Work Text:
“You’re On Your Own Lost In the Wild”
Dehumanization | Living Weapon | On Patrol
Niklaus wakes with a start, his heart pounding, the sound echoing in his skull, an ache in his chest, blindly grappling towards the pain, desperate to be rid of it, his fingers wrapping surely around the hilt of a dagger. With shaking fingers he yanks, the sensation horrible, unreal, the inside of his heart gasping as the silver runs straight through it, the feeling of his skin and muscle closing up around the wound as visceral as it was the first time he experienced it. He drops the dagger, letting it clatter to the ground before he sits up, looks around.
His room is the same as it was when he fell asleep, the candles burnt now to a stub, but their shadows cast an eerie aura on the place now, something terrible has happened. He listens, listens for the sound of his siblings but he cannot hear them, not even a stirring, not the even breath of his brothers, or the heartbeat of Rebekah, and Niklaus is seized by a terrible dread. Something has happened. His siblings are dead.
He swings his legs out of bed to inspect the dagger more closely. In the low light, the engravings are harder to make out, and Niklaus’ mind is still spinning, still clutching futilely at his chest, the aching now a mere phantom pain, but he could swear he’s seen a blade just like this before, worn by that pretty little thing Rebekah has been knocking around with, the broad sword with the customary little engraving marking him a vampire hunter, sworn to eradicate the species. The Brotherhood of the Five, which Niklaus and Elijah had been laughing about just last night over dinner. Oh — oh how stupid they had been, how arrogant! If they had come for him, then surely his family — Kol, Finn, Elijah —
Rebekah. Rebekah.
Half-mad, he bolts for the door, thinking of nothing but his fool of sister, besotted with that hunter, Alexander, winning her hand with nothing more than his charm, with the spectacle of killings of their own kind. Bekah, always naïve, always ready to leave this all behind for the first man to show her any affection. He had known, had begged Elijah to take him seriously, that Rebekah’s infatuation with Alexander would come to no good. So afraid of being exposed here and yet Rebekah had left them all vulnerable, Rebekah had let one into their home, through their front door. Rebekah. Rebekah.
“REBEKAH!”
His throat is raw from screaming her name, but she does not answer. She is dead, they are all dead, and Niklaus is all alone. He wills himself to keep moving forward as icy panic freezes his heart over, the world spinning, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. He must find her, find her body, and then —
He turns, spins on his heel, the whistling of an arrow catching his attention, so finely tuned over the past century and he catches it, cannot even feel the arrowhead slicing open his palm before he lets it fall to the ground, one of the hunters is advancing towards him, and Niklaus realizes, suddenly, how hungry he is. Without even thinking, he lunges, grabs the hunter by his shirt and sinks his teeth deep into his neck, lets the surge of strength, the clearheaded, euphoria of slating his thirst, wash over him, the hunter’s blood thick and sweet, pressing him closer, sucking harder, needing to empty him of every drop his blood, overtaken by his drive to feed. When his heart stops beating, Klaus drops him unceremoniously to the ground, another hunter rounding the corner, armed now with nothing more than a stake. Niklaus snarls, knocks the stake from his hand, braking his neck, and dragging him down the hallway to Rebekah’s room, tossing him aside.
There Rebekah lays, perfectly serene, except a little bloom of blood at her breast, the hilt of a dagger protruding. The lanterns and candles are all lit in here, like it was recently vacated, and Niklaus stops short at the foot of her bed, listening, hearing the footsteps of the last three hunters. Good, he thinks, let them come, let them try him now. Rebekah still lies, her skin the gray of a dead vampire, but Niklaus cannot contemplate what that means. She looks dead. Her heart is not beating. If they took him, and took Rebekah, then surely, his brothers all lie in the same state. But he has no time, not now, as the last three hunters come piling into Rebekah’s room.
Niklaus sees red, Alexander bringing up the rear, an expression blank with terror playing across his face. Good, let him be afraid. Let him tremble before Klaus, let him understand that he cannot be defeated, not by hunters with egos that outstretch their abilities, not by his sister’s foolish desires, not by anyone. One hunter lunges towards him with a broad sword, and Niklaus sidesteps it deftly, lets the fool step into his space, grabs him, grabs his sword, pushes him to the back wall so hard, he hears his skull crack.
Niklaus turns, not waiting to find out if the hunter still lives, another one already coming after him, but before he has time to think, Niklaus has plunged his hand into the hunter’s rib cage, torn out his heart. The other hunter is getting up behind him, Alexander slashing pitifully at him with his sword, but Niklaus is going to kill Alexander last, make him watch as he destroys his friends, watches their desire to eradicate vampires from the earth crumbles in front of him. He slashes at Alexander with his own newly acquired sword, leaving him hobbled over, clutching at his stomach, just as the hunter on the other side of the room is gaining his bearings, standing up, ready to try Niklaus again. Niklaus throws the sword, pins him to the wall with his own weapon, gratified to see it tremble for a moment before both the sword and the hunter still.
Now. His full attention. Alexander, wiping his hair from his face with a bloodied hand. Niklaus can do nothing but smirk. “You thought you could use my sister,” he whispers, grabbing Alexander roughly, shoving him against the wall. He struggles, grappling with Niklaus’ hand, but Niklaus squeezes harder. “Seduce her, win her over,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. He cannot think of her lying there, lifeless, the rest of his family somewhere else in this great house, where they thought they were safe, where nothing could get to them, the cover of vampires and the Normans giving them license enough to live freely. “You thought this would be enough?” He fights to keep his voice even, a horrible tension fighting in the hollow space below his heart, but he fears if he starts yelling he will never stop, he will scream and scream and he will go mad.
“We will end your hideous species,” Alexander chokes out, his face turning red. Niklaus grabs Alexander’s sword from where it has fallen to the ground, and pierces him through his abdomen. He gasps, but there is a horrible little smirk playing across his lips that Niklaus wants to rip off. “Even if it kills me.” Niklaus can’t stand it, punches him in a moment of pure frustration, like he is brawling with the boys back in his village, not like he is the kind of creature that he is — old, strong, stronger than this excuse for a man. “Your sister,”Alexander gasps. “She’s easy to be bought. A few pretty words, a few promises.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he spits the blood into Niklaus’ face. “I didn’t have to try that hard.”
“ENOUGH!” he rages at last, twisting the blade, reaching inside of Alexander’s mouth, begging him to shut up, to make it end, make this whole nightmare end. Rebekah, Rebekah, oh she was a lot of things, a fool most of all, but Alexander had made a promise to her, to them, in front of everyone. Disgraced her, disgraced their whole family, if there was anything left of it. Niklaus’ hands find his tongue, and Alexander chokes against Niklaus’s fingers, struggling more, real fear in his eyes. Good. Good. He and all his hunters and all hunters everywhere should be afraid of him. Is that not what Niklaus is now? Something to be feared? And now, he is all alone, his family dead. What else does he have now? Except to avenge his family.
He yanks, Alexander’s tongue ripping, the thing still squirming in his hand. What remains now of Alexander writhes and chokes and slowly dies, and adrenaline seeps from Niklaus into the floor, leaching the color from the room. Surrounded, again, by bodies, and now Rebekah’s lies there too. Oh Rebekah. Oh Rebekah. Look at what he has done to this family, to these men. He drops Alexander’s tongue and collapses at the foot of Rebekah’s bed, crawling to her face, cradling it, her skin gray, but still the same perfect shape of a doll, her hair splayed out. Except for her awful color, Niklaus could think she was sleeping. This dagger, this horrible dagger, still marring her perfect chest. He grabs it, yanks it from her, hoping that she will come back, like he did, but he knows that she won’t. He is alone, and Rebekah is the cause. Why did he survive when his siblings did not? Why is he here, alone, beside the body of his sister? Why could they not have all died? Died together here, or a century ago?
The anger and rage have subsided now. Niklaus feels nothing but cold, the cold of the night air coming in through the windows, the cold of living the rest of eternity alone. He can do nothing. Nothing. He curls up on Rebekah’s bed next to her body and weeps.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there for. Hours, perhaps. It feels like hours. But then, it is still dark when something changes. He can’t place it at first, but then it happens again. A heartbeat. He sits up, dumbstruck, staring at Rebekah’s corpse, his own heart beating painfully in his chest. “No,” he whispers, pure shock. “Bekah?” He cradles her face. “Bekah?” he asks again. She is still unresponsive, but it’s unmistakable now. Her heart is beating. “Bekah,” he cries, grabbing her, crushing her to his chest before he can think better of it. Still she does not wake, but Niklaus is not alone. He’s not alone. She survived.