A little imagination is a good thing
Saw gifs of the season 4 originals promo and had this idea.
Darkness and suffering.
His only two constant companions for the long stretch of years, the days that had inched by and yet bled together at the same time.
The darkness of his world and his mind, the physical and psychological suffering.
They never left him.
But sometimes they were interrupted.
“Camille,” Klaus gasps, pushing himself off the ground, his chains rattling on the floor and on his mind, “Camille!”
“I’m here.” Her voice, gentle and soothing reaches his ear and she is sitting behind him, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She is human and in good health, happy to listen to him as he wraps himself in self-pity and comfort.
He likes to hallucinate her, to let her voice filter through his mind like soft music, agreeing with him,
She was his only welcome visitor.
But there was another one who often made her presence known.
“Seriously?!” A harsh voice cuts through the darkness, “You’re still down here?”
Caroline Forbes storms across his prison cell, an invasion of light and life in his hell,
She glares down at him and kicks at his chains, causing them to scrape against the floor and tug on his raw wrists.
“This is ridiculous, Klaus, you’re the Original hybrid, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and figure out an escape!”
“We’ve been over this!” he snaps at her, his temper being the one part of him left with any real strength, “There is no escape.”
She scoffs and looks over his shoulder,
“This is your fault,” she tells Camille, “If you didn’t coddle him and let him feel sorry for himself, he would have been out of here ages ago.”
She stomps her foot and paces the length of prison, examining the walls carefully and studying the iron hooks which hold his chains to the wall,
“Think,” she says, frowning thoughtfully, “There is always a way.”
How many times had she said this to him? How many times had they discussed the length and strength of his chains? The infrequency of Marcel’s visits? How he could possibly break the spell keeping him in this prison?
He supposed it was his own fault. When the boredom had first set in, he’d entertained himself with memories of Caroline, then fantasies where they’d coupled in his very cell in various positions and levels of intimacy.
Except then she’d started turning up in nightclothes, like she wore now and his brain had stopped allowing her to be a distraction and turned her against him as a form of torment.
Now, the only words she ever had for him were condemnatory- demanding that he escape- or scornful- furious that he allowed himself to be held this way.
“How are you, sweetheart?” he asks, trying to distract her as she stretches out to study the area. “Tell me you’re seeing the world, travelling or living your life.”
Her back is still to him but he knows that she’s rolling her eyes and she crosses her arms, as she spins on her heel to face him.
“Why aren’t you desiccated?” she demands, frowning in confusion,
“It’s been years, why aren’t you motionless on the floor?”
He raises his arm to run a hand through his thick, curly hair,
“Marcel keeps me fed, not enough to gain my strength but enough to keep me conscious.”
“But why?” she demands, her eyes lighting up as they did whenever she caught onto an idea,
“You’re Klaus Mikaelson! Even chained up, you’re dangerous, so why not desiccate you?”
There’s something scratching at the back of his mind, but Klaus fights it, too afraid to touch the idea,
“Because from time to time, he comes to speak to me,” he answers,
“And I think he likes to watch me suffer.”
Caroline shakes her head, “No, that can’t be it, because then he could just starve you until you were motionless but still able to talk, you’d be in even more pain. Why is he letting you move?”
Klaus doesn’t immediately speak, he drops his eyes to his knees and chained hands, looking from his left to right,
“He needs me fed.” he notes, raising his face as she crouches down in front of him,
“And what happens if you desiccate?” she asks excitedly,
“To the point where you can only just move?”
“The magic holding me here might think me dead and thus, release its hold on me,” He muses, a hint of the devil returning to his eyes and his lips as he raises his arms as high as they can go,
“You might be a figment of my maddened imagination, love,” he tells her,
“But wish me luck anyway.”
He slams his hands down on the ground, breaking his wrists and fingers until he can pull them through the manacles holding him in place, his feet undergoing the same treatment.
With only a thrill of fear, he moves to the very edge of his prison, hesitating until Caroline comes to stand beside him,
“Hurry up.” she snaps and he nods, “Very well.”
He brings his wrist to his mouth and bites down, sinking his fangs into his flesh, tearing down to the elbow so as to increase the blood flow and reopening the wounds when his healing kicked in.
When his vision swims and spots dance before his eyes, he whispers a prayer, steps forward…
And falls to his knees.
Outside his prison cell.
The merest hint of a triumphant laugh brushes his lips as he starts crawling to freedom.
Caroline awoke with a ragged gasp, clenching the bed sheets under her.
She’s paralyzed again, unable to move and though this happened every time she woke up from that particular nightmare, she’s still terrified until she can twitch her toes and then shift her legs.
She recalls the nightmare, the Klaus of her imagination escaping his cell and wonders if- now that he was free- that she would go back to nights of dreamless sleep?
It had originally started out as sexual fantasies that had turned into that freaky imprisonment scenario that her self-help book told her was due to stressors that she was experiencing during the day, which made perfect sense.
One of those stressors being that she didn’t even know where Klaus was.
With a sigh of annoyance, she rolls over and punches the pillow, hoping she can fall back to sleep.
She does and is so tired that she sleeps past her alarm, so it’s nearly midday when she’s woken by the insistent knocking on her door.
If it’s Jehovah’s Witness, she’s going to live-feed today.
Growling and barely remembering to throw on her bathrobe, she stomps down the hall and pulls open the door, “Yes? What do you…oh.”
Klaus is standing on her front step, covered in dirt, dust, blood and most alarmingly, the same outfit he’d worn in every last one of her dreams.
He is swaying on his feet and looks exhausted, but he’s smiling as he sees the pink nightgown she’s wearing, “I always liked it when you wore that one.”