The Good Daughter

One

Marcel sat across from me.

I clutched a glass of blood to my chest on the couch, almost curled around it. Why were we in New Orleans? Where was Elijah or Nik?

Why was Marcel so different?

Less cheeky cheer and more like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows resting against his knees. "I know you probably have a lot of questions. My main concern right now is getting that gray off you and making sure I don't set a ripper loose in my city."

His city?

"You look old."

A surprised chuckle sounded from him, empty and hollow.

What exactly happened?!

Marcel's expression sobered suddenly, like he realized he wasn't supposed to laugh. It was jarring. "Look. I've worked too hard to get control back and you're not going to upset that. No more Mikaelson bullshit."

I hummed, taking a slow sip of blood, and ironically clinging desperately to a mediation variant Elijah taught me. "That's quite the statement."

What about my brothers?! A small, hopeful part of me hoped they were alive.

Marcel seemed anxious. On edge.

"So what? You're king of the rock?"

"I got rid of those stubborn assholes. You had nothing to do with any of it, which is why you're sitting here now." He waved my question off and stood, making his way to the wet bar. "Elijah's as good as dead."

"What?" Cold dread washed over me like I'd been doused in freezing water.

"Short answer, Elijah tried to kill me and all it ended up doing was trigger a spell. Now I have a bite that can kill an Original." Marcel said it so casually.

A bite that could kill an Original.

Holy fuck.

"Did I wake up in an alternate dimension or something?"

"No. Just slept through the war between me and the Mikaelsons." He grasped the neck of a decanter and poured himself a generous amount of what smelled like whiskey. He hated whiskey. "And some other shit I'm not getting into."

"Last I remember, they were establishing themselves in Mystic Falls." With my brothers' heads on a chopping block.

"Right. The wolf boy. He said that's where he was from." Marcel leaned against the wooden counter. "He hung around for a good three years before he got called back to that town by his friends. He kept trying to convince anyone that would listen to undagger you."

"Tyler."

"Yeah. That's it."

He hadn't given up.

Though I couldn't fault him if he did. No matter how much I wanted him, Nik wouldn't let me. "I um... I need some time to process. Still a little disoriented."

"Sure. It's been at least seven years."

At that I gaped. "I've been out for seven years?!"

"Long ones." Marcel downed his drink and reached for another.

Bonnie.

She was the only human friend I had. Unless Elena got her killed. Hesitantly I asked the one thing I'd been worrying about since I woke up. "Are my brothers alive?"

He shrugged. "They haven't made an appearance here."

"Can I borrow your phone? Mine is very much dead." And I didn't have the patience to wait for it.

Marcel dug into his pocket and I got up on unsteady feet. I needed more blood. Had to have it. I needed control or I would lose myself.

As soon as his phone was in my grip, and Damon's number was dialed, I held my breath.

What if he didn't answer.

What if he was dead.

I took a tentative seat on the back of Marcel's couch, legs still not quite strong enough to hold me.

It was an odd sensation. To feel one's paper thin skin grating against dry muscle. Like nails against a chalkboard.

The longer it took to answer, the more my heart sank.

Come on. Come on.

Please.

A robotic voice answered. "The number you are trying to reach is unavailable." Followed by three damning beeps.

No.

I'd failed.

This was all my fault.

My vision began to blur.

I was the last of the Salvatores.

"Morgan, you're shaking." I was? Marcel approached me slowly. "There could be a hundred different reasons why that number doesn't work. Don't jump to any conclusions."

"They're dead." I whispered. "They're dead and it's all my fault."

He hesitated to touch me, and didn't. "Hey. You were daggered. From what I can tell, you did everything in your power to keep those shitheads alive."

Oh god.

I couldn't fall apart. Not here. Not now.

I took a few stuttering deep breaths, and clenched my jaw, hating how it still quivered.

Keep it together, Morgan.

Keep it-

I was hyperventilating.

Marcel opened his arms in a silent offer and I dove into his chest. He wrapped them around me tightly, resting his chin on my head. "You're okay. Just breathe, Princess. I've got you."  He soothed.

I began sobbing, ever grateful that my face was hidden.