title. of little faith.
fandom.
the vampire diaries.
pairings/characters.
kol/caroline, side-klaus/caroline, damon/rebekah.
rating.
t.
summary. or that one where everyone caroline interacts with antagonizes her.
notes.
featuring snarky!caroline, brotp!damon/caroline, and a bunch of hot originals. also, why is this thing so massive.
disclaimer.
I don't own it!


"My brother won't stop moping." Rebekah tosses her hair and glares down at Caroline's math homework. "Fix him."

Caroline coughs politely. "What?"

Rebekah rolls her eyes in such a way that Caroline feels like she's looking in a mirror, and slips easily into the seat across from her. "Nik," she drawls, staring at her nails, "has done nothing but sulk about our house for the past week, scowling at everything in sight. It's annoying." She raises her eyebrows. "I know you have something to do with it."

Caroline gives her a measuring look, then goes, "it must pretty hard to have wild sex with Damon if your brother's stomping around your place, huh?"

Rebekah is unruffled. "Don't be daft. If I wanted to have sex with Damon," she smirks here, malicious, "I know of far more interesting places to do it."

"You haven't been invited into Elena's house," Caroline deadpans, and goes back to her trigonometry equations, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Bye, Rebekah."

Rebekah's palm slams down on top of her notebook. "Caroline," she growls, tone low, warning, "I snapped your neck once; surely, I can do it again."

Caroline heaves a long suffering sigh, rubbing her temples, and wonders what she'd ever done to deserve the attention of two Original vampires. Takes a quick peek at Rebekah's scowling face and figures she'll just have to compel her teacher to pass her. Again. "Oh, for the love of—" she starts to gather her things, huffs, "he's at home right now?"

Rebekah noticeably brightens. Caroline scans the room quickly to make sure Matt isn't nearby. Or Damon, for that matter. "Yes, he should be." She curls her hands in her lap and very quietly adds, "he genuinely likes you, you know."

"Oh, believe me," Caroline feels a headache coming on, thinking of his damn diamonds and his damn drawings and his damn earnest face on that damn bench. "I know."

.

.

.

Klaus isn't home. Big surprise. Caroline growls, drops her bag in the foyer, and goes, "seriously? The one time you aren't angsting?"

Briefly, she wonders why the front door is open if he isn't there before realizing no one is stupid enough to break into his house. Then, from her left: "Oh, good, it's you."

Caroline blinks, suddenly shoved up against the staircase banister, wood splintering beneath her yellow sun dress. Pale fingers clench painfully around her throat; she's glad she doesn't need to breathe. "Um, hi?"

He's familiar. She squints at him, and tries to tilt her head, but his hand won't give. Also, he's glaring. She bites her lip. "Do I know you?"

"I should hope so," he hisses, pressing her harder into the railing, until her bones start to bend with the weight. "You got me killed for a good five minutes, after all."

"Oh." She should be terrified, but this guy has died twice in two days; she can take him. Probably. "Oops."

"Oops," he purrs, wedged up tight against her, "does not even begin to cover it."

Caroline is pretty sure there isn't even air between them at this point. Her hands are trapped against his stomach — and what a stomach it is, like, god, do all vampires have to be gorgeous or something, this so isn't fair — so she considers kneeing him in the crotch.

Her leg shifts, skirt hitching up her thigh, and his eye flick downwards briefly, distracted. She smiles sweetly, and knows she has him. "That's not all it should be covering."

There's a crinkle in his brow when he murmurs, "wha— oh, fuck!"

It's kind of hilarious, the way he doubles over, and Caroline wants to laugh more than she wants to run because seriously, she'd just downed an Original freaking vampire thank you very much with the oldest move in the book.

She beams instead, bending to pick up her purse. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but since your murdering psychopath of a brother isn't home, I'm going to go do things I actually enjoy."

And then someone's at her hip, fingers curling around her wrist. "What are you doing here?"

Oh, hell, she thinks, of course. Of course.

Her eyes meet his. Klaus looks somewhere between confused and homicidal; his brother just looks homicidal. She makes the smart, rational choice and chooses the lesser of two evils.

"I just like, crippled your sibling," she sniffs, searching for her phone. His nails bite into her skin. "You might want to get him some ice."

"Kol," he says dryly, curving around her, "tell me this isn't what you meant when you said you had unfinished business."

A grunt. "You didn't tell me she was a vampire."

"Well," Klaus actually looks entertained, and it's almost endearing but then she remembers he's, you know, insane. "To be fair, I didn't think you were planning on trying to kill her."

"I got daggered again because of her!"

Caroline shakes off Klaus' hand because it's been touching her for way too long, okay, and rolls her eyes. "You got daggered because you were stupid enough to go after Alaric's girlfriend." She pauses. "Who actually turned out to be crazy so, hey, maybe you're perfect for each other?"

"I'm going to enjoy ripping out your throat." Kol takes a step towards her, and Klaus puts himself between them. "Brother, what are you doing?"

"Leave, Kol." His jaw is set. "Go find some other way to entertain yourself."

Kol sends her a withering glare. She sneers back, the tips of her fangs exposed. He blinks, taken aback, and she barely suppresses a grin. "This," he says, after a beat, still eyeing her curiously, "isn't over, sweetheart."

"Come see me anytime you need your other ball broken," she taunts, and Klaus makes a strange noise that ends with him laughing, and Kol leaves somehow looking even angrier.

God, everyone in this house was nuts.

"Well," Klaus' fingers catch her elbow, "now that he's gone, I believe you were here to see me?"

"Rebekah thinks you're acting like a depressed teenage boy," she says honestly, shrugging, "and she thinks I'm responsible. I came over to talk." He raises his eyebrows at her like oh, please and she amends, "okay, she threatened me and I came over to talk."

"Charming," his tone is flat, but his palm stays warm against her. "Shall we take this to the living room, then?"

"It's almost cute," she mutters bitterly, pushing back her bangs as he leads her, "how you act like I have a choice."

.

.

.

She runs into Kol on her way home. There's a moment where, for a flash of an instant, she's actually terrified of him, and there's a bit of blood smeared across the side of his neck that she's trying very hard not to stare at.

"Oh," he stops in front of her, hands in his jeans, expression carefully blank. "You."

"Me," she says, feigning politeness. "I'm just going to—"

"I'm not going to kill you," he glances to his left, at some unknown point, annoyed, "it wouldn't be worth Nik's ensuing fit."

Caroline cocks her head at him, suspicious. "I don't believe you."

He raises an eyebrow, then half-grins impishly. "Smart girl. I'm almost impressed."

"Almost?" She scoffs. "I'd be offended, but that would mean I actually care what you think."

Something in his face somehow brightens and clenches at the same time. Like he's having fun, but angry about it. She can't explain the set of his mouth, but it's unnerving. "Suicidal, too, it seems."

Caroline stares at the line of his collarbone for a long beat, then finally caves and points, "you missed a spot."

He bumps her with his shoulder when she passes, and she knows it's to see if she'll stumble, so she straightens up and shoves back, and he snorts.

.

.

.

"God, Blondie, when was the last time you, I don't know, bathed?"

Caroline makes a disgusted noise. "Oh, wonderful. You're here."

Damon slips out from the living room, glass in hand. "You smell like wet dog. Lockwood isn't back yet, so I'm assuming Klaus didn't get the hint when you tried to kill him?"

"I hope you know," she shrugs off her coat, hears the shower running upstairs and Elena's muffled giggles, "that thanks to your stupid plan, I've got three Originals harassing me now."

"Hey," Damon holds up his hands, placating, "better you than Elena."

She stalks past him. "You mean better me than you."

He smirks, but there isn't anything haughty or arrogant or frustrating about it. She wonders when that'd changed. "Well, I wouldn't mind having one of them harass me."

"I'll be sure to give Kol the memo," she snarks, toeing off her shoes. Damon frowns. "How is the she-devil, anyway?"

"Still bitchy," he shrugs, "still hot."

"Your standards are just amazing."

"At least I'm consistent." And then he gives her a lingering stare that makes her insides crawl because she hates being reminded of who she used to be. Of who he made her be.

"You are such a dick." She snatches his bottle of scotch off the coffee table and glowers at him over the top of it. "What does Elena even see in you?"

Something in his expression flickers then, before settling into casual indifference with a hint of— "Nothing, apparently."

Caroline stops, half-way to the liquor cabinet, and sighs. Considers being sympathetic. Opens her mouth.

"Don't." He does his crazy eye thing. "It's not like we all didn't expect it to happen, anyway."

She can't really argue that, she knows, especially not when she'd been the one urging Elena to choose, but maybe a small part of her feels bad, because Damon had been getting better, if only a little bit, and—

"Man," he scrunches his nose at her, eyebrows furrowing, "you really need to go take a bath or something. You reek."

"D-bag," she chirps, quietly relieved. This, at least, hadn't changed.

.

.

.

"I think you broke my brother."

Caroline stiffens, rim of her beer against her lip, and turns very slowly. Matt, cleaning glasses, eyes the two of them with careful disinterest. "Oh, God."

Kol's mouth kicks up on one side, a boyish, disarming sort of air about him. "I prefer Kol, but if you insist."

Caroline gags. "Ugh."

"You're such a delightful little thing," he drawls, tapping his fingers against the counter. He gives her a once over; it makes her want to break glass over his smug head. She tilts her drink back sharply. "No wonder my brother's waxing poetic over you at all bloody hours of the day."

She chokes, and accidentally slams her bottle down too hard. The bottom shatters, and beer pours out across the bar. She sends Matt an apologetic smile. He sighs. Then, "what did you just say?"

Kol snorts. "Oh, as if you didn't already know he's desperately pining for you. It's pathetic, really."

"I— that—" Her mouth moves wordlessly. Kol leans closer, too close. "No. No, no. Nononono. This is not happening."

"Oh, but it is." His eyes darken when she shakes her head. "You've successfully managed to ruin my brother, Caroline." Her name comes out a drawl, and there's an edge to Kol now, something dangerous she hadn't seen fully before. She shivers, barely. "He thinks he's half in love with you, or some other ridiculous notion."

She should be scared. She kind of is. "You're hilarious."

"I don't see what's so entertaining." His knee is digging into her thigh, not quite painful, but close, and there's a long pause where Caroline pretends to breathe and stares at her chipping nail polish. Kol's thumb drags across the side of her neck, "care to explain it to me?" and she snaps back, away from him.

"I'm sorry," she hisses, when he smirks and goes to do it again, "but do you want to find out what it's like to not have opposable thumbs?"

"Feisty," is that— she knows that tone— oh god— is he hitting on her— and he'd just told her— Klaus— "have I mentioned that I like pretty little things with sharp tongues?"

"Oh, barf," she swings off her stool, unimpressed. "Recycling pick-up lines? Really? Don't you have like, centuries of dating experience or something?"

"My apologies," he says flatly, lips twitching. Caroline eyes him, unnerved. "I'll do better next time."

.

.

.

"I'll do better next time," Damon mocks, pitching his voice because his is too low. Caroline giggles, but it's bordering on hysterical. Damon rolls his eyes. "Un-fucking-believable."

"What is?"

"That two thousand year old vampires could find anything about you interesting." He stares down the slope of his nose at her. "Are you going to eat that?"

She blinks at her last French fry, then up at him with something hot burning in her gut. "Yes," she snaps, and chews forcefully, "I am."

"Whoa." Damon leans back in the booth, face pinched. "No need to pitch a fit, Blondie. It's a damn fry."

"It's not the damn fry," she snarls, "that I'm mad about, you dick."

He pauses, watching her strangely. "Oh," he tips his chin at her, "right, I keep forgetting you're super insecure and shit."

She gawks, screeches, "what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with you not being able to take a joke." He taps her nose, not quite gentle, but his voice is almost soft when he says, "if I didn't think you were interesting, Barbie, we wouldn't be sitting here right now."

Caroline watches him steadily for a moment, then snorts and goes, "oh, please, like I really care about what you think of me."

She tries to hide her smile in her hand when she coughs, but she thinks he might see it anyway.

.

.

.

"Are you stalking me?" she asks, flipping through a book on the Renaissance for her history paper. Kol leans against the shelf, silent except for the rustle of his shirt against her arm. "Because, seriously? I'm so over the Original thing."

"What are you reading?" is what he says instead of answering her. Caroline frowns. "And must you always look so miserable to see me?"

"That's because I am miserable to see you." She glosses through the reference pages in the back, finds another title, and scans the shelf again. "You can go away now."

"You're awfully catty for a baby vampire, you know."

"And you're awfully whiny for an ancient one," she retorts, fingers dancing over spines. She pauses. "Crap."

Kol nudges her with his shoulder, leering. She gives him her typical oh god, you're still here? snort. "Can't find something?" When she doesn't reply, he adds, "I was alive during the Renaissance, you know."

"Good for you," she mutters, purposely avoiding his offer, "why don't you invent a time machine, go back, and stay there."

Kol, the bastard, actually has the audacity to look amused. "Remember what I said about sharp tongues?"

"Remember what I said about breaking your other—"

"You'll want this one," he cuts her off smoothly, pulling a massive encyclopaedia off the shelf above her head. She blinks as he holds it out to her. "Caroline, I know this may be a foreign concept for you but in order to read a book, you must actually open it first."

She doesn't thank him, because he's an ass, and she definitely hates the way he says her name. She makes sure to stomp on his foot when she walks by. He tugs at her ponytail.

She feels so very twelve.

.

.

.

"Mom, you have got to stop inviting Originals into our house."

Dammit.

.

.

.

"What is this?"

Caroline feels him lean against her, dangling something in his hands, but she keeps her eyes on her English paper, determined. "Probably something modern that you have no idea what to do with."

"Oh," his voice dips, against the shell of her ear, "I know what to do with it."

She puts her pen down slowly, and shoots her underwear drawer a hasty, panicked look. It's closed. She purses her lips and glances up at him. Klaus' drawing dangles between two long fingers. "Oh. Yeah. That."

Kol's cheek twitches. "Would you like to explain, or shall I guess?"

Her stomach knots, which doesn't even make sense because it's not like he's her boyfriend, for god sake's. She rips the drawing away from him, scowling. "I don't think it's any of your business."

"Of course it's my business," and he's reaching over her to curl his fingers around the ones gripping the page, one knee on the bed next to her thigh, "he's my brother, and you're—"

"I'm what?" She glowers up at him, ignoring the hitch in her chest. "Please, Kol, enlighten me."

"You're you," he says bluntly, tugging at her hand. "My brother is a fool for showering you with his attentions when you're so loyal."

She wonders if there's a compliment hidden in there somewhere, then realizes this is Kol, so probably not. "How sweet," she says flatly, and shoves her foot into his leg. "Personal space, much?"

"Overrated," he beams, and drops down on top of her, dead weight. Caroline shrills loudly in his ear. "You are infinitely more entertaining to torment than Bekah."

"I hate you so much," she groans, as her essay crumples beneath them. He grins at her cheekily, and she tries to pretend there isn't a touch of a smile on her lips.

.

.

.

"Caroline."

She stiffens, keys dangling in her hand, and turns away from her car. "Klaus."

The wind picks up, and her hair blows into her face. She pushes at her messy bangs, then jerks when he's suddenly right up against her, inhaling against her neck. "What are you—"

"You smell like him," he hisses, pulling back. His eyes burn something hot, and she's scared, definitely. "Kol."

"He's been stalking me," she tries to keep her voice even, but his eyes are shading gold and she's thinking too much about those fangs in her throat, "so I know you two are related."

His lips flatten out. "It would be best if you stayed away from him."

Caroline grits her teeth when he presses his fingers to the inside of her wrist, where she'd had a pulse once. "Oh, right," she rolls her eyes and he frowns, "because I can definitely tell a freaking Original vampire to leave me the hell alone."

"You have no problem doing so to me," Klaus points out, mouth twisting unpleasantly. Caroline turns back to her car door, hopes he won't notice the shake in her hands.

"Yeah, and that's worked out for me so well, hasn't it?"

When she glances over her shoulder, he's gone.

.

.

.

"So," Damon slouches down across from her, feet propped up on her coffee table, "how goes the disaster that is your love life?"

"About the same as yours," she snipes, shoving at his legs. "Only with less existential crises."

"Nice word," he drawls, rapping her forehead, "been reading a thesaurus again in your spare time, Blondie? You need a life."

"And you need a new personality," she taps her chin, "but you don't see me complaining."

"Oh, please, all you do is complain."

"Only because all you do is act like a d-bag."

"The ladies love it," he wiggles his eyebrows at her. Caroline feigns disgust. "Mature."

"The ladies love it," she deadpans, and he winks at her. "So, why are you in my house exactly?"

"Barbie Klaus is pretty sure you've broken her siblings." Damon does that thing where his eyes get comically wide as he looks at her and she snickers. "She wants to high five you."

"Did she actually say that?"

"No," Damon amends, "it sounded way old the way she said it. Figured I'd dumb it down for you."

"Oh, how considerate of you."

"I am nothing if not a bleeding heart."

Caroline gags, again. "Alright, when does the she-devil want me to meet her?"

.

.

.

Damon is dragging her up the front steps of Klaus' mansion when she says, "this better not be some creepy attempt at getting me into a threesome."

He pauses, considering, and then he lights up. It's disturbing. "Oh, man, two blonde vampires."

"Stake me," she mutters, as he knocks on the door, "just stake me."

"I tried that once," he points out, releasing her wrist. He watches her closely in case she tries to run, but she really just doesn't care anymore. "It didn't work out so well, remember?"

"I'd rather not," because then she has to think about the guy she'd killed and all the blood all over her face and how awful and alive and fierce she'd felt in those few moments. "Why are you here, again?"

"She asked me to come over with you," he shrugs when she gapes. "I know, right? It's a strange world we live in, Blondie."

"And you just," she squints at him, "agreed?"

"She may have offered some, ah, incentive."

"Oh, God," she puts her face in her hands, "you're paying for my therapy. Why am I even doing this?"

"Because you don't have any other options?"

The door swings open. Rebekah, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, is toweling her wet hair. She almost looks happy. "Come in!"

Damon swaggers in, as usual, and Caroline trails after him, glaring at his back. Rebekah touches the crook of her elbow, fingers cold. "I have something to discuss with Damon if you'd like to wait in the living room, Caroline."

She's being civil, so Caroline gives her a small smile and shrugs. "Okay, sure, no problem."

Rebekah's expression wavers for a moment, almost— was that sympathy— okay now she's panicking— but then it's back to cool confidence and a pretty smile. "We won't be long."

"Yeah, knowing Damon, you definitely won't be," she mutters, and Rebekah laughs sharply while Damon threatens to throw something at her, and then she's sitting on the couch in the other room.

So of course Kol is there.

Of course.

"Oh, God." She stares at the ceiling in dismay. He slinks down next to her, far too close, until they're thigh to thigh and she can feel the muscles in his legs tensing through his jeans. "You, again?"

"You're in my house," he drawls, stretching out. He tips his head up, eyes closed. He's so tall, she thinks. And his forearms are nice. He's actually really ho— oh god, no, no no no. "Are you stalking me?"

"Not even if I were dead," she says, without thinking. He smirks. "Shut up."

"I didn't even say anything." One eyelid cracks open, and— and his face— this is so not fair— "You seem distraught. Why?"

"No reason." She's amazed her voice can go that high. "I'm fine. Totally fine. Perfect, even. Yeah, I'm perfect. There is absolutely nothing wrong. Totally."

He blinks once, twice, and then slowly sits up. "Right," he says, eyeing her, "because that definitely wasn't mental at all."

She puts her head in her hands again— she was going to kill Damon, seriously— and lets out a whine. "My life is so unfair."

"I forget how much you love the theatrics," he mutters absently, playing with a perfect blonde curl. He twirls it around his finger, pulls gently. "Honestly, though, what's wrong?"

She peeks up at him from under her lashes, quickly of course, because she doesn't want him to think things only apparently she's not quite quick enough because he's like a million years old so he totally sees it and—

"Oh," his palm brushes through her hair, cradling the back of her head as he straightens. His grin is all teeth and definitely feral. "Oh, yes."

.

.

.

Ending up half naked on a couch with Kol's mouth opening against the line of her jaw and his fingers skating their way up the inside of her thigh had not been on her to-do list today, honest.

"Um," she arches when his nails graze her hip. "Kol?"

He smirks and licks a hot stripe down her throat, from her ear. "Yes?"

"We probably shouldn't—" His hand slips upwards and his fingers curl. "Oh."

He drags his teeth over her collarbone quickly, then kisses her, hard. "Caroline," he says softly, as she fumbles with his belt, "shut up."

.

.

.

"This is nauseating." Rebekah's buttoning her jeans. Caroline buries her face in Kol's shoulder and smacks his hand away from her leg. He bites her bottom lip again. "If you two plan on having sex, at least have the decency to do it somewhere Nik and I don't sit."

Caroline rears back, eyes wide. Klaus. "Crap."

Kol frowns, one hand splayed across her ribs, the other playing with her bra strap. He glares at Rebekah. "Are you still here? Because last I checked, there were still dozens of commoners at the Grille that you hadn't shagged yet. Losing your touch, Bekah?"

"Kol, the only person losing anything tonight will be you, and it will be a vital organ."

Caroline bites the corner of her mouth and pushes at his arms. "Kol, as adorable as it is that you guys are doing your whole, like, sibling argument thing, you really need to get off me."

"Yes, Kol," Rebekah sneers, "preferably before Nik gets home and has a jealous fit."

Kol scowls. "I'm not afraid of him."

"It's not just you," Rebekah snaps, "that he will be concerned with, believe me."

There's a pause; Damon wanders into the room scratching his bare stomach and gives Caroline and her topless situation his crazy eyes. Then he goes, "oh, hell, Barbie."

"Believe me," she groans, "I know."