He wonders sometimes what he's done to deserve this.
Each time, after several drinks, he realizes it's not any one thing. It's everything. And everything has a price.
Like most ticking time bombs, he finally explodes. Leaves crying virgins and flabbergasted best friends in his wake. Puts Seattle in his rearview - leaves defeated, broken, and alone.
Doesn't even say goodbye.
Doubts anyone would hear him if he did.
The bar he ends up in resembles Joe's, except for the smell of old vomit and the hooker giving her john a blow job in the corner. Nobody seems to notice; nobody seems to care. He turns his head and ignores it.
Asks the bartender for a shot of tequila. Tells him to leave the bottle.
Maybe even make it two.
Two hours later he's on his fourth.
Somehow it's become his regular go-to dive in this town of Mystic Falls. There's comfort in the fact that nobody knows him. No one approaches him. He is completely and utterly alone.
Until he isn't.
The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and he turns around, trying to figure out who's eyes are burning a hole in him, but he can't pinpoint anyone. The fact that he's seeing double doesn't help.
Everything is blurry, yet somehow the tall dark blob in the corner becomes a mysterious, somewhat menacing man with eyes full of mischief coupled with a dash of crazy.
Unhinged, even.
He should feel afraid. In the back of his mind, he knows this. Fear would be the normal human reaction, but he's far from normal, and his humanity has been in question for as long as he can remember.
"the one at family reunions everybody was embarrassed to talk about."
Instead, he feels inexplicably….stuck. Not drawn, because that implies reaction and he is incapable of reaction. Has been since way before the bullet tore a path through his chest.
The jukebox goes silent, he blinks, and suddenly the stranger is sitting on the stool next to his.
Huh.
"Hello."
"Sup?"
Sup? Really? How pedestrian.
"I'm Damon. You don't belong here. You are?"
"Alex."
He considers this newcomer for a moment before throwing back the rest of his bourbon. Analyzes him and wonders why he finds this insignificant human so intriguing.
Magnetic.
Catches his scent, fights to prevent his fangs from dropping – is honestly shocked by his reaction.
"What brings you here, Alex? What are you searching for in that tequila bottle?"
"In my fourth tequila bottle." Alex slurs a little, realizes he might be slightly intoxicated. "I'm searching for…a change. A change in fucking fate, or karma, or whatever."
Last call was an hour ago. He was too drunk to stand, so the bartender let him hang around. He mumbles thanks when he finally pulls himself together enough to stand.
Stumbles to his car, gets in, and knows there's no way he's driving back to the hotel.
Remembers the mysterious stranger he knew he should be scared of and locks the door.
Starts to laugh when the windshield breaks and he feels himself lifted from the driver's seat.
Forgets everything as excruciating pain courses from his neck through every last nerve until he thinks he's on fire - except that he's not surprised there's no one who cares enough to pour water on him. Thinks that would be the case even if he was back in Seattle.
Amber. His mother. Ava. Aaron. Izzie. Reed. Lexie.
All people he couldn't help. I wanted to help you. All of you. So much.
Images of them flood his mind as he struggles to wake up. God it's so hard to wake up.
A man. Superhuman strength. Glass breaking. The sensation of flying. Fangs. Fangs? What the fuck? Blood. His blood, being drained. Another's blood, coating his throat, gagging him as he fought – putting out the fire eating him alive. Darkness. Emptiness.
Nothing.
Everything.
Calm.
Chaos.
His eyes open. It's still dark outside, but he has no idea how long he's been lying in the road. The road? He waits a moment for his eyes to adjust. Realizes he can see better than he's ever seen before. Further. Stops on a sign: Mystic Falls, fifty miles. Turns his head to the left, sees he's still in front of the bar.
In Mystic Falls.
Whoa.
Where there was silence a moment ago, now there is a cacophony of sounds: crickets chirping, wolves tearing apart their kill, caterpillars emerging from their cocoons, water dripping from what sounds like every faucet in the surrounding hundred miles. Dude.
A fire truck turns on its sirens and he feels like his eardrums might burst.
He isn't surprised when placing his hands over his ears doesn't make any of the noise go away.
His gums ache. Almost like he's been to the dentist and had some teeth pulled.
An inferno blazes in his throat. So hungry. Thirsty?
A new sound makes itself heard, louder than the others. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Used to be he needed a stethoscope right to a person's chest to hear that beautiful sound. I don't remember it being THAT beautiful.
He concentrates. Tries to find the location of the sound.
Thinks he's found it, turns and makes his way around the back of the bar.
This is fascinating.
He's sired many, each one for different reasons, but it's been a long, long time since he's sired one out of (lust) a desire for companionship.
Each one has reacted differently. Too few have been grateful; too many have willingly walked into the sunlight or angered him so much he's ripped their hearts out.
So he watches, but does not hope.
Follows Alex, how insignificant will you be now?, wondering whether he'll embrace or reject his new existence when he recognizes it for what it is.
Eternity.
He stops when Alex does, just outside the back door. Hears what Alex does – the sound of the light switches being flicked to off. Waits, like Alex does, for the bartender to open the door.
Lets out a silent cheer when Alex slams the bartender up against the building with one hand.
Claps when Alex drains the man of every last drop of his blood.
Is amazed when he realizes he won't have to teach Alex how to turn his lingering humanity off, because it is that ability that allowed him to complete his transformation without any guidance.
Feels, for the first time in over a century, that he may have met someone to spend his eternity with without the games, the brooding, the tortured self-deprivation and self-deprecation.
Thinks the threat of a smile on Alex's face might be the first sincere smile the man has smiled…ever.