Five years.

… a lot can happen in five years.

Dreams can shatter, wishes die. Fortune turns and lays decay. Fear, despair. Pain, hopelessness. Grief, resentment.

Shame.

Regret.

When good intentions disappoint and only the choking taste of bloodied ashes remains in your mouth as an eternal reminder of the losses that hunt your soul, all you want to do is scream. Scream until your throat bleeds and your voice fails. Scream, 'til your eyes are burning dry and your heart stops beating. But you can't.

You can't.

Because when all you had were your good intentions and despite your staunchest beliefs they did nothing but plaster the deceiving street straight to hell with the sacrifices of those most precious to you, you can't look away. You can't blink reality to the side and act like nothing had happened. Sometimes, you have to face the consequences of your actions …. no matter how deeply they burn.

And this time ... they may have burned one too many bridges.

Five years can happen in the blink of an eye or at a snail's pace.

Five years can turn your world upside down and when you open your eyes again to this new frightening reality forced upon you …

… there is only one wish, one desire that remains.

One thought holding you captive.

A simple request.

Death.

' I wish I had died.'

The day Niklaus Mikaelson was finally awoken from his forced slumber …

… was the day the Original Siblings idea of one complete healthy happy family went to hell in an oversized hand basket.

Because Niklaus opened his eyes to an empty and cold world.

A world without light.

A world without Hope.

And those devious green eyes dimmed. They dimmed until the fascinating, maddened spark within them flickered out and a dead nothingness watched out of those precious orbs, looking without seeing. How could he see when the Hope that lightened up his path had burned out? Disappeared beyond his grasp …

Life had never felt so … wrong.

He had never felt so deeply wrong being alive.

And he wasn't sure if it could ever feel right again.

… he wasn't sure if he even wanted to give it another try.

After all ...

For whom?

' No parent should ever outlive their children.'

They had undaggered Klaus.

After five long devastating years, their middle brother was free once more.

Elijah stood stoic, his grave face carved from devastatingly beautiful marble, still and unmoving. No betraying flick of the tenseness, the choking guilt that ravaged his soul, stole across his features.

His younger brother always held such a temper on him, and Elijah truly didn't wish to imagine Klaus' no doubt out-of-proportion reaction to the terrible mess his siblings had made out of their situation despite their best intentions at the time, and the unexpected daggering his dearest brother would surely perceive as a betrayal – just one more justification for his apparent suspicion and paranoia against even the family that loved him so deeply and honestly. He would rage, Elijah knew beyond a shadow of doubt, and like always his wrath would be a terrible force of nature to be looked upon with nothing but a prayer for mercy on their lips.

Sometimes, their prayers were heard – most often, they went ignored.

Yes, Elijah truly had no wish to witness this, but it was his responsibility.

He had started this mess. He had to face the consequences.

Sighing, Elijah watched as Rebekah's hand cautiously closed around the golden dagger that kept Klaus caught in that death-like state before she carefully took it out, handing it over to Kol, who sealed the damnable thing away before Klaus could open his eyes. Apprehensiveness colouring his face, Kol returned to Elijah's side, standing with Finn and Freya who also had kept their distance, waiting impassively. Only Rebekah, courageous regretful Rebekah, remained next to their immobile brother as they watched with halted breath the wound slowly closing up, black veins receding as those expressive green eyes opened …

… only for Elijah to nearly lose his composure once they settled.

Klaus stared at them like they were strangers.

Strangers.

Elijah felt frozen.

This … was not what he had imagined. There was no anger, no hate, no heated looks of betrayal and rage. Not a single accusation left those pale lips. His little brother was utterly silent.

Rebekah was the first to recover and move, offering her bleeding wrist to Klaus.

… but their brother only turned his head away.

Denying them.

Elijah felt sick.

After a thousand years, they seemed to have managed what not even Mikael had done. They had driven Klaus to break apart, to secede and deny them.

He had never denied them.

Klaus … the Klaus he knew would never deny them.

Not his family.

Elijah's heart broke.

A choked sob left a devastated looking Rebekah's lips. Tears swam in the corners of her deep blue eyes.

" Nik, please", she begged, pressing her bleeding wrist to his closed lips.

Without success.

Elijah felt Kol twitch. He didn't need to look behind to see that his youngest brother wished to rush to their siblings' side … but he also knew how afraid Kol was of Niklaus reaction. The special dagger that managed to seal Klaus had been Kol's invention, created with the sole purpose of being used as a weapon against their Hybrid brother.

Deep inside, Elijah felt the ever-present despair deepen. But this time, his fear originated not from a fear for Kol ... not in the conventional sense at least. No, a small part of him even wished that they had to harbour that fear still.

Elijah wished nothing more than to have his expectations of their reunion fulfilled.

Because the reason … the reason was, that he actually feared that Kol … had no reason to stay apprehensive of Klaus any longer.

At least … not this version of their brother.

No …

Klaus had stayed silent, his eyes completely vacant.

Dead.

This … this was not what any of them had expected. It was a scenario so improbable that no one had even thought to entertain it, and as such, they were completely unprepared, faced with an unknown improbable facet of their temperamental brother none had ever encountered. The Klaus they knew never took things lying down. He always got even – fast, viciously, gruesome.

He was a master at revenge.

This wasn't a normal reaction. Not by a long shot.

And Elijah had no idea how to play this.

" Niklaus."

He was ignored

Slowly, Elijah raised his hand to his brother's pale face.

" D-don't."

Relived that his brother at long last had spoken, Elijah ignored the croaked whisper and gently touched Klaus cheek, the cold skin like porcelain beneath his fingertips. Deadened green eyes stared at him before they disappeared behind translucent eye lids once more.

" Brother ..."

Turning his head, Klaus tried to dislodge Elijah's hand. He nearly flinched at the action.

" Don't … t-touch me."

" Klaus, talk to me."

It was disconcerting that their brother hadn't made a single move to rise, to get out of his coffin. He simply lay there like they had arranged him. A pliable puppet. It was not right.

Something was wrong.

" Talk to y-you?"

A weak chuckle escaped pale lips.

" And i-if I don't w-wish to talk to you? Or them?"

" We are your family", Elijah countered immediately, not discouraged as their siblings came closer, within reach of each other now.

Klaus hummed.

" Family ...", he whispered. " How strange. Where was this family ..."

Klaus' lips twisted into a parody of a smile, bitterness wrapping them.

Elijah felt nausea churn in his stomach.

He couldn't know …

" Where were you, brother, as our aunt killed my daughter?"

No.

No.

No … oh god, no ...

Elijah couldn't think. Couldn't move, could to nothing as words deserted him. He stared at his still and silent brother as those quiet words seemed to seep into every fibre of his being, slowly and cruelly breaking every last bit of fortitude he had managed to build up since the day the world had stopped spinning for the Mikaelson siblings.

Since the day their aunt had killed little Hope because of their mistake.

How could Klaus know …?

Distantly, he heard Rebekah start crying, Kol cursing and Freya turning to Finn, seeking comfort from their oldest brother.

Words escaped him.

Klaus wasn't supposed to know. They were supposed to slowly broach the topic, to …

… he just wasn't supposed to be already aware.

Why?

" You should have never woken me."

Elijah felt sick.

This was never supposed to happen.

" You should have just killed me."

' Death would have been a mercy.'

No words had been exchanged after Klaus' declaration.

Elijah and Finn had carefully taken Klaus out of the coffin, holding their weakened brother up as they had to carry him to his room.

… Klaus had made no move to hide his weakness. He had let them see it, unbothered.

He hadn't cared.

They had settled him down in his bed, and left, hoping that after a true rest, he would find back to himself. None of them wanted to believe that over a thousand years of family could be lost in the span of one mistake, one terrible guilty mistake. All they had was their hope.

It was all they could hold unto as Klaus laid in his room, dead-asleep and weakening with every moment he denied himself blood.

This could not be the end.

It couldn't.

It wasn't.

It was merely the beginning.

The beginning of a nightmare they couldn't wake up from.

It took a mere two days after his awakening for them to see just how damaged their brother had become. He would simply lay on his bed, unmoving, not stilling his hunger, denying himself the satisfactions of his thirst, and staring at them with a dead lock in his dulled green eyes, as if they weren't even there.

Rebekah was the one who stayed at his side the most, often silent, but always there. She would beg him for forgiveness, for another chance at family; she would try to caress his sunken pale face only for their hurting brother to turn the other way, spurning her.

Despite all his flaws, despite the measures Klaus took in trying to protect their family, he always did as such with the clear focus of saving those he loved. To now be disregarded by someone who once loved you so much …

It was heart-breaking, and Kol hadn't been able to take more than one Virgil at their brother's side before excusing himself; he was still the youngest of their family after Henrik, and seeing the strong brother who once helped raise Kol reduced to a shadow of his former self was more than the boy could take; the fact that he had created the dagger that had helped to destroy his beloved older brothers ate at his soul.

They were desperate, after only two days, and the horror hadn't even truly started.

No, it started the moment Rebekah left to change her clothes – because even as quick as she was, she still came back to an empty room.

Her scream alerted the siblings to their brother's absence, and they went to search separately – it wasn't a long search. Elijah couldn't shake his brothers disturbing words the day they had woken him, his horrible death wish, and on a whim he went to Kol's workshop.

He was there.

Klaus laid on the floor, bleeding from dozens of stab wounds to his torso.

Unconscious.

Elijah sank next to his brother, stemming the blood while biting his own wrist, and forcing the bleeding limp against his brother's mouth.

The few droplets he managed to get into the other man were enough to save his life.

For the moment. But how long would they be able to keep him?

How long would they be able to save his life?

He felt nothing but despair holding the bony frame of his dearest brother.

For once, answers escaped him.

After that day, they never left him unaccompanied.

But he didn't try again.

He didn't try anything.

His wounds slowly closed, but Klaus never seemed to care. He didn't eat, didn't drink. Instead, he would only sit in Hope's room, before the crib that had held his beloved baby girl once upon a time, and stare at his daughter's favourite stuffed animal. He would take the pink bunny and gently caress the furry material.

Elijah couldn't take the red tears staining his brothers pale sunken face.

Was this what their actions had wrought? Was there no coming back from this mistake?

When Hope was gone, what remained?

Elijah couldn't name it.

It tasted bitter.

Ten days after wakening, Klaus sat in a darkened room, a room that belonged to his lost child.

She should have been here. He should sit on the bed with her, reading her a bed time story, tugging her in and giving her a good-night-kiss. She would laugh and wriggle when he tickled her, her face alight with life, love and eternal happiness. This was how it should have gone.

He would have even accepted Jackson fulfilling this role. Hell, it would have destroyed him, but Klaus would have gladly accepted Klaus or Elijah taking his role if only his Hope was alive. As long as she was alive, he could take anything fate dealt to him; death, eternal torture, complete and absolute hate from his beloved child.

Everything.

But she wasn't there.

She wasn't happy, or healthy – or alive.

Instead of his angel only the useless monster survived.

' I'm a monster. I'm scum. I do not deny this. But despite the fact that my death would be a reason for the supernatural world to rejoice, I never did anything to deserve this. This … this is not karma, for karma would be my death, not that of my child. This is neither karma nor punishment, this is ... I don't know what this is. A form of cruelty the likes I have never experienced, and which I will never again experience, for this was my lesson, the lesson that the monster never gets hurt, it is those the monster loves that pay so unfairly for its sins ... and I don't know if I will be strong enough to bear such a loss. Again.'

Tears escaped his eyes as he plunged the blade in, deeper, again and again.

He needed this; this pain.

He needed punishment.

It was never enough.

Day after day, for weeks, this was his life.

Pain.

Thirst.

Hopelessness.

Elijah chained him after the second week, manacles surrounding his frail wrist after his older brother witnessed just how devastatingly skilled Klaus was with any kind of sharp object in his bid for repentance; he could finally see that his child had been punished for her father's sin.

But his brother's had set an end to that.

Instead, he existed uselessly in a limbo with no escape.

His thoughts were all over the place, a kind of never-ending labyrinth that was devoid of a destination, of purpose; he was starting to lose track of time, of the faces around him. It was becoming difficult to understand his siblings, to recognize them. He still managed, but only barely.

His vampiric and lycanthropic sides were for once joined in their single-minded goal: death.

He didn't know how. But he knew one thing for certain: Death was the only end game for a monster like him.

Monsters were supposed to be slain, angels were supposed to be eternal.

He couldn't save his angel …

… but somehow, he would slay the monster.

One month after waking up to a world without Hope, Niklaus Mikaelson looked at the shattered remains of his life … and left.

He walked out into the night with nothing but the clothes shielding his skin, and disappeared into the woods, leaving the house he once called home behind, as well as the siblings who had taken the only light in his cold cruel world. He was a blind starving man … who didn't seek salvation.

He sought nothing at all.

Not anymore.

He was just waiting for the end.

His feet continued on, never faltering, as his mind was caught in vague memories of the past. Sun and moon changed places as wind and rain danced a never-ending Walser.

On and on, no path in sight, no path in mind.

No destination.

Stumbling in weakness, he carried on.

Until suddenly, he didn't.

Until suddenly, his footsteps disappeared.

Gone without a trace.

" Who are you?"

" The better question is, do you know who you are?"

" I … I thought I did."

" But now, you don't. Let us help you … my grandson."

~ The End. To be continued in 'Blood Relation'? ~