Chapter Text
Henrik Mikaelson liked to think he was pragmatic. He thought it was perfectly reasonable for him to question the decisions his siblings made, specifically the sibling with the worst temper and a habit of shoving his other siblings into coffins when they didn't do what they were told. Henrik also thought it was perfectly reasonable to grate on that same sibling’s nerves until they were raw and the sibling was seething with impatience and barely controlled rage. Someone had to be the one to do it, after all, and since his other siblings had daggers in their chests, Henrik figured he would take up the role as annoying, bratty younger sibling to make up for their lost time.
He was doing a pretty good job, if Klaus’s never-ending glare was anything to go by. Henrik liked to think it was. He knew Klaus needed his help—and he was perfectly willing to give it, otherwise he wouldn't have even answered his call—but it was fun to make him wait. God only knew Klaus could use a lesson in patience. Still, as much fun as it was to poke fun at his older brother, he had to admit that waiting to actually help Klaus like he said he would when his sister was missing probably wasn't the best idea, so he finally muted the movie he was watching and turned his gaze toward Klaus, who had been standing in his bedroom doorway for the last five minutes. His glare was dark and heavy as he waited for Henrik to acknowledge his presence.
“Did you want something?” Henrik asked sweetly, even offering up a smile to annoy his brother further. It was just so much fun, if only because Henrik knew Klaus couldn't do a damn thing about it. The daggers didn't work on him since he wasn't an Original Vampire, Henrik was powerful enough that Klaus would never dare attack him physically, and there was no one Henrik cared about that Klaus could hurt instead. Their entire family was either dead or daggered, and Henrik didn't have anyone else. He was free to act however he pleased. That fact would have been liberating had the reason for it hadn't been so depressing.
“I asked you to come to Mystic Falls because I needed your help,” Klaus seethed, his voice quiet in a way that told Henrik it was a silent warning. He probably should have heeded it, but he didn't particularly feel like it. He had been free of Klaus’s warnings and threats and orders since 1912, and the time away from them had been a relief. He wasn't exactly eager to experience them again.
“And I'm here,” Henrik pointed out. He wasn't sure what Klaus wanted him to do when he had told Henrik literally nothing about the situation. He only knew bits and pieces about Rebekah and her predicament; in fact, he thought Klaus was more upset about Stefan Salvatore than he was about their missing sister, something Henrik hadn’t ceased pointing out since he had arrived and heard Klaus’s version of the story. “The only thing you told me when you called was that Rebekah was missing, and then you proceeded to say that if I didn't arrive in Mystic Falls within two days, then you would come to Italy and drag me here yourself. I'd hardly consider that asking.”
“Be that as it may,” Klaus said through clenched teeth, “you still haven’t done a single thing to track her down. No invasive questions, no tracking spells, nothing. It’s almost like you haven’t a care in the world, though that certainly wouldn’t surprise me. You certainly didn’t seem to care when you broke off contact completely, for nearly a century at that. How was Italy, Henrik?” Henrik tried not to flinch at the words, tried not to let Klaus see how much they hurt when they landed, but Klaus sensed it anyway in Henrik's abrupt silence. A small pleased smile curved at Klaus’s mouth. There was no warmth in it, though Henrik had stopped expecting that a very long time ago.
“Well,” Henrik drawled once he had found his voice. “You’re not exactly a good example as far as caring about siblings is concerned, are you?” Klaus didn't respond to that, but he didn't look particularly bothered, either. Henrik fiddled with one of the rings on his fingers, twisting it once before he forced himself to stop. He couldn't let Klaus see that he was nervous, even a little bit. His brother would exploit it and Henrik didn't feel like being exploited. He decided to pull his gaze away from Klaus and reached for the unopened bag of chocolate pretzels on the coffee table. A moment later, the sound of the movie he had been watching was switched back on, and his feet were propped up on the table.
“Henrik,” Klaus growled, finally walking fully into the room. Henrik didn't bother looking at him, focusing instead on the movie and his snack.
“Niklaus,” Henrik said flatly. His bag of pretzels were ripped from his hands. Henrik stared, unfazed, as Klaus threw it across the room. He looked at the scattered food on the ground, then glanced at Klaus, giving him an unimpressed look. “I'm not cleaning that up.” Klaus surged forward then, moving as if he was going to yank Henrik off the couch and to his feet, but he managed to stop himself before he did, reigning in his temper. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Henrik tilted his head as he watched Klaus take in a deep breath and take multiple steps backward, away from him. Henrik smiled once he stopped moving.
“Well, look at you!” Henrik said, delighted. “Controlling yourself! It’s so rare I almost forgot you were capable of it.” Klaus stood there for a moment in complete silence, seething. Henrik stared at him and imagined steam coming out of his ears. It made his smile grow wider. Despite his amusement, he knew it was time to tone down his attitude. His brother could only stand so much backtalk before he lashed out, and Henrik had been on the receiving end of his wrath more times than he cared to admit. He knew better by now, knew when to stop pushing in order to avoid such an incident, so he settled back in his seat and turned the volume for the movie back off, giving Klaus a moment to collect himself in silence.
“I would have thought,” Klaus growled eventually, “that our sister’s disappearance would have garnered more concern from you. Isn't she your favorite?”
“Well, I do love Kol, too,” Henrik said thoughtfully, smiling when he noticed Klaus clench his fists. He couldn’t help himself. Deciding to show him some mercy, he forced himself to stop smiling and sat back up on the couch, setting his feet firmly on the floor. “Nik, do you blame me for lacking concern? You've ranted more about Stefan Salvatore than you have about Rebekah being missing. Since she's your favorite, I assumed she's just on another one of her whims and you're mad about it. You wanted me here for another reason, now what is it?”
Klaus stared at him in silence for so long that Henrik's amusement started to drain away like water down a drain. Unease took its place, making him start to twist his ring around his finger again. By the time Klaus deemed it appropriate to speak, Henrik was on pins and needles, unable to hide how nervous he was any longer. In his century away, Henrik had forgotten how unnerving Klaus’s stare could actually be. He wasn't going to forget that again.
“Rebekah isn't the only one who is missing,” Klaus said quietly. He had the decency to sound ashamed when he continued, and for that Henrik was grateful. He didn't know what he would do or say if Klaus had sounded casual. “The coffins are missing, our family right along with them. Stefan stole them from me. I need your help getting them back.” Henrik's stare sharpened into a glare. He was angry and in a state of disbelief. He had been in Mystic Falls for two days, and aside from a few secret words with his hybrids, Henrik had no reason to suspect things were as dire as they actually were. He couldn't believe Klaus had waited this long to tell him. Rebekah going missing was one thing. It was terrible, but it wasn't unheard of for Rebekah to meet a cute boy and disappear from the world for a week or two while the short-lived romance ran its course.
The coffins missing was another thing entirely. There was Elijah, who had been vengeful after hearing that Klaus had dropped all of them into the ocean, though that had only been a rumor created by Klaus himself just to be spiteful. Elijah had been daggered a few months ago, according to Klaus, after attempting to kill Klaus during the ritual. Him potentially waking up was the least of Henrik's worries. He could handle Elijah well enough, and out of all his siblings, at least Elijah was the least likely to go on a rampage if Stefan Salvatore decided to take the daggers out. He wasn't worried about Finn, either. He had never been the type to cave to his anger, but then again, Henrik hadn't exactly spoken to him lately. It was Kol he found himself worrying over. Kol and the body being preserved inside the other coffin, the one Henrik had spelled closed himself.
“What do you need me to do?” Henrik asked, burying his worry for the time being. He needed to focus on the problem at hand. There would always be time to worry later. “And why did you want me to locate Bekah so badly when everyone is missing? If you had told me about this from the start, I would have—”
“Do you honestly believe I haven't tried locating the coffins through spells already?” Klaus snapped, voice harsh. Henrik stopped and pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw to keep from snapping back. “They are cloaked, Henrik. Rebekah, however, was not daggered when she went missing. She's either hiding from me or she was daggered by somebody else.”
“Do you even have a plan?” Henrik demanded, impatient. If Klaus wasn't going to tell him what he needed to do, then Henrik was going to do what he wanted. He was positive Klaus wouldn't be pleased with the results, especially since he seemed to want to create a life in Mystic Falls. “I don't know what you want me to do about Rebekah if she's daggered. The coffins I can track because my magical signature is all over them, but since Bekah isn't in her coffin, I can't do shit. She's technically dead when she's daggered, and witches can't track dead things, unless you've forgotten.”
Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. Henrik waited, his patience dwindling very quickly. He was relieved when Klaus spoke, if only because the silence was deafening considering the situation.
“In order to get what I want, I need power here. Influence.” For a moment, Henrik was bewildered, and he cast a look around his room to see if Klaus was continuing a conversation with someone else. To his chagrin, the two of them were the only people in the room—he was hoping to see some sort of ghost, at least—so Henrik had to endure Klaus’s upcoming spiel alone. He could already feel a migraine coming. “These people respond best to violence, I've learned. The thought of their loved ones being in danger because they disappointed me makes them give me what I want. The thing is, there's one person I can't seem to get to. He's not directly involved with the supernatural, so Carol Lockwood thinks he's safe. I want to remind her that he isn't, when the time comes.”
“I'm guessing that's where I come in,” Henrik sighed, voice flat and unamused. He didn’t particularly want to be part of Klaus’s agenda, didn’t want to help him in his quest for world—or, in this case, small town—domination. He just wanted his family back and safe, or as safe as they could be considering they had daggers in their chests. Part of him was even hoping that Stefan would pull all of the daggers out, the consequences be damned. That way they could all be awake and Henrik didn’t have to do it himself. He had tried to take the daggers out of them once, a very long time ago. He learned quickly that it was a mistake, and then never tried to take them out without Klaus’s explicit permission again.
Henrik was stronger than Klaus. He knew he was, yet it never felt like it, not when Klaus towered over his siblings like a tyrant and did whatever he could to make them feel powerless.
“There’s a social event tomorrow evening,” Klaus revealed, unaware of Henrik’s inner conflict. He had walked over to Henrik’s windows and was now looking out on the garden outside. The garden took up most of the backyard. To his knowledge, Henrik was the only one whose bedroom was toward the back of the mansion, the only one who had large windows with padded window-seats that allowed him to sit and look out at the flowers, fountain, and hedges. He would have felt like he was being hidden away if the windows weren’t so large, if the garden wasn’t so pretty to look at. “Carol Lockwood is hosting, which means her son will be very present. I’m going to need you to work your magic.”
“Literally or figuratively?” Henrik demanded, raising his eyebrows. “And I thought her son was one of your hybrid puppets, unless he was killed? They seem to be dropping like flies lately.”
“I’m not talking about Tyler Lockwood, Henrik,” Klaus sighed, rolling his eyes. It made Henrik scowl. How was he supposed to know there were two Lockwood boys running around? “I’m talking about his younger brother, Ethan. I need you to get...close to him.” Henrik blinked, processing the words very carefully, before his eyes widened.
“When you say that I should get close to him, do you mean…” Henrik trailed off when Klaus tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. Henrik’s eyes widened even further. His next words came out higher than he meant them to, voice cracking in disbelief. “You’re whoring me?” Klaus rolled his eyes again.
“I’m asking you to get close to him. Whether that be by befriending him or seducing him, that’s up to you.” A scowl was quickly forming on Henrik's face, an angry one that he wanted to get rid of immediately. Klaus saw it before Henrik could get control over his expression, and a smile started to form. “Oh, come now, don't look so angry. You've done this before, haven't you? You like toying with people’s feelings, especially if they're men, and if memory serves, you are brilliant at it. How is this any different?”
It was different because Ethan Lockwood was a clueless human. It was different because he hadn't done anything to Henrik previously to make Henrik want to toy with him. It was different because Henrik wasn't the same person he once was, and he didn't go around breaking hearts just for the fun of it anymore. Henrik wanted to say all of that, but the words were clogged in his throat, refusing to come out. Klaus was right, in a way, and nothing Henrik could say would change that. Henrik was good at it, he did enjoy it once, and he had toyed with innocents before. It had been centuries ago, but it had happened, and Klaus would never let him forget it.
Besides, if hurting some untriggered werewolf helped find their family sooner, then Henrik was more than willing to do it.
“My way,” Henrik said eventually, glancing up to meet Klaus’s gaze. “I do this my way, and you don't interfere. I can't have you breathing down my neck while I'm trying to befriend Ethan Lockwood. It'll just make me annoyed, and you know how I get when you piss me off. Got it?” Klaus immediately opened his mouth. One look told Henrik he was going to argue, so he quickly cut him off by repeating, “My way, Nik.”
Klaus took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh through his nose, and gritted out, “Your way.”
“Fantastic!” Just like that, Henrik's serious aura was gone, replaced by the same energy he'd had when Klaus had first entered his room. He propped his feet back up on the table and reached for the remote. “If that's all, go away. Oh, and you better send someone up to clean up those pretzels—”
Klaus was already gone, slamming the door on the way out, not even bothering to let Henrik finish his sentence.
~
The social event turned out to be a fundraiser to rebuild a bridge that stretched over a river. It led in and out of Mystic Falls. Henrik had drove over it in a rental car when he had arrived in town. If he had known it was in such bad shape that it needed to be restored, he would have taken another route. He had no desire to die again, especially by drowning. The thought alone soured his already poor mood, so he did very little socializing once he arrived, only bothering to greet the hostess before he started to wander.
As he walked idly through the inside of Mayor Lockwood’s home, he kept an eye out for teenagers, and he also made sure to steer clear of any vampire he could sense, including Klaus. His brother had been glued to Carol Lockwood’s side since they had arrived, and Henrik didn't want to be dragged into Klaus’s weird politics.
The other vampire he was avoiding was someone Henrik had never met, but his gut was telling him it was one of the Salvatore brothers, and that was a good enough reason to avoid him. That was why, when Henrik saw the black-haired vampire coming down the stairs, he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the doors leading to the backyard. The last thing he wanted was for a vampire to corner him. From what he knew of the Salvatore brothers, they were suspicious of anyone new to town, especially the older one. If Henrik was going to get close to Ethan Lockwood, he needed to attract as little attention as possible.
Once he was outside, Henrik didn’t hesitate to reach into his jacket pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had stuffed in there before leaving the house. He tended to smoke when he was stressed or annoyed, and in this case, he was both. He brought one of the sticks to his lips, lighting the tip with minimal focus. He never bothered bringing lighters with him. It seemed pointless considering he could catch things on fire with his mind. Once he had taken a deep drag from the cigarette, he started making his way across the large yard. He could see a bench along the edge of the party. It was distant enough that Henrik could look over the party without dealing with people coming close to him every few seconds.
He was so focused on smoking his cigarette and getting to the bench that he didn’t notice the body coming toward him, not until his shoulder was bumped harshly into. The cigarette fell from his hand, burning his fingers when he instinctively tried to catch it, and a curse immediately fell from his lips. The burns on his fingers were light pink, small but painful, and Henrik felt his temper rising as the harsh stinging continued. He shot the person who had bumped into him a burning glare, feeling a small bit of pleasure when the guy seemed to blanch at the look.
“Sorry,” the guy sputtered out, eyes growing wide when Henrik continued to glare. Henrik didn’t bother acknowledging the apology, cupping his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. He closed his eyes and whispered a spell into the cupped space, feeling the stinging dissipate as the burns healed themselves. To anyone else, it looked like he was blowing on them, trying to ease the pain, and that was exactly what Henrik wanted. Once he was done, he dropped his hands and shot the guy one last dirty look before turning to leave. The guy spoke again before he could get very far. “Seriously, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I would be,” Henrik said sweetly, “if you had actually looked where you were going.” Though Henrik had a feeling that wouldn’t have made a difference. There was no one around them. Henrik was halfway to the bench, on the lawn, which meant he was partly away from most of the guests, who were staying on the paved walkways. Either the guy had been drinking, or he had bumped into Henrik on purpose. Both possibilities annoyed him.
“I didn’t mean for you to get burned. Are you okay?” The guy went as if to take Henrik’s hand and look at the burns himself, but Henrik jerked his hand back before his could. He couldn’t let him see that the burns were no longer there, and Henrik typically didn’t like being touched unless he initiated it himself. He tended to suffer from precognition, specifically when he touched things, and especially when he touched someone’s skin. The only time he could make skin-to-skin contact without feeling someone’s emotions or knowing their fate was when he was touching a vampire. They were as dead as he was, so he always assumed they just cancelled each other out. Either way, Henrik was picky with those he touched, and he was glad when the guy didn’t continue reaching for his hand, choosing to retract it instead.
“I’m fine,” Henrik forced out, not sounding any kinder. He probably should have felt guilty for that, especially since the nameless boy’s concern seemed genuine, but Henrik was far too old to care. Perhaps it would have been different in another setting, like a dinner instead of a half-empty lawn with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. Henrik wouldn’t have been any kinder at a dinner, but he would have at least been polite on surface level. Centuries of evolving etiquette training made being impolite in social settings impossible for him. It was muscle memory. Being polite to a complete stranger who had bumped into him when he was away from a social setting was not.
Henrik turned to walk away again, holding in a sigh when the stranger kept following him. He had to give the guy credit, he was incredibly persistent.
“Wait, please, at least let me make it up to you,” the stranger said, quickening his pace when Henrik did. It didn't seem like he was going to get rid of the stranger anytime soon, unless magic got involved. Henrik considered the thought for a moment as the stranger continued. “There’s first-aid kit in a storage closet inside, at least let me give you something to help.” Henrik paused at that, coming to a stop. The stranger seemed confident that there was a first-aid kit inside. Frowning, he twisted back around to face him, taking in his appearance for the first time since they bumped into each other.
The stranger was two or three inches taller than him, with dark brown hair, wide puppy-like dark eyes, and a slightly crooked jaw. There was something nice in his face that went beyond looks. The concern there seemed real, and so was the desperate need to help somehow. He had meant to knock into Henrik, but he hadn’t meant to cause him any real harm. He had probably just been trying to get Henrik’s attention, only he didn’t know how. With his annoyance dwindling a little, Henrik moved to look over his outfit, part of him expecting to see the stranger wearing the same uniform as the waiters. Instead, he saw that the stranger was wearing a fitted and expensive suit.
Henrik let out a soft, disbelieving sigh and flickered his gaze up to meet the stranger’s, arching a single eyebrow.
“Are you Ethan Lockwood, by any chance?” Henrik drawled, watching as the stranger’s expression went from concerned to puzzled. Now that he said it, he was suddenly very aware of the resemblance between the stranger in front of him and Tyler Lockwood, who Henrik had only seen in passing a few times. They shared the same olive-toned skin and dark hair, though Henrik had never gotten close enough to Tyler to know if they had the same eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” the stranger said after a moment, confirming it, and Henrik could do nothing but close his eyes and take in a calming breath.
“Splendid,” he said flatly, averting his gaze back toward the mansion. It was just his luck that he had made such an abysmal first impression to the very boy he was planning on manipulating. Taking a moment to compose himself and think of someway to salvage the conversation, he plastered on a bright—if very forced—smile and turned his gaze back to Ethan. He knew what reactions the smile garnered, so he wasn’t surprised when Ethan seemed to flounder for a moment. Henrik pretended not to notice. “You know what? I think I do need something. You said there’s a first-aid kit inside?”
“Oh,” Ethan said, surprised. Henrik didn’t blame him, considering how rude and dismissive Henrik had been moments earlier. He could always blame it on the burns if Ethan asked about the bad mood, even though the burns in question were gone now. Henrik made sure to keep that hidden from Ethan, his other hand staying clasped around the one that had burned. “Oh, yeah, follow me. I really am sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Henrik sighed, mind trying to work around the burn issue. Ethan was going to see his hand sooner or later, and Henrik didn’t know how to explain his unmarred skin. He knew what he was going to have to do, but that didn't mean he had to like it. If anything, his mood became even more sour. He was glad when Ethan made very little conversation as he led Henrik back into the mansion and up the stairs. It gave him time to focus on his hand, gave him time to reverse the healing spell he had cast minutes earlier.
By the time they reached the storage closet, his fingers were screaming in fresh pain, and Henrik’s mood was darker than ever. Henrik waited outside of the closet while Ethan rummaged about, peering down from the top of the stairs, leaning slightly over the railing. He could see Klaus chatting away to Carol Lockwood, who looked both charmed and uncomfortable. His brother tended to have that effect. Scowling, Henrik ducked away from the railing right when Klaus sensed his gaze and glanced up, turning toward the storage closet right when Ethan emerged. A small white box was in his hand.
“I’m not sure what to do,” Ethan admitted with an awkward smile. Henrik bit the inside of his cheek to keep his comments to himself and took the box, flipping it open. Fortunately, there were bandages and burn cream, which he plucked out before handing the box back to Ethan. As he went to return the box back to its spot in the closet, Henrik got to work putting on the cream and bandages. The cream wasn’t a problem. The bandages were a different story.
Seeing the opportunity, Henrik didn’t hesitate to take it. “Can you help me?” Henrik asked once Ethan was back, holding out his burned hand, the bandages hanging from the other. “I can’t do this myself.” Ethan hesitated only a second, and then he was rushing to help, eager to redeem himself as quickly as possible. Seeing his desperation to make it all better, Henrik almost felt guilty for making it a bigger problem than it was. The feeling was gone before he even noticed it was there, and as Ethan helped him wrap his burned fingers—rather clumsily on Ethan’s part—Henrik let out a soft, “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Ethan said with a small laugh. “I gotta say, I’m a little relieved you calmed down. I thought you were going to bite my head off out there.”
Well, I wouldn’t write that possibility off quite yet, Henrik thought. He wanted desperately to say it, only because he wanted to see Ethan’s reaction, but he forced himself not to. His first impression had already been erratic enough. He couldn’t risk jumping from one mood to the next no matter how out-of-control he felt. He needed to gain Ethan’s trust, not freak him out so much that he avoided Henrik completely. With that thought in mind, Henrik forced a nice smile again. It was the type of smile he had perfected by that point, the kind that was fake but was still effective enough to make people feel comfortable. The kind of smile that used to be genuine, before eternity started to bore him and being a good person became less important to him than being entertained.
“Sorry about that,” Henrik said. The words sounded rehearsed to his own ears, but Ethan didn’t think anything was strange about his tone of voice. He couldn’t have known that there was something off, since he didn’t even know who Henrik was. Henrik doubted he ever would. “I was already in a bad mood before you bumped into me.” Lying was a tricky game. Ironically, Henrik played it with as little lies as possible. It made it easier to keep his story straight, and since he still wasn’t quite sure what his story was going to be, the truth was the logical way to go.
Deciding to change the subject, Henrik asked, “Why did you bump into me, anyway?” Blood rushed to Ethan's cheeks, turning them dark red. He ducked his head, and Henrik watched the moment with fascination. He couldn't help thinking it was endearing.
“Because I'm an idiot,” Ethan said, laughing. He didn't elaborate on that, didn't explain the actual reason, but Henrik didn't push. He just tilted his head and waited for Ethan to speak this time. It didn't take him long. “Not to be rude or anything, but who are you? This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”
“I'm Henrik,” he said quickly, seeing no need to hide who he really was. Klaus said that Ethan was in the dark. Henrik's last name would mean very little to him. “Henrik Mikaelson. My brother just moved into town. I live with him.”
“Well, if you need anyone to show you around, I'd be happy to—”
“There you are.” The voice came behind Henrik, from the direction of the stairs. Before Henrik even had time to turn, a hard hand was wrapping around his elbow, pulling him away from Ethan hard enough to make Henrik momentarily lose his balance. He righted himself quickly, but refrained from lashing out with the words bubbling up his throat. Klaus sounded like he was on the verge of a tantrum, his fury coming off him in waves. “Come on, we’re leaving.” Henrik knew better than to argue with him, just jerked his arm free before he calmly followed Klaus down the stairs.
When he cast a curious look over his shoulder, he was pleased to see Ethan watching him leave, a look of curiosity on his face.