This is merely an introduction. Depending on the response I plan to continue writing.
It had been a long, tedious, and exhausting week since that night. Everyone was on edge and ever since the moment he found out that Doctor Psycho had spiked Elena's IV with Damon's blood Stefan had been spiraling into an ever deepening state of brooding. Damon suspected that part of his agitation was being in a three way relationship with Elena and whatever drink she had at the moment - which was varying from blood bags, to squirrels, to the one time she'd even, "accidentally", bitten Stefan after one of their arguments. And regardless of Stefan's apparent composure Damon was certain his brother was still dealing with a lot of internal struggle. Both over his effort to pretend as if he had no issues fighting his not-quite-overcome blood addiction and his choice to let Elena choose to die in that car crash.
(While Damon could hardly feel smug in this situation he had still found a comfortably appropriate time to tell his brother I told you so.)
And now, Damon had left Stefan to tend to Elena on his own while he made a quick get away for a few moments to himself for the first time all week. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Damon found himself standing in front of the Salvatore crypt with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses in hand. As he walked in his eyes traveled over the vaguely familiar scenery. Stone coffins set into the concrete walls, vines of various species peaking through the cracks, and the stench of mildew overpowering the scent of the caretakers freshly cut grass flooding in through the open door. Damon made a mental note to tell Stefan not to let anyone bury him here, it was suffocating him even in his after life and he couldn't bare the thought of his unconscious remains being stuck here for all eternity.
Damon took a seat. His back pressed against the wall as he twisted open the bottle and filled both glasses to the brim. Leaving one where it was as he placed the other on the spot next to him where Ric had been sitting little over a week ago. If Damon sat there in the silence long enough he was sure to hear the echo of his last laugh trapped between these crumbling walls. Without effort he could recall the sound of Alaric's slowing heartbeats as well as he could recall each word that past between them in those last few moments.
'Sorry I killed you... twice.'
He chuckled feebly at the memory, but Damon secretly regretted his half-hearted apology. It had been sincere and, truthfully, the only words he could conjure at the time but there were so many things he could say now. Like how Alaric was, without a doubt, Damon's best friend. How, regardless of everything he'd done that might show otherwise, Damon would have given his life for Ric to be able to live his.
When Damon had finally come to terms with the fact that it would always be Stefan all he had wanted was a drink with his best friend while he told him how dumb he was for chasing Elena in the first place. Now, as Damon stared into the depths of the all too familiar golden brown liquid he knew there was no going back.
Damon picked up the glass as he stared at the spot where the other remained, pursing his lips in an attempt to keep the emotions he'd built up this past week from boiling over. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke in a soft whisper. "This is to you, Ric. Where ever you are. You were a good man through and through." After a moment of silence Damon nodded as if deciding those words would do and he raised the glass to his lips, downing the burning liquid in a steady and continuous pace. As per his life long philosophy to not waste good alcohol he set down his glass and reached for the bottle, eager to drown his emotions.
As the bottle neared it's limit he tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling, to down it all at once. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowed figure. As his eyes darted over the sight caused him to take in a harsh breath, his glossy eyes wide as his mouth hung open in a mix of shock and fear. The only sound for the longest seconds he could recall was the crashing of the breaking bottle against the concrete floor. The shadow stepped forward, his small smile topped by his sand colored mess of hair and his dark gaze.
"I know it's your birthday and all, but leave some for the rest of us old man." Alaric said, a chuckle ringing through the silence as he stepped closer to Damon.