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morningstargirl666 · 10 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY #5

Back with a sneak peak today for the next chapter of TBBW.... so without further ado, here he is, the Tired DadTM you've all been waiting for:

Splintered wood and shattered glass cracked under Lycaon’s weathered boots as he stepped into the mansion, eyeing the broken-down double doors as he passed them. Bullet holes lined the walls, leaving spider-web cracks in the remains of the windows and completely shattering the rest, the fractured pieces scattered all over the polished wooden floors. The building itself was dark, the lights off, abandoned except for the gentle breeze passing through the halls from the open doors.

Dusk had fallen. He hadn’t been able to contact Sam for hours.

Lycaon pulled his gaze away from the shattered glass and discarded bullets, looking up at the grand staircase that loomed ominously in front of him instead, dread twisting inside his gut at what he would find.

A village, nothing left but ash and bone; a son, nowhere to be found; the panic that he was already too late-

He was always too late, it seemed.

With no other choice, he took a deep breath, braving the grand staircase alone. Each step echoed in the silence of the deserted home, only intensifying the fear spiralling at the bottom of Lycaon’s gut, making his hand shake as he reached for the bannister, holding onto it as he made his way up the stairs. Then he began to explore.

The upstairs of the huge house was in a much less dire state than the foyer. It was clear they’d been planning to leave - most rooms had been packed away, including the bedrooms of his sons, the furniture covered in huge white sheets to protect from dust. Their personal belongings - or at least some of them - seemed to be gone, taken with whatever else that had been moved out of the house. Lycaon found himself entering another one of the bedrooms anyway, not even knowing what he was looking for but desperate to find something. Any kind of clue that could help narrow down the possibilities Lycaon feared to be true.

He bloody hoped Esther wasn’t back from the dead, again, or he might just declare war on witchkind out of spite. He and Mikael had already started a blood feud between the vampires and werewolves - what was one more?

Lycaon ran a hand over the light scruff covering his chin, rolling his jaw as he looked around the room he’d slipped into. Like the other bedrooms, it was decorated ornately with expensive taste, though this one was slightly larger, the walls lined with purple, floral paper and cream paint. The personal belongings had either been packed away or moved out, sheets covering the furniture, the bed and tabletops stripped bare. A huge vanity sat in the corner, not far away from the walk-in-closet, most of the make-up packed away in a hurry, a few pieces left behind. A hairbrush was also there - Lycaon walked over to pick it up, pulling carefully on the golden strands caught in the bristles, leaning down to sniff them. Rebekah, definitely. He recognised her perfume.

He put the brush down, scanning the room again, but finding nothing more of consequence. The room hadn’t been touched by whatever happened downstairs, and there weren't any notes left behind either. He’d check Kol’s room, and then Klaus’ study, just to be sure Sam hadn’t left anything for him to find, but so far, nothing. Not that he truly expected to find something like that, not when there were wooden bullets strewn all over the floor downstairs.

Growling in frustration, he moved to leave the room because he didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for guessing games. He could be too late. He already was too late. He skirted around the Queen-sized bed when he felt something under his foot, stepping on it with his next stride. Lycaon stopped, rolling back onto his heels and looking down, moving his foot out of the way. It was a small, wooden thing, something that he’d missed, partially rolled under the bed as it was. It had probably been dropped in the rush to pack everything up.

Eyes narrowing, Lycaon crouched down, picking up the familiar wooden figurine; a warrior on horseback, hefting a mighty shield. The legs of the horse were not quite finished, carved with care, the left leg slightly slimmer where he’d accidentally chiselled off a too large piece.

He remembered the way Elijah had laughed when he’d given it to him. The child’s bright smile was ingrained in his memory.

Where were they? What had happened?

Were they…were they hurt?

Lycaon clenched his hand around it, a dangerous rage beginning to simmer under the surface, shaking with the effort to keep it contained. He snarled, standing back up and striding out the room with purpose, skipping the search of the other rooms and heading straight back downstairs instead, shoving the wooden toy inside his pocket. He’d caught the scent of humans down there and since he couldn’t smell them as strongly up here…

He found the kitchen easily; the carnage. There was blood smeared on the floor and marble counters, stark against the pristine white. Sam’s scent was in here, fresh unlike upstairs, maybe several hours old, mixing with the humans and the scent of another hybrid. There had been a struggle of some sorts, one that Lycaon wasn’t certain Sam had won. His scent was faint on the way out of the room, overwhelmed by the odours of the humans…

Lycaon threw a chair, the object smashing into the wall across the room. Then, panic and rage and fear making his heart beat loudly in his ears, he weaved through the halls and found the door to the lower levels, knowing that if he didn’t find any evidence down there that Sam or any of the others had escaped, at least he’d be able to steal something from his son’s armoury. He liked the sound of an axe. He’d really like to swing an axe right now, preferably at someone’s neck.

Eyes faintly glowing in the dark, Lycaon descended the stone steps into the basement levels. They were as large as the house itself, with a wine cellar and cold pantry accessible from the kitchen, even fridges full of blood bags and normal human food. The deeper down you went though, the darker the purpose. There was an old, stone-walled room where Klaus used to keep his siblings' coffins and, of course, the armoury. There was a walk-in freezer, as big as an entire room upstairs. At the lowest level, there were the stone tunnels, leading out of the estate, escape routes in every direction in the event of an emergency. But most importantly, there was a corridor of locked rooms, some bare-fitted cells, others furnished rooms, cages with pretty facades.

He caught wind of Kol’s scent in that corridor, barely an hour or two old. The Original had been down here recently. Lycaon followed its trail without hesitation.

It led to a heavy fitted cell door, all iron and hardwood, strong enough to keep a vampire of considerable age imprisoned. Gaze narrowed, Lycaon tried to open the door. The iron handle rattled, but the door didn’t shift. Not even an inch. Locked.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Lycaon eyed the door, noticing that Klaus, for once, hadn’t invested in a new state-of-the-art design. It was an old door, at least a century old, perhaps reused from elsewhere in the original building, and therefore was built practically, but simply. The hinges especially.

Lycaon turned around and went to get that axe.

He came back with it in hand, not sparing a moment before he swung it, the large, sharp bladed weapon easily lifted in his grip, hacking at the wood around the iron hinges of the door. When they were weak enough, the wood of the frame splintering apart, he lowered the axe to his side and kicked the door in with all the strength he had.

It burst from its broken hinges, swinging inwards and slamming back around, clattering to a standstill, half-detached and revealing Elijah slumped at the back of the cell, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise.” Lycaon blurted out before he could stop himself. He eyed the Original’s poor state, face sickly white and sweat beading down his brow. He took a step forward, gently setting the axe down against the right wall. “Elijah.”

It seemed to be quite the effort for Elijah to raise his head, but he managed it, staring back at Lycaon with a wary heavy-lidded gaze. “Lycaon.” He croaked.

Lycaon hummed, crouching down to Elijah’s level. “Nasty bite you’ve got there.” He pointed out, tilting his head at the sight of the bite mark, black and yellow, infected with hybrid venom.

Elijah winced, but didn’t say anything in his defence. There were only so many people it could come from, after all.

Lycaon fought the urge to comment on it, to demand what Elijah had done now. It wasn’t helpful to the situation at hand and the children’s ceaseless squabbling had been irritating Lycaon for centuries - it was a problem for another time. Right now, other things were important, like Sam’s whereabouts and the whereabouts of the others, or the fact Elijah was weak in this state, vulnerable even. He’d need his son’s blood to cure the venom’s effects if their family was currently threatened.

Lycaon remembered that wooden toy, remembered that young child’s laughter, the spark of protectiveness that had flooded his heart then, even before Niklaus, before his blood-son’s birth. It sparked again now upon seeing the severity of that bite, despite the anger and frustration swirling around in his chest, directed at the man in front of him.

“Tell me, Elijah, and think carefully about your choice of words, now-” Lycaon warned, voice dropping dangerously, a ring of yellow in his eyes, “Where are my sons?”

#klaroline wip wednesday #klaroline #klaus x caroline #klaroline fanfiction #fanfiction #the big bad wolf #tbbw #tbbw spoilers #sneak peak #morningstar writes #lycaon is gaining a few grey hairs poor guy #his kids are going to drive him into an early grave #all 6 of them

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