Disclaimer: TVD is not mine, I don't own Damon or the copyright. The quote isn't mine either.

This story is going to start off from The Last Dance, and gradually grow into a Bamon story. I wondered how their relationship would grow after that, and I doubt that the show will go into it before season 3.

~Chapter One~

Just by the look of it
As in the way you wrote me off
I'm not supposed to see
Your eyes tell lies you mouth can never spill

~The Devil Beside You, The Used~

I can do this.

I'm strong.

I'm a Bennett witch—and not just any Bennett witch, I'm Shelia's granddaughter.

But none of that really matters, I would have put myself in this position even if I knew I couldn't defeat Klaus. Elena is the only family I have left. My grandmother is dead, my father is distant, and I don't even know what happened to my mother; though I used to imagine that she got kidnapped by an evil prince and she would come back to me as soon as she escaped.

I think I stopped believing in her when I turned six.

So—for all intents and purposes—Elena is my sister. And all I have left. So I can't let her die. If the death of a stranger torments me for days, I don't even want to consider what would happen if I lost Elena.

And to think, I'm actually trusting Damon with one of the most crucial steps in my plan.

His face swims into my mind as I picture him stalling Stefan and undressing Elena with his eyes. Typical Damon antics. Eventually, and without even realizing it, I think of how I put myself in this predicament in the first place. How I was cherishing every last second I had with Jeremy, how he walked up to me, ruined my dance, smiled like the terrific bastard he was.

Isn't there any way to increase your odds?

I shake my head, the image of Damon dissolving in a matter of seconds.

I refuse to let him destroy my last few moments of peace I have left. He's done enough already, why let him take away that, too?

Because he cares, a tiny voice in the back of my head says. You know it. You saw it!

I guess I did, but I might have been imagining things. I mean, do I really believe that Damon is capable of looking scared for anyone who name doesn't begin with an E and end with a chorus of chirping doves—somebody he doesn't love?

Um, hell no.

Damon Salvatore is a lot of things—mostly bad—and compassionate is not one of them. More like, stupid, self-serving, horrible, demonic, pathetic—I freeze, my long list of words vanishing within the space of a second.

He's here.

I don't know how I can be so sure of this, but I am. It feels like the temperature in the hallway has dropped at least twenty degrees. The pit of dread that has been growing in my stomach for the past few hours has exploded, leaving me completely immobile. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead and I glance at my hands and I notice how badly my fingers are shaking—my entire body is trembling uncontrollably.

Am I really capable of this much selflessness?

I think about all the things I will be missing out on. Graduating, an acceptance letter to a prestigious college or two, a high-paying job, buying my own house. Kids. If I finish my trek down this corridor and go into the cafeteria, I will be signing my own death warrant.

I can see the inscription on my tombstone now...

Here lies Bonnie Bennett, she was brave.

Of course, I'd probably be buried here—not anywhere near Grams—and only Elena would even... wait! Grams! I could finally see her again! If I believed in all of that religious stuff, I mean. And I think I do. It's not like I have too many other things to put faith in...

The idea that I wouldn't feel so alone anymore propels me forward.

And by the time I find myself standing in front of the cafeteria doors, I can open them without any hesitation.

"What took you so long?" The sound of his voice sends a chill down my spine.

I keep my composure, though, and manage to look him in the eyes. Everything about Alaric is so wrong. He looks so different, though nothing about his appearance has changed outwardly. It's all about his aura, that malicious glint in this eyes, the way he sits with his feet propped up so casually. None of it reminds me of my history teacher and it's absolutely terrifying.

I can't deny that I'm standing in front of a cold-blooded killer.

When I don't respond, he twirls the knife he's holding in his hand. "Do you want to do this the easy way... or the hard way?"

As if I really have a choice.

I can feel the power burning in my fingertips. It's exhilarating.

Klaus' hand contorts in the most awkward position I have ever seen. He drops the knife and tries not to let his pain show—it doesn't work.

"The hard way... got it."

Another burst of magic. This time it's aimed at his shoulder.

I try not to flinch at the sound of his bones cracking. Normally, this would not bother me, but the fact that I'm essentially hurting Rick does not make me feel like I should be doing any of this. That, and the sound is so much louder than it should be—the first sign of a power overload.

I grit my teeth, steeling myself for Klaus' next move.

He pushes his shoulder back into place. "You'd... really kill your favorite history teacher?"

"It's what Alaric would want," I answer coldly, "and he'd want you to suffer first."

I'm a little surprised at how defiant I sound. I hadn't been sure I'd be able to speak, let alone challenge him, but in staying quiet it would give him some sort of twisted respect. And I can't allow that.

The monster raises his chin, that bone-chilling expression intensifying. "Look at you," he says, almost to himself. "Is that all you've got?"

"Let's find out." I wipe the small stream of blood that has begun to trickle down my face on my sleeve.

I ignore the obvious strain all of this magic is putting on my body. I ignore the feeble protests the sane part of my mind is making. I decide that it's about time I give into the madness and all the trauma it brings. I embrace the agony, feed off of it as it rushes like poison in my veins. Revel in it.

I hear the faint sound of Damon's voice just outside the door. "Let her do this!"

Shit!

I hadn't been expecting Stefan to put two and two together, at least not until after this was over. I didn't realize that Elena would figure everything out. And here they are—ready to ruin the carefully brainstormed plan Damon and I came up with.

Taking a deep breath, I think of Emily, of Lucy, of all of my other ancestors. I remember their pain, the burning torment I felt at the broken down house. I beg them to help me. The power I felt earlier is nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to this. Fire. That's all I know. I hear their screams echoing in my ears, though it sounds like I'm standing next to them, burning at the stake.

I'm vaguely aware of the lights flickering. The tables and chairs falling over as if they weigh nothing more than a feather. It's chaos as various flyers for the next football game swirl around the room. I can feel the air pressing down on my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Klaus seems to be feeling the same, which makes me feel happy—or as happy as I can be when my bones are dissolving underneath my skin.

"Bonnie!"

It takes all of my strength to turn around and look at her through the electric storm. And then it takes the rest of my sanity to send a burst of magic at the doors, which then slam shut and lock.

A warm blanket is wrapped around my body. It feels nice at first, but it quickly turns into something restricting. I can't move my arms or legs. Cotton fills my mouth and I want to choke, only to realize that my lips are sewn shut. I want to convulse, cry, shout, anything that will make this go away... but I can't.

I can only lie here in silence.

The doors open... footsteps... tears.

"Bonnie!" Elena cries, slapping my cheeks, hoping that I regain consciousness. "Hey, Bonnie. Bonnie!"

She presses her fingers to the side of my neck. "Stefan, I- I can't f- find a pulse Stefan!" she says hysterically. She's sniffling now, and her tears are rolling down her cheeks and hitting me in the face.

They feel like knives.

"Stefan," desperation is saturating her tone. "Do something! G- give her blood! Just do something! Please Stefan!"

"It's too late, he says, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, no, n- no."

A new voice enters the pandemonium. "Stefan, get Elena out of here. I'll deal with the body."

"What do you mean 'deal with it?'" I've never heard my best friend so pissed off before. I would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much to fight the paralysis.

"Sheriff Forbes can't know about—"

"This is Bonnie!"

"Get her home. Now." Damon says, and then in a quieter tone, "so I can clean this up." At first, I think he's talking to Stefan, but it becomes clear that he only means for me to hear—since he's the only one who knows what's going on.

Stefan wraps Elena in his arms and coaxes her from her spot on the floor. "Jeremy... oh God. Jeremy!"

The sound of his name makes me want to cry with relief... Jeremy is fine. Safe. That's all that matters...

Damon's conflicted eyes meet my dead ones. I'm taken aback by how tortured they look. I can see a thousand emotion swimming in his blue irises. And, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he looks like he's close to tears.

The sorrow is gone in an instant.

It's replaced by a mask of indifference as his fingers caress the side of my face and over my eyelids.

And then comes the darkness.

I hate it. With every second that passes I start to believe that I really am dying, fading into nothing. The pain of being lifted from the floor is the only thing to remind me that I'm alive. It's like I'm a marionette and my only support is Damon, who has loss all of his will to be gentle. Because things like that are only good for something in the space of a moment... or maybe two, seeing as he was the first person to figure out my little trick.

I didn't even have to say anything.

All my Damon-centric thoughts stop when Jeremy approaches. He starts to say something, but whatever it is he's saying is cut off by a bang!

Total isolation.

ѮѼѮ

The numbness begins to wear off by the time I'm placed in another room.

A bright orange color dances in front of my eyes. My first instinct is to recoil... it reminds me of the feeling of being burned alive, and I would do anything to avoid experiencing that again. Although, once I figure out that this fire is only warmth, I want nothing more than to get closer to it.

Someone places their hand on the side of my face.

Damon.

I open my eyes, expecting to find the King of the Assholes hovering over me. In fact, I had been so prepared to see him that I'm almost too shocked to be happy about who's really standing there.

Jeremy.

He's by the candle holder, lighting the last of many candles. When he hears me stir, he turns around, rushing over to me. And then I am in his arms, sputtering and crying like a child. Part of me wants to blame it on finally being released from that spell, but I know that seeing him unharmed is more overwhelming than my brush with death. I actually feel safe now—as long as we're both okay, nothing else matters.

It seems like we stayed like that for hours when he pulls away from me.

I'm about to protest, but he holds up a finger, telling me to wait.

Jeremy pulls his laptop out of its bag and sets it on the floor. "Are you sure it's safe here?"

"I'm sure," I say, giving him a small smile. "What's that?" I nod at his cell phone.

"It is Mi-Fi. I figure if we're going to be stuck here, we might as well have internet."

I'm struck by his words—he wants to be here with me. In a basement without any real electricity or plumbing... he's willing to sacrifice his freedom just to make sure I'm not alone.

"You don't have to stay with me."

I'm almost afraid of his response, afraid he will look at me and then choose to walk right out the door.

"Hey, I'm not letting you out of my sight." he glances at his hands, it's like his embarrassed of wanting to protect me... or maybe his just worried I'll yell at him, rant about how strong I am.

I'd be more than happy to let him be here, but I need him to do me one more favor.

"I need you to talk to Elena for me, tell her how sorry I am for what Damon and I had to do."

Jeremy transfers his gaze to the computer screen. "Well... uh... why don't you tell her yourself."

"Bonnie!"

Once he's sure that the program is working properly, he gives me the laptop so I can talk to my best friend.

"Elena!" I exclaim, suddenly overcome by a hurricane of emotions . "Elena, Elena, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," she assures me, though it never will be. "I just needed to see your face."

I nod, unsure of what else I could say. I don't have the heart to tell her that things won't be "okay" for long, that I'll still be as good as dead when the ritual comes around.

Why ruin the moment?

Sorry this is a day late, I wasn't feeling well last night so I couldn't post it. Remember... I love reading you're reviews.