Disclaimer: TVD/The Originals is not owned by me. A/N: Based on 4x20: Originals' Pilot. AU in parts. Edited: 17/01/15.
2.
Runaway
Oliver paces up and down the tunnel, they weren't meant to be seen. He ignores Elijah, sitting in the darkness and bringing a bottle of scotch to his parched lips. The bottle's nearly empty. He hears his father's footsteps echo towards him and he's scared. Klaus drags Hayley into their lair. She's fighting against his grip, trying to reason with him.
"What else was I meant to do? If Ollie hadn't been there, I would be dead. He's been waiting for this moment for years. You know this. He's destined to save us. Let him."
Klaus pulls her close to his face. Spit flies from his mouth and his wolfish eyes glow in the shadows.
"Do you realise what you've done? Your mistake has now put you under suspicion. If he finds out about our son my chance of becoming king will be lost, forever. Get out of my sight, and take him with you," Klaus said in contempt. "I knew he wasn't ready."
Oliver feels a familiar sense of hatred for his father, and he is very much on the edge of expressing himself, but Hayley gives him a stern look, and he swallows his retorts. He sees the bruises on her arms, but they heal up after a minute or two. She kisses his dirty blond hair and asks him to forget what he's seen, like the million other times.
"If I had just killed Diego, I would have turned, and then we could have taken on Marcel tonight."
"You saved my life, don't apologise for that. Someday you will get that chance, but it's not tonight."
"He hates us, he's always hated us. He can't see, it's not just him in this fight," Oliver said.
Hayley sighed. "He's stubborn. Everything resides in his getting his life back, but yes, he forgets that we are a family, and we're in this together. Let him burn off his steam. We'll try again tomorrow."
They sit down on the couch still talking, and Oliver listens to his mother's stories of how she first came to New Orleans and how the witches needed her help. She leans against his shoulder and tells him how honoured she is to be his mother and how she believes in him. Somewhere between telling him this and how much she loves him, she falls asleep.
Oliver can hear Elijah and Klaus speaking. They're discussing the incident and how best to keep Marcel in the dark, but how they could present him with a werewolf, and put his suspicions to rest.
"You have plenty of enemies, Niklaus. Yet, you also have plenty of friends. If I were a werewolf I would offer you my life, and I promise you I would stand with you til the end."
"I'm sorry about Sophie," Klaus said.
"I chose to be there," Elijah said. "The boy is not a child, Niklaus. Trust him, he may surprise you."
"I doubt that," Klaus muttered and Oliver clenches his fist. Suddenly, he knows what he has to do. He needed to prove himself to his father. He needed to make him see.
"Don't be afraid mother, I will make him respect us," Oliver carefully lay her onto the couch and covered her with a blanket. Then, fingering the blades across his back he climbed through the window, knowing full well that the streets contained bloodthirsty vampires and intended finishing what Sophie had started.
Kid, I thought you wanted those knives? I'm sorry, but until you win this fight, I can't let you have them. Elijah, I thought you said your nephew was good at this? So far he's slipped over three times, fallen on his face and broken his nose. Pathetic. If I were Marcel, I would have killed you long ago.
Elijah looks up from his corner, reading a newspaper. The headlines show parades and parties, and nothing of the witches that continued to be punished in the dead of the night. He looks over the paper to see his young nephew spitting the blood from his broken nose.
This is a drill. You can't kill me.
Sophie smiles and blocks another move, easily. She sighs kicking him in the side, and watching him fall over for the fourth time. Elijah folds the newspaper in half and walks towards them.
The boy is only eleven. Perhaps you expect too much of him?
Sophie avoids his charge and yell, and twists to avoid his second punch to the head.
I'm getting tired of the same old thing, over and over. I can predict your movements. Do something out of character. Be brave. Surprise me.
Elijah raises his finger to his lips, and Oliver watches breathlessly as he comes up behind her. His hands are on her shoulders, lightly caressing them, and she rolls her eyes. Then, she twists and throws a punch, knowing his reflexes are just as quick.
Practice is over. She says, as her head meets Elijah's and they stare into each other's eyes, long enough for Oliver to feel like he should have left the room ages ago. Touch those knives and I will kill you. Don't think getting your uncle to seduce me will work. He should know that by now.
Elijah caressed her chin, and placed his mouth along her protesting lips. She gave in, after that. Oliver rolled his eyes, covering his ears to avoid the lovey-dovey sounds that were coming from Sophie. Strangely, he half hoped he would see his parents in moments like this, but most of the time they were fighting. On more than one occasion he would see his father storming out of their lair after a screaming match. On this occasion, he remembered it clearly, because they were both covered in blood, and they bumped into each other but didn't utter a word. There was an understanding though, like they were same. Like they both longed for adventure, and the blood was just a trophy to show what they were willing to do.
Oliver landed in the room with a soft thud. He had learned to control his heartbeat so that the vampires wouldn't be able to detect fear too easily. He thinks of Sophie and wonders what her last thoughts were as Marcel's followers surrounded her. He wonders whether she tried to take anyone down with her, and as his eyes sting with tears, he knows he needs to compose himself, so he thinks of Klaus and how he still doesn't think he's ready to take on Marcel. He was wrong.
"What are you doing here?" a girl in a white dress said. "Who are you?"
Oliver is mesmerised by her appearance. He raises his hands to show he was unarmed in that moment. His blades were still strapped to his back, but he didn't need them.
"My name's Oliver Mikaelson."
"Why are you here?" she asked, suspicious of him.
"I'm looking for something. Please, don't be afraid."
"What are you looking for? Perhaps I can help?"
Oliver nods, walking around her and taking in the her queen sized bed, with white sheets and minimal furniture. He wonders who she is, and why Marcel kept her locked up in her room.
"Davina?" another woman's voice is nearby. "Marcel has sent up some food." The wooden doors at the end of the room open, and Oliver dives beneath the bed, he prays the girl won't say anything.
"Shut that window. You know Marcel doesn't want you doing that."
"I need air," the girl called Davina states.
"I can't let you do that, Marcel's orders," the older woman sighed.
"Can't. That's all I'm ever told!"
The woman puts down the tray of food like an exasperated nanny. "Davina, please. Eat, you need to gather your strength and shut that window." Davina slams the window closed.
She turns back to the woman and Oliver can feel her anger reside in each word. He's suddenly afraid of her: the girl who looked so harmless. "The witches have been silent. There's no activity, and yet I'm stuck in this room until they step out of line. I'm suffocating here."
"You know what Marcel needs of you. I can't change this," the woman says.
The shutters bang wildly.
"Can't. Can't. CAN'T. I'M SO SICK OF THAT WORD!"
Davina's outburst rattles the bed Oliver's hiding beneath. They're plunged into darkness as the lights shatter and the woman screams as her body is thrown from the window and to her death. He crawls from his hiding spot, amazed and shaken. "What was that?" he says, slightly impressed.
"Marcel's going to kill me," she whispers, suddenly afraid.
He puts on a brave face, removing his knives as it's clear in two minutes they'd be surrounded by vampires. He can hear them running up the tower, shouting and swearing. Her terrified eyes are what makes him promise himself he can't let them kill her. He stands in front of her and Marcel's voice cuts through his courage, reducing him to that unprepared eleven year old boy with sweating hands.
"Werewolf, did you think you could outsmart me, the KING? Unfortunately for you Davina is unable to lie to her master. Tell me everything, my dear." He requests the girl's hand, and she walks towards him, muttering a whispered apology which means nothing. He counts the vampires in the room and notices Marcel's gleeful expression as Davina admits everything she's learned. "Thank you. Now, your punishment for not telling me sooner," he backhands her, and she falls in a heap at his feet, crying.
He steps over her helpless shadow, and Oliver grips the knives tighter. He hears the vampire's cackling with laughter and closing in around him. He tries to remember everything his mother, Sophie and Elijah told him, and he feels suddenly sick with fear.
"Oliver Mikaelson, your father has some nerve. I wonder why he never thought to introduce us? I suppose he thinks he can overthrow me? Well, let's play a little game, shall we? Let's see exactly what you mean to my dear friend, Niklaus." Marcel waves his hand, and his vampire henchmen attack without warning. "Leave him only when he is barely breathing, only when his bones are breaking, and then we shall see tonight, just how much your father needs you."
"You'll be waiting all night then, because my father's never wanted me. My death will probably please him," Oliver announced to the chanting crowd. "Come at me, and I'll kill you. I haven't been training all this time for nothing. You've been warned."
Marcel sits in the chair. "If you say you're that good, then I wouldn't miss it. Go ahead, try. My soldiers, my guard are excellent fighters. Superior. You are just a boy, but I will give you the chance your father did not. Kill all my men, and I will rethink your punishment."
Oliver nods. His eyes hover over Davina who's now sitting by Marcel's legs. One hand strokes her hair, and her blue eyes connect with Oliver's. He knows what he's fighting for now, and it gives him courage. He thinks of Sophie, and all the witches Marcel has killed and controlled. He thinks of his family, and he thinks of Klaus, and how he never believed in him. This was his only chance.
Oliver knew the only way to survive was to trust his instincts. To surprise his attackers. To do what they least expected. He ducks as the nearest vampire launches himself at him. He slices the next, pushing his injured body forwards and into the next three salivating monsters. Marcel claps, and then offers some advice, but he doesn't listen. He's focussed on the fight. He's focussed on their beating hearts and he twirls the knives around, bringing them close and then slicing off two vampire's heads in one move. There's no time to smile, there's no time to feel the success. Vampires are everywhere. Marcel's shouting gleeful messages, he's telling them exactly where he is. He can hear Davina's tears, and one of his knives is knocked from his hand.
He dives to the side as another vampire tries to bite, tear off his shoulder. He kicks it in the face, making it angrier than ever. He reaches for his knife, as three or five vampires beat him up with their fists. He feels like he's just seconds too late, and he cries out in pain as his own knife collides with his neck. He sees their vulgar expressions, his own blood the cause of vengeance and massacre. They want to be the first to kill him, Marcel's orders are lost, and he does not do anything.
He feels his muscles contracting and his vision becomes blurry. He smells blood, everywhere. He yanks his blade from his throat with dwindling strength and he builds upon his weaknesses. He will not be defeated. He will win. Oliver twists beneath a bearded vampire, he punches him in the face three times, and then, just when the dazed thing tries to bite him, he does instead, and he doesn't stop there, he rips the vampire's head clean off his shoulders and then something strange happened.
The vampires pulled away, some even yelled for help and some thought Marcel had betrayed them.
Oliver snarled. His neck wound was nonexistent and he felt one hundred times more powerful. He felt like this was what he'd been waiting for. He looked at them through a yellow sun-visor. He could see in the dark, and it felt great. He could smell so many things, and the one thing that made him even more excited was Marcel had left the chair, and he looked shaken.
"Kill it! KILL IT!" Marcel screamed.
Oliver became the wolf. He used its already formed instincts to hunt its prey. He used its senses and he was as good as, if not better than Marcel's soldiers. The destruction that followed would tell him one thing: that his father was wrong. He could be, and would be something to be proud of.
A/N: Please review and please let me know of any typos :)
