Still not over The Originals ending, or the Mikaelsons in general. Here I feel my feels by hurting the characters I love! Enjoy!
It's been hours since Father returned from the forest, fire in his eyes and broken skin on his knuckles. Hours since he scoffed at the mention of Niklaus's whereabouts, despite being the last person with him.
Hours since Rebekah has seen her brother.
She scampers in between the massive trees, searching for footprints, broken branches, any clue as to where Niklaus has gone.
If only he had not angered their father. If only he had not stormed into the darkness of the forest, prompting Mikael to pursue him like a predator. If only he had just emerged from the woods when Mikael did, perhaps limping, perhaps a bit worse for wear, but safe.
Then Rebekah would not be running breathlessly through the trees now, searching for her big brother as the sky threatens rain.
Her small body tires easily, and she slows, gasping for air. The sameness of the surrounding forest makes her dizzy—she cannot tell how long, or how far, she has run.
Where is Niklaus?
She takes deep breath, filling her lungs. "Nik!" Her round face screws up with the effort.
No answer.
Rebekah's breath catches as she exhales. Eyes filling with tears, she continues running, continues her quest.
She finds him curled on his side under a rocky outcropping, knees drawn up to his chest. One knuckle is stuffed inside his mouth, eyes bearing the redness of recent tears.
"Nik."
He lifts his head at her approach, revealing the darkened, swelling skin beneath his left eye. "Bekah." His voice is hoarse. "What—"
"Nik, what did he..." Rebekah cannot finish her question—nor does she need to. It is obvious what has happened here. "Can't you move?"
He nods, attempting to unfold his body from its tight configuration. But he balks at getting to his feet, sprawling on his back instead. "It hurts. My—my side."
His shirt hangs loose, its hem ripped. Rebekah lifts it gingerly, peeking underneath to see the pattern of welts and bruises across his torso. "Nik," she breathes again, one hand covering her mouth in a gesture like her mother's.
She has not felt the full, vicious magnitude of their father's hand. A swat here or there, a bruise left from fingers gripping her arm too tightly. Never has Mikael drawn her blood. Never has he left her unable to move in the middle of the forest.
He attempts to take a deep breath, but the movement causes him to squeeze his eyes shut, tears leaking out the corners.
Rebekah sits in the dirt next to him. With gentle hands, she lifts his head from the ground and positions it in her lap. She can feel him trembling, his entire body. "I'll stay with you."
She traces his cheek, skimming with the lightest touch over his blackened eye.
He winces, the faintest whimper of pain escaping him.
"Sorry," she whispers. Her small fingers tangle in his hair, running through his long curls. She wishes she could braid it like he sometimes lets her—braid and thread flowers through it.
At her gentle touch, he finally breathes out, body relaxing against her legs. "Thank you, sister." He smiles up at her faintly.
"Father wouldn't tell us where you were. Or what happened. No one would come with me to look for you."
He raises one shaking finger to touch her nose. "I can always count on you, Bekah."
She plants a kiss on his forehead.
The clouds hanging above them begin to spit rain. Sitting out in the open, with Nik unable to move and with nothing above their heads, they cannot escape the coming downpour.
They laugh together at their predicament as the droplets wet their clothes, their skin. Rebekah tries to provide some shelter for her big brother, shielding his face with her long hair.
"It's all right," he murmurs to her. "It feels good."
They are both quite damp when Elijah finds them. Their older brother is drenched through, dark hair dripping out of the braids that frame his face.
"Mother was getting worried," he answers Rebekah's unspoken question. "Is he all right?"
Niklaus has lapsed into a stupor, his breathing sluggish and inching toward sleep. He barely turns his head to acknowledge Elijah's arrival.
"He's hurt," Rebekah informs him. "Father."
Elijah kneels next to them, settling on the ground into the rapidly forming mud. His hands hover over Niklaus's prone figure as if unsure of how to touch him. In a delicate, hesitant movement, he lifts Niklaus's shirt, jaw locked with stubborn determination. Bracing himself for what he will find.
At the sight of the angry marks decorating their brother's ribs, he drops the hem in disgust. For a moment Elijah stares straight past Rebekah, eyes full of an unreadable emotion. Then he leans down to rest his forehead on Niklaus's chest. His hand reaches out to find his brother's, gripping his fingers tightly.
Nik stirs a minute degree, his fingers locking around Elijah's instinctively.
Rebekah rests her own hand, tiny in comparison, on top of Elijah's. The three say nothing for a moment, listening to the rain patter away around them. There isn't anything to say.
Moments like these set Mikael's children apart from the rest in the village. Their shared experiences, the care they give each other after their father's rage, creates a solidarity between them that others do not—cannot—share.
Elijah lifts his head and strokes his thumb across Rebekah's cheek. "Thank you for finding him, little sister."
They stare down at him for a moment, his fourteen-year-old face bearing the faintest hints of stubble underneath the bruising that has now spread to his lips and chin.
Rebekah still cradles his head, fingers gentle and tender against his scalp. There is nothing she hates more than seeing her brother, her gentle, playful brother, in so much pain. And nothing she can do to help him. "Can you get him home?"
"I believe so." Elijah casts a disparaging glance up at the sky, still spilling droplets of water on their heads. "If you support one side, I can take the other."
With some maneuvering and not a few cries of pain, Elijah helps him stand, slinging one of Niklaus's arms around his shoulders. A recent growth spurt has left Niklaus nearly as tall as his older brother. Rebekah slips her head under his other arm, her full height only slightly higher than his elbow.
"Carried like a king," Niklaus murmurs, teasing tone apparent despite his weak voice. "I should hurt myself more often."
"Don't push your luck, brother," Elijah warns him, pushing their bodies together in a playful nudge. "Move your legs."
Locked together in a clumsy embrace, the three take halting steps back toward their home. Back toward the monster who lives there.
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