[ there's only one thought in his mind, at the end.
it turns over and over, amongst the flashes, the aches, the terrors of this night and all the unknown uncertainties they will usher. he remembers the curve to mirror freya's wrist as she cursed him, the pain that broke his bones. he sees the wide-eyed, clawing determination for life in evelyn's. he tastes the flow of blood, unending. that young girl's screams and desperate fight. caroline's, when his fangs ripped through her flesh. lucifer's terror in his recognition.
he remembers the stain of freya's tears on her cheeks. the willed strength of rebekah's hands. the bow of damon's head and the emptiness in his eyes. the part of elena's white lips, so stark against the blood-red gash on her neck.
but there's only one thought that matters. that sticks. that lifts from the anguish and ashes when all is said and done and he steps out of the violated safety of he and his sisters' home.
he goes to find his friend.
pale and drawn, angry and disquieted in his hope that it's not so and concern that it is, he finds him. leopold is at the labs, of course. because where else would he be, orchestrator of all that is? (and hasn't he, klaus, played his part?)
he goes through the motions. he lets the machinery work, verifying his identity, letting him through the safeguards one by one.
there's no mistaking the scene that greets him, nor the look on leo's face when he lifts his head. klaus' breath shakes; his chest tremors visibly. tears fill his eyes. for a moment he believes he will tear him apart. (what would it do? he might as well tear himself to pieces, for all the blame he desires to cast off.) it's rage. it's decimation. it's resignation. his jaw tightens against it all. ] Was it you? [ the words are thick and tired and commanding; they want answers. ]
night of 5/13
it turns over and over, amongst the flashes, the aches, the terrors of this night and all the unknown uncertainties they will usher. he remembers the curve to mirror freya's wrist as she cursed him, the pain that broke his bones. he sees the wide-eyed, clawing determination for life in evelyn's. he tastes the flow of blood, unending. that young girl's screams and desperate fight. caroline's, when his fangs ripped through her flesh. lucifer's terror in his recognition.
he remembers the stain of freya's tears on her cheeks. the willed strength of rebekah's hands. the bow of damon's head and the emptiness in his eyes. the part of elena's white lips, so stark against the blood-red gash on her neck.
but there's only one thought that matters. that sticks. that lifts from the anguish and ashes when all is said and done and he steps out of the violated safety of he and his sisters' home.
he goes to find his friend.
pale and drawn, angry and disquieted in his hope that it's not so and concern that it is, he finds him. leopold is at the labs, of course. because where else would he be, orchestrator of all that is? (and hasn't he, klaus, played his part?)
he goes through the motions. he lets the machinery work, verifying his identity, letting him through the safeguards one by one.
there's no mistaking the scene that greets him, nor the look on leo's face when he lifts his head. klaus' breath shakes; his chest tremors visibly. tears fill his eyes. for a moment he believes he will tear him apart. (what would it do? he might as well tear himself to pieces, for all the blame he desires to cast off.) it's rage. it's decimation. it's resignation. his jaw tightens against it all. ] Was it you? [ the words are thick and tired and commanding; they want answers. ]