Mystic Falls lay quiet beneath the late evening sky as Michael crossed its limits, boots crunching softly against gravel and fallen leaves. He paused just long enough to take it in the town.
"Well," he said aloud, faint amusement threading his voice, "here we are. The nexus of poor decisions and worse destinies."
Brandon walked a step behind him with a straight posture and what looked to be alert in his eyes. Michael glanced sideways at him.
"Go on," he said casually. "Find me somewhere to stay."
Brandon inclined his head. "Yes, my lord." Then, hesitating, "May I ask what exactly brings us here?"
Michael's gaze drifted toward the town square, distant and thoughtful. "I've told you to stop calling me lord multiple times Bran… a brother needs my help Bran," he said simply. "And I'm here to give it."
Brandon nodded, turning to leave, only to stop when Michael added, "Oh and one more thing. Nothing over the top with the house, Bran."
The amusement in his tone was unmistakable.
The last time Michael had told him to get a place for him to stay in, Brandon had returned with an estate of three wings, enough rooms for multiple families, guest quarters in the back, and land that stretched farther than necessary. Michael had stood there staring at it for a full minute, wearing a very clear what the hell am I supposed to do with this expression, while Brandon had only shrugged, unapologetic.
"Understood," Brandon said now, lips twitching faintly.
"And tell the others to settle in," Michael continued. "Lay low until I give orders. No one uses their abilities unless I say so or unless they absolutely have to."
Brandon frowned slightly in confused.
Michael stopped walking and turned fully to him. "Niklaus is in town," he said calmly. "And he intends to break his hybrid curse. That will make him a fully realized vampire–werewolf hybrid."
Realization dawned in Brandon's eyes.
"I may allow it," Michael went on, almost idly. "Or I may not. Depends on my mood. But I won't have my werewolves becoming options for him to pick from for his ritual Is that understood?"
Brandon's expression hardened. "Perfectly," he said, then turned and disappeared into the town.
Moments later, Michael stood before the Salvatore Boarding House.
He studied it for a moment, head tilting slightly. "Huh," he murmured. "Compliments to the architect. Looks much better than I remember."
He sighed softly, then let his senses stretch outward, threading through walls and wood and whispered tension. Two heartbeats of the two humans in the house and another two slowed heartbeats of the two vampires. He then heard the familiar voices.
"I always knew that she and Katherine were close, but I never realized that Isobel and her were working against me," John said inside. "Two of the world's most uncaring and selfish vampires and yet they were genuinely friends."
"If that's what you thought of her, why did you ever put your trust in her at all?" Elena asked.
"Because I was there when she gave birth to you, Elena," John replied. "I saw how heartbroken she was to give you up. And because she was the first girl I ever loved. When she said she'd help keep you safe… I believed her. At this point, I'll do whatever you want me to do. If you feel safer with me not around, then I'll go." John then stood up from his seat and walked a few steps before Elena's voice stopped him.
"You screw up everything, John. Everything you touch just falls apart," Elena said. Then, quieter, "But you're the only parent I have left… so maybe I can learn not to hate you."
"Okay," John said.
That was when the air shimmered.
"Now this," a smooth voice said, "is heartwarming."
Elena startled, gasping as space itself rippled. In the next instant, a man sat where John had been moments before, relaxed, composed, as though he had always been there with a beautiful smile on his face.
Michael looked up at her, eyes glinting with quiet interest.
"My, my," he said lightly, "you do look better in person, my dear."
Then, without even turning his head, a smirk curved his lips.
"Hello, John."
"You, w-what are you doing here?" John demanded, nearly tripping over his own feet as he staggered backward, eyes locked on the handsome stranger sitting comfortably in the chair, legs crossed, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Michael glanced at him, unimpressed, then shifted his gaze to Elena. "Well," he said lightly, "this is quite the welcome, isn't it, Elena?"
Before anyone could respond, footsteps thundered into the parlor. Stefan and Damon appeared in the doorway, tension snapping instantly into place as they took in the scene.
Damon didn't bother with questions.
He blurred forward.
"Damon—wait!" Stefan started but it was too late.
In less than a second, Michael moved, one moment Damon was mid-lunge, the next Michael had him by the neck, fingers locked tight as he slammed Damon into the floor with brutal precision. The impact shook the room and damon groaned in pain as the air was driven from his lungs.
Michael crouched down, still smiling, eyes sharp.
"Is that how you welcome your guests, Damon?"
Damon scowled up at him, struggling for breath.
Michael released him and rose smoothly to his feet. "I was called here, John," he said calmly. "By bells."
Then he turned his head slightly toward Stefan.
"And by Stefan."
Elena's eyes snapped to Stefan in shock. John stared. Damon, still recovering, accepted Michael's offered hand after a brief hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled up.
"Michael…" Stefan said, disbelief and relief mixing in his voice. "It's been a while."
He stepped forward and opened his arms. Michael chuckled and embraced him, giving him a firm hug before patting him on the back.
"Well," Michael said, pulling away, "you're looking good for someone dealing with Klaus."
Damon blinked. "Hold on, wait a second." He pointed between them. "You know this guy?"
Stefan nodded. "Yeah. He's the one who helped me back in Monterey."
Damon made a face. "Of course he is."
John cleared his throat. "Isobel called you?"
"Texted, actually," Michael corrected.
Elena frowned. "You knew my mother?"
"And you knew Isobel?" Stefan asked at the same time.
Michael raised a hand. "Before we go any further, I should probably introduce myself properly." He straightened slightly. "I am Michael. Michael Keller."
Damon snorted. "Well hello, Mikey. Now why exactly did my brother call you here?"
Michael moved toward the drinks as if he owned the place, poured himself a glass, and took a slow sip. "Because of your Original problem."
Stefan nodded grimly. "And to answer your question Elena," Michael continued, "I knew Isobel when she was young. Curious about the supernatural. Even when she was pregnant with you, Elena."
Elena's breath caught at the sudden revelation. "I advised her against getting involved with John," Michael added casually.
John bristled. "You don't stand in the way of destiny."
Damon scoffed. "Oh, I hate when people say that."
He folded his arms. "So let's skip the philosophy lesson. How exactly are you supposed to help us with Klaus?"
Michael turned back to them, glass in hand. "Because I know Klaus. And I know Elijah. I know how they operate, their strategies, their planning, their tells better than anyone else alive."
Elena studied him carefully. "You speak like you know them personally."
Michael laughed, genuinely this time. "Oh, I do. Quite well, actually. I practically watched them grow into what they are now."
The room went dead silent.
Stefan stared at him. "I… didn't realize you were that old."
Michael chuckled. "My age isn't for the faint of heart, Stefan." Damon narrowed his eyes. "Alright, old man. If you know Klaus so well, if you know his strategy then where is he right now?"
Michael took another sip, unbothered.
"That's easy."
He turned slightly, as if considering something mildly amusing.
"You see, he's currently jumping into my old professor's body."
Another sip.
"And if my timing is right," he added calmly, "he's about to start wearing Alaric like a meat suit."
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