His shoes on the wooden flooring alerted her of his presence. For days she had been kept hostage by the silk sheets that were her only source of warmth. The soot from the fire continued to catch in her throat, erupting a cough that would render her breathless as it subsided. He was 10 years old, simply naïve enough to believe she simply had a head cold that would vanish in the next few days. He had one recently; she must have caught it from taking care of him or that's what he thought. Removing his jacket, he pulled a newly printed picture out of the pocket before one of his many nanny's took it from him.

"Mother, I have a present for you," Damon chirped happily as he pushed the grand door open, leading into his parents bedroom. "I apologize for the lack of presentation but I was simply too excited to keep it any longer. Elizabeth said it might make you feel better," he said with a smile as he sat in the wooden chair next to his mother's bedside. Beads of sweat were falling from her fore head; her long raven black hair was down, something rare for a woman of that time.

"How sweet of you dear, can I see?" she asked, holding her shaking hand out to retrieve the gift from her eldest son. He nodded with his winning smile, even at that age and handed the picture over. "It's perfect Damon, don't you look handsome," she added with a weak smile, her eyes looking over the image of herself and the small boy in front of her, poised in front of their house.

"You don't like it?" he asked seeing her small smile. For as long as he could recall, her smile was bright and large, much like his.

She shook her head, placing the picture on the bed next to her and reached for her son, taking his hand in hers. "I love it, Damon and I love…" She began to cough, violently and loud enough that it made Damon jump back in fear. His eyes were filled with alarm as he reached for the water that had been placed next to her bed for moments like this. He raised it to her pale lips, trying to get her to drink to soothe the burning that was putting her through all the pain. She shook her head as the picture fell to the ground, Giuseppe walking in with two of the maids behind him. Without thinking, he pushed his son out of the way, causing him to fall into the mirror that was at the mirror. Elizabeth, his nanny, ran into the room hearing the crash and ushered him out of the room, into the nursery a few doors down where his baby brother, Stefan lay in his blankets, placed in his wooden crib.

"Sit here Damon, keep Stefan close, he needs his big brother," she said gently, showing no alarm in her voice as she picked the small boy out of the crib and handed him to his brother.

"Is mother okay?" he asked, placing his arms around the small boy as he was placed on his lap.

She nodded, knowing her fate but keeping it from her son who loved her dearly. "I will sit with you until you father is finished, shall we play a game?" she asked kneeling down next to them and smiling softly. Rising to her feet once more, she closed the door to the nursery, drowning out the sound slightly. With her back turned to the boys, she let out a breath knowing what was happening. Knowing their mother's time was up.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, Damon sat against the door listening for the sound of his mothers voice. Stefan, far to young to realize anything was happening, played happily with the nanny in the middle of the room, unaware of his brother. Silence fell over the Salvatore manor, alerting Elizabeth that it was over.

"Where is he? Where is Damon?" Giuseppe's voiced almost sounded like a roar as he exited the bedroom his wife lay motionless inside. Damon stood up at once opening the door and making him visible to his father. He expected to be allowed to see his mother again, let them continue the conversation they were having about his trip into Mystic Falls. Instead, he found himself pushed against the wall, the painting of his great grandfather shaking above his head.

"Do you see what you have done boy?" his father yelled, causing his eyes to bulge in fear. "I loved you're mother and you killed her, the day you entered this world, you cursed her. She is dead and it is your fault! Why couldn't you have been more like you're brother? Simple, quiet! Instead you had to be the way you are, sickly, causing trouble wherever your path may take you. Get out of my sight boy and if I see you again this evening, you'll be joining her,"

With tears threatening to pour down his pale cheeks, Damon nodded and rushed off to the stairs at the end of the corridor. Almost tripping a couple of times, he made it to the bottom and opened the door that leads to the gravel entry way that welcomed guests daily. He ran, he ran into the woods and past the old church that he hadn't taken any interest in. His feet collided with a stray branch, causing him to fall at the feet of the Fell family grave sight. His face was covered in the wet mud that was all around him but he never lifted his head as the salty tears escaped him, the memory of the picture long forgotten already.


Just like every other night since Rose died, she found him sitting in the leather arm chair next to the fire, the bright flames highlighting his structured cheeks. A reflection hit the wall opposite him as he swirled the glass container filled with fiery liquid, she didn't actually see him take a sip of it.

"Saint Stefan's not here' he muttered, his eyes never leaving the burning flames in front of him. "He's out chasing the white rabbit to Neverland"

"That's Peter Pan, Neverland. Alice in Wonderland is the White Rabbit," Elena replied staying firmly in her place leaning against the wooden frame of the room. Without him even turning his head, she knew he was rolling his eyes.

"Good for Peter Pan," He brought the pristine glass to his lips but froze as he heard her footsteps. Taking a breath, he placed his arm lazily back over the side of the chair, the glass almost hitting the carpeted floor below him. "You're obviously not looking for Stefan,"

"I know he's with Caroline, Damon," she said sitting on the couch across from him. He raised his head just slightly so she was now in his line of vision. Her hair was pulled back, random pieces falling in front of her eyes. She was simply in jeans and an obviously old hoodie that may of belonged to Jeremy at one point but to him, she never looked more beautiful. "He has been all day and will be until Saturday afternoon. I came here to talk to you."

"Fun," he said, sarcasm dripping from each letter in the word. "Is there something in particular that you need my opinion on?"

"You don't need to be so bitter," she replied kicking off her shoes and crossing her legs, looking over at him as he returned his bright blue orbs to the fire place. She waited for a reply, expecting him to tell her to leave but it never came. He sat silently, not moving in his position. "Well that's why I'm here"

"Really?"

She nodded, going into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper that could easily be over one hundred years old. Unfolding it carefully, her index finger ran over the indent that was a tear, straight down the middle, separating the two figures that stood in the frozen memory in time. "I found this when I was helping Stefan clear out some old stuff. Almost ancient stuff actually,"

"Is it a picture of him with Peter Pan?"

"Damon,' she warned looking up at him with the same look she gave him when she knew he was hungry for blood. His eyebrows moved into the sarcastic frown that he had mastered over the years of mortality. Carefully turning it around, she watched his features turn cold as he saw what she had in her small hands. It was in the same form that Katherine's portrait was. Sketched but showing every detail of the men on the paper. His hair, known for being perfectly straight and normally slicked back was falling in small curls over his eyes. He was clad in a simple white shirt, black suspenders holding his trousers up; he looked no older than 10 years old.

"And what is the importance of that?" he asked, no life coming into his words.

"Damon, she's your mother," Elena said lightly.

"So? She's dead." He said simply, raising the glass once again and downing the entire glass in one gulp. Elena sighed as he lifted himself out of the chair and went to pour himself another glass of bourbon. She moved quickly, her hand grasping his wrist as he pulled the bottle from the selection in front of him. His eyes pierced straight through hers, looking down at his hand and back up at her a few times. "She's dead and I don't care."

"Liar," she said firmly. Even though he had the strength to move his hand without her noticing, he didn't move. She had called him many things, accused him of everything under the sun but never had she called him a liar. "You're a liar Damon, you do care and I know you do. You may be a macho Vampire that has no emotions but I can see it in your eyes that you miss her every single day of your life, no matter how long it will be. My parents died too you know, I had that same vacant look that has never left your face since I met you. Something is harbouring you from your past and you are just too scared to admit what it is."

Damon's face fell. No longer was it the mask that showed no emotion. His eyes were glassy. His lips were pressed into a tight line as she spoke and he was looking straight at her. Her hand was still placed over his wrist and he could feel that patch of skin more so than any other on his body, her touch made him tingle, it heated his cool skin with just a simple graze of her finger.

"Get out," he spat. She shook her head. "Elena get out before you regret it, get out of my sight before you end up where my mother is now,"

She simply shook her head once, her eyes penetrating his as she moved her hand to his, locking her fingers in his larger ones. "I'm not leaving until you tell me. You won't hurt me, you know you won't. I know you won't"

"Elena," he heard the crack in his voice, the burning in his eyes evident. He was silent for what felt like an eternity. His head dropped, his eyes leaving hers for the first time. "I'm my father,' he muttered, snatching his hand from her and backing up against the pillar that she had leant against moments ago.

"What?"

"I'm him." He said, a single tear falling from his eye. He froze as the day of his mother's death came flooding back to him. The coughing, the yelling, the mud that mixed with his tears to restrict his vision as he ran from his father. He hadn't noticed Elena moving until he felt her hand against his cheek. His head jerked up at her touch, alarming her slightly but he continued. "He said that, he said he'd kill me for I did to her. I killed my mother Elena."

She watched him, his eyes locked on hers as the pad of her thumb ran across his cheek. She felt him flinch and move his head so she couldn't touch him.

"I am the monster you think I am. Even before I turned. I was the reason she died!" he yelled the last part, moving in a blur to the other side of the room so she couldn't touch him.

"Damon you didn't,"

"No! No, Elena I did. She was sick, I was sick before her and she took care of me. I gave her it. I should be the one in the grave, I should be dead and she could of taken care of Stefan, given him the mother he always wanted. The mother he woke up crying for every night for a year! I was the last person to talk to her and I didn't help her! I didn't do anything but show her that stupid picture that I was so proud of. It's a bit paper. It means nothing," he shouted, rushing over to the couch where she had placed it, picking it up and tearing it once again. "It means nothing, it won't make up for the fact that he hated me every day until he died for what I had done to his precious wife." His tears were flowing now, catching on the paper as he tore it to bits, tossing it into the fire.

"Damon," Elena was shocked. She had never seen him so upset that it brought him to heart wrenching sobs. Before he could reach the part of the picture that kept him and his mother's images intact, she grabbed it, taking his hands after.

"How can you be near me Elena?" he wondered, her fingers tightening around his as he attempted to struggle. "How can you touch me knowing I killed her? Knowing I've killed hundreds of people. I cannot be loved, I can't even be liked and my father is the ad campaign of that. Damon Salvatore, hate him for all eternity. Let me go Elena!"

"No, Damon, I won't," she said squeezing his hands pulling him towards her. "You are loved Damon. You didn't kill you mother, you're father was grieving. You helped her, you gave her a memory filled with happiness before she went. The last thing I said to my mother, was turn the heat up. It was obvious you're mother loved you, I can see it in her eyes in the picture."

"Who loves me Elena? Random teenage girls that think I'm the real Edward Cullen? Nobody loves me, nobody every will. It will always be Stefan, Saint Fucking Stefan Salvatore. He can do no wrong, he is too young to do anything wrong. He's naïve, he doesn't know any better," he said, remembering every time his father had yelled that at him.

"Damon, I love you!"

Through the tears and anger, he looked into her eyes, seeing the pools of water identical to his. "That's a lie, you're just like the rest of them," he said bitterly, snapping his hands from the grip of hers, moving over to the alcohol. Angrily, he wiped his eyes, embarrassed by the stupidity of crying about something that happened over 150 years ago. 'It's a lie," he said quietly to himself.

"Why don't you believe me?" she asked, her back turned to him as if she was frozen to the spot that Damon had left her.

"Cause you love Stefan," he said simply, not even pouring the liquor into a glass, taking it straight from the bottle. "You looooove my brother," he said elongating his words. "Just like everyone in Mystic Falls. Everyone in the god damn world! Hell nobody would miss me. I'm sure it would turn into a holiday the day I finally kick that rusty bucket. Banners, street parties, even a carnival." He said knocking into the wooden table, the leg breaking in half at the weight of his back. He laughed at first and then saw the blunt edge of the part that had snapped away, causing the alcohol to spill over the floor. "You could start that holiday, right here. Right now." He added, picking the stake up and spinning it in his fingers.

"Why would I do that?" she asked turning around just to see him walk over to him. In a flash, he was in front of her, pushing the stake into her hands and placing its sharp edge over his heart.

"Do it, make my life a hell of a lot easier and do what you've wanted to do since you saw that raven in the graveyard. Push it through, go on."

"No," she said quietly, the fear making it difficult to form any words longer.

"Do it!" he yelled moving his hands from hers and holding them at his side. "You've got your target," He watched her, anger in his eyes. She shook her head, tears now falling from her eyes before she dropped the make shift stake to the ground with a crash.

"No," she whispered, moving towards him and grabbing his face, moving her lips to his roughly. "I don't lie, not about loving someone," she mumbled against his cold, hard lips, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. "Believe it,"

With that, the bottle dropped to the floor in suit with the stake as his arms moved to her waist, pulling her closer and capturing her lips with his. He pushed her against the wooden beam that held the house in one place, their lips moulding together in a frenzied passion.

This may be a one-shot unless you want me to continue. Press the little review button (: