Chapter 25: In Search of Answers

Ethan stepped out of the phone booth with renewed fire in his eyes. The cool afternoon wind whipped at him, but it didn't faze him—not now. The call to his mother had been brief, just to say she was okay, but her words echoed in his head like a warning he chose to ignore for now. He would find his father first. It wasn't just for him—it was for her, too, to fill the emptiness he saw in her eyes every time the subject came up. With a motorcycle roaring beneath him, he sped down the road, determined to follow any lead, no matter how flawed.

Three Weeks of Searching

The weeks passed in a blur of small towns, dusty roads, and suspicious faces. Ethan crossed the map like a wolf scenting a trail, but each step seemed to lead him to a dead end. He stopped at seedy bars, cheap motels, and forgotten gas stations, asking strangers about a man named Machado—a man no one seemed to really know.

In a small town somewhere, he met an old mechanic who said he had fixed a Machado's car years ago. "He was a quiet guy," the man muttered, stroking his greasy beard. "I didn't say much, just paid and left. I think he went north." Ethan changed his mind, driving miles to another town, but there he found only silence and blank stares. No one knew anything.

At another stop, a middle-aged woman at a roadside diner said she'd seen someone with the same last name before, but that he "didn't stay anywhere for long." She pointed west, and Ethan went—again, to no avail. Each conversation was a spark of hope that quickly died, leaving behind only frustration and exhaustion.

He slept a little, ate even less. The roar of the motorcycle was his only constant companion, and the tracks he followed were like loose threads that never connected. Three weeks passed like this—questioning, looking, failing. But he didn't give up. He couldn't give up.

The Calls to Mother

Every now and then, Ethan would stop at a phone booth or a motel with a working phone and call his mother. It was a ritual—a way to ground himself in the chaos. He would tell her what he had done, the tracks he had followed, and she would listen quietly, her attention hidden in her voice.

On those calls, after three weeks on the road, her voice came out heavier, firmer.

"Ethan, my son... are you okay?" she said, as she always did.

"Yes, Mom. I'm trying. The clues aren't leading anywhere, but I haven't given up," he replied, his tone hoarse with exhaustion.

She sighed on the other end of the line, a sound that carried years of weariness and love.

"Ethan, I know you want to do this for me, but… never mind. Go home, live your life."

He opened the phone harder, his jaw clenching.

"No, Mom. I can't see you like this—with this hole he left. I have to find him."

She laughed softly, a sad but affectionate sound.

"I appreciate it, my love. You're stubborn like your father, you know that? But you need to focus on your own life right now. Someone can steal what's yours, Ethan, and you know what I'm talking about. Nothing lasts forever, even if you're that strong."

Ethan was silent, his heart clenching in his chest. He knew, yes. She was talking about Hope—I didn't need to say her name for him to understand. Her image flashed through his mind, her blue eyes, the way she made him feel alive. Three weeks away from her felt like an eternity, and his mother's words cut deep. He felt a chill run down his spine, the fear of losing something he didn't even know if he still had the right to call his own.

"I… I won't let that happen," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"So think carefully, son. Your father made his choices. Don't let that cost you yours."

"Okay, Mom. I'll think about it," he said, his voice breaking a little.

"I love you, Ethan. Take care."

"I love you too."

He hung up the phone, the click echoing in the empty booth. For a moment he stood there, staring off into the distance, his mind spinning. The determination that had driven him here still burned, but now it was shadowed—a conflict he could no longer ignore. His father or Hope? His past or his present? He didn't know the answer, but he knew he couldn't stand still.

The Return to Mystic Falls

Ethan got back on his bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. His mother's words weighed heavily on him, but the need for answers about Clark pulled at him with equal force. He made a decision: to return to Mystic Falls. If the clues on the road led nowhere, perhaps the town where everything seemed to converge had something to offer. The Salvatore School was his starting point, but first, he needed a moment to breathe, to think. Bourbon, the bar Damon had heard about, seemed like the right place.

The sun was low in the sky, somewhere between 3 and 4 p.m., when Ethan pulled his Harley-Davidson up to the Bourbon. The heat from the engine was still creeping up his legs as he turned off the familiar roar. Three weeks of futile searching had left him exhausted, but not defeated. He removed his helmet, running a hand through his messy hair, and his heterochromatic eyes caught the faint glow of the bar's sign. Something was pulling him there, an intuition he couldn't explain. He took a deep breath and went inside.

As he walked through the door of Bourbon, the smell of whiskey and polished wood enveloped him, but the weight of it was in Elena Gilbert's eyes. He stood in the doorway, the glass of beer Damon had pushed toward him still untouched on the table. Elena stared at him, her face pale, as if she'd seen a ghost, and the word "Clark" escaped her lips, an echo Ethan couldn't ignore.

"You… you know him?" Ethan said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and urgency. He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Elena. "You said 'Clark.' That's my father's name."

Elena blinked out of her trance and exchanged a quick glance with Damon, who was leaning against the counter with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "I...I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "For a moment there, you reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. But it doesn't make sense...you're too young."

Damon took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes narrowed as he assessed Ethan. "Too young, maybe, but that boy has a scent that doesn't lie. Half wolf, half vampire, and something else that can't be identified. Who are you, boy?"

Ethan ignored Damon for a moment, focusing on Elena. "My name is Ethan Nichols. My father, Clark Nichols, disappeared 16 years ago. I came to Mystic Falls because I think it's the only place I can find answers about what happened to him. And now you call him by his name. It's not a coincidence. Who was he to you?"

Elena hesitated, her fingers tightening around the glass of water on the table in front of her. She took a deep breath, as if unearthing an old memory. "Clark was a schoolmate," she began, her voice low but firm. "We went to Mystic Falls High together, back in 2007. We weren't that close—I knew him mostly by sight, we'd exchanged a few words. But he and Caroline…they had a history."

"Carolina Forbes?" Ethan said, the name so familiar from the stories we've heard about Mystic Falls.

Elena nodded, a small, sad smile on her lips. "Yeah. Caroline's away right now, sorting out some stuff—I don't know what exactly, she doesn't go into details. But back then, she and Clark were close. More than close, actually. They met once, you know? It wasn't anything serious, it didn't work out. Caroline said he already had a girl in Los Angeles, someone he couldn't get over. I think that's why it didn't go any further between them."

Damon let out a dry laugh, twirling the glass in his hand. "Yeah, the guy had a wolfish temper and a strength that couldn't be explained. He almost ripped my neck out once for teasing Blonde Barbie too much. Now, seeing you, kid, it's starting to make sense."

Ethan clenched his fists, his mind racing. "A girl in Los Angeles? Did he say who she was?"

Elena shook her head. "Not with me. Caroline knew more, but she never gave any details. She just said that Clark talked about this girl as if she were his world, even though they were so far away. When he disappeared years later, she was devastated. It was a tragedy for everyone who knew him, but for Caroline it was worse. She spent months searching for him, following every lead. I think she still carries that with her."

Ethan felt a lump in his throat. "My mom... Tory Nichols. She's from Los Angeles. Maybe she was that girl."

Elena was surprised, that was really the girl's name, so that's it....

Damon tilted his head, his lips curling into a half smile. "You look just like him, kid. Those weird eyes, the way you stand there like you're going to explode...you're the spit-and-spit Clark, only younger and angrier. I bet Blonde Barbie would freak out if she saw you."

"What happened to him here?" Ethan said, frustration burning in his chest. "Why did he leave?"

Elena sighed, her eyes distant. "Clark was a mystery, even to Caroline. He'd helped so many people—saved my life, supported Caroline through her transition to vampirehood. But he didn't talk about his past. When he disappeared in 2010, the news reached us. It was a tragedy. Caroline said he deserved better, that someone like him didn't just disappear like that."

Ethan swallowed. "He disappeared when I was born. My mother and Aunt Sam spent years looking for him. I grew up with pieces of him—stories, a motorcycle, an emptiness. If Caroline knew of a girl in L.A., she might know more."

Elena hesitated, but answered. "Caroline's out of town, working on some stuff. I don't know exactly where or what she's doing—she's being very private about it. I don't know if she'll want to talk about Clark; what happened to him still hurts her. But I can give you her contact information if you want to try."

"I need to talk to her," Ethan said, determination hardening his voice. "If she and my father had this past, she might have a clue."

Elena wrote Caroline's number on a note and handed it to him. "Okay. But be careful—Caroline is strong, but this is an open wound for her. As for Mystic Falls, the Salvatore School can help you dig deeper. They deal with secrets like yours all the time."

Damon snorted, finishing his whiskey. "Yeah, and you can drag Hope Mikaelson into this mess. That girl is a troublemaker, perfect for your type."

Ethan shot Damon a sharp look, but didn't answer. His mind was full—Clark, a high school friend, a past with Caroline, a brief romance gone wrong because of a girl in Los Angeles, maybe Tory. A tragedy that had shaken them all. He needed to get back to the Salvatore School, tell Hope. She was his anchor, and if anyone could help him unearth this, it was her.

"Thanks," Ethan said finally, picking up his beer glass and taking a quick sip before setting it back down on the table. "I'm going to school. If you guys hear anything else about my dad, let me know. He's the reason I'm here."

Elena nodded, a gleam of empathy in her eyes. "Good luck, Ethan. You have the same fire he did. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Damon portrays the empty glass in a mocking toast. "Don't die, kid. Mystic Falls chews up people like you and spits out the bones."

Ethan pocketed his napkin, gave a curt nod, and left the Bourbon, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in the quiet afternoon. The sky was still bright, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon as he climbed onto his father's Harley-Davidson and started the engine, the roar cutting through the silence. He sped straight toward the Salvatore School, his mind spinning with Elena's revelations.

Around 4 p.m., Ethan parked his bike at the school entrance. The place was crowded, a hubbub of voices and movement filling the hallways. He frowned, his heightened senses picking up on the organized chaos around him. The main hall was being transformed—tables being set up, lights being brightened, and students running around with fabric and flowers. It was the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, he recalled the event Hope had mentioned before she set off on her quest. Everyone was focused on the preparations.

In the crowd, he spotted Lizzie Saltzman chatting animatedly with a few girls, gesturing with her hands as she gave orders about the decorations. Ethan walked past her, but his gaze was drawn to the center of the room, where Hope was dancing with Landon Kirby. They twirled in a rehearsal for the pageant dance, their steps in sync, and Hope smiled in a way Ethan hadn't seen in weeks. Heat rose in his chest, mixed with a tightness he couldn't ignore. Jealousy. His body reacted before his mind, a low growl escaping his throat, his wolf instinct roaring to the surface. He clenched his fists and held himself back, biting back the sound before it turned into something more.

Hope didn't see him, technique in his steps with Landon, but Landon did. His eyes met Ethan's for a brief second, and a mocking smile curved his lips, subtle but teasing. Ethan turned away, anger pulsing through his veins, but he decided not to interfere. Not now. Instead, he demanded answers, focus. He changed direction, walking down the hall in search of Alaric Saltzman. The director would know more about Caroline—and Ethan would need that now.

He found Alaric in the office, shuffling through papers with an expression of someone trying to maintain control amidst the chaos of the event. Alaric's eyes caught Ethan's eye as he entered, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Ethan," Alaric said, putting down his pen. "You're back. Where have you been?"

"Looking for my dad," Ethan replied matter-of-factly. "I just talked to Elena at Bourbon. She gave me Caroline Forbes's contact information. Said she's out of town running some errands. Do you know where she is or what she's doing?"

Alaric sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Caroline's busy, doing things away from here. She doesn't give out many details, you know how she is—secretive when she wants to be. All I know is that she's been away for a while, dealing with something important." In his mind, Alaric completed the thought he hadn't said out loud: She's looking for ways to lift the curse from the girls, from my daughters. Lizzie and Josie have a chance to live without it, and Caroline won't stop until she finds a solution.

Ethan nodded, sensing Alaric's hesitation, but didn't press the issue. "Elena said she and my father were close. That she might know something about him. I need to talk to her."

Alaric stared at him for a moment, as if weighing what to say. "If Caroline knows something, she'll tell you—but only if she wants to. What happened to your father has left a deep impression on her. Good luck finding her, Ethan. And if you need any help with that, let me know. Mystic Falls has a lot of secrets, and you're digging up one of the deepest ones."

"Okay," Ethan said, his voice steady despite his fatigue. He gave a curt nod and left the office, the napkin with Caroline's number still in his pocket. As he walked back down the hall, Lizzie noticed him out of the corner of her eye, heading toward his room. She stopped talking for a moment, a small smile breaking across her face as she watched him walk away from the commotion. Ethan didn't see it, his heavy footsteps echoing as he climbed the stairs, the weight of the afternoon bearing down on him like a silent storm.

In the main hall, the mood changed minutes later. Hope, her head full of thoughts and emotions she could barely organize, lost her patience. As they rehearsed, Landon, overconfident, grabbed her ass with a smile. Hope froze for a second before reacting, pushing him hard to the floor. He fell with a thud, surprised, and she exploded.

"What the fuck, Landon?!" she said, her voice cutting through the noise around her. "You think you can do whatever you want to me? Don't touch me like that again, you hear me?"

Landon cried out, rubbing his arm, his face red with embarrassment and anger. "Calm down, Hope, it was just a joke—"

"Are you kidding?!" she interrupted, her eyes flashing. "You don't understand no, do you? Stop acting like I'm your property!"

The room fell silent for a moment, the other students stopping to stare. Lizzie, who was standing nearby, dropped what she was doing and ran to Hope, grabbing her arm. "Come with me," she said firmly, pulling Hope away before the situation could get any worse. "You need a minute."

Hope let Lizzie lead her, still shaking with anger, as they walked out of the hall and into the woods behind the school. The cool air hit her face, but it didn't calm the fire burning inside. Lizzie stopped near a clearing, turning to her with a worried expression.

"Hope, you've been really stressed lately," Lizzie said, crossing her arms. "It's obvious. You need to get it out before you explode."

Hope took a deep breath, her fists clenched. "I know. I... I've been feeling really angry lately. Everything's been a mess since Ethan left. I asked to go with him, you know? I wanted to help, to be there for him, but he refused. Said he had to go alone. Three weeks, Lizzie. Three weeks without a word, and I'm here, wondering if he's okay, if he'll come back, if he'll still... I don't know. It's killing me inside."

Lizzie tilted her head, a slight sarcastic smile appearing. "Seriously, Hope? Are you surprised this is such a mess? Look at what you're dealing with—Ethan disappears after his dad, leaves you behind, and Landon has been practically drooling over you forever. It was so obvious that he had a crush on you that even MG noticed, and he doesn't know anything about romance."

Hope snorted, a mixture of irritation and amusement. "It doesn't help, Lizzie. It's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," Lizzie replied, shrugging. "I mean, the kid follows you around like a lost puppy. Everyone saw it coming—except you, apparently. What happened back there doesn't surprise me in the least."

"He kissed me the other day," Hope admitted, her voice low and filled with frustration. "Out of the blue. And he's been hitting on me nonstop ever since. I told him I don't want anything to do with him, not like that, but he won't listen. He invited me to this stupid festival, and I said yes because I'm angry—angry at Ethan, angry at myself, angry at everything."

Lizzie nodded, her tone becoming more serious. "Okay, but why are you so mad at Ethan? He went after his dad, right? You said he dumped you, but it's not like he abandoned you for fun."

Hope looked away, kicking a rock on the ground. "I know that. But he didn't even give me a chance to help. I asked to come along, Lizzie, and he looked at me with those eyes of his and said he had to do this alone. Like I wasn't important enough to be with him in this. Three weeks without news, and I'm sitting here feeling useless, while Landon thinks this is an opening to throw himself at me. I'm tired of all this."

Lizzie was quiet for a moment, processing. In her thoughts, she planned: I'm going to make this day. I've always wanted Miss Mystic Falls to be mine, but lately… I hope it's been different. I've grown closer to her, enjoying her company. It's like she's a third sister. I used to feel jealous all the time, but now that's gone, and I like that. She decided not to tell him that Ethan was back—not yet. "You're holding a lot in, Hope," she said finally, her voice firm but tinged with empathy. "Anger at Ethan, at Landon, at yourself. It won't go away on its own. You have to get it out. Scream. Get it out. Let it out."

Hope hesitated, looking at Lizzie as if the idea was absurd. "What? Just...scream?"

"Yeah," Lizzie confirmed, crossing her arms with an air of authority. "You're a Mikaelson, aren't you? Get that witch blood working. Let that anger out before it swallows you up."

Hope took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let it out. A primal scream tore through the silence of the forest, filled with rage, pain, and confusion. As her voice echoed, her magic rushed out of her like a wild wave—strong winds erupted from nowhere, stirring the trees around her, leaves whirling and branches swaying violently. The ground shook lightly beneath her feet, and the air grew heavy with the power she could no longer contain. She spoke until her voice cracked, the winds slowly calming as her shoulders relaxed, the weight beginning to lift.

Lizzie stepped back, her hair windblown, and let out a symptomatic whistle. "Damn, Hope. That was… intense. Any better?"

Hope opened her eyes, panting, a half smile appearing despite herself. "A little. I think I want something back there."

"Better trees than Landon," Lizzie joked, laughing. "Come with me. I have an idea."

Hope frowned, confused but dejected as Lizzie headed back to school. Instead of going back to the ballroom, Lizzie led her to her room, locking the door behind them. "Hold on," Lizzie said, going to her closet and pulling out a dark blue dress, elegant, with details that shimmered in the light. "This was my mother's. She wore it to her Miss Mystic Falls. I want you to wear it today."

Hope's eyes widened, shaking her head. "No, Lizzie, I can't. This is your day. You've always wanted this."

Lizzie shook her head, a soft smile on her face. "It's not that important. Not anymore." In her thoughts, she added: Hope is angry, sad, lost these days. I saw Ethan come back, and she needs him more than I need this day. What better way to help her find the boy of her dreams? "You need this more than I do," she said aloud. "Try on the dress while I do something real quick."

Hope hesitated, reluctance clear on her face, but eventually gave in. "Okay... but I don't understand what you're up to."

"Trust me," Lizzie said with a mischievous smile before leaving the room.

She ran down the halls to Ethan's room, where she found him sitting on his bed, staring into space with that depressed expression he always had. He looked up in surprise when Lizzie walked in without knocking. "Lizzie? What are you doing here?"

"I don't have much time," she said bluntly. "You need to get a suit and learn to dance. Now. Get up."

Ethan blinked, completely lost. "What? Lizzie, what are you celebrating?"

She crossed her arms impatiently. "Come here." She let him stand and began leading him through a basic waltz step, nearly tripping over him as she explained. "You leaving school screwed Hope up, Ethan. She's a mess because of you. She asked to go with you, and you said no. Three weeks without you, and she's falling apart. If you don't step up, you're going to lose her. She's got other guys eyeing her—like Landon—and they're already taking steps to help."

Ethan's eyes widened, and raw fury filled him. His eyes turned solid green, glowing with wolf instinct, and a look of rage filled his face, his fists clenched. Lizzie invited him in, pleased. "You don't want to lose, do you?"

Ethan took a deep breath, his anger slowly calming, and nodded. "No. I don't want to."

"Now listen," Lizzie said, stopping the impromptu rehearsal. "You've got to be a real man and take charge. You're going to dance with her at the ball tonight. Make it her day—for her, for your love of her. But you're not going to show up at the ballroom in those old jackets you're always wearing. I'm going to get you a suit—my father's. I'm sure that's all your wardrobe has."

Ethan scratched his head, a half-hearted smile appearing. "Hey, these jackets have a story, okay? But... thanks, Lizzie. I don't think I have anything decent for it anyway."

"Exactly," Lizzie said, rolling her eyes with a smile. "Stay there. I'll be right back."

She left Ethan's room and arrived at Alaric's office, where she still found doubts in the festival papers. He intimidates his eyes, tired, but curious to see his daughter enter so determined.

"Lizzie? What now?" Alaric asked, putting down his pen.

"Dad, I need a favor," she said, getting straight to the point. "Ethan's back, and he's a mess because of Hope. She's a mess because of him. I'm trying to break it up, and he needs to dance with her at the dance tonight. But he doesn't have a decent suit. Can I borrow one of yours?"

Alaric frowned, processing. "You're plotting to get the two of them together, is that it?"

"Basically," Lizzie admitted, with a mischievous smile. "He's lost, she's angry, and I know they need each other. It'll be perfect for her day—and mine, in a way. Please, Dad?"

Alaric sighed, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, Lizzie. Grab the gray one from my bedroom closet. But don't blame me if he trips over his own feet while dancing."

"Thank you!" Lizzie said, already running off. "You're the best!"

After grabbing her suit—a sleek dark gray one Alaric had mentioned—Lizzie made one last stop before heading back to Ethan. She walked to Landon's room, knocking firmly on the door. He opened it, still red-faced from his fight with Hope, and frowned when he saw her.

"Lizzie? What do you want?" Landon said, his voice confident.

"Landon, listen," she said, crossing her arms. "You're not dancing with Hope today."

"What?" He blinked, confused. "What happened?"

"What happened is that Hope hates you," Lizzie replied dryly. "You grabbed her ass back at the ballroom, like she was a trophy for you to show off. She said you have no respect for her, and she's not going to the festival with you anymore. So find another partner—or better yet, stay out of it."

Landon was silent for a second, anger rising. "This is ridiculous. It was just a—"

"No, Landon," Lizzie snapped, firm. "It was disrespectful. And she's done with it. Good luck fixing that mess." She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him alone.

As soon as the door closed, Landon kicked a chair in the room hard, making it topple over. "Damn!" he said, running his hands through his hair. In his mind, he thought: I thought things were working out between me and Hope. I was more forward, I thought this would help me win her over, but it was the opposite. Damn it! He punched the wall in frustration, his plan falling apart.

Meanwhile, Lizzie had returned to Ethan's room, the suit folded in her arms. He was still sitting on the bed, now holding the napkin with Caroline's number on it, but his eyes widened when she walked in.

"Here," Lizzie said, tossing him the suit. "My father's. It'll look decent on you."

Ethan took the suit, examining it with a nod of approval. "Thanks, Lizzie. Seriously. I can't thank you enough for this."

"Okay," she said, shrugging with a slight smile. "You've helped me before, remember? When I was freaking out about that spell in magic class and you calmed me down. Nothing better than helping each other out, right?"

Ethan gave a half smile, remembering the day. "That's true. I think we are quite close now."

"Almost," Lizzie teased. "But only if you don't screw up at the dance. Get dressed, practice those steps I taught you, and meet me at the ballroom. Hope's waiting—even if she doesn't know it yet." She winked and walked out, leaving Ethan with his suit and renewed determination.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the suit in his hands, then took a deep breath and began to change. With each button he fastened, his certainty grew: he wasn't going to give up hope. Not this time.

Meanwhile, in Lizzie's room, Hope finished adjusting her dress, looking at herself in the mirror with a mixture of uncertainty and something that looked like hope. She didn't know what Lizzie was waiting for, but for the first time in weeks, she felt like maybe things could change.