THE UPDATE YOU DID NOT SEE COMING HAS FINALLY APPEARED

Warnings: Torture. Violence. Messed-up families.

English is not my native language and any mistakes are my own. I apologize in advance.

The Murder of One

It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it.

—Friedrich Nietzsche

Part II: Reinforcement

Rebekah

There was something incredibly satisfying about nailing your disappointment of an ex's hands to the floor with your high heels. Rebekah always had a deep appreciation for the many ways in which woman's fashion could be adapted, turned into deadly weapons with hardly a thought. Thin heels, clunky rings, dangling earrings, fans with hidden daggers inside… Torture delivered by a device meant to accentuate a woman's beauty was an art all on its own.

Her brothers' had never really shared her appreciation—of course they didn't make it a habit to keep women around long enough to make use of their hidden depths—but they had learned to respect her results, if little else. Most of them through up and close, personal experience of her methods.

When it came down to business though, the Mikaelsons tended to be an old-fashioned family. It was Nik, who one of their shaky allies inevitably pissed off, causing him to throw a violent tantrum. It was Elijah, who handled negotiations and death sentences in the same breath, with the serene calm of a man concerned with nothing but the deals he made. It was Kol, who eventually got bored playing nice and decided to paint the town red just because he could. And it was Rebekah, who watched her brothers' antics with her eyebrows raised in disdain and a complaint about the blood on her newest dress already on the tip of her tongue.

It was annoying sometimes, her elder brothers' reluctance to include her in their bloodier activities. A remnant of their lives as humans perhaps. Of the endless centuries in which women were to be shielded from the cruel, cruel world. Not that Rebekah had any innocence left to protect, she was well-aware of that. She had been a monster for so much longer than she had been a human, really, what did they expect? And yet, Nik's roundabout protectiveness reared its head at the most inconvenient of times, and Elijah had never really taken her down from the pedestal he'd put her on.

Kol. Well, Kol had been the exception. He always is, Rebekah couldn't help but think. Drew a shaky breath, lest she start crying again. Enough tears had been shed tonight, and if there was one thing she knew about her brother, it was that he wouldn't appreciate her sobbing and wailing. Would, in fact, mock her for it with the same acerbic wit he had to spare for the rest of the world.

This, on the other hand? This, she knew would make him smile.

Rebekah took a step back to better survey Stefan's body laid out before her. She'd snapped his neck, again, after she'd gotten sick of his pleas. His apologies that only poured oil on a raging fire. She had let him get this far. She had let him get close again, had trusted him again, despite the fact that he had given her no reason to. Always with your bleeding heart, sister, Kol's mocking voice echoed in her mind, a tease Rebekah had grown used to, a warning she'd learned to ignore.

She regretted that now. The same could not be said for the careful patterns she was burning into Stefan's chest—convenient, really, that the water source in Mystic Falls appeared to be poisonous now. It was a a pity Stefan isn't awake to appreciate her art—or Nik, for that matter, he'd always been the most artistic out of all of them—but he will soon enough. Rebekah had time. Elijah would need at least a few more hours to reach the town, and she wasn't going to proceed without him. Not whilst there was still a white oak stake at large.

In the meantime—well, all her siblings had a weakness for playing games. Rebekah had learned early on to keep herself occupied.

Downright terrifying, sister mine, Kol's voice whispered from the shadows of an old memory, back when they hadn't yet fallen to the darkness growing in their hearts, with everything we taught you, how could you not be?

A moan of pain drew Rebekah's attention back to the shoulder she was currently digging her fingers into. She put more pressure onto her grip for a moment, allowed her nails to sink just a little deeper, before finally pulling them out again. It wouldn't do to ruin the wonderful job Cassandra had done so early in the game, after all.

For the second time this evening her contemplation was interrupted by her phone. An unknown number this time, but with everything that had happened, Rebekah didn't even consider ignoring the call.

"Yes?"

"Where are you? Never mind—" her brother growled, impatience dripping almost visibly through the speaker.

"Nik?" Rebekah determinedly pushed aside the single moment of hope that maybe this voice could belong to someone else, that maybe all his paranoia and resilience had payed off after all— "What happened to your phone?" she asked instead, desperate to keep her voice even. She had worked hard to calm down the first time, a second slip into hysterics would only waste more time.

"An unfortunate accident," was the sharp reply she got, and, considering her brother's temper, the only one she needed. "I've sent for a witch, it'll be her job to keep the Bennett girl in line."

"A witch?" Rebekah asked, unable to conceal her surprise. "Where did you hide her until now?" And there it was again, that age-old suspicion of foul play she wished she didn't automatically associate with her brothers.

"Germany, a small town near Stuttgart," Nik replied drily—and no, Rebekah did not feel guilty for questioning him. She already had enough to feel guilty about.

Still. "You hate Germany," she blurted out, unable to help herself. It was true after all. She'd been daggered at the time, of course, as were Kol and Finn. All Elijah had later told them was that he had already fallen out with Nik at that time, so none of them actually knew what happened—and something had to have happened. Nik adored Europe, yet nowadays he preferred to stay on a different continent.

"Yes," Nik drawled. "In no small parts thanks to the witch I called. Now, shall we focus on avenging our brother's death or continue wasting time rehashing old memories? A massacre worthy of a Mikaelson doesn't plan itself, you know."

Rebekah winced at the blunt reminder, but she really should have expected it. This was how Nik dealt—by turning even the most painful wound into a weapon to wield against his enemies.

"Rider—that's the witch—will join you shortly. Do not move without her and Elijah, I mean it, Rebekah." Nik's voice was harder now, unforgiving. "This family has lost enough tonight, I will not bury another Mikaelson in this godforsaken town. Do you understand?"

Rebekah should probably be pissed about the macho overprotectiveness her brother was so prone to, but with Kol's death clouding them, she couldn't bring herself to give him any crap about it. "I'll be careful, Nik," she swore, and she meant it.

"Good."

For a moment, they were both silent, stuck perhaps in the words they wanted to share but couldn't bring themselves to say out loud. Then, with a pointed if unseen eye-roll because men, Rebekah asked as light-heartedly as she could manage, "You said you had something special in mind for the Salvatores. Care to share, brother? Because I assure you, I'm enjoying myself very much right now, and I'd like to know why I'm holding back from ripping his heart out and shoving it down the doppelgänger's throat."

The words made her blood boil. While they might have started out as a joke, Rebekah wanted that. She wanted to watch the life drain from yet another traitorous lover. She wanted to watch that doppelgänger bitch break. Nik laughed, a huff of air, and when he replied he sounded amused. He sounded proud. It always made Rebekah stand a little straighter when he spoke with her like that.

"As lovely as that sounds, I was thinking of something a little less direct. Think, Rebekah. What is the worst thing, the absolute worst thing you could make Stefan Salvatore do?" Nik's voice deepened towards the end, a sign of his fraying control, no doubt.

For a moment, Rebekah stared straight ahead, deep in thought. Then she blinked—and smiled. "Of course I'll have to bleed him dry first," she grinned.

"Indeed." Her brother's smirk could be heard clearly in his voice. "Oh, and Rebekah? The doppelgänger is yours."

Rebekah stilled, frozen in disbelief—because Nik, her Nik would never give up his hybrids, his chance at belonging, not for anyone, not even for her. But then, Kol always was the exception, wasn't he? He'd always been at odds with everyone, always been sharper and more bitter than the rest of them—save for Finn, of course, who'd been daggered for such a long time, Rebekah still remembered him more as human than as a vampire.

Finn had been more of a ghost than a brother to her, but Kol. Kol had been real. And he'd been pushed aside, by all the years he'd been kept in a casket, all the shared moments he'd missed, their inability to properly reconnect after too much time had passed. It wasn't fair. Their lives had never been fair, but Kol had deserved better.

And even if it was too little, too late, she'd do right by him. Apparently, they all would.

Rebekah smiled her first genuine smile since she'd learned of Kol's death. "You always did give me the best gifts," was the only thing she could say in reply.

"One more thing," Nik continued. "The witch. Ask her how she calls me. If she says anything other than K-Man, rip her throat out. I refuse to take any more chances." And without giving her a chance to react to that statement, Nik hung up.

Rebekah rolled her eyes. Why, exactly, had she been burdened with four brothers so intent on being dramatic? That was obviously her job.

And what kind of codeword was K-Man anyways?

Funnily enough, the chosen codeword turned out to be the least strange thing about this particular witch. Rebekah had just cut through Stefan's vocal cords—along with his throat, obviously—after she'd tired of his begging, and was now contemplating cutting his tongue out as well, when the witch appeared. And Rebekah meant the 'appearing' literal. As in out of thin air, with no warning.

Rebekah almost launched herself at the girl for that alone. Instead she slowly rose to her feet, eyes fixated on the more imminent potential threat. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but a young girl around her physical age and height, with dark blonde, unruly hair, wearing a raggy coat that didn't quite conceal the long-sleeved Hello Kitty pyjama underneath and no shoes, just mismatching socks, wasn't it.

"You must be Rebekah."

"And you're the witch Nik sent, then?" Rebekah asked with an arched eyebrow, keeping her face blank and expectant. As intolerable as the girl's clothes were, for once, she really had bigger things to worry about.

The witch inclined her head slightly. "Apparently so." She eyed Stefan's form on the ground. Rebekah followed her gaze and frowned when she noticed that the wound had stopped bleeding already. Oh well, she'd just have to cut his throat again. What a shame, that.

"Really?" Rebekah asked lightly and let her favourite blade—a gift from Elijah—slide over Stefan's throat again. And again. Just to be sure. Stefan made a gurgling sound of pain that made the witch grimace—though she didn't turn away. "What do you call Nik then?"

The witch snorted. "I call Nik a great many of things. Bastard, selfish asshole, insecure idiot, bloody moron, fucking Original, Klaus, Satan, Lucky-Ducky, K-Man, Nickle-Me-Klaus, Werepire…" the witch trailed off for a moment, before she shrugged. "I could go on."

"Lucky-Ducky?" Rebekah repeated incredulously, unable not to ask.

"Long story. For some reason K-Man doesn't like to talk about it too much. You can call me Rider, by the way." The witch approached them slowly, taking their time to eye Stefan up and down. "I'd offer my help, but you seem to have things well in hand."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes, not willing to relax despite the calming air the witch eluded. "Rider isn't your real name, I take it?"

The witch's grin widened. "You're perceptive, aren't you? No, it's not. It's what K-Man calls me. I don't make a habit of handing my real name out to Originals nilly-willy, you know."

And well, Rebekah couldn't fault her for that. Besides Nik wouldn't have called her if he had any doubts about this witch's alliance. His last warning was just his usual paranoia talking. "Make yourself comfortable then," she decided. "We're not gonna do anything until my brother joins us."

"You're certainly doing something." Rider pointedly glanced at Stefan.

"What can I say?" Rebekah pulled Stefan's head back by his hair and carved a nice Harry Potter scar into his forehead. The smile she sent Rider over her shoulder was almost angelic. "I bore easily. It's a family trait."

"Rebekah, please!" Stefan rasped out, straining against his constraints. It was impressive, really, that he hadn't given up speaking yet, still trying to sway her. He was tenacious, Rebekah had to hand him that much. And if it also happened to prolong her fun, well, who was she to complain?

"I know he was your brother," Stefan coughed, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. It was a pretty sight. Rebekah wished she was allowed to enjoy it in peace. "And I know you're hurting. But what you're doing here isn't going to bring him back, Rebekah." His voice was softer now, though still roughened by all the screaming the past hour had involved.

Rebekah felt her grip on the blade tighten until a sharp pain rocked the blurry world back into focus. Staring unseeingly at her lap, her hands covered in blood, it took her a moment to realise that she'd cut her own palms open on the blade's edge.

"You. Know. Nothing!" she hissed from behind clenched teeth, trembling with the force of her fury. The words cut through the red haze her mind had become, a sense of clarity that cut as sharp as her blade, but also calmed the raging storm within her.

It's the truth, she realised, and wondered why, exactly, it had taken her this long to realise it. Stefan—he really had no idea. And yes, alright, Rebekah had never given him much reason to believe she was close with her brothers. Of course not, she wasn't. They hadn't been close in a long while. Too many secrets, too many lies, too many daggers to the heart, too many attempts to push back against Nik for once. They were but shadows of the family they used to be—and yet. They were still siblings. They were blood.

How could Stefan not know what that meant? How could he, having loved and hated Damon, having loved and hated himself, not understand that they were everything?

They squabbled like children, never had a good word to say about each other. They betrayed each other, turned their backs on each other with no warning. They lied, and they left, and the fought, until nothing but blood and spit remained. Most days Rebekah wanted to push a dagger into their hearts, and throw their bodies into the bloody ocean, but at the end of the day, they were her brothers. Always and forever.

They weren't friends, barely even liked each other, but that was alright. Friends could turn on each other just as easily, become enemies before you realised you had crossed a line. But blood couldn't be denied. In their world, blood was everything. And no matter the tears, and the pain, and the insults, and the backstabbing, nothing could ever change the fact that they were family.

Nothing.

Having an older brother himself, Rebekah would have thought Stefan understood that. Apparently, she had been wrong. Or maybe Stefan had just never put that much thought into it. Never really stopped seeing them as The Originals and started to see them as a family. Maybe if he had, he would have realised the futility of his pleas. Would have understood the gravity of his mistake.

And to think that she had loved him.

Rebekah snarled, her true face revealing itself for the first time since this nightmare had begun, and suddenly there was nothing angelic about her. There wasn't meant to be—angels, she was sure, weren't supposed to feel the depth of hatred burning like ice cold fire in her soul. So desperate to be released, so eager to destroy.

Monsters weren't supposed to wear a pretty face. Monsters weren't supposed to stare at her with pleading eyes, begging for a mercy they didn't deserve. Of course, the whole world was made of monsters, shouldn't she have learned this by now?

Rebekah clearly remembered how, back when she had her first real woe is me, I am evil and deserve to suffer crisis—or, as Kol liked to call it, her Finn-phase—Kol had dragged her all over the country, determined to show her the evil in humans. One man in particular stood out in her mind, the horror of seeing the bodies of slaughtered children pinned against the wall like a bloody collection of puppets all too clear in her mind, even after all these centuries. You don't need to be a vampire, to be a psychotic maniac, Kol had quipped with a teasing smirk, it's just another push into that particular direction.

With new vigour and the memory of her dead brother edging her on, Rebekah stared Stefan straight into the eyes and pushed her hand into his chest. He grunted in pain, body instinctively trying to curl into itself, to get away from the painful pressure that only got worse the longer it went on, but there was nowhere for him to go, and Rebekah relished in every whine and groan she could draw from him.

"You feel that?" she murmured, a mockery of an affectionate gesture, as her fingers closed around his heart. "That," Rebekah squeezed, just a little, just to see the wild fear in Stefan's eyes, "is the least you owe me."

By merits of a self-control Rebekah hadn't been aware she possessed, she managed to extract her hand from Stefan's chest without ripping his heart out in the process. It was tempting though. Far more tempting than murder had been in a long time. Maybe even since she'd first started to get the hang of controlling her bloodlust. That had been a messy time too.

Rebekah patted him on the slowly-healing wound, harder than necessary—which meant still lighter than the backstabbing bastard deserved.

"Remember how you kept asking me about that dagger, honey?" Rebekah asked after a short moment, to allow Stefan to catch his breath. Her voice was sugary sweet—the kind that might be poisonous, you simply don't care until it's far too late. "I wonder now…" Trailing a gentle hand over Stefan's sweat- and blood-coated face like she'd done so many times before should hurt her—and it did. She'd loved him for years, and even though she'd fallen out of love at some point in this new century, she hadn't let go of that dream of a shared future yet. Hadn't wanted to let go.

But the pain was bearable, and she'd survive without him. More importantly, she'd live happier knowing she'd given Kol the eulogy he deserved, that was for sure. Dreams were for foolish girls with hearts too soft to make it in this world. Rebekah had thought she'd grown out of that girl by now—surely ten centuries were more than enough time to let go of lost childhood dreams?—and yet it struck her time and time again, the same lesson never truly learned.

Maybe that was part of the curse. Vampires didn't age, everyone knew that. But Rebekah—who had spent a longer time living this life than anyone else in the world, save her brothers—had damn well noticed that it wasn't just their outer appearance that remained unchanged. Being turned had affected them, yes, twisted them even. The unending thirst for blood, the new depth each emotion held—it was different than being human. After such a long time Rebekah was hard-pressed to say what, exactly, the differences were but they were there. Beyond those superficial changes though, they had remained the same.

And that was precisely the problem, wasn't it? A thousand years of life, of experiences and knowledge should have changed them. They should have grown as people, even if their physical appearance didn't reflect that. Yet Rebekah couldn't help wondering if that was really what they had done, or if every moment lived hadn't just added more information, more pain, more happiness to who they were. She wasn't thinking like a thousand year old woman. Hell, she wasn't even thinking like a sixty year old woman. Rebekah thought like a eighteen year old who had lived for a thousand years. There was a difference and it mattered.

Rebekah scowled. That was one of those thoughts she rarely wasted time on, not sure if she even wanted to know the answer. It wasn't like it would change anything. She was a vampire, and until people had suddenly thrown the cure into her face, she'd believed there was no way to ever change that. No point in lamenting her very nature.

The cure—it had seemed like the answer to all her problems. It reminded her of how good things had been when she'd still been human, how good she had been back then.

We're all addicts, Stefan! she remembered shouting not too long ago, back when Stefan's obsession with the doppelgänger and his inability to come to terms with his past as a ripper had seemed like the biggest roadblocks in their relationship. We're all addicted to our pasts! Don't tell me you haven't thought about reaching out to Katherine when she first showed up! Don't you dare say you've never looked at sweet Elena's face and wanted to feel what you felt back then! Don't you see? We're all stuck, Stefan. Forever hunting what we can't have, unable to lay the ghosts of our past to rest because we enjoy their haunting too much to let go!

It was true, Rebekah was an addict. And presented with a sudden, miraculous fix-all option, she had been blind to everything else. Had obsessed, had argued, had allowed herself to be manipulated because the price had seemed worth it at the time.

It hadn't been. It never was. Ten centuries later, the weight of that particular life lesson still threatened to crush her like a heavy stone slamming down on an insignificant bug. Some things just didn't change.

A weak hiss Stefan didn't manage to conceal brought Rebekah's attention back to the present. And her company, which she had so rudely ignored. What had she been talking about again? Oh, right. His obsession with the dagger she'd nicked.

"Tell me, Stefan," she asked, her tone of voice still as saccharine as before, and all the more menacing for it. "Who did you really plan to use that dagger on, hm? Kol?" And god, but it killed her to say his name, burned brighter than vervain on her skin. "Or was it me? Did you perhaps need a way to put me down, after murdering my brother?"

Rebekah didn't know what it was—maybe the way her voice trembled and broke, unprepared for the all-consuming hatred these words brought—but there was something in Stefan's eyes that hadn't been there before, something she'd wanted to see since she first started their little get-together.

Something like desolation.

"I didn't know they would try and kill Kol," Stefan swore, somehow forcing the words past his lips despite the world of pain he had to be in. It was too bad, really, that she couldn't commend him for his strength anymore. Not after everything it had cost her. Still, his eyes were wide open and fixated on her. Searchingly, as though he was desperately trying to get Rebekah to see the truth through sheer willpower alone.

And he did. Stefan had never been able to lie to her.

"Oh, I believe you," Rebekah said calmly. She didn't, not really, but that wasn't the point. She'd have questioned him otherwise, interrogated him, instead of simply scratching and cutting as she pleased. Nevertheless it was gratifying to see the relief flash over Stefan's face, made all the sweeter by the knowledge of how thoroughly her next words were going to crush that last flare of hope.

Leaning forward until her lips were just barely brushing the shell of Stefan's ear, Rebekah whispered softly, "I can't believe you think that it would make a difference."

"Not that this isn't a fascinating lesson in 101 Ways To Torture Your Enemies," the witch commented a while later, just as Rebekah had re-shattered Stefan's windpipe. "But if you don't need me I do have a life, you know."

"I told you, we will wait for my brother!" Rebekah snarled, her own tightly-wired self-control snapping. Rider's complaint reminded her of her own desperate need to finish this. Of how badly she wanted to wrap her hands around the doppelgänger bitch and squeeze the life right out of her. Of how much she yearned to rip the witch apart piece by bloody piece. Of—

Rebekah clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. And another one. And a third. Until the red haze dimmed, just a little, allowing room for rational thought. "You think I don't long to end this?" she growled. "To crush those murderers' spirits? To erase their meaningless existence? They killed my brother! I want them punished, I want them broken and begging, and I want to laugh in their faces when they do so more than anything in the world!"

The witch averted her eyes for a moment, before she cleared her throat. "Right. You know, I have a little sister," she said lightly.

Rebekah sent her a glare that stated with unmistakeable clarity that she couldn't care less. Rider simply shrugged and turned a page in the book on her lap.

"You should go bellow the belt next. And I mean that literally," the witch commented off-handedly. But despite her relaxed appearance, there was something dark in her eyes that read almost like understanding.

Rebekah tilted her head in consideration.

It was quiet. Rebekah fidgeted. She'd snapped Stefan's neck—again—in a moment of blind rage, but with how weak he was by now, it took him forever to wake up again. Torturing the unresponsive, unfortunately, just wasn't the same.

Thankfully, her sensitive ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, too fast to belong to a human. "Someone is coming," Rebekah stated and sank into a crouch, readying herself for a possible fight. The witch who'd been quietly reading, utterly undisturbed by Stefan's screaming and pleading, snapped her book shut with a loud thud.

"Finally."

And despite how much Rebekah had revelled in Stefan's pain, she couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Not when she knew all to well that Kol's murderers were still walking free, unaware of the death sentence that had been signed in their name.

The steps were drawing closer now, and despite herself Rebekah relaxed. Just a little. She recognised that rhythm, a pattern so familiar, merely hearing it brought her comfort. A moment later her trusted instincts were proven right, and Elijah walked through the door.

Save for his slightly ruffled hair—from running too fast, Rebekah knew that particular telltale all too well—Elijah looked no more or less composed than usual. From his crisp suit to the calm expression on his face, no one would guess that he felt anything but vague curiosity as he took in the less than inspiring appearance of the little witch Nik had hired. But Rebekah knew her brother, knew him with an intimacy that came of hundreds of years spend with and far away from each other. And she saw the pain in his eyes, a pain she shared and understood far better than anyone. Safe for Niklaus, of course.

They had not just lost their brother today. They had lost the one brother they had failed, the one they had betrayed as often as he had betrayed them. They had lost every chance to make it right, every chance to make up for all those disappointments and daggers to the heart that stood between them.

In a way those betrayals hadn't been a big deal. They always got even with each other one way or another, and it didn't keep them from being family. Sure, Rebekah thought with a bitter smile, none of them trusted each other. But they still loved, they were still family, and they gave each other new chances time and again for that. Even Nik, who always took things so very personal, and Elijah, who might forgive but never forgot, fell prey to their inability to give up on a fellow Mikaelson.

It might be an unavoidable consequence of their shared history, their greatest weakness or the only thing that still kept them sane. Rebekah didn't know. She didn't care. All she cared about was that she'd become used to knowing she couldn't lose her brothers, no matter what she did or said. And Elena Gilbert had taken that security from her. This whole cursed town had destroyed something too sacred for their pitiful minds to grasp.

And they would pay.

"'Lijah," Rebekah whispered, almost choked on the tears she'd thought she had long run out of as she rushed into his arms. He hugged her back just as tightly and it eased the last of the tension she hadn't even been aware off, because this was as close to I'm sorry, I forgive you as they ever got.

When was the last time she'd hugged Kol? When was the last time he allowed her to?

"I came as fast as I could," Elijah murmured, the same soothing voice that had calmed her as a child, when Rebekah'd gotten sick. Nik had played with her whenever he'd been allowed, and Elijah had told her stories. Kol had stolen bits of her favourite food and entertained her with his magic. Finn had stroked her hair and assured her that she was too strong to let an illness put her down for long, a daughter of Mikael in blood and heart.

"I know," Rebekah whispered. She hadn't expected anything less, and hated herself a little for wondering whether Kol had. Had his doubts gone that far? Had they given him cause to believe they cared so little for him?

"This cure has ruined us, and it hasn't even been found yet!" Kol's furious words echoed in her mind. Except they weren't quite true, were they? They had ruined themselves, long before the cure had ever become an issue. They just—hadn't noticed until something had pushed them strong enough to shove back.

After an other long moment, Elijah cleared his throat and took a small step back. The simple action brought Rebekah back to the present, reminded her of what they still had to do. Funny, how 'had to' made it sound like such a burden, when, really, it was going to be her greatest pleasure.

"And who is your companion?" Elijah asked with a pointed glance towards the witch that was watching them calmly, the book she'd been reading nowhere to be seen.

"I'm Rider," the witch introduced herself, eying Elijah with just as much interest. They were sizing each other up like they were about to go to battle against each other, instead of fighting on the same side. "I'm here to help."

There was some definite mocking in that tone of voice, but Rebekah didn't pay it any mind. The witch had behaved herself thus far, and, really, if you wanted to attack an Original you didn't wait until a second one showed up to do so.

"She's a witch," Rebekah explained, which caused Elijah to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Forgive me, Miss Rider," he said slowly, the polite words doing nothing to cover the sharpness of his focus, "but in my experience witches are rarely there to help. Not where vampire affairs are concerned, at least."

If the scepticism bothered Rider, she didn't show it. "True. Witches are a bit of a narrow-minded lot, to be frank. Then again, so are vampires. And werewolves. Not to forget humans. Funny, isn't it?" The witch shrugged. "But if you're wondering whether I'm about to go behind your backs: I won't. I don't care about this town or it's people. I don't even particularly care about you. I'm here because K-Man called in a favour—and having The Hybrid owe you one is too good an opportunity to pass up."

Elijah tilted his head in consideration and sent Rebekah a questioning look. She shook her head. She'd no idea who this witch was or how Nik knew her. Until she'd appeared right in front of her, Rebekah hadn't even known she existed. But Nik had announced Rider's arrival, and it wasn't unusual for her brother to keep useful contacts to himself.

"Look, if you don't want my help, fine. I can't make you." The witch rolled her eyes, apparently not the least bit intimidated by her company. Honestly, it was that nonchalance that convinced Rebekah more than anything else—Nik had a weakness for people who were utterly unafraid of him. "But going against a witch high on expression magic, a hunter and a couple of their friends armed with a white oak stake without backup is stupid and you know it. Just saying."

"Indeed," Elijah hummed, without saying anything at all. "And I assume your presence would, ah—even the odds, so to speak?"

"It might. It might not." The witch grinned. "If nothing else, they don't know me, same as you. They don't know what I can and can't do. That's gonna make them pause." The grin dropped off Rider's face like a spit-out gum. "You're stronger and faster than them. You're the Originals, and in a clear battle they can't actually overpower both of you. But you're also high on revenge. And they know you. If you walk into this convinced you can't lose, the universe is gonna prove you wrong just because it can."

At that Rebekah sneered. "They aren't prepared for us."

"Maybe not," the witch agreed. "But they've got numbers on their side, and they are willing to die for each other. That makes them dangerous."

"What do you suggest then?" Elijah intervened, before Rebekah had the chance to start ranting about how far beneath her heel that bloody doppelgänger bitch truly was. He sounded genuinely curious, and, as much as Rebekah hated to admit it, she knew Rider had a point. Well, maybe half a point. The little Scooby gang was used to plots and threats, not blunt, unapologetic death of those they actually cared about. Perhaps that was why she had underestimated them.

"Don't waste time," the little witch replied promptly. "Threats, promises, torture… It drags on and leaves them with chances to come up with a plan. You can't give them that opportunity. Kill them or at least most of them as fast as possible. It will break the others' spirit."

"They deserve to suffer!" Rebekah and Elijah snapped at the exact same time.

"Maybe so, but what's the point if they escape you in the end?" Rider challenged. "They have numbers on their side. Two, maybe three of them you can control, but the others need to be taken out fast. Especially the witch," she stressed. "You have little to no defences against her, and from what K-Man said, she's in full Hulk-mode at the moment. Expression is a hard thing to control, but even so she can still channel that power. She needs to die first, or whatever plot you have in mind is going to fall apart before it even starts."

Rebekah glared—the insinuation that, after all these years, one little off-the-rails witch should be enough to bring about their downfall irking her more than she cared to admit—but the truth was, she didn't mind much. "The doppelgänger and Stefan are mine," she growled. "Nik promised," she added to Elijah's visible surprise, "and they will suffer. If you want to have a bitch fight with the Bennett girl first, be my guest."

"I can't take her on, Rebekah." The witch shook her head widely. "Believe it or not, the Bennett girl is powerful. I only got a taste of the magic she used to lock K-Man up, but, man, she's riding the wave straight to the top. That girl's so amped up, if we weren't on a time table, I'd just lean back and wait for her to overdose."

Elijah furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "You're talking about magic like it's a drug."

"Not just any magic," Rider corrected. "Expression. There's a reason few practice it. Any of you ever read Harry Potter? The dark magic Voldie-Moldie and his Death Munchers use? It's described as twisting, and in some cases even tearing apart your soul. Expression is kinda like that. I mean, not in the Let's-make-horcruxes-and-become-immortal way, but it gives you a rush and it becomes addictive. And then it starts to change you. Once you're hooked, you can't just stop, ask any addict. It doesn't work that way. It's not as easy as simply deciding not to do it anymore. And you know the real fun part? The human body can only handle a certain amount of magic before it simply becomes too much and the body shuts down. This girl? She's gonna die, whether you kill her today or not. Her own magic will rip her apart from the inside out and she still won't stop until it kills her."

Rebekah stared at the witch and wished, more than anything in the world, that Kol was here right now. He was the one who had always loved magic, he would know what the girl was going on about. He'd have been able to tell them how to handle the Bennett bitch. He'd— But he wasn't. And they would have to take Rider's word for it.

By the dark look on Elijah's face, he'd reached the same conclusion.

"If she is as powerful as you say she is, how do we take her out of the picture?" Elijah asked. "I myself would like to have a conversation with the Gilberts, and I don't wish for our time to be cut short."

His voice sounded even and reasonable. It reminded Rebekah of that time her brother had torn apart an old coven of witches in Hebrew, after they had managed to capture and torture Nik and Kol. An incident that had not only erased an entire village from the plane of existence but also lead to a few of the best decades of their entire lives. It had been the perhaps longest time that her brothers had seen eye to eye. Until their father had found them and ruined it, of course.

"We could just lock them into the boarding house and burn the whole place to the ground," Rebekah commented lightly, a yearning smile growing on her face. Kol had loved to burn things down—it would be a fitting end. "Still, I'm partial to more blood and screams and severed heads."

The little witch stared at her like she couldn't decide whether to appreciate Rebekah's mindset or be disturbed by it. But when she spoke, her voice was mild. "Personally, I was thinking less The Godfather and more Ocean's Eleven."

"Are you sure about this?" Rebekah asked quietly whilst the little witch was focused on a small wooden stick in her palms.

"Her idea sounds reasonable enough in theory," was Elijah's equally quiet reply—if not a very satisfying one. "I do not believe that she wishes us harm."

"She might change her mind once people start dying," Rebekah pointed out. After all, despite their politics and disagreements, witches were witches. And witches valued lives.

"Perhaps." But it was clear by Elijah's expression that he didn't expect it to happen. It was the main reason Rebekah vowed to stay on her guard. They didn't need any more backstabbing today. "If that were to happen, we will just have to improvise."

That, they had plenty of practice in. Thanks to Kol, mostly. Against her will, Rebekah found herself exchanging a small, knowing smile with her brother—their thoughts once more too close to the abyss of loss for her comfort.

"Alright," the little witch chirped and threw the wooden stick at Elijah, who caught it easily. Then she turned her attention to Rebekah. "Now give me your shirt."

"Excuse me?" Rebekah gaped.

Rider scoffed. "Oh, you heard me fine. C'mon, we don't have all night."

"What would you need it for?"

"Nothing." the witch shrugged. "I just really wanted to know how you look topless." Rebekah froze where she was unbuttoning her blouse, earning her an annoyed eye-roll. "Relax, I'm joking. It's just—let's call it insurance."

And that was all the witch would tell them.

Ten minutes and plenty of chanting later, the girl was finally done. She threw the shirt at Rebekah's head and bounced towards the door.

"Ready?" Elijah asked her softly. There was something in his voice, an added layer that gave Rebekah pause.

"No," she answered honestly. She wasn't ready to avenge Kol. She wasn't ready to admit that she'd lost him. "But when has that ever stopped me before?" They exchanged another smile, this one grim but determined.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Rebekah crouched down next to Stefan, who had finally come around again, and patted his cheek harshly. "Up, up, darling, sleepy time is over. You and I are going on a little trip."

"Fuck off!" Stefan rasped weakly.

"Now, now, that's no way to talk to a lady. I know you were raised better than that, Salvatore. Besides-," Rebekah gripped his chin, forced him to look up and meet her eyes, "I gave you my heart, Stefan Salvatore. You owe me one."

And with that she pulled him upright, and walked towards the doors. Sending Elijah a beatific smile, Rebekah said calmly, "Let's go."

They had an appointment to keep.

End of Part III

Despite the terribly long pause I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Rebekah is an interesting character and I hope I did her justice!

Comments are always welcome. Have a great weekend everybody!