Chapter Text
The stained glass of the whiskey bottle smashed against the walls of the Mikaelson’s New Orleans abattoir. The result of Niklaus Mikaelson’s grief.
You had been with him since the start. Courting since you were fifteen, married by seventeen, and parents by twenty. You two had always done things quickly. It was a wonder that your relationship had lasted the thousand years you had both lived.
The loss of his loving wife hit him in different stages, each one worst than the last.
He denied your death murder profusely. You couldn’t be dead, Klaus denied it with every fibre of his being. He had searched through every grimoire, spellbook and curse. Anything to bring you back to him. In the end, Freya had to place a sleeping spell on him to ensure he actually rested.
Next came the anger. The anger was the worst, it wasn’t just a phase of his grief. No, Klaus’ anger manifested in everything to do with you. Nobody dared to speak your name around him, not if they wanted to walk out alive. Vincent had come to try to convince Klaus of the innocence of the witches; he was quickly silenced.
After the main bouts of anger, came bargaining. He begged any witch who gave him the time to talk. Niklaus even tried to raise his mother to help him but Elijah has to convince him otherwise.
Realising there was nothing he could do, the depression set it. That’s where he was in the five stages. He had been drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He had no energy without you there. You were his everything and you completed him in every way possible; quite literally the yin to his yang.
“Niklaus,” Elijah’s voice from the hallway called, “are you home?”
Klaus groaned in response, but Elijah’s supernatural hearing let him know where he was. He sped in and sighed when he saw the state of his little brother.
“I miss her too,” Elijah sat down next to his brother, “(Y/N) made every one of us better. Her death won’t be forgotten, I assure you of that.”
“I just want her back.”