Hiya!
So, we have chapter two. I'm excited. :) I hope it's as good as chapter one, but I have my doubts.
I have a lot of trouble keeping track of where the furniture is in the Salvatore boarding house, so for my purposes the liquor counter (or whatever you call it) is behind the couch, which faces away from the door.
I don't own anything, anything at all. (Well some things, but not the things that belong to someone else.)
Happy (hopefully) reading!
Nine hours was a frickin' long time to be bleeding to death on a plane.
At least he was staining Katherine's upholstery, not that the bitch would mind, being dead, but he couldn't really spit on her grave (vampires as old as she had been turned to dust after being staked) so this was a worthy alternative. Except for the fact that he wasn't sure he'd make it home.
In typical Katherine fashion, the now-dead vampire had compelled a wealthy Frenchman into gifting her with his jet. Then, in typical Katherine paranoid fashion, she'd chalked the one measly flight attendant and the pilot full of vervain. And there wasn't a blood bag to be found.
Damon lay half-on, half-off the nice purple leather seats (Purple leather, he thought deliriously, really?). His black hair was stuck to his face with sweat, and the bloodlust kept creeping in and back out of his glassy eyes. What was more uncomfortable was the fact that his fangs weren't in time with his eyes. They kept schnicking in and out, sometimes rapidly, sometimes almost lazily, and it was starting to hurt. He was having trouble determining up from down, and in a moment his feet were going to lose purchase and he would slide right onto the floor.
The wound from Katherine's nails, as well as the one from her teeth, weren't healing as they should because of the amount of blood he'd lost. The only thing keeping him awake and undead was force of will. And will was petering out.
The plane landed quite unexpectedly, and Damon did fall to the floor. With arms outstretched, he debated dying, but decided pouring an unprecedented amount of scotch down his throat was a much more promising endeavor. He turned over slowly and grasped the edge of the seat with a slick hand, sliding off several times as he tried to pull himself up. The flight attendant, who'd been plenty suspicious of him when he'd come alone to commandeer the jet, let him struggle. Finally, he managed to stand and the pilot came, with pity enough for both himself and the flight attendant, who, after receiving a glare that threatened to give away her job, found it in her heart to aid the handsome dying man.
At his only mildly coherent insistence (in very garbled French), they settled him in a taxi and left.
He stumbled over his feet, the grass, and everything on his way to the boardinghouse's front door, thinking that leaving the door perpetually unlocked was the smartest thing he'd ever done. He fell once inside, and only just managed to make it to the liquor counter where there sat an almost empty bag of blood. Greedily, he gulped the liquid once he managed to knock it onto the floor; of course, the bag's contents weren't nearly enough to give him the energy to continue his feeding—the rest of the blood was carefully tucked away elsewhere.
Using the last dregs of strength he had, he pulled himself onto the couch, wished for the first time in one hundred and forty-five years for Stefan, and passed out.
Elena knew the only reason she and Bonnie were spending time together was Bonnie's desire to search the boardinghouse library for any reference to witches. Lately, all her friendships were turning into people using each other, and often for conflicting goals.
She turned the knob of the front door, knowing it would be unlocked (some things centuries-old vampires just wouldn't learn), and stepped out of the way to allow Bonnie to pass by her. As she was closing the door, Bonnie slipped.
"What the hell?" she cursed, recognizing the sticky liquid beneath her shoe instantly, and immediately trying out the latest trick she'd learned from Emily's grimoire—affecting any vampire in the vicinity with a mind-melting headache sans eye contact.
A shattered scream came from the direction of the couch, and Elena rushed past her friend to the issuer of the scream.
"Bonnie, stop it!" she demanded when she found an unconscious Damon arching off the couch, his face twisted into a grimace she recognized. "He's not even conscious!"
Bonnie stalked around to Elena's side, not relenting until she saw for herself the state Damon was in. "It's his blood?" Disbelief colored her question, as she stared perplexedly at Elena, who was looking back at her similarly.
"Yes, little witch, it's my blood." Damon, now awake (and cranky), tried unsuccessfully to shift into a less helpless position.
Bonnie quirked an eyebrow, and turned partly away, quite content with that piece of information.
"What happened, Damon?" Elena asked, unsure what to do—if anything—for the man who'd meant to kill her brother.
"I killed the bitch," he said, attempting to appear as debonair as usual from his supine position. "But she went down swinging." Trying again to shift, he groaned, and settled for reaching a hand across his stomach to staunch the blood newly flowing from Katherine's handy work.
"You killed Katherine?"
Damon's eyes moved to hers, "You know another bitch I should have killed?" He waited a moment for her to figure out what action to take, and when she didn't move he gave up. "I need blood."
Elena didn't hear him; she'd finally noticed his neck. "She fed on you?"
Bonnie twisted back around, eyes keen. "A vampire bled by a vampire," she murmured. "This will have consequences."
"Thank you, your foreseeing witchiness," Damon quipped. "Are you going to do something," he asked Elena who was still standing and staring, "or are you going to watch me die on the couch?"
"What would Katherine do?" Elena retorted, coming back to herself.
"Salopes partout,*" Damon muttered. "I'm dying, Elena. For real, permanently, dead dead." He paused to take a breath. "And it hurts."
Elena's eyes narrowed, but she didn't move.
"Fine," he snapped, finally getting his hands beneath him to push himself up. "I'll eat Bonnie." He emphasized his point by making a swipe at the witch, who was Not Amused. Elena pirouetted, straight Katherine-shade hair swinging, and clomped to the kitchen.
Once Elena left the room, Damon deflated, and Bonnie noticed the extreme paleness of his skin and the light violet veins sketching deathly patterns across his face. His fangs slid out once, and she watched as he pushed them back into place with effort. She hadn't realized that dying couldbe a process for vampires; she'd only known that stake-less equaled alive and stake equaled dead.
Damon's nostrils flared as Elena returned, arms laden with blood bags, and he blinked several times to reign in his vampiric telltales. Elena handed him one bag and unceremoniously dumped the rest in his lap, ignoring the flinch it caused.
As he began to drink, greedily and unashamedly, the girls seated themselves. Bonnie refused to leave Elena alone with the homicidal maniac of a delusional vampire.
One bag, then two, and he had started on the third before Elena could no longer contain the question. "Why did you go alone? Why didn't you take someone with you?"
He slurped the last drops through the makeshift straw, and then answered her. "Stefan's useless on the fuzzy diet and you're just a snack, Elena." At one time, Elena had admired Damon's bluntness.
"What about me?" Bonnie asked. "I would have been an asset to you."
"Until you set me on fire," he retorted, tearing the corner off a fourth bag and draining the contents. Breathing heavily, he subtly checked the punctures in his stomach with probing fingers. "This isn't working."
Elena looked confused. "What?"
"I'm not healing," he elaborated impatiently.
"A vampire bled by a vampire," Bonnie repeated, almost smugly. "Consequences."
Damon was silent, looking Bonnie up and down appraisingly. After a moment, Elena noticed. "Damon," she started, warning in her voice, "what are thinking?"
"That I'm glad she tastes good." Before Bonnie could act properly appalled, he continued, "Witch blood is the most powerful blood there is. If I drink yours, Tituba, I'll live."
"Why should I let you drink my blood?" Bonnie demanded, standing up and crossing her arms. Her hair shifted forward into her face and she impatiently shook it back.
"Because saving your best friend's life is what got me into this damn predicament."
Elena objected, "You didn't kill Katherine for me, Damon, you killed her for yourself."
Damon glared at her, using the glare he was proud to say had sent many men running for their lives over the years. She didn't blink. "But you can't say you aren't grateful," he countered.
Elena rolled her eyes and sighed, turning to face the fireplace, running a slender hand through hair Damon would have paid to touch.
"I see no reason to perpetuate your existence," Bonnie said, unfolding her arms and positioning her hands on her hips. "I owe you nothing."
Unable to help himself, Damon looked to Elena, coming as close as he ever would to begging her for one more pull-from-the-fire. She looked back at him. And remained silent.
"Fine," Damon decided. He looked Bonnie in the eye. "Since I don't want to die: having your blood in my system will give you power over me, allow you to control me. It's why Katherine never drank from Emily. Witch blood always belongs to the witch."
Bonnie tilted her head. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"We really don't have time for that, Bonnie," he growled, fangs slipping part way out.
"You really don't have a choice," she reminded him.
"Who doesn't have a choice?" Stefan asked, descending the steps into the living room. Elena walked over to him, and he greeted her with a hand to her hair. Damon's eyes narrowed.
"Me!" he piped up. "I'm dying. Now Stefan, drink a little of the witch's blood so she knows I'm not lying through my fangs to her."
"I'll just take his word for it." Bonnie re-crossed her arms and faced Stefan.
"Of course," Damon grumbled. "Saint Stefan the truth-teller!"
Bonnie spoke over him. "Will Damon drinking my blood give me power over him?"
Stefan considered, unsure of the direction the conversation was taking. A look from Elena encouraged him, and he spoke. "Yes. Witch's blood is very powerful, but it can also be addictive. It's surprising he hasn't gone after you sooner after the night Emily—"
"Hello! Dying! As in, rapidly approaching the light at the end of the tunnel! We're out of time," he added seriously, the struggle to keep his voice even belying his bravado.
"You're not approaching any light."
"Stefan, shut up." Damon turned his attention to Bonnie. "What do you say, Sabrina?"
Bonnie stuck out her wrist. "Drink away." Damon grasped her arms in his blood-sticky hands. "But stop when I say."
"It's not as simple as that," Damon protested grimly.
"I'll make it as simple as that." Her threat was implicit and he nodded as he sunk his teeth in and began to feed.
Elena sat beside Bonnie on the couch Damon had recently vacated, helping her to bandage her arm and trying to come up with a story for her dad, the witch having refused the offer of Damon's blood. ("Quid pro quo," he'd said with a smirk that had disappeared when Bonnie'd narrowed her eyes at him.) Stefan lounged behind Elena, mulling over the marvel of Damon killing Katherine.
Just as Elena finished wrapping the bandages, Damon reentered the room, ever-present shot glass in hand. With a look of interest toward the white wrappings on Bonnie's arm, he leered, "Are you sure I can't have another taste?"
Bonnie looked up, eyes cold. "Go away, Damon."
Damon immediately pirouetted, none too pleased, and left the way he'd come.
Bonnie twisted to look at Stefan with a sudden thought. "How long will that last?"
For a moment, Stefan just ran his fingers through Elena's hair. "He's had a lot of your blood, and this is the second time, so I'd guess anywhere from a month to a month and a half."
"Only a month and half?"
"At most," he answered honestly. "He didn't tell you it was temporary?"
"No," Bonnie snarled.
Stefan chuckled. "Never take anything Damon says at face value. He's good at manipulating meanings until you hear what you want to."
Elena nodded sympathetically and Bonnie checked her anger. "I won't make that mistake again."
*"Salopes partout" is French for "Bitches everywhere." I just couldn't abandon the French this chapter. :)
Anyway, as it turns out, this will be longer than I suspected. Originally, it was only going to be one chapter, but I couldn't leave Damon dying at Katherine's studio in Paris, so I had to fix him. And I'm a Bamon shipper, so I had to involve Bonnie in his recovery. Elena was a must as well because, well without her Bonnie wouldn't have been around for one, and for another, I love Delena angst. I just don't want them together.
That aside, there will be a third chapter. And (maybe) even a fourth! I'm tremendously proud of this because I don't do multi-chapter stories. I hope I can pull this off. Cross your fingers for me, guys, and remember to review, review, review!
Thanks for reading. :)