Disclaimer: I don't own TVD or these two wonderful characters. I wish I did. Sadly, I don't.
Her first thought is that they must be in some kind of purgatory, because it sure as hell can't be heaven. No way. Fate wouldn't be so unkind as to have her share heaven with the likes of Damon Salvatore. Cruel wouldn't even begin to describe that scenario. Besides, isn't heaven supposed to be all clouds and fat little angels playing harps and singing about eternal happiness? This place is definitely not that.
The blinding light that swallows them as the Other Side falls apart doesn't kill them, or leave them blind, or rip their bodies apart until they are a vast bit of nothing. Nope. One second they are there and the next they are here, and when she's in complete control of her senses once again, she realizes they are standing before of a beautiful house; a very familiar looking house—the house that six-year old Bonnie always dreamed of having when she grew up, every detail she sees an exact match to the image from her dreams. There are a million questions racing through her mind, but she is simply too relieved to question anything at that point, momentarily overwhelmed with relief at the fact that they are both alive. Damon, however, has questions the moment he opens his eyes, and so she takes a deep breath through her nose, looks at him, and tells him what she thinks: that Grams must have ensured her survival somehow, that the more she thinks about it, the more she's convinced that this is her personal afterlife, a tiny section of time and space carved out for her to live out eternity in peace, and he's just lucky enough to be a long for the ride and once again escape the jaws of permanent death. The glare he sends her way makes her chuckle, but he does squeeze her hand once before walking away, making for the front door and intent on exploring the house.
Her own exploration of the house just strengthens her conviction: this place was made for her. Everything about it—every room, every detail—is a fitting reflection of who she is, who she wanted to be, what she loves. It's her, and she loves it.
Damon… Damon doesn't, at least, not at first. The first couple of days he walks around examining everything—the inside, the outside, the land around it—all with a deep scowl on his face. With the exception of this house and her, he finds nothing and no one, and when he tells her as much, she can tell that it bothers him. He doesn't say it, but she can see it in the way his eyes narrow suspiciously at everything, in the stiffness of his shoulders, and the way his hands tighten into fists whenever he looks around. He's not happy here, and she doesn't know how to ease his mind his mind and pacify his aggression, so she says nothing and tries to send a sympathetic smile his way from time to time.
/
One thing she does know is that he's desperate for a way back to his life, to Stefan, to Elena. She's positive his many hours spent outside are dedicated to finding something—anything—that could and would help him get home; she doesn't blame him. She would be doing the same, if she believed that there was even the slightest possibility of getting back. But she knows there isn't it. Call it magical intuition, or just a gut feeling. She knows it in her heart that they can't do a damned thing about it. So she doesn't.
She tries telling Damon this one day, making an attempt to convince him that he's just wasting his time, that there is nothing more to be done about their situation. His expressions turns thunderous when she insists on it, and he charges out the door, not a word or glance directed her way. When he returns later that afternoon though, his shoulders are slumped and he has such a crestfallen look on his face that she knows he's come to acknowledge with the truth of her words. The sight of him like this breaks her heart, and she vows never to bring this up again.
/
The realization of their circumstances changes him. He's quieter, less prone to aggressive outbursts, and he doesn't walk around scowling and frowning at everything anymore.
She'll count it as a win for her.
/
Despite the tension that still lingers between them, they establish a daily routine almost instantly. She wakes first, leaves her room freshly showered and dressed, goes to the kitchen, and makes breakfast. She's always been an early riser, always felt more productive when rising with the sun, and the afterlife certainly doesn't change that. So she's the first one down the stairs, and she gets the day started. She knows he's up earlier than she is, but she lets him have his quiet mornings, his time to prepare himself to face yet another day here. When he does come down, she has breakfast ready, and with a small nod of appreciation from him, they eat.
It's during breakfast that they begin to learn new things about themselves. She finds that he prefers waffles to pancakes, and like to accompany them with a glass of milk instead of coffee. He learns that she likes pancakes more, and that she likes to pour a small amount of syrup on her scrambled eggs.
The first time he catches her doing this he grins at her and raises his eyebrows in question.
"What? It's good! Don't knock it 'til you try it!"
He's still staring.
"Don't judge me!"
And with that, she scoops up a bit of the eggs and stuffs it in her mouth. He laughs.
The morning coffee she makes for herself, because she quickly picks up on the fact that he likes to have his later in the day, when it's just him, his books, and silence. But whatever they're having in the mornings, they always eat together. Breakfast is never spent alone. It isn't discussed. It just happens. They sit together at the table and eat, speaking very little, but never needing to. She enjoys his company—is grateful for it—and by the look of peace on his face, she knows he is too.
/
The days pass in a steady and calm blur. Reading is her preferred pastime here, just as it was back in her old life. It is a comfort here—it always has been, to her—and she loves browsing through their library (because yes, her dream house does come equipped with a room with hundreds of shelves and thousands of books for every interest, thank you very much), finding one that piques her interest, and getting comfortable in a chair outside on the porch, a glass of cold sweet tea in her hand and a good book in the other.
He spends his time doing the same, though he prefers the comfort of being indoors instead. A faster reader that she is, he breezes through several books in the time it takes her to finish just one, and every time she goes to pick a new one, there are stacks and stacks of books he's already completed. She doesn't intrude on his space, usually leaves him to read and ponder in peace. Even so, there are days where the loneliness plaguing her is too much to bare, and she finds herself in the library as well, sitting beside him, absorbed in her own book. Damon says nothing when she comes in and sits down, only offers her a small smile, so let's herself enjoy the tranquility as she reads.
/
She doesn't expect their shared afterlife to be all sunshine and happiness for them, despite the easy nature of their relationship here. They have their bad days, days when he makes it explicitly clear that their isolation bothers him, that the silence surrounding them annoys him. He misses his life, misses having people around him (even if most of them did annoy the hell out him), and on days like these, he leaves right after breakfast, only reappearing until way after the sun has set. She doesn't question him, doesn't ask where he goes or what he does. He's still dealing with leaving everything behind—she knows this because she's going through the motions too—and so she leaves him in peace. If he wants to reach out to her, he knows where she is.
/
On days like these, she finds herself locked in her room, a pen in her hand and an open journal on her desk. When the urge to write first struck her one day, seemingly out of the blue, she was pleasantly surprised; she's never been one to keep a diary or anything of the sort, but she's always loved having something she can pour her heart and soul into. That was her magic once, in another life, and although she still practices and exercises her powers, she finds that writing is just as effective an outlet as magic. And, they've been here for six months (approximately, if her time keeping is to accurate as she thinks—and hopes—it as), and she needs to vent her frustrations and organize her thoughts somehow, so writing it is.
She writes about anything and everything she can possibly think of. She writes about how confused (and grateful, so very grateful) she is that she's not dead, wonders if it was God or fate or some other cosmic power who decided that she was worth saving, that a reason for her being alive still exists out there—out here. Whatever. And she wonders if the universe is still laughing at her now, because she's here, stuck in the afterlife, with the most frustrating person she has ever had the misfortune of meeting, even if they are getting along now.
Most of the time, however, she writes about home, about her friends and family; the people that she grew up with, the ones she sacrificed everything for. She writes because she misses them, because she thinks about them every day, wonders what they're doing and how they're feeling and if they're still mourning her and Damon, even after all these months. But mostly, she writes about them because she doesn't want to forget.
And so she dedicates the pages of her journal to her friends; to Caroline—beautiful, golden, fierce Caroline, always bubbly and smiley and full of life, even in death. She writes about the girl who was always quick to smile, regardless of the circumstances, and even quicker to defend those she loves. To Elena next, her closest and dearest friend; the girl with the biggest heart Bonnie's ever known, who was always willing to see the good in people, to show compassion to those who deserved it. Thinking of the two girls makes her feel as though someone is ripping her heart out of her chest, and she always ends up writing through her tears.
She writes about Jeremy's tenacity and determination, and mentions his desire to prove himself to others; and she writes about the way his love made her feel like the luckiest girl in the world, because that love will always be so precious to her. She writes about Matt as well, the boy who stood by her side through anything and everything, and she writes about how she'll miss his steadfast and comforting presence. And she writes about Stefan, the vampire with the human heart and the tortured soul, so gentle and understanding and never one to judge others. She writes about how much she loves those boys, and how much she misses them. She cries every time she writes their name.
She writes about Damon too, despite the fact that he's here with her. She's faced with the possibility of sharing the afterlife with him, and although she's still not sure what that will be like in the future, right now she is grateful for his presence; despite everything, he is her last and only connection to the life she left behind, and when she sees him, her heart and soul don't feel so troubled (there's no way she'll ever tell him this, or else the teasing would probably never stop).
/
The nights she does write she ends up crying herself to sleep, her friends' faces and voices circling her mind and making her heart ache. She's sure Damon can hear her soft sniffles and hiccups (his vampire sense are still as acute as ever), and it's evident by the soft footsteps that come down the hall and stop right outside her closed door. He never comes in though, never knocks, just stands there. She knows he can make his way around the house unheard, so his steps are purposefully loud, and his message is loud and clear: I'm here. You are not alone.
And sometimes, when she's close to sleep and not thinking so clearly, she wishes he would come in and stay with her, boundaries be damned. She doesn't voice her wish though, he doesn't come in, and she usually falls into a troubled sleep.
He doesn't say anything the following mornings, a fact that she is extremely grateful for. He does, however, smile at her when she enters the kitchen and finds that he's already made pancakes and brewed her favorite blend of coffee. She gives him a quiet thank you and her heart feels lighter.
/
The afterlife is, more or less, a daily repetition of the following (with some variations, here and there): have breakfast together, read quietly and peacefully, have the occasional heated literary discussion, have a delicious dinner, courtesy of Damon—"Never let it be said that Damon Salvatore isn't an exceptional chef," he'll say, prompting her to shake her head in amusement and laugh—and then part ways for the night.
They'll long walks too, on days when she wants to soak up the sun, feel it's rays dance on her skin, and they both just want to breathe in the fresh air. And so they walk together, talking about whatever comes to mind and reminiscing about the past; sharing ridiculous stories about the people they've left behind becomes a common thing between them, and each story has them laughing with such mirth that tears stream from their eyes.
Still, there are days when the past is too painful to recall, and they choose walk in silence instead, neither willing to destroy the day's peace with unbidden memories. Those silent strolls take place more often than not, and on the days they do, she carefully slips her hand into his and gives it a gentle squeeze. She sees the corners of his lip turn upward in a slight smile, and squeezes again.
They have their good days, and their bad. But together, they heal.
/
In truth, it's a surprise that something like this hasn't happened sooner, considering that it's more than a year into their shared afterlife. Nightmares don't plague her (they never have), so she is completely unprepared for the dream she encounters this particular night.
It starts out pleasantly enough. Her friends—Elena, Caroline, Stefan, Matt, Jeremy—sitting in the living room of the Salvatore mansion, all of them talking and laughing and looking so happy that she swears she can feel her heart jolt in chest, despite her slumbering state. She sees them as clearly as if she were there herself, and she wants to reach out and touch them, wants it more than she's ever wanted anything in all her 21 years of living. Their smiles are more beautiful than she remembers, utterly enchanting in all their vividness and brilliance, and she wants to bottle up their light and have it illuminate the deepest and darkest corners of her heart. She's so completely enraptured by the sight before her, so overwhelmed with love and longing, that she almost doesn't realize what's so strange about this dream. She can see her friends, but she can't hear them. Elena and Stefan are talking, but she can't hear her best friend's melodic voice, or the young vampire's soft one. She looks over at the others, moves closer to them, but even that doesn't bring Caroline's giggles, Matt's deep chuckles, or Jeremy's laughter, to life.
Her distress at this is enough to wake her and when she comes to, she is not all too aware of what woke her up. It takes a second for the memory of the dream to make it's way through the hazy blanket of sleep that blankets her mind, but when it does, her heart stops. Her mind quickly forms the image of each face in her mind (she doesn't think she'll ever not be able to conjure up their beautiful faces; she has their every line and curve carved into the valleys of her very soul), but the voice isn't there. Immediately, she closes her eyes and tries her hardest to bring those sounds to the forefront of her mind. Memories flood her mind, and she desperately tries to find and hold on to voices she can't remember anymore. Minutes pass and nothing. There is a deafening silence, both around her and in her mind, and her heart falls apart.
Her entire body is shaking. Both hands are clapped over her mouth in an attempt to silence the screams that are clawing their way up her throat. She can't breathe. Her legs give out from under her and she hits the floor with a soft thud. She does nothing to stop the tears falling down her cheeks. She can't. She doesn't want to. She's tried her hardest to stay strong from the minute she got here all those months ago, but it's not enough right now. She's barely holding on. Her heart hurts too much, her sanity is slipping, and it's just too much.
"Damon…" she whispers, hoping that he's close enough to hear her. "Damon, please…"
An instant later, Damon is kneeling by her side, blue eyes wide and filled with worry. She wastes no time and immediately throws her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
He's here now, her mind tells her. You called him, and he came.
She's probably a complete mess, and she knows he's never seen her like this. Nobody has, but she doesn't care. Not now, not anymore. She tightens her hold on him and nettles closer.
"Bonnie?"
He doesn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She has no idea what he must be thinking or feeling right now about her seemingly irrational behavior, but she's just so glad that he's here, that she's not alone. She needs to feel safe, needs to calm her racing heart, and right now, her mind is telling her that Damon is safety and comfort and warmth and everything she needs to be able to breathe again.
His arms tighten around her before pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.
"Bonnie." His eyes still wide, his lips narrowed slightly. He is serious, calm, and completely focused on her.
"Hey. What is it? What's wrong?" One of his hands is on her shoulder, the other cradling her face, his thumb gently stroking the curve of her cheek. He holds her close, and for a brief moment, her mind is clear enough to be grateful for his presence. His touch gives her the strength to take a deep breath, find her voice, and speak.
"I can't remember." Her voice trembles, and it's barely audible, but it's loud enough to reach his ears, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion a second later.
"What? What can't you remember?"
She closes her eyes. Their faces swim in her mind, and her heart feels like it's breaking all over again.
"I can't remember what they sound like."
He freezes. His reply is short, quiet, his voice unwavering.
"What who sounds like?"
This time, she opens her eyes, because she needs to look into his eyes when she answers.
"Jeremy. Matt. Caroline."
His face doesn't betray him, and he doesn't visibly react at these names. The only reason she knows he's affected at all is because she's still in his arms, and each names causes him to flinch—a barely controlled action done unconsciously, she's sure of it.
She doesn't want to continue, but she does.
"Elena. Stefan."
At Elena's name, though, he looks away. Stefan's name must be the last straw because his hands fall away from her and his eyes fall shut. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything. His reaction makes this nightmare more real than ever, and she doesn't know what to do. So she just talks.
"I can't- I can't remember what their voices sound like. I was dreaming… they were in my dream and I couldsee them, Damon. So clear and so close and so damn beautiful. And they were talking and smiling and laughing and they were happy. And I couldn't hear them."
She wipes the tears from her cheeks and tries to get herself to stop crying, but she can't. She takes a deep breath. She doesn't stop talking.
"I woke up and I tried so hard—I tried so hard to remember. I'm trying now, and nothing. I want to remember. I need to remember. But I can't. And I don't know how to fix it. What do I do, Damon?" Her voice breaks, and it makes Damon's eyes snap back up to meet hers.
"I don't want to forget them."
And then the dam breaks, and she starts sobbing. Overwhelmed with such an immense feeling of loss and heartbreak, she cries and cries and she's pretty sure she won't ever be able to stop. She cries for herself, for having been forced to abandon Elena and Caroline and Matt; for breaking Jeremy's heart, for not having been strong enough to send Damon back, because now Stefan doesn't have his brother. She cries for her dad and Grams. She cries for Damon too, because Elena loved him and she lost him and he lost her and now he's here, stuck with her, and even that makes her cry.
She hasn't felt this lost and broken since her grandmother died. She had her friends—her family—with her then and now… now she has nothing; nothing but her tears, her broken heart, and Damon.
She cries some more. She cries until her soul feels numb, and even then, the tears keep falling all on their own.
She doesn't know how much time has passed since he found her. She feels like cried for an eternity, but whether it's minutes or hours in reality, it doesn't matter now. She doesn't care. She's too tired to care.
When she feels like she can finally breathe deeply again, she opens her eyes, and it's only then that she realizes that she's curled up on Damon's lap, and that he's relocated them from the hard wooden floor to her bed. Damon is leaning on the headboard and his arms are holding her to his chest. She startles slightly, her whole body tensing, but she doesn't move. She's still crying, her tears silently falling now, but Damon has yet to do or say anything to indicate that she should move. She's surprised by the notion that she doesn't want to move. For once, she wants to enjoy it, this unexpected comfort she's found here in his arms.
As if reading her thoughts, she feels him move, as though he's settling himself more comfortable on the bed. He takes a deep breath and she feels him tighten his hold on her simultaneously, a move that seems very unlike him—but she won't complain.
They stay like that for several minutes, not word spoken by either of them. She can't help but think that they're both taking comfort in each other's presence, because even though she can't see his face, it's evident in the way his arms feel around her. He's holding her like she's the only real thing he has left. Funny, because he's the only part of her life here that even feels real anymore.
She hears him clear his throat and she can't help but tilt her head up and look at him. She does, and she freezes.
His eyes are red and wet. There is look of raw emotion on his face, one that she's never seen before. She knows her words and her tears must have hit him hard, but she never thought he'd let her be witness to such a display of vulnerability. She mutters a quiet I'm sorry to let him know that she never meant to let her grief affect him, didn't want to burden him the way she so obviously has.
He blinks and it's the only reaction that lets her know he's heard her. That is, until he speaks.
"Don't apologize, witch", he says, his voice low and his tone tender.
"You of all people shouldn't be apologizing to me." He looks down, meeting her eyes, before he continues. "This isn't your fault. None of it is."
She tries to look away, but he doesn't let her, tilting her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze.
"I don't blame you for any of it. I need you to know that." Now his eyes are boring into hers, as if he's willing her to believe him.
"Not for failing to get me back to the real world, and definitely not for getting me stuck here in this godforsaken place with you. I'd take this over permanent death any day." He offers her a smile at this, and her lips involuntarily return the smile.
"and sure, I miss Elena, and Stefan, and Vampire Barbie, and even Matt and Jeremy," their names accompanied by a roll of his eyes, "and Alaric and Liz. And I miss bourbon. And crazy-as-hell Mystic Falls. And my house. And milkshakes."
He winks at her and she laughs, turning her face into his chest in an effort to hide her growing grin.
"I know there's no going back," he says a moment later, once again turning serious. "God knows I'd give anything to go back, but it's not gonna happen. I'm okay with that. At least, I will be—eventually."
She nods, silently conveying her agreement with his "eventually".
One of his hands finds hers then, and he threads his fingers between hers, palm touching palm, and brings their intertwined hands up to rest against his chest.
"And I won't let you forget them. You got that?"
There's fire in Damon's eyes and conviction in his voice when he says this, and it brings a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
"If I have to tell you every little thing about Stefan that you don't know, I'll do it. I'll tell you everything. All the embarrassing stories about my precious baby brother from when he was little, and everything else from when we were growing up. And then you are gonna tell me everything you remember about Matt and Jeremy and Caroline and Elena, okay? You're gonna tell me about growing up with them and going to school and how you all became friends and what you love most about them and what you hated too, because I'm sure they did stupid things or had stupid little habits that annoyed you, yes?
She's both crying again and laughing now, and she replies with a watery "yeah".
"And we'll talk about them every day until we're fucking tired of thinking about them and mentioning them. And when we've run out of stories to tell, we'll start over and tell them to each all over again. And we won't forget Caroline or Matt or Caroline or Elena or Stefan. We'll keep their memories alive, and they'll keep us alive. We won't forget them, ever, because they belong to us. We had them, and we lost them, but they will always be ours, Bonnie." His voice breaks when he says her name, and he pauses to clear his throat before he continues. "They'll always be ours, and that will never change."
She reaches up and wipes away the tears that stream down his cheeks, and his eyes soften at her thoughtful action.
He swallows past the lump in his throat before continuing.
"We've got plenty of time, anyway. Possibly an eternity." His arms tighten around her, as if to support his words.
"And an afterlife with you? Well, that won't be too bad." The smile he gives her is genuine, without an ounce of mockery, and it makes her heart skip a beat.
"Speak for yourself," she teases. "You'll always be a pain in my ass."
He laughs at this, long and hard, a beautiful sound that warms her heart, and she can't help but join in, laughing and smiling up at him, her heart feeling lighter than it has all night. Her laughter is interrupted by a yawn, and she comes to the slow realization that she's incredibly tired, both physically and emotionally. Damon notices too. He lets go of her then, and she fully expects him to stand up and make his way out the door and to his room. He surprises her, however, when all he does is slide down the length of the bed, pull her back down to him, and wrap his arm around her shoulders, once again refusing to let her go completely. She tenses slightly but after a few minutes, allows herself to fully relax into his embrace.
"We've got another fun day ahead of us tomorrow, so get some sleep, Bennett," he mutters, and gives her a moment to settle against him and get comfortable. "We both need it."
Her eyelids are already growing heavier and heavier by the second, her body and mind finally catching up with everything that's happened tonight. But before she surrenders to sleep for the second time that night, she lifts her head from his shoulder, reaches up, and plants a soft kiss to Damon's cheek.
"Thank you, Damon," she whispers against his jaw. She feels herself blush slightly, but doesn't dwell too much on it, and she quickly settles back, closing her eyes once again and waiting for sleep to claim her.
"Anytime, Bonnie." The words are spoken in a voice much lower and quieter than hers, but she hears them, nevertheless, and they warm her tired and broken heart. He follows them with a quick but gentle kiss to her forehead, and the touch of his lips on her skin is the last thing she remembers before falling into slumber.
/