Xerxes stirs with a soft groan, blinking his heavy eyes open. His head is resting on something warm—Caroline’s shoulder. She’s sitting perfectly still, protective, arms curled close to him as if shielding him from the world. As soon as he shifts, her head turns, blonde hair brushing his cheek.

“Hey… hey, are you okay?” Caroline whispers, her voice tight with worry, her eyes scanning his face like she’s afraid he might shatter.

He blinks a few times, confused, before his gaze flicks around the dim classroom. Desks are overturned, papers scattered. His senses prickle with unease. Then he sees Tyler—laid out on a desk like a ragdoll, motionless. His stomach drops.

“What happened to him?” Xerxes mutters, still a little dazed but already pushing up onto his elbows, wariness crawling in his gut.

“He’s dead—” a voice drawls from across the room, making him jump “—ish.”

Rebekah Mikaelson is lounging with the elegance of a queen, legs crossed, Caroline’s phone twirling between her fingers like it’s hers. Her eyes glitter with mischief. Her smirk is sweet, but her tone is anything but.

Xerxes narrows his eyes. He’s never seen her before—platinum blonde, confident, dangerous—but everything about her makes his skin crawl.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Rebekah says, pressing a manicured hand to her chest like a spoiled debutante. “I’m Rebekah Mikaelson. And I know what you are, Vampire Slayer.”

That name—the title—lands with a weight he’s still not used to. His jaw tightens, heart pounding, but before he can say a word—

Tyler jolts upright with a gasp, coughing hard like he’s clawing his way out of drowning.

Caroline’s already there, wrapping her arms around Tyler like muscle memory. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” she says, even though her voice wobbles.

Tyler blinks around wildly. “Where am I? What the hell happened—?” His eyes land on Xerxes, and even now—barely alive—there’s that flash of hostility between them.

Xerxes raises an eyebrow, scoffing. “Wow. You wake up from the dead and still manage to be loud and clueless. Impressive.”

Tyler groans. “Of course you would be here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I'm not here by choice,” Xerxes bites back.

“Boys,” Rebekah sing-songs from her spot like she’s watching a soap opera, “Focus. This part’s the best.”

Caroline shoots both of them a glare before gently holding Tyler’s face. “Listen to me,” she says softly. “Klaus… he’s turning you into a vampire. A hybrid. You’re in transition.”

Tyler’s breath catches. Shock ripples through him, sinking into his spine like ice. “Wait—what?”

“Don’t leave out the hard part, sweets.” Rebekah interrupts with a smirk, standing now, the air thickening with her presence. “You’ll only survive if your witch is successful. If not... You're pretty much dead.”

Caroline tightens her grip on Tyler’s arm, eyes locked on his. “You’re going to be okay. Okay? I promise. We’ll figure this out.”

Tyler nods faintly, still reeling, barely able to process it.

Rebekah tilts her head, platinum hair catching the dim light as she eyes the phone screen with amused detachment. The seconds tick down like drops of blood in an hourglass. She turns the screen toward them, her smirk widening.

The countdown glares back at them: two minutes left.

“I wonder how she’s doing,” she hums sweetly, mock-concern dripping from every syllable. “Tick tock goes the gym clock.”

Xerxes doesn’t look at her. His gaze stays locked on Tyler, who’s still trembling, breaths shallow and panicked. His rival. His pain-in-the-ass nemesis.

He sees the color draining from Tyler’s face, his hands clutching the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. The transition hasn’t hit yet—but it will. And when it does, if the magic fails… he’s gone.

Xerxes’s voice is quiet but steady, trying to shake the dread from Tyler’s eyes. “You look ugly while dead,” he says dryly, a flicker of their old banter in his tone. “Don’t do that again.”

It takes a second, but Tyler’s lips twitch. A faint scowl. Familiar ground.

Rebekah chuckles from her spot, flicking a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’ll make a pretty corpse yourself, Baby Slayer. Though next time, maybe don’t go picking fights with my brother alone?” Her smile is like poison wrapped in silk. “Not very bright.”

Tyler’s head snaps toward Xerxes, eyes wide. “You fought Klaus?!”

Caroline stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “You what?! Are you out of your mind, Rex?!”

Xerxes shrugs, leaning back against the desk like he hasn’t just been scolded by the only two people who halfway tolerate him. “What was I supposed to do? Let Klaus have Elena?”

And then it hits him like a freight train. Elena.

His heart skips a beat. He hasn’t seen her since the chaos. Is she alive? Is she safe? He’s failed so many things in his life—but not her. He can’t fail her too.

He looks at Caroline, dread creeping into his chest like frostbite. But before he can speak—

“Too late, sweetheart,” Rebekah purrs. “My brother already has her.”

The words slice clean through him. The air leaves his lungs. He doesn’t even hear Tyler’s sharp intake of breath or Caroline’s whisper of his name. He just stares at Rebekah, and something inside him fractures.

Caroline knows that look. That haunted, empty stillness in his eyes. She grabs his hand without thinking, gives it a squeeze. She knows what Elena means to him—his family.

Xerxes’s fingers tighten around hers for a heartbeat—then release. He turns toward the door.

But he doesn’t make it.

In a blur of motion, Rebekah is in front of him. Her hand snaps around his throat and slams him into the wall. The drywall cracks. Xerxes chokes, feet kicking uselessly above the floor. Her grip is merciless—

—but not lethal. Not yet.

“Rebekah, stop!” Caroline cries from behind, her voice raw. She lunges, but Rebekah is quicker. With a flick of her arm, she sends Caroline crashing into a desk, splintering wood. Caroline groans, dazed, curling around her ribs.

“Please!” she cries out, struggling to rise. “Don’t hurt him!”

Still holding Xerxes against the wall, Rebekah leans in, her breath cool against his cheek. “You’re either stupidly brave,” she murmurs, tilting her head, “or just plain dumb.” Her grip tightens, and Xerxes gasps, his pulse screaming in his ears. “Either way, if my brother didn’t kill you… maybe he’s got plans. Or maybe we make our own.”

Xerxes chokes out a laugh, even as his vision darkens at the edges. “I’d rather die.”

Rebekah grins like a cat that’s found a wounded bird. “That can be arranged, sweetheart.”

A new presence bleeds into the room—chilling, smooth, and commanding. The air shifts. Heavy. Unignorable. “Now, now,” a voice says, all charm and quiet danger. “Let’s not make a mess before I’ve had a chance to say hello again.”

Klaus Mikaelson steps into the classroom like he owns it. He barely raises his voice, but the silence he brings is deafening. His eyes sweep the room, landing on each of them with calculated amusement. When they fall on Xerxes, they linger—curious. Almost… fond.

Rebekah instantly releases her grip. Xerxes drops to the ground like a stone, gasping, coughing, his back scraping against the wall. His lungs scream for air, and the sting of bruises flares across his throat, but he lifts his head. Not toward Klaus—but toward Caroline.

She’s still sprawled on the floor where Rebekah threw her, propped on her elbows, blonde hair falling in her face. But her eyes—God, those eyes—they’re locked on him, wide with panic.

Xerxes gives a subtle nod, shaky but real. He’s okay. Not really. But enough. And Caroline visibly exhales, her shoulders trembling with relief.

“How did things go?” Rebekah asks Klaus, brushing dust off her designer jacket like she didn’t just try to kill someone. Her voice is sugar-laced with sarcasm, but her attention is fixed, eager.

Klaus strolls further into the classroom, a lazy grace in his step as he pulls a test tube from his coat pocket. The blood inside glints deep red under the flickering ceiling lights.

“Well,” he says, glancing again at Xerxes, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s seeing more than what’s on the surface. “The verdict’s in. The Original Witch says the doppelgänger should be dead.”

Xerxes stiffens at the word. 'Doppelgänger.' That means Elena. His cousin. His heart lurches, and he leans forward slightly, almost like he can force himself into the conversation if he listens hard enough.

Rebekah’s eyes gleam like someone just handed her an early Christmas gift. “Does that mean we can kill her?”

Klaus tuts, amused by her bloodlust. “No, I’m fairly certain it means the opposite.” He raises the tube between two fingers, letting the blood catch the light like wine and smirks at Tyler. “Elena’s blood. Drink it.”

Time freezes.

Caroline surges forward without thinking. “No! No, no, no, Tyler, don’t—!”

But Rebekah grabs her from behind, pulling her back with surprising strength. She wraps her arms around Caroline like a twisted embrace.

Caroline kicks, claws, desperate— “Let me go! Don’t you touch him! He doesn’t want this!”

Xerxes watches, frozen, torn. His breath still catches in his chest, and his vision blurs at the edges from where he slammed into the wall, but none of that matters.

Tyler. Dammit.

For all the trash talk, the petty insults, the years of rivalry that bordered on pure venom—Xerxes doesn’t want this for him.

Klaus’s voice cuts through the chaos, impossibly calm. “If he doesn’t feed, he’ll die anyway, love.” He glances sideways at Xerxes with a flicker of… something. “Consider this an experiment. It’s okay.”

His words are soft—almost soothing. Not for Caroline. For Xerxes. Like he’s trying to reassure him, of all people. Xerxes doesn’t know what unnerves him more—Klaus’s quiet interest or the fact that it almost works.

Tyler hesitates. Shaking. Breathing hard. He looks at Caroline, at Xerxes, his face twisted in fear. Then, slowly, reluctantly… he drinks.

Klaus smiles, satisfied. “There we go. Good boy.”

The change is immediate—and horrifying.

Tyler coughs, his body convulsing. The glass tube slips from his fingers and shatters. He doubles over the desk, then tumbles to the ground, writhing. His screams echo through the room—raw, guttural. His eyes burn gold. His face warps. Fangs slice through his gums. Veins spread like lightning beneath his skin.

It’s like watching a soul tear itself in half.

"Well, that's a good sign," Klaus murmurs with satisfaction, eyes flicking over Tyler’s trembling form, now fully turned. His voice carries that same soft lilt—it could almost be mistaken for kindness, if not for the violence it follows.

Xerxes doesn’t move. This is the first time he's seen it happen. Not just a vampire turning—but a hybrid. Tyler’s still snarling faintly, twitching on the ground like his bones haven’t decided where they belong yet.

And Xerxes can’t look away. His chest is tight, his breath caught somewhere between fascination and horror. He watches the way Tyler's fangs gleam, how the veins around his golden eyes pulse like something alive. There's something monstrous about it, something broken and whole at once.

And then he glances at Klaus. And finds Klaus already looking at him. Their eyes lock. A quiet, deliberate moment. Klaus doesn’t say anything—but the curve of his lips tugs upward, a slow, knowing smirk. It’s the kind of look that makes Xerxes feel seen, and not just in the casual way. Like Klaus is reading him—dissecting him.

But just as quickly, the smirk fades. Shifts into something subtler. Almost... careful.

Something’s wrong.

Xerxes’s hand lifts to his face instinctively—and comes away wet. Red.

Blood.

Of course. Now the nosebleed decides to make its dramatic entrance. The timing is laughable—if it wasn’t dangerous. Three vampires in the room. One of them freshly turned, running on instinct.

His gaze darts toward Tyler—just in time to see the hunger hit.

Shit.

A blur. A gust of wind.

Tyler moves—fast, faster than Xerxes can react, fangs bared, eyes wild with the scent of fresh blood.

But he never makes it.

CRACK.

Klaus moves like thunder. One moment, he's across the room. The next, Tyler’s neck is twisted with a sharp, brutal snap—his body collapsing mid-air with a lifeless thud.

Not a word of warning. Not even a glance toward Xerxes.

Klaus brushes his jacket sleeve like he’s dusting off lint. “Success,” he says flatly, as if the temporary dead hybrid at his feet is nothing more than a line on a checklist.

Xerxes just stands there, blinking. His heart is beating so hard it might crack his ribs, but all he can focus on is the ache in his nose and the metallic warmth trickling down his lip.

He lifts his sleeve to wipe it away, muttering under his breath, but before he can reach—

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Caroline is suddenly in front of him, already digging in her pocket, frustration flaring in her voice even as her hands are gentle. “You still don’t carry anything, do you? You’ve been having nosebleeds since we were kids and still never have a tissue or handkerchief on you.”

Xerxes smiles, weakly. Tiredly. “You carry enough for both of us.”

She presses the soft white cloth to his nose, more carefully than she lets on. Her fingers tremble just a little. Not from fear, but from the residual panic of seeing him in danger. Her eyes search his face, still wide and glassy.

He knows that look. She’s trying not to cry.

And he hates that he almost gave her a reason to.

Neither of them notice the way Klaus glances over again.

A fleeting look. Measured. Lingering.

Something in his eyes softens. Not in the way people usually soften, but in the way Klaus Mikaelson might—thoughtful, amused, vaguely intrigued. Almost… protective?

He turns his head before anyone can catch it.

“Rebekah.” His tone sharpens, back to business. “We’ve got work to do.”

Rebekah rolls her eyes, but there’s a grin playing on her lips as she glides toward the door. She pauses just long enough to cast a sideways look at Xerxes—then at Klaus.

She doesn’t say a word.

But the smirk says everything.

She saw it. She knows.

And she finds it very interesting.

Then she’s gone, following her brother out with the sway of someone who knows she's always in control, even when she’s pretending not to be.