Cut and Dried

Summary: Damon and Elena run into an enemy with a definite ax to grind. Can they save each other before it's too late, or will the past do more than just haunt them… Post 3.2

Here we go. New chapter today as promised.

Chapter Four

Elena awoke to the odd sensation of something wet brushing over her face. Her eyes snapped open and she was looking up into Caroline's worried expression. She was holding a washcloth which was tinted pink and Elena realized she'd been trying to clean her up.

"I gave you some of my blood," Caroline said with a brave smile. "You should be feeling better soon."

Elena took a moment to check and quickly came to the conclusion that she was just fine. That only left…

"Damon!" She sat up abruptly, startling Caroline, and saw she was back at the boarding house on one of the sofas in the great room. "Where is he? Is he ok?"

Caroline looked to one side uncertainly, and Elena followed her line of vision to see Tyler sitting on the opposite sofa. He, too, looked uncomfortable and wouldn't meet her gaze.

"What?" she said impatiently.

"He's in his room," Caroline finally said. "Alaric's with him."

"Alaric… he's here?"

"He's a bit bruised up and as confused as the rest of us, but yeah. He called me after the wreck. We've been looking for you since last night." She once again glanced at Tyler as if for support. "So… you wanna tell us what's going on?"

"I will… but first…" Elena was already on her feet heading for Damon's room. She heard Caroline and Tyler following, but didn't slow down.

"Elena, maybe you ought to get cleaned up first!" Caroline called after her.

"I'm fine." She'd worry about her ruined clothes and the blood she could still feel caked in her hair later.

Without waiting, she barreled up the stairs and down the corridor to Damon's room. She threw open the door and hurried inside past Alaric, stopping only once she was at Damon's side where he lay motionless on the bed.

Almost immediately, the similarities to where they had been only weeks before struck her. Damon was on the bed, clearly incapacitated. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, and his normally pale skin was nearly gray. On a certain level, she knew this couldn't be as grave as the werewolf bite had been, but that didn't stop her from grasping Damon's hand and bending over him, hoping for some sort of response.

"Damon? Can you hear me?"

He swallowed heavily and his eyes opened just far enough for her to get a glimpse of his ice blue irises. "I'm hurt, not deaf."

Elena couldn't help smiling. Surely it couldn't be too bad if he was still making smart remarks. "Are you going to tell me what happened now?"

His eyes opened just a little wider and focused on her. "You ok?" He started to sit up a little and immediately grimaced. He fell back, clamping his mouth shut and if she had to guess he was fighting not to cry out. He looked like it hurt that much.

"Caroline fixed me up. Now tell me what the witch did to you."

Damon let out an angry, pained laugh. "Let's just say she's dedicated to yard work."

Alaric stepped closer. "Stop screwing around, Damon. My car's in the shop and I feel like I was literally thrown under a bus, so just tell us."

"Patience, Ricky." Damon sighed, although Elena could still hear the underlying anger and frustration. "You never have had a sense of the dramatic."

"Did you just call me Ricky?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer Larry?"

"I'd prefer you stop stalling and tell us why you're laid up."

Damon shifted slightly. His hand tightened so hard around Elena's that she could feel her bones grinding together. "Mulch," he finally said through clenched teeth.

Elena gasped. "Tell me she didn't."

"Oh, she did," Damon replied, deadpan.

"What?" Alaric demanded impatiently. "What did she do?"

Damon set his free hand very, very gingerly on his abdomen. "She paralyzed me," he bit out. "She cut me open, threw in a few handfuls of mulch, stirred it around and then did a handy spell to close the wound up."

"Mulch?" Caroline asked, looking like she wanted to be sick. "As in wood chips?"

"Pretty sure the owners of that house were going for curb appeal, but the witch was definitely thinking outside the box." He coughed dryly and let out an involuntary groan as it jarred his body.

"Why would she do that?" Elena whispered, freshly horrified that she'd forced him to move the way she had. She'd been getting them both to safety, but she'd also been stabbing him with every single movement.

"If I had to guess," Damon said tightly, "I'd say she doesn't like me very much."

"Why wouldn't she just kill you?" Alaric asked.

Damon's eyes moved to Alaric while the rest of him remained perfectly still. "Have I told what a comfort you are to me?"

"Cut the crap, Damon. This witch obviously has a serious bone to pick with you." He sounded like that wasn't surprising in the least. "This is personal, so who is she?"

Damon closed his eyes, suddenly looking more exhausted than anything else. "I wish I knew."

"Did…" Elena had to clear her throat. "Did she say anything else about me while I was out?"

"Other than her plans for your imminent demise?" He raised his eyebrows. "No, that was it."

"Ok, this isn't getting us anywhere." Alaric ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "We know she's a witch, we know she's out to get you two, and that's it. The question is how are we supposed to find out anything else about her?"

"More importantly," Damon countered, "who gets the lovely job of de-mulching me?"

Elena felt the blood drain from her face and the silence in the room was deafening. Caroline actually took a step back toward the door. She turned toward Tyler who held up his hands in surrender. "Don't look at me. He said if I ever touched him again, he'd rip my teeth out and shove them-"

"Right, we got it," Ric quickly cut him off.

Elena took a deep steadying breath while silently cursing herself for what she was about to say. "I'll do it."

"No, I will," Alaric immediately contradicted her. "There's no need for you to…"

Elena turned on him angrily. While he might be the only adult authority figure she had left in her life, he wasn't the boss. "If you're about to suggest I don't need to see anything like that, you can stop right there. I'm pretty sure I've seen enough-"

"Exactly," he shot back. "You've seen enough. I can do it."

"Look," Damon snapped angrily, "you two can fight later about who wants to get their hands on me more. Just someone please get this stuff out of me before I go insane!"

Elena looked at him worriedly, and for once she decided he wasn't kidding. He was nearly wild-eyed and she was afraid that if they didn't do something soon, he was going to cut himself open and start working.

"I'll do it," Alaric said with firm finality. When he saw the look on her face, however, he relented. "I may need help, Elena, so…"

"Is there anything you want me to do?" Caroline asked, although she looked like she wanted to be a million miles away from what was going on.

"You heard him, Barbie," Damon ground out. "They've got this handled. Get out and take Typhoid Tyler with you."

"Damon," Elena chastised.

"Do not tell me to be Mr. Congeniality when I've got enough toothpicks in me to be an hors d'oeuvres tray," Damon shot back.

Alaric sighed and stepped up to the bed beside Elena. "Calm down. Just give us a minute to gather up some supplies." He pointed a finger at Damon. "But you so owe me for this. You can't give me any crap for at least… a week."

Damon widened his eyes in mock-horror. "A whole week? Just for cutting me open and scooping wood chips out of my guts? This isn't a charity."

Alaric met Elena's gaze. "I'm gonna go find what we'll need. You… see if you can shut him up."

Alaric left the room and Elena saw that Caroline and Tyler were already gone. That left just her and Damon, and the sudden silence was oppressive. Damon was lying rigidly still on the bed, but his eyes were glued to her, watching her every move as she walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed up. She gently edged closer, mindful not to jostle him. Finally, she sat down cross-legged, facing the headboard. She took his hand and pulled it close, wrapping her own hands around it.

"How're you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Better than last time we were here," he answered at the same volume, his ghostly eyes still locked on her face.

"Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

"I did. I told you to leave me there," he said, finally looking away and closing his eyes. It felt like a reprieve to Elena. When Damon was watching her, it always seemed like he could see far more than she wanted him to know. Ever since he'd been sick and she'd kissed him, things had been different between them. Yes, she was still desperate to find Stefan, she loved Stefan, but he was gone and Damon wasn't. Damon was always there, protecting her, helping her, in his own semi-reliable, jackass sort of way. She would deny it until she was blue, but she was always afraid that it was there on her face somehow for Damon to see.

"You should have left me there," he added. "The witch could have come back."

"You'd probably be dead now if I had," she chided. "Now who's the one with suicidal tendencies?"

He turned back to her and his face was suddenly deadly serious. "There's a difference between being suicidal, and having my priorities straight." His eyes bore into hers. "I have my priorities straight."

You are my priority. Elena could practically hear the words hanging in the air, even though he hadn't said them. He'd wanted her out of harm's way and if that meant leaving him behind then so be it.

"Well, guess what?" she replied evenly. "I have my priorities straight, too. We were both getting out of there."

Damon smiled weakly. "This new take-charge Elena is starting to worry me."

"Why?"

"Because if you get any pushier, I'm afraid you'll stop shaving your legs and then burn your bra on the front lawn. Although now that I think of it," he gave her a lascivious grin, "I could probably get used to the second part."

Elena blushed and had a sudden desire to cross her arms over her chest, but refrained. Damon might be nearly incapacitated, yet he never passed up an opportunity to make her uncomfortable.

"Ok," Alaric said loudly as he walked back into the room. He was carrying a knife, a small plastic trash can, several bags of blood, and a bottle from Damon's liquor stash. He walked into the room, seemingly oblivious to the tension, and headed for the bedside table. He set down the knife, the blood and the trash can, then pulled a glass tumbler out of his pocket.

"Blood first?"

"Candy's dandy, but liquor's quicker," Damon said tightly and Alaric immediately complied, filling the tumbler from the bottle. He handed the glass to Damon who raised his head just far enough to drain it in one gulp. Alaric filled the glass again and Damon repeated the process. Finally, Alaric took the glass out of Damon's hand and just gave him the bottle.

"You want to wait until you're plastered?" Alaric asked seriously.

Damon didn't answer. He simply brought the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. "Just don't mess up my sheets. They're designer."

Alaric rolled his eyes, but walked to the bathroom and returned with an armful of towels. With a gentleness Elena wouldn't have expected, he tucked them beneath his patient's sides. "That ok?" he asked quietly and waited for the barest nod in return. Alaric then picked up the knife while Damon took another long pull from his bottle.

The small knife looked like it was one from Alaric's personal weapons stash, and Elena had no doubt it was wickedly sharp. He stepped closer to Damon, making sure all of his movements were clearly visible. Vampires were twitchy at the best of times, and an injured vampire was bound to be worse. Damon was a natural predator and currently a cornered, injured one. If his instinct to protect himself kicked in, Elena knew Alaric could be dead almost instantly.

Alaric hesitated, the knife hovering over Damon's middle. "It's not like we have to worry about infection," he said to no one in particular.

"Elena," Damon said forcefully.

It took her a second, but she realized she was staring at the knife, and staring at Alaric, then staring at Damon's blood soaked shirt where it was covering his abdomen.

"Elena," Damon said again, louder this time. It snapped her out of her trance and she turned her head to look at Damon's face. "Look at me," he ordered. He squeezed her hands where she was still holding his. "You look at me. Understand?"

Suddenly, Damon's mouth twisted in pain, and Elena couldn't seem to drown out the noises she heard. Still, Damon didn't look away from her. He kept his eyes on her face, and Elena had no choice but to do the same.

Damon's jaw was clamped so tightly it had to be painful, and the longer the slick, slurping, wet noises went on, followed by clumps being dropped in the plastic bucket, the more rattled Elena became. She knew she was shaking, and Damon was holding himself so rigidly still, it was all the more noticeable. Finally, when Damon couldn't seem to bear it any longer, he closed his eyes and his grip on her hands became so tight she was afraid he might break her fingers.

"You gonna be done anytime soon, there, Ric?" Damon bit out.

Elena wanted to look. Yet at the same time, she couldn't bear to. Her earlier bravery had completely deserted her and she was grateful Alaric had stepped in for this job. Sometimes she felt like she was a thousand years old, tired and world-weary, but right now she just felt like a scared girl and wished she could run away and have her mother or Jenna wrap their arms around her. Instead she kept her eyes glued on Damon's pale, anguished face. He'd told her to keep her eyes on him, and that's what she was going to do.

Damon cried out abruptly, before once again clamping his mouth shut. "Not… cool… Ric."

"Sorry," Alaric muttered.

Elena must have made a noise because Damon's eyes opened and locked with hers. Whatever he saw, Damon's pained gaze shifted and instead of begging for help, he was suddenly offering her strength. He was telling her to hang on, that it was almost over. For such a self-serving sociopath, as he liked to think of himself, he was once again thinking of anything but himself. Of course, if he were well enough to talk, she knew he would say that protecting her was his way of protecting himself.

Alaric stepped closer to the head of the bed, and Elena felt it was safe enough to glance his way. He grabbed the liquor bottle from Damon and took a long swig. He then cleared his throat, looking as green as she'd ever seen him. "I can't get it all," he said grimly. "There's just no way. Not without taking your organs out. There are splinters everywhere. They've worked their way into all the surrounding tissue."

Damon moaned and pulled his hand out of Elena's grip. He grasped the comforter and balled the fabric up in his fist. Elena guessed he'd decided he couldn't wait any longer and needed to be able to hold onto something as tightly as he wanted to without fear of breaking it. Her fingers were tingling as the blood flow returned to them.

"Any more good news you want to share?" Damon demanded, his voice so strained it hurt Elena to hear it.

"Yeah," Alaric replied, completely deadpan. "Santa called. He says you're screwed this year."

"Damn it." Damon twisted slightly on the bed, clearly in agony and quickly losing his ability to hide it. "I really wanted that new Versace jacket."

"What do we do?" Elena demanded, furious at their avoidance of the real issue at hand. "We've got to do something."

"It's quite simple, dear."

Elena whipped around to see the witch standing in the doorway.

"You can both die."

As if things weren't bad enough, eh? More soon…