LONELY SUN | TVD

THREE

Thomas immediately stalks to the counter, where a young woman stands with several bottles of liquor and cigarette boxes behind her. She asks what brand he wants. "Dealer's choice," He responds with a shrug.

Alaric comes to a stop at Thomas' back. "Not those," He says. "Get him Marlboro instead, please." It takes all of Thomas' willpower to not think about how Alaric is basically trapping him against the counter. Unsubtly, Thomas leans back against him. He's only a little sad when Alaric leaves seconds afterwards.

"Thanks," Thomas says to the cashier. "You got anything for a headache?" He asks, picking out a lighter. "Whatever's cheaper," He shrugs when she asks which brand, rummaging his pockets. He comes up with a twenty, which he doubts is enough if he takes inflation into account. He misses when everything costed 15 cents. More importantly, he misses thinking with his head and compelling human playthings before going on walks with them.

"I'll take care of it," Alaric says, placing down a six pack of some beer with a German name on the counter. He smiles at Thomas, kind without a hint of malice.

"Oh," Thomas says, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his surprise. "Thank you." And Thomas hadn't even compelled him yet.

"No problem," Alaric says, handing the cashier his credit card. Thomas gets a plastic bag, shoves his things in, and immediately stalks out the door.

He's got six pills on his tongue and is halfway through a cigarette by the time Alaric exits the store. He swallows them dry. It's not enough.

"You alright?" Alaric asks. "You took those dry."

"Head's killing me," Thomas lies. "Family does that to a person."

"Right," Alaric says, slow. He looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn't. Thomas get through three before Alaric speaks again. "Are you okay, Thomas?"

Thomas' breath stutters, throat aching. He doesn't think he's ever heard those words directed at him. "Yeah," He says, hesitant. The pressure in his chest isn't Esther's doing, he knows, but it feels similar. "Why?"

Alaric glances at Thomas' hands, then at his eyes. "I used to smoke when life was hard. I stopped for a while, then my wife died, and I almost got hooked again, but I realized I didn't want to fall back into old habits."

"Lucky for you, then," Thomas says insensitively. He winces at his own tone, expecting to get yelled at. He's surprised when Alaric doesn't even react, he only tilts his head so he can look at Thomas.

"Whatever your siblings have done, I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you care?" Thomas snarks.

Alaric shrugs, looks away. "You remind me of myself, I suppose. I needed someone to offer me a hand, to tell me there was something else." He pauses, "My brother wasn't all that great either. I wish someone had told me it was okay to leave. That I didn't owe him anything."

Except Thomas did. "I owe my brothers." He owed Klaus his life. He owed Elijah and Kol and Rebekah and Finn. He hated them and he owed them and he could never repay them. "I owe my brother... I owe him my life. I'd be dead if— if he hadn't been there, I'd—"

Alaric reaches out, wraps an arm around Thomas' shoulders, pulls him into his chest. "It's okay," He murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down Thomas' back. "I— I live with my niece, and two other kids. If you need somewhere to stay, there's always room."

"I don't need that from you," Thomas snaps. "I don't even know you." You don't know who I am, he thinks desperately. You don't know what I've done.