AN: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews and favourites! This is my first VD fanfic, so I hope they are all in character. FYI, in this story, Bonnie is 17 and a senior in high school. The song I hear Bonnie dancing to is Magic by B.o.B. and Rivers Cuomo. :)
The pull was more than magnetic. It was like being compelled and knowing it: except, Damon was both powerless and unwilling to alter the path that he knew his steps would take. From the moment he felt the tug at his chest, he knew that he couldn't change where it was taking him – and he didn't want to.
Sometimes it was so strong that he'd swear they were physically connected – like she'd anchored ropes between his ribs and twisted the other end around those little magic fingers. Then she would jerk her hand just right, or flick her magical wrist, and he'd feel that twine go taut and drag his helpless body towards her. Other times, it was a tentative tug – like a very hesitant nudge that, more than anything, made him ridiculously curious to discover what exactly the little witch was up to. Tonight was one such night.
Damon perched comfortably in a tree outside Bonnie's bedroom window and watched the teenage witch dance around to the radio, once in a while pausing to sing out a line or two. He couldn't help but smile, regardless of the fact that on previous nights he'd found equal joy in watching Bonnie sob hysterically and slam the Grimoire shut. Although watching her spin in front of the mirror, he could admit, was better than the nights he found himself utterly useless and irritatingly intrigued as she cried silently into a pillow with all the lights out, repeating the now familiar tune.
Six weeks before, he'd shown up furious and starving – having left a beautiful, willing evening snack – to see shattered glass and candle flames as tall as Bonnie herself. She had sat almost lifeless in the corner. If not for the dull beat of her heart, and the scent of her charmed blood still pumping, Damon might have thought her dead. He felt lethargic and helpless watching her – hypnotized by the steady up and down of her chest. He felt bored. So he left without a word.
He was surprised when she showed up at the Boarding House days later with Elena and Stefan laughing and joking as though nothing had happened.
He was deciding whether or not he was curious enough about Bonnie's after school activities to risk a righteous lecture from Saint Stefan about his not doing anything to help the potentially injured witch; or an admonishing speech from Elena about how he could possibly keep this from her – when Bonnie shot him a look that said – loosely translated – shut up, or I'll light you up.
He bided his time until Stefan and Elena retired upstairs for the evening before he approached her. "What are you up to?" Damon asked pointedly.
"Nothing." Bonnie insisted, swinging her book bag around her shoulder. She glanced around nervously.
"Well, stop it." Damon growled, turning to face her now. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she interrupted in a bored tone: "Don't threaten me, Damon."
From beneath downcast lashes, Bonnie looked up at the vampire – an exaggeratedly condescending expression swept across her face. "Aren't you tired of getting burnt?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, and gestured widely with his drink. "I can snap your neck faster than you can blink, witch."
She arched an eyebrow and let a smile ghost across her lips. Bonnie was pretty when she was acting smug, he'd give her that – and ok, watching her gloat as if she'd won was kind of hotter than the flames he was sure he'd burst into – but his question remained, so he couldn't leave it alone: "What are you doing? Don't say 'nothing' again," he spat, mimicking her voice, "because 'nothing' doesn't leave you half dead on the living room floor."
Bonnie's eyes widened. "I knew it!" She whispered loudly, letting her book bag slide down her shoulder to catch in her elbow. She poked Damon violently in the chest. "You're spying on me!"
"W-what?" Damon blinked at Bonnie, a mocking laugh creasing his face. He smiled incredulously down at her angry, tight lipped face. "I'm spying on you?"
"Yes!" Bonnie whispered, "I knew it! I knew you were outside, I could practically smell your rotting flesh." She poked him again, harder this time.
"What!" Damon said, feigning offense, "And you didn't even come out to say hi? All that witchy juju's made somebody a little bit of a bit—"
"Sshhhh!" Bonnie said, slapping her hand over his mouth. Her eyes were wide as she glanced to the staircase. She was obviously worried that Stefan would hear them.
He grinned against her hand. So, Elena didn't know. "Right, and this won't make them suspicious at all." Damon muttered against her hand.
She made a disgusted face as she withdrew it, and rubbed the wet spit on Damon's sleeve. Restraining herself from taking a final stroke of his bicep, Bonnie placed her hands firmly on her hips. "Well we obviously can't talk here," She whispered. "Stefan can hear us."
"I don't know about that," Damon wiggled his eyebrows, "Elena can be pre-tty loud."
"Shut up." Bonnie rolled her eyes and made her way to the door. "Well? Are you coming?"
Bonnie felt... awkward seated next to the vampire in her car. Maybe not awkward, exactly – but there was definitely something strange and really hard to pin point about the atmosphere. She should've felt scared, or nervous – or anxious and ready to light him up – but she didn't feel any of those things: she felt oddly calm and at ease.
Damon must have been feeling awkward too, she thought: he had that annoying smug smile plastered across his face as if he'd won something. Which didn't make any sense to her, seeing as how she had yet to answer any of his questions. No talking until they got to her home – that was the deal.
Before Bonnie could reach to undo her seat belt, Damon was opening her door. He forced himself to human speed as she made her way casually up the porch steps to the door. As she put the key in the door, he grabbed her arm roughly, "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Bonnie shuddered at the feel of his hand gripping her flesh. She really couldn't help the rush of adrenaline that surged forward and – with a shift of her eyes – had Damon flying backwards. He was back to his feet quickly, rushing forward at her, his vampire face contorted in anger –his fangs protruding as he leapt at her. But Bonnie was inside her home before he could reach her. She was tempted to hide behind the door, which opened into the house, but held her ground as she watched his face fade back to southern gentleman.
"I'm sorry," Bonnie said quickly, a bit embarrassed at her overreaction, "I wanted to be inside first."
"What's wrong, Bon-Bon?" Damon muttered, "Don't you trust me?"
"I know you've been watching me, Damon." Bonnie said suddenly. She met his eyes and held them. "I know you show up every time I am trying to get this spell right. It's distracting, and really... frustrating."
Damon let out a humourless laugh. "You find it frustrating? How do you think I feel?"
"You don't have to keep checking up on me!" Bonnie continued without pause, "I'm not trying to kill you... this time. Not everything is about you. It's hard to believe, I know – especially since your brother is so intent on spending time with you, and your ex was obsessed with you for 140 years, and Elena has just gotten over her intense infatuation with you," She paused here now with a smile, "Oh, no, wait – none of those people were actually interested in you, were they?"
Damon narrowed his eyes at her for a brief second before a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He liked – no, wait – loved – that as soon as she caught that hint of wickedness, her eyes were doused with worry. "Was that daddy's car I saw out there?" He took a step closer to the door, daring her to move back. She stood her ground. "I'm sure he'd find it awfully rude that his daughter didn't invite her friend in for a quick," he licked his lips, "something to drink."
"Don't you dare." Bonnie warned. There was silence as they stared each other down, each unsure of what next to say to gain the upper hand. "Look," Bonnie said resignedly as Damon took solace in the fact that she broke eye contact first. "Just tell me what you want."
"What spell are you casting?" He asked blankly.
Bonnie hesitated. She bit her bottom lip in thought and took a deep breath before saying: "I can't tell you."
Damon growled her nickname as a threat, "What is the spell, Bon-Bon?"
"Is that why you keep coming around?" She asked calmly – almost quietly, "You just want to know the spell?"
If Damon was confused by her cluelessness, he didn't show it. Obviously, her spell was what was making him keep showing up at her porch. It wasn't like it was a particularly comfortable or even attractive porch. But if she didn't know the power she was wielding over him, he wasn't going to be the one to tell her. It was times like this he remembered she was just a teenage witch with no one to guide her.
"Am I that obvious?" Damon said, arching an eye brow. "How do I know you're not up to something that will have enormous repercussions for us all?"
Bonnie laughed softly to herself, "Like what?"
"Like break the tomb spell." He said without thinking. "You don't know what side effects your little witchy juju might have." Bonnie's face fell; she looked utterly speechless – so he continued. "Besides, how do I know you aren't being put up to something by another – albeit less stunningly attractive – vampire?"
"What's wrong, Damon?" She repeated, "Don't you trust me?"
"Not as far as you can throw me." He said without missing a bit. "You have two options, Judgy. Either you tell me and this ends right here, right now and no one gets hurt. Or I ask Elena what secrets her best friend is carrying that are big enough to knock her out, and she gets it out of you for me."
Bonnie's lips pulled into a tight, thin line. "Option three. I stop. No more spells that you or Stefan doesn't know about."
Damon narrowed his eyes at her. She looked genuinely... sincere. It was disconcerting. He waited a few moments before responding, giving her a chance to rethink her decision. "And if I catch you doing it again?"
"You won't." She said quickly.
"Oh, I will." Damon assured her. "I'll know when you're up to your tricks. So, when I catch you—"
"You won't." Bonnie promised again, stepping backwards into the house and letting the door close on Damon's angry eyes.
And she was right – well, for a while at least. Which is exactly why, six weeks later, when Damon found himself outside of Bonnie's house, a familiar, playful feeling pushing him towards her house – he gladly went. Caught you, little witch.
Bonnie pulled her hair up into a tight pony tail, a mischievous smile playing across her lips. She hadn't even started the spell yet, and she could already feel Damon's eyes on her from outside her bedroom window. It had been weeks since she had last tried out the spell and – Damon or no – she knew that tonight was the night. She'd been eating better, sleeping better – more at peace with herself, her body had fully recovered from the accident a few weeks before, that left her semi-conscious and bleeding on the living room floor.
She'd woken up afraid – a feeling she never wanted to experience again. She could sense Damon's presence outside. It was strange – she had never been able to know when he was around: her senses must be more acute just before or just after the spell. She always had this strange feeling when he arrived, as if she was remembering something she had momentarily forgotten.
Bonnie made her way down the stairs to the familiar set up. Emily's spell required tokens of affection, and a circle of your strongest element: ask, and find who you seek. Bonnie sat in the center of a ring of flames with old photographs of her Grams spread out before her.
Despite her promise to Damon, she had exercised serious restraint in not attempting the spell while her father was on his most extended stay at home of the year – six whole weeks without a moment to herself! Even if she could risk her father walking into the living room and seeing the ghost of his dead mother, Bonnie really couldn't risk Damon exacting his illogical revenge on her father instead of her. Worse, she couldn't risk Damon compelling himself an invite into her one safe haven in town.
Bonnie began the spell with the same words Emily had written down so many years ago: except she added to them her own soft, sad tune bursting over with all the emotion she felt after losing her Grams. All the sadness, all the anger. She focused on her Grams – on seeing her for the last time, on hearing her voice.
Except beneath that sadness was an anger – a rage – directed all at one being: her eyes, unseeing, shot open and, although her tune was controlled, tears of despair soon found their way down her cheeks. Bonnie shook her head, trying not to give in: not to let the overwhelming emotion distract her from her task.
But she could hear him! She could hear his breathing. She could hear the wind cracking against the tree he was perched in. She could smell his flesh: not rotting, but human, and male, and earthy and warm. And soon – so soon, and so quickly – she wasn't summoning Grams anymore. No, she was summoning a demon. Her voice grew louder, and stronger. The casual thought of Damon that had occasionally flashed through her mind when she cast the spell was now front and center in her bewitching mind.
Damon didn't exactly fall from the tree. The air was very still: there was no wind, no storm. But there was the witch's tether to his chest. He was aching all over. His lungs were caving in on themselves. He felt overwhelmed and anxious, scared and hurting – all over was sadness and guilt and shame. He felt at once desperate to stand beside Bonnie, and at once very, very desperate to stay away and not let her win.
He tried to hold on to the tree. He wrapped his strong, vampire arms around the trunk and held on with all his might – but it wasn't enough. The thick branch snapped like a twig and he was tumbling down faster than even he could stop. He could hear her voice spinning the same tune – Can you hear my call?
Bonnie opened the door casually with an apple in hand. More composed than she had been moments before, her confidence was bolstered by the success of her spell. Looking at the vampire, she knew she had summoned him. Did it only work when he was in close proximity? Did it only work because he was only half-dead? Or, sort of dead? Or, whatever – not quite as gone as Grams?
Leaning against the door, Bonnie tilted her head in triumph from the safe confines of her home as she watched him approach her. He paused with his head hung at the bottom of the stairs.
"Bonnie." Damon growled softly, arms braced against the porch railing as he looked up at her, standing casually in the door way as if she was completely innocent, as if she had done nothing to lure him there. She took a bite out of the apple she held and arched an eyebrow, "Yes, Damon?"
"Whatever the hell you're doing in there," He started, rushing towards the doorway until he stood right in front of her. She jerked her head up, ready to meet his psychotic eyes with her defiant ones. But what she saw was not anger, or rage, or the glimmer of homicidal maniac she'd become accustomed to seeing: she saw pain – real, suffering pain. Startled, she dropped her apple as he concluded: "Don't invite me in."