03. Who Cries When Monsters Die?

                                    

                                              
 A/N: VOTE AND COMMENT!! It means a lot. Seriously. Just do it. It's not that hard.

                          
Hunter had seen Death before.

                          
 It would be a lie to say Mikael did not attempt to keep his son—and all his children—as further away from the bloodbaths he usually found himself in. Hunter knew his father would have chewed off his hand to keep his children safe and innocent. Yet, as always, Mikael was powerless against Fate.
                          
Hunter hated the sight of blood. The gruesomeness of it all often made him sick. Of course, he was no stranger to violence. No matter how Mikael tried to keep Hunter away from it all; the word bloodshed was so closely connected to the word Mikaelson. It was unavoidable.
                          
After his first kill, Hunter cried like a damn baby, as if he was a newborn, being pushed mercilessly into a cruel world for the first time. Mikael was by his side, making Hunter feel safe.
                          
"The arm-ring will keep the wolf curse away, my boy. It will." Mikael repeated frantically, while wrapping his arms around his son's body. "It will be alright. You did nothing wrong. It's alright, my boy. I'm right here, you're safe. I'm not going anywhere..."
                          
Hunter never loved Mikael more. It was one of his favorite memories of his father. It always put a smile on Mikael's face to recall their past 'adventures' as he liked to call them. Hunter laughed every time Mikael reenacted the first time his son saw him bleeding.
                          
"I could never call my boy a mute," Mikael would say, as Hunter almost died from laughing after hearing his father's impersonation of a screaming child. "But his little scream even surprised me! Damn all the Gods, I didn't even knew children could scream that bloody loud..."
                          
 Yet when he saw his father's burning body, Hunter's voice died in his throat. His legs failed him, forcing him to sit on the lawn, watching his one and only family burn to death.
                          
It was almost ironic. Sadistically ironic.
                          
Hunter had never been a quiet child. It would often annoy Mikael, but it was undeniable he preferred his son's unending chatter over voices in his own head.
                          
 Fortunately, Hunter was the sort of boy who would wake up at 2am, jump out of bed, run to his father's office, without caring about the noise his small feet made echo through the halls of their house. He knew Mikael rarely slept through the entire night. The Viking often stayed in his studio, reading newspapers and looking for hidden clues in them. It was the perfect opportunity for Hunter to crawl into his father's lap, place his head under Mikael's chin and ask the most ridiculous questions.
                          
"Do you think plants have feelings, father?" Hunter asked Mikael during a stormy night in the late 1950s. "Do you think they get sad when we say they cannot feel a thing?"
                          
Mikael chuckled, "I think it's far too late for this sort of talk." Mikael let Hunter rest his head against his shoulder as he carried the boy back to his room. "And I think that little head of yours needs some rest," he laid his son down, gently messing with Hunter's hair. "Before it has any more brilliant ideas and I end up with a house filled with talking plants." He gently pressed his son's nose, while a smile took hold f his lips.
                          
Hunter chuckled, but no more ideas graced his mind that night. Instead, his father laid beside him, and told him some of his favorite stories. With his head comfortably rested on Mikael's chest, Hunter soon fell asleep.
                          
 In the next morning, Hunter found Mikael sitting by the kitchen table, with his head buried into a dozen biology books. Of course he would try to find an answer to his son's question. He had to. What kind of father would he be if he didn't?
                          
Mikael smiled at his boy as he put down the books. After messing with his son't hair, he marched to the stove to prepare the most delicious breakfast. Hunter's favorite. Mikael was happy when his son was happy. He did everything with a smile on his face.
                          
His smile. Hunter clung to that image as if his life depended upon it. Though perhaps it did. If he forgot Mikael's smile, what else would he have? How could Hunter prove his father was not the monster Klaus claimed he was, if he could not remember the way Mikael messed with his hair and made him laugh?
                          
What else did he have but his memories?
                          
 The thought of resurrecting Mikael burned in his mind as soon as he saw the flames, and it stayed there for months on end. He would dream of the fire, the ever-hungry and cruel fire; replaying the scene over and over until he knew it by heart.
                          
The day Hunter realized he could hear his father's death screams in the singing of birds, he knew he had to do something. Yet without his father's ashes, there was little he could do. Part of him, the kind and soft side Mikael so desperately fought to protect, wish to let his rage go away. More than anything, Hunter begged for the Gods to let him forgive Niklaus.
                          
Klaus was a mighty adversary, even without his siblings, and apparently he had all of them by his side. Besides, even Mikael knew that, for as good of a fighter as Hunter was, his boy was no cold-blooded killer. Not to mention Hunter's inability to think of Klaus as a monster.
                          
Mikael's obsession with Klaus ruined them both. Hunter had to watch pain and rage stop his father every time he had a chance of being truly happy. No, Mikael would never ask Hunter to continue his crusade against Klaus.
                          
Fate, however, had no issue asking such a thing from the (currently) youngest Mikaelson. After all, Nature always had a strange way of getting what it wants, no matter the costs.
                          
So Hunter swore vengeance. If he could not mourn Mikael properly, then he would avenge his father's death, killing the monster the old Viking had chased for a thousand years. Hunter promised he would do so, even if it killed him.... Because he could promise nothing else.... or so he thought.






                          
A/N:
                          
Yes, I know it took me forever to update this one, again.
                          
I really want to promise more frequent or at least scheduled updates, but the truth is between college and all the stories I'm currently trying to write, that's probably going to be hard. I hope you guys can understand. I'll update whenever I can. Tho the best I can promise right now is one chapter every month. Let's see if i can get more later on.
                          
I was planning to have this story be short (god, how many times have I said this?)
                          
But, well, it won't. It will be very long, so buckle up.
                          
Also REMEMBER TO VOTE AND COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE!