Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries or any of its characters
AN: Hey there! So I'm a huge Delena shipper, so yeah this will have some Delena (not really but I thought I should tell you guys so you wouldn't be surprised) but really its just a short appreciation story for Damon and Alaric's bromance. This takes place after Alaric dies. (So between episode Memorial and The Rager)
"They're floating lanterns in the sky. Can you believe that? Japanese lanterns is a symbol of letting go of the past. Well here's a news flash. We are not japanese.I know what they are... children. Like lighting a candle is going to make everything okay or even saying a prayer or pretending Elena is not going to end up just like the rest of us murderous vampires. Stupid, delusional, exasperating little children. I know what you're gonna say. 'It makes them feel better Damon' So what? for how long? a minute, a day? What difference does it make? Because in the end when you lose somebody, every candle, every prayer, is not going to make up for the fact the only thing that you have left is a hole in your life where that somebody used to be and a rock with a birthday carved into it that im pretty sure is wrong. So thanks, friend. Thanks for leaving me here to babysit, since i should be long gone by now. I didn't get the girl. Remember? I'm stuck here fighting with my brother and taking care of the kids. You owe me big."
Damon places his empty glass on the counter with a loud clank, then twirls the clear object between his long fingers, his baby blue eyes staring intently at the cup, as if accusing it of murder. He had not left his place on the couch for hours now, repeating the same movements over again.
Pour. Drink. Curse. Repeat.
He was on the pour stage of his cycle, when he noticed all his whiskey had run out. Damon stood, walking towards the dark, mahogany liquor cabinet, and searched for another bottle of booze, but only found bourbon. Damon looked at the bottle, his best friends favorite liquid swirling inside it. Sighing, he opened it and took a swig, not even bothering with a cup.
"Cheers, buddy." Damon said, raising the bottle high, before taking another long gulp of the toxic liquid.
After the amber liquid disappeared down his throat, Damon decided it was about time to hit the hay, as the moon had already risen high in the black sky. As he was getting ready for bed, clumsily moving from bathroom to bedroom, he suddenly became incredibly hungry. Damon ran downstairs to the cooler were the blood bags were stored, but he frowned at the sight of the bagged blood. He wanted something fresh.
With barely any sound, Damon made it out of the house and into the town in mere seconds. There, he stood in the shadows, his face hidden by a veil of darkness, until he could smell a sweet stench coming from a woman who happened to be traveling on her own dorn the blackening streets.
Damon approached the woman, a self-confident smirk on his face, and within seconds had her interested in him. He leaned in close, his mouth mere inches from her soft, pink lips, the stench of alcohol tumbling from his mouth, snapping the woman from her daze. But it was too late for her. Damon asked her not to scream, his pupils dilating and words taking control over her, and then bit into her pale neck. He moved her blonde hair from the vein, and drank from her until he could hear her little heart fluttering dangerously.
"Thank you." Damon whispered, wiping his bloody mouth with his sleeve. After giving her a new scarf to cover the suspicious wound, he compelled her to forget him and what had happened, telling her that it was simply her boyfriend going overboard. And with that, he was gone.
When he made it back to the manor, Damon found a cross-looking Elena leaning against the wall.
"You shouldn't have left us, you know. Maybe-"
"Maybe what, Elena? Maybe some stupid paper lanterns could just wash away whatever I feel? They are gone, dead, and will not be coming back. Ever. And there is nothing that will help ease that knowledge along." Damon spat, walking dangerously close to Elena, who backed away from him, and into the wall.
"Damon, you're drunk." Elena stated quietly, not sure what to do. She was not a weak human anymore, yet her feet would not listen to her when she told them to move away from there.
"Now why would I be drunk?" Damon babbled, the distance between him and Elena mere inches.
Elena lifted a hand and placed it on Damon's arm. He eyed it warily, not sure what to do, whether she wanted to hurt or help him. Damon's eyes drifted back to Elena's chocolatey orbs. "Look, Damon, we have all lost people. I'm here if you need me, okay?" She managed a little smile.
Damon stepped back, letting Elena have some space, and then walked away, up to his room.
Rolling his eyes at Elena's words, Damon fell into his bed. She looked at him as if he was a wounded, scared, cornered animal, while it was quite different in reality. He was fine. Alaric...
"This is why you don't want friends." Damon scolded himself in a low voice, his eyelids sinking lower and lower, until all he could see was darkness.
Damon had never dreamt before. Maybe while he was still young and human. But for the past hundred and fifty years, his nights were either sleepless, or simply contained nothing at all. No dreams, no movement. Night after night, he would just lie there, sleeping, eyes closed, but never dreaming.
Until now.
All night long flashbacks haunted him, memories resurfacing from his past. Friends he had lost, ones he had gained, ones who he betrayed. The sun was coming up when the flashbacks turned more recent. They seemed so real, as if he was there once more, still drinking bourbon with Alaric, hunting down their enemies, fighting each other.
The first time Damon had killed Alaric, appologizing to him later on, it all came back.
"Well! Sometimes... I do things I don't have to do." Damon tried, knowing he had to appologize in order for Alaric to help him. But that meant swallowing his pride. He wasn't sure he had that in him.
"You're going to recycle that same crap ass apology you gave Mason Lockwood?" Alaric accused him, not sure whether to laugh or just walk away.
"Yeah. Well... I didn't mean it with him." Damon replied, looking away, not seeing Alaric's smirk and eye roll.
Then the dream darkened, the scene changing to the old cemetery, where Damon had said goodbye to Alaric for what he believed would be the last time.
"Is this the part where you give me a dream? Rainbows and rolling green hills?" Alaric asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Damon groaned, mentally scolding himself for getting drunk enough to tell Alaric that. He resisted the urge to punch him for that, and instead replied in an annoyed manner.
"I was drunk when I told you that." Damon insisted, earning a scoff from Alaric.
Damon's eyes flew open, convinced someone had gotten inside his head, tormenting him with his... friends from the past. He shook his head, trying to get the dream out of his mind. But as he was getting ready for the new day, he could've sworn he heard a voice whisper;
"I miss you too, buddy."