You do not need to have watched both shows to enjoy this fic (we hope). If you are only a regular viewer of one, please view the other fandom as OC.
We're hoping to fix two terrible final seasons of two amazing shows in this fic, because we loved both and honestly believe that the characters deserved better.

AU Penny Dreadful - Vanessa Ives did not surrender to Dracula, this picks up when Ethan returns to London. That nonsense with Hecate did NOT happen.

AU The Originals - Freya lived in 19th century London for a while, where she met and secretly became friends with Vanessa Ives - also a witch. All three main Originals siblings are present from the start.

Hayley is dead. For now. ;)

All That's Good is Fading

1

30th April

Every year without fail, for as long as she could remember, at exactly ten minutes past midnight on 2nd May, Hope Mikaelson was awoken by the same words whispered through a smile.

"Happy birthday, baby girl."

Whilst the familiar scents of perfume and pine along with a pair of strong arms enveloped her, Hope would lie in the darkness feeling blissfully loved and secure. In those moments, in the still and quiet hours of the anniversary of her birth, Hope would relax into the embrace of the woman who had built the very foundations of her life. It became their ritual, and one that Hope herself looked forward to perhaps more than her pile of presents or her ice cream Funfetti cake.

The year that she moved to Virginia to attend The Salvatore Boarding School for the Young and Gifted, Hope secretly fretted that things would be different. With her mother back home in New Orleans, working hard to keep the factions united in peace, it seemed likely that it would be the snores of her roommate that would instead awaken her on her birthday. Of course she said nothing when she spoke to Hayley on the phone, or via the various emails they shot back and forth numerous times a day, but disappointment at the realisation had settled in firmly before long.

And yet, just a few short days later, a newly nine year old Hope's eyes fluttered open to the sensation of a kiss being pressed to the crown of her head. Her arms were encircling a stuffed wolf toy that had not been present when she had drifted off to sleep, but she took only a handful of seconds to admire that before her gaze ticked expectantly upwards into the beaming face of her mom.

"Happy birthday, baby girl," Hayley had breathed, eyes exhausted from driving five hours straight through the night, and yet her grin still exuberant, "didn't think I'd miss it, did you?"

After that, every year was the same; waking up to cupcakes bearing a single candle, at first brand new Barbie dolls and then the latest i-pods, but always the soft, warm voice of her one constant.

Only now, just weeks away from her sixteenth birthday, Hope was forced to accept the fact that for the first time her mother would not be there. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she had not gone gentle into that good night, and yet she had still gone.

Hope was having trouble breathing around that. At times, it felt like her heart was about to explode and at others her head. From the moment her eyelids fluttered open she had flitted constantly between the states of utterly bereft and murderously enraged, which was perhaps her father's legacy. Klaus himself stayed out of her path, either choosing to give her space to unravel her grief or else too afraid that his proximity to his daughter would poke the Hollow back into wakefulness. Hope didn't much care either way about his reasons, because very little made sense to her in the absence of the woman who had been her rock, her comfort, her safety.

She had never given much thought to the prospect of her mother dying. Hayley Marshall-Kenner had been a hybrid, an Alpha, a warrior, and a survivor; to the idolising eyes of her daughter, she had been both figuratively and literally indestructible. Until suddenly she wasn't. Suddenly Hope was wrenched into consciousness into a world that had watched her mother burn, and the flames had still been dancing as her father had attempted to wrestle her from the half collapsed building. Caroline Forbes had been there too, with her wide and sympathetic eyes and her restraining hands tugging at Hope's clothes to hold her back from horrors she should never have been forced to witness. She vaguely remembered punching the vampire, her father's sharp intake of breath, and then her own screams as the fire died down to reveal what little was left of the one who had given her life.

They were due to bury her soon, perhaps that afternoon Hope suspected, but her mind was too hazy lately to really pin many facts down. One thing she did know beyond all doubt was that the world would never be the same again. From the wolves that roamed the bayou, now listless without their leader, to a shell shocked Declan still cooking up gumbo at Roussea's, even to her own father, who seemed to think that she could not hear him crying into his bourbon whilst the rest of the household slept; life would be colder, darker, without Hayley in it.

When Hope had been seven, and still in what she referred to as the 'Mikaelson Honeymoon Period', her father had confided in her that Hayley had been the best thing to ever happen to them; a twisted, bitter, cruel family of Old Ones who had spent far too long pillaging humanity for whatever their unbeating hearts desired.

"Your mother gave us you," he murmured into the shell of her ear as she sat astride his knee, her little fingers toying with the sleeve of his jacket, "and you made us better. Not right away, of course, but from the moment we knew of your existence we at least wanted to be better. For you."

And Hayley had unfailingly taught them all how. Without the example of a good parent to call her own, due to both tragedy and circumstance, Hayley had managed to blossom into a formidable mother. Then she had set to work on Klaus, who had never been one to take instruction well. Yet he endured it, for Hope, but also for her. Attempting to preserve Hope's innocence for as long as possible had been top of Klaus' list – preserving Hayley's respect and affection for him, a close second. It transpired that there was precious little a thousand year old hybrid wouldn't do for his 'little wolves'.

Now, however, Klaus was to be their child's only parent, without Hayley there to help him navigate the treacherous terrain of life with a teenaged daughter. Hope could almost feel sorry him, raise a slight smile at the thought, but even getting out of bed in the morning seemed like an immense betrayal of her mom somehow.

So that was where she preferred to stay; cocooned in sheets that still bore the faintest aroma of her mother's perfume from the last time she had stolen into Hope's room, rolled her eyes good naturedly at the chaos of it all, and set about making the bed.

"You're such a 'mom'!" Hope would often joke, giggling at the mildly offended look that would cross Hayley's face at such moments. If she was feeling particularly mischievous, she would threaten to gift her some 'mom jeans' for the next arising occasion, whilst Hayley would swat at her and hide a delighted grin behind the back of her hand. Nothing had thrilled her more, fulfilled her more, than being Hope's mother, and no amount of teasing or tantrums or hormonal outbursts seemed to tarnish that for her.

If Hope Mikaelson could say one thing about her life, it was that she truly knew what it was to be appreciated by another person more than anything else that had ever entered their world.

So in her linen fortress, Hope could simply lay still and remember. The good times, the bad times, the times that straddled the line between both. She picked over them all, replayed what she could, furrowed her brow and frowned upon those that just managed to elude her. Content to be left alone, Hope filled her mind with visions of happier times, and hoped that she could use them also to paper over the fracture lines in her heart.

Because memories were all she really had left.

x-x-x

London, England

15th January 1897

She could feel his eyes upon her, his gaze unwavering, unflinching. If she chanced to meet his glare then she knew she would find anger and perhaps disappointment there, and so she resigned to keep her blue eyes trained on the damp, stone cellar floor.

Kaetenay paced anxiously around the room, his hands knotted behind his back as he observed the witch prepare the altar at which she knelt. Candles and ancient carved deities lay dotted around her in a circle, as if she drew in their power whilst she crushed the herbs and salts with the pestle and mortar. Her fingers moved with obvious urgency. The language she uttered was foreign to him, borne from old Norse lands that were so different from his own. But he could feel her power, as if it were radiating from the ground beneath her and the air around her.

"This is madness!" Vanessa objected, one hand clutched to her breast and the other pressed to her forehead. This time she had no choice but to look at him, and he appeared behind her, his voice latent with unchecked rage.

"No, madness was holding a gun to your head."

Her jaw set determinedly, Vanessa shook her head, "There is no way out for me, now. No escape. He will hunt me until the end of days."

Ethan caught her wrist, his fingers curling around it as tightly as he could without hurting her. God only knew he had hurt her enough in the last few months, leaving her alone to face her demons in the misguided belief that he was somehow saving her from his own curse. It seemed now that she believed him indifferent, and she was consumed with heartbreak at the thought that the man she loved did not love her enough to stay. Evidently she had thought her own life so worthless that she had almost taken it in an attempt to silence the creatures that hunted her.

"This is our way out," Ethan argued, catching Kaetenay's expression of disapproval with little concern.

"My part in this is my own," Vanessa said curtly, glancing down as she felt him thread his fingers through hers and clasp her hand so hard she felt sure the circulation must be constricted.

"As is mine," Ethan countered, placing his free hand to her chin and lifting her tear stained face up towards the light. "I don't know how to make it up to you, Vanessa. I was a fool to leave you. But I do know that I can't - I won't - live in a world without you. This is the only way, and this is my choice… to be with you."

"If we are to do this then it must be now," the witch spoke, her voice slicing through the tension and managing to sound so commanding that it brooked absolutely no room for protests.

"We're doing this," Ethan reaffirmed, staring directly at the blonde woman, who bobbed her head with a smile that revealed just how deeply she cared about the outcome of their particular situation.

"Lie down within the circle, hurry now," she encouraged, extending a hand to Vanessa, which the other woman took without hesitation. The trust between them was unfaltering, and had been almost from the moment they had laid eyes upon each other. Magic had bound them together in a kind of secret sisterhood; one that Vanessa would be genuinely sad to lose, although it was necessary if their plan was to succeed.

"We shall meet again?" Vanessa inquired, tilting her head as she surveyed her friend, whose bottom lip trembled in a betrayal of her own fears regarding the matter.

"I dearly hope so, Van," she whispered, pausing just a moment before she tugged the dark haired woman into her arms. She felt Ethan's hand land gently on her shoulder; his own silent expression of thanks for what she was about to do for them.

When Vanessa drew back, taking a few seconds to compose herself, the witch turned to face Kateanay, who was wearing his mistrust for all to see. His irritation was palpable, as was his anger, but nobody seemed to be paying his feelings any mind.

"They will be watched over?" the witch enquired, satisfied when the Indian man nodded; though he had not been wholly approving of their plan, he would not break his promise to Ethan or Sir Malcolm.

"My people will be their guardians until such a time as the spell lifts," he affirmed, "the demon will not take them, you have my word."

From the corner of the room Malcolm began to stir, having been lost in thought for the past few hours, his mind a turmoil at the prospect of losing another child. Vanessa Ives had become akin to a daughter to him- perhaps in all truth she was his child. He had loved her since her infancy, and it had seemed as though she had passed her childhood alongside Mina, allowing him to watch her grow from babe to young woman. And so now he reminded himself of the selfless nature of the love of a parent, and resolved to let her go. Anything to keep her safe, and to give her hope of a future free from the terrors that had besieged her.

Watching him cross the room towards her, Vanessa bit back a sob, tears already beginning to stream from her blue eyes as she fell into his embrace with a gasp of almost unbearable grief.

Malcolm pressed his hand to the back of her head in a vain attempt to soothe her, yet he too found himself consumed with regret; he should not have left, he should not have believed her strength and resolve to be never-ending. He had misjudged the situation terribly and now they were to all pay the price.

"We shall meet again one day, my dear. In this life or the next. I am certain of it."

Although she was so loathed to interrupt the moment, the witch cleared her throat, sad eyes downcast to the circle in a pointed manner.

Ethan was the first to move to step inside its confines, his usual assured swagger still in place, despite the uncertainty that surrounded them all. Vanessa grabbed at his elbow, spinning him with reserves of physical strength that she did not realise she possessed. His eyes held a challenge when they swept her face; a dare to argue with him or to try to sway his decision. She knew better than that, however, and she merely forced a smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, and allowed him to lead her into position. He lay down against dank stone, barely feeling the discomfort through his thick woollen coat, and waited for Vanessa to settle at his side. Then, he wordlessly reached out for her, encircling her with his arms and repositioning her without her permission so that her head lay on his chest instead, and their joined hands were linked upon his abdomen. He could smell her fear, thanks to the wolf, and he could feel the pounding of her heart beneath her breast thanks to her proximity alone. Despite their audience, he dropped a kiss to her temple then smoothed down her wild curls, which had long since escaped her neatly pinned bun. Try as he may, he just could not shake the image of her wielding his gun, pressing it to her forehead with a trembling hand and such intent, from his mind.

For perhaps the first time since he had met her, he knew that Vanessa had given over completely to fear. She surrendered without protest into the warmth and safety of his embrace despite her earlier objections to the plan.

Craning his neck to whisper in her ear, Ethan sought to bring her comfort and perhaps assuage his own anxiety.

"When we wake up, we will not be so afraid."

He felt Vanessa grasp his hand a little tighter, and she replied in a strangled rasp, "Are you so certain of that, Ethan?"

His lips brushed first her forehead and then her cheek.

"I am," he affirmed, seeking out her lips even as he heard the witch begin her incantation that would send them into the very deepest, most unnatural slumber. He kissed her soundly, bending his head so that his forehead was pressed to hers. He breathed her in, trying to quell the unease that consumed him; perhaps their plan would not work, but he would not abandon her this time.

"I won't leave your side."

Feeling the grasp of unconsciousness begin to tug at him, Ethan Chandler struggled for only a moment longer, intent on Vanessa hearing his final words before they both fell under the witch's spell.

"I love you, Van," drifted from his lips only moments before his eyes closed and his will surrendered. The two lovers lay together, resolute in their defiance of the demon who sought to claim the ultimate prize.

Standing back from the circle in which they lay entwined, the witch cast a mournful look over the pair, saddened by their sacrifice yet hopeful for the day they could awaken together and live the life she somehow knew awaited them.

"I must leave," she stated, leaving the two men to watch over the couple, united in their grief for the lives they would perhaps never see lived. Their loved ones may awaken in a year, or perhaps in fifty. The spell guaranteed no exact duration, save for the fact that their eyes would open again when the evil that coveted Vanessa Ives was banished. When she and Ethan could live out the life that had been planned for them.

Pulling up the hood of her cloak, the witch cast a final glance around the cellar of Grandage Place, her heart heavy and her steps quickened by the threat of her aunt's discovery of her spell casting.

Stepping into the shadows from whence she came, Freya Mikaelson slipped into the London night and vanished once more into the darkness. It was time to run again.