DOPPELGÄNGER.

You had been here for a week.

Seven days trapped in the Salvatore house, surrounded by people who acted like they knew your life better than you did. Seven days of pacing, of staring out windows, of listening to conversations that weren’t meant for you.

The house was bigger than it looked, but no amount of space could make you feel free.

The first few days, you had tried everything. You argued. You searched for exits. You even attempted to slip away unnoticed—but Stefan had always found you. And Damon? He made it his personal entertainment, standing in doorways with that smug little smirk, blocking you just to see you get mad.

Now, after a week, you weren’t mad anymore.

You were done.

Done feeling useless. Done feeling like a prize waiting to be claimed.

If Klaus wanted to take you, if you were really caught up in some insane supernatural war, then you needed to stop pretending you could outrun it.

You needed to fight.

—————: ̗̀➛

That morning, you made up your mind.

You found Stefan in the study, flipping through a book, his expression drawn tight like he was waiting for something.

—“I want to learn how to fight.”

Stefan barely reacted. He didn’t even look up. “I thought we went over this. We’ll protect you.”

—“That’s not enough.” Your voice was steady, controlled. “I need to protect myself.”

That made him pause. He turned a page slowly, then looked at you. His gaze wasn’t just assessing—it was calculating.

Finally, he closed the book. “Fine.”

You blinked. “That easy?”

—“I expected this sooner.”

Of course he did.

—————: ̗̀➛

You weren’t sure what you expected—maybe some long-winded explanation about tactics or strategy—but Stefan didn’t waste time.

He brought you outside, where the woods stretched out behind the house, empty and quiet. A large tree stood a few yards away, and in its center, a target.

A crossbow was placed in your hands. It was heavier than you expected.

Stefan stood beside you, arms crossed. “This is a vampire hunter’s weapon. Slow, but effective.”

You adjusted your grip, heart pounding. “And what, I just… shoot?”

—“You aim first.” He stepped behind you, guiding your hands into position. His voice was calm, instructive. “Focus. The bolt won’t do anything if it doesn’t hit the heart.”

You inhaled sharply, steadied yourself, and pulled the trigger.

The bolt missed. Completely.

Damon, watching from the porch, let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Well, if Klaus ever stands still and lets you take five practice shots, you might actually stand a chance.”

You gritted your teeth. “I’d like to shoot you next.”

Damon grinned. “Now that’s the spirit.”

Stefan ignored him. “Again.”

You tried. Over and over. But the more you missed, the worse it got. Your arms started to ache, your frustration turning into doubt. You had been at this for over an hour, yet the bolts kept missing, embedding themselves into the tree in all the wrong places—shoulder, stomach, even grazing the edges.

Stefan stood beside you, his patience unwavering. “Your breathing is too erratic. Control it.”

Control it. You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but your frustration boiled over. “I am trying.”

Stefan tilted his head. “No, you’re rushing.” He stepped forward, adjusting your stance. “You have to be precise. The second you let your emotions take over, you’ll miss.”

You clenched your jaw, resetting your grip. Precise. Calm.

You exhaled slowly, focusing on the target. This time, your shot landed closer to the heart—still not perfect, but better.

Stefan gave a small nod. “Good. Now do it again.”

…

Stefan stood a few paces away, his eyes focused intently on you as he held the wooden stake in his hand. He was going to teach you now what do with a stake.

—"Grip it like this," he said, demonstrating with a fluid, practiced motion, his fingers wrapping firmly around the stake's smooth surface.

You mimicked his movements, feeling the weight of the weapon in your hands.

It was heavier than you expected, the wood cold against your skin.

—"You want to keep your arm steady," Stefan continued, his gaze steady on yours. "Aim for the heart, quick and decisive. It’s the only way to be sure." His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension in his words.

You swallowed, the reality of the situation settling in. Training to kill something you didn’t even know existed a week ago.

You couldn’t help but notice how close his hands were to yours, his steady presence grounding you, even though a part of you wanted to retreat.

—"Don’t hesitate," he added quietly, his tone serious, but there was a flash of something else—something almost unspoken, a connection that lingered in the air between you two.

You nodded, trying to push past the rising anxiety in your chest, focusing instead on the task at hand. The sharp edge of the stake felt like the weight of your survival. As you aimed at the cloth dummy, your hit landed barely through the stomach of it.

Stefan had let out a long exhale. "Okay let’s.. try this again."

—“Or, hear me out—” Damon’s voice drawled lazily from the porch. “We stop coddling her and start teaching her how not to die.”

That was the beginning of the real test.

Stefan was patient. Damon? Not so much.

At some point, he pushed off the porch and sauntered over, grabbing the stake out of your hands, tossing it to the floor and picking up the crossbow tossed to the side of you two.

—“Alright, I can’t take this anymore.” He turned to Stefan. “You’re going too easy on her.”

Stefan frowned. “She needs time.”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “You think Klaus is going to give her time?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Damon was already moving. Fast.

Suddenly, something flew at you.

You barely had time to react before a knife whizzed past, cutting the air just inches from your arm. You flinched, stumbling back.

Your breath came fast. “What the hell?!”

Damon smirked. “That’s what fear feels like.”

Your heart pounded. He threw a knife at me. He actually threw a knife.

Stefan’s jaw clenched. “Damon—”

—“No, no, let’s see if she learned anything.” Damon turned to you. “You wanted to fight? Then fight.”

You didn’t think.

You lunged for the crossbow, lifting it as fast as you could—

But Damon was gone.

Before you could react, he was behind you. His breath ghosted against your ear. “Too slow.”

His hand gripped your wrist. Hard.

You tried to twist away, but he spun you, knocking the crossbow out of your grasp. It landed in the dirt with a dull thud.

Panic shot through you. If he wanted to, he could kill you right now.

Damon grinned. “Lesson one: You’re weak.”

Your chest heaved.

—“Lesson two?” he continued. “The only way you survive is if you stop playing by the rules.”

Something snapped inside you.

You acted without thinking—slamming your knee upward.

Damon grunted, stumbling back just enough for you to grab the fallen crossbow and whip it toward him.

You didn’t shoot. You didn’t even have time to aim.

But you had a weapon in your hands again.

Damon stared at you for a second, then laughed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Damon moved fast once again.

One moment, he was standing casually in-front of you. The next, he was gone.

Your eyes darted around, searching—where did he—?

Something slammed into your back.

The force knocked you forward, and you barely caught yourself before face-planting into the dirt. You gasped, twisting just as Damon appeared in front of you, arms crossed.

—“Dead.” He smirked. “Again.”

You gritted your teeth. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

—“And you think Klaus will?” He rolled his eyes, then shoved you—hard.

You stumbled back. Your instincts flared—this wasn’t training anymore. This was something else.

Stefan watched tensely from the sidelines, but he didn’t interfere.

Damon circled you. “You’re too slow. Too predictable. Too human.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Come on, Doppelgänger—hit me.”

Your hands curled into fists.

You hated him.

You hated how smug he was, how he treated this like a game. You hated that he was right.

But more than anything—you hated that you weren’t strong enough to prove him wrong.

Not yet.

—————: ̗̀➛

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind still racing.

Damon had gotten into your head today. His methods were brutal, but part of you understood why.

Stefan wanted to keep you safe. But Damon? He wanted you to be dangerous.

You weren’t sure which one was right.

You shifted, turning toward the window—

And then froze.

A shadow flickered outside.

Your pulse spiked. Was that—?

You sat up slowly, breath caught in your throat. The room was dark, but the moonlight spilled across the wooden floor.

A whisper. Right outside the glass.

Your skin crawled.

Then, faintly—a whisper.

You weren’t sure if it was real or if your mind was playing tricks on you. But your skin prickled, the tiny hairs on your arms standing on end.

Slowly, you moved toward the window.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out—not sure if you wanted to see what was waiting.

You swallowed hard.

Reaching up, you wiped the fog away—

And stopped breathing.

[ "Soon." ]

Your blood ran cold.

The word was scrawled across the glass, as if written by a finger dragging through condensation. The letters were uneven, jagged—like whoever had written it had barely pressed against the surface.

Your chest tightened.

He had been here. Klaus had been right outside your room.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your gaze snapped to the trees beyond the house, scanning the shadows—was he still out there?

Nothing.

But somehow, you knew you weren’t alone.

You stumbled back from the window, heart pounding. Your breathing was too loud in the silence.

Then—a creak.

Your head whipped toward the doorway.

The hallway was dark, stretching into nothingness. The floorboards were still. The house should have been empty—Stefan and Damon were asleep, or at least in their rooms.

But you heard it.

A slow, careful step.

A voice, barely above a whisper:

—“You can run, but you’ll never hide.”

Your body locked up.

It was inside.

The whisper clung to the walls of your mind.

Run.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

But the weight in your chest was crushing, your pulse erratic as you ran out of your bedroom door, stake in hand that was taken from your dresser, and stumbled down the stairs toward the front door. The Salvatore house felt too small, the air too thick. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward you, clawing at your skin, whispering secrets you weren’t supposed to hear.

You had to get out.

Your bare feet hit the cold wooden floor with rapid steps. You didn’t care that it was the middle of the night, that the world outside was shrouded in darkness. The second your fingers grasped the doorknob, you twisted it with force, throwing yourself into the night.

The cold air was like a slap to your face, but it did nothing to stop the suffocating dread curling around your throat.

—“You can run—”

The whisper slithered through your mind. You gasped, spinning around—but no one was there.

You weren’t crazy.

You weren’t.

But the voice—the feeling of something lurking just out of sight—it was too much.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You ran.

Branches snapped beneath your feet, cutting into your skin, but you didn’t stop. The darkness swallowed everything around you, the trees stretching endlessly in every direction. There was no path. No destination. Just escape.

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps. Your vision blurred.

The voice wasn’t real.

The walls weren’t closing in.

The whispers weren’t chasing you.

But your mind betrayed you. The further you ran, the worse it got—flashes of shadows moving between the trees, the rustle of leaves that sounded too much like footsteps.

Panic clawed at your throat.

You were spiraling.

Get a grip.

You stumbled, collapsing onto the damp forest floor. Dirt caked your palms, leaves tangling in your hair. The cold bit at your exposed skin, grounding you—but not enough. Your body trembled violently, lungs struggling to pull in air.

The world spun.

You were losing control.

You gripped your own arms, nails digging into your skin, desperate for something solid. Breathe. You had to breathe. In. Out.

But then—

A voice broke through the chaos.

—"Gone mad, have we?"

Your entire body froze.

The voice was smooth, laced with amusement. A nightmare made real.

Slowly, your gaze lifted.

There, standing far too close, was Klaus.

The moonlight painted him in silver and shadow, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable—except for his eyes. Sharp. Calculating. Hungry.

His lips curled into something almost like a smile. "Lucky me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

He was here.

The realization sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through your chest. You scrambled backward, but Klaus didn’t move—he didn’t need to. The space between you felt nonexistent, his presence suffocating.

—"You—" Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. Your head was spinning. You couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

Klaus hummed, tilting his head. "You do put on quite the show, love. Running barefoot through the woods, trembling like a frightened little deer."

You gripped the stake in your hand tighter, holding it out in front of you, trying to steady your trembling hands.

—"Stay back," you warned, your voice shaky but determined.

Klaus’s smile only widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he stepped closer. The distance between you felt impossibly small, his presence overwhelming.

Without thinking, you lunged, thrusting the stake at his chest with every ounce of force you could muster.

The wood made contact, but instead of the satisfying resistance you expected,  Klaus instantly pulled it out.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips, and before you could react, Klaus grabbed your wrist with one hand, twisting it. His other hand shot out, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you off the ground effortlessly.

His laughter echoed in the silence of the woods, the sound cold and mocking. "Did the Salvatores teach you that?" Klaus mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "Did they tell you these little wooden stakes can stop me?"

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he tightened his grip.

—"Because I’m afraid, darling, these normal stakes won’t do anything to me."

The disbelief on your face made him smile wider.

—"No," he whispered, his gaze darkening, "You need something more... potent."

He released his hold, letting you drop to the ground with a thud. You gasped for air, your heart racing as he stepped back, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

Your fingers dug into the dirt. "Stay away from me."

His smile deepened, but there was no warmth behind it. "Now, why would I do that?"

You tried to push yourself up, but your limbs were unsteady, your breath still ragged. You were trapped.

Klaus crouched slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "You see, darling, this works in my favor. A fragile little doppelgänger, unraveling at the seams..."

His voice lowered, dripping with something dark.

—"A gift to me. Im wondering who I must’ve pleased."