that he knew her well enough to know confusion on her face just made him despair. There were very few things he hated more than doppelgangers) but she didn’t seem to be scared or anything. Not that she did that anymore, with her link to Damon making her fearless.
His head tilted so he could see what had stopped her. When he did, his whole body froze.
A familiar grin, hair shorn close to the skull, an air a mix of cockiness and submission. The posture was the same, as was the gait, the...everything.
He, Caroline, and Rebekah watched, shocked, as … it stepped closer to the group. It wasn’t his son, it wasn’t his, it probably wasn’t even a shred human. No matter how much it resembled the boy he’d lost in 1919, it wasn’t him.
Objectively, he knew it was Silas, jerking their chains. Subjectively, he knew it was nothing but a shapeshifter, an evil, malicious monster who was there to threaten his family.
“Papa,” it said the second it was within feet of the table. “Why are you making that face? Something wrong?”
That godsdamned attitude, the one Klaus loved to hate and hated to love. His teeth clenched and his jaw jumped. How dare Silas do this. He could understand wanting to be with the love of your life, wanting chaos and destruction and death. But he could not understand why anyone would do...this.
“Silas,” he growled, easing Caroline further into Rebekah’s side. The children around him tensed, not knowing who Silas was showing himself as but trusting that Klaus did. It probably helped that Caroline and Rebekah were glaring so hard, they could’ve burned a hole with the heat in their gazes. Three of six Originals glaring at someone? Definitely a threat.
The grin morphed into a sinister smirk, one that he’d seen much too often lately. “How did you know,” he drawled, leaning up against the high backed seat. Rebekah leaned back, disgusted. “Was it the teeth? I think his are a little more crooked than I have them.” Silas flashed the teeth of his son, perfectly straight, unlike the real ones.
“Are”. Fucking Silas.
He took a quick moment to make sure his eyes stayed human and his fangs didn’t break through his gums. No need to traumatize the innocents of this little town anymore than he already had.
“No, it was the part where you’ve taken the form of someone who’s long dead,” Rebekah answered for them, spitting the words out. Caroline was frozen, pressed up against him. He wasn’t faring much better.
“Oh, this ‘ole boy? Please. He isn’t dead,” Silas pfft’ed, waving a hand. “Haven’t you been down that way in the last hundred years? Marcellus here is on top of the world.”
Caroline growled, “shut up. Now.” All eyes (of the children, that is) snapped to her. She was known for being the calm presence that could branch between the children and Elijah, depending on if he was on their side or not, and Klaus, Rebekah, and on occasion, Kol. She had never shown the side of her that was angry, hungry, and defensive to the children. That was why they were all scared of Klaus but civil with Caroline. She was the nice one who wouldn’t kill you if a mood swing hit.
His eyes flicked to Bonnie, who didn’t seem scared of Caroline. But then, she didn’t always seem scared of him, so he couldn’t be sure if Caroline was losing a potential friend here or not. He hoped not. She had so few….
Bonnie wasn’t important right now, though. Caroline was. His hand, already on her waist, tucked around her and pulled her closer. He wouldn’t let her fight Silas, especially not with him taking the visage of their son. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take much effort on Silas’ part for her to jump over the table and get hurt trying to decapitate him.
“Now, why would I do that? I’m telling the truth.”
“No, you’re manipulating us to believe your...your idiotic, unfounded stories. Marcel is dead! I saw it happen!” Caroline’s voice grew more and more distressed. Tears sprung to her eyes, visibly shocking the children; he held her tighter to him, heart cracking open. “You’re lying!”
Silas made a poor imitation of his son’s empathetic face, mouth turning down and eyes softening. It made Klaus want to pull a page out of Kol’s book and torture him, rip him limb from limb.
“I’m not lying. He’s alive, running around and terrorizing the witches and wolves. He goes by Marcel Gerard, now. I guess it sounds better than Mikaelson.” Silas shrugged. “You should go see for yourselves.”
Klaus stiffened. Silas wanted them to go to New Orleans? No way it was happening now. He refused to play into the evil plans of the immortal in front of him.
He was about to snap something to that effect when the insufferable ingrate Salvatore brother said, “um, I know you’re Silas, but who the hell are you supposed to be now? We’re all confused and this little pow-wow here,” he waved his fingers, “isn’t telling us much.”
Silas grinned. “Oh, this is Marcellus Mikaelson. The son of the Original Hybrid and his darling wife, Caroline.” He paused, surveyed the group -- the three Originals, the Salvatores, the doppelganger, the witch, and the hunter -- and said, “I was going to have you do something, threaten you all, etc. etc., but you know what? I like leaving on this note. Ta ta!”
And then he was sweeping out of the bar, taking the last of their son with him.
The second he was out of view, Caroline elbowed him hard in the ribs and tried to push Rebekah out of the booth. He clamped his arms around her, ignoring the pain, while Rebekah threw her legs over Caroline’s, keeping her in her spot.
“I have to go see,” Caroline said, voice cracking. “I have to go see if he was telling the truth. I have to see Marcel.” She turned slightly, to address Klaus. “I have to see our son! He needs us, Klaus, please.” She was so distraught, so despaired. His heart broke all over again at the sight. “Please let me go see him,” she begged.
“Care,” Rebekah said, her demeanor softer than he’d seen it since the 1820’s, “he didn’t survive. He couldn’t have. The fire was too great, you know that. I’m sorry.”
Caroline sobbed, hating the truth, turning and pushing her face into his chest. The rest of the table watched, caught between intensely uncomfortable, confused, and upset. The witch, of all them all, looked the most empathetic, with the Rippah not far behind. (Good, that was good. She would hopefully be nice to Caroline after this, be more open to a friendship. Gods knew she needed it.)
Rebekah closed her eyes with a sigh, and stood. Klaus quickly pulled himself and Caroline out of the booth, needing to get away from the children and their judgements. Maybe this would finally shock them into realizing ‘Original’ did not equal ‘emotionless’.
He moved to the doors at a fast but human pace. Caroline clutched to his shirt, wrapped around him so tight, he was probably bruising. Her cries were loud and heart wrenching.
Someone stopped him just before he could leave. “Is she alright?” He didn’t look around, but he could tell that most of the people in The Grill were looking their way. Shit.
He tried to put on his socialite smile, the one Caroline said was nice but distant. In an effort to make them stand out less, he spoke in an American accent. “Yes, she’s fine.”
And then they were gone.
By the time he set her down on their bed, she’d stopped sobbing. He sat next to her heavily, hating her tears and hating Silas and hating Mikael, but most of all hating that he could do nothing to change the past.
Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I believed him.” She sniffed, and pulled herself onto his lap. Always was more tactile the more upset she got. “I just wish it was true. That Marcel somehow made it out, is somehow still alive. King of New Orleans doesn’t sound too shabby,” she laughed wetly. Not for our baby, he almost heard her say.
He bit his cheek and rubbed her back. “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “He deserved nothing less.”
Klaus wasn’t going to say his name. He hadn’t since that awful night, since Elijah dragged him out of the theater and away from the fire. Since he died and took his parents’ hearts along with him.
He sighed and dropped his head to her shoulder. His wolf wanted him to scent her, but he couldn’t be bothered. He was too tired, too stressed, to do much of anything.
(She smelled so much like him, anyway, that it didn’t matter. His scent permeated her skin, her hair, her clothes, and every other piece of her. There was no need to rub his scent onto her even more. Except….)
He pushed his nose up her neck, taking comfort in both the action and the sigh she gave. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that scenting was comforting and grounding.
Her fingernails ran over his scalp, brushed through his hair.
“I really miss him.”
“I do too,” he whispered, nuzzling closer. “I miss him more and more everyday.”
A single sob fell from her lips. She curled tighter, legs and arms wrapping around him again.
They didn’t say anything else after that, just comforted each other like they had in the weeks and months after his death.
If anyone has any specific things they want to see in regards to the “A Million Mistakes” ‘verse, send them in! Marcel can be anywhere from ten to twenty years old.
