Yes, shush, I put to many OCs in my fanfiction. I try not to, honestly! I just can't find my other works to upload. D=
Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Dairies. I very much wish I could own Ian Somerhalder, though.
Something was up. Damon had returned in a temper that didn't spell out the best for her. But she wasn't in the mood to play his games.
"Get lost," she snapped, not bothering to look up from her book in her curled up position on the sofa.
There was a moment of deliberate silence.
Then he started towards her, slowly, never rushed, with a feline grace all too unnatural. He paused, mouth quirking up, unworried. He would get his way.
She made to kick him.
"You wouldn't dare," he drawled, eyes glinting dangerously, smiling the way he did when he knew he was going to be victorious.
But she wasn't so easily intimidated.
"Try me."
Damon paced over, slowly, deliberately, like a predator that had cornered its prey. He leaned over her, his face inches from hers.
"You wouldn't dare because..."
She waited for him to threaten his brother, Paul. It was his usual threat, and its value had been decreasing. This time, she was determined it wouldn't work at all.
"...Elena."
Her eyes widened slightly and she cursed the momentary look of surprise and fear that flickered across her face, knowing Damon wouldn't have missed it. Damon smiled his victor's smile again.
So he had known that she would try and defy him; that his usual threats wouldn't work. But he knew she still cared deeply about Paul.
And he knew she knew that the worst thing Damon could do to his brother was to hurt Elena.
"You wouldn't..."
You wouldn't hurt her, she was going to say. You love her too. But she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure if it had been love that flickered in those coal black eyes that night, or just a lust, a want.
Then he drawled, two words, a phrase she herself and used on him seconds before. And she knew the argument was lost.
"Try me."
Paul was mad. He was furious. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, words escaping him. It had been a while since he last stayed in the same place as Damon and Tess, and he'd forgotten the level of cruelty his brother was capable of.
Tess looked faintly amused. "You look like a goldfish."
"I'm going up to talk to him."
"No, don't, I'm okay, really."
They were vampires, the two of them. He and Damon were blood brothers, and back in the day, Tess had been their maid.
Back in the day...
Back in the day, when Damon hadn't been the bitter shell he was now. When he was kind and gentle, with a quick wit and an ever mischievous grin. Always ready with a prank to play, and a sweet, innocent smile perfected to escape the consequences.
But that was a hundred and fifty years ago. A hundred and fifty years since she broke his heart.
He wondered why Damon had been mad, that he would vent it on Tess. Then he remembered. Damon had wanted Elena. And he'd failed. And the joy that came with such a success, such a triumph, was dampened by the feel of guilt. Guilt that, in the end, it was Tess who'd paid the price. And it wasn't just that. Deep inside him, Paul knew he wasn't sorry, he knew he'd rather have Tess hurt than Elena. He tried to reason with himself; that it was because Tess could take it, and Elena couldn't. But he knew it wasn't true.
And he hated himself for it. "Oh, Tess..."
"I'm okay, really. They healed ages ago, and even the scars'll be gone by tonight."
Paul felt a renewed burst of anger at being brought back to the present.
"The... the...bastard!" He turned around and stormed upstairs.
He stormed down the corridor with a quietness unbefitting his actions. He slammed the door open, not registering the least surprise when he saw Damon sitting up in bed, expecting him. He'd made enough noise to wake an army of wizards.
And then he saw the blood, blood everywhere. Her blood. Staining the pillow and the bed, all over the floor. Bloody shards of glass were littered across the floor from when a mirror had been smashed. The quilt and sheets were soaked, so much they looked like they'd been dyed red. Bloody puddles and footprints were spread across the floor.
Paul had to force down the terrible, aching hunger at the scent of it.
"You bastard!"
"Good morning, little brother," Damon replied calmly. "I trust you slept well?"
"How could you? After all she's done for you, how could you do this to her?"
Damon raised his eyebrow. "How very ill mannered of you. It's polite to return one's greetings, you know. I never thought I'd have to teach you manners."
"How can you be-"
Faster than a normal human eye could blink, he was pinned against the wall, struggling furiously, but to no avail. His brother had always been the stronger one.
"Say. Good. Morning."
"You bastard. She's been with you, done everything you said for a hundred and fifty years, and you still-"
"Say. Good. Morning."
The pressure was increasing now, reaching painful levels.
He finally gave in, his throat screaming at him to do something. "...Good...good morning."
Immediately, the pressure was gone, and he slid to the floor, clutching his neck and taking huge gulps of unneeded but nevertheless blessed air.
Once he'd recovered, Damon was back on the bed, lounging comfortably and watching him.
"Right, now that we've gotten courtesy out of the way, you may continue."
His brother didn't care for courtesy, he knew that. It was just his way of saying: even though I lost last night, I'm still stronger than you, little brother.
"You-"
"It's on you, you know. Her pain. This didn't have to happen." Damon interrupted casually.
"And I suppose it would've been Elena's blood then, if I hadn't?" Paul's old anger was back now. "Don't try to pin this on me-"
"Would you rather it have been? Elena's blood?" Damon was grinning like a cat. "Would you rather the sweet little girl who's loved you and been loyal to you for over a century, or the girl you've fallen in love with and have known for all of about three weeks? Huh? Who do you love more?"
"Don't make me choose! It's not the same kind of love..."
"See, you come in, yelling at me for treating her like this when's she been with me so long, and yet, you aren't much better. You always think you're the saint, the good guy, but you know if you had to choose a person to die, it would be sweet, faithful, innocent little Tess. You know you've just replaced her, brushed her aside with this new girl. What's the matter? Getting tired of the same old, huh?"
"Stop it, stop it! I love Tess like a sister, like the family you're not! And I'd never replace her! Never!"
Damon was angry now. The statement on his family had hurt him more than he'd ever admit, even to himself.
"Oh come on," he taunted viciously, "Even if you only love her like a sister, you care less, don't you? You've abandoned her. She loves you so much, the adoring older brother, and you've just abandoned her."
"Stop it! That's not true!" He turned to stagger out of the room, the overwhelming smell of blood cloying at him, his brother shouting...too much...it was all too much. He needed air.
But more than that, he knew it was the truth. That Damon was right. He had no doubt who he'd choose to be with him, as a sister or a lover, if it ever came to choosing.
And Damon watched his brother go with cold eyes, pretending it didn't hurt, pretending he didn't care that Paul considered Tess more like family than him.
Because it was so much easier to pretend than to admit the truth.
So much easier to be angry than to be hurt.
So much easier to not care than to deal with the pain.
That was the way it had always been.