nightmare— i’ll write my character having a nightmare about yours, or vise versa
status: NOT ACCEPTING and specifically a reaction to THIS

“Now, like I said I don’t fancy the hunter’s curse, so I’m just gonna chop off your arm.” He’s struggling against the restraints holding him in place as Jeremy stares up into the ceiling of his long forgotten family home. How the hell did he get here? And was that Kol pacing with a meat cleaver just above his head?

“–But don’t worry- I’ll heal you up right up with a bit of blood after.” A hand presses against his forehead, causing a strain in his neck when he attempts to move again. It’s like the very strength he’s learned to claim as his own has suddenly vanished in his hour of need. How is this possible? Kol’s always been stronger, but never, ever used his power this way. The memories are there, leading up to this moment, but they blur when he tries to recall them. There’s a plan… but it must have gone wrong, for he’d never scheme for something like this… The thoughts in his head… His heart races in his chest as the knife hovers above– he winces when it lowers, but there’s no contact.

Kol wears a puzzled look, his demeanor cold in how casual he is right now – as if they were always heading for this place; like destiny asserting itself on the world, with Kol as the hand of justice. It’s enough to send a shiver down Jeremy’s spine. “Now, which arm is it? Left or right?” Why are you doing this? he tries to scream, but nothing audible can be heard.

“I’ll just chop off both to be safe.” Again, Jeremy’s pleads never escape his throat, confined only to his tortured soul. In all the years they had spent together, they were never supposed to come to this place. He’s not in his right mind. Perhaps this is why Kol’s gone to such extremes. Maybe he deserves this. After all, he’s never had these thoughts before – the thoughts that if only I could break free – the white oak stake is right there.

With little ceremony, the cleaver rises and falls once more, but the sudden addition of a third party causes the Original to miss his mark. Surprise plays on Jeremy’s face when the first cuff is severed in half, and without thinking, he releases the other hand and leaps to the sink. Or, rather, his body does. He’s a captive in his mind, watching his own hands and feet move, but unable to dictate their path. Fists pound at the mental barrier when his sire cries out in pain and the skin begins to burn from his flesh. He’s wielding the extended faucet like a pistol shooting acid. Vervain in the water. Didn’t Kol ask something about that? The familiarity tickles at his consciousness, but his sister’s words, and the actions that follow, silence him forever.

Flames erupt, overtaking the Gilbert kitchen, as howls of utter agony echo around them. His mouth is agape, stunned at the sight of Kol’s fiery body staggering away from his murderers. This cannot be happening– this cannot be real. And yet, he can feel the violent grasp of death as if it’s his own chest with a stake protruding from it. The vampire drops to his knees, and somehow that’s enough for him to break the trace. His own body lurches forward, wrapping up the Old One in his arms as they both sink to the floor. Steams roll down his face in waves as the environment starts to fade from around them.

Fuck it all. He’d burn with him.

In the darkness, Jeremy’s eyes flutter open. And as he sits up, he struggles for breath. Unsteady arms push his body up from reclining on what’s revealed to be a lavish hotel bed. King sized. Fitting, and completely expected, when his gaze stretches out before him and discovers the Original staring back at him through the space. He blinks slowly, and Jeremy can see some emotion he cannot define on his companion’s face. His heart still beats at an abnormal pace, but his expression softens. Understanding washes over him. Understanding and guilt. Guilt for actions that weren’t his own. Guilt for actions that were done wearing his face– by a man who was him, but wasn’t him. And now he knows. He knows that every day they’re together, Kol is looking into the last face he saw before he died. The face of his murderer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before the other can speak. His chest tightens with genuine emotion that he still doesn’t entire understand. The only thing he knows is what happened to Kol was wrong. The hunter was wrong. Jeremy forces back the tears, assuming knowing the senior vampire’s opinion on such a display, and instead opts to quietly rise from bed and pour them both a glass of whiskey.

As he offers him one of the glass tumblers, the intensity of Jeremy’s gaze conveys his unspoken vow. The hunter will never touch this Kol from another world. And for a moment, in that dark room, he ponders what it would be like to kill the hunter himself.