The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

Klaus stormed into the room, his frustration boiling over as he slammed the door behind him. His face was twisted with rage, his hands clenched into fists. "Why isn't it working?" he shouted, pacing back and forth. "I did everything right! The ritual, the blood—everything!"

He grabbed a vase off a nearby table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor. "I'm supposed to be able to make hybrids!" he growled. "This was supposed to be my moment!"

Freya sat quietly in the corner, flipping through an old spellbook. Klaus turned on her, his eyes blazing. "What went wrong?" he demanded, stalking toward her. "You did the spell. You tell me what's wrong."

Freya didn't even look up. Her jaw tightened, and when she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes were cold and sharp. "Back off, Niklaus," she said, her voice low and warning.

Klaus froze under her glare. He took a step back, raising his hands slightly as if to calm her down. "Fine," he muttered, turning away. His eyes landed on Kol, who was lounging on the couch, sipping from a glass of bourbon.

"Kol," Klaus said, his tone softening as he approached his younger brother. "You're the only one who understands me. Help me figure this out."

Kol raised an eyebrow, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "And why would I do that?" he asked lazily, taking a slow sip.

Klaus leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Because if you help me, we can paint Mystic Falls red. Think about it, brother. The two of us, unstoppable."

Kol's lips twitched, the idea clearly tempting him. "That does sound… entertaining," he admitted, setting his glass down. "But—"

Before he could finish, the door opened, and Ivar stepped inside. His presence was calm yet commanding, his gaze steady as he looked at the two brothers. "That's not going to happen," Ivar said simply.

Kol immediately sat back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Well, there goes the fun," he said with a smirk.

Klaus turned to Ivar, his frustration bubbling up again. "Why not?" he snapped. "This is my business, my destiny! Why do you always insist on getting in my way?"

Ivar didn't flinch. He stepped closer, his tone steady but firm. "Because your 'destiny' always ends in chaos, Niklaus. And I won't allow you to drag everyone into your mess."

Klaus stared at him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. But there was no arguing with Ivar's calm authority. Finally, he let out a frustrated growl and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Kol chuckled softly, raising his glass in a mock toast to Ivar. "You've got a way with words," he said. "Shame, though. I was almost on board with the whole 'paint the town red' plan."

Ivar shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. "You're impossible," he said, turning to leave.

Kol leaned back on the couch, his grin widening. "You love me anyway," he called after him.

The room fell quiet again, save for the faint clinking of Kol's glass against the table. Freya sighed, closing her book. "At least one of you has some sense," she muttered under her breath.

Kol shot her a playful wink. "Don't lump me in with Niklaus, darling. I'm much more charming."

Klaus walked into Mystic Grill, the tension still radiating off him. He headed straight to the bar, ignoring the curious glances from the other patrons. Ordering a whiskey, he took a deep breath, trying to settle the storm inside him. The place was quieter than usual, and that suited him just fine.

As he turned, glass in hand, his eyes landed on Stefan sitting in a booth by himself. A smirk tugged at Klaus's lips as he made his way over. Without asking, he slid into the seat across from Stefan, who looked up with an annoyed expression.

"What are you doing here?" Stefan asked flatly, his tone more exhausted than curious.

Klaus took a slow sip of his drink, leaning back casually. "Now, that's no way to greet a friend," he said with mock disappointment.

Stefan scoffed, shaking his head. "Friend? I don't recall us being friends, Klaus. Not since, oh, I don't know—a few weeks ago when you killed my girlfriend right in front of me."

Klaus raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the bitterness in Stefan's voice. "Ah, yes. Elena," he said calmly, setting his glass down. "Still holding a grudge, are we? It was nothing personal, I assure you. Just business."

"Business?" Stefan repeated, his jaw tightening. "You ripped my life apart, and you're calling it business?"

Klaus shrugged, unbothered by Stefan's anger. "I do what's necessary, Stefan. You, of all people, should understand that. Haven't you made sacrifices for the greater good? Done things you regret?"

Stefan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Don't try to justify what you did by comparing it to me. We're not the same."

Klaus chuckled, the sound low and almost amused. "Aren't we, though? You've got blood on your hands too, Ripper. Or have you forgotten?"

Stefan didn't answer, his silence speaking volumes. Klaus leaned back, his smirk fading into something almost reflective. "You know, you should thank me," he said after a moment.

"Thank you?" Stefan repeated, disbelief flashing across his face.

"Yes," Klaus said smoothly. "You've been living in this cycle of guilt for far too long. I freed you from it. Gave you something new to focus on. Hate me if you like, but at least you're alive to do so."

Stefan stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them thick in the air. Finally, Stefan broke the silence. "You're delusional," he said quietly, but there was no fire in his voice anymore. Just exhaustion.

Klaus smirked again, picking up his glass. "Perhaps. But I'm still here, Stefan. And so are you. That has to count for something."

Stefan shook his head, looking away. Klaus finished his drink and stood, glancing down at him. "Well, this has been… therapeutic," he said dryly. "Let's do it again sometime."

Without waiting for a response, Klaus turned and walked back to the bar. Stefan watched him go, his jaw tight, his thoughts a tangled mess.