Author's Note: This is a one-shot I wrote a while back, before I ever really intended on writing any sort of on-going story for TVD fanfic. I just really enjoyed all the subtext in this scene of 3x22, and felt compelled to put it into words. Incidentally, it turns out to be a fairly relevant prequel of sorts to the current story I'm working on, "Gleaming the Cube", so I decided to go ahead and throw it up here, just cause. It's not written in the same exact style as GtC, but I think it still works as a short little prequel to that story.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.
The sudden look of vacancy in Alaric's eyes as Damon somehow managed to disarm the ensorcelled stake from the hunter's grasp, causing it to clatter upon the concrete ground beneath their feet, brought a terrifying cognizance to the forefront of Damon's mind. The elder Salvatore's raging fight-or-flight instincts, which previously consumed his thoughts and actions as he battled to survive against Alaric's murderous intent, were abruptly doused by the freezing wave of dread which washed over him.
Damon's icy blue eyes went wide as he stared back at the friend-turned-foe he had been violently grappling with—Alaric's footing staggered, and the seemingly unequivocal power he had used to pummel Damon bloody just moments before had swiftly abandoned him. The hunter's legs began to give out from beneath him, and he desperately clung to the back of Damon's neck and the sleeve of his black leather jacket.
Alaric's forceful grunts had quickly turned into hitched breaths, as if his lungs had suddenly ceased to function. The vigor behind his gaze had been drained—now hollow and confused, he looked back at Damon whose direful expression returned no comfort.
"…What's happening…?" Alaric managed with a fleeting gasp.
"Oh, no…" Damon muttered to himself—more of an involuntary vocalization of his frightened thoughts than a response to the hunter's lingering question.
"What's happening?!" Alaric repeated as whatever strength was left in his legs and the grasp holding him upright finally gave way, causing him to fall forward to his knees as a painful cry escaped from his throat.
"Ric…" Damon practically pleaded as he watched the hunter begin to collapse in horror, now frantically grasping at the material of Alaric's coat collar, as if to try to keep him standing on his feet, despite the fact that he was nearly driving a stake through Damon's chest mere moments ago.
"No! No, no, no…" Damon begged in rapid succession, quickly lowering himself down to his knees behind Alaric, slipping an arm over his shoulder and around his chest even as the hunter continued to howl out in an agonizing death rattle.
"Ric! No, no… No, no, no. Ric!" Damon continued helplessly as he cradled the deadweight of Alaric's sinking body in his arms back against his lap. The hunter's color began to fade from his skin, becoming more ashen and pale with each passing second. His veins and blood vessels began to visibly harden and protrude from beneath his skin as the flow of life within came to a slow stop. Damon stared down at the former history teacher with disbelief even as Alaric's increasingly lifeless eyes disappeared behind fleshy lids.
"You are not dead!" Damon insisted, the hand of the arm around the inanimate body of the hunter now cradling his chin to hold his head up—impetuously shaking him as he spoke, as if to rouse him from the eternal slumber he had just fallen into.
"You are not dead!" Damon repeated, his voice cracking as the chilling pangs of loss and the reality of the situation began to overwhelm him. His wide blue eyes shifted desperately over the petrified features of Alaric's face, his expression contorting in despair, as if refusing to believe what was painfully apparent to his own eyes.
The elder Salvatore hadn't been speaking to Alaric. No, he knew his vampire-hunting friend had already died the night of the decade dance. Alaric's new unlife had been tied to the life of the doppelganger—Elena Gilbert—as a caveat of Esther's blood magic which turned his closest friend into this immortal personification of the witch's wrath who now lay dead in Damon's arms. Thus, if Alaric was, in fact, dead—which, for all intents and purposes, he now seemed to be—that would invariably mean only one thing. Elena had also died.
Unacceptable.
Damon swallowed hard, steeling himself against the inevitability of it all—unwilling and unable to allow himself to believe that Elena could actually be lying dead somewhere. It simply was not possible. Not to Damon. It couldn't be.
"Where were you, Damon?"
"I promise you... I will never leave you again."
He pushed the grim thoughts from his consciousness, running a single hand through his wild, raven black head of hair before wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of his leather jacket. He had to find her. He had to see her. He had to make sure she was indeed alive, and well, and safe. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not Klaus, not Alaric, not the impending threat of death which loomed over him and anyone else who may belong to Klaus' bloodline. The only thing that mattered to him now—in this very moment—was Elena.
Damon lurched up from his kneeling position, sparing a moment to gather his wits about him and catch an unnecessary breath—many vampires still breathed out of thoughtless habit, despite the fact that they didn't need to. He glanced over his shoulder, surveying the situation, looking to Klaus' coffin resting near the open trunk-compartment of the SUV he had arrived in. He looked back to Alaric's corpse—he wanted to speed off to find Elena more than anything, but he wasn't about to leave such a mess behind for just anyone to find. With a sense of urgency, brought on by irrational impulses to abandon Klaus and Alaric warring against his reason, he wheeled the Original-hybrid's coffin to line up with the SUV's trunk and unceremoniously gave it a strong push, causing it to slide into the rear compartment and thud against the back of the rear seats. He paused for the briefest of moments, cobalt eyes locked on the closed coffin before warding off a question which nagged at his consciousness: How was he still alive?
No time for that now.
Damon lifted Alaric's corpse in both arms from the concrete ground, dragging him to the SUV's trunk compartment before roughly tossing him in next to Klaus' coffin. He slammed the trunk shut and straightened out his leather jacket as he scanned the area once more, making sure to leave no evidence of their presence behind. Cagey blue eyes caught sight of the discarded stake Esther had ensorcelled lying upon the ground where just moments before he had fought for his life. Several purposeful strides later he approached the driver's side door of Klaus' SUV, tucking the stake behind the breast of his leather jacket before opening the door and climbing inside. Shutting the door behind him as he twisted the key into the ignition, he slammed the SUV's gear into reverse and peeled out of the storage facility's dock.
Damon pushed the SUV to its limits as he made his way back to Mystic Falls as fast as he could, traffic laws and low profiles be damned.