Fire in the Iron Sky
\nSummary: A routine flight shatters into fire and metal, leaving Elijah broken, pinned, and burning—alive enough to feel everything, helpless enough to endure it all.
\n⸻
\nTurbulence was never supposed to feel like this.
\nAt first it was nothing—just a soft shudder through the cabin, the kind that barely registered. A faint rattle in the overhead bins. A few murmurs from scattered passengers. Klaus barely glanced up from the window, boredom etched into every line of his face. Freya, seated across the narrow aisle, didn’t even pause in her quiet focus, fingers absently tracing runes against her palm. Elijah, ever composed, adjusted his cufflinks and offered her a faint, reassuring nod.
\nThen the plane lurched.
\nNot a dip. Not a bump. A violent, bone-rattling drop, like the sky itself had opened its jaws and swallowed them whole.
\nMetal screamed.
\nThe nose pitched downward so sharply that gravity vanished, replaced by a sickening weightlessness. Oxygen masks cascaded from the ceiling in a flurry of plastic and rubber. Screams filled the cabin—raw, animal sounds ripped from throats as bodies slammed into restraints and armrests with brutal force.
\n“Elijah—!” Freya barely got his name out before the second impact hit.
\nThe world exploded.
\nA deafening crack tore through the fuselage as the plane sheared apart, ripping open like wet paper. Fire burst from somewhere behind them, a rolling wall of heat and light. Luggage became shrapnel. Seats ripped loose. The floor buckled, twisting violently beneath them as the aircraft slammed into the ground, skidding, tearing, breaking itself apart in a cascade of metal and flame.
\nIn that split second—before thought, before fear—Elijah moved.
\nHe didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. He turned and threw himself across Freya’s body as the cabin collapsed inward. His arms locked around her, shielding her head and torso just as the ceiling gave way above them.
\nSomething massive came down.
\nThe sound it made when it hit him was wrong—wet and crushing and final.
\nElijah grunted sharply, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a harsh, choking rush. His back arched involuntarily as a jagged piece of debris—part of the plane’s internal structure, twisted and burning at the edges—punched into him from above, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal ease.
\nIt didn’t stop.
\nThe metal slammed through his back and kept going, embedding deep, pinning him to what remained of the cabin floor with unstoppable force. His spine took the brunt of it, vertebrae shattering under the pressure as the wreckage settled, crushing him downward inch by inch.
\nFreya screamed beneath him, trapped, his full weight pressing her into the twisted remains of a seat.
\n“Elijah—oh gods—Elijah!”
\nHe couldn’t answer. For a long, terrifying moment, he couldn’t even breathe.
\nThen the pain hit.
\nIt was blinding. A white-hot, all-consuming agony that tore through him in waves, radiating outward from his spine in jagged lines of fire. His vision fractured, black spots bursting at the edges as his body tried—and failed—to process the damage.
\nHe gasped, a broken sound tearing free as blood flooded his mouth.
\n“Klaus—” Freya cried. “Klaus!”
\nKlaus hit the wreckage like a storm.
\nHe tore through bent metal and broken seats with feral strength, ripping obstacles free and flinging them aside without thought. His eyes locked onto the two of them instantly—Elijah sprawled over Freya, impaled, unmoving.
\nFor one heartbeat, the world stopped.
\nThen Klaus was there, dropping to his knees beside them, hands hovering uselessly over his brother’s ruined body.
\n“No,” he snarled, voice thick with fury and fear. “No, no, no—”
\nElijah twitched weakly at the sound of his name. His head lolled to the side, cheek smeared with blood and ash. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, glassy.
\n“Klaus…” he rasped.
\nThe sound nearly broke him.
\nThe debris had skewered Elijah clean through the back, pinning him at a brutal angle. Worse—far worse—it was load-bearing. The twisted metal above it pressed down relentlessly, Elijah’s body acting as the only thing preventing it from collapsing fully.
\nFreya was trapped beneath him, crushed but breathing, her face pale with shock.
\n“Elijah’s holding it,” she gasped. “If you move it—if you move him—”
\n“I know,” Klaus snapped, though his hands trembled as they clenched into fists. “I know.”
\nFire crackled somewhere nearby, a low, hungry sound. Smoke rolled thick and black through the cabin, stinging Klaus’s eyes as the heat crept closer.
\nKlaus forced himself to focus.
\n“Freya,” he said tightly. “Can you move at all?”
\n“Barely,” she whispered. “My leg’s pinned. Elijah’s—he’s taking all of it.”
\nKlaus swallowed hard.
\nHe braced himself and began tearing away debris around them—carefully now, painfully aware that every piece he moved shifted the weight pressing into Elijah’s shattered back.
\nElijah groaned as the pressure changed, a broken sound dragged from his chest. Blood poured freely from the wound, pooling beneath him, soaking into torn fabric and scorched flooring.
\nHis legs didn’t move.
\nDidn’t respond at all.
\nAnother explosion rocked the wreckage, flames surging closer. Fire licked along the floor, catching on loose fabric and fuel residue, spreading fast.
\n“Klaus,” Elijah whispered hoarsely, breath shallow. “Get her out.”
\nKlaus’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.
\n“I will,” he growled. “I swear it. Just—just hold on.”
\nFreya sobbed softly beneath Elijah, one bloodied hand fisting in his jacket as if she could somehow keep him together by sheer will alone.
\nKlaus shifted another piece of wreckage.
\nThe debris slammed down harder.
\nElijah screamed.
\nIt tore out of him raw and uncontrolled, a sound Klaus would hear in his nightmares for centuries to come. His body convulsed weakly as the metal ground deeper into his spine, bones grinding, nerves shredding.
\nBlood surged anew, thick and dark, spreading rapidly.
\n“Stop!” Freya cried. “Klaus, stop—you’re making it worse!”
\n“I can’t see—” Klaus snarled, panic clawing up his throat. “I can’t tell which ones are safe!”
\nThe flames were close now. Too close.
\nFreya shut her eyes, forcing herself to focus despite the pain, the terror, the overwhelming magic-suppressing chaos of the crash. She raised her free hand, murmuring under her breath, runes flaring faintly blue in the smoke.
\nThe wreckage stilled.
\nMagic wrapped around the debris, stabilising it, freezing it in place just enough to stop the crushing shifts.
\n“Now,” she said urgently. “I’ll guide you. One piece at a time.”
\nKlaus nodded sharply and followed her instructions with brutal precision, ripping away metal and wreckage exactly as she directed.
\nFinally—finally—Freya was free.
\nThe moment Elijah no longer bore her weight, his strength gave out.
\nThe debris collapsed.
\nIt came down hard.
\nElijah was driven into the floor with a sickening crunch, the metal burying him deeper as his body failed beneath the load. His scream cut off abruptly, collapsing into a wet, choking gasp as blood flooded his lungs.
\nKlaus lunged forward with a roar of rage, tearing the debris away with reckless force now, heedless of the damage.
\nBy the time he reached his brother, he was kneeling in a widening pool of blood.
\nElijah lay broken beneath him—clothes torn, skin split open in deep, ragged gashes. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, bones clearly shattered. His leg was twisted wrong, knee bent where it shouldn’t be.
\nFire had caught on his trousers.
\nFlames crept steadily upward, licking at his knees.
\nElijah didn’t react.
\nKlaus froze, horror curling cold in his gut.
\n“Elijah?” he whispered.
\nNothing.
\nNot even a flinch.
\nSmoke burned Klaus’s lungs as he grabbed his brother’s face, smearing blood across his hands.
\n“Elijah, look at me.”
\nHis eyes fluttered weakly open.
\n“I can’t…” Elijah rasped. “I can’t feel my legs.”
\nThe words hit harder than any blow.
\nKlaus didn’t think. He tore open his wrist and shoved it to Elijah’s mouth.
\n“Drink,” he ordered fiercely. “Now.”
\nElijah obeyed weakly, lips closing around the wound, but the blood ran straight back out of his body, healing stalling, injuries too severe, blood loss too great.
\nThe fire climbed higher.
\nKlaus gathered Elijah carefully, cradling what remained of his shattered spine with Freya’s frantic guidance.
\nThey had to move.
\nThey had to save him.
\nAnd Elijah—immortal, indestructible Elijah—was conscious enough to feel every second of it.
\nKlaus moved on instinct alone.
\nThere was no elegance to it, no careful restraint—just raw, shaking determination as he gathered Elijah’s ruined body into his arms. His brother weighed more than Klaus remembered, dead weight in the truest sense, every shattered bone and torn muscle dragging him downward as if the wreckage itself refused to let Elijah go.
\nFreya staggered beside him, coughing violently as smoke clawed at her lungs, one hand pressed to her ribs, the other clutched around Klaus’s sleeve as though letting go would mean losing Elijah all over again.
\n“Left,” she rasped, magic flaring faintly as she pointed. “There’s a breach—part of the fuselage tore open.”
\nFire roared behind them, greedy and fast. The heat was unbearable now, pressing in from all sides, igniting anything it touched. Klaus felt it lick across his own skin, but he barely registered it. His attention was fixed entirely on the stillness in Elijah’s lower body—the way his legs dangled uselessly, the unnatural slackness of them sending a cold, sick dread straight through Klaus’s chest.
\nElijah made a faint sound, a half-breath, half-whimper, his head lolling against Klaus’s shoulder.
\n“Klaus…” His voice was barely there, torn to shreds by pain and smoke. “You… don’t need to—”
\n“Do not finish that sentence,” Klaus snarled, adjusting his grip as Elijah’s broken arm shifted with a soft, nauseating crack. Elijah gasped sharply, body jerking in reflex, and Klaus felt it like a knife between the ribs.
\nBlood soaked through Klaus’s clothes, warm and slick, running down his arms and dripping steadily onto the scorched floor. Every step jostled Elijah’s spine, and Klaus could feel it—could feel the instability beneath his hands, the way Elijah’s back simply wouldn’t hold together.
\nFreya stumbled, nearly falling, and Klaus shifted automatically to shield her even as he carried Elijah, turning his shoulder to take the brunt of falling debris as another section of ceiling collapsed in a shower of sparks.
\nThey burst through the torn fuselage into open air.
\nCold night slammed into them, a violent contrast to the inferno behind. Rain—blessed, freezing rain—pelted down in sheets, hissing as it struck flames and smouldering metal. Klaus dropped to his knees in the mud without hesitation, lowering Elijah as gently as he could manage.
\nElijah cried out as his body met the ground, pain tearing through him in a fresh, brutal wave. His fingers clawed weakly at Klaus’s coat, knuckles white.
\n“I’m sorry,” Klaus breathed, hands shaking as he tried to stabilise Elijah’s head, his spine, everything. “I’m so sorry.”
\nFreya collapsed beside them, magic flaring brighter now that she had space, weaving hastily through the air. She pressed her palms down on the earth, grounding herself, her voice trembling as she spoke ancient words under her breath.
\n“I can slow the bleeding,” she said urgently. “Not stop it—there’s too much damage—but I can buy us time.”
\nShe didn’t wait for an answer.
\nThe magic sank into Elijah’s body, a faint blue glow tracing along his torn flesh, binding vessels just enough to reduce the relentless loss. Elijah shuddered as it took hold, a low, broken moan escaping him.
\n“I can still feel everything up here,” he whispered, eyes unfocused. “But… nothing below.”
\nKlaus swallowed hard, pressing his forehead briefly to Elijah’s temple before forcing himself back. He tore open his wrist again and shoved it insistently toward Elijah’s mouth.
\n“Drink,” he said hoarsely. “Again. As much as you can.”
\nElijah obeyed, though his jaw trembled with the effort. Klaus could feel the blood leaving him almost as fast as he offered it, Elijah’s wounds too severe, his body too far gone to properly heal while haemorrhaging this badly.
\nFreya looked up sharply, rain plastering her hair to her face. “It’s not enough,” she said, voice tight with fear. “Not like this. He needs more. A lot more.”
\nKlaus nodded grimly. “I know.”
\nHe scanned the dark treeline beyond the crash site, ears straining. The sounds of approaching sirens echoed faintly in the distance—human help on its way, far too slow and utterly useless for what Elijah needed.
\n“We need to move him,” Klaus said. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere with blood.”
\nFreya hesitated, eyes flicking to Elijah’s spine. “Klaus… if we move him wrong—”
\n“He’s already broken,” Klaus snapped, then immediately softened, anguish bleeding into his voice. “I know. I know. But staying here will kill him.”
\nElijah’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. Flames from the wreckage cast flickering orange light across his face, highlighting every cut, every bruise, every grim line of pain etched into his features.
\n“I won’t die,” Elijah murmured faintly, as if reminding himself as much as them. “But this… this hurts.”
\nKlaus let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. “Of course it does, brother.”
\nHe gathered Elijah again, this time with Freya’s magic bracing his spine, holding it as rigid and aligned as possible. Elijah cried out despite himself, pain ripping through him as the movement sent fresh agony blazing along shattered nerves.
\nThey vanished into the night in a blur of speed and rain, leaving the burning wreckage behind.
\n⸻
\nThey didn’t stop until they reached shelter—an abandoned estate Klaus knew well, empty and stocked with a blood reserve he’d long ago deemed excessive.
\nKlaus slammed through the doors, carrying Elijah straight to the main hall and laying him out on the floor where there was space, light, and no immediate danger of collapse.
\nElijah barely stirred this time. His skin had gone pale—too pale—even for a vampire, blood loss finally catching up to him in a terrifying way.
\nFreya dropped beside him instantly, hands glowing as she reinforced the stabilising spell along Elijah’s spine, sweat beading at her brow.
\n“Klaus,” she said urgently. “He needs to feed properly. Now. Or he’s going to keep losing ground.”
\nKlaus didn’t hesitate.
\nHe ripped open the blood stores with brutal force, shattering bottles and dragging them close. He tipped one to Elijah’s mouth, then another, coaxing, pleading.
\n“Drink,” he murmured fiercely. “Please. Just—just drink.”
\nElijah’s lips parted weakly. Blood spilled over his chin as he drank, then drank more. Slowly—agonisingly slowly—the change began.
\nHis breathing steadied first. Then colour crept back into his skin. Bones shifted with sickening cracks as they realigned, wounds knitting themselves closed in a rush of dark, glistening flesh.
\nElijah gasped sharply as sensation flooded back—pain surging, then receding as his body finally began to heal in earnest.
\nHe screamed once, raw and unrestrained, as his spine repaired itself, nerves screaming back to life.
\nThen—silence.
\nKlaus held his breath.
\nElijah’s legs twitched.
\nJust barely.
\nFreya sagged back on her heels, tears finally spilling free as relief hit her like a wave.
\nKlaus laughed, breathless and shaking, clutching Elijah close as if letting go might undo it all.
\n“You’re not allowed to scare me like that,” he muttered hoarsely. “Ever again.”
\nElijah’s eyes fluttered open, glassy but alive.
\n“I make no promises,” he whispered weakly—and then, finally, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness, healing complete at last.
\nElijah woke to stillness.
\nNot the brittle, watchful quiet of a battlefield, nor the tense hush of a room waiting for violence—but something softer. He became aware of it slowly, drifting upward through layers of darkness that peeled away one by one, each revealing sensation in careful, reluctant increments.
\nThe first thing he noticed was weight.
\nIt pressed evenly across his body, anchoring him, real and undeniable. He lay flat, supported on something firm and cool beneath him. The second thing was pain—but distant, muted, like an echo rather than the consuming inferno it had been before.
\nHe inhaled.
\nAir filled his lungs without resistance.
\nThat alone nearly undid him.
\nHis eyes opened.
\nStone ceiling. Familiar. Old-world beams darkened with age. Low light—lamps rather than sunlight. The abandoned estate. Klaus’s contingency, though Elijah doubted Klaus had ever expected to use it like this.
\nFor a long moment, he didn’t move. He simply lay there, cataloguing himself with the methodical precision he’d honed over centuries.
\nArms: present. Heavy, sore, but responsive.
\nHands: clenched reflexively at his sides. He loosened them with effort.
\nChest: tight, bruised, but intact.
\nBack—
\nHis breath hitched despite himself.
\nCarefully, so carefully, he tried to move his legs.
\nThe response was immediate.
\nMuscles engaged. Knees bent slightly. Toes flexed.
\nThe relief was so sharp it bordered on pain.
\nHe let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes again, just for a moment, grounding himself in the simple fact of movement. The memory of nothingness below his waist—of fire crawling up his legs while his body remained terrifyingly silent—rose unbidden, clawing its way to the surface.
\nHe swallowed hard.
\n“Elijah.”
\nKlaus’s voice was quiet. Too quiet.
\nElijah turned his head.
\nKlaus sat on the floor beside him, back against a stone pillar, arms folded tightly across his chest. There was dried blood on his sleeves—Elijah’s blood—and soot ground into his knuckles. His eyes were fixed on Elijah with an intensity that bordered on feral, as though he’d been afraid to blink.
\nFreya hovered just behind him, leaning heavily on a nearby table, her face pale with exhaustion. Magic still clung faintly to her hands, residual energy crackling low and restless, as though unwilling to fully let go.
\n“You’re awake,” Klaus said.
\nIt wasn’t a question.
\nElijah nodded faintly. His throat felt raw, scraped raw by smoke and screams. “I am.”
\nKlaus exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand down his face. The sound that escaped him then was ugly—half laugh, half broken breath—and entirely unguarded.
\n“Do not,” Klaus said hoarsely, pointing at him, “ever do that again.”
\nElijah’s lips twitched despite himself. “I believe I lacked a great deal of choice.”
\nFreya huffed weakly, relief finally breaking through her composure. She pushed herself upright and moved closer, eyes scanning Elijah with a healer’s focus.
\n“Can you feel everything?” she asked. “Properly?”
\n“Yes,” Elijah answered without hesitation. “Pain included.”
\n“Good,” she said firmly. “That means everything healed cleanly.”
\nKlaus snorted. “You say that like pain is a comfort.”
\nFreya shot him a look. “After what happened? It is.”
\nElijah shifted slightly, testing the limits of his body. The ache flared—deep and lingering—but nothing screamed, nothing gave way. His spine held. Whole. Stable.
\nThe knowledge hit him harder than expected.
\nHe remembered the sound his body had made when the debris collapsed. The sensation of crushing, of his spine failing beneath the weight. The terrifying disconnect between mind and body when he tried to move his legs and nothing happened.
\n“I thought…” His voice faltered, barely perceptible. He cleared his throat. “I thought the damage might linger longer.”
\nFreya softened. “It almost did. If Klaus hadn’t had that blood reserve—if you’d fed even minutes later—”
\nShe didn’t finish.
\nKlaus didn’t need her to.
\nHe pushed himself to his feet abruptly and turned away, pacing a short distance before stopping, shoulders tense. “When you said you couldn’t feel your legs,” he muttered, voice low, “I thought I’d lost you. Not dead—but…” He clenched his fists. “Trapped.”
\nElijah watched him quietly.
\nFor Klaus, death had always been the enemy they could fight. Immortality made pain survivable, made survival inevitable. But helplessness—that was something else entirely.
\n“I was aware,” Elijah said softly, choosing his words with care. “The entire time. Of the fire. Of you digging. Of Freya’s magic holding everything in place.”
\nHis gaze dropped briefly to his legs. “And of nothing else below my waist.”
\nKlaus flinched as though struck.
\nElijah continued, because he needed to say it—because if he didn’t, it would fester. “I could feel the heat. I could smell my clothes burning. I simply… could not react.”
\nSilence filled the hall.
\nFreya’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. Klaus stared at the far wall, breathing slow and controlled, as if holding himself together by sheer force of will.
\n“I’m sorry,” Elijah said at last. “That you had to see that.”
\nKlaus turned sharply. “Do not,” he snapped, eyes blazing. “Do not apologise for protecting your sister. Do not apologise for surviving.”
\nElijah inclined his head slightly. “Very well.”
\nBut the memory lingered.
\nThe way Klaus’s hands had shaken as he pulled him free. The way Freya’s magic had trembled under the strain. The way fear—real, raw fear—had cut through all of them, immortal or not.
\nFreya finally exhaled and straightened. “You should rest. Your body healed, but your mind—” She hesitated. “That takes longer.”
\nElijah met her gaze. “I am aware.”
\nKlaus moved back to his side, sitting down again—closer this time. Close enough that Elijah could feel the solid warmth of him there, an unspoken anchor.
\nFor a long moment, none of them spoke.
\nOutside, rain pattered softly against stone. The distant echo of thunder rolled low and distant, a reminder of the sky that had nearly taken him.
\nElijah closed his eyes—not in exhaustion, but in acceptance.
\nHe had survived.
\nBut the fire had left its mark all the same.
\nAnd this time, immortality hadn’t spared him from remembering every second of it.
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