This is dedicated to my lovely friend Maggie (Honeeym) because she's kind of amazing and made me realize that Caroline's kind of amazing, too.
let time chase us
They can't change the past and they can't see the future, but they're damn good at living in the present.
He appears in her room in the middle of the night without warning or reason or anything else that would make it kind of okay. She can see that there's blood smeared on his lips and across the sleeve of his jacket, and his clothes are a bit dirty and disheveled. Her first instinct is to shoo him and his use-and-abuse tendencies right back out, preferably through the window, but she stops herself before any words can escape. She realizes that the only reason he would ever come here is if he didn't know where else to go.
She's distracted from the insightful conclusion she's come to when the distinct smell of liquor - that has probably begun to settle on everything she owns by now - makes her nose scrunch up distastefully. She's not exactly inexperienced when it comes to intoxication and it's effects, but seriously, what has this guy gotten into? She sits up in her bed, absently adjusting her cami to appear as covered-up as possible, and watches him carefully.
He's looking at the wall behind her blankly, like his thoughts are in another world but his body's been left behind and it's the definition of eerie. And honestly, she's a little bit afraid because he hasn't mocked her or referred to her as Vampire Barbie or even rolled his eyes yet. What is wrong with him?
"Damon?" she calls suspiciously, like she's expecting him to snap any second now, mostly because she is expecting him to snap any second now. What's she supposed to think, when he comes in here at three in the morning and stands around like some crazy person who has done crazy things and now wants to do more crazy things?
He blinks a few times and it seems like he might be at least partially on earth again, maybe. His head shakes minutely. "I don't understand," he says quietly, and she gets that he's really only talking to himself right now. "Why can't things just work out for me? Just once."
Caroline swallows. She knows what this is about, or at least she thinks she does, but she's pretty sure she's right. "Damon," she begins, speaking as softly as she can to someone she pretty much hates for pretty good reasons, "What happened to Rose is not your fault."
He looks at her now, almost like he's confused as to why she's there, but doesn't say anything. She sees his pain and remorse beneath that cracked mask of indifference or whatever and decides she's way too caring and sympathetic to just leave him like this - a mess, inside and out.
So after a few moments of silence, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up before reaching out for his arm. "Come on," she says simply, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. He's still for moment, and then complies, allowing her to lead him to the bathroom. She can't think of a time he's ever let her help him before.
He leans against the counter quietly while she gently wipes the blood from his lips and cheek with a towel. She can't do much for the horrible alcohol scent that's basically emanating from his pores, but with one last look at the stain forming on his jacket, she knows there's at least one more problem she can solve for him. She searches in the cupboard beneath the sink for some hydrogen peroxide, and lets out an embarrassing a-ha! when she finds it and if he'd been his normal self, he would've dropped a comment about that, but he doesn't say a word. She dabs the oxidizer onto the stain and then glances upwards, feeling like she needs to make sure he's okay even though he would probably never do the same for her. Damon's watching the liquid bubble on his jacket with a sort of hypnotized fascination, and she quickly wipes it away with a damp paper towel to break the trance.
His eyes snap up to hers and for a second she thinks there's a flash of something that looks a lot like fear in his expression before he disappears, the only evidence of his visit being the pink towels and the open window.
She sighs tiredly. He's too much.
She's meeting Stefan in the woods so they can hunt a couple of poor defenseless creatures and she's wearing her favorite grey top because she was just at Tyler's and this will not end well. She's gotten better at the whole clean-kill thing, but sometimes it can get messy, and it's not like she's particularly interested in spending long hours practicing.
He's waiting for her under a tree, a big one, one that's probably older than him, and he's got this casual smile on his face like they're just meeting for a drink - which, okay, they are, kind of - or to go for a walk or to pick flowers. It's not like she expected him to be standing there in full vamp-mode with teeth and fangs and grr, but isn't it okay to be a little less than polite in these situations?
But she smiles anyway and she's about to say something like Hello or How have you been? despite the situation when his face falls and he lifts a finger to his lips and there's one moment of nothing before he's grabbing her hand and they're running and the names Matt and Tyler don't mean anything to her because this is her, this is who she is, and he doesn't even mind.
They get to the boarding house and he says something about Elijah and not knowing whether they can trust him or not and they're jumping into a deep conversation about morality and life and death and it feels like something she could almost get used to.
And then Elena walks in, and suddenly she's contemplating this existence all by herself, and there's a smudge of dirt on her top and Matt and Tyler don't seem so bad at all.
When he walks in, the first thing he notices is Elena. He can hear her talking to Stefan, in the living room probably, and they're discussing where they want to go for dinner like they don't already know they'll end up at the Grill - so naturally, he has to intervene. A sarcastic jab is on the tip of his tongue when he sees her, sitting on the couch looking right at home in his home, and the comment dies on his lips.
He remembers blood on a towel and sizzling on leather and wide, young eyes staring up at him from beneath long lashes. He wishes he could forget.
His gaze shifts to Elena and Stefan again, who huddle together and pretend not to see the world as it passes them by. Neither of them look up at him, neither of them glance at her. For a second he worried that the baby vamp spilled all the details from the night before, but now he knows she probably never even had the chance.
She meets his eyes meaningfully and nods once without gaining the attention of the others. He understands. He wishes more than anything that he didn't. Her eyes move from his and land on Stefan, and his eyes move from her to rest on Elena. They both watch the things they'll never have and he knows she'll keep his secret.
So maybe it's just a crush, but it's been there for so long she doesn't even remember what it's like to not feel that way whenever he's nearby. Well, okay, maybe she's only known him for about year so it's not exactly that dramatic, but she likes him, she really does. She likes his green eyes and his quiet laugh and his sweet smile, and even his broody frown. Sometimes she even likes his frown best because she loves being the one to erase it and replace it and occasionally make fun of it.
But it's not anything serious. Because he loves Elena and everyone loves Elena, so after getting passed over so many times, she's learned to just not get too attached. Or at least, she tries not to.
She drops by the boarding house because she has to ask him an important question - never mind that she has yet to think of what that important question will be, exactly - and she walks right into a gooey make-out session. They break apart, stare at her with those oh-so-surprised expressions, and then ask if she needs something.
"Ah, no, I'm just here to see Damon," she explains, making up the excuse on the spot and regretting it immediately after. Why would she be here to see Damon? She passes them embarrassedly and speeds up the stairs, cursing to herself every step of the way because now she has to keep up this act and goddamn it, why didn't she just say she'd come back later?
He opens his door right before she knocks and steps aside so she can walk in. His hair is wet and his shirt is unbuttoned and he might as well just write sex on his forehead with permanent marker because, well, yeah. But she doesn't want anything to do with that, not with him, not ever again.
"Stupid lie," he informs her as if she didn't already know, and flashes that smirk. She wants to slap him, but what good would that do? He'd probably break her hand or something because he's a jerk and he sucks.
When she doesn't respond, he just closes the door behind her and makes his way to the giant bed in the corner of the room. She wonders why they didn't ever come to his place when she was his puppet, when she was human, when she was innocent, but then just shrugs it off because she doesn't care about him or what he does or why he does it.
A memory of washing blood out of a jacket hits her like a brick to the head and maybe she does care, just a little bit, barely at all.
"Where are you going, Caroline?" he asks, and she would just ignore him if he wasn't him so she turns around and flashes a small smile.
"To see a friend," she explains non-chalantly, vaguely, because it's the best she can do without lying.
"Who?" Bonnie, she wants to say. Mark, George, Sarah, anyone but the actual one. But she sees his face and his eyes and remembers how honest he is, how kind, how helpful, and she's not going to lie.
"Matt," she admits with a sigh, one that is echoed by him, and she feels like she's about to be put in the corner, admonished for eating a cookie before dinner, sent to her room because she said a bad word. God forbid she goes to see the guy who loves her, who gives her the time of day not just out of obligation but because he appreciates her. That's kind of guy she needs and whatever this is, what she has with Stefan - or more accurately, what she doesn't have with Stefan - is all just a pipedream.
So there.
"Caroline," is all he says and it's enough, he doesn't have to do the we talked about this speech, or the do you remember what happened last time? speech because she knows, she knows because he's told over and over again that it's too dangerous to be around the people you care about when your cravings aren't in control. It's too easy to get your emotions confused, your wires crossed, and she knows, damn it, she knows.
He tells her again anyway.
She loves that he cares. But sometimes he cares too much.
Everyone chooses Stefan. Because he's nice and he's boring and he doesn't get upset and eat people. He laughs even when your joke isn't funny and he apologizes when things aren't even his fault and he knows what to say when you need to be comforted. Well, he doesn't do comforting. He doesn't do nice or caring or corny or sweet. And yeah, he knows he can change, be more like his brother, donate to the orphans, pass up the O-neg for a bunny or two, but the thing is, he doesn't want to.
He shouldn't have to.
She finds him sitting by the fire one night, a glass of blood in his hand and a glass of scotch on the table, and plops down beside him with a huff. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and sees frizzy hair and red cheeks and smudged make-up. She looks more human now than she did when she actually was human.
He wordlessly passes her the scotch. She accepts it, takes a sip, licks her lips. It's hard to be alive, even harder to be dead.
He doesn't ask her what's wrong. Mostly because he doesn't really want to know.
"That's what I like about you," she tells him suddenly, closing her eyes and smiling like it's the best thing in the world. "You just don't care."
He knew this moment would come. Eventually. He knew that she would find out he killed that girl, that sometimes he's drunk and sometimes his temper overrides reason, but he'd somehow shifted that knowledge to that back of his mind so he wouldn't have to deal with it.
Well, he definitely has to deal with it now.
"God," Elena says, all breath because she's too hurt or surprised or disgusted to use her voice. "I don't even know you anymore." There are tears in her eyes, and they're going to fall, soon probably, but she won't stick around and let him see them. He knows that. She turns and opens the door, then casts one sad look over her shoulder before closing it behind her.
He stares at it for a while, just because.
Caroline quietly descends the stairs with her eyes on his back, not really wanting to have to pass him, but knowing she has to do it anyway. He watches her open the same door Elena just went through, and clenches his jaw.
She throws a sad look over her shoulder, but it's not the same, it's not the same at all. He remembers sizzling leather and a bloody lip. "I know who you are," she assures him. And it's funny, because she does.
They sit together like they're actually friends and Damon orders two beers like he's actually a gentlemen. She shifts on her stool, uncomfortable because she's seventeen and she will be forever and she is totally going to get ID-ed. Except compulsion is easy and done and over with just-like-that, so before she knows it, she's drunk and laughing and dancing with this guy she doesn't like in this bar she's never heard of surrounded by people who don't know her.
And it feels so good to be free, just for a minute.
"I know I'm not human," she tells him in between songs, her voice slurring but not really. "Never will be again." He watches her carefully, a little more sober than her, or maybe a little more drunk. "But I'm real. It's good to know that I'm real."
She's not sure if she made any sense, she's not even sure what she said, but he nods his head like he knows, and she thinks maybe he can know enough for the both of them, just for a little while. She grabs their bottles off the bar and they clink them together in a sad sort of celebration that she realizes isn't very sad at all.
So for a minute she forgets what he did to her all those months ago, and doesn't really care what he'll do to her in a week or month or even just an hour, because he nods his head and he knows.
She steps into the house and they're kissing and she's not surprised. They pull apart, take a step back, try to look ashamed, and fail because they're not ashamed at all. This time it doesn't hurt so much, this time it doesn't hurt period. They ask her if she needs something, and they're hoping that she doesn't because they're busy and she knows that, so she just shakes her head.
"No, I'm just here to see Damon," she explains, and smiles when she walks by them and doesn't have to curse herself once as she goes up the stairs because she was telling the truth.
He opens the door right before she knocks and he's got that smirk on his face and it's not a frown and she doesn't even wish it was. He moves to the side, lets her walk in, says something that makes her laugh, and it feels good. It feels right.
"Where are you going?" Stefan asks, his eyebrows furrowed together, and really, he's just wondering.
But this time she turns around with the fire in her eyes that she thought had died when she did, and he's got no chance because she is so, so glad to feel it burning again.
"Don't worry about it, Stefan," she snaps, and then she's out the door and into the sunlight that makes her hair glisten and her skin tingle and she is a goddess, it's time someone realizes it.
She calls him and makes it short and sweet but is careful not to make it sweet at all. He's at her door in a minute, probably less, asking what do you want and saying don't expect me to come running every time you need something, but she doesn't answer, not really, just cuts him off with one quick, harsh kiss on the lips.
He's quiet and she's glad because she doesn't need someone to talk to right now.
Her mom is working and is always working, so they have all the time in the world to do whatever they want. She presses play on the stereo and turns the volume all the way up and even though neither of them know the song, they try to sing along anyway, and she lets him spin, spin, spin her around and watch her move like an angel and demon and anything else she wants to be.
They're not drunk and she realizes that they don't need to be.
She stands up and gives him a reassuring smile, one that says trust me and also do this or I'll kill you. He likes that she has found that balance. "Come on," she says simply, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. He's still for moment, and then complies, allowing her to lead him to wherever it is she is so desperate to go.
"We have to be at Elena's in an hour," he tells her in a sing-song voice that makes her think that he doesn't really care, doesn't really care at all. "We don't have time for this."
She stops, looks back at him. "We're faster than time," she points out, hair glistening in the sun, skin tingling, feeling like a goddess. "It can chase us, but it'll never catch up."
He smirks, a contradiction of good and evil, and then they're sprinting, watching the trees and bushes and the world pass by in a blur. This time she's running to something instead of from it, and isn't that what she's always wanted? Isn't that what she's wanted all along?
She grabs his hand and he actually lets her, and they run to the end of the world and back, their skin sizzling and their blood pumping and time lost somewhere it can't be found. The wind blows her hair back and makes her eyes water and human or vampire, this is what it's like to be alive.