Look I know I have other things to update...but I'm kind of sort of addicted to comment fics...so yeah...here's another one...random...and if anyone even mentions continuing this...you know I have no willpower to say no...so don't do it...read...review...do what you do...
Friends, Hunters, and Lovers
Somewhere in the dusty old bar there was a song playing.
Bonnie remembered it from the days her mother still lived under the Bennett roof. She wanted to dance, sing, shimmy her hips, but she can't, there's no more time for fun. It is the end of the world and she knows it. There are things much worse than vampires and werewolves with scores to settle beyond these four walls. So when the woman with the soft eyes looked up from the bar and asked, whatcha drinking, she didn't mumble. Clearly and plainly she ordered Jack neat.
There were no questions about id and legal drinking ages. Everyone's defenses were set to fight or flight. Two months, it had only been two months since they put Klaus to bed and now she knew the devil was real. She didn't say a word. She slammed the drink back and motioned for another. She was only supposed to come in scope the place out and see if there was anyone that could help.
The music took her to another place and time. When things were simpler and her only concern was floating down feathers in the air. Now she was on the road, searching for new friends, killing demons, and willingly laughing at Damon Salvatore's sadistic humor. Speaking of a certain devil, she heard the cock of the woman's shotgun when the door opened.
"It's just Damon," She picked up her glass forgetting its empty state and tried to make nice, "I promise he won't give you any trouble."
Her words didn't appease the woman. There was a stare down of epic proportions going on between hunter and prey and Bonnie wasn't sure which end of the spectrum her traveling companion fit. Her grandmother always taught her to read the story of a person's life by the things that went unsaid, the wounds they made visible for the world to see. Her eyes fell to the ring on the woman's left hand; the tarnished band with the faded engravings. She noticed the script of a bootleg tattoo one name barely visible and the other, Jo. She took a chance stretching her hand forward and gripping the barrel of the gun. Loss, everybody understood loss.
The woman met her gaze.
"How old was Jo when she died?"
She didn't miss the unspoken question or the hesitation before the woman answered.
"Just a little bit older than you," Bonnie watched as her glass was refilled, "I used to let her drink a shot of Jack every now and again too, guess it doesn't matter, law doesn't care about drinking minors with bloodsuckers like him on the loose."
She was on the verge of defending the vampire beside her when she realized the woman just spoke the truth. It was refreshing and somewhat comforting.
"I'm Bonnie and this is Damon."
She extended her hand waiting for the woman to put down the gun and wipe her hands on a towel.
"Ellen."
They talked for at least an hour over more shots as Damon perused the jukebox. He put REM to bed and replaced them with Aerosmith.
"What's a little thing like you doing with him?"
Bonnie had gotten used to the questions. The raised brows and extended glances.
"I'm not with him."
In record time she shared her story, from the first fire, the premonitions, vampires, wolves, and how everyone she's ever loved has…
She stopped talking before the boy with the warm brown eyes could overtake her memories. She still couldn't say his name or think about his death, not today. So she took another sip and concentrated on the words Steven Tyler sung.
"We're the only ones left."
It was hard to admit it and even harder to realize that every time she said it, it became easier to accept.
Bonnie saw Ellen when she shook her head and retrieved a few bottles of beer from the bin under the bar. She noted the playful grin tugging at older woman's lips and she turned to see what had drastically changed her new friend's mood.
His hair was sandy brown and his eyes…mmm… immediately Bonnie looked down shielding the lust she knew was mirrored in her own. Somewhere between studying his lips when he talked and listening to his boots drag the floor she wondered, searched her memory, and came up empty for the last time she was kissed.
Not the one from the first night on the road with Damon when they were both too drunk to make rational decisions, no a sensuous affair that seared a man's name into your soul. She forced herself not to look away when he spared her a second glance. She knew the look of desire well; it was always Damon's first tool deployed in every scenario.
She expected the hand that brushed against her thigh when he sat down next to her at the bar. She welcomed the gruff whisper that tickled her skin when he asked her name. She resisted the urge to kiss him when she turned staring into those golden eyes to inquire the same.
"Dean."
It was only a handshake, but that was all it took to deliver the premonition of sweat soaked sheets and tangled limbs. She stole the bottle from his hands and took a long sip.
"I think we're going to be really good friends."
Dean nodded his head, retrieving his beer, "No making promises you can't keep."