Transporting Damon
A/N How did Damon get from Wes' lab to the Augustine underground cell? This little story is supposed to be mostly serious, but I hope you see a little humor in it. Originally, I posted the story as a one-shot, but I decided to do more chapters. I want to explore what might have happened to Damon after he became a prisoner.
Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. Original characters, such as Bull and Warren, are mine.
Dr. Wes Maxfield coughed as the fine spray of vervain was slowly sucked up by the air exchange vents. The vervain didn't really hurt him, but it was irritating to breath. In fact, he sneezed several times. Finally, it dissipated and he breathed more easily.
He looked down at the body lying on the floor of the lab, dried blood on the right side of its neck. The edge of the dark T-shirt was stained with it.
"Damon Salvatore. Smartass vampire," he said with a sneer on his face. "You think you're smarter than I am? Well, who's lying on the floor unconscious now? Huh? You are! You injected me with those killer organisms, but you didn't ask me if I had developed a super immunity, did you? And don't you know that those organisms don't give instant death? If I were not immune, it would still have taken quite some time for me to develop the infections, to feel the toxins. You idiot! Just because you have lived a long life doesn't mean you know everything. Ignoramus!
"I can't believe you were fool enough to tell me you were one of the Augustine vampires. An Augustine vampire walked into this lab! How lucky can a fellow get, I ask you? I forgive you for your vicious treatment of me since you have given me this gift. Well, I sort of forgive you."
He walked over to the still form on the floor and gave it a kick in the ribs. There was no response. He was reasonably sure the vampire would be out cold for some time to come. Bending down, he lifted the upper lip of his tormentor, now his victim, and looked at the teeth. Nice teeth, even and white, no obvious fangs. Previously, he had pulled out the eye teeth of a different vampire. It had taken some time for the fangs to grow back. That particular creature had not been an eater of regular food, so it had used a knife to cut victims to get the blood.
"I should pull your fangs, Salvatore. That would ruin your smile for a while, wouldn't it? I bet you are a babe magnet, good looks and all. How many sweet things would buzz around you like little honey bees if they saw your dental gaps? Of course, I guess you are probably good at compelling the ladies if they don't respond like you want them to. With no fangs, you wouldn't be able to bite and draw blood during your little intimate sessions in bed, would you? That would reduce some of the high, I'll bet.
"I'm told it is a humbling experience to have your fangs pulled. A form of vampire punishment in some circles. I wonder if you would lisp or whistle when you talked. Don't worry, you obnoxious fool, I probably won't pull your fangs. I already did that to another of your kind and observed the results. But I'm sure there are one or two experiments I can do on you.
"Not here, though. I need to get you out of here and put you where you won't get away from me. You're strong, but not Superman. You can be kept in captivity like a gorilla. Put on display to a chosen few. Don't you just love that idea?
"Maybe I'll take your clothes away and you can stand in your cage naked like in those ape planet movies. Those men in the movie should have been naked instead of wearing those loin cloths. Where did they get loin clothes, huh? Of course, they couldn't go naked in movies made to be seen by everyone.
A man without his clothes usually feels vulnerable in the company of clothed observers. I bet your stuff would just shrivel up with embarrassment. Or maybe it wouldn't. You seem like an over-confident, vain guy. Maybe you'd like to display yourself. Maybe you'd walk around in a state of arousal and smirk at everyone who looked.
"As long as I can gas you with vervain or inject you with it or tie you down with vervain-soaked ropes, I can control you. What will be done to you has yet to be decided, but I'm sure the Augustine methods will be interesting.
"You hurt my arm, you bastard. You stabbed me with needles with no clue as to what you were hitting, like bone, tendons, blood vessels, my elbow joint. I have fantastic immunities, but now I'll have to take a bunch of strong antibiotics. Thanks a lot!
"I need to call Bull. I sure as hell can't carry you out of here to the car, but he can. So excuse me, sleeping beauty, while I call him." He got out his cell phone and soon made contact with the collage student.
"Bull, come over to my lab. I have a little job I need you to do for me. Yes, now. Ten minutes? That's fine."
For the next few minutes, he took care of the vials of dangerous diseases. He was not supposed to have some of them. Ebola, for instance. That could cause an epidemic. The flesh-eating bacteria were actually common, but they could sometimes do incredible damage to body tissues. He was immune to the rabies organism. He had known that Damon Salvatore was wasting his time injecting those substances into him. The worst Wes had was a really sore left arm because of the needle jabs and the irritating injected liquids.
Bull finally arrived. He was attending Whitmore because he had a football scholarship. He was six feet, five inches tall and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. He played defense on the school team, but he was also a fast runner. He was a fairly-nice-looking young man. Unfortunately, he was not very smart. His full name was Andrew Bullerton.
The young fellow walked into the lab and looked at the man lying on the floor.
"I need you to pick this man up and carry him to the car for me," Wes said.
"He's got blood on his neck. He ain't dead is he? I don't like dead people."
"He's not dead. Not really. And the blood has dried already."
Bull knelt down on one knee, adjusted Damon's body and then slid his arms under his back and knees. With a small grunt, he lifted the limp form. Damon's head flopped back and his arms hung down. His mouth was agape and his eyes half open.
"Are you sure he ain't dead? Doc, I don't think he's breathing."
"He's not breathing, Bull. He doesn't have to. He's a vampire."
Bull swore and threw his burden down as if he had seen a large spider crawling on it. It landed with a thud on the floor, sort of in a heap.
"He's not dangerous," Wes insisted, a bit annoyed. "I swear. He's out cold and totally safe to handle."
"Says you! Man, a vampire?"
"I mean it, Bull. I wouldn't endanger you. Haven't I helped you with your studies and your grades? Don't you think you can trust me?"
"Yeah. I guess. If I pick him up and he opens his eyes, I swear I'll stomp on him and get outta here."
"He won't wake up for an hour or so. I swear. Now, please pick him up."
Bull knelt down cautiously and again gathered Damon in his arms. He sniffed and then decided the vampire didn't smell. That was good. He followed Wes toward the back door of the lab. While the doctor held the door open, Bull tried to walk on through, forgetting to turn and ease his burden through. Damon's head clunked against the door frame on one side and his knees banged into the other side.
"Oops. Okay, got it. I once carried a drunk buddy and he threw up on me and peed on me. This vampire ain't going to do that, is he? I don't want no vampire puke or pee on me. The puke would probably be all bloody. Has he been biting anyone?"
"Not in the last hour. He can't vomit on you anyway. When a vampire drinks blood, it goes right out to blood vessels in his body. His stomach is empty. I'm sure it's quite safe to carry him," Wes said as he led the way to where his car was parked. The vehicle was an SUV and he opened the back hatch.
Bull tripped on a pot hole in the parking lot and fell, dropping his burden again and this time landing on it. With a yelp of fear, he sprang back up to his feet, moved back and stared down at the body, lest it jump up and attack him.
The vampire didn't move, so after a moment, Bull bravely picked it up again. He muttered to himself, swearing he would never pick up a vampire again. In fact, he hoped Dr. Maxfield didn't ever ask him to do something like this again.
"Put him in the back, Bull. Please try not to drop him again," Wes said, trying to be patient and finding it difficult.
Bull moved closer to the open back of the vehicle and sort of threw the scary body inside. It's legs and hips didn't go in and slowly the vampire slid out and into a heap, face down on the ground.
"He don't want to go in there, Doc," Bull said with more alarm.
"Damn it! He's unconscious! He doesn't have an opinion. Try again. Don't throw him this time."
Once again Bull knelt down and gathered up the uncooperative body. Limp bodies were hard to handle. They sagged and slipped and fell. Bull was annoyed that the doctor didn't help him. Things would have gone much more easily if the two of them were doing this.
Then Bull noticed that the vampire now had a cut lip and the blood was getting on his sleeve. Fearing the vampire's blood, the big athlete swore and shoved the body at Wes, who tried to catch it, but his left arm was very sore and a bit weak. With one arm around Damon, he couldn't hold him, and the unconscious body slipped down Wes' front, leaving a streak of blood down his shirt, and settled on his shoes. Wes would have lost his balance and fallen, but he was up against the back of the SUV.
"Pick the bastard up, Bull! Right now! How the hell can this be so hard? Pick him up."
"He's bleeding! I got vampire blood on me!"
"It won't hurt you! Pick him up!"
"I don't want to!" the football player whined. He faced all kinds of mayhem on the football field where he was fearless, but this was different.
"Bull! I swear you'll be sorry. You will fail your tests and get kicked off the team. Is that what you want?"
"No, sir!"
"Then pick him up, damn it!"
Bull groaned in despair and picked up the cumbersome load. He noticed a scrape on the vampire's forehead that was now oozing blood. So was the back of the limp right hand. This time he threw the body over his shoulder so that Damon's head hung down Bull's back and his hips were over Bull's shoulder. The pressure on Damon's bladder was too much.
"He's peeing on me! He's peeing! You said he wouldn't pee on me! And it's cold!" Bull yelled. He moved to the open back of the vehicle and yanked the body off his shoulder. As Damon's head come up and over from the back, it banged into the raised hatch. His body did not go into the vehicle.
Bull clutched it tightly, front to front, knowing he'd be in more trouble if he let it crash to the ground again. He found himself face to face with Damon's head, with the dirty, bloody, cold forehead pressed to his own. The half-open eyes seemed to look right into his own. This was awful! Disgusting! He felt like he was hugging a zombie. With a cry of revulsion, he shoved the body into the back of the SUV. This time it stayed there, although the legs were half way out.
Wes shoved the legs inside and slammed down the hatch. One of Damon's legs had slipped forward and the hatch came down on his ankle. Wes cursed and shoved the leg further inside and closed the hatch.
"Get in the car, Bull."
"Why? I did what you asked."
"And do you think I am going to leave him in there? Don't you think we have to move him again?"
"We? You didn't help me at all," Bull whined.
"He hurt my arm. I can't help. That's why I called you. Now, get in the car."
With resignation, the young man got inside and Wes drove. It only took minutes to get to where he wanted to put Damon. Bull sat in silence, picking at his cold, damp shirt front and the bloodied sleeve.
"I can't believe he peed on me. Vampire pee. And blood," he muttered, shuddering. At least the urine didn't have much of a smell.
"Well, be thankful he didn't vomit on you," Wes muttered back.
At their destination, Wes parked and they got out and walked around to the back. In a moment they were staring at the dirty, bloodied, disheveled captive. They both pulled the body to the back edge and Bull once again gathered it up in his arms.
"He's got blood on the back of his head now," he observed.
"That's because you whacked his head on the hatch door. Have you got him this time? You aren't going to drop him?"
"No, unless he starts to move. Or he looks like he's going to bite my neck," Bull growled. He found he was getting used to handling the vampire's body. It wasn't so bad anymore. He wondered what Wes was going to do to the undead man, but he didn't ask. Instead, he followed the doctor down some stone steps and this time didn't whack the head against the door frame. The cellar became well-lit when the doctor flipped a switch and Bull could see there were cells with strong bars, plus other things. He didn't want to look too closely.
"Put him in there," Wes said, pointing to one cell.
Bull walked in and knelt down. He was determined not to drop the body again. It already looked the worse for wear. He laid the vampire on his side. He knew from experience that it was the best position if there was any chance the unconscious person might throw up. He didn't know if the doctor was right that vampires never threw up, but he felt he owed this one some consideration after the way he had mishandled carrying him. He looked quite battered.
"Sorry about dropping you so much, dude," he muttered. He then stood up and walked from the cell. He watched the doctor lock it.
"Are you going to treat his wounds?" Bull asked, thinking that the cut on the back of the vampire's scalp might be deep, might need stitches.
"No. I don't need to. Vampires heal quickly. I'm sure he's not actively bleeding now," Wes assured the athlete. "Come on. I'll take you back. Were you at a party?"
"Yeah. A good one. I need to wash up and change my clothes first, so you better take me to the dorm."
"Fine. Thank you for your help, Bull. I apologize for yelling at you."
"That's okay, doc. Sorry I kept dropping him."
A little later, Damon Salvatore woke, regained muscle control and looked around. He saw immediately that he was in a cell in a cellar or dungeon-like place. Not good. More alarming was that it looked familiar. Then he noticed the spot where he had once, many years ago, scratched his initials on the wall. Not good at all! Groaning from achiness and bad memories, he now remembered the vapor that had knocked him unconscious. He was Dr. Maxfield's prisoner! And Maxfield was an Augustine experimenter!
He looked at his hands and arms and saw that they were dirty and had healed scrapes. His lip, forehead and scalp were sore. When he reached up to touch the back of his head, his fingers came away with clotted blood. He realized his pants were damp. He could not figure out why he felt like he had been beaten up. Why did his clothes look like he had rolled in dirt? Where had he been? He was really sore all over. Had Maxfield beaten him while he was unconscious? Why? Just for revenge? Did it matter? Didn't he now have more pressing problems?
The dizzy after-effects of the vervain and a throbbing headache from various blows to his head and assorted bad memories of things done here - all made him want to vomit. Despite the assurances the doctor had given Bull, the vampire leaned forward and got rid of the remains of the cheeseburger and fries he had had for lunch about two hours before. He then sat there on the floor, leaned against the rock wall and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do but wait for whatever came next.
A/N Hope you liked this story. More to come.
