The Boy and his Wolf solo

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

What’s that on your hand? It’s red, it oozes, and it’s not yours.

KILLER.

“I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or surprised that the half-blood filth wanted to be your friend. How do you wish to taint this household further, Niklaus?”

You would face the callous voice head on as you always would with your chin held high, your lips sparking with defiance as they form into that signature grin. That usual charm of yours would taken no blows despite the man’s harsh, grating accent, for it is merely another distraction as your muscles tense in preparation for an easy strike. If those words are directed at you you would leave claiming they offered you no trouble as you walk off, waving a hand dismissively. But they are not, and your features are devoid of any expression but pure, unwavering rage.

You have never felt wrath before. Anger, perhaps; indignation, rarely; but this emotion is one you do not know how to control. It is those blazing flames you have reminded yourself time and time again to douse, yet today it is no simple bonfire, but a forest fire, burning its way through your senses until you are rendered an inferno incarnate, until you care for nothing more than to eat away at anything before you. It does not do your bidding, you do its. And some sick part of you revel in that - or maybe it was only the rational part.

Always the mediator, you have barred yourself from choosing sides since childhood. Compromises were your closest associate, for agreeing with everyone is disagreeing with no one. You have tried to convince yourself it is not in you to lose yourself to sheer fury, but the match had always only been waiting to be struck. For hurting your best friend, your brother, crosses are your lines. Not only because he is the sweetest, most innocent yet most troubled soul you have ever met, but because he is your best friend, your brother. No one is allowed to touch a hair on Nikolai’s head.

You know you would do anything for him, so before you know it, you do. You pounce forward in a motion you have already fantasised about in the embrace of darkness. This time you do not leap in front of him to take a hit or drag him out of lurking danger. No, you have watched for far too long, so this time you become the hit; this time you become the danger. The evil must be uprooted from its very origins. There is no point in cleaning wounds only to have blood flow once more.

You are a boy, not the protagonist of an action movie. Time does not slow for you. Light does not halo around your head. Because you are no god, you are no angel, you do not claim yourself as glorious. You are a boy, and while you struggle to admit it, you are only a boy. Yet all the evidence turns to prove otherwise, for boys have mud caked in their fingernails. You, on the other hand, have something else, brighter in shade, but darker in nature. Today you are a boy hero, but you will never escape being a killer.

The dagger is buried deep into the man’s back. At first all you can see is that hilt you have always found so intricately carved. Then as you near you see the wound peaking through torn away clothing, you see his body struggle before it gives out and slackens, you see the puddle of blood spreading in a deathly farewell. What you never see is his face, yet you never needed to, you know him well enough already. There needs no explanation after the monster who torments your brother. You know it. You would do anything in a fucking heartbeat.

You do not bother to check for pulse nor breath; you do not need to either. You know he is gone for the shadow in the room has finally slipped away. You kick the beast’s corpse with more restraint than it deserves, then the words leave your moth with such a cold indifference you hardly recognise it:

“His name is Nikolai.”

Footsteps. The tall, drunken figure of a middle-aged woman. The repetition of a name you are sick of hearing.

“Niklaus!”

In one swift, almost trained action, the dagger is in your hands once more. You grip it to your heart as if it is everything you have left, which it is. But the weapon does not stay in your hands for long, soon enough it is lodged in chest of a woman, hair Nikolai’s platinum blonde but in comparison to the angelic figure of your brother it might as well be char black in colour. You do not see her face either, but just as before you do not need to, as you step over her, the only boundary left between you and the person you did all of this for.

And so it is done.

You do not know what your heart is like anymore, but you tell yourself not to look. It does not matter. Nothing matters. Your hands are sticky to the touch but they are for all the right reasons. You have done the only right thing; you could not have chosen any other path. You need to protect him and that is exactly what you did. Everything in the room is washed in a delicious crimson, the world loses its colour to monochrome, except for that faintly shining figure in the distance, the reminder of your purpose, staring at you. Waiting for you.

For the first time you see your brother so clearly, starkly contrasting agains the burgundy backdrop, see his bright sunshine from across the room, see it despite its distant, struggling flicker. He is still cowering, his defences torn down with fear carved in those electrifying blue eyes. You would hate seeing anyone like this, but your anger is not finished when you see Nikolai like this. All you want is to let him hold onto you and tell him that everything is fine.

So you run towards him in a familiar motion. You run towards him like when you see him waiting after your training. You run towards him like that day in Hogmeade’s square. You run towards him, like you have done so many times before. You run towards him, like nothing has changed. You run towards him, because you know, no matter what you have done, he could always love you.

You kneel down, and with the same hands that had killed you cup his cheeks in them, just as you have done only mere hours before. You cradle his face as if he is everything that matters, because he is exactly that. You would never hurt him, more so you would never allow anyone else to dare to hurt him. Yet you feel a grimace spread onto that visage you know so well, a twitch as his bright blue eyes flicked away from yours. But you don’t understand, because you did all this for him.

You hug him, fearing you have done something wrong. You hug him, and you promise him this is the last time. When he is still to your unreciprocated love you only hug him tighter, feeling your palms press against a set of heaving ribs as the dagger lies forgotten on the ground. You hug him even tighter, whisper into him time and time again words you will never get tired of offering. He is safe, he is home, he is with you he can hug you back. But still Nikolai does not. It doesn’t work, nothing works.

“It’s all over now. It’ll never happen again. I swear.”

It is a promise you say over and over again until your throat is dried up, until you feel like clawing it out, but still that is not enough. He is everything to you, yet you are treated as if you are nothing to him.

“I am doing all this for you. You know this.”

As your brother struggle under your grasp you gently let him go. You do not want to hurt him any further, but you are bewildered. You are no Volkov, yet he seems to see one in you. But that makes no sense; after all, you are his best friend, are you not? Your eyes frantically search for an answer as Nikolai’s words replay in your head and this time with the tables are turned — you are the one desperate to say them. I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me, I can't bare for you to hate me, anything but that. Not like we used to, I can't Hans, please I can’t. Unlike earlier today, however, when you had reassured him nothing will ever change how much you love him, no such comfort would come to you.

“It’s me, Nikolai. I did this all for you. I don’t understand… why wouldn’t you hug me?”

You did do it all for him, but he abhors you and you can feel it in that gaze you know as well as your own. When he stands up and steps away from you you do not move. You feel frozen, but even if you do not you would not have known what to do. He does not turn away, those icy eyes kept on you as if you might turn the blade on him any second. His body shakes, and you do not know if it is from fright or the rage you share. He stares as you with the same, heartbreaking hatred as trepidation hangs palpable in the air. But there is no monster behind you anymore; no, your brother is looking right at you. To him you are the monster, and you want to cry. You feel tears prick at your eyes but you do not know how to protest, you do not want to aggravate like you had before. This is the second time that Nikolai is leaving you, and suddenly all the memories of the aftermath of the first floods back to you. Skin a minefield of half-healed scars and purple bruises, tears that begged him not to hate him, everything you had tried to forget by tonight grew to be too vivid, taunting you, daring you to let the same fate fall upon your retreating brother. You know it can never happen again. You had made it your duty and after all you had done it shall not end tonight. You need to save him.

“Nikolai… it’s me. Please, Nikolai. I love you. Let me” - you choke, it is almost as if the cruel mistress of fate does not want you to finish - “Let me help you. Please, I love you.”

But when he turns on his heel and runs, you realise you cannot stop him. So instead, you too drop your fearless nature and flee yourself. You sprint like you never had before, not bothering to conserve your energy and focus on your breathing as you have been told. The world disappears around you, but it is not the same as when it did in London, nor at Hogwarts, not even moments before in the Durmstrangnian clinic. There is only one difference, and for how small it is it is fierce devastating — this time Nikolai disappears with it. This time your hand is not pressed tightly onto his chest, you are not clenching onto his hand, or locking your chocolate brown eyes onto his lightning storm ones as they are flung open. You run, utterly alone, your only company being the portraits that glare down on you, and you swear you see Nikolai’s image on those stone cold walls. There is nothing else other than that disapproving grimace. Not even rain or dew or the incoherent background noise of the hospital wing. In your haste you do not even realise the red shadow chasing you.

You can't run from yourself, boy.

You have never been one to care much for those florid metaphors, and today emotion is so demanding that you even forget the properties of science. You know that patch of darkness clenching onto your soles will follow you wherever you go, but still you try to shake it off in a desperate attempt. You do not care for your shadow, you do not care for these voices, you do not care for anything. You only want to keep running, to run to pain away as that sharp prodding in your chest distracts you from the throbbing in your heart. You run like you did that night when Nikolai had left, without purpose nor direction.

You run until you hit glass and are forced to an unwelcome stopped. It fractures against your skull as you ram into it, oblivious to the broken pieces raining down around you. You hold onto the frame as you once held on to your brother, as if it is everything that is left in the world, before you feel your hands slip down along the slick metal and hit the cold marble floor. Everything is the same, and you can hear his words in your head -- today was no different than when you had collapsed in the shadow of the mountain too fatigued or too defeated, except today towering over you is that the Scottish landscape but yourself. Everything comes back to you in a conversation you can't bear to keep up with. Your replies get shorter and shorter, like ripped up pieces of paper drifting in the winter wind.

Hans Jenssen, you are one of the most courageous people I know. I couldn't imagine having a more reliable and loyal brother. You would truly do anything for me, I see that and I love you for it.

-No, I did everything for you. You saw it, but you didn't love me for it! You just-

You never chose to leave me, unlike they did, even after everything I put you through. I hope you can make that choice again one day. I love you but I won't hurt you.

-I never chose to leave you, but you chose to leave me! You hurt me-

Goodbye Hans. I'm so sorry. I hope I'll have the chance to apologise properly.

-Why do you go again? Stay Nikolai, I l-

You are callously cut off as even his voice disappears into the wind. Finally, you gather yourself, and force your body to rise, if only to dispel the haunting presence of your best friend's ghost, turning tentative eyes towards what is left of the mirror.

And staring back at you, the glowing eyes of a wolf. It bore its teeth and grinned.


Waking up in a cold sweat, exhaustion caught up to Hans as all he could manage was stare upwards at the bare ceiling. Eyelids begging him to flutter shut again after the unbearably long day his mind had other thoughts as they debated against entering the nightmarish dreamscape again. His body ached as if all the world's anger had just been let out against him, and brief terror flitted over his eyes as his numb body refused to move. Bolting upwards, his gaze turned to the bed beside him on instinct, whether seeking for help or confirming it was all just a fruit of his imagination. When he realised there was no sleeping figure in the still-made blankets he almost felt relieved.

For once Hans was glad Nikolai was not here. There were no secrets kept from the boy he trusted most, but Hans feared the boy he trusted most would see him a monster.