Devil's Angel ° {K.M}[Rewriting]

{054}

Down The Rabbit Hole [1]
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"She can barely see the pavement, she can barely read the signs. People think she's complicated but never wanna look inside 'cause she's a little too R-rated and they're a little too damn blind. She's just looking for her angels, but they're a little hard to find."
—We Three {Sara}
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-

Nine hours had passed and America had only gotten worse with each hour. She grew weaker and paler, less lucid and coherent. . , more confused. At times, she would murmur to herself about any and everything, in any language, and half the time it was comprehensible, it helped none. Caroline, watching her with every minute that progressed, hadn't realized how far gone she had truly become until the woman had been muttering in a foreign language, seeming to be having a full conversation with herself.

It had been Bulgarian once Caroline became concerned, snapping Klaus out of his reverie long enough for the man to recognize and understand the language but finding legitimacy in it didn't take any weight off his shoulders. The man looked worse for wear when he quietly murmured that she was speaking to Kol—the flawless Slavic accent something of a former life bleeding into her current one in her confusion—and in her feverish state, she thought he was still alive. In the present hour, America was unconscious, breathing shallowly with a slight rasp where she lay on the couch.

"There has to be something," but if there was, Caroline nor Klaus had access to it, the latter especially given where he and the woman stood right before the illness took. The pair would have only time on their hands to watch America as she wasted away with sunken eyes, sallow skin and internal bleeding. "And staring at her isn't going to find it any faster, Caroline. Try Bonnie again." The blonde huffed, glancing at Klaus as the man sat in the armchair opposite the couch. She wasn't used to Klaus expressing much, much less worry, but he was a near mess of emotions now. 

He'd only settled once the woman had passed out from fatigue and even then, she knew he was wondering just as she was. How could a woman as strong and powerful as America get so violently sick as she was now? "I already tried eight times in the last hour. She's not answering—there's probably no signal. Can't you call one of your witches to help?" Caroline said, making an aborted gesture to the sickly figure on the couch. Klaus was unamused, "No, we cannot. It would mean telling them who she is and I'd rather not face the consequences of that when she eventually gets better."

The vampire huffed, frowning, "Great. How about—. . . we could call a doctor?" She felt a little silly for even making the suggestion but the pair didn't have a lot of options—not with Klaus locked up, and the only witch in town privy to a sliver of what America was gone. "Don't give me that look, I know that magic is probably our best bet right now but we don't have that and she's sick and in pain." The man drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. He was anxious, she noticed. "There is nothing a human doctor can do to help—this particular problem is supernatural.