Chapter Text
Lock is no stranger to being the odd one out—he has been for most of his life. In a small town like Mystic Falls, it’s even more pronounced. Sure, he isn’t the only non-white resident or the only gay person in town, but he’s definitely the only gay Asian punk. With his piercings, scars, semi-visible tattoos, and a general air of rebellion, he’s used to attracting stares. Add to that his heavy southern drawl, and he has no illusions about how he landed his job as the high school’s biology teacher. If there had been any other candidates, he’s certain the school board would have passed him over, no matter how wildly overqualified he is. But he doesn’t mind. Being different from everyone else doesn’t mean you’re the one in the wrong.
When the principal had asked, half-curious and half-skeptical, why someone like him—three PhDs by the age of 22—would want to teach in a sleepy little town like Mystic Falls, Lock hadn’t told her the full truth. Instead, he gave a watered-down answer about wanting a change of scenery and being drawn to the nostalgia of a small town like the one he’d grown up in, just a short drive from a major city. That seemed to satisfy her.
Nearly three years later, Lock is still adjusting to life in Mystic Falls, a town deeply enamored with its own history and traditions. The relentless calendar of annual celebrations serves as a constant reminder of its 145-year “legacy,” as the town proudly proclaims.
Tonight’s Masquerade Ball, hosted by Mayor Carol Lockwood, is one such event. Unlike her late husband, who had embodied the worst of small-town prejudice, Carol is a marked improvement. Her husband met his end in a fire—a direct consequence of the council’s attempt to exterminate the vampires hidden within the community. Ironically, the council’s new leader is Damon Salvatore. Not only is Damon a member of one of the founding families, but he’s also the son of one of the original founding fathers—and around 170 years old.
Lock, of course, isn’t one to judge. He isn’t human, either. Technically speaking, he’s even further removed from humanity than the vampires. They had at least started their lives as humans, but Lock? Not a drop of human blood runs in his veins. That little fact, however, is a closely guarded secret. No one in Mystic Falls knows about his supernatural nature—except perhaps the Bennett witches. Sheila Bennett had known, but Lock isn’t sure if she ever shared that knowledge with her granddaughter, Bonnie. Sometimes, he catches Bonnie giving him strange, searching looks, as if she senses something about him but can’t quite put her finger on it. Her magic is still raw and untrained, so whatever she sees isn’t clear to her.
The Masquerade Ball has been lively enough, but Lock has grown weary of the crowd. The half-face kitsune mask he wears is now pushed to the side of his face. He saw Katerina Petrova an hour ago, posing as her doppelgänger, Elena Gilbert—the doppelgänger who is the real reason Lock came to Mystic Falls. He also glimpsed Damon Salvatore about an hour ago and his younger brother, Stefan, only a few minutes prior. Deciding he’s had enough of the evening, Lock starts making his way toward the exit.
That’s when he spots Elena staggering toward her car, her movements unsteady and confused. His eyes narrow as he notices a man approaching her from behind, moving with an unsettling sense of purpose.
“Miss Gilbert!” Lock calls out, quickening his pace toward her.
But he’s too late. The man strikes Elena on the head, and she collapses to the ground in an instant. Lock breaks into a run, intent on stopping the attacker, but in his focus, he fails to notice a second man lurking in the shadows. A sudden, searing pain explodes at the back of his skull as a baseball bat connects. The world blurs, then goes dark.
-°-
Lock feels a hand pressing gently against the back of his head, a faint pressure grounding him as he drifts in and out of consciousness. He tries to open his eyes, but his vision remains blurred, the outline of a woman faintly materializing in the haze. Voices begin to break through the fog in his mind.
“Oh my God, he looks exactly like the paintings, down to the piercings and the pendant,” says a female voice, tinged with awe. There’s something familiar about it, but Lock can’t quite place it.
“What do you want with us?” That’s Elena Gilbert’s voice. Wonderful, Lock thinks grimly. The Fates must be laughing at me. He moved to a supernatural town hoping to appease them, but clearly, they have other plans. The hand on his head pulls away, leaving him feeling even more vulnerable.
“Oh my God, you look just like her,” the same voice exclaims again, her tone insistent.
Lock tries to raise his head, squinting to make out who’s speaking. “But I’m not. Please, whatever you—” Elena starts, only to be abruptly cut off.
“Be quiet!” the woman barks. Her figure is still too out of focus for Lock to recognize. He blinks hard, scrunching his eyes in an effort to see more clearly. The lingering effects of whatever had been on the bat—foxglove or mistletoe, perhaps—are still clouding his senses.
“But I’m not Katherine,” Elena insists, her voice trembling. “My name is Elena Gilbert; you don’t have to do this.”
“I know who you are,” the woman snaps, clearly irritated. “I said, be quiet.”
“What do you want?” Elena presses, her voice sharp with desperation. Lock sees the woman’s expression harden—the exact moment her temper snaps. She strikes Elena hard across the face, sending her sprawling unconscious onto the couch.
“I want you to be quiet,” the woman mutters darkly before turning her gaze toward Lock. Her eyes are cold and calculating as she points a warning finger at him. “And don’t even think about trying anything.”
Lock finally places her. “Rose-Marie,” he murmurs, the name falling from his lips with quiet certainty. “The woman who turned Katerina. Let me guess—you’re planning to barter the two of us to Elijah or Klaus in exchange for your freedom.”
Rose’s confidence falters for a brief moment, fear flickering in her expression before she covers it with a mask of determination. “How…?” she begins but quickly shakes her head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
Without another word, she spins on her heel and leaves the room. Lock manages to glance toward Elena, sprawled motionless on the couch, before the weight of exhaustion and injury overtakes him, dragging him back into unconsciousness.
-°-
Lock stirs again, jolted by a gentle but insistent shake. “Dr. Kamal? Wake up.” The voice belongs to Elena. As his senses return, he raises a hand to the back of his throbbing head.
“Miss Gilbert? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern. His fingers come away sticky with blood. Leaning forward, he reaches out to inspect the small trail of blood trickling down her temple.
“I’m fine. Are you?” she asks.
He brushes off her concern with a dismissive wave. “I’m fine,” he insists, even as the pounding in his skull suggests otherwise. Ignoring the dizziness threatening to unsteady him, he stands abruptly just as Rose and Trevor enter the dingy room. Without hesitation, Lock positions himself protectively in front of Elena. His towering height, further exaggerated by his four-inch platform boots, casts an imposing shadow over everyone.
Trevor, clearly unraveling, is the first to speak. “He wants me dead,” he blurts out, his voice trembling. Lock sways on his feet, his vision swimming, prompting Elena to reach out and steady him, urging him to sit.
“He wants them more,” Rose replies, her attempt at reassurance doing little to calm Trevor. She gestures toward Lock and Elena to emphasize.
Elena steps cautiously away from Lock and moves toward Trevor, her expression unreadable. This man, after all, was instrumental in helping Katerina escape, the catalyst for her becoming a vampire. Lock silently hopes it’s Elijah who will show up to resolve this mess—but at this point, any Original sibling would suffice.
“If you hand them over to Elijah, he’ll show you mercy. I have to get out of here,” Trevor says, his voice cracking. Lock nearly smirks. This guy is toast, he thinks. Whether Elijah tears his heart out or beheads him, Lock can’t decide which would be better. Either way, Elijah will undoubtedly make it look good.
Rose steps closer to Trevor, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, what are we?”
“We’re family, forever,” Trevor replies, his words trembling but earnest. Lock’s internal commentary is less kind. Cute, but you’re still dead.
A sharp knock at the door echoes through the room, silencing them. Both vampires freeze, exchanging nervous glances.
“You’re scared,” Elena observes, her voice cutting through the tension like a misplaced scalpel. Lock rolls his eyes internally. Thanks, Captain Obvious. Maybe that’s why your biology grades are falling—observations like that won’t win you a Nobel Prize. Attending class might help, though.
Rose glares at Elena, her patience thinning. “Stay here with them, and don’t make a sound,” she orders sharply. Her eyes linger on Lock, who finally gives in to Elena’s earlier advice and sinks back onto the tattered couch. His head still pounds, and the room spins slightly around him, but for now, he’ll conserve his energy. Things are just about to get more interesting.
-°-
Rose lingers in the shadows of the foyer, her unease palpable as Elijah pushes open the door. Sunlight streams in, illuminating his composed yet menacing figure.
“Rose-Marie,” Elijah begins, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” His senses flare, catching the scent of his mate in the air and the faint metallic tang of blood. Elijah’s jaw tightens as he fights the primal urge to lash out at the younger vampire.
“Yes, in here. You’ll have to forgive the state of the house,” Rose says, gesturing faintly at the rundown surroundings.
“Oh, no matter. What’s a little dirt?” Elijah replies with a wry smile as he steps inside. “Now, tell me, what gave you the courage to call me?” His tone remains polite, but the unspoken accusation lingers. And the audacity to harm my mate , he thinks, though he doesn’t voice it. Rose is oblivious to Lock’s importance, knowing only of the sketches Elijah had Niklaus make.
“I want my freedom,” Rose says, her voice steadier than her racing heartbeat. “I’m tired of running. Are you in a position to grant me that?” She keeps her expression composed, though fear courses through her.
“I have the authority to pardon both you and your little pet—what’s his name these days? Trevor. If I see so fit.” Elijah seats himself gracefully in a worn armchair, his gaze fixed on her.
“Katerina Petrova?” Rose asks, her eyes never leaving his face.
Elijah leans forward slightly, his interest piqued. “I’m listening.”
“She didn’t burn in the church in 1864,” Rose reveals hesitantly.
“Go on,” Elijah urges, his patience fraying.
“She survived,” Rose says, her trembling hands betraying the calm mask she wears.
Elijah’s expression darkens. The scent of Lock’s blood is a constant reminder of his urgency, and Rose’s stalling only fuels his irritation. “Where is she?” he demands.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Rose observes cautiously.
Elijah’s lips twitch in a humorless smile. Trevor is going to lose his head , he thinks grimly, his temper smoldering. “When you summoned me to this desolate corner of civilization—a mere three hours from Mystic Falls—I suspected it had something to do with Katerina. Do you have her in your possession?”
“No,” Rose admits, “but I have something better. Her doppelgänger.”
Elijah’s gaze sharpens. “That’s impossible. Her family line ended with her. I know that for a fact.”
“The facts are wrong,” Rose says confidently, her statement carrying the weight of revelation. Elijah considers this, a possible explanation for why Lock has been drawn to Mystic Falls in the first place. His mate always has an uncanny way of knowing things others do not.
“Well, show her to me,” Elijah commands, rising to his feet.
Rose hesitates briefly before adding, “I also have the man from the painting in the castle.” She steps closer, bracing herself.
“Show them to me,” Elijah repeats, his voice icy with authority.
“Elijah, you are a man of honor,” Rose says, carefully choosing her words. “You should be trusted, but I want to hear you say it again.”
Elijah’s gaze bores into hers as he replies, “You have my word that I will pardon you.” Each word is deliberate, carrying an undercurrent of danger.
“Follow me,” Rose says, her voice tight with nerves as she leads him toward the room where the others wait. Elijah follows, his anticipation building with every step.
Elijah’s piercing gaze lands on the doppelgänger first. In an instant, he speeds across the room, startling her as he grasps her shoulders and leans in, inhaling deeply along her neck. His voice is smooth but tinged with disbelief. “Human. Impossible. Hello there.”
From behind her, a dry voice breaks the tension. “Really? Surely, you should expect the impossible by now, Elijah.” Lock’s tone is laced with false mockery. Elijah releases Elena and turns toward the voice, his expression softening as he speeds to stand before Lock.
Lock remains seated, entirely unfazed by Elijah’s looming presence. His gaze, calm and unwavering, meets Elijah’s.
Elijah allows his eyes to roam over his mate, taking in every detail. Lock’s sleek black three-piece suit exudes sophistication, with the added flair of steel-toe platform boots that give him an imposing height. The vest, woven from intricate green brocade, catches the dim light, adding a hint of understated elegance. Around his neck hangs a pendant shaped like an eye. The eyelids are green, and gold chains are vaguely tucked under the collar. A half-faced kitsune mask rests in his lap.
Elijah’s gaze lingers on the scars marking Lock’s face. The faint line over his left eye has faded to near invisibility, but the one cutting through his lips stands out, giving him a rugged, dangerous allure. His ears are adorned with numerous dangling piercings, one connected by a delicate chain to a ring in his left nostril. The jewelry’s intricate design only adds to his striking appearance.
Elijah’s eyes momentarily catch on the silver glint of a lip piercing. A flicker of curiosity, even desire, crosses his mind. What would it feel like to kiss him and feel that cool metal against my own lips?
“Why are you bleeding?” Elijah asks after a pause, his voice softening.
“Someone hit me in the back of the head with an aluminum bat.” Lock’s tone is casual, but Elijah’s breath hitches slightly at the sight of the tongue ring glinting as Lock speaks.
Elena watches the interaction with wide eyes, confusion etched into her features. A moment ago, her teacher had shielded her protectively, but now he is calmly conversing with the imposing vampire who terrifies their captors.
“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Elijah says, breaking the moment as he turns to address the room. “We should get going.” Before he can step away, Lock’s boot presses lightly against Elijah’s leg, pulling the vampire’s pant leg up just enough to reveal polished leather beneath. Elijah glances down, surprised by the teasing gesture.
“Please, don’t let him take me,” Elena begs Rose, her voice trembling.
Elijah steps back from Lock, his face hardening as he turns to the rest of the room. “One last piece of business, and we’re done.” His gaze fixes on Trevor as he strides toward him.
Trevor’s fear is palpable. “I’ve waited so long for this day, Elijah. I’m truly, very sorry,” he says, his voice quivering as he keeps his head bowed.
“Oh no, your apology isn’t necessary.” Elijah’s tone is deceptively calm, masking his growing rage. He hasn’t missed the fact that neither Trevor nor Rose has thought to heal Lock with their blood.
“Yes, yes, it is,” Trevor insists, his voice breaking. “You trusted me with Katerina, and I failed you.” His head dips lower, though he dares to glance at Elijah through his lashes.
Lock’s quiet smile catches Elena’s attention. She gapes at her teacher, unable to comprehend how he can remain so composed—amused, even—as the scene unfolds.
Elijah’s voice turns cold. “Oh yes, you are the guilty one. Rose aided you because of her loyalty, and that I will honor. Where was your loyalty?”
“I beg your forgiveness,” Trevor whimpers.
Elijah’s expression doesn’t waver. “So granted.” Trevor smiles faintly, hope flickering in his eyes. A heartbeat later, Elijah’s hand moves with lightning speed, severing Trevor’s head cleanly from his body. Blood sprays across the room as his lifeless body crumples to the floor.
Elena recoils in shock, but Lock remains unfazed, giving Elijah an approving look as if to say, Well done.
“You...!” Rose’s voice cracks as she steps forward, her expression one of grief and rage.
“Don’t, Rose,” Elijah says sharply, raising a finger in warning. “You’re free now.” Without sparing her another glance, he returns to Lock and extends a hand to help him up. Lock takes it, rising gracefully to his full height and towering over Elijah.
Elijah’s attention shifts to Elena. “Come,” he commands.
Elena shakes her head defiantly. “No! What about the moonstone?”
Elijah’s brow furrows, and he strides toward her. “What do you know about the moonstone?”
Elena backs away, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. “I know you need it. And I know where it is.”
Elijah tilts his head, intrigued but impatient. “Yes?”
“I can help you get it,” she says, trying to summon courage.
His lips curve into a faint smirk. “Are you negotiating with me?” He glances at Rose, silently asking if this is true.
Rose shrugs helplessly. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
After a failed attempt at compelling Elena, Elijah looks down at her neck and reaches for her necklace, noticing the faint scent of vervain. A moment of faint recognition passes through his mind, but he shrugs it off as he rips it from her neck and tosses it aside. Then, gripping her face firmly, he locks eyes with her and compels her. “Tell me where the moonstone is.”
Elena’s voice turns monotone under his influence. “In the tomb, beneath the church ruins.”
Elijah’s jaw tightens. “What is it doing there?”
“It’s with Katherine,” she replies flatly.
Of course it is.
“Interesting,” Elijah murmurs, his attention snapping to the sound of glass shattering somewhere upstairs. He turns to Rose, his expression sharp. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Rose replies, her voice unsteady, confusion evident on her face.
“Who else is in this house?” Elijah presses, his tone growing more commanding.
“I told you, I don’t know!” she stresses, her panic rising.
Elijah’s gaze darkens as he seizes Lock’s hand and roughly grabs Elena by the arm. Without another word, he drags them into another room. Lock stumbles, still unsteady, swaying on his feet. Elijah notices and steadies him, pulling him closer and wrapping a supportive arm around his waist to keep him upright. Elijah pushes Elena into her arms.
“Elijah, I swear, I don’t know who it is!” Rose’s voice wavers as she tries to defend herself. Lock, clearly struggling to stay awake, leans against Elijah, his head resting on the older vampire’s shoulder.
Elijah gives her a cold glance before carefully lowering Lock to sit against a wall. “Stay here,” he orders.
“Up here!” A voice echoes faintly from above. Lock, eyes half-lidded, recognizes it as Stefan’s, though he is too weak to say anything. Elijah, however, moves in a blur toward the stairs.
“Down here!” Another voice—Damon’s—rings out, taunting and deliberate. Elijah descends quickly, only to pause as a stake flies through the air, piercing his hand. He pulls it out with ease, his expression unbothered, as he scans the room.
In that moment of distraction, Rose, Elena, and Lock vanish.
Elijah’s lips curl into a menacing smirk. “Excuse me,” he says aloud, his voice calm but deadly. “To whom it may concern, you’re making a grave mistake if you think you can defeat me. You can’t. Do you hear that?”
With a swift motion, he grabs an old coat rack from the corner and snaps it into a makeshift stake. “I repeat: you cannot beat me. Bring the girl and Lock to me now, or heads will roll. Do we understand each other?”
Elena appears at the top of the stairs, her face pale but resolute. “I’ll come with you,” she says, her voice shaking. “But please, don’t hurt my friends. They were just trying to help me.”
Elijah’s eyes narrow as he ascends the stairs, stake in hand. “What game are you playing with me? Where is Lock?”
Elena’s hand moves subtly, throwing a vervain bomb directly at him. The explosion sends a cloud of burning mist into Elijah’s face. He stumbles slightly, his skin blistering, but the injuries heal almost instantly. Unfazed, he steps forward, reaching for Elena.
Before he can grab her, Stefan rushes in, shooting him with a compressed-air weapon. The attack barely fazes Elijah. Annoyed, Stefan throws the weapon aside and charges at him, tackling him down the stairs. They land heavily, but while Elijah rises to his feet immediately, Stefan remains on the ground, dazed.
Damon appears from the side, surprising Elijah. Damon pushes Elijah up to a door and drives a wooden stake through his chest, pinning him against the door. Elijah’s body goes limp, his head slumping forward, lifeless.
“Is he... dead?” Elena asks, her voice trembling.
“Yeah,” Damon mutters, keeping his eyes on the body.
Rose, watching from the shadows, seizes the moment and flees the house. Damon turns as if to follow her, but Elena stops him.
“Just let her go,” she says softly. Damon hesitates, then nods. The three of them exchange relieved glances before Elena turns and collapses into Stefan’s arms.
“Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Stefan fusses over her, brushing hair out of her face and checking for injuries.
Damon, however, remains still, his attention drifting to where Lock had been left. Moving back toward the room, he finds Lock slumped on the floor, deathly pale. Damon kneels down, pressing two fingers to Lock’s neck.
“Uh... guys?” His voice carries a rare note of concern.
Elena and Stefan hurry over, their faces falling as they see Damon shaking his head. “He’s gone,” Damon says flatly, withdrawing his hand.
Elena covers her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes. “No...,” she whispers.
The group falls into silence, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Stefan speaks, his voice grim. “We can’t stay here. Someone will report him missing. We need to leave.”
Reluctantly, they agree, crossing Lock’s arms over his chest before leaving his body behind as they disappear into the night. The house is silent once more, the faint creak of the wind the only sound that remains.
-°-