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I just finished watching the Season Two finale and this is what came of my musings for how Damon and Elena would deal with Stefan's absence. I hope you enjoy; reviews are appreciated :)
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"Why are you still awake?"
She's standing in the shadows of the stairwell with her skinny arms wrapped around her frame tightly and those ivory fingernails digging into her skin. He can smell the scent of her delicious blood from here but is too lazy - tired - to think about draining the blood from her body.
Okay, so maybe he's thought about it once or twice, but now he's more focused on the haggard circles under her dull brown eyes and the way she's trying - failing miserably - to smile, just for him.
"I could ask you the same question." He looks right at her as he says it, his fingers looping around a crystal glass full of his favorite blood - O positive.
She just glares at him.
"You know," he mutters, "I can still see you perfectly fine from here. Freaky vampire crap, remember?" He takes a sip of blood, gurgles it, then swallows. It slithers down his throat, warm and bubbly. But there's something missing and he can't seem to figure out what it is.
Elena fingers one of the statuettes situated in one of the nitches in the wall and looks at him again with brown eyes filled with something - he hates the times he can't read her, because honestly, he can read everyone else like an open book and she's just being a nuisance.
"Why are you still awake?" she asks again.
He sighs, "Now is not the time to be asking questions. Toodle-oo, off you go." He waves offhandedly towards the stairwell in the hopes - no, he knows she won't - that she'll traipse back off to Stefan's bed and dream about rainbows and lollipops and the other useless things humans do.
"Now is not the time to be awake either," Elena says tightly, "yet here we are." Her fingernails dig further into pale skin and he watches droplets of blood streak down her arm.
He groans - because now she's actually getting on his nerves, and he never professed to being a martyr like his brother - and takes another sip of blood, licks his lips slowly as he stares at her, trying to figure out what she's hiding. She typically always has an ulterior motive now - now that - well, more than ever.
"Can't sleep," he grunts at last.
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"Why must you continue to run," he calls after her voluptuous skirts. Her black hair is flowing in the breeze ever so beautifully and he finds himself transfixed.
Crash. He collides into her and they stumble into the shade of an oak tree. Her tongue traces patterns on his neck and he has to remind himself that no matter how innocent she might look, she's far from it.
"So that you will chase after me," Katherine croons, stroking his cheek with her gloved hand. "But it seems - it seems you no longer wish to play."
His eyes widen and he presses closer to her, "Of course I wish to play, Katarina. Whatever would give you such a preposterous idea?"
Katherine's lips part and he watches blood gleam on her fangs with reluctant excitement.
"See," she whispers against his neck. "Your brother runs away into the mist now and yet you do not chase after him. Do these games tire you, Damon?"
He blinks, looks over, and watches his brother run far, far away. He wants to cry out, to rush after his flesh and blood because he doesn't understand why his brother would run away.
"Do these games tire you, Damon?" Katherine breathes seductively. "Do I tire you?"
Then, with a wild hiss, she plunges her fangs into his neck.
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His breath hitches momentarily, and then he's recovered. Just to check - you never know these days - his eyes make two circuits around the expanse of the living room, his ears stretching for the slightest interrupt in sound.
"Something wrong?" It takes him a minute to realize that she's slumped down beside him on the couch, her head resting against the cushioned back with ease. Long eyelashes flutter and Elena looks at him with those familiar chocolate eyes.
But, it's just - he can't -
"Damon?" She's looking at him now with a bit of concern and he finds his hands balling into fists because -
Slam. Her back hits the far wall and she's gasping as he presses his hand tighter against her throat, pinning her tightly against the faded wood. Chocolate eyes meet his with some kind of terror he doesn't often understand - because he'll never be so weak again - and he can't let go, can't let go with his hands and the blinding rage flooding his system.
"Katherine," he hisses, his voice deadly.
She lets out a choked sound, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Damon," she breathes in a gurgled voice. "Damon, no - please stop. It's - I'm Elena."
Something dissolves and he's shaking and releasing his hold. Elena cringes against the wall but doesn't cry - she's been through so much by now; he's surprised death even bothers her anymore. Her fingernails dig into the wood behind her and she clamps her lips shut.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, wheeling towards her.
"Is this the kind of monster you say you like?" He's hissing and grasping for something - anything - because he's not the hero and the hero of this story is gone playing wing-man. "Is this the kind of monster you say you accept, flaws and all?" He shakes her, hard. "Well, is it?"
Elena trembles under his hold, but doesn't back away. She simply stares at him.
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"Well Damon?" Katherine looks up at him with those beautiful, cold eyes. "You understand, don't you?"
She's playing mind games with him as she throws on one of his shirts and continues looking at him as though he'll suddenly smile like everything's a-okay.
He can't speak; he's struck dumb by the words that she's spoken. All he can do is listen to the door slam behind her as she flees into the night like the angelic demon she is.
"Yes, I understand." He whispers at last, jaw quivering and eyes burning as he fights the inevitable break down. "I will never be Stefan."
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"Damon." Her fingers are brushing his jaw and his lips and she's not doing anything inappropriate - something he would normally be disappointed about - but her touch leaves little tingles to race across his skin. "Damon, what - I don't understand."
His hands catch hers and he nearly folds into her as his face crumples, those eyes still lit up like two topaz bits in the sunlight.
"I will never be the hero," he says softly, and then he's spinning away before he can see that - horrific, he needs it - trace of compassion light her face. Instead he contents himself slurping down the remainder of the O-positive from the crystal glass. Then, slamming the cup down, feeling glass pierce his skin, hissing as the skin heals, and then he's left with a numbness stealing down his body.
Treading footsteps. Elena is heading towards him but he doesn't think he can take the feel of her touch right now.
"Why can't you sleep?" he asks casually, pacing towards the crackling fireplace. "Aren't humans typically sleep-hogs?"
Elena sighs at the change of subject.
"The sheets on his bed still smell like him," she says with a shrug, but she's biting her lower lip which means she's clearly upset.
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"Can you smell that?" Stefan asks as they walk towards the parlor.
The scent of blood hangs in the air and they know Katherine is long gone but here is clearly proof of her existance. Blood splattered against the walls, bodies drained of blood. Two bodies tied up in the corner, the victims' eyes wide with fear. They're both women with honey blonde hair; and that's how he knows this is Katherine's doing.
Not to mention: everything else looks immaculate.
"Look at this." Stefan holds up a folded white note, and it is quickly snatched by fumbling fingers.
Enjoy the snack. Embrace the monsters you have become - K
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"When will he be back, Damon?" Elena's voice, soft and confused, all too aware of the truth.
He knows what she's really asking: Will Stefan ever be back?
He turns, captures her shoulders with broad hands, fingers tightening until she could wince under his brutal touch. Elena doesn't, however, simply fixing him with one of those stares she knows - all too well - unnerve him.
"We left the day we gave up our humanity," he answers solemnly. "I told you this before."
Elena stiffens, and then leaning, and breath hitching and limbs tangling, lips brushing. He's barely even aware of how soft her lips feel against his - like rose petals drifting in the breeze - until she's pulling away.
"That was stupid," he tells her.
Elena shrugs. "I know." Lips, pressed against the curve of his ear. "But you know it's always been Stefan." He would pull away if it were not for her fingers tangled in his hair, her feet leading them towards his bedroom, his off-white comforter and the flattened shape of his pillows.
"I know." Kissing, touching, ripping away clothing as he fights back the familiar ache. And then he stops, because she's whispering again, and it's something new.
"But -" she pauses to look up at him with chocolate eyes, "it's always been you too."
His vision blurs, and he knows they can't do this, because without Stefan here he has to play the hero, and he has no damn idea how to do that. But maybe - with her - this could be a start.
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"When you're like me," Katherine says as she strips off his shirt, "you can turn off your emotions, hide away memories until you feel no remorse."
Kissing, bruising, and he's never realized just how sharp her teeth are, just how cold those beautiful eyes are.
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Elena wakes up in Stefan's bed, fingers clutching the comforter, breathing harsh, sweat beading her forehead. She feels as if there is something to remember - something along the lines of heros - but there is nothing. Yawning, she slips into sleep.
(Damon never explains the bruises on her neck.)
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