CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

"Sleep is a luxury which I can't afford."

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     Henrik couldn't move a muscle without his entire body aching.

He had been working practically nonstop since Finn's death, trying to find a solution to a problem he didn't even know the specifics of. The more he had to scrap what he had and start over from scratch, the more frustrated he became. It was the third day that the anger started to settle in. It had been three days of everyone staying inside the compound, where Lucien couldn't enter. It had been three days of Freya and Henrik obsessing over their witchcraft, three days of barely sleeping and barely eating because neither of them could sit still. Three days of Henrik being on pins and needles whenever one of his siblings went out, or when Francis and Marcel weren't safely inside somewhere. Three days of nonstop stress and a dull, painful ache in his head that never wanted to go away no matter what he did to ease it.

He had his hands braced on the table in the center of his room, eyes going over the array of scattered papers with his notes. He could usually understand his mess of notes, but now he could barely read a line or two without feeling frustrated and puzzled. His eyesight was even starting to blur. He blinked rapidly and tried to focus it, but it wasn't working. Sighing in exhaustion, he reached up to rub at his eyes. Eventually, he stopped rubbing and just resorted to pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He knew he was exhausted, knew that he needed to rest, but every time he tried to sleep, his mind wouldn't go quiet. He couldn't remember the last time he suffered from so much exhaustion.

"Henrik?" Henrik jumped, a sharp gasp leaving his mouth. He hadn't heard anyone open his bedroom door. Twisting on his heel, he let out a breath of relief when he saw that it was Francis. Henrik had seen very little of Francis the past few days. He had requested some space after Finn had died, so Francis had been busy helping Marcel try to track down Lucien and Aurora. Francis stepped deeper into the room and closed the door, eyes taking in the papers strewn across the table and various dusty, old grimoires lying open on any available surface. There was a coffee in his hand, but when he glanced up and got a good look at Henrik's face, his mouth twisted into a grimace. "I was going to give you this," Francis said as he raised the coffee, "but I don't think that's a very good idea. Darling, when was the last time you slept?"

"Last night," Henrik said with a huff, trying to grab the coffee. Francis moved it out of his reach, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He gave Henrik a knowing look, and Henrik sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Technically, it was last night. It wasn't more than two hours, though."

"That's what I thought." He set the coffee on top of a stack of books before he got closer to Henrik. The hand he smoothed down Henrik's back was more comforting than Henrik liked to admit. Francis's voice was soft and gentle when he added, "Don't you think you should take a break? You've been working for days." Henrik knew he meant well, knew he was only looking out for him, but Henrik was also stressed and exhausted. The thought of taking a break while his brother's murderer was out there somewhere made all his frustration and growing anger come to the surface within seconds, and he couldn't bite his tongue quick enough to stop the words rising up his throat.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Henrik snapped, voice so sharp and quick that Francis actually flinched back, not expecting the level of venom that was in his voice. The sight of him getting so startled made Henrik realize just how unreasonable he was being. He clenched his jaw shut and took a deep breath, glancing away. He knew he should apologize, but what came out instead was a calmer continuation of his point. "Wait for Lucien to reappear and bite someone else? Nik? Elijah? You?" Henrik shook his head and turned back toward his mess of notes. "No, I'm not taking a break until I at least get somewhere. Everything has a loophole. There's no supernatural ailment that doesn't have a solution or a cure. That means the bite of a pathetic copycat Original like that piece of shit definitely does. He can't be unstoppable. There's always a balance, I just need to find it."

When Francis didn't immediately respond, Henrik avoided looking at him by looking over his notes instead. He didn't know what Francis was thinking, and he was afraid that if he looked at him, he'd see anger on his face. He shouldn't have snapped at him. He should have apologized for snapping at him. Henrik knew that, but he couldn't seem to form the words to make it right. The exhaustion in his body didn't seem to want him to do anything aside from having him stand there and wait for Francis to speak. He could feel Francis's gaze on him. It was a heavy sort of look, one that Henrik was not only completely aware of, but one that made him unable to focus on anything else.

"Henrik," Francis murmured, and Henrik physically seemed to relax when he noticed that his voice was still gentle. He seemed to understand just how much stress Henrik was putting himself under. Francis's hand smoothed down Henrik's back again. "I know you want to figure this out as soon as possible, but you have to rest. Sleepless nights won't help anyone, darling, and you can't think or work properly if you're exhausted." Henrik knew that. He had been thinking the same thing the past three days, whenever he tried to rest but found himself unable to. His shoulders slumped again, and this time he didn't bother trying not to lean against him. As soon as Francis's arms wrapped around him, the exhaustion seemed to take away the last of his strength. When he swayed on his feet, Francis's arms tightened, and a sound of alarm left his mouth.

"I'm alright," he reassured, though it came out as nothing more than a tired whisper as he pressed his face into the crook of Francis's neck. "I know I need to sleep, I just can't seem to. But I'm alright." It took all of his strength to stop leaning against Francis, but he forced himself to do it anyway. When he glanced up, he saw that Francis looked pained, like he was feeling the effects of Henrik's exhaustion just by being in the same room with him. Henrik tugged at his coat. "Believe it or not, I actually am taking small breaks. I showered this morning, I made something to eat. I'm taking care of myself, love, I promise." At that, Francis narrowed his eyes.

"You just said you made something to eat," he noted. "Not that you actually ate it." Henrik had to stop himself from wincing. He had hoped Francis wouldn't notice his play on words. Henrik didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to admit that he actually hadn't consumed much food since Finn had died. Francis saw the look on his face and let out a small, defeated sigh. "That's it, you're taking a break. I'll bring you something to eat. Elijah was practically making a feast when I got here." Henrik opened his mouth to argue that he didn't need a break, but stopped when Francis pressed a kiss to his forehead. He did need a break, and he didn't have the strength to argue with Francis about it. Rubbing a hand down his face, he moved toward his bed as Francis went to go get him food.

He couldn't do more than doze as he waited for Francis to come back. His eyelids were so heavy that he found it hard to keep them open, and he lacked energy to even crawl up under the covers, yet sleep still didn't come. It was so frustrating that Henrik actually felt like crying, a ball forming at the back of his throat. Crying because he was tired, of all things, would have been humiliating, which was precisely how he managed to keep his eyes dry. He threw his arm over his eyes and tried to get his head to stop pounding, letting out a frustrated sound when it only seemed to make it worse. He was so consumed with how uncomfortable he was that he didn't hear Francis return. He ended up jumping for the second time that day after hearing Francis murmur his name.

The second he sat up, Francis was pushing a steaming mug of tea into his hands.

"Freya made it," Francis said. He was keeping his voice soft, knowing that Henrik's head hurt just by the expression on his face. "She said it would help." Henrik nodded as he brought it to his lips, watching as Francis placed the plate of food on the bedside table. Tinfoil covered it. Elijah must have already prepared him a plate. He always did like keeping his hands busy when he felt restless. Sighing, Henrik took a few gulps of the tea. The second he swallowed it, the pounding in his head faded away. He almost cried in relief. He probably would have if he hadn't been distracted with Francis shrugging his coat off and throwing it over a chair.

"Can you stay here for a few days?" The words came out of Henrik's mouth before he could stop them. Francis paused and shot him a surprised look, then smiled and crawled onto Henrik's bed, sitting down beside him. He heard the thumps as his shoes were toed off. That didn't necessarily mean he was going to stay for days, but it did mean he wasn't going to leave anytime soon. Henrik took another sip of the tea, then sighed. "Lucien loathes me. I'm afraid he'll take that out on you."

"Truthfully, I was planning on staying here for a while anyway," Francis said with a shrug, taking the mug out of Henrik's hands and taking a drink for himself. They passed it back and forth as they spoke. "We both know you won't stop working yourself to the bone unless someone stops you, and it doesn't seem like your siblings are going to do that anytime soon."

"Yes, well, they have the good sense to not interrupt me when I'm in one of my moods." Smiling, he motioned for the plate of food, and Francis passed it to him with a relieved expression. The tea had not only eased his headache, but it had also eased the aches in his body, had eased the rampant exhaustion. Henrik didn't know what spell Freya had used on it or how long it would last, but he wasn't going to take it for granted. For the first time, he was aware of hunger eating away at his stomach. He knew he had to eat before his appetite disappeared again.

"Well, if it means you're taking care of yourself, I'm fine with not having any sense." Henrik speared a piece of pasta with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. He wanted to say that he could take care of himself just fine, but then he realized he never would have taken a break or even eaten anything if Francis hadn't stepped in. As he ate, Francis slipped back out of bed and walked over to the table with Henrik's work, frowning down at the notes. Henrik was expecting the question, so he just watched and waited as Francis's frown deepened. "How in the world do you make sense of these? No offense, darling, but they look a mess."

Henrik laughed. "After a thousand years of Nik pressuring me to fix his problems, I suppose I've gotten used to rushing things." Francis picked up a few of the papers and looked over them. Henrik expected to get annoyed by it, since he had his own process when constructing spells and it always bothered him when someone interfered with that process, even if it was something as small as picking up his notes. Instead of getting irritated, Henrik was completely calm, though he did frown when he was reminded just how little progress he had made. "Don't bother trying to make sense of those notes, love. I'm probably just going to throw them out and start from scratch soon."

He glanced down at the floor of his room, which was littered with crumpled pieces of paper, and couldn't quite hold back his sound of frustration.

"How many times have you started from scratch, exactly?" Francis wondered, finally seeming to notice the crumpled papers.

"I haven't kept count," Henrik sighed. "Enough for me to get angry. I have an idea of where to start, but each time I try to write it down, I think of something else. A new problem or another variable I need to consider."

"A lack of sleep probably isn't helping," Francis said, voice light and teasing. Henrik wrinkled his nose and ate more of his food. Francis grinned when he noticed Henrik's reaction, then started looking over the notes again. "Tell me what you have. Perhaps speaking your ideas out loud will help." Henrik finished off his plate food as he organized his thoughts.

"Well, I'm focusing on finding a cure to Lucien's bite." He finished off the tea, then set the empty cup and plate on his bedside table. "Hayley said that he added strains of venom from the seven original wolf packs. Deep Water, Malraux, BasRoq, Barry, Poldark, Paxon, and Crescent. Hayley is a Crescent, and Nik is from another. I'm not sure which one. If I can get samples from each, I can reverse the effects." Francis frowned at that, tilting his head to the side.

"Don't you need a lab for that?" he asked. Henrik shrugged.

"Not particularly. Science and magic are more closely linked than you might think. I just need the right sigil, right ingredients, right spell, right bloodlines. It would have been fucking great if they hadn't burned down Lucien's lab." Some of his frustration leaked into his voice then. "It'd also be great if I could design the right sigil, or figure out the right ingredients, or literally make any progress whatsoever. As you can see, that's not going to happen anytime soon." Francis put his notes back down and came back to the bed. He stretched out on his back and placed his head on a pillow, looking up at Henrik with drooping eyes. Henrik had the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss him, but since he knew he'd lose his train of thought if he did, he filed it away for later.

"There's not a sigil you can use?" Francis murmured. Henrik shook his head.

"I mean, I'm sure there is somewhere," Henrik added with a frown, "but I'd rather create one. That way I don't have to worry about it potentially not working. Besides, I'm creating a cure for something that has never existed before, so creating a sigil that has never existed before is safer."

"Can't you make the cure without a sigil?" Francis asked

"The sigil isn't for making the cure," Henrik corrected. "It's for artificially recreating it." That made Francis frown and sit up. His puzzlement made Henrik smile. "Well, we can't go around collecting the venom of seven different werewolves around the world each time someone is bitten. That would take years. So I figured that since the venom itself has all seven strains of the venom, I could use the poisoned blood of whoever was bitten to reverse the effects. You could see why I'm getting frustrated. It barely makes sense when I'm saying it out loud."

"So you're basically turning the victim's own blood into the cure?"

"Hopefully." Henrik released a small sigh. "If I can figure it out. Nik's blood being the cure for regular werewolf bites was what actually gave me the idea. I'm not even sure it'll work, but..." Henrik shrugged. "Perhaps I should focus on creating the cure itself first, but I keep worrying that there won't be enough of it. I just—what?" Francis was staring at him. Henrik almost thought that he looked awed.

"You're brilliant," Francis murmured. Henrik was startled by how quickly blood rushed to his cheeks. He never really thought of his witchcraft—or even his general ideas—as brilliant. That had never been a word he'd ever used to describe it. He was slightly uncomfortable with it. A nervous, flustered laugh left his mouth.

"Hardly," he said, attempting to brush the compliment off. "All I have right now is an idea."

"An idea that you created with barely any sleep," Francis pointed out. "It's brilliant." Henrik rolled his eyes.

"Call me brilliant when I actually get it to work," he dismissed. Francis raised his eyebrows.

"I will," Francis promised. The next smile he shot Henrik's way made his urge to kiss him resurface, and Henrik didn't bother fighting it this time.

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"I daresay you're about to crash, darling," Francis teased later that night. The sun had long since gone down, and they were currently walking down the busy street, going to meet Davina and Kol at St. James. To say that Henrik was on the verge of crashing was an understatement. He had been on the verge of falling asleep with his head on Francis's stomach when Davina had called, requesting his help and insisting that Kol couldn't leave St. James. Considering that he was finally allowing himself to rest, he was instantly annoyed at the call. It figured that his family would start bothering him again the second he wanted to rest for longer than two hours.

"Don't call me darling," Henrik grumbled, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets and casting a suspicious look around. He wasn't going to let his guard down until Lucien and Aurora were found. Even though Francis was acting as casual and as confident as ever, Henrik could tell that he was keeping an eye out as well. He always seemed to be alert of his surroundings, no matter what kind of mood he was in.

"Oh, we're back to that?" Francis said, shooting Henrik a grin as he slung his arm over his shoulders. "How discouraging." Henrik snorted but didn't push him away, instead choosing to lean against his side instead.

"I'm annoyed," Henrik admitted. "Kol and Davina couldn't have called me this morning? When I didn't feel like I would pass out any second?" Henrik shook his head. "Besides, I don't want to deal with Kol's tantrums. He's always had trouble controlling his temper, but lately it's been absolutely abysmal." Francis hummed thoughtfully under his breath.

"Perhaps he simply needs to adjust to his heightened emotions?" he suggested. When he saw Henrik's frown, he smiled and added, "Didn't you say he was in a witch body the past year or so?"

"Right," Henrik mumbled. "I forgot about that." They didn't say anything else until they reached the bar. Francis opened the door for him. It didn't take Henrik long to find Kol and Davina. Everyone in the bar was giving them a wide berth, none of them wanting to get anywhere near an Original vampire or a shunned witch. Henrik released a heavy sigh and walked toward them, raising his eyebrows expectantly when his brother noticed him first.

"What do you want?" he demanded. He didn't think it was necessary to be polite about it. "I'd like to be home sleeping right now. You're lucky I came at all."

"Okay, well, do you know how he's been having...anger management problems?" Davina said after a beat of silence, glancing at Kol nervously. Henrik sighed, nodding his head. Kol scowled when he did, though Henrik didn't know why. "It turns out that the Ancestors corrupted the spell that brought him back. They're controlling him, making him bloodthirsty. There's a hex in his blood." Henrik's eyebrows shot up, though this time it was in surprise. He shot Kol a disbelieving look.

"Why in the world would the Ancestors hex you?" he demanded. "It seems pointless considering they're supporting Lucien. They obviously think he's going to kill us all for them anyway."

"They're trying to get to me," Davina admitted. "I made them angry." Henrik's gaze moved from Kol to Davina. His disbelief turned to incredulous anger in seconds, and he had to take a moment to remember that it wasn't her fault he was exhausted, and that he was annoyed and angry before he had even heard her say those words. Reminding himself of those things did nothing to help him control his tongue.

"Are you telling me," he said slowly, "that my brother is cursed because you pissed off the Ancestors?" Judging from the twin looks of shock on both of their faces, neither Davina nor Kol had expected that reaction from him. They had vastly underestimated just how much of a bad mood he was in. Francis was leaning against the bar nearby, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. His happy, casual mood seemed to disappear the second they entered the bar. Henrik had forgotten how easy it was for him to hide who he really was around people who didn't know him. Francis met his gaze and quirked an eyebrow. He must have seen that Henrik was starting to lose his temper, but he didn't step in to try to calm Henrik down.

Henrik appreciated that. He didn't like it when people tried to calm him down. Francis knew that it was better to let Henrik calm down on his own.

"Henrik, this isn't her fault," Kol said, making Henrik pull his gaze away from Francis. He shot Kol a glare.

"Oh, I beg to differ." Next, he shot a glare at Davina, who looked like she was miserable. "I told you the first day I met you not to do anything stupid, and then you proceeded to order a goddamn massacre and got yourself shunned—"

"You don't have to remind me," Davina snapped. "Henrik, I'm trying to fix this—"

"You're failing." He knew he didn't need to say that. Davina clearly knew that she was in over her head. Otherwise, she wouldn't have called Henrik for his help. Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand through his hair and shot an exasperated look toward the ceiling. He took in a deep breath to calm himself down. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though not kinder. "Look, I can't deal with this right now. Lucien is still out there, if you don't remember. I have to focus on finding a cure. I don't have time for this shit. You're the one who caused this, Davina. You deal with it."

"Henrik—" Kol started, looking angry himself. Henrik was already turning away, his blood boiling. He couldn't believe they had dragged him away from something as important as finding a cure to Lucien's bite for this. Kol had always been temperamental and bloodthirsty. He had been that way for centuries. This was nothing new. If he truly got out of control, then Henrik would get involved. Until then, it wasn't his problem.

"Let him go," Francis murmured. Kol had probably moved as if to follow Henrik. He didn't follow Henrik as he stormed toward the door, and he didn't appear beside him as Henrik walked down the sidewalk. Henrik was grateful for the space, for the moment he was given to cool down. It occurred to him that he was being a little irrational, but his head was pounding, his body ached, and he was so incredibly tired that he couldn't bring himself to care.

He just wanted to go to sleep and hope that all his problems disappeared in the morning.

He was so tired that he didn't even think before he cut through an empty lot, knowing that the shortcut would get him home faster. He should have known that it wouldn't be an easy trip. He should have stayed on the sidewalk, even if it would have taken him longer to get home. Henrik didn't even have enough energy to be surprised when Lucien suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his path. All he could do was stare and let out a frustrated groan.

"Are you serious? Do we have to do this now?" Henrik demanded. He could tell Lucien was annoyed by his lack of a reaction. He just didn't care. "Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm exhausted." Lucien looked at him for a moment, then smirked and let his gaze search behind Henrik, as if he was looking for something.

"A shame," Lucien sighed dramatically, tilting his head. His smirk was grating at Henrik's nerves. "I was hoping your darling boyfriend would be with you. How I wanted to see your face when I sentenced him to die." Henrik knew that Lucien was trying to bait him into a reaction. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but give him one. He saw red the second Lucien started to speak. His magic shot toward him before he even finished his threat. His goal was to rip Lucien's heart out of his chest, but despite how much blood appeared on Lucien's shirt, his heart wouldn't budge.

By the time Henrik gave up, Lucien was panting, but so was he.

"Whoo!" Lucien said once he caught his breath, letting out a delighted laugh. "That actually hurt! I'm pleasantly surprised." Henrik glared as he sucked in breaths through clenched teeth. Lucien clicked his tongue. "Well. This was a bust. I was really hoping—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Henrik snapped. It was hardly the rudest thing Henrik had ever said, but Lucien's face twisted in rage regardless. His next movements were nothing but blurs, and the next thing he knew, something was soaring toward him. He wasn't quite fast enough to stop it, and the next second, he saw nothing but black.

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edited: 6.24.18