Chapter 8: Picking Up The Pieces

DAMON

I dig my heels into the floor and leap back, landing with my shoulder blades to the wall and my eyes wide open, searching for a target for the stake in my hand.

"Looking for me?" Ric's voice is guttural, and it sounds like dust and abandoned furniture and blood. The jolt that goes through me has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the abrupt reminder of the worst night of my long life.

My best friend is holding the crossbow I keep hidden behind the pots and pans in the kitchen.

Adrenaline sharpens his face in my visual field until his eyes appear to glow with an acidic kind of energy. How did he know the crossbow was there? Has his hunter persona been searching the house at night, roaming while he thought he was asleep?

"What did you do to that girl?" Ric asks.

In my pocket, my phone finally stops buzzing as it goes to voicemail.

I straighten from my automatic defensive crouch, my shoulders flexing. "Fuck you. I never changed her dreams. I didn't give her pretty ponies when she was watching her dad suck river water or a shiny rumpled-puppy paradise when she was digging Jenna's grave with her bare hands. I didn't even turn down the sheets when she was dreaming me into her bed."

The stake feels sour in my hand and I throw it into his face, the wood smacking across the bridge of his nose. He doesn't flinch as it clatters to the ground.

"I kept Stefan's ugly necklace on her beautiful neck and I was the one who re-filled it when the vervain went stale," I spit the words at him.

Ric blinks, his face starting to change but I don't care.

I stalk across the room toward him and his fucking crossbow that he built, loaded with quarrels that I sharpened. "The only thing I ever made her do was to forget me, to stay away from me. For her own damn good."

His expression is wavering, the lines caught somewhere in between his two selves and I keep going until the sharp end of the crossbow quarrel presses dead into my chest.

"She dreams about you torturing Caroline," I hiss, beyond furious. "If I gave my girl dreams, she'd enjoy them a hell of a lot more than that."

His eyes flash dark and his finger tightens on the trigger. I snatch it away from him, whipping the butt of the crossbow across his cheek with a crack of breaking wood.

Ric staggers and goes down on one knee and my phone starts to buzz again.

I answer it with my left hand so I can keep my right on the damaged crossbow, aimed for Ric's lower intestines in case he's still feeling feisty.

"What?"

"Finally, God," Jeremy complains. "What have you been doing that you can't answer your phone when I know you're home?"

"Practicing my audition dance for Swan Lake," I snap. "Big surprise, kid. Things don't always revolve around you."

Ric braces his hands on his knees as if he can stop them from shaking. He's fighting for it, but he ain't there yet. The sight reminds me I'm being a dick to Jeremy and that he normally doesn't call three times in five minutes.

"What do you need?" I ask, attempting to sound somewhat less pissed off than I am.

"Damon, I have to tell you something," he says, the quaver deep in his voice not hidden by the weight of the words.

I know that tone, because for all the shit I give him, Gilbert's a little bit emo for a reason. His life sucks on a really regular basis. And from the sound of it, something's the basement cell kind of wrong on his end of the phone.

"Why don't you start by telling me your arms and legs are intact and you're not looking at something with a Stefan face and an ego upgrade?"

"Damon, Bonnie's dead."

"Fuck. How dead?"

I've been waiting for the Bonnie-lost-her-mind-from-black-magic-and-I've-been-hiding-her-in-a-cave call, but this one is from another area code entirely.

"I've been seeing her ghost for four months now," Jeremy admits. "Damon, it was because of me. It was because she brought me back to life."

A sound of pain hisses out from between Ric's teeth and he grabs his head, pressing hard against his temples. I take a measured step back and keep the crossbow up, my finger on the trigger.

"What does that mean, Jeremy? You can't play musical chairs with the Other Side. It doesn't work like that."

"It wasn't a trade. The magic she had to channel to drop the veil and then to keep me on this side…it was too much for her, Damon." This time the tremor isn't so well hidden and my hand tightens on the crossbow.

I push a breath out through my teeth and move my finger away from the trigger. I don't want to accidentally shoot Ric before I see which side of him wins the silent argument that has him doubled over on my floor.

"Why am I getting this call now?" I ask carefully, and as soon as I say it I know the answer.

Fuck.

"Bonnie didn't want me to tell anyone," Jeremy says miserably. "I've been sending texts and emails from her all summer. I didn't think, after everything, that Elena could–"

"I know, kid," I say quietly. Double fuck. "I get it. Look…" I throw a desperate glance to Ric, but he's sitting full on the floor now in the midst of the broken glass, his breath still uneven as his hands clench on his knees, his eyes confused when he looks up at me.

I turn away and lower my voice. "Look, Bonnie was never very careful with magic. If she didn't burn herself out trying to bring you back, it would have probably happened some other way, eventually. Or maybe raising the veil would have been too much even without the extra spell. At least this way, Elena didn't lose everything."

Jeremy sucks in a hard breath on the other end of the phone and I know what he's thinking because I'd be thinking it, too. I move further away from Ric, hoping he's still too out of it to overhear. Nobody else would say what I'm about to say, because it's as far from politically correct as you can get without kicking a kitten.

"Listen, Jeremy," I growl. "Elena loves you more than Bonnie. She loves you more than anyone, and as long as you're okay, she'll get through this."

He's not breathing, and then there's a tiny hitch that tells me he's trying like hell not to cry into the phone. I've got to get off the line before he screws that up for himself or he'll probably get himself killed trying to show me how badass he is to make up for it.

"Damon," he says in a voice squeezed ugly with strain, "I don't know if–"

"I'll tell her," I cut him off. "I'll tell her, and she'll call you and you'll see that I'm fucking right, as usual. Stick close to Katherine and don't do anything stupid, okay?"

I hang up before I can hear anything else, and wish for a second that I would have gotten Katherine a phone. But no, screw it; I know she's too cagey to let Jeremy do anything dangerous because it would put her at risk, too. And with any luck, she'll get impatient enough with his broody face to piss him off, which will keep him distracted until I can talk to Elena.

"Damon?" I turn around to see Ric climbing slowly to his feet. "Was that Jeremy? What happened?" He blinks at the shards of glass all around him and I can see the shame behind his eyes. "Did I break something?"

My eye twitches and I head for the drink cart, eyeing the levels in the decanters skeptically.

"Let's see." I pick up a new glass and my largest decanter. "You accused me of piping the Penthouse Channel into Elena's Psychic Dream Network, I fed you my favorite bourbon glass, Jeremy called to say Elena's best friend is six feet under and four months a ghost, and Stefan failed to react to any of our growly, crossbow-shooty sounds. Which means he probably went out the window hours ago and is doing his best to make Mystic Falls a dry county. And not in respect to the liquor laws." I stretch my neck stiffly to the side. "Thank Christ for that because I need a drink possibly even more than I need to forget the last hour of my life."

"Shit." Ric gets up and reaches past me into the lower cupboard, pulling out a fresh bottle of his preferred brand of mid-grade bourbon and cracking the seal. He takes a long, throat-bobbing swallow, and then goes to get a broom.

I give him a hopeful look as he starts to sweep. "Any chance you want to play designated driver so I can take the liquid highway all the way to Whitmore?"

"Yeah, no," he vetoes me with a humorless chuckle. "Go get the dustpan."

I stare moodily at the decanters and don't move.

Ric pauses in his sweeping and reaches for his bourbon, tossing a glance my way. "Don't we need to find Stefan before we go to Whitmore?"

I drop onto the couch and empty my glass down my throat. "Fuck Stefan. If I'm going to have two vampires off the rails, the one with 147 years of second chances is on his own."

Ric hands me his bottle and goes to get the dustpan.

For a long moment, longer than any of us can afford, the only sounds are the scrape of sharp glass and the empty slide of liquor.

I need to get up.

I need to deal with Elena, then Jeremy, then my damned brother, and Silas, always fucking Silas and after that Katherine. Oh and Professor McSaviorson and his crazy blood theory, as if any of the Originals will care to donate to saving the human race before some kind of apocalyptic event makes them run low on snack food.

"Wanna talk about it?" Ric offers.

"No, I don't want to talk about it," I sneer. "What I want to do is kill something, eat someone, and go the fuck to bed."

Ric nods. He takes the bottle from me, drinks, and hands it considerately back. "Yeah."

The bottle feels good and familiar in my hands. Bonnie's already been dead for four months. What's another day?

"Screw it, let's get wasted and sight in the crossbows."

"I don't know that we would exactly improve their aim with that method," Ric responds dryly.

I grunt and pass the bourbon. We're halfway down already and if we keep going, neither of us will be able to drive to Whitmore. I can't stop thinking about how Elena reacted before, when Bonnie nearly burned out her magic trying to take down Klaus and ended up having to fake her own death.

I can still feel the mark of Elena's hand across my cheek after she slapped me.

The house is too quiet. Goddamn Stefan. He was useless last time, too. Useless at comforting Elena, useless at stopping Klaus. Useless at doing what had to be done.

When the bottle finds its way back into my hand, I set it down on the table with a hollow thunk.

"I know what it will be like, Ric," I tell him, and I hate the way my voice squeezes out of my throat. "I already know exactly what her face will look like when she finds out that Bonnie's dead. How the fuck am I supposed to go up there and do that to her when this time, I can't take it back?"

"You're not. Because I'm going to do it for you."

My head snaps up. "Oh, fuck no. And let you get repo'ed halfway through the conversation? That's going to calm her right down."

"They're witches, not a bill collection agency. And I am going to help kill Silas, so maybe they won't want to take me back yet." He stands up. "Give me the keys to Jeremy's new car and I'll go right now."

I eye him suspiciously. "Why? It's going to be a waterworks extravaganza at best and a bloodbath of displaced grief at worst. Why would you volunteer for that?"

"Because you suck at delivering bad news."

"Fuck that," I sneer. "I'm the only one around here man enough to tell Elena what she doesn't want to hear."

"But you give her the bottom line before she's ready to hear it and that's the last thing she needs right now," he argues.

I come off the couch in a single line of hot, angry muscle. "Are you saying I don't know how to take care of my girl?"

"I'm saying you're a dick, Damon," he says, frustrated. "And a prag–"

I hit him.

He staggers back, blood bright on his split lip. His eyes spark and I growl, thirsty for a brawl and not caring much which version of him I have to have it with.

Ric's fist is a blur even to my adrenaline-spurred vision and bone cracks, pain screeching through the root of every tooth in the right side of my head.

"You're my friend, damn it," he curses. "And that means you're supposed to listen when I talk."

It's not like I have much of a choice, at least not until my jaw heals, but his words just took the fun out of this fight anyway.

"I was saying that you're a pragmatist," he explains, his eyes still flashing but his voice patient. "If I heard you right, Bonnie might have died anyway, even if she didn't bring back Jeremy. But Elena's not going to be able to process anything but the fact that her best friend is dead. She needs to grieve, Damon, or she won't heal."

I try to glare at him, but the pinch and scrape of knitting bone aches all the way into my cheekbones and makes my eyes water, so it's probably less than intimidating. At least he's smart enough not to fucking laugh.

He walks over to the foyer table and opens the drawer where I put all the extra keys, though I have no idea how he knew about them. I doubt even Stefan is aware that I have spares for everything, much less where I keep them.

Ric pulls out the shiniest key ring and looks back at me, his face serious. For the first time doubt twists in me. Elena adores him and I'm not exactly the comforting type. What if he's right? But every time I've ever trusted Elena to someone else, they've screwed it up.

"Wait, what are the chances you're going to flip and get all stabby with her?" I challenge.

"While talking about the death of a girl my alter ego tried to drain dry?" He shakes his head. "Zero. Besides, if I stopped myself from killing you, I can keep it in line for her no problem." He flips the keys around his finger once and catches them with a snap. "You take care of your brother. Let me look after Elena."

When he closes the door behind him, my fists clench, but I let him go.

ELENA

A breeze sifts through my hair and across the open pages of my book, the subtle scratch of strands across rough paper blending with the rustle of leaves from above. The trees on campus have bigger leaves than the ones back home and the sound is different, though I couldn't define exactly how. I think I like it.

I'm starting to settle into the college routine, finally. I know what times to hit the caf to avoid the rush, and Caroline and I go for a run every morning when the fall air still has a bite to it. Both are for the purposes of blending in, though the run always makes me ache for a chance to really stretch my legs.

I like the chatter and energy of campus life, the way I can make a friend in the space of a single conversation. This morning I met a girl with electric blue mascara named Trinda and this afternoon I'm going to help her paint banners to advertise the Peer Counselors' ice cream social for incoming freshman.

But part of me wishes college were something I could do during the day, and then go back to my real life at night. Whitmore feels like a vacation interlude, a study-abroad semester.

It doesn't feel like home.

I push my hair impatiently behind my ear, scanning the parking lot once more before I turn back to my book, starting over at the top of the page. It's actually really good, a short and well-written discussion about the role of transportation systems in Germany during World War II. But it can't hold my attention right now. In the distance, an engine gears down to turn in off the street, but when I look up, it's only an old Honda.

Damon texted me at lunchtime to say Ric was coming up for a visit this afternoon, which was weird, but maybe they haven't had a chance to get Ric his own phone yet. I curl my bare toes into the grass and tell myself I won't look up at the next sound, but I barely last two seconds when I hear the next car engine.

This time it really is Ric, driving a small Audi SUV. I close my book without stopping to mark the page, slipping my feet back into my sandals and hurrying down to the curb to meet him.

While I wait for him to park, a wide smile splits my face and I catch myself bouncing a little on my toes just like Caroline does when she gets excited. I drop my heels back to the ground self-consciously, but can't resist grabbing Ric in a hug before he even gets the driver's door closed.

"Hey, Elena," he greets, and his arms are strong and wonderfully secure. They feel like I could disappear into them.

The wrinkled cotton of his shirt smells like Old Spice deodorant and woodsmoke, as if he came straight from the boarding house. This time of year it is cool enough in the mornings that sometimes Damon makes a fire when he first gets up and then lets it die as the day warms with the sun.

Nostalgia echoes through me as I step back. I've watched Damon make so many fires, fascinated with the easy way he handles the kindling; laying the wood exactly the same way every time. I've never seen him need more than a single match to get it to catch.

"So, how's it look?" Ric nods at the SUV. "You think Jeremy will like it?"

I glance over. It is very shiny and the lines of it are more modern than I expected. I frown. "Wait, is that new? There's no way the insurance check covered a brand new one. And I was thinking maybe a Ford or something. Why did Damon get an Audi?"

"Because Damon shops for cars like an old woman. He gave me the year, model number and a credit card, based solely on safety rating," Ric explains with a wry smile. "Amidst much complaining about how many cars you and Jeremy have wrecked. He also said that Jeremy would be mowing the lawn until 2030 to pay him back for the difference in price. We meant for you to drive this one until we can replace yours, too, but there was nobody free to ferry me and the car up here today."

I cross my arms and give Ric a stern look. "You know, Damon can bring Stefan up here if he's afraid to leave him alone. I've seen Stefan at his worst plenty of times. I'm not going to break."

"Um, yeah. About that." Ric scratches his jaw. "Apparently the sorority girl thing isn't just a joke. Damon didn't think it was smart to get Stefan close to a college at this point."

"Right..." I nod jerkily and attempt to put a smile back on my face.

Like Damon said, this isn't Stefan's first binge and I'm trying not to let it get me down.

"So do you want to go grab some coffee or something? How long can you stay?" Looking up him, my smile becomes genuine. "I'm so glad you decided to drive up today. It's really good to see you."

Ric looks troubled and his answering smile is quick and pained. "Look, is there someplace private we can talk?"

"Sure." I lead the way back toward the dorm. "Caroline is studying in our room, but there are common areas on every floor between the girls' and the boys' wings. Pretty much nobody uses the one on the fourth floor."

The lawn is thick with passing students and I wonder if the scent of humans is why Ric wants privacy. I keep forgetting that he's a new vampire. He died so soon after his transition I just never got used to thinking about him as anything other than human.

I take him up the back staircase just in case, the one everyone avoids because half the lights are burned out and there aren't any windows. Plus, it always smells just a little bit like nacho cheese.

"Are you...hungry?" I ask awkwardly. "We could stop by the room for a snack first, if you need to."

Ric gives me a stiff smile. "No, I'm good. Damon keeps me well-stocked on the bags."

I sneak a sideways glance at him as we climb the stairs. The expression he's wearing is the same one he has every time he's about to get uncomfortably parental with me. And suddenly it makes a lot more sense why he drove here when he knew Damon wouldn't be able to come with him.

I stop climbing, leveling a look at my old guardian. "You're here to lecture me about Damon, aren't you?"

His whole expression is weighted with guilt and something uneasy darts through his eyes.

I squeeze my hands into fists, trying not to lose my temper. Ric never liked the idea of his best friend dating me and he was always telling me to be "careful." As if Damon were a bomb I needed to defuse. As if love were something you could be cautious about.

"Listen, you've missed a lot of things, Ric. You weren't here when I transitioned, or when we were looking for the cure, or when Jeremy died. You don't know what Damon's like when he's with me."

"Elena–" Ric begins. His voice is heavy and I can tell he's not hearing a word I'm saying.

Anger simmers in my chest and I glare at him. "I'm not another one of Damon's fake compelled girlfriends, Ric. I was sired to him, for God's sake." I sweep an arm out angrily. "He could have treated me however he wanted and I would probably have let him but he never used it for a single thing except to try to protect me. He takes care of me, Ric," I tell him, my voice quieting around the lump forming in my throat. "We take care of each other. And if you don't believe that then you don't know him at all."

"Look, Elena," Ric starts, his eyes dark.

I just shake my head, clenching my jaw in disbelief. I'm beyond tired of Stefan and Caroline and everyone trying to talk me out of being happy with Damon, after everything he's done for all of them.

"I don't have to listen to this," I seethe, already starting down the stairs.

"Wait," Ric calls but I don't even look back. "Elena, Bonnie's dead."

I nearly stumble, I whip around so fast.

And his face tells me everything I don't want to know.