Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise here. If I did, this would be canon.
Chapter summary: Two hybrids try to kidnap Elena on her way home from the library, one night. As luck would have it, it becomes an epic battle between two hybrid packs. Tyler and Jeremy help.
Chapter warnings: Slash, violence.
…
A pair of rogue hybrids make an attempt to abduct Elena as she returns home from the library one night, and would have succeeded had she not been trained to carry vervain and wolfsbane everywhere she goes. If she didn't run six miles a day. If Damon hadn't made her learn to use obstacles to her advantage, to throw herself through impossibly small gaps, to use her own momentum to clear a fence before her pursuer had fully committed to even trying it. Although she has run less than three miles when she finally shakes them off, they are a fast three miles, close to a sprint for the first mile, and she is shaking and a little dehydrated when she calls Alaric.
"Should we fly or drive?" Alaric worries, throwing clothes into a sports bag. "Flying's faster."
Damon shakes his head. "Drive," he says. "Can't take this kind of arsenal on a plane. Imagine how many people we'd have to compel." He's aiming for levity but it falls flat.
They drive the six hundred miles in just under seven hours, compelling three highway patrol cops along the way, and find Elena in a hotel (rule is, she picks the first hotel that starts with E in the phone book and checks in under the name 'Caroline Bennett'. Damon has furnished her with a credit card under this name which she is only to use in such situations).
Alaric smiles broadly when he sees her.
She narrows her eyes and curls up her lip. "Why are you smiling? I was nearly Alpo."
"I'm smiling because you're steady as a rock, Elena. You look pissed off, not scared. You did everything right. First big test." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. Proud poppa.
Placated, she cocks her head. "Huh. Not bad."
...
It takes most of the night to track the two hybrids down. They are in human form when Damon and Alaric find them leaving a bar and traipsing down an alley. Without breaking his stride Alaric punches into the first one's chest, ripping out his heart. Damon throws the second to the ground, knocks him out with a syringe full of wolfsbane. He and Alaric drag him to a shipping container in a storage yard near the water and tie him up. Alaric spins a knife in his hand, throwing it up in the air, catching the very tip of the business end each and every time.
"It's ridiculously hot watching you tear hearts from chests, Ric," Damon purrs, from across the other side of the container. "I mean, really."
Alaric grins, incredulous; "You taught me that."
"I did. And I will be eternally grateful for my own genius in doing so. And to Elijah, who inspired the technique. Huh. Haven't seen Elijah in a while."
Alaric laughs, full throated. A good sound. "You want to invite him around for a drink some time?"
Damon crosses the space faster than can be believed, pinning Alaric to the wall, biting his lower lip. "Could be fun. You could hold your own, now," he growls, and Alaric laughs again.
"Fuckin' pervert," Alaric murmurs, kissing back.
The hybrid wakes up a little later to a grim view; Damon and Alaric with their arms crossed over their chests, contemplating a table spread with torture implements. They have rigged a bare bulb in a way that reminds them both of low-budget horror films. Quite unnecessary but the floodlighting wasn't nearly as dramatic and it had been easy to rig it up.
The hybrid tries to puff himself up even as the wolfsbane in the ropes burns his wrists.
"So," Alaric says. "Where are you from?"
"Ain't tellin' you shee-yit," the hybrid says.
Damon gives him a considered look. "You're telling us pretty loudly that you're from Tennessee, with that twang of yours. Which means all we really need to know is which pack you're with. There's only two." Damon lifts a curved, silver instrument from the table, wickedly sharp at one end and with a grappling barb at the other. "Hey, Ric? What do you do with this?"
Alaric frowns. "Not sure. Just... experiment."
The hybrid talks and talks and talks. Gives up his pack and his mother and his PIN code and his mother's PIN code.
Damon tears his heart from his chest with a minimum of fuss. Stands with the silver tool in one hand and the heart in the other. "That was sort of... boring," he says. "Makes you appreciate a man like Mason Lockwood."
"Indeed," Alaric agrees, untying the ropes so they can wrap the body in a sheet.
"Here," Damon says, holding the heart out to Alaric. Alaric frowns. "Oh, come on. It's romantic."
"Huh," Alaric says, with a twinkle in his eye. "Let's get cleaned up, and I'll let you give me a blow job instead."
"You're full of good ideas after a hunt."
Once the bodies have both been burned Damon makes good on his promise and then they take Elena out for dinner. Afterwards they take her back to her dorm to collect some clothes and set her up to stay in the hotel a few more days.
"I don't want to leave you on your own," Alaric says.
Elena shakes her head. "My boyfriend is coming to stay."
It's Damon who gets irritated by this. "Has he been vetted? Is he human? What's his name?" Damon crosses his arms over his chest. Frowns. "Why haven't we met him?"
Alaric pushes Damon out the door after promising they'll call when they have news.
...
Tennessee has two packs of hybrids and neither cares much for the other. Damon and Alaric drive across the country again after stocking up on additional weapons.
Thing about hybrids. A couple at a time and it's zing-zing, tears those hearts out, rip off a head or two.
The packs are about twenty strong each.
On average a wolf pack – the non-wereish type – is about six or seven wolves. With exceptional leadership, bordering on devotion, and with one strong Alpha male, fifteen is about the maximum.
Hybrids, somewhat more able to reason with each other, seem to manage maybe twenty. Any challenge to leadership is dealt with via a fight to the death. In nature, amongst wolves, it is a fight for victory, with the loser slinking off alone, to eat scraps and resign himself to the fact that there is unlikely to be any sex in his immediate future. With hybrid packs the fight doesn't end until the loser is dead. Tyler has admitted the heart is usually eaten by the victor. He maintains friendly ties with a couple of young men in one of the packs for the sake of information sharing; luckily for him, and for them, not the pack responsible for the almost-abduction of Elena.
One pack lives in a bizarre constellation of trailer homes on a forest borderland. The other has a series of shacks. They have their own homes, too, some of them. They seem for the most part to crave the open space, though. It makes Alaric wonder how Tyler does, tied to a small apartment in a bustling city.
(It should be said, Alaric wonders about a lot of things to do with Tyler: in particular, what Jeremy will do about being an ageing human in a relationship with an eternal seventeen year old. It seemed Elena had made her decision about this – would be remaining human, though it broke Stefan's heart, and he was currently who-knew-where doing who-knew-what – but would Jeremy choose the same?)
In the long moments it takes for Alaric to think all of this, Damon watches his expression change.
"What are you thinking about?"
They are pulling up to a hotel, planning to get a decent night's sleep and gather a little more information before letting the catastrophe unfold.
"Jeremy."
Damon raises an eyebrow. "I thought you preferred older men. Much older."
Alaric grins. "You're disgusting."
They compel the room because they don't want a paper trail, and Alaric makes Damon promise they'll leave a good tip to make up for it. Once inside Damon microwaves blood and pours bourbon.
"This plan…" Alaric traces the route they plan to take. They know it, they've travelled it before, when Alaric was still human, and with Elena, but it never hurts to be better prepared.
"It is so cute the way you keep calling this a 'plan'," Damon says, his eyebrows knit in the middle, as he drinks from the mug. "Really. Adorable."
"It is a plan."
"Godzilla versus Mothra. That is not a plan. It's an episode of Supernatural."
"It's a plan." Alaric knows he sounds less than convinced. "Don't get bitten, get them to kill each other. Solid plan. Incidentally, can wolves climb trees?"
Damon types furiously on his phone. "Google says some can. Plus, knowing our luck." He throws the phone on the table. "And anyway, vampires certainly can. They're both, remember."
Alaric rubs his eyes. "There has to be a better way to do this."
"I'm all for locking Elena up for the rest of her life. Keep her safe. These guys will just kill each other, eventually."
Alaric finishes the mug of blood, and the bourbon, and sits on the edge of the bed. After a moment he thinks better of it and lies back. "This is fucked."
Damon lies alongside him. "Yep. And we still don't even know what a hybrid bite does."
"Tyler bit Caroline. She would have died, without Klaus's blood."
Damon rolls, pressing Alaric into the mattress. "We don't even know that's true. He was trying rather hard to get into her pants at the time."
It's an argument they've had so many times it has taken on the quality of burnished steel.
They kiss, just like that. Just a kiss. Alaric rests his hands against Damon's ribs. "On a lighter note, if we die tomorrow, it's been nice knowing you." Alaric tenses, frowns. "Is that…?"
"Tyler. And Jeremy."
Damon gets the door open just as Jeremy is about to knock.
"Has anyone ever told you how creepy that is?" Jeremy crosses his arms. "Let a person knock."
Alaric squints. "Were you always as tall as me?"
"Prize for the weirdest non-sequitur goes to… are you going to ask us in?" Jeremy's hair is wet, and his jacket is too. It's raining out, again. The wolves won't care but it will suck for Damon and Alaric.
Behind Jeremy, Tyler looks stressed.
"It's a hotel. You don't need an invitation." Alaric is still standing in the doorway.
"It's polite."
There is a long and weird moment and then Jeremy pushes through, sighing, while Alaric shakes his head. "Sorry. What are you even doing here?"
Tyler looks sheepish. "We spoke to Elena. Thought it might be worth trying to connect you with the, uh, less bad pack. Negotiate. Better than you both getting eaten, anyway. Unless you have a plan?"
He looks hopeful. Probably, he's enjoying the quiet life, is less than keen to get caught up in hybrid politics.
"We have a plan," Alaric says.
"The plan sucks," Damon adds, cheerfully enough. "Hungry, Lockwood?"
Tyler nods, and Damon warms him a mug of blood. Jeremy shrugs off his coat and hangs it on a chair. "Don't suppose you've got any actual food? Forget I asked."
Alaric shakes his head. "Come on. There's a bar downstairs."
...
The bar is almost deserted so they find a large booth, and order food; no real reason not to, and it seems weird to make Jeremy eat alone. Jeremy, for his part, seems relaxed, though Tyler is as uptight as ever, even as he sneaks glances at his lop-haired boyfriend. Jesus. 2015. Supposed to be past all the self-loathing bullshit.
"How does Elena even know where we are?" It is the first time it has even occurred to Alaric that this is odd.
Damon shrugs. "I sent her a message. What? It's not like she would have followed us. I just figured if we get killed, she could organize someone to pick up your truck."
Tyler throws back a beer, refills his glass. Calls for another pitcher.
Jeremy shakes his head.
"Don't start, Jer," Tyler warns, and then to Damon and Alaric, he says "Tell us the plan."
Somehow explaining it from the beginning makes it sound exactly as bad as it really is.
Tyler spends a long time blinking. "Godzilla versus Mothra? That's your whole plan? Ever occur to you that they'll eat you both and then wander off? They're co-existing, man. Maybe just barely but they are. Seriously. Seriously."
"Kind of my point, Ty. Equilibrium. If the other pack gets bigger – and there's no reason to kidnap Elena if that's not what they're trying to do – that accord will be gone. They should want to help us." Alaric can't be sure who he's trying to convince.
"We're not like vampires. We're… animals," Tyler says, brow furrowed, shoulders hunched.
Damon kicks Jeremy's leg under the table. "Lucky Jeremy."
"Shut up, Damon." Alaric chances a glance at Tyler, who looks like he wants to sink into the floor.
Jeremy nudges him. "Go on," he says. Tyler drains his glass. "Tell them."
There is a long silence as Tyler pretends no one is staring at him and clears condensation off the side of his glass with the blade of his hand.
Eventually, Jeremy sighs. "The difference -"
Tyler cuts him off. "Look. The pack you're looking for… they lost their sire bond with Klaus when Klaus died. They have a lot of his… drives, urges, whatever."
"Meaning? Crush kill destroy? Chase pretty blonde vampires around and draw pictures of them?" Damon flinches as Alaric drives an elbow into his ribs. "I thought people got smarter at college. Talk."
Tyler rubs his forehead. Jeremy puts an arm out to steady him but Tyler is clearly still in a state of denial despite the fact they've been living together almost two years and sleeping together since… well, Alaric isn't clear on that part. Longer. Tyler has that haunted self-hate you still see sometimes and Alaric wonders when it will go away. He wonders, too, how Jeremy is so unruffled.
None of his business. Yet. So long as Jeremy is alright.
In the end it's Damon who starts to push. "Talk or I'll tie you up and tickle you with wolfsbane until you do."
"The bad pack doesn't have a strong Alpha." Alaric is about to disagree; they've seen him. "They don't. He's there because he wins the fights but he has no direction. None of them have since a certain history teacher and his undead sidekick killed their actual Alpha. And yes, I mean Klaus. They lost their bond. Totally different."
(Damon looks ready to jump in at the implication that he, and not Alaric, is the sidekick; but he says nothing.)
It makes an odd sort of sense. Alaric imagines the disconnect they must feel and wonders how many other packs around the country are as unfocussed. With any luck it's only these two packs (with the closest physical proximity to Mystic Falls and the most time spent with their cherubic leader) who know anything about Elena. Perhaps the other packs just know there is 'special' blood.
"Why only that pack?" Alaric leans forward in his seat and crosses his arms on the table. "All the sire bonds must have been lost when we killed Klaus."
"The other pack has a proper Alpha. Before Klaus died they threw off their bond." Tyler pours more beer and continues to drink too quickly.
"How did they manage that?" Damon's voice drips incredulity.
"I showed them how." Tyler won't look up, studies the coaster in his hand instead.
"You… weren't sired? When Klaus died?"
"Obviously not." Tyler begins to strip the coaster into tiny shreds. Manic, unfocussed energy. He abandons the coaster and picks at a fingernail.
Damon's voice is a low, threatening roll. "There's nothing obvious about it."
Tyler wants to disappear into the ground; Jeremy wants to support and cajole. Alaric wants the whole story; Damon wants violence.
Alaric and Jeremy get what they want.
"After I attacked Caroline's dad, I went to Colorado," Tyler admits at last. "It wasn't really a plan. I just couldn't stay in Mystic Falls and as pathetic as it is I didn't want to be on my own, either. So I followed Jeremy. Took me a few days hitchhiking 'cause I didn't want to leave a paper trail, but I got there."
Jeremy smiles small.
"By the time I did, Jer had found somewhere I could… change, without hurting anyone."
"You knew he was heading out that way?" Damon frowns.
"I… thought he might."
"Do you want to hear this or not? I'm not starting again." Tyler means it, too; his eyes flash, the muscles across his arms ripple dangerously.
Damon leans back, his arm barely brushing Alaric's against the back of the booth seat.
"He brought me animals and blood bags," Tyler says, "and he didn't let me out for anything for weeks. He hung out and talked through the bars after school and on weekends but other than that all I did was change and change back for a month."
When Tyler had come back, he'd been huge. The muscles in his arms and torso, always big, had been bigger, none of his clothes had fit right. It had been startling. Alaric had imagined him running across states, across forests; but he'd been locked up, the whole time, with Jeremy's calm voice speaking to him through bars in a basement dungeon.
"The big test was my second full moon. I guess about… five weeks in. I sat on one side of the door and Jeremy sat on the other and we talked all night."
"All night. You mean -"
"I mean I didn't change. Only night of the month the moon actually pulls at me and I got through it. I don't change, any more, unless I want to, and it… hurts, but it's not like it was. I can survive it now. Before, I was close to…" He doesn't need to finish.
"But you can still change." Alaric is genuinely curious. They've known exactly two hybrids and the other wasn't prone to long conversations. At least not long conversations about anything he didn't want to talk about. Speechifying was actual one of his strongest skills.
"Yeah. But like I said. Only when I want to."
"Why would you want to at all?" Alaric asked.
"I told you, man. We're animals. We have to run, hunt. It's like you guys. If you only drink animal blood you go all psycho or whatever. Pull a Stefan." He darts eyes at Damon. "Sorry. But you do, right? And so do we, if we're locked up. So I change, go running. Not often."
This time, he doesn't resist when Jeremy leans up just slightly against his arm.
There is the clatter of a chair against a table, and a huge, very drunk redneck staggers towards them.
"Farken quaaaars," he sneers, readying to smash the bottle. "We ain't doin' with your kahnd, rahnd here," he goes on, and then pales. Three sets of eyes darken. There is the quiet snick of fangs settling into place.
The redneck swallows. Hard. Squints, at the faces and then the bottle.
Jeremy smiles. "You were sayin'?"
The redneck walks away. Stumbles away, more like. Drops the bottle and just goes. Alaric can't help but wonder if he would tell, and if so, what? I was just about to glass this bunch of guys on the off chance one of them was planning to try to suck my cock. I left them alone, though, because they were vampires.
Nah. Alaric smiles as his features settle back to human.
Tyler looks worse than ever.
"It's alright, Ty," Jeremy says, softly.
Damon looks thoughtful, drinking his beer. "Does any of this translate into a plan?"
Tyler shrugs. "I dunno, man. I just know they're not evenly matched and I don't think baiting them into a fight is a good idea." He slumps, elbows on the table. "Because I have no clue who would win the fight."
He turns the glass in his hand. "If you put away the inter-species bullshit and negotiate, be honest, maybe there's a shot."
Damon doesn't laugh, but it's a close thing.
Jeremy butts in, then. "Could you make it seem like you're doing them a favor, instead of trying to get them to do you one? Or at least, like it's good for you both?"
Maybe. Still. Hybrids.
...
They retire to separate rooms, Jeremy and Tyler in a room four doors further from the stairs than the one Damon and Alaric had taken. Alaric takes a long shower. As expected, Damon joins him. No interest in getting clean. The shower is cramped, but they manage, and life is, after all, meant to be reaffirmed and lived.
They get clean eventually, as the water starts to go cold. Dry themselves adequately, and slip under the covers.
"So it's not gonna work." Alaric lies with one hand beneath his head and Damon alongside him. "It was a terrible plan. We still have to do something."
"I'm telling you. Lock her up somewhere no one can find her, until they all kill each other." Damon snorts. "And what's this boyfriend crap?"
Alaric laughs softly. "Still carrying a torch?"
"Fuck you." Damon says it fond and fierce, snaking an arm over Alaric's body. "You should be all impressed that I give a crap about anyone at all."
They kiss, quickly, and sleep for a few hours.
...
Damon and Alaric wake before the sun and have a spot of lazy sex, just rocking into each other's hands, the best way they know to say 'good morning'. They shower separately and warm mugs of blood in the microwave. "Not so warm," Alaric complains. "I hate when it starts going thick on the top."
"Means you're not drinking fast enough." Damon passes the mug. Neither can sit still so they open the map again, tracing routes through the forest. Mapping terrain because they need an easy escape and plenty of obstacles.
There is a tentative knock on the door and Alaric opens it before the third knock, accustomed, now, to knowing when there is someone approaching.
"You got anything to eat?" Tyler asks, before entering. "I'm starving."
"How are you getting by on Rhode Island?"
"Got a friend at the blood bank," Tyler says, gratefully microwaving a mug of blood. "And I don't need as much as you do. Listen. I think we should call my friends. In the pack."
"Where's Jeremy?" Alaric wants to know.
"Sleeping. Human, remember?" Tyler doesn't meet Alaric's eyes, just drinks. Alaric wonders if he should make the effort to speak to Tyler, properly, if they survive this. Kid didn't exactly have a lot of good male role models, growing up; Richard Lockwood was a dick, pardon the pun. Mason could have done a better job but he was barely around, and then he was dead. "He needs more than a couple of hours."
"He's not coming with us," Damon warns.
"I know. He knows. He's cool." Tyler finishes his breakfast, looking more comfortable already. "I need actual food, too," he adds, rinsing the mug. "Anyway, I -"
"You do?"
Maybe this should not come as a surprise, but it does.
Tyler puts the clean mug down too hard. "Stop treating me like a freak," he says, low and cold and hard. "I'm serious."
Alaric speaks before Damon has a chance to. "No one's treating you like a freak." He shakes his head, matching Tyler's tone, ramping it up a little. "Except maybe you. I didn't know you needed food. You're the only hybrid we know and other than the fact you act like Jeremy's something you dragged in on your shoe, we don't know you that well."
Tyler freezes. "It's not like that," he says.
"Lame." Damon rinses his mug. "He's a good kid. You could do a lot worse. And you -"
"Owe him my life. And my sanity. You think I don't know that?" Tyler paces. "A few years ago, I was normal. Just human. Playing sports. Messing around with girls. Dating Caroline, who is, by the way, hot. And now I'm a monster, and in love with Jeremy fucking Gilbert."
Alaric raises an eyebrow. Tyler rubs his eyes. Damon, mercifully, looks smug, but shuts up.
"You want me to call my friends or not?"
Alaric nods. "Call them."
...
There is a diner in town that does huge piles of bacon and eggs and plenty of coffee, cheap. Tyler's friends agree to meet them all at nine. Jeremy emerges, yawning, in time to join them for the short four block walk. The rain is a fine mist, and smells like a midday thunderstorm is on its way – no later than two in the afternoon, anyway, but either way, it's a problem; not for wolves, but for vampires. Reduces visibility. Smelling a wolf or two is one thing but with a bunch of them coming at you from every direction, sight helps, too.
Alaric shakes out his wrists, inexplicably sore, and debates suggesting a fresher meal. Relying on blood bags all the time has side effects. When they do it for weeks on end they tire more easily. Get aches and pains, need extra sleep, get irritable more often.
"Yep," Damon says, low in his throat.
"Yep what?"
"We're not doing this without a proper meal. Your rules, blah blah blah. But we both need blood. Fresh." In front of them, Tyler twitches. "What about you?"
"Meat," he disagrees, and Jeremy, a good four inches taller, grins, but oddly. Casts eyes over Damon and Alaric, and then forward again.
"Hey, Alaric. Have you…?" Shooting for nonchalant, and just barely missing.
"Three years, and not a casualty," Alaric says, matching his tone. "Haven't died, either, so I guess that means that me turning has actually decreased the overall death rate. I'm doin' it for America."
Jeremy relaxes almost imperceptibly.
The diner could be any diner in any small town in the nearest five states, naugahyde booths and menus flecked with bits of egg. A wall of touring maps starting to yellow in the sun. Terrible coffee, but at least it's strong. The terrible clash of orange and brown on the walls. Too-old waitresses in too-tight dresses, despair writ large over their faces.
They have been nursing coffees and contemplating menus for ten minutes when Tyler tenses and stands. He nods curtly at the two young men approaching the booth. Holds a hand out to shake and tenses further when he is met by a round of very manly hugs.
Jeremy is more effusive, pleased to see old friends. "Jeff, Pete," he says. "How you doin'?"
The two are less pleased to see Damon and Alaric, but they are polite. Ish.
"Jeff Rodham," one says, a distinct sneer to his lip. Tall and dark-haired, with green eyes that catch and reflect too much light. His friend is blue-eyed and blond-haired, with a hulking frame that makes it impossible for him to let his arms rest at his sides. Jeff points a thumb at him. "Pete Murphy. You ordered?"
They do that, then, order piles of bacon and scrambled eggs and sausages. Damon and Alaric eat less than the others, having little real need of it.
Tyler takes the lead, explaining the problem. It's Jeff who shakes his head.
"I get she's someone you care about – but really, they snatch people every day. I'm sorry if it sounds heartless -"
Jeremy interrupts. "My sister. That's my sister you're talking about."
Tyler stills him. "She's the doppelgänger," he says. "They're trying to make more." They don't seem to understand, so Tyler explains the rest.
Alaric nudges Damon under the table. Jeff and Pete look genuinely worried and even Tyler looks hopeful. Alaric was right. Without balance, they are threatened. If the other pack gets bigger, they will be in trouble.
"I don't see what you expect us to do." Pete's voice is a deep, rich bass. Threatening. Probably, when he says 'pass the ketchup' people fight over who gets to give it to him.
Damon moves to speak, and Alaric shuts him up with a hand on his knee.
"We need to talk to your Alpha," Tyler says. "Convince him you guys need to take them on."
Damon stills, and Alaric tenses as well. Admittedly, they hadn't asked Tyler if he had a plan. Seems an oversight, now, since he clearly does. Quiet little fucker. Alaric's plan, but this time, with the actually 'plan' part slightly better thought-out. Alaric had assumed there was no chance of allying themselves with the pack but with Tyler here, perhaps it was possible.
Pete and Jeff exchange an odd look. "You know he's not a massive fan of bloodsuckers, right?"
"As a half-breed bloodsucker, that's lame," Damon says. He crosses his arms. "And insulting. We're here to protect one girl. You have a whole pack to protect." He leans back, cocks his head. "Worst comes to worst, we are prepared to lock her up somewhere safe until you all kill each other. What about you? Can you lock them up? Or yourselves?"
This is interesting.
Damon is usually a sledgehammer, but he can be the wind that shifts the dunes. Alaric stays quiet.
"A vampire can be still for a hundred years, and come out the other side. It's not fun and we don't like it, but we can do it. You? You need to run. You need space."
He's taking in what Tyler said the night before and spinning it into rhetoric.
"You can't hide from the other pack. You can't lock them up. And you can't hide from yourselves, either. So if I have this right…" Damon narrows his eyes, raises his lip. "You can make your Alpha their Alpha. Maybe get out of this with a minimum of bloodshed. Bigger pack but with your Alpha in control… and he seems sort of badass… it might be manageable. If they get Elena? They'll keep growing. And you are all gravy meat."
Alaric chances a glimpse at Tyler, who actually looks sort of impressed.
"Excuse us," says Pete, and he and Jeff walk away. A waitress takes the plates away.
"Not bad, Damon," Tyler says.
"What's your standing in the pack?" Damon wants to know.
"Outsider. No Influence."
"Bullshit. They owe you. If you joined up, where would you fit? You're no Alpha."
"Fuck you." Tyler cocks his chin.
"Not an insult. An observation. Quick."
"Beta. Not far down the pecking order, I guess, though they've never seen me fight."
Damon nods.
Jeff is nearing the table. "we're gonna make a few calls. Don't go far."
...
Damon stalks and Alaric stands motionless. Calculating the arsenal in Damon's car and wishing they had driven Alaric's truck. Less speed but more space.
Not that it would help. They still have only two hands each and limited space to carry weapons on them, out there in the forest.
Jeremy seems calm, too calm, messing with his phone. Leaning lazy against the wall. Leaning towards Tyler from time to time to show him something on the small screen. Tyler is intense, focused. Energy to spare, but he looks at Jeremy's phone every time.
"Those two are plotting something." Alaric says it so quietly even Tyler won't pick it up, but Damon does, shooting glances.
"Yep." He continues to stalk. "What are you doing?" he calls, and Jeremy's smile is too smooth.
"Dicking around on the 'net," he says. "Just killin' time." He doesn't even look up.
"That kid learned to lie from his sister." Damon turns, paces in the other direction a while. "He's not as good at it as she is."
...
There are protocols, niceties. The Alpha agrees to meet in the forest, not far from where their strange arrangement of trailers is concealed from anything but the most thorough search.
The first thing Alaric thinks when he sees the man is that he is enormous. About three inches taller than Alaric and seemingly a foot wider across the shoulders. Built with so much muscle he looks like a caricature of himself. They have seen him before but not this close, not so close they can smell the earth on him, the rich blood that flows in his veins (enough to make Alaric hungry), smell of the wolf that is more him than the vampire is. It occurs to Alaric, then. The wolf is what he is. What they all are. The vampire is something that was done to them.
When he approaches he is not smiling, and Damon and Alaric tense. When he sees Tyler, his face cracks open. His eyes sparkle. He is far less scary, but still someone you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, or provoke.
"Jeremy not with you?"
Tyler shakes his head. "Don't want him caught in the crossfire. Just me and the bloodsuckers." He says it joking, light. "Damon Salvatore and Alaric Saltzman."
Hands are clasped, a little firmer than necessary. Displays of strength and willing.
"Mitchell Grant. Call me Mitch." He's not born and bred Tennessee, comes from somewhere further south. There is a little bayou in the accent.
Mitchell has heard the story from Jeff and Pete, who hover in the background, but etiquette dictates they must repeat the whole story to Mitch themselves. Damon takes the lead, as he is obviously older, and Mitch has deferred to him quickly. Alaric supposes the sense of hierarchy is something they must apply to everything.
As Damon speaks, Alaric watches Mitchell, watches Tyler and Pete and Jeff. They take small steps to the side, and twitch, and tug at their own clothing. Tyler runs his hand over his hair all too often.
Wolves, and by extension hybrids, seem always in motion. Not like Damon's frantic energy, which can be tamed when he needs to be neat and controlled. Tyler was right, what he said, they are animals. All people are animals but the werewolves are a little closer to the earth than humans and certainly vampires are. They don't just want to live here, closer to the raw earth. It seems to sustain them.
Not for the first time, Alaric wonders what it might be like, to run and just keep running like that, huge strides eating up the miles.
He sets the thought aside. Tyler checks his phone, in his pocket, just barely smiling.
"So you see you have a problem. And we do too. If they had been a little less sloppy we would have lost a friend and you'd be dealing with a much bigger pack. What are you going to do about it?" Damon's voice holds a mild challenge.
Mitchell considers. He doesn't look particularly inclined to get involved, though he has to be worried. Tyler takes a cautious step forward. "Could I have a moment?"
Mitchell leads him out of earshot, and it is out of earshot. Listening hard, not breathing, Alaric can hear nothing. From the look on Damon's face he can't, either.
They really need a good meal.
Tyler and Mitchell come back and both look better. Confident.
Mitchell nods. "We'll fight. I'll take down their Alpha. Will you fight alongside us?"
"Brought our favorite weapons and everything." Alaric smiles. "Weird question. You got any idea what a hybrid bite does to a vampire?"
Mitchell looks stumped. "Werewolf bite'll kill you," he starts, and Damon flinches. He runs a hand unconsciously over the place on his arm where he carries an almost invisible scar from the time Tyler bit him. Tyler can't stop himself, he looks as well. A prickle of guilt flushing his features.
"We've seen that. Skip it. You're vampires too, now. Might mean you'd be poisonous to each other as well. Or maybe not at all, including to us."
"We're not poisonous to each other. But you? No idea, friend. Be back here before the sun sets with that arsenal of yours. We time it right, we'll find them…" He gestures to Pete, who produces a map, spreads it on the ground. They all crouch to look. "About here. Good spot." Tyler takes a photograph with his phone.
"How will we know which wolves are you guys and which are them?" Alaric asks. He doubts either pack wears helpful ID bracelets or a collar with a bell.
Mitchell blinks. He knows his pack well and can't imagine anyone else would have trouble distinguishing them. The animal way, Alaric supposes.
"We heal fast but you heal faster," Damon says. "We won't aim to wound. We'll aim to kill."
Mitchell considers, and nods. "Anyone who goes for you is fair game. I'll makes sure my pack knows your scent before we go in. That should keep them from trying to attack you. But pay attention. Because once we change, we are animals. Most of us remember our transformations, some more than others, but no one has much control over their actions. And don't you dare kill their so-called Alpha or this will never end. Anyone comes at me while I'm doing it, take 'em down."
...
The drive back to the motel is quiet. Alaric watches Tyler watch the world go by in the back seat. "Jeremy's cool with not coming with us?"
"He's not interested in fighting," Tyler says, "and I'm not interested in seeing him get eaten."
Alaric has trouble believing this; Jeremy had always been very keen to fight, given the opportunity. "He still wears his ring?"
"Yep. Only died the once, though."
Damon flinches. "I never got around to apologizing about that."
Alaric snorts. Parks the car and says goodbye to Tyler at the top of the stairs, and unlocks the door.
No sooner are he and Damon through it than Damon has tricky, lithe fingers all over Alaric's body. Damon crushes Alaric's lips with his own, tugs at his belt, unbuckling it with a practiced move. Alaric pulls Damon's shirt over his head and drops it, returning to clutch at Damon's pale torso with his big hands. They don't speak. They just tear at each other's clothes until they are beautifully, perfectly naked, and Damon pushes Alaric down onto the bed.
Their legs tangle as they grab at each other, rock against each other, kiss hard, bruising. They breathe hard too, and Alaric is never sure why, but sex always does that, makes them breathe hard; the memory, perhaps, of what it was like to do this while human.
Still they don't speak, or at least, not with words.
Damon bites into Alaric's lower lip and sucks until the wound heals. Somehow he finds space between their bodies enough to lube up and he takes Alaric hard, with almost no warning or preparation, and Alaric clumps strong muscles down, fucking back hard against Damon's fantastic cock, moving suddenly to hook his legs over Damon's shoulders so Damon is so far inside him, so deep, that nothing bad can happen to either of them, ever.
Damon's rhythm is brutal, perfect, and his hand on Alaric's cock, stroking hard, just perfect. They come together, out of habit and because they love the way the shudders take them both away, so ferocious. It is over too quickly, but it was medicine, what they needed.
Damon withdraws, and climbs onto the bed beside Alaric.
"I'm not keen on dying," he says. "But just in case…"
"Yeah, me too," Alaric says. "Me too."
They kiss some more, just gentle. Swapping touch for touch. "We have to go," Damon says. Alaric's eyes flick to the window.
"Still a few hours," he says.
"We need to eat. Something fresh."
They shower quickly, dress to look attractive, safe. Damon wears a t-shirt just a little too small, and Alaric bites back a groan. Wants him naked again. Damon only grins with one side of his face, a promise for later.
If they live.
"Should we get Tyler?"
"He's probably snacking on Jeremy. Let him take care of himself."
This shouldn't sound fine, but it does. Besides, it sounds like he needs more meat than blood.
It's about two in the afternoon and there are people leaving the diner in twos and threes. Damon steps smoothly in front of a couple in their twenties – Damon always drinks from pretty people, when he has a choice – and smiles widely at them.
"Be calm. We're old friends. Remember us?"
The couple nod. "Been a while," the man says, eyes wide and flat, offering a hand to shake. Amused, Damon shakes it.
"We need somewhere private," Damon says. "Care to come to our motel room?"
Alaric knows this is necessary but he doesn't much like drinking directly from the source. It's better nutrition, plasma not removed, but it just. Tastes. So. Fucking. Good.
There's the immediacy of it; the softer flavors borrowed from whatever they last ate. The pulse, drink me drink me drink me, the blood that seems to want to be drawn. There's the feeling of warm flesh beneath his lips, reminding him of what has been lost (and it is a loss – there are days when Alaric misses being human, though the compensations are more than adequate).
As Alaric drinks from the woman's wrist, Damon's eyes flick over him. Ever cautious. Alaric can control himself, does control himself. Drinks a perfectly measured pint when he must. But he is grateful for Damon's caution.
The problem is that he never wants to stop.
Alaric pulls away, licking up the blood that still seeps slowly from the wound. Damon stops at the same time. Alaric cuts his finger on a fang and puts it in the girl's mouth. "Just a little," he says. With a surprised look in her eye she sucks, briefly, and Alaric watches her wrist knit shut. Damon does the same.
"You alright?" Alaric asks the girl.
"Fine," she says, looking confused. "I feel… good." She makes an odd lunge as if to kiss Alaric, and he smiles, pulling away.
"Forget this happened as soon as you're out of here," he says, to the girl, and to her boyfriend. Damon sends them away holding hands and looking like they want to do a whole lot more than that.
Alaric feels better already, the mild ache in his wrists and hips gone. He feels stronger. Licks his lips, catches a trickle of blood he missed. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, the terrible, wonderful fog. Damon smirks.
"Feeling better?"
"Wish I could handle doing that all the time," Alaric admits. Damon shrugs. He'd rather they did this all the time too but Alaric doesn't want his unlife to be about violence. Doesn't want to just shrug, one day, say fuck it and find suddenly that he has a dead human in his arms. He tries to conjure Elena and Jeremy's faces, sometimes, imagine it could be one of them he hurt. It helps.
Damon rarely argues about it, these days. Not worth it. Certainly not now. Not with a bad night of fighting ahead of them. It's starting to rain again, getting slowly harder.
It would be better if it wasn't raining. It really would.
Ridiculous as it is, Damon and Alaric have purchased Kevlar riding gear. They don't know for sure that it is too tough for a werewolf to bite through but they figure any advantage is worth it. It's a little cumbersome, because of the way the plating sits inside the clothing, but it is not overly heavy.
"We should get motorbikes," Damon says, zipping up the jacket. Admiring the way the reinforced panels make his shoulders look broader. "We look hot. Like, hot."
"No room for weapons."
"You have a one track mind," Damon says. "Come on. We have to go get sniffed by the puppies."
Tyler knocks on the door, and Damon opens it. "Ready?"
"Sort of."
"What's Jeremy doing?"
"Watching television." From down the way, Alaric hears the soft sounds of people talking on a screen.
"We should say goodbye."
"Nah. Let's just go," Tyler says, so they do.
...
It's a distinctly odd feeling having twenty-odd men and women sniff at him and Damon, though Damon mostly looks amused. Mitchell approaches them with handfuls of fur. "Stick this in your pockets," he says. "You'll smell like me. I can't guarantee nothin', but this helps."
Damon looks less amused than appalled, but they comply. "I suppose this will make us smell all the more tasty to the other pack," he complains.
Damon and Alaric study the map while everyone else strips off their clothes. Damon can't help but look. "Guess being a werewolf is good cardio," he muses. True enough, every member of the pack is lean and strong, though they range from slim and powerful to bulky. "Hey, wonder what Lockwood's packing in the trunk?"
"Pervert," Alaric grins. He settles his crossbow better on his shoulder. The dart gun full of wolfsbane, though they won't use this if they don't have too – pretty dangerous in close combat like this, if it went astray – he tucks into a makeshift holster on his hip. The other hip is adorned with a machete. Damon is similarly attired. Though he doesn't favor the crossbow, it is helpful to have a spare.
"Let's aim not to get bitten," Damon says, laying his hand on the small of Alaric's back. Leaning for a quick kiss.
There is an odd rushing sound as the group starts to change. This, Alaric watches. It still seems more like magic than anything else they have encountered, the impossibility of bones changing form. Amazing. Hair growing, nails elongating to vicious claws, incredible. That a hundred-pound girl can become a wolf almost twice her weight, amazing.
The sun is close to setting, and the sky is a rich honeyed grey.
Alaric tries hard to memorize colors and patterns in fur, as he and Damon begin a gentle jog to bring up the rear. There is some snarling, but there seems to be a general recognition that they belong. A wolf Alaric recognizes as Tyler pads towards them, some instinct sending him there.
Alaric can't help it; following an odd instinct, he ruffles the fur on the back of Tyler's neck as they jog. Damon tenses; those are the jaws that closed over Damon's own arm just a few years ago, but while Tyler's muscles are huge and taut beneath the flesh and fur, he stays docile a moment before taking off to join the pack.
Alaric feels an odd stirring, some affection. He supposes Tyler is family, now, in a way.
A gentle jog becomes a run. Wonderful. The rain is heavier, now, but it doesn't seem to matter. Visibility is tough, and the forest is thick in places, but the feeling of running with these wolves is amazing.
They've been running maybe an hour and every muscle in Alaric's body is screaming when they hear a none-too distant howl. Alaric draws his crossbow across to the front of his body. Tearing the heart out of a hybrid is always fun but keeping their distance is better. There is a vicious snarl and from somewhere at the front of the pack the distinct sound of two huge bodies colliding. Damon pulls his own machete, and they skirt the edges until a huge, furred body leaps at them.
Alaric's arrow misses, but not by much, and Damon aims the machete perfectly, removing the head. By the time the head hits the ground, it is the head of a man, and the body of a man hits the ground alongside it.
"Can't see a fucking thing," Alaric says, whirling as another wolf comes at them.
It exposes its torso for long enough for Alaric to aim right. Straight through the heart. A woman, and that shouldn't matter, but Alaric flinches when her body hits the ground. He pauses to retrieve the two arrows, aiming a worried look at the snarling, fighting pack.
There is a strangled sound and a heavy thud. Alaric turns to find Damon on the ground, a wolf atop him, pushing hard against its throat, its huge jaws snapping at him.
Alaric hurls himself, hard, at the wolf's side, and it is surprised enough that it is effectively thrown from Damon's body. Alaric is on top of it, wrestling almost, insensible. Barely remembering to stay clear of the mouth. The wolf is trying to get free, reaching with its powerful jaws to snap at any exposed flesh it can get at. Alaric hears a terrible snap and a yowl of pain and realizes he has broken both of its front legs. Werewolf bones have incredible tensile strength, and he can't help but feel a little proud. A sick horror chases the pride away.
Don't injure what you can't kill, Alaric hears his father say. He hunted with his father a few times as a boy, and knows that a wounded animal is more dangerous, not less. Alaric slips a hand holding an arrow between the hybrid's jaws. Easy enough to snap but for the angle, and it gives Alaric the time he needs to punch up beneath the ribcage. He feels the heart of the squirming, terrified, angry creature beat once in his hand before he tears it out.
And beneath him, then, is a man. A big man, his jaws forced open and broken by the arrow in his mouth. Alaric pauses, as Damon staggers to his feet and takes his arm. Damon tenses, then and calls out: "Ric!"
Alaric turns to see another wolf; this one smart enough to be protecting its organs, Alaric raises the machete –
And the wolf is shot through the eye with a crossbow. It falls back, screaming a horrible half-human scream, and appears to be trying to change back to human – a man – and if he can pull the arrow out, he'll be fine. Alaric takes his head off with one perfectly aimed machete blow and it rolls to the ground, the hand and wrist hanging obscenely from the end of the arrow.
"Nice shot," Alaric says. Damon crouches, pulls Alaric down.
"Depends who they were aiming for." He turns. They can't afford not to be paying attention. They really can't, not while the hybrids from the other pack seem generally more interested in fighting them than in fighting their pack, and that a weird thought, their pack, but it feels right, too. Still the mystery shooter needs to be located.
"That wasn't you?"
Damon squints into the trees. "No."
Alaric groans. "Fuckin' Jeremy Gilbert. Tyler must have sent him out here ahead of us. Little shit."
"Can Jeremy shoot like that?"
"I taught him," Alaric says, and that's enough; truth is Alaric wouldn't bet against Jeremy with a crossbow in his hands. "He'd better be up a tree and out of sight."
They turn back to the fighting, and it has changed.
The rain is starting to let up, which is good, but it is still heavy enough to make it hard to see much. The packs have separated around a space in the middle and Mitchell and the other 'Alpha' are circling each other, snarling. Teeth exposed and haunches raised.
They step forward and away again, preparing for a final showdown. From one side, a member of the other pack tries to make a play but the second his underbelly is exposed, he is shot through the heart.
"I take it he's keeping his training up," Damon says. "Nice."
Alaric feels sick, but figures if he can't work out where Jeremy's shooting from, no one else will be able to spot him, either. Besides, they are all quite occupied with the main event.
Damon and Alaric remain alert, trying to count wolf bodies and dead humans, when with a flurry of fur and a powerful thud the fight starts in earnest. The rain gets heavier again, making it hard to see what is going on, but the outcome seems clear, right from the first bite.
The fight goes on for maybe ten minutes, maybe longer, both Alphas yelping when a bite meets its mark. Occasionally someone from the other pack gets excited and tries to jump in, but each time, they are subdued, or killed. A huge black wolf turns suddenly pink and nude. Alaric can't look at this.
And then it is over.
Mitchell tosses the heart of the other Alpha into the air and catches it fully in his jaws, biting and swallowing until it is gone. The man lies dead on the ground, his chest a ruined cavern, bright white and bloody when lightening illuminates the air.
The defeated pack lets up a howl, and it is a sound so heartbreaking that Alaric has to turn away from it. Damon catches his wrist. For comfort, and as an affirmation. They are alive, and the battle is won, and Elena is safe. Alaric catches Damon's eyes, brighter than ever peering from a blood splattered face and grins, though it feels wrong to do so.
"We've made friends with the pups," Damon muses. "Sort of obscene. Next time there's a turf war in Mystic Falls, think they'll come and help?"
Alaric looks to the three dead bodies on the ground near where they stand, and listens to the howls. Wonders how many lives were lost this night, under the rain.
With some effort, Tyler changes back and limps towards them. Not particularly dignified, this, nude and splattered with blood and mud. He falls to his knees and Alaric crosses fifty feet of littered forest floor to help him.
He shakes his head. "I'm hurt," he admits. "Not bad. I'll heal fast. Need…"
"Ty!"
Jeremy is running from the trees in black clothing and with his face painted so all they can see is his eyes.
Alaric grimaces. "If you'd died… No, fuck that, if you'd been hurt…"
"What, you'd kill me?" Jeremy has a rucksack over his shoulder, hands Tyler sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt. Tyler pulls them on, wincing. Not self-conscious; Alaric supposes nudity stops being weird when you've been running with a pack for a while.
"No. Elena would kill me," Alaric disagrees. "Thanks. Amazing shooting, Jer." Even Damon gives an approving half nod.
"Yeah. I've been thinking about competing but RISD isn't big on shooting events." Jeremy laughs, producing socks and sneakers.
The wolves from the other pack lie on the ground, submissive, mournful. Grieving.
Alaric watches them, a little awed. "What happens now, Tyler?"
Tyler has given up halfway through getting his shoes on. Jeremy crouches at his side and offers up his wrist.
Alaric turns away. The intimacy of this is too achingly family, the trust too sweet. Even Damon averts his eyes, crossing his arms and giving Alaric and oddly fond, possessive look.
"What?" But Alaric knows, so he smiles back.
"Just remembering when I had my own vending machine," Damon says quietly, and their shoulders bump.
When Alaric looks back again, Jeremy is watching his wrist knit shut and pulling his hood over his head. Tyler is climbing shakily to his feet. They are laughing quietly. Alaric hears the word 'bad-ass' and isn't sure who says it, only thinks that Tyler looks more relaxed than they've seen him these two days. Jeremy puts out a steadying hand and Tyler doesn't even shake it off, lets himself be steadied.
Jeremy hoists the rucksack, weapons stowed, over his shoulder.
"They'll stay here until the sun comes up. Vigil over the dead." Tyler swallows. "Tomorrow everyone will leave, get cleaned up, come back to bury the bodies."
"Do we…" Damon looks hopeful.
"We'll always be tied to the pack, now. Yes, you two as well. Jeremy, even. But we're not part of it. We should go. Mitch'll call tomorrow afternoon, probably," Tyler says.
With Jeremy there they can't move as quickly but he parked Tyler's SUV about an hour's walk away, in another direction, so it wouldn't be stumbled upon, so there's not as far to go.
When they get back to the hotel, surreally, it is barely after ten. They stagger into their separate rooms to clean blood and mud from their bodies. Alaric is exhausted, but in the shower, with hot water running over their bodies, he lets Damon run fingers all over him, bring him home for a while. They wash each other slowly, precisely, the water running pink with blood and brown with mud until it runs clear at last.
"You pushed that wolf off me," Damon purrs.
Alaric chuckles. "Yep." Damon scrubs Alaric's back, running exploratory fingers over the knobs of his spine, pressing him against the cool tile of the shower. Damon runs his hands over Alaric's ass, too, but it's not a prelude to anything. Just a quick hello, and thanks for being awesome.
"It was a near thing. They're… strong." Damon's lips find Alaric's shoulder a moment, warm water a neat slick between their bodies.
Alaric nods, turning towards Damon again, rinsing off. "Four legs. Low centre of gravity. Means they can build up that momentum for running, leap a lot higher, even with legs that…" Damon takes Alaric's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging in earnest, until he stops.
"Talk science some more. That shit is hot."
Alaric drops a kiss on the crook of Damon's neck and shoulder, steps out of the shower and dries off, tying a towel around his waist. He microwaves mugs of blood and hands one to Damon when Damon comes out of the bathroom similarly attired.
With little desire to surround themselves with other people, they each drink a significant amount of bourbon and make out messily on the couch before moving the action to the bed, fucking furiously until they are finally sated and the sun begins to turn the air a soft pink-grey hue.
...
Damon and Alaric wake with bodies tangled in bed sheets that the previous night's exertions had stripped from the mattress. Damon's soft hair lies against Alaric's lips. Alaric lies for a long time, quite silent, not even breathing, as he has no pressing need to speak, and feels oddly peaceful as is. The sun streams in the window. He and Damon have slept longer than they generally do. Needed it, Alaric supposes.
"I feel quite noble," Damon says, without moving. Alaric hadn't known he was awake.
"You said that about twenty times last night."
"Saved Elena's life again. Think I'll get a crack at her now?"
"Depends who the new boyfriend is, I suppose. But if you get a crack, so do I." Alaric runs the back of his knuckles over Damon's ribs, smiling to himself, because he knows Damon's not going anywhere. Never been equal in a relationship before. It's the reason he can joke like this.
"Damn," Damon says. They are silent a good long while, and Alaric lets himself breathe, enjoys it. The air still smells and tastes like pheromones, though unfortunately, the clothes they were wearing the night before smell less pleasant. "We were badass."
"We're always badass."
"I meant the fighting."
"I know what you meant."
Now the fighting is done Damon is impatient to leave, but Tyler says no; niceties, etiquette, stuff Damon doesn't care much for. Like a straggling end of yarn on a knit sweater. He just wants to cut it off and go find something else to do. Still they mooch around the town for the day. Eat dinner and drink heavily with Tyler and Jeremy. Alaric pretends he has forgotten Jeremy doesn't turn twenty-one for another few months. Doesn't flinch when Jeremy produces ID that declares him to be of legal drinking age and also named Trevor. This is surprisingly easy to do.
In the bar Jeremy and Tyler sit closer than they did, before. Tyler is relaxed, laughing. They eat ridiculous junk, hot dogs made from Meat™ and onion rings and fries and Damon and Alaric snack on a couple of young guys who have breezed into town for the weekend. As always Damon is watchful, and they send them away healthy, and a little turned on. Side effect of the blood. Alaric can't help but wonder I they have an interesting night ahead of them, but finds he doesn't much care either way. Just needs to be a little more well, needs to heal more thoroughly from the fighting.
When he and Damon get back to the booth Tyler is gone; on the phone, Jeremy tells them, so Damon coaxes quarters from the bartender and tortures the jukebox while Alaric talks to Jeremy.
Alaric isn't a parent. Alaric is barely an adult, no matter what his birth certificate says. Never planned to adopt a pair of broken teenagers, and though he did his best, while they were still under his care, there is a part of him that wishes there was someone better suited to these painful and necessary father-son chats.
"All going okay?"
Jeremy grins. "Mostly."
"Need to talk about it?"
"He needs to talk about it. I'm cool."
Alaric shifts uncomfortably. "Don't know if I can really talk to him." Wasn't it yesterday, Alaric was telling himself someone had to do it?
"Whatever you and Damon said the other day sunk in a bit. Look, you're not gonna tell Elena about…?"
"You jumping headfirst into a fight you had no business being a part of? No," Alaric says. "She'd stake me and then Damon. She'd stake us in the gut, so she could pull them out and do it a second time."
Jeremy dips a fry into the ketchup.
"Nice shooting, by the way. I know I said that before. But. Nice shooting."
"Had a good teacher." Jeremy grins and sips at his beer. "He'll get over himself," Jeremy says. "He loves me. I know it might not look like that to you, but he does. And I can handle him. It'll be fine, or it won't. Whatever."
"You're okay with that?"
Jeremy shrugs. "Nothing comes with guarantees, Ric," he says, and sounds more adult than he should have to. "Not you guys either."
From where Alaric sits he sees the door open, and Tyler come inside.
"They want to meet us. Here. Tomorrow. At two. Is that…?"
Jeremy nods once, quickly, Damon comes back to the table and they drink until the bar closes.
...
Alaric is messing on the net when he hears, from a distance, Elena's shriek as Jeremy crushes her in a bear hug, his answering chuckle. Downstairs in the car park. Damon emerges from the bathroom, looking furious.
"Is that Elena?"
Alaric nods. "Put some clothes on."
"I look better naked."
"Put some clothes on, Damon," and Alaric opens the door to the motel room while Damon rolls his eyes, dressing quickly. It's raining again, though not hard.
Elena's eyes catch Alaric's quickly, and she smiles, waves. Behind her, someone is pulling bags out of the back of a taxi. "Hi, Ric! We flew in on the red eye, caught the bus from Memphis this morning."
"Words can't express how badly I wish you weren't here," Alaric says, pasting 'parent' over his features. "What time is the bus back?"
"Good to see you too," she smiles. She reaches to take a bag from Matt Donovan.
Matt Donovan?
Damon, dressed, leans his chest into Alaric's back, rests his chin on Alaric's shoulder. "Is that…?"
"I suspect it's the mystery boyfriend."
"Childhood sweethearts are so cliché," Damon says. "Donovan." Matt is at the top of the stairs, with a cautious smile on his face.
"Hey, Damon. Hey, Mr. Saltz-Ric." He nods. "Can I dump these in there?"
Damon pushes the door open. Somehow he has managed to rearrange the bed so it is at least somewhat tidy. Nice. More adult and less sex-crazed.
Elena throws her arms around Alaric, who kisses her hair, and then Damon, who says she smells like dessert. She makes a face.
Alaric makes faces too. At Elena, at Jeremy, at Tyler. Elena sighs.
"Matt and I are starving. Let's go to that bar now, get something to eat, and talk."
"You are not going to that meeting, Elena," Damon insists, and Alaric is grateful they agree on this.
"Yes, I am." She hoists her handbag up on her shoulder and reaches for Matt's hand. "It's what I came for. My agreement to negotiate is what got you in the door with Tyler's pack." Matt gives a proud grin, and everyone starts to descend the concrete steps. "Come on, guys, we're starving. And it's raining."
"Are you wearing vervain?"
"Of course I am," Elena says, dripping scorn; "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Damon and Alaric exchange a significant glance, but they follow.
...
"I can't go through life wondering about who might try to attack me," Elena says, sitting in what has strangely come to feel like their regular booth in the bar. "So we're striking a deal with Tyler's pack. I've been texting back and forth with Tyler and Jer for days."
Tyler and Jeremy wear matching smiles. Matt loops a lazy arm across Elena's shoulders. Even he looks relaxed.
"You're not our dads, guys. We're capable of working some stuff out for ourselves." Jeremy sounds sort of resolved, sort of pleased with himself for pulling this off at all.
Damon continues to glare.
Jeremy actually has the gall to laugh. "Seriously. Your plan before we got here was to bait two groups of hybrids into killing each other. Ty turned it into a negotiation. You refused to let me help and I saved your asses." Elena rolls her eyes, at this, clearly hadn't believed Jeremy had stayed out of it.
Damon narrows his eyes further if that is possible and starts to splutter.
"You're looking at this all wrong," Elena says. "Don't you get it? You guys sort of taught us how to do this stuff." She shrugs, smiling, and picks at the onion rings which have just been delivered. "Take the compliment."
Alaric stills, opens his mouth to speak. Closes it again.
Was it true? Had his bumbling and oftentimes failed good intentions and Damon's tendency to over-plot and subvert actually somehow met their happy medium in the Mystic Falls Scooby Squad?
"What do you have to negotiate with?" Damon wants to know.
"My blood. They can have a little, on a case by case basis, to make more hybrids, if they keep the other pack integrated and in control. If they can't or won't – or if anyone from the pack tries to take me – no more doppelgänger blood. If I have to, I'll change."
Alaric wants to fly off the handle at this but he won't. It's the realization that Elena, Tyler and Jeremy worked this plan out together, with no help, and without the need to seek the permission they must have known they wouldn't get. That they did it at least in part to help Damon and Alaric, keep them safe out there. That they're not kids anymore, maybe haven't been in a while. All of these things have him a little unsettled, a little awed. Maybe even a little proud. There was a time the thought of keeping Jeremy and Elena – fuck, Jeremy or Elena – alive for long enough to get out of Mystic Falls seem far-fetched.
Mitchell, a woman they have not met yet and Jeff and Pete all approach the booth. Everyone rises to their feet, and hurried introductions are made.
It occurs to Alaric that Jeremy and Matt should be scared, the only pure humans in the room and neither with anything to offer, but neither does. Trusting the people around them to keep them safe.
"Just me and the young lady," Mitchell says. "If that's alright with her."
Damon is about to protest, but Alaric puts a hand on his lower back, staying him. Elena and Mitchell find a table for two near the jukebox and speak in low voices.
Watching, Damon jiggles his knee like he wants to cross the room and jump in. Tyler and Jeremy speak quietly and Matt watches the proceedings more like a guy who likes to stare at his pretty girlfriend would than one who was worried about her safety.
Everyone with supernaturally enhanced hearing listens. Alaric's heart flips. She sounds so sensible, reasonable. No matter what she is saying, she didn't get that from him or Damon.
Right?
Right.
Half an hour later, Elena and Mitchell stand and shake hands. Mitchell looks a little enchanted when Elena leans in for a hug. She looks so tiny, though she is strong and lithe and muscular. Tough.
Maybe they gave her that, inasmuch as it could be given. She earned it, mostly.
Mitchell drifts to the bar where Pete, Jeff and the woman are drinking. Elena sits alongside Matt, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. "In about another half an hour, this place is going to be crawling with hybrids. They're having the wake here."
"Both packs?" Jeremy asks.
"It's one pack now. No one's allowed to try to start anything with any of us, including Damon and Alaric. I think we should stay, show willing, you know?" Elena flutters her eyelashes at Damon and Alaric. "Play nice?"
...
They stay, show willing. There is more singing than Alaric generally likes to see (though it is a wake, so whatever) and a degree of glaring (and well, they did kill some of these people's friends) but it seems to settle as the afternoon wears on. At one point he glances to the corner where Jeremy and Tyler are up on stools, and is gratified to catch Tyler aim a glancing kiss at Jeremy's mouth, without running away afterwards.
One last night in the motel. In the morning everyone says goodbye and Damon and Alaric drive Matt and Elena to Memphis. Before they say goodbye, Elena says "Hey – we sold the house."
Alaric nods. "That was quick."
"They gave us asking price. Didn't negotiate. Some investment firm." Elena shrugs. "I'll be in Mystic with Jer in a month or so to sign papers and get the last of the stuff out."
She hugs them goodbye, and she and Matt disappear into the busy airport.
"Damon?"
"Yep?"
"Did we buy Elena's house?"
"Yep." Damon smirks, climbing into the car. "We're gonna rent it out. Figure I'll give it back to her as a wedding present, one day."
Alaric chuckles. "You're going soft."
"I. Am. Rock. Hard."
They drive the long way back to Mystic Falls, which is still not a long drive. They speak little.
Alaric can't be sure of Damon's thoughts, but he's quietly hoping for another chance to run with the pack one night. Absorb the forest into his skin, smell the musky scents. Maybe in the summer, when the earth smells lush and ripe. Long legs eating up the ground.
There's plenty of time, years spreading ahead of them like a map not yet fully unfolded.
