Work Text:
"That is absolutely preposterous."
"You have no vision."
"And you have no decency."
"Do you even know what a bachelor party is?"
"I'm familiar with the concept, yes. Sadly, I never had the pleasure of experiencing one myself, since my brothers didn't throw me one."
"Perhaps they would have, had you informed them of your engagement before the wedding. Inviting the family would've been a nice touch as well."
"Perhaps if the family hadn't been so vile toward my bride, they would've been welcome."
"Perhaps if your bride hadn't been so openly hostile toward the family -"
"Oh, shut it, Elijah. I didn't come here so you could insult my wife."
Kol lets out a long, pained sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he'd known this was how the morning would unfold, he would've been far more generous with the breakfast mimosas.
Already the decision to invite Finn is proving to be a mistake. He knew it was a risk to their family's admittedly fragile ecosystem, but Rebekah insisted. Women and their bleeding hearts...
He had hoped - naively so - that Finn would simply decline the invitation, as he usually does whenever family gatherings are required. The last time they'd all been in the same room was at their mother's funeral, when Finn graced them with the news of his marriage to Sage, his longtime witch of a girlfriend, with whom Finn has apparently bonded through a shared loathing of his kin.
Quite touching. And perfectly timed.
Why Finn has decided to show up this time is anyone's guess, though Kol would bet Rebekah is to blame for that as well. Bullying him into accepting the invitation they were bullied into offering is very on brand for her. Except while she has sodden off to the girls' end of the celebrations, Finn is now their problem to manage. And judging by the current state of affairs, it appears Kol is stuck playing mediator - a role he is spectacularly unqualified for.
Kol's talents lie squarely in the art of starting fires, not extinguishing them. That's the elder siblings' department. His job is to be the charming disaster, the unapologetic screw up - not the peacekeeper.
This is going to be a catastrophic weekend.
"I see you've already gotten started on the brotherly bickering," he announces with mock cheer as he strolls into the room. "How so very selfish of you not to wait for me. Exchanging insults is a family tradition."
"You're late." Elijah's voice is as even as always, but the evidence of his sodden mood lurks around the corners of his clipped words.
"I was preparing these." Kol pulls two markers from his pocket and tosses them at his brothers.
Elijah snatches his from the air an inch before it hits his forehead. Finn doesn't even bother, merely moves out of the way and lets the marker disappear under a chair like it's a dead insect.
"What is this for?" Elijah asks.
"For writing, of course."
"Writing what?" Finn says warily.
"Your hopes and dreams,” Kol deadpans. “What do you think? Our plans for Nik's bachelor party. In case you've both forgotten, that's the entire reason we're under the same roof." Kol produces a stack of index cards from his jacket and deals them out evenly among them. "I'm not letting you borrow my marker, by the way," he tells Finn. "Go find yours."
"Mind explaining what exactly is your plan here?" Kol can tell Elijah's patience is hanging by a thread, his voice crackling with irritation.
"Isn't it obvious? Honestly, you're supposed to be the clever one."
"Kol," Elijah warns.
Kol rolls his eyes, exhaling for dramatic emphasis. "We each have five index cards and three vetoes. We each write down three proposed ideas. Once everyone has used their vetoes, whatever's left stays. Then we plot out the schedule and logistics."
Finn frowns. "That wasn't obvious at all, actually."
"That is..." Elijah looks from the cards to Kol, brow furrowed. "Surprisingly reasonable."
"Why, thank you, Elijah. That almost sounded like a compliment." Kol uncaps his marker. "Fun suggestions only, please," he instructs. "No buzzkilling Nik's last hurrah or I will give myself the power to veto all of you. I refuse to be associated with a subpar bachelor party."
"Why do you get to decide what qualifies as fun?" Elijah asks.
"That is a very good question," Finn agrees.
Kol scoffs. For all their differences, Finn and Elijah are more alike than either of them would ever want to admit.
"No offense," Kol starts, meaning the exact opposite, "but neither of you would recognize fun if it gave you a lap dance. If I left it to you, Nik would end up spending his bachelor party at the bloody opera. Someone needs to have our brother's best interests at heart. Now, quit stalling and get to work, will you? Let's get this show on the road."
Bury the Hatchet
Minories, City of London
One night. Five stops. Four brothers. Twenty years of unresolved bad blood.
What could possibly go wrong?
The greatest challenge they face this evening is not their bold schedule or completing all five planned activities before dawn. The real test lies in whether all four will survive the night - let alone make it to the final stop still together.
It's been years since they managed to spend more than a few hours in the same room without someone threatening violence. There's nothing quite as Mikaelson-esque as liquor-fueled unresolved anger issues and a good dose of sibling rivalry.
Kol has long maintained that if they'd spent more time exchanging punches instead of insults, they might not be as resentful toward each other. With that philosophy in mind, he made the executive decision to start their evening at an axe-throwing range. What could be more healing than hurling weapons at walls?
"I'm not entirely convinced that the four of us and sharp weapons makes for a good combination," Elijah remarks as they step out of the sleek black SUV. The venue is bathed in garish neon light, casting a harsh, almost dystopian glow across the pavement.
"Why?" Nik arches an eyebrow, strolling past him. "Afraid of a little competition, Elijah?"
A muscle twitches on his jaw. "You will regret that," he says, very calmly, before striding ahead.
They are ushered to a private range in the back, with larger lanes, tougher targets and a door that can be locked, just in case. Kol arranged it all in advance.
An instructor, barely out of adolescence, tries to give them directions and explain safety procedures, but he is cut short by the loud thud of Nik's axe sinking into the bullseye with clinical precision.
He smiles triumphantly at them. "Fancy making it a bit more interesting?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Kol replies blithely, rubbing his hands together and tuning out the instructor's panicked warnings about protocols and injury waivers.
Like anyone in their family needs tutorials on how to handle weapons. When Mikaelsons cause damage, it's never by accident.
"The winner gets a blank check to be cashed in at any moment during the night," Nik proposes. "Whatever is asked, the others will have to comply."
"From the look on your face, I take it you expect to win," Finn says drily.
Nik offers him a slow, wicked smile, full of promise.
They are all exceedingly good wielding sharp objects, but nobody has perfected the art quite like Nik. He is terrifyingly gifted with anything that requires precision, whether it's carving wooden figurines or pinning darts through coin-sized targets across the room.
On a normal day, Kol would back him to win.
Tonight, however, he feels quite lucky himself.
"I'm in," he declares.
"And whoever comes last?" Elijah asks, ever the stickler for rules. As is the Mikaelson way, glory to the winners, and punishment to the losers.
Kol beats his brothers to the answer. "Shall wear an outfit chosen by the winner."
Elijah frowns. "That doesn't make any sense."
Kol shrugs. "It does in my head."
"I have no objections," Klaus agrees.
"Ah, what the hell," Finn declares, selecting an axe from the wall and spinning it in his hand like he's done it a thousand times. "Let's do it."
Kol strips off his jacket and cracks his knuckles.
"Well, gentlemen," he drawls, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let the games begin."
The look of sheer horror on Elijah's face when he realizes he's come in last is, quite possibly, the highlight of Kol's entire year.
He wishes he'd snapped a photo of the exact moment, to keep in his wallet for a rainy day. Instant mood-lifter.
It is one thing to lose to Nik. Expected, even. He always beats the lot of them at everything. Losing to Kol - also forgivable. He's crafty, unpredictable and shameless. It's only cheating if you get caught.
But to place behind Finn?
Now, that's a shocker.
It's just Elijah's luck that Nik was easily persuaded to let Kol win once he heard of all his bright punishment ideas, and so it was up to him to decide what his brother would be wearing for the rest of the night.
He thought he'd be messing with Finn when he made that suggestion. The fact the object of his punishment turns out to be Elijah just makes it a billion times more delicious. A divine gift, indeed.
"Don't you look fetching," Finn remarks drily when their most well-dressed brother reemerges vacuum-sealed into the tightest pair of leather trousers known to man.
Kol beams like a little boy who's just opened his birthday present early.
"Not a word." Elijah's tone is sharp enough to draw blood. If looks could kill, Kol would be bursting into flames right there and then. "What do you think you're doing?" he snaps when he notices Nik pointing his phone at him.
"Bekah will never forgive me if I don't document this," he says, barely suppressing a laugh. His dimples are in full force as he snaps a photo.
"If that photo ever sees the light of day -" Elijah begins.
"Too late," Nik cuts him out, typing at lightning speed. “Rebekah says you look filthy.”
Elijah closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, summoning what seems to be centuries' worth of restraint. "Can we get going before I lose the last shreds of my dignity? Where's the next stop?"
Kol does a cheerful spin on his heel and gestures grandly toward the door. "Our carriage awaits, darling," he says. "Cheer up, Lijah. The night is young."
Studio Halo
Carnaby, Soho
Incorporating Nik's artistic obsession into their night out was no small feat. Specifically, making sure it wasn't mind-numbingly boring was nearly impossible.
Niklaus, Kol is certain, would've been thrilled to spend an entire weekend at some muddy artist's retreat in some godforsaken little town somewhere, meditating on brush strokes and existential pain. Kol, on the other hand, would pretty much rather stab himself in the eye with a hot poker.
Thankfully, Kol keeps the right kind of company.
A certain friend-with-benefits offered the upper level of her pink, kitschy Soho gallery for a bespoke installation. Everything was curated for them - it's art, but make it competitive to avoid death by boredom. A challenge, not a chore. The only thing his friend asked for in return was the rights to display the end result at the gallery. The Mikaelson heirs do tend to make a splash wherever they go, but it's not every day the four of them do anything together, let alone something constructive. Practically a historic moment.
If Kol were the sentimental type, he might have been moved by the symbolism. But, as a good Mikaelson, he brushes it all off with cynicism instead and plots to crush his siblings whichever way he can.
"What exactly is this place?" Nik asks when they arrive at their next stop, lips pursing in clear distaste.
"And you're supposed to be the expert," Kol scoffs. "It's an art gallery, silly."
"It's burning my retinas," Elijah says, squinting at the building's violently pink façade.
"Says the man in leather trousers," Kol shoots back, grinning.
Elijah gives him a death glare that could level a city. Kol, as usual, is immune.
"Looks like a cabaret," Finn remarks. "Which would make more sense, actually."
"God, you're all so tragically dull." Kol rolls his eyes and stalks off. "How am I related to you lot? Actually, don't answer that."
Carnaby Street is buzzing as usual. The building, with its electric pink exterior, has become an Instagram landmark. Tourists linger about, phones raised, chasing the perfect angle. But the gallery looks closed to the public.
Unless you're on London's most exclusive list for the evening, that is.
Kol rounds the corner to a nondescript little door. He knocks in a rhythmic pattern that has become quite familiar after a number of extremely chaotic nights at the gallery. Art has never made his heart race the way it does for Nik, but Kol will follow the scent of a good party to the depths of hell, and the ones thrown here have been nothing short of epic.
The door screeches open to reveal the less-than-friendly frown of a bouncer built like a brick wall. Not one of the regulars, Kol reckons, though in all truth he's usually incapable of telling which way is up anymore by the time he comes to the door. Faces and names become a delicious mystery. He's good with shapes, though, and the doormen and women here are usually of the alluring curves variety rather than the threatening towering sizes.
Either his friend is expecting all hell to break loose and has employed enough muscle strength to break four Mikaelsons apart, or she thinks she might have to get them kicked out, which - fair enough on both ends.
"I believe we're on the list," Elijah says flatly.
The man glares at him. "Names."
"I'm Happy," Kol volunteers brightly. "And these are Grumpy, Sneezy and Dopey." He points at Nik, Elijah and Finn in turn.
The bouncer looks mightily unimpressed, but moves aside to let them through.
"Thanks, mate." Kol gives the man a pat on his massive bicep and stalks ahead.
"Hilarious, Kol," Elijah mutters as they head down a dim hallway that feels more like a bunker than a gallery.
"How the bloody hell am I Dopey?" Finn demands, sounding every bit as offended as Kol expected him to be.
"How the bloody hell are you not?" he counters.
"If anyone's Dopey, it's you."
"And then which of you miserable gits would be Happy?"
"There are no Happys in this family," Elijah says grimly.
"Oh, so now you're agreeing with him?"
"I'm not agreeing with Dopey. I'm disagreeing with you."
"What the bloody fuck is this atrocity?"
Klaus' timely rant interrupts Kol's snorty laugh and Finn's outraged argument just as they arrive at the gallery's main floor.
The interior is blindingly white, but only to better showcase the avalanche of color inside. Fluorescent lights. Fluffy rugs. Walls covered in sketches of the female form - dozens of them, in all of its glorious shapes and sizes. Marie Antoinette armchairs with floral upholstery and custom-made giant lava lamps complete the decor.
It's whimsical. Lively. Brilliantly absurd.
And, as expected, the look on Niklaus' face is one of absolute insult.
Mikaelsons are, by rule of law, dark and dreary creatures of the night, but Kol had always fancied the gallery's vaguely retro and kitsch atmosphere. It doesn't particularly match his monster, but it is, simply putting it, cool.
"Don't be such a prude, Nik," Kol teases. "The female body is beautiful. It's art."
"This isn't art. This is sacrilege." He stares at the pieces as if they're oozing cholera. "It looks like a thirteen-year-old girl's Pinterest board, like those cheap AI-generated posters you can buy at Tesco for a pound. I hope this isn't your idea of an artistic rendition of a strip club."
"God, you're a riot," Kol grumbles. "Relax. We're not here so you can have a wank. If you can stop complaining for a second and follow me."
Kol leads them to a hidden staircase in the back, up to the second floor - their real destination.
"From a unicorn's retch to a loony bin," Finn comments when they enter the sterile open space of the gallery's upper level.
Hard to argue.
Where the first floor was an explosion of color, this one is clinical. Stark white walls, bare floors, tall windows with sheer blinds. There is no art on display, no furniture, only a bar cart, a row of collapsible chairs and a line of blank canvases stretched across the far end of the room.
This is where it gets fun.
"My friend runs a weekly event here," he explains, shrugging off his jacket. "She says it's an exercise for creatives."
"If you're calling the people who paint those godawful things downstairs creatives -"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist just yet, Niklaus. It's not about the work, it's about the experience. I couldn't give a rat’s arse about creating anything. As a game, however..." His grin widens.
"What exactly is that for?" Finn asks, nodding toward the canvases - some upright, some tilted, some even flat on the floor. Around them, dozens of white balloons are pinned to the walls and hanging from the ceiling, each filled with paint.
"I'm glad you asked, dear brother."
Finn and Elijah had been previously briefed, though he suspects neither of them had the imagination to fully grasp his vision and the activity only got accepted because they were more worried about vetoing each other's suggestions. Kol distracted them with a mock idea of holding a burlesque spectacle inside a party bus, which he was sure would get outraged denials from his brothers - in Elijah's words, he'd rather bathe in tar than ever set foot inside a party bus, last words pronounced as though they were an STD. His loss, of course. It could've been legendary.
Snobbish though his opinion might be, it's exactly what Kol wanted. This way, his true brainchild could survive unscathed to Sneezy's and Dopey's bickering.
"Behold The great Mikaelson masterpiece," he announces with a flourish.
"Blank canvases," Elijah deadpans. "How fitting."
"They won't stay blank." Kol moves to the chairs, pulling a stash of white smocks from underneath them. "Here, put these on."
Niklaus picks his up with two fingers, like it might be contagious. "Care to enlighten me as to what we're supposed to be doing?"
"It's simple. See the balloons? We take turns hitting them with darts. As we pop them, paint splashes onto the canvases - et voilà. Abstract art. If you miss your target, you drink."
"Pretty sure putting alcohol and darts in Niklaus' hands constitute a public safety hazard," Finn says, putting on a smock.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Elijah asks, choosing to fold back his sleeves rather than wear a smock. "We're all obscenely good with sharp objects. None of us will be drinking."
"Ah," Kol says, a glint of pure mischief in his eyes. "I wouldn't be too sure, brother. I planned this setup myself. These targets are trickier than they look."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
Kol bursts into laughter as Finn explodes in rage, kicking a chair across the room. It's his third consecutive miss.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he put this little game together: ease them in with a few simple rounds, let them get cocky, and then leave the difficulty and the alcohol to work its magic.
He didn't spend his entire childhood perfecting elaborate pranks on his siblings for nothing. His brain is wired for chaos.
The more they miss, the drunker they get, the worse their aim becomes. It's a perfect loop.
"It's not the chair's fault you're so bad at this, Finnegan," Elijah says.
"Go on, then, smartarse! It's your turn now!" he vociferates, his face a livid red as he knocks back another shot.
With a bored sigh, Elijah picks up a dart and steps up to the mark. He takes a deep breath, shoulders locked, dark eyes as cool as ice. It's the exact look he wears at board meetings that puts the fear of God in billionaires and corporate sharks from all over the world.
And then he misses.
"Fuck!" he curses, spinning toward Kol. "You're cheating."
Kol's brow inches up. "How?"
"I don't know. But you are."
"Fascinating theory. Ever consider that maybe you're just not as good as you think?"
"I have perfect aim."
"Stop whining and drink up, Elijah," Klaus interjects. His competitive streak was lit up the moment sharp objects entered the equation - and, as per usual, he's winning. "You're up, Kol."
"Yes, sir." Kol saunters to the line.
Elijah is not wrong - he did rig the game. But they can pry a confession from his cold, dead hands.
He's been deliberately missing most rounds just to drink, but now he goes for a flex, picking one of the furthest balloons. And he nails it, red paint splashing across the canvases as Finn and Elijah curse in unison.
Grinning, Kol turns and offers an exaggerated bow.
"If I find out you're cheating -" Finn begins.
"Truth time!" Kol cuts him off, clapping once. "Would you rather die by fire or drowning?"
"What kind of question is that?" Klaus shoots back.
"A simple one," Kol shrugs. "I hit the mark. I get to ask an either/or."
"That's not part of the rules," Elijah objects.
"It is now."
"You can't just change the rules halfway -" Finn starts.
"Just did. Fire or drowning, Finnegan?"
"Stop calling me that," he seethes. The nickname dates back to their childhood. Their old groundskeeper had a hound called Finnegan, and the name annoyed him to no end. Nik picked up on it, and the rest is history. "Fire," he answers through gritted teeth.
"Huh," Kol squints at him. "I would've pegged you for a drowner. Elijah?"
"I don't know."
"Pick one."
"Why?"
"Just indulge me."
After a pause, he sighs. "Drowning."
Kol tilts his head, studying him. "You're full of surprises today. You strike me as fire, especially in these leather trousers."
"They're not my trousers."
"Good point. Nik?"
"Fire." He doesn’t even have to think about it.
Kol nods slowly, considering. He imagines it: a bender, a hot tub, a toxicology report so complex it'd be taught at med schools. "Drowning," he says at last. "Definitely drowning."
Klaus steps up, hits a balloon filled with emerald-green paint, turns back to them. "Would you rather call me Master for a week, or let me control your phone for an entire day?" he shoots immediately after.
Kol gapes. "That is positively deranged, Niklaus. I love it. Master, obviously. You're not getting anywhere near my phone."
"I would never call you Master," Finn states with righteous indignation. "Besides, I have nothing to hide."
"You have nothing to hide now," Klaus smirks. "You would, after I got my hands on it."
"Master," Elijah mutters, visibly pained. "No chance you're touching my phone."
"See?" Klaus says to Finn, gesturing at Elijah. "You underestimate my destructive potential."
And so it goes. Every balloon brings a new absurd scenario.
Would you rather have my talents but your face, or your face but my talents?
(What talents, Kol? You have none.)
Be the favorite child but always have to do the chores, or be the black sheep but get away with everything?
Sprout horns every time you get horny, or burst into tears when you come?
"Would you rather," Finn begins slowly, "have your ex officiate your wedding... or have her marry one of your brothers?"
All eyes turn to Klaus.
He frowns. "What? Why are you all staring at me?"
"Aurora officiating your wedding," Kol muses. "That would be priceless."
"Caroline marrying one of us, though?" Finn ventures, eyes glinting.
"That is evil, Finnegan," Kol says approvingly. "I would marry her."
"Keep your paws off," Klaus states moodily. "And I'd much rather have Aurora officiate my wedding, as torturous as that would be."
"I'd pick the brother," Kol declares. "Keep things in the family, the old Mikaelson way."
"Very funny, Kol," Elijah says, a less than amused air about him.
Kol and Finn snicker. It's easy to forget, with Nik being as insane as he is about Caroline, that he and Elijah nearly came to blows once over Tatia. That was one interesting summer. The girl came in, hooked up with both of them, almost destroyed their unshakable bond and then disappeared never to be seen again.
Kol would bet his money that Esther made her go away. Their mother was a witch when it came to protecting her progeny. Unless it was from their father, that is.
He makes a mental note to include a Tatia joke in his wedding toast, and then moves on to the next question.
"Who do you think will get a divorce first, Finn or Niklaus?"
"Sage and I have been together for twelve years," Finn says with clear offense.
"And?"
"And we're solid."
"Hm," Kol says. "Fair point. If she hasn't dumped your arse yet, she likely never will."
"Time cures many wounds," Elijah declares, pouring himself another drink, just because, "but it also breeds a corrosive sort of resentment that nothing can weed out."
"Wow." Kol blinks. "That's incredibly deep. And also very fucked up. Who broke your cold, cold heart?"
"It's nonsense," Finn snaps back. "What are you trying to imply?"
"In simpler terms, brother..." Elijah says, casually sipping from his glass. "Sage might wake up one day and realize she can't stand the sight of you any longer after years spent talking herself into staying in a relationship that has been slowly killing her."
The silence that follows is deadly. The air around them shifts, colder all of a sudden.
Even by Mikaelson standards, there are lines - porous, yes, often blurry, but still. Elijah just pole-vaulted over it.
"Jesus, Elijah," Kol mutters. The delightful buzz in his head feels heavy now. "Bit harsh."
"I'm just saying," he shrugs, completely unrepentant.
"Just because you're miserable, doesn't mean we all are," Finn snarls, vibrating with anger. "It kills you, doesn't it? That I have found something you've craved your entire life. That no one has stayed long enough to marry you. You probably cry into your glass every night, you pathetic bastard."
A muscle twitches in Elijah's jaw. "I don't cry," he says flatly. "And you don't have to get all worked up. If you're so certain, you have nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried."
"You sound worried."
"I'm not worried," Finn repeats, tone pitching higher. "I'm irritated at your arrogance. We're not getting a divorce. Period."
"Well, neither is Niklaus," Kol chimes in, trying to steer them off the cliff.
"And how do you know that?" Finn growls.
"If Caroline still wants to marry him after everything... It must be real."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Klaus, who had been eerily quiet thus far, grumbles. "Enough with this tedious conversation."
"What did he do?" Finn presses.
Kol blinks at him. "You don't know the story?" When Finn shakes his head, his lips curve into a Cheshire grin. "See, Finn, this is the problem with exiling yourself from the family. You missed out on all the drama. This wedding is a hell of a plot twist."
"Niklaus was a thorn in Caroline's side in university," Elijah says. He wears that look of a man who's above gossiping when, in truth, he's the king of tea.
"You're being kind, Lijah. I was there," Kol says. "He terrorized her and her friends. Especially her ex-boyfriend."
When Nik decided to go to uni across the pond to try and escape their parents' rule of terror, the whole family was in shock. Mikael threatened to disown him, but Nik was undeterred. Esther became so paranoid she entrusted Kol to join him under the guise of keeping an eye on his brother. The poor woman... No idea the son she’d raised.
What followed was legendary. Away from their father's wrath, Nik thrived. He built an empire, ran the campus, made himself either feared or worshipped. The life of the party - sometimes the death of it, too. Everybody knew who he was.
Then Tyler Lockwood decided to pick a fight. An arrogant fool's mistake. He never stood a chance. The idiot had no idea what he was getting into.
"The arsehole deserved it," Nik states.
"Not saying he didn't," Kol shrugs. "But you don't know how to let things go."
"Always taking it too far," Elijah adds with a sigh. He was the one who had to deal with the lawyers in the aftermath of Nik's little squabble.
"Nik got him expelled," Kol provides to a confused Finn.
"He got himself expelled," Klaus glares at him.
"Yes, because you set him up."
"I did no such thing."
"Oh, please. You can lie to the dean and the cops, Nik, but you can't lie to us. We know you too well."
"I didn't set him up," Klaus objects, his infamous temper flaring up alive. "He got caught because he was an idiot who didn't know how to cover his own tracks."
"What was he doing?" Finn asks.
"Selling drugs to frat boys with poor judgement," Elijah replies.
"That last part is not true," Kol says. "It was top notch stuff. And the bastard went down without ever revealing his suppliers."
Finn narrows his eyes at him. "Why am I not surprised you were a client?"
"I'm a sommelier, brother," Kol amends. "It's different."
He scoffs, shaking his head and moving on as though Kol were a lost cause, which - well. "So," he continues. "Caroline hated you because you got her druggie ex-boyfriend expelled?"
"Arrested, to be more precise." Kol grins. "His father nearly choked. He's some small-town politician in Virginia. It cost them poor Tyler's entire trust to cover it up."
"And Caroline didn't know," Klaus says, stepping up to defend his beloved's honor. "He lied to her the whole time."
"And that's not why she used to hate Nik," Kol says. "It was because he was a pest who took his disagreements with Lockwood too far and ended up starting a war with all her friends. And then!" Kol stands up for the climax of the story, beaming. "He thought it was a good idea to ask her out." He bursts into laughter. Certainly one of his most treasured moments from all his years of college education. His degree is good for nothing, but watching his mighty brother getting his self-important arse handed to him by a girl? That is forever. "Oh, that was a lovely day."
Even Elijah cracks a smile.
Klaus, however, looks about ready to embed a dart into Kol's forehead.
Reckless and slightly tipsy as he is, Kol simply ignores the signs of danger, turning back to Finn. "Nik was absolutely mental about her and she wanted nothing to do with him."
"What did she do with the diamonds again?" Elijah asks - like he doesn't know exactly what happened.
"Diamonds?" Finn questions. "What, you tried to buy her like a camel?"
"No, he tried to woo her like it's the 1700s - her words, not mine. Bought her this vintage diamond bracelet, stunning. She just threw it back in his face and told him to take a hint."
"Yes, yes, very funny," Klaus grumbles. "You can shut up now."
"Sorry, Nik. It's just - you were so helpless. It was beautiful."
"I suppose that's why he loves her," Elijah muses quietly.
"I don't know why I put up with you wankers."
"Hold on," Finn interrupts. "How did she go from this to marrying you? Are you holding her family hostage somewhere?"
That does it.
In one fell swoop, Klaus grabs the remaining darts and, with scary precision, pops every last balloon.
"Fuck you," he snarls turning on his heel. "Fuck all of you."
Then he storms out of the gallery.
The only reason Kol is not surprised to find Klaus hasn't left yet is because he texted the driver and told him to keep an eye on the back door - and stop him by any means necessary if he tried to escape.
Still, he is a little taken aback to find him staring at one of the paintings he'd declared an insult to art on the first floor. A naked torso, all curves and shadows, painted in shades of violet and pink.
"There you are," Kol says as he approaches. One must always be careful around Nik when he's in one of those moods. It's like trying to approach a caged dire wolf. "We thought you might've climbed out the bathroom window. It's nasty in the back alley."
"I should have," he mutters bitterly, dark eyes fixed on the canvas.
Kol stops beside him, letting his gaze drift over the painting. "Admiring the piece at last?"
"Torturing myself," he replies. "It was either that or stabbing one of you. I went with the less bloody option."
Kol huffs a laugh. "Know what I've always liked about you, Nik?" He takes a swig from the bottle of bourbon he swept from the cart upstairs and hands it to him - a Mikaelson olive branch. "You're not dramatic at all."
Klaus casts him a begrudging glance, then snatches the bottle away without argument.
"We were just messing with you," Kol says. "You know how we are. Teasing and taunting is basically our love language."
"We don't have a love language."
"True," Kol concedes easily. "But if we did, it would be driving each other mad to show that we care."
Nik huffs. Not a laugh, exactly, but not a snarl either. Progress.
"For what it's worth," he continues in a placating tone. "I don't think Caroline is divorcing you. My whole bit was aimed at Finn. It kind of got away from me. My bad."
Something shifts in Klaus' expression, a shadow crossing his eyes.
"What?" he asks. Nik turns away, busying himself with the bottle. "What's that look for?"
Klaus' jaw tightens, lips pressed into a line. He grips the bottle so hard his knuckles turn white. He looks tense all of a sudden.
“Nik,” Kol presses. “Don’t tell me you’re getting reverse cold feet.”
For a moment, Kol thinks he's going to snap - throw the bottle, destroy the painting, scream, punch something - him, more likely.
But then, after a quiet beat, he says, "I don't know why Caroline is marrying me, either."
Kol blinks. "Maybe because you asked?"
"Tyler asked."
A beat of silence.
"He proposed to her. Right before he was expelled."
Kol stares. "You're joking."
"She told me later they'd already broken up, about a week before. She knew he was hiding something from her. After his father bailed him out, he ran to her apartment full of remorse, saying lying to her had been the biggest mistake of his life, that he wanted to move somewhere new, start fresh. He gave her some tacky family heirloom. She said no."
Kol's eyebrows lift. "Well. That's... Good. Isn't it? I mean - Tyler was a twit."
Klaus gives him a look. "I thought you liked his work?"
"I liked his suppliers, not him," he says. "But where is this coming from? Are you worried she will find religion in the arms of a hung stripper named Paolo at her bachelorette party and realize she's made a terrible mistake saying yes to the Grinch?"
Kol means it to sound absurd, ridiculous enough to break the tension. But the look on Niklaus' face makes him want to snatch the words back out of thin air.
He looks... Gutted. Like he is genuinely afraid. Not of Paolo, but - something.
Kol didn't think Niklaus feared anything. Not since Mikael.
"You're not serious," Kol says.
Klaus shakes his head. "Finn was right -"
"Let me stop you right there. Finn is never right."
"Mikael did a number on all of us," Klaus goes on, his voice low and grave. "We're all fucked in the head. Alluring packages with shiny trust funds to hide the rot within."
"I'm confused," he says, frowning. "Are you calling Caroline a gold digger?"
Klaus scoffs. "Caroline is... Bright. She is smart and beautiful and... Luminous. Everything we're not. And the last thing I want is to infect her with this misery. I would never forgive myself if she was the one to wake up one day, corroded by resentment, realizing she made a mistake."
Bloody Elijah, Kol thinks. He aimed at Finn and bullseyed straight into Niklaus’ darkest insecurities.
Kol watches him for a beat. "Would you let her go?"
Klaus' head snaps at him at the bluntness of the question.
"Let's say she has an epiphany," Kol continues. "Realizes she made a mistake. This is not what she wants, after all. Would you go full Mikaelson on her, using every leverage and connection to force her hand, or... Would you let her walk away unscathed?"
Klaus looks away, to the painting. The one either/or scenario he is not ready to entertain. And yet, when he turns back to Kol, there seems to be not a shadow of hesitation in his eyes.
"I'd let her go," he says quietly.
"Even after all the years you spent pursuing her?"
"I didn't pursue her so she would marry me." Nik pauses, his throat working as he swallows. "I pursued her because... I need her more than air."
Kol is momentarily stunned by the candor in his brother's words. Vulnerability doesn't come easy for Niklaus. They all know how deep he's sunk for Caroline, it's not like he's ever tried to hide it. But... Saying it out loud is something else entirely.
"I didn't care if she didn't want to be with me," he goes on. "I just... Needed to be near her. To make sure she was okay. Safe. Happy. Even if I wasn't a part of it."
"And if her happiness lies elsewhere?" Kol asks.
"I'd probably torch the whole world to the ground," Klaus says. "But I'd let her go."
Kol's mouth tugs into a rare, sincere smile. "Well, there you have it. That is why she's marrying you. You're the devil incarnate to everything and everyone that crosses you, Nik - but not to her. Never to her." He snatches the bottle back and takes a long swig. "The real twist is I think she feels the same way. So..." He hands the bottle back. "I don't think tonight will be poor Paolo's lucky night."
Klaus' jaw twitches, the ghost of a smile trying to break through his stubborn front.
"When did you get so smart?"
Kol scoffs. "Please. I've always been smart. I just downplay it so it doesn’t look bad for the rest of you."
Klaus shakes his head, staring down at the half-empty bottle in his hand.
"So..." he says after a pause. "Bekah set her up with strippers, huh?"
"You didn't hear that from me," Kol warns, jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "I'm serious. You say a word of this to her and I will be your worst nightmare."
"Why? Did she swear you to secrecy about her devious plans for my fiancé?"
"Yes. And between the two of you, she scares me more. So don't even try."
The Nocturne Society
West End, London
And so their night goes on.
A high-speed boat ride through the Thames - a surprisingly good suggestion from Finn - during which Kol is forced to steal Nik's phone and hurl it into the river so he'd stop texting Caroline. A bold move that nearly gets him thrown overboard, but totally worth it. Niklaus will have the rest of his life to mope over his bride. Tonight is about them.
The boat drops them off near Kol's next contribution to the agenda: clubbing.
It barely made the cut. Elijah and Finn united in brotherly opposition, calling it crass, juvenile and beneath them. But the card drawn after Kol's was Finn's kabuki theater idea, and then Elijah's private philharmonic performance, and Kol would rather kill them both and surrender to the police than attend either. No offense to kabuki - some offense to the philharmonic - but neither is bachelor party material.
Despite their pretentious protests, their curiosity was piqued when Kol specified which club he meant: The Nocturne Society.
They'd all heard about it - everyone in their circle has. But it's so exclusive, so deliberately obscure, that it feels more myth than reality. Most think it's just an old legend, a gentleman's club from another era that faded into rumor.
Except it didn't. Not if you have the right connections.
Kol may lack Elijah's poise, Finns' work ethic, or Nik's artistry, but when it comes to uncovering the rarest corners of the clubbing underworld, he is ruthless.
Finding the location of The Nocturne Society isn't even the hardest part. Gaining entrance is.
To join, you must be invited by a current member willing to relinquish their place. Memberships cannot be sold, traded or inherited - only given, and only to someone deemed worthy by the society's arcane standards. They make cautionary tales out of those who attempt to bend the rules. Some expulsions were so legendary that their fall from grace is still whispered about decades later.
Kol earned his entry by charming a venomous old widow named Dahlia. A tongue that cut like glass, sharp-witted and utterly delightful in her malice. She hated her family so deeply she left her entire estate to charity - not out of the kindness of her heart, but of pure spite.
To Kol, however, she left two things: her Nocturne Society membership, and a letter of recommendation.
He is an unreliable, insufferable, self-involved good-for-nothing, but a connoisseur of absinthe so exquisite it almost forgives the rest.
He wants that engraved on his tombstone.
Once every five years, a member of good standing may invite a guest for one night only. But because Kol is considered especially valuable - and because the Custodian owes him a favor or two - he was granted an exception.
They enter through a hidden door in the orchestra pit of a crumbling Victorian theatre. A hooded figure checks their credentials, then stamps a black wax seal onto the backs of their hands. It stings - Finn hisses, but Kol relishes it. By dawn, the wax will have melted, taking all evidence of their visit with it. Like a fever dream, as all the best nights are.
They descend a narrow staircase. When they reach the bottom, the air shifts - cold, thick and laced with mystery.
It opens first into an antechamber, where their jackets are taken and their phones locked away. Elijah hesitates to part with his. The contents of his phone could trigger a financial collapse worse than 1929. But their liquor-fueled darts match at the gallery has loosened him up just enough for his long-dormant adventurous side to win its eternal war against his uptight, rational one.
The main hall is vast and decadent, candlelight and one dazzling crystal chandelier right at its center casting a ghostly, flickering glow over the packed room. Velvet drapes line the walls. Oil portraits hang above distressed leather bookshelves, the faces all scratched out. A string quartet plays from a curtained alcove. At the far end is the bar, and Kol’s pride and joy: an absinthe fountain.
"Are you sure this is supposed to be a party?" Finn asks, already annoyed. "Looks more like a funeral."
"Relax, brother," he says. "We're early."
"Is that an absinthe fountain?" Niklaus cuts in.
"I'm glad you noticed," he replies, a wide smile on his face. "My creation, actually. But before we get to that -"
He raises a hand, and within moments, a masked waiter appears with four shot glasses on a silver tray.
“Thank you kindly,” Kol says, passing the glasses around.
Elijah sniffs his suspiciously. “What exactly is this?”
“Not poison,” Kol replies. “Though your paranoia is adorable. This," he announces, "is The Chime."
Nik's brow zips together. "Never heard of it."
"You wouldn't have. It's a Nocturne Original. The recipe is a secret. Only the club's mixologists know it, and they're sworn to the grave. I've tried replicating it, but all I've got so far is chilled vermouth and fig. There’s something else in there I can’t quite place. But that's beside the point." He lifts his glass, a sincere smile gracing his features. "I just thought it would be the perfect toast. To Niklaus."
Nik's mouth curves into a dimpled grin, the kind that promises mischief and stirs up memories of their childhood driving their nannies to insanity.
"To Niklaus!" Elijah and Finn echo, and all four knock back their shots.
Fifteen minutes later, the string quartet stops. All at once, every candle is snuffed out. They are plunged into absolute darkness, a silent kind of apprehension falling over them like a mantle.
"What the fuck -"
Kol shushes Finn before he can finish his thought. "It's midnight," he whispers.
"What the hell does that mean?" Finn hisses back.
"It's starting."
"What is starting?"
A bell chimes. Once, twice, three times.
A man in a deep red velvet cloak appears on the stage where the quartet was, a single spotlight blooming over him, his face cast in shadows.
"Midnight marks the border between what we remember and what we choose to forget," the Chairman's voice booms loudly over the room. A ripple of excitement passes through the crowd. Kol can feel the energy buzzing underneath his skin. "Our circle remains unbroken. Be indulgent. Be free. Surrender to your senses. And let nothing of this evening follow you into daylight."
He raises his glass. Everybody mirrors the gesture - except for Finn, who keeps looking around like he expects an assassin to jump from the shadows. Kol elbows him in the ribs, nodding to his glass. Finn rolls his eyes, but eventually obliges.
The chime rings once more.
And then the room explodes.
Ritual gives way to delirium, and the Nocturne Society reveals its second face.
They are pulled into another dimension, one of stroboscopic pulses of white, blue and violet, slicing the room into frozen fragments. Faces caught mid-laugh, hands suspended in movement, eyes wide with wonder. The timeless elegance evaporates. What is left is primal instinct, raw and intoxicating.
Fog pours in from hidden vents along the floorboards. It curls over leather Chesterfield couches and antique rugs, devouring the past century in seconds and blanketing everything in a fever dream daze.
The room detonates into a mad, wild beat - not club music, not quite dance either, but something in-between. Kol has never heard anything like it. The music is a live entity, slipping under his skin, down into the marrow of his bones. It doesn't tempt you to move, it possesses you.
Someone climbs a table, barefoot, flinging red wine around like it's holy water. A woman in a silk gown spins in place, eyes closed, laughing - or maybe crying. Men grind together. Strangers kiss. It's an ecstatic purge, as if everyone here has been waiting their whole lives for the permission to unravel.
No fear. No restraint. Everything pours out of them in sweat, motion and breath. A collective catharsis.
It's the closest thing to religion Kol has ever found, and that includes the time he nearly OD'ed.
"What the fuck have you brought us to?!" Elijah shouts over the pulse.
"Just embrace it, 'Lijah! Once in your life!" He grabs him by the collar and plants a kiss on his brother's cheek, already moving to the wild beat. "Let's dance!"
Kol throws his head back, closes his eyes, and lets the rhythm take him.
This evening, their family, decades of accumulated trauma... It lifts off of him. His body feels light, as though he could float.
For one brilliant, shining moment, he can just... Forget.
That is the magic of The Nocturne Society. Strange, ancient. Possibly supernatural. Definitely better than therapy.
When he opens his eyes again, he's stunned to find all three of his brothers swept up by the music. Even Finn, moving with the awkward, stiff-limbed effort of someone who hasn't stretched a muscle in years.
This... Is nothing short of miraculous.
He tries to remember if there's ever been a moment like this before. The four of them, together. Not fighting, not provoking each other. Just... Enjoying themselves.
Maybe when they were children. Certainly not since their hormones started acting up.
He wants to bottle it up. Store it in a quiet, guarded corner of his mind. He only hopes he's not too drunk to hold on to it by the end of the night.
Then again, what happens at The Nocturne Society stays here.
The Asylum Chapel
Peckham, South London
Their final stop of the evening is Elijah's doing.
Kol hadn't been sure they'd actually make it to the last stage, or in what condition they'd arrive, but they're frankly more sober than he expected. The alcohol has burned quickly through their adrenaline-fueled bodies.
More surprisingly, perhaps, is the fact none of them have yet deserted the group.
"The final supper," Kol says as they take their seats around a black dinner table set in the center of the nave of a crumbling, candle-lit Georgian chapel, cracked walls flaking with time-worn paint all around. Only four chairs surround it.
The place was bombed during World War II, only its monumental stained-glass windows miraculously survived the attack. And then it was never repaired. Only recently was it flipped into a space for artsy events and Goth weddings, but it still feels untouched by the modern world. Eerily, almost painfully, beautiful.
Exactly Niklaus' kind of haunt.
"An asylum does seem rather fitting," Finn remarks as a waiter in all-black attire pours wine into their crystal chalices, the liquid so dark it looks black in the dim light.
"Actually, asylum here doesn't mean psychiatric facility, though I agree that would be suitable for us as well," Elijah explains. "It means sanctuary."
He lifts his gaze to them, drifting over each brother before landing on Finn - not with the usual coldness he reserves for their eldest brother, but something else. Something Kol can't quite place, though it finds purchase in his chest nonetheless. A comprehension he doesn't have words for.
"I can't believe you're getting married," Kol splurts all of a sudden, words tumbling out of him with an odd sense of bereavement.
Maybe he is drunker than he thought.
He and Klaus became formidable partners in crime during their college years, and even though life eventually took them in different directions - Nik to his artistic endeavors and Caroline; Kol to the far edges of the earth, chasing the wonders and mysteries this world has to offer to someone with a limitless credit card - he still felt like he was the one who got it. The curse of being born a Mikaelson. The desire to shed this skin, and yet feel safe in the knowledge that it would never truly leave them, no matter how bad or ugly it got.
Sanctuary, as Elijah said.
The post-adrenaline blues of the evening finally catch up, and with it, the sharp clarity of reality. This wasn't just about partying and having fun like they're teenagers again, experiencing life as though they’re yet to fuck everything up.
Tonight was a rite of passage.
Before the weekend is over, Niklaus will be a married man. His primary family will be Caroline, and however many gremlins they decide to bring into this world.
It's the end of an era.
It's not that Kol feels like he's losing his brother. If anything, he's gaining something. For all her sunshine smiles and relentless positivity, Caroline Forbes is... Devious, to put it mildly. Kol has no doubt she could rule the world - and Niklaus, while she's at it - with an iron fist and not a perfect blonde curl out of place.
Kol likes her. A lot. He's just... Far too territorial to let his siblings go.
Well, except for Finn. Sage can have him.
Nik's lips draw into a smirk. "Fear not, brother," he says. "I'll keep a dungeon ready for you whenever you want to visit."
"Add a well-stocked minibar and I'll call it holiday."
"Do you remember, Elijah..." Finn starts, his voice uncharacteristically soft, eyes narrowed as he dredges up a distant memory. "The day Niklaus came home after he was born?"
The corner of Elijah's lips ticks up, his eyes fixed on the chalice before him. "I didn't know anybody could scream like that."
Finn chuckles. "So bloody loud."
"Sounds like Nik," Kol says.
"We stole the welcome-home cake the cooks had baked for tea and hid in the treehouse all day," Elijah recalls.
"The governess wanted to whip our arses raw."
"She would have, if her joints allowed her to climb up."
"And then..." Finn looks over at Nik. "We decided to take matters into our own hands."
"You were driving us crazy," Elijah says to Klaus.
"Seems like foreshadowing," Kol remarks.
Niklaus watches his siblings quietly, an unreadable glint in his dark blue eyes.
"We were going to steal you from the nursery and leave you in the treehouse," Finn explains. "So we could be inside without hearing you scream your little lungs out."
"Fratricide before he was even one week old?" Kol places a hand across his heart. "Nothing says brotherly love quite like that. Please, tell me you tried to kill me too, or I'll feel left out."
Finn throws him a glare but keeps going. "We waited until the nannies left then snuck into the nursery."
"The poor devils looked like they were walking out of a war zone," Elijah adds. "Completely defeated."
"Niklaus came out of mother's womb determined to cause as much disruption as possible," Finn says.
"Or wrestle everyone into submission," Kol suggests.
"And then..." Elijah meets Nik's gaze. "The most unexpected thing happened."
"The second we laid eyes on you..." Finn says. "We were shocked. Don't think we'd ever seen a person that small before. And then you just... Stopped."
"It was like magic," Elijah says. "You looked at us, and it felt like... You'd been expecting us. As if the whole time you'd been crying out for us. Like you finally knew you were… Safe. Home."
Elijah's mask of impassiveness falters, a flicker of deep-rooted warmth passing through his eyes. Something unspoken settles between them. And even though he wasn't there, Kol gets it. The best moments of his childhood, his most treasured memories, the only times he ever felt truly at ease, all happened when he was with his siblings. Finn, Elijah, Rebekah. And Niklaus.
They were a unit. They had to be, in order to survive Mikael and make it into adulthood with some shred of sanity and a hope for something better. They all suffered. But none more than Nik. And that's also what tonight is about: freedom.
Nik used the sharp, jagged edges forged by Mikael's rage to carve a path of his own, something that has nothing to do with their family or its legacy. He found something that brings him joy. Someone who sees him, warts, fangs and all, and still chooses him. Loves him.
True happiness. All the things Mikael tried to take away from him.
"I remember..." Kol starts, voice thick with nostalgia. "The storms. They were the absolute worst in the summer, and Bekah and I would huddle under the bed, holding on to each other for dear life, convinced thunder and lightning was going to kill us all. And then you..." He lifts his chalice, gesturing to Nik. "You carved those little figurines for us, do you remember? A knight for Rebekah, a rook for me. You said the knight would protect us, and the rook was our fortress, made us invincible. As long as we held them, we'd be safe. We'd fall asleep clutching them like lifelines. And suddenly..." Kol's throat tightens. "We weren't scared anymore."
"Well..." Klaus says, eyes flicking down, then up again. "Not of the storms, at least."
"Not of the storms," Kol agrees with a nod.
He reaches a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls something out.
The wood has faded to an ashy brown. The once sharp little turrets are rounded now, smoothed by years of being gripped by small fingers, dropped, pocketed, carried across continents. Even kissed at roulette tables. Kol's little good luck charm.
Considering some of the things he's been up to, and the fact he's still alive, he'd say it hasn't failed him.
Nik's eyes go wide. His lips part, stunned. "You still have it."
Kol shrugs, placing the rook on the table between them. "I still hate storms."
He meets his brother's eyes, trying to communicate something he couldn't possibly have the words for. But he thinks Nik gets it too.
Kol lifts his glass. "To Niklaus," he says.
Elijah and Finn join his toast, and all four of them drink.
Kol finishes his entire chalice at once, lowers it down with a red-stained grin. "May the gods have mercy on Caroline," he says. "Can we get more wine here, please?"
Epilogue
By the time Kol manages to wrestle Niklaus through the front door, he's questioning every life choice that led him here - starting with this stupid bachelor bash.
His brother is deadweight in his arms, muttering a slurry of German and French and something Kol suspects might be Aramaic - either that or some very intricate drunk gibberish.
"When," Kol grits out, struggling not to trip over the threshold, "did all of you become such bloody lightweights?"
Niklaus offers no answer, only a pitiful groan as he sags against Kol's shoulder, nearly sending him tumbling sideways.
"You lot are an embarrassment to the family," he mutters, trying to hold up both his brother and his own wobbling balance. He's not exactly sober himself, but someone had to stay functional tonight - and, apparently, the job has fallen to him.
Nik pokes a finger into his chest, bleary-eyed and barely conscious. "You," he slurs, "are too bloody loud for this hour."
"And you," Kol huffs, hauling him toward the couch, "are too drunk for this century. Sit your bloody royal arse down before you faceplant onto a side table and force me to explain to your bride why you have a black eye on your wedding photos."
Nik collapses onto the cushions, limbs askew and face buried in the armrest.
Kol lets out a long exhale, standing over him for a beat, chest heaving. Every muscle in his body aches. His head is spinning. This was not how tonight was supposed to end. He was the one meant to be carried home in glorious disgrace, not end up playing designated handler for all three of his allegedly much wiser, responsible older brothers.
"I see you guys had fun."
He startles, turning so fast he nearly topples. Caroline Forbes stands in the hallway, backlit by the dim golden glow of the sconces. Arms crossed, barefoot, hair piled on top of her head, robe knotted at the waist; not exactly the glamorous look one might expect from a bride-to-be on her bachelorette night.
Her eyebrow arches high in amusement.
Kol frowns. "You're not supposed to be here."
"I live here," she says, stepping into the room.
"Shouldn't you be out with Bekah and the flower brigade, painting the town red?"
"We made it to tequila shots and matching tiaras," she replies. "Then I got a feeling."
Kol squints. "A feeling."
She nods, eyes drifting to the drunk lump on the couch. "That feeling."
From the couch, Klaus mumbles something unintelligible.
Caroline moves to his side, brushing his curls back from his face. She checks him over for any signs of struggle or injuries, her hands gentle, practiced, like this isn't the first time she's done this.
"He's just drunk," Kol offers quietly.
"More like comatose, but... I'm relieved. When he stopped answering his phone, I thought you guys had been arrested. Or worse."
"That would be on me," Kol volunteers. "I had to physically remove his phone, or else he wouldn't stop texting you."
She gives him a pointed look. "Seriously?"
Kol throws up a hand. "The man couldn't make it through his own bachelor party without pining for his wife. It was tragic."
"Fiancée," Caroline corrects. "We're not married yet."
She runs her finger softly down the side of Nik's face, as if she could soothe the chaos of the evening away. A long sigh escapes her, a mixture of concern, affection and maybe a little understanding.
"He always does this," she murmurs, mostly to herself. "Family gatherings aren't always easy for him. He just... Pushes himself to the brink."
Kol watches her for a moment before saying, "He landed in one piece."
Caroline hums, not entirely convinced there was no damage, even if it’s not physical. "Thank you for bringing him back."
"Don't get used to it."
She offers him a faint smile, then reaches under Klaus’s arm. “Help me get him to bed?”
Together, they manage to hoist him up and shuffle him into the bedroom. Somehow, Nik feels even heavier now.
Caroline tucks Niklaus in with the patience of a saint handling a particularly stubborn child. She takes off his shoes, peels the shirt over his head and smooths the blanket over his chest. He blinks up at her with half-lidded eyes.
"You're a vision," he slurs.
"You're a mess," she replies, a soft smile curving her lips. She leans down, presses a kiss on the forehead, whispers something Kol doesn't catch. Whatever it is, it makes Nik smile in that open, unguarded way none of them sees often enough.
Discomfort rears its head. He feels suddenly like an intruder, standing at the doorway, quietly watching their exchange. This easy, gentle brand of affection isn't something they grew up with. It's so foreign it leaves him feeling out of place. Like this isn't something other people are supposed to witness.
He turns and walks back to the living room, flopping down on the couch with a loud, exhausted sigh. There's a headache brewing in the base of his skull. His good deeds of the night aren't going to save him from a hangover, it seems.
He closes his eyes, just to rest them for a second, and when he opens them again, Caroline is there. She puts a glass of water and two Advil on the coffee table in front of him, then takes a step back.
"You look like you need it," she says.
Kol scoffs. "What are you, my mother now?"
"No," she replies. "I very much doubt your mother ever gave you painkillers for your hangovers."
He barks a laugh, then winces at the stabbing pain in his head. "Good point."
He pops the pills into his mouth, washes them down with water, then looks up at her, head tilted. "So, what are your intentions for my brother?"
One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"
“Due diligence.” Kol grins. "You know he'd burn the world down for you, right?"
She gives him a cryptic little smile. No smugness, no entitlement. "I'd stop him."
He snorts. Of course she would. "And you're probably the only one who could, too."
Caroline sinks into the armchair opposite him, legs tucked under her. She looks so at ease. Nik has kept this apartment for ages, but the two of them only moved here a couple of months before. Already she's made a home out of it, as though she'd always been here.
"He's not easy," Kol says. "I'm sure you know that by now. Nik... He carries it heavier. The weight. I don't think he knows how to put it down, not really. But with you... He's different." A pause. "You're good for him."
Caroline's gaze softens. "I'm not always nice to him."
"Exactly."
That earns him a real smile. Her eyes drift to the bookshelf, where first editions and ancient texts mingle with paperback romance novels and cookbooks she has probably never used. Posh art pieces and framed photographs of young girls in cheerleading uniforms. Two worlds completely apart, somehow perfectly aligned.
Nik made room for her in his life in a way he never seemed willing to do for anyone else. On the surface, they don't seem to have much in common. But Caroline just fits. Not because she matches Niklaus, but because she balances him. Completes him.
They're not the same, but they are equals nonetheless.
"You know," she says after a beat. "You're not what I expected."
"Oh?"
"I knew you from college, kind of. We never ran in the same circles. But I thought I had you completely figured out. Playboy, junkie, lost boy with no plan. Drifting from party to party, trying to feel something, waiting for an epiphany to hit. I actually thought you might end up as a cult leader."
Kol grins. "I take that as a compliment. I like to think I have the charisma for it."
Caroline laughs, and the sound is light, genuine. "When Klaus talks about you, he gets this look... Like he can't decide whether to throttle you or hug you."
"That's our thing," he shrugs. "Dysfunctional demonstrations of affection."
"You love him."
Kol doesn't flinch. "Yes," he says. "But if you tell him I said that, I'll murder you in your sleep."
Caroline smiles. It's like being hit in the face by sunlight.
"He loves you, too," she says. "You guys are lucky to have each other. I grew up an only child with divorced parents. It got very lonely sometimes."
"It can get lonely with siblings, too," he says. And then, after a beat, he admits, "Not often, though. Not when they're around."
They lapse into silence, but it's not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. The sort of quiet that settles between two people who are glad just for the company.
"Don't you have a wedding to attend tomorrow?" Kol asks after a spell.
Caroline grins. "A wedding," she says. "Still doesn't seem real."
She gets up, disappears down the hall and returns with a pillow and duvet, tossing them onto the couch.
"You're staying here tonight. The car picks us up at ten."
"Oh, shit." He bolts upright, eyes wide in horror. "I forgot to pick up my suit. What time is it? I can text Elijah's minion -"
"Relax," Caroline waves him off. "I had your suit picked up. It's already at the venue."
He places a hand across his chest. "Life saver. Nik would've eaten my liver."
"I certainly would have."
"Fair enough," he nods. "How can I repay you?"
"You can start by going to sleep. I need you to look pretty in the photos. Preferably not hungover."
Kol kicks off his shoes and fluffs the pillow under his head, curling into the couch. "Done and done. I'll be the prettiest brother-in-law you've ever had."
She smiles faintly, walking toward the hallway, but stops when he calls her name.
“Caroline?” She turns back. “Thank you."
"For the suit?"
"No, for... Everything," he says. “For Nik.”
A pause. Then, with that same quiet warmth, she replies, "I’ve got him, Kol. You can rest." She switches the lights off. "Sleep tight."
The door clicks softly shut behind her, leaving Kol alone in the dark.
It doesn’t feel lonely at all.