Protecting the Bloodline

sympathique (French): nice, kind.

~~~

"Why didn't you help me, Scott?"  Stiles.

"You could've saved her if you had been stronger, but you weren't, Scott! You were weak, you're still weak, and it's your fault she's gone." Isaac.

"She's really gone, isn't she? My best friend, killed by another friend. Funny how those who stab you in the back never seem to be the enemy." Lydia.

Scott played the words of his friends over and over again in his head as he sat on the edge of the bridge, looking out over the glistening water. The unshed tears in his eyes and the trails along his cheeks were illuminated by the softly glowing moon above him, twinkling with the rest of the stars in an ever present happiness. Scott wished he could be like the moon. He desperately wanted to only need to worry about brightening the night skies, but the wish was absurd even to his own mind. He knew that nothing would get him out of the misery he'd unwillingly fallen into. 

Sometimes, Scott found himself wishing that Peter had just killed him that night in the woods so long ago. He found his thoughts traveling down a dark path full of pain, no, agony and grief. He was in a constant state of anxiety because of all of the threats against his friends, his family, his pack. Scott didn't know how to be an alpha. He was, after all, still in high school and he didn't have anyone there to help him along the way, not in the way that he needed. His friends were there for him, he knew, but they couldn't understand the true weight of the pressure on his shoulders. They didn't have the responsibility that came with being a leader, the person who the pack looked to for guidance in times of desperation. 

He shouldn't be the alpha.

A soft sob escaped the tan skinned teen whose shoulders were hunched from the weight he struggled to hold. He lowered his head into his hands, burying his face into his palms and then hiding himself in his knees as he brought his legs closer to his chest in an attempt to hide himself away. Logically, he knew that no one was around the woods at this late hour. He also knew that no one ever utilized the old bridge that he was currently seated on, but neither of those facts stopped him from slipping down onto the ledge closest to the water, his back pressing against the stone wall that lined the sides of the bridge in an effort to hide himself from view. He sunk into himself, breaths coming in short gasps as endless tears finally broke free from the dam that he'd put in place to deal with everything. 

If one listened close enough, they'd be able to hear the quiet pleas for guidance, for help, and the even more inaudible echoes of, "I'm sorry."

~~~

"Family doesn't matter to you, Nik. You claim to be so caring towards your loved ones, yet you toss us aside like yesterdays garbage as soon as we disagree with you in any way."  Elijah. 

"What would you know of love?! You would know nothing of love if it fell into your lap because monstrous abominations such as yourself do not deserve to be loved!" Rebekah.

Niklaus Mikaelson had never been good at expressing his love for others. He had always perceived love as a weakness simply because love had never done him any good. Any time he tried to show another he cared for them, he was betrayed or heartbroken, sometimes both at the same time. After so many attempts at love, Nik gave up. He morphed into the "monster" that everyone else saw him as. He needed to keep up appearances, after all, and no one bothered to get to know who he really was, so why should he show them what they did not care to see?

So, Klaus hid his caring side. He buried it so far under all of his ruthlessness that even he forgot it was there. Until one day, that is, when he was able to meet a descendant of his that shouldn't have existed. Contrary to popular belief, Klaus hadn't been a virgin when they'd been turned into the creatures they were now. He had had a fiancée, a beautiful girl that he was betrothed to before the murder of their youngest brother Henrik. He could still remember her long, blonde hair that she kept pulled back in intricate braids intertwined with purple and pink flowers that her younger sister had picked for her. She always wore a simple red gown that reached her feet and flowed around her in a seamless manner. Her beauty was effortless and it matched her outstanding personality. She was well mannered, but fun loving; kind, but independent for a girl in her time; adorable, yet fierce in her own way.