.

one: good boy

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The rocky country road spread for miles on end. It was said that there was nowhere it couldn't reach, and many idiots tested that theory for themselves. Salvation, that was what they wanted—what they craved. Klaus had seen a man go to hell and back searching for the Mighty Saviour, someone to help—anyone. He remembers the man well. Foolish boys is what they were then, him and his brothers, but alongside foolery comes courage, and courage was a trait the Mikaelsons never lacked.

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The man with his dusty boots and heart full of hope came back to the town sprouting nonsense about how he'd seen redemption and he could end their sufferings if they just believe.

"Believe?" Klaus' father had laughed, "Yeah, I believe. I believe tha' you had one drink too many, Donovan."

"Ya 'ave to open your 'art, Mikael," Old Donovan held his hat to his heart. Niklaus will never forget the look in his eyes, they were filled with hope, and hope was not something common around Mystic Falls, "Open ya 'art and he will be there. He will fix i'. He can save us."

But hope was contagious, hope was strong, especially, for a twelve year old boy.

"Who?" Niklaus whispered. Old Donovan turned to that little boy and smiled warmly. He crouched down to his level and looked him right in his shining, young, blue eyes.

"Why the 'aviour, of 'ourse," Old Donovan explained softly, tipping the corner of his worn, hazel hat against Niklaus' nose and smiling, "He 'as promised to 'elp, in return for our belief."

The experienced, old, wise eyes that bored into Niklaus' carried a softness that the young boy had never seen on a man before. He was always taught that men are strong and that they do not show weakness, but for the first time he thought it might be okay. Mikael spit out his tobacco and snorted.

"Somebody take this ol' nutter out of me sight," he ordered and turned to walk away.

"Mikael, if ya just listen to 'im. He 'as power, he can save—" Old Donovan tried to persuade the bitter man.

"AND I CAN'T?" Mikael roared at the man, pulling out his gun and slamming the edge into the believer's forehead.

"T-that's not—" Old Donovan attempted to scramble to his feet but the back end of Mikael's gun found his wrinkled forehead again.

"YA THINK YA CAN COME 'ERE AND INSULT ME?" Niklaus cowered at his father's manic laughter.

Mikael grabbed the man by the end of his hair and slammed his egg shaped skull into a nearby car wheel. The other men observing cheered and guzzled their drinks. Sticky, red liquid spilled onto the dusty ground. Mikael's next tobacco spit landed straight in the believer's face. The old man shivered and tried to make himself as small as possible, as if hiding was even an option. Mikael laughed heinously at him.

"Finish 'im, Mikael!"

"Yeah, put 'im in 'is rightful place, Mike!"

"The ground!"

The drunken laughter combined with the shrill scream of an innocent man was unpleasant to the young boy's ears. Blow after blow after blow, Niklaus learned that day that his father was very...creative.

"Boy!" Mikael pulled the rat out of the terrified old man's mouth. He tossed it into the wall of the alley and spit out more tobacco straight into an open wound on Old Donovan's arm. The gash practically sizzled and the believer cried out in pain.

"Come 'ere," Niklaus gulped and hesitatingly took a step towards his father, "Faster!" he scurried over and gasped at the sight. He could see the torture clearly now.

What was left of the man's clothing was matted with blood and sweat. Black tobacco burned into his cuts as he lay in feeble position against a broken car. The man rocked himself back and forth and muttered prayers to himself. Niklaus could barely hold back his tears—but men did not cry.

"Finish 'im," Mikael instructed, Niklaus gulped and slowly reached for his penknife, "Not that, fool! 'Tis about time ya learned what it means to be a man!" Mikael shoved another piece of tobacco into his mouth and chewed, "With ya 'ands," Niklaus held his shaking hands out in front of him and looked from them back to his father, "Do i'."

Niklaus took another step towards Old Donovan. He looked into the old eyes that no longer held any light, gulped and looked around at all the blood. He had heard Finn's and Elijah's tales of hunting with his father. Although, they only had to shoot animals. How much different could a human be?

As he bent down, the old man met his eyes. Niklaus hesitated for a second—wrong, wrong, wrong, this is wrong—but continued, his hand met the weaker skin of the man's chest. He had seen his older brothers cut up a deer plenty of times so he knew exactly where the heart was, anatomy-wise at least. His inexperienced hand pushed lightly against the old, worn out bones—

"The medallion," his last breath was a whisper of faith for a better future and Niklaus swore not to forget him.

—and then plunged deeper. It felt like he had put his hand in a bucket of paint. He felt the gooey, squishy moisture of the vital organ he was about to remove. Little veins and arteries tipped off of his hand and he just wanted out of the warm, soggy, confined space. He heard the chorus of excited whoops and yells as he pulled his hand back and stared at the wet liquid that dripped down his arm, the similar stains that covered his clothing and, of course, the organ that should definitely not be in his thin fingers. He dropped it immediately.

"Good boy," Mikael patted his head and had a look of pure and utter pride on his face. Niklaus stared at it with his mouth open slightly. Was the first moment of affection from his father worth what he did to earn it?

"Come, I must go back to the wife."

It wasn't uncommon to leave dead bodies for the families to find on the streets of Mystic Falls.

"Wait," Niklaus mumbled and flopped down beside Old Donovan's body. He slid his hand under his collar and felt around until he found the medallion. He glanced at the gold circular object and then lifted the chain carefully off of the believer's head. He scurried to his father's side, putting the medallion on in the process.

"Takin' a prize, Boy?" Niklaus looked up in fear but shock soon replaced it as he saw Mikael smile for the first time in his life, "Maybe the family business skips a few generations, eh?"

By that he meant he had picked Niklaus. He had picked him—not Elijah and not Finn, him—to carry on the family liquor trade.

They reached the wooden cabin known as their home in no time. Niklaus rubbed at his skin and clothing throughout the walk home but he seemed to be spreading the evidence more so than removing it. His father strolled along merrily and Niklaus was almost glad as he knew when his father was, on a rare occasion, in a good mood he would be more human at home. He wiped his eyes as the cabin came into view. He had to be strong, he had to make sure his father stayed happy.

Mikael entered the house with a swing in his step and Ester almost dropped the plate in her hand with surprise. Niklaus watched at the door, he was glad nobody noticed him yet. He felt odd, there was something in the pit of his stomach that made him uncomfortable. Regret? Shame? He guessed both.

"'Ello family," Mikael hummed as he sat down in his favourite armchair. Rebekah giggled and continued tumbling on the floor in her own little world, her grin never left her face, Elijah and Finn continued sharpening tools, and Kol and Henrik played on the floor while Ester continued to set the table.

"Well, aren't you chipper?" Ester huffed out, she had such relief on her face but Mikael didn't even notice.

"I've found meself a prodigy!" Mikael smirked proudly as he picked up his account book. Elijah and Finn, shocked, tried to hold back their relieved smiles.

"That's brilliant, Dear!" Ester smiled but Niklaus saw the pain in her eyes, she was completely against the family business, knowing the dangers that come with it. Their marriage was a deal for land made by their parents so neither had a choice in the matter. Niklaus stepped into the little cabin and watched, everyone's back faced him, "I'm ever so glad you decided to take my advice and go against tradition by mentoring a man outside the family," Mikeal chuckled.

"Don't be silly, love. I'd never go against tradition," Mikael shook his head then turned to point at Niklaus, "'Specially when I 'ave a perfectly fine young lad right under me own roof," Mikael snorted and went back to his accounts.

His entire family were silent as they stared at the shimmering, red liquid that dripped from Klaus' body and into a puddle on the wooden floor. Finn looked appalled, Elijah had concern and regret written into his frown lines, Ester cried silently, Rebekah bit her lip, Kol looked on in confusion and Henrik sat on the floor, unaware of what had occurred. Niklaus rushed off to clean himself, he felt dirty—so horribly dirty.

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That was how it had started, his shit-hole of a life as a liquor kingpin in Mystic Falls.

Niklaus hops off of the truck and loads his gun. He slips it into the back of his pants and grabs a stack of their liquor, six jars a portion.

"Stay in the truck, Kol," he calls over his shoulder as he and Stefan walk towards the loud laughter and raucous music. His brother groans in disappointment.

"Why do I gotta stay 'ere? I'm just as responsible as 'im," he argues, jabbing a finger in Stefan's direction and Niklaus rolls his eyes.

"Stay in the truck, Kol."

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