Chapter 98: Aftermath and Grief
POV: Sam Barton
The FBI's supernatural containment facility accepts Shane twenty-four hours after prom with efficiency that suggests Sheriff Liz has connections I've never questioned.
"He'll be held under maximum security protocols," Liz explains to the assembled alliance. "Expression magic is on their radar now—they've been tracking supernatural threats since before Mystic Falls became their problem."
"Good riddance," Damon mutters. "Though I preferred the 'stake him and be done' approach."
"We don't execute prisoners," Liz counters. "Even supernatural mass murderers get trials and containment."
The student counseling happens over three days of carefully orchestrated memory management.
Matt sits in the first session, looking genuinely confused. "So the gas leak caused mass hallucination? Everyone saw vampires and shadow monsters and magic fights?"
"According to the official report," Liz confirms, while I exchange glances with Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie who are trying not to laugh at Matt's obliviousness reaching peak absurdity.
"Good thing it wasn't real vampires," Matt continues earnestly. "That would be crazy."
Tyler coughs to hide his laughter. Stefan walks out of the room before he breaks.
Most students are compelled by a borrowed vampire working with Liz's permission—their memories adjusted to accept the gas leak hallucination explanation. Those closest to the alliance—Jeremy, April, a few others—are told the truth with informed consent and warnings about supernatural secrecy.
"You're telling me magic is real," Jeremy says when I brief him privately. "And you have shadow clones that are pieces of your soul, and two of them died saving us at prom."
"Simplified version, but yes," I confirm.
Jeremy's quiet for a moment, processing. "Thank you. For whatever you lost protecting us. I... I won't forget that."
It's simple gratitude, but it hits harder than expected because Jeremy understands the cost in a way the compelled students never will.
The grief hits me in waves over the following days.
I sit in my basement training area, staring at the positions where Mind Shield and Defensive Shield used to manifest. Empty space that should be occupied by parts of my consciousness, now just void.
Caroline finds me there on the second day, bringing food I don't eat and company I desperately need.
"They weren't just tools," I tell her, words coming slowly. "They were me. Parts of my personality, my thoughts, fragments of my soul split into defensive roles. Losing them feels like losing limbs and memories simultaneously."
Caroline sits beside me, patient and present. "Can they be brought back?"
Bonnie researched the resurrection requirements: 5,000 MP when I currently have 960 maximum, Phoenix ash from creature that doesn't exist in Virginia, heart of willing sacrifice which sounds horrifying, and massive ritual with 30-day cooldown.
"Eventually," I reply. "But not anytime soon. The resources are... complicated."
Elena takes the next shift, bringing tea and sitting quietly while I process. She doesn't try to fix it, just exists beside me in shared grief—she lost Jenna, she understands permanent loss.
Bonnie brings magical texts about soul fragmentation and resurrection, offering research instead of platitudes.
And Klaus, surprisingly, visits on the third evening with bourbon and unexpected understanding.
"Drink," Klaus commands, extending a flask.
I take it because refusing Klaus Mikaelson when he's being almost kind seems tactically unwise. The bourbon burns going down, but the warmth helps.
"I've lost siblings to daggers," Klaus says, settling into the chair across from me. "Temporary death but loss nonetheless. The grief is real, Sam. The feeling that pieces of your family have been ripped away."
"You've killed thousands," I point out. "How do you cope with that weight?"
Klaus laughs—dark and honest. "I don't. I carry it and keep moving forward, because stopping means drowning in regret and madness. You'll do the same. You're stronger than you know, Clone Sovereign."
"Two parts of me died protecting people who'll have their memories erased and never understand the sacrifice," I say bitterly.
"Then you honor them by becoming strong enough that future sacrifices aren't necessary," Klaus counters. "Use the pain. Channel it into power. Make their deaths matter by ensuring no one else has to die."
It's surprisingly good advice from someone whose solution to most problems involves creative violence.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
Klaus stands to leave, but pauses at the door. "You saved three hundred lives including people I care about. Your clones died as heroes. There's no greater honor for warriors—even shadow warriors born from supernatural systems."
After he leaves, I find myself able to eat for the first time in days.
[AFTERMATH MANAGEMENT: SUCCESSFUL]
[STUDENTS COMPELLED/COUNSELED]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +400]
[LEVEL 38: 400/5,600 TO LEVEL 39]
My four remaining clones—Sensory, Strength, Magic Absorption, and Phasing—operate effectively, but the gaps in our defensive capabilities are obvious. No mental shield against compulsion. No barrier projection for protecting allies. Tactical holes that could prove fatal.
I'll resurrect them somehow. But first, I need to survive whatever comes next.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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