This doesn't follow the canon of my other Klefan stories. I wanted to try something a bit different. Please enjoy, sorry for making you all wait so long for more Klefan. Darn creative block. This takes place after Klaus has claimed the coffins (except for the locked one) but Elijah was never woken.
And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?
It's his own weakness that brings him here. Klaus of all people is well aware of that. Strength goes only as far as the effort put into maintaining it. To hell with strength, the hybrid thinks, if it means being alone for the rest of time.
He stands in the pale light of the full moon, looking over the frail shape of Stefan's body. The wound is illuminated by the moonlight, and Klaus lets out a haggard breath. A werewolf bite. One of his hybrids had reported finding the dying vampire. A werewolf had cast Stefan out into the woods and left him there to die.
At first, Klaus has been pleased. This was a neat end to his problems. There would be little resistance when he found the final coffin. A pathetic witch, maybe Damon Salvatore.
But then it had hit him, in a crushing revelation, that it would mean no more Stefan. And as he stands here, a sense of finality in the bloodstained air, he knows he cannot allow Stefan to die.
Blood is thick on the ground. Stained footprints lead to and from the scene. The vampire had been dragged here, in the maw of a wolf. Rest assured, Klaus snorts, that he will find the beast and kill it. No sweet relief of hybridization. Just death. The werewolf can rot in hell.
Stefan, however, is going nowhere.
"Why are you here?" the vampire coughs, spluttering his words around the blood pooling in his throat. He looks quite the sight. Skin sallow and clammy, with a visible sheen of sweat. His eyes are dark, the veins beneath them visibly blackened. "Come to gloat?"
Klaus makes a face as he kicks the corpse near Stefan. Another of the wolf's victims, perhaps. Or perhaps a victim of the vampire. Hardly a matter of importance. "In case you had forgotten, Ripper, I am the only one capable of saving your life."
That gives Stefan pause. He blinks. After a moment, when his mind is cleared, he laughs dryly. "And why would you save my life?"
There's no need to contemplate. Klaus knows well why he's here. Stepping over the corpse, he meets Stefan's eyes. "Better to have enemies than no one at all."
Using what meagre strength he has left, Stefan props himself up in a sitting position against a tree. He stares unwaveringly at Klaus, even as the hybrid's eyes flit over the wound. A strange feeling bubbles in his stomach. Annoyance, perhaps, that someone else got to the vampire's throat before he did. "Come on, then," he says, shaking his head, "I can't feed you my blood if you're too busy choking on your own."
Quickly, Stefan spits what he can from his mouth, then looks back expectantly. Klaus has already broken the skin of his wrist, and he holds it steady in front of the vampire. Stefan stares unwaveringly at it, watching the ruby blood drip from pale skin, and his eyes darken further.
When his lips latch on, Klaus chuckles. Once a ripper, always a ripper. The hybrid doesn't flinch as Stefan's teeth graze a tendon, doesn't bother to worry about blood loss or the vampire's lack of restraint.
"The least you could do, in the future, is stop trying to get yourself killed. Rest assured when the moment finally does come, it'll be me th-" his voice fail him suddenly. In his distraction, he's lost sight of the vampire's actions. Stefan is no longer drinking from his wrist.
Instead, he's just licked a clean stripe up the hybrid's smooth skin. And all the blood in Klaus' body drains south in one heated second. Like a bullet, he jerks away. When his back collides with a tree, the force is sufficient to audibly crack the trunk.
Neither speaks. They just stand there, watching each other. Unable to tear their eyes away. Confused. Lost. Scared. A knot forms in Klaus' stomach and clenches at his insides. Stefan's bloodstained lips are red and oh so distracting, even as the bloodlust drains from his eyes. The look is replaced by something undefinable.
"Do your best not to die on your way home," Klaus snaps. As the far elder of the two, he is better practiced at a fast recovery. Even from this. Even when every synapse in his brain feels fried.
Before Stefan can even think of a witty retort, the only thing left of Klaus is the indent of his body in the tree.