A/N: Helloooo! :D Here is a story I've been working on forever... I really don't know how it turned out, honestly. There's a few triggers throughout the upcoming chapters, so please be cautious if you are sensitive to that kind of content.

This is an AU, so the characters are a little bit different, personality-wise, than what we are used to. Plus some little things here and there are changed as well. Hope you don't mind too much. :)

I love you all very much!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries. All rights belong to L.J. Smith and the CW.

xxxxx

RIDDLED

Chapter 1:

The white canvas stares back at him, like a challenge waiting to be accepted. The game between them has been on a stand-still since he'd arrived earlier that morning and after four hours of glaring and one hour of contemplating a first move, the remaining question is: who will crack first? Because it won't be Damon. Nope, he is determined to find his inspiration and paint something before he rips his hair out. Or loses his job. That stupid piece of paper won't know what hit it.

He huffs out a breath and glances at the floor. There's litred jugs of different-coloured paint surrounding him, in case he needs to refill his little glass jars. But at the pace he's going, he knows he's more likely to trip over them instead of putting them to use. After all, clumsiness is his forte. He has his father to thank for that one.

In the background of his struggle, an old radio sits on the mantel, playing ballads from the eighties and white noise every so often in between. It was his mother's source of inspiration for every painting she ever created and as the son of that brilliant woman, he is going to make it his as well. The cottage is simply an extra touch to the atmosphere - he thought it'd help him focus. Well obviously, he'd thought wrong. After another half-hour of empty concentration Damon places his brush down, breathing in deep because okay, he'll get something done eventually, this isn't the end of the world. Hopefully.

His feet carry him to the kitchen, stepping carefully over the hardwood floor as a reflex from the memory of that one creaky board. Even after all these years, he still walks around this place thinking there's a chance of waking up his parents.

He's in the midst of making a peanutbutter and honey sandwich to calm his nerves when suddenly, the unmistakable sounds of a thud against the floor and someone grunting in pain meets his ears. It makes him freeze mid-chew and his eyes blow wide, because it clearly didn't come from him, and no one in his family besides himself has been in this area in over fifteen years. There is someone else in the cottage with him. A stranger.

There are no instincts that kick in inside of him - he has no kids, nieces or nephews - there'd never been a need to have a protection mode programmed. So the only thing he's got is the knowledge of watching safety procedures as a child and all the information fed to him from his parents. Or more specifically, his mom.

The old radio plays quietly still as Damon takes punctuated steps to his predicted source of sound. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary as he turns the corner into a bedroom, until a flash of movement just by the bed catches his full attention.

"Hello?" Damon calls out immediately, stupidly maybe. If this person wanted to hurt him, wouldn't they have done so already?

He takes another few steps inside the room and inspects the rest of his surroundings. The bed is as it should be, a lamp lit on one nightstand to the side. There's an open door that leads to a field opposite of where he stands. That must have been where this person came in. Had it been unlocked? Has it been that way since his last visit here?

"Hello."

Surprisingly, the new voice in the room doesn't make him jump. Damon's head turns just the slightest before he locks eyes with a pair of wide irises, peeking over the edge of the mattress. In the dim lighting it's difficult to make out the stranger's features, but as Damon gets closer he's able to distinguish the chestnut brown of her hair, flowing just past her shoulders and disheveled like she'd got caught in a tornado. Her eyes are like melted chocolate, and she's wearing spring attire - sneakers, capris and an oversized t-shirt - although the weather outside is more Fall-ish. Small gashes litter the side of her forehead as well, and Damon wonders just what exactly happened to this young woman. She can't be any older than twenty-five, and she certainly doesn't look the criminal type.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her.

The longer Damon looks at her the more he thinks there's something familiar about her face. He's convinced he's seen her before, but he can't quite put his finger on it. There's also the possibility that he could be losing it, because who meets a stranger and thinks hey! I've seen you before!

For now he tucks the thought into the back of his mind.

The intruder remains stock-still, peering up at Damon who stands with his arms crossed over an old white button-down shirt that's splattered and stained with drops of varied colours. He's wearing what appears to be tattered jeans as well, perhaps a pair from his teenage years. And his hair's dark - a thick raven black - sitting sloppily but somehow stylishly atop his head. His eyes... His eyes are so blue, they shine like moonlight on the darkest of nights.

"My name's Elena," the girl says quietly. Her legs feel like jelly as she stands and tries to plant her feet firmly, and she slowly stretches her hand forward for a proper greeting (or well, as proper as it can get at this point). She hopes this... painter (?) doesn't hate her too much for coming inside uninvited. All she needs is some money for food and a bus ticket and she'll be out of there in a flash.

Damon eyes the girl's hand, feeling the slightest hint of hesitancy before he decides not to overthink everything.

"I'm Damon," he smiles, reciprocating the greet. Elena breathes out heavily at that, relief visible in her features, and then the trance between them is broken once Damon re-notices the scabbing on her temple. She drops her hand immediately and watches as Damon reaches forward daringly, just barely touching her skin before his wrist is grabbed and pushed away.

"I'm fine," Elena assures him. She folds in on herself and shifts the weight between her feet, making it clear to Damon just how uncomfortable this entire situation really is.

"I'll get you a washcloth for that," he says anyway, and without letting Elena protest, exits the room quietly, leaving the strange girl to herself.

Since she has the chance, Elena takes her time looking around the room, stepping close in the sore lighting to get better glimpses. There isn't much space to walk around at all, seeing as the bed could fit at least three people in it. And there's only one window in the room, which is attached to the top of the back door leading outside. Different shades of stained wood line the walls as well as what seem to be closets aligning the side to Elena's right. A small dresser with drawers stands on the far side of the room, and as she shifts closer without trying to be a snoop, she finds three picture frames perched on top, all containing three different photographs of the same two people. Her interest is peaked looking at the middle frame, where they're looking at each other instead of at the camera, smiling wide with hearts in their eyes. Whoever they are, Elena thinks, they look absolutely in love. Like the kind of love that never dies, no matter the struggles life throws at them. The kind that is numb to pain.

She quickly tears her eyes away when she hears Damon's footsteps approaching, and in no less than a second later he walks in, expecting to see Elena standing where he'd last left her and surprised when she isn't.

"Oh," he says, his gaze flickering between the pictures and lastly Elena's face. "You noticed those, did you."

She speculates that he seems less... nervous, now as he moves closer and lifts up a green cloth in his hand. He is unfazed by the fact that he's tending to a stranger that he met all of five minutes ago. But in all honesty, Elena somehow feels a sense of safety in the presence of him. And right now, she welcomes it.

"They're my parents, by the way."

Damon's voice brings her out of her thoughts. He's standing close, focusing solely on his task at hand. Elena notices now that he has small crinkles in his skin, right by his eyes and mouth.

"They both died about three years ago, in a car accident."

She doesn't know how to respond.

"I'm... sorry," is what she goes for. She hopes it isn't out of her place to say.

"Don't worry 'bout it." Damon smiles warmly at the girl. He brings down his arm and folds the cloth in his hand, sighing. "Would you like anything to eat?" he offers. "I know this whole incident is strange for the both of us but... you look like you need some taking care of."

Something twinges in the pit of Elena's stomach at the choice of words. You need some taking care of. She absentmindedly brushes her thumb against the lowest joint of her third finger on her left hand, feeling an anger rise in her chest although the chilling feel of fifteen karat gold is no longer there.

"That sounds great," she lies, trying to refrain from gritting her teeth. "I'll take whatever you have."

So Damon leads her out of the bedroom, around a corner and into the cottage's small kitchen, where they barely have enough room to walk around, and where there are few cupboards, a fridge, a microwave and a stove. As Elena passes by to sit at the small dinner table standing in a corner, she can't help but spot the shiny glass dish sitting atop the microwave's black surface. She also can't help the jolt in her heart when she discovers there's loose change and car keys lying inside.

"So you never answered my question," Damon speaks up, opening a cupboard and getting out what Elena thinks is a jar of peanutbutter.

"About what?" she replies, mind stuck elsewhere.

"I asked you what you were doing here." Damon pauses his actions to give her a look, with his brow raised in question. "You don't seem like the type to randomly break into someone's cottage."

"Oh, um..." Her conscience goes blank, so she thinks up something quick and something vague. "I ran into some trouble, and this is the nearest place I could find that was unlocked."

"Were you in an accident somewhere?" Damon asks then, gesturing to Elena's scabbing head. "I could call someone for you if you'd like."

"No! Uh, no."

He frowns as he opens another cupboard, sifting around to get a tub of honey. There's something off about her.

"I'd rather just get something to eat and then be on my way. My, uh, family will be worried about me if I don't show up soon. It's my cousin's birthday today."

"Oh." Damon reaches for the knife he'd used earlier for his own sandwich, dropping it once on the counter before he gets a grip on it and smears an even amount of each food product on two pieces of bread. "Well alright then," he mutters. He presses the slices together before he hands Elena her food, then brushes the crumbs off his hands.

"I'm just going to the bathroom quickly," he tells her, "so help yourself to any drink I have in the fridge."

Elena nods with false enthusiasm and Damon sees something flash in her eyes. It awakens an uneasy emotion. He glances back at the girl once more before he turns a corner out of sight, and then all is silent.

Elena takes action immediately. As soon as she hears the bathroom door close, she shoves the sandwich in her mouth so half hangs out and crosses the kitchen to where her ticket out of there rests. She releases a warm breath through her nose before she snatches the keys and grabs a handful of change, wincing at the sound of the coins clanging together. She goes for the back door from where she came in, because she knows she can simply round the area until she finds the car or truck or whatever the hell the man drives.

She's swallowing the last of her sandwich as finally, finally, she spots a vehicle not far off in the distance. It turns out to be an old light blue Camaro, and Elena breaks out in a genuine smile just from the sight of it because for the first time in so long, she's getting something she wants.

The keys are fumbled with as she hurries to unlock the doors, hands trembling and heart beating out of her chest, because there's no way Damon hasn't noticed her absence yet unless he's one of those people who takes an eternity in the bathroom. It's only a matter of time until he comes running outside to tackle the keys from her posession, yell profanities and tell her to go straight to Hell like she deserves.

Elena doesn't notice the tears in her eyes until her vision is obscurred so horribly that she can no longer see her own reflection in she driver's seat window. Angrily, she swipes them away with the back of her hand and focuses on her mission. Determination stops her hands from shaking and the key finally slides in the lock, gaining her access to her escape. Inside, she locks the doors so no one can reach her and cranks up the radio on a random station. She nearly grasps victory as she's trying to start the ignition but she's startled by a sharp tap on the window, just loud enough to freeze her in her tracks. Looking to her right, Elena realizes with sick despair that she's been caught. Damon stands on the other side of the passenger's door with an unreadable expression on his face, an in-between of puzzlement and disappointment.

Instead of climbing out of the truck, Elena pulls on the lock pin by her side to let Damon in. A moment later they sit side-by-side, saying nothing, just listening.

"The town of Mystic Falls continues to mourn the loss of Mayor Lockwood's dear wife, Elena Gilbert. She'd been lost after her car collided head-on with-"

The station switches off. Elena lets her hand drop to her lap.

It clicks with Damon then - why he'd had that feeling that something wasn't right from the beginning. "It's you," he murmurs. He stares at the younger woman sitting next to him, disbelief running through his mind over the fact that the same person he'd heard about on the news is the same person who'd broken into his cottage. Damon remembers now. Yes, he's seen pictures of Elena, actually. But it was so long ago that she's hardly recognizable. She must have cut her hair recently.

"Yes, I am that important woman who died last week." Elena groans. "Now can I please get out of here? I'll get you back your car somehow, I promise."

"H-how are you...?" Damon stutters, completely ignoring the previous statement. His head is going to explode. People coming back from the dead? No way.

Elena sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Look," she says softly, "I don't really feel like explaining my entire life story to you. I simply need a way out of here."

"But... you were dead. You were dead!" Damon exclaims. "We have to call your husband and your family, tell them you're alright!"

"Don't call him that," Elena snaps. Damon recoils at the chill of her tone. "You don't understand what's going on, and I certainly don't need your help. Now get out so I can leave."

Damon ponders his options. He could take the easy way out - agree to let Elena drive away with his beloved car. He could stay at this remote cottage, alone, in the middle of nowhere and try to get his work done. Or he could leave too. Just... just drop everything and go for a while. Like a spontaneous vacation. Never hurts to live a little, right?

"I'm coming too," he decides.

"Pardon?"

Damon straightens herself and dares to look straight in Elena's eyes. "I'm coming with you."

"And why's that?" she challenges.

"Because you're scared of something," he answers. "Because you're reckless and quite frankly, you won't get very far without my help. See, this car is old. Only I can drive her."

"I can take us to a small town, get a room at a motel and buy you some necessities for whatever it is you plan on doing with your life. Then, I'll take back my car, and you'll never have to see me again."

The stretch of silence that follows Damon's offer is a relief to him, because that means he's got the girl thinking. Clearly, she's running from something. Or someone. And strangely, Damon wants to help.

"Fine," Elena waves her hand out, "fine." She brushes a strand of hair away from her face, breathing for a moment before she points a finger in Damon's face. "But I will not be tricked into going back to the hell I came from. Got it?"

"Crystal clear."

"Good." Elena opens her door and turns to look over her shoulder as she steps out, a small smile revealing itself to Damon for the very first time. "Now drive."

xxxxx

A/N: Ta-daaaa! :D First chapter. Second one will be up tomorrow or Saturday at some point. ^^ xx

Notice how Damon and Elena's personalities are a bit... switched? xD