Author's Note

A short chapter this time, sorry guys! My motivation's waned for a while, but I appreciate the reviews, favs, and follows! Please continue to let me know what works and what doesn't - and while this chapter's primarily plot, I hope it can move back towards Damon's (complete lack) of a love life in the near future. Thanks, and I hope you're enjoying the ride so far.

A Normal Life

Bloodsuckers had started to haunt his nightmares. Just when Damon had thought he could escape them, they found new realms to torture him, occupying every spare crevice in his brain until he howled for sweet, sweet release. Even in nightmares - where he had lost control - they had turned on their heels, with black, empty eyes that matched their souls - or what remained of them - as they lunged forward for him.

All except Bonnie. She hovered protectively near his fallen body, kneeling down and brushing his bangs away from his face. "Silly boy," she was saying, "Did you really think I'd leave a Salvatore for good?"

Her touch was unusually warm for a bloodsucker, Damon noted as he stared at her hand. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She scoffed. In the light, he could now notice her psychedelic, multicolored dress, one that barely reached her knees, and the purple peace sign necklace dangling around her neck. For reasons completely beyond his comprehension, his nightmares had decided to go retro. Even his own clothes screamed the 60's, which amused him slightly because he'd never lived in that decade (nor had he ever planned to revisit its poor fashion choices).

Ignoring his smirk, she said, "Your whole family's the same, I swear."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer. With one swift click of her heels, she lunged at the shadows, effortlessly vanquishing them with her sheer willpower. Still, her own empty, black eyes didn't bode well - and as she reached out for him, he screamed, kicking back against his own headboard.

He groaned, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. For not the first time that week, he had woken up in a sweat. Strange: he hadn't opened the window, and yet, his curtains were billowing in the light breeze. Damon groggily rose to his feet to close it, ignoring how he nearly tripped on his too-long pajama pants, before he reached for his phone and double-checked the time. Great. Not only were his nightmares unusually vivid, with guest star Bloodsucker Bennett, but it was also 4:30 AM, and he couldn't lull himself back to sleep.

Lazily, he flopped back onto his bed and double-checked his messages. Mom had sent him a few texts before the Vicki mess had unfurled; of course, because his phone sucked, he had received them only seconds ago.

4:04 AM - sorry, our cell signal was non-existent! I'll try to call tomorrow morning your time :)

4:10 AM - we had a good trip, btw. stay safe and make good choices!

This, naturally, was accompanied by a voicemail. Mom's soft, warm voice had told him (or his phone, rather), "I don't know if you got my texts, but Gattino, I'm sorry we've been unavailable. Our trip was good, but you know the service out in the countryside... Also, you said Stefanizo's been lighting candles all by himself? We can talk to him, but call us back when you've got time, alright? We know you're busy‒"

"He's a big boy, dear, he can give Stefanizo the talk himself," Dad's voice interrupted in the background. Damon snorted; typical Dad, wanting Damon to shoulder as much responsibility as an older sibling possibly could, and then some. Why bother with a long-distance call when Damon could do it himself?

"It never hurts to ask!" Mom was probably rolling her eyes at Dad, considering the slight pout in her voice. "Keep us posted, okay? You can even show him the basement if you need to. Love you, talk to you soon!"

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well, right? Inhaling sharply, Damon returned the call, hoping to dear God that that they had a decent signal, because he sure couldn't call later, with his major presentation in the afternoon and god-knows-what in the evening. At this point in his life, he was strongly considering to ask bloodsuckers if they could maybe pencil in danger once a week – like, say, Thursdays? Nothing ever happened then.

"Damon?" Mom sounded slightly perplexed, no doubt checking the time as she answered. "Everything alright? Isn't it really early there?"

"We're fine, and yeah, it's early." He resisted a yawn, curling up underneath his blankets. "I gave Stefan the Talk, by the way. His raw power's almost staggering, Mom - like, stronger than mine was at that age."

Mom was quiet for a second. She whispered, so softly Damon had to be mishearing her, "I was worried about that."

"You were?" Damon furrowed his brow. Was this foretold or something? Was it in the Tarot cards that he never really believed? Because last he checked, raw power didn't indicate much beyond an intense connection to nature.

Mom coughed. "I mean, I was worried about you reining him in. Is it difficult? Do we need to head home early?"

"Nothing like that." If Damon were a selfish prick, he would've said yes, because Stefan was entangled in a web far beyond Damon's control. If Damon were an ass, he would've told Mom the whole truth - that a bloodsucker named Anna had transformed Kelly Donovan's daughter into one of them, and that Damon hadn't been able to prevent it. Instead, he swallowed his worries, telling her empty platitudes such as "You wanted me to keep you posted, so uh... here I am. I've got a presentation today, so I was up early."

"Good luck. I bet you couldn't sleep, could you?" Mom laughed softly. "I thought I heard the drowsiness in your voice."

He never could hide much from her. Damon chuckled too, pressing his phone closer to his ear. He patiently reminded himself that she would be home soon, and for a few weeks, they could pretend that they were a normal family, without the magic or the distance separating them. He could talk to her about girls and cooking and normal stuff that didn't involve alchemy, instead of Stefan's powers and bloodsuckers and exactly everything that made his life more difficult. So he said, "Not really. I'll be fine, though."

"You always are." Her voice grew wistful as she started to rustle through some papers. "Your dad's gonna call Stefan and double-check on stuff. Is that alright?"

"That's fine. You can talk to him too." It was an empty gesture because while Stefan loved Mom, he had always understood Dad better. Mom knew that better than perhaps anyone.

Damon could even imagine Mom shaking her head as she said, "I think your Dad wants to have that conversation, so I'll let him break the news. Good luck on your presentation, Gattino! I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I hope so."

Damon didn't remember hanging up on her, nor did he quite remember burrowing himself underneath his covers. What he did remember was his alarm clock screeching two hours later, around 6:45 AM, and his mad scramble to change into something "professional" for his presentation that afternoon. He wouldn't have time, between work and his seminars, to change into something else, so he had to wear a linen blazer and black denim jeans into work.

Even with his limited sleep, he could still cook breakfast in time for Stefan, so Damon hurriedly rushed downstairs after grooming himself as minimally as possible and brewed some tea for them. Stefan headed downstairs, just as Damon was scrambling eggs for them, and dumped his backpack on the nearest chair as he headed over to make them toast.

"Were you up super early?" Stefan glanced sleepily at the eggs, nearly reaching for them instead of the loaf of homemade bread. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"Just Mom." Damon waved it off with his hand as he placed the eggs on their plates. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I figured I could kill time."

Stefan furrowed his brow, tearing off a piece of his toast and staring up at Damon. "Because of your big presentation?"

Not quite. While the stress of his presentation had slowly bubbled over the past couple of weeks, Damon could handle antsy board members who relied on traditions and legacies (like the rest of the damn state). Everything had boiled over last night – bloodsuckers, big bad council members, and even Aunt Liz and Scumfell – into a giant, burnt mess that Damon couldn't begin to salvage. Save for Stefan's occasional mentions of Bonnie, he hadn't heard from either her or Vicki in five days now. Logically, he understood that his disapproval had made Vicki uneasy - and yet, some small part of him wanted reassurance that her undead existence was alright.

Last night, Stefan had mentioned something about a new history teacher - one who looked like Mother Teresa compared to Coach Tanner - but Damon had been far, far too sleepy to ask for more details. He was still too sleepy, technically, so he shrugged nonchalantly at Stefan's question. "Something like that. What're your plans for today? Does Elena have a big cheerleading thing? Or maybe Jeremy has an art show?"

Stefan shook his head. "Nah. Tyler and I have Model UN, but that usually ends around 5… Why? Anything big?"

"Dad wants to talk to you, so maybe show up a little bit late?"

"He does?" Stefan sat up a bit straighter, the confusion evident in his eyes as he looked at Damon for cues. When Damon wasn't providing any, Stefan asked, "How come? Is it about school or something else…?"

"I'll let him tell you," Damon answered cheekily, watching as Stefan's confusion only intensified. God, sometimes Stefan made it too easy to withhold information. Knowing the poor kid, he'd dwell about it all day, until someone – usually Elena – snapped him out of his funk. "It shouldn't take long, so keep an eye out for his number."

"Sure thing." Stefan finished off his plate, placing it in the sink and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. In only a couple of weeks, his younger brother had gained a kind of grace that couldn't be explained by physical prowess (because Stefan had absolutely none). Magic had done his brother well. "Good luck on your presentation, by the way. I know you're gonna impress Augustine."

"I'd better. I worked way too hard on this presentation," Damon groaned, nearly mussing up his hair as he helped himself to more tea. "And since Misao isn't with me this year, there's no way it could—"

"Don't jinx yourself," Stefan interrupted quickly, as he turned towards the door. "I know you: you're going to psych yourself out. It'll be great, and we'll have dinner at the Grille to celebrate."

"We really need a new hangout," Damon said absentmindedly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Stefan as he finished his meal and reached for the keys. As much as he liked the food at the Grille, burgers and fries got boring after a while. Surely there was enough room in this town for more than one kind of restaurant? The coffee shop was great, but they didn't frequent it nearly as much as he would've liked. Not when the Grille served actual hot meals.

Stefan just wrinkled his nose as they headed off to school – their various schools, anyhow – together. "At least we know the food's always going to be good."

Good food or no, the routine had grounded him when his life was starting to fall apart. Damon didn't even bother visiting work today, since Misao had taken the day off to meet her boyfriend; Wes was TAing a class; and the other interns were cooped up in various corners, studying for midterms. Jessalyn, his supervisor, had sent him a good-luck text with way too many emoticons for his own good – and although he was poking fun at it, he couldn't quite hide the smile on his face as he tucked his phone into his pocket.

To retain their illusion of prestige (Augustine technically was the highest-ranking society on campus, save for some professional fraternities), they held their presentations in the Augustine house. Damon always felt shivers down his spine every time he entered, yet he could never quite explain them.

"There's something fishy about them, that's for sure," Aunt Sheila had said today, when he dropped by her office just before his presentation.

Reaching for the bowl of chocolate on her desk, Damon silently agreed. For as long as he'd known Aunt Sheila, she had led the Occult Studies department with an iron fist – one that had always rankled Augustine's shackles. To Augustine, the supernatural was to be studied from a distance, not up close and personal, as if it were a constant presence in people's lives. Because, hilariously, magic didn't exist to them. Damon sighed. Loudly. "You're telling me. I'm supposed to give my talk in an hour, but…"

"On your thesis, or…?"

"Unfortunately." He grimaced, unwrapping the piece of dark chocolate and plopping it into his mouth. "Though speaking of my work… what about your granddaughter? I haven't seen her in a while."

Aunt Sheila's expression softened as she leaned back in her leather chair. "She's doing well. From what I understand, you helped her save Victoria."

Victoria… right, Sheila was also the only person in this entire town who called Vicki by her birth name. Damon avoided her gaze, instead pulling out his tablet and flipping to his presentation (which he'd long since memorized). "It was nothing."

"I'd say it's something, Day. You didn't have to involve yourself in this."

"Kind of hard not to get involved, when it came knocking on my front door." He hunched over, re-reading the slides for anything out of the ordinary. When it came to his research – his work with differently-abled people – he had to be absolutely, positively perfect. Augustine would accept nothing less.

Aunt Sheila hummed for a few seconds. Awkward silence threatened to hold over the room, until Aunt Sheila broke it by saying, "Are you afraid they'll find out, if you go through with this?"

He couldn't respond to her, not when she'd hit the nail on the head so precisely. Damon slid his tablet onto her desk, gesturing wordlessly to each slide. For the past year, he hadn't once expressed his magic, instead lying low and pretending that he was a normal adult living some semblance of a normal life. If Scumfell had reached them, then Damon could forget studying here. He could forget staying in Mystic Falls too. He had always imagined escaping Mystic Falls, but he hadn't quite imagined fleeing it out of shame.

"It looks fine to me," Aunt Sheila said softly, as she scanned each slide thoroughly. "You're explaining your study and why your role in it matters – why you're studying their brain patterns – and you should be fine."

An email popped up on his tablet. Opening it, Aunt Sheila shot Damon a bemused expression as she handed the tablet back to him. "They changed the location of your talk? To the physics building?"

"I guess they're trying to be more open with the public." Damon wrinkled his nose, carefully placing his tablet into his black leather messenger bag. It wasn't like Augustine, but then, the sooner he got this talk over with, the sooner he could celebrate with his friends and family. "If you see Blood—I mean, if you see Bonnie tonight when you get back…"

"I'll let her know you care." Aunt Sheila chuckled.

Damon scowled. "Not even remotely close. I don't know how you stand her sometimes."

"Blood's thicker than water, Damon," she mysteriously explained, as she watched him head out the door and to his presentation. "You, of all people, should know that better than anyone."

The presentation went as well as it could, considering it was in the Physics auditorium instead of the quiet, dimly-lit seclusion of the Augustine house. His talk lasted maybe five minutes, but the questions lasted far, far longer. From fielding questions about his thesis ("So you just make a lot of models about how people perceive things?") to the truly absurd from one panelist ("so you mean people with PTSD perceive things differently than the average person?"), he must've been up there for twenty minutes. Damon struggled to rein in his temper, instead forcing himself to envision Anna, and how he would roast that bloodsucker alive the next time he saw her.

The panelists had praised him, noting how "calm and professional" he had remained the entire time, and that they would talk to Jessalyn about additional funding for Damon in upcoming months. Damon could barely contain his anguish, stomping on his own foot as he listened to their thinly-veiled praise.

Once he had been relinquished from academic hell, he had immediately called Jenna up. "What is so hard to get about cognitive psych?"

"Everything, judging from your tone," Jenna had responded, the surprise more than evident in her voice. "Your talk didn't go so well?"

"Oh, it went great. I just think Augustine knows absolutely nothing about my discipline, since their questions were all super dumb."

"Welcome to the rest of Whitmore," Jenna had agreed; Damon could even picture her twirling her hair, like she always did when she got exasperated. "But you got the funding, yeah?"

"Yeah, and that's all that matters. How's your thesis coming along?"

Jenna groaned. Loudly. "Don't remind me! We're gonna go out and celebrate, and I'm gonna see Logan since he's been really busy this past week, and we're gonna forget about the giant folders waiting for me at home." (Wait, Logan was? Scumfell had better not have ditched Jenna for some other girl - or far more likely, some other bloodsucker.)

"Aw, but I thought you wanted to graduate before you turned 30."

"Damon Salvatore, don't make me come over there and—"

"And what?" He chuckled. "I'm already heading to the Grille. You can't do much from here."

"Argh! I'll see you soon."

She unceremoniously hung up on him, forcing Damon to concentrate on the drive to the Grille. Just as he headed out of his car, he saw a young woman waiting on the front steps of the restaurant for him. Her empty, black eyes perfectly matched her curly, jet-black hair, and as she dourly glared at him, Damon almost wished he had brought his stake.

"Salvatore."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Bloodsucker."

"I have a name, you know," she said with a grimace as she rose to her feet. "You could use it once in a while."

"What do you want?" He folded his arms, grateful for once that he could easily tower over her (even with her high heels). "I don't have time to play games with you."

"For starters, you could say thank you." She rose to her feet, gesturing towards the man casually talking to the waitress at the door. Damon stood there, rooted to the ground as he gawked at nearby Scumfell.

Taking his silence for an answer, Anna lightly tapped Scumfell's shoulder. "Hey, Logan? What's Damon's big secret?"

Scumfell laughed so brazenly that Damon almost wanted to pass out on the spot. "He's a total nerd. You know that necklace of his? It's…"

Anna stepped forward, staring straight into his eyes. Logan's own eyes glossed over, losing their luster as she said, "I don't actually care. Salvatore's a nerd, and that was the big secret you learned in the woods. You had caught him and Stefan playing one of their nerd game in the woods, remember? Bonnie and I and Vicki were just watching, and you were the good guy who made sure we got home safe."

"Of course. Nerds of a feather…" He laughed softly, still staring straight into Anna's black eyes.

Anna released him from her iron grasp, watching as Scumfell slyly slung his arm across Jenna's shoulder and disappeared into the crowd with her. Once he was out of hearing range, Damon finally found the energy to say, "Why would you do that?"

(Sure, his secret had remained safe, but at the expense of his reputation? Who had he pissed off to deserve this?)

"Because. You need your magic to stay secret, just like I need mine to stay under wraps, and now that it will… you owe me a favor." She smiled wickedly, baring her fangs as she reached out for his hand. "What do you say, Salvatore? You think you can perform a spell for me?"

"Anna?" Bonnie's voice cut out loud and clear as she stepped across the Grille's threshold. "Anna, we don't have time for this."

Damon stared down at Anna's hand, at the large, gaudy lapis lazuli ring on her finger. No good could come of accepting her offer – especially if she was at such odds with Bonnie – and yet she had wiped Scumfell's memories clean of the whole incident. Damon couldn't accept mind magic at the cost of someone's free will, even if it allowed his conscience to breathe. Yet Anna had performed a fitting favor, considering it was her fault that he had exposed his secret in the first place.

"Why'd you turn Vicki into one of you?"

"Excuse me?" Anna glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I saw her drink your blood the other day, at the coffee shop," Damon said, focusing all of his concentration on her tiny brain. "If you don't give me a straight answer, I just might make some vessels go pop…"

"Aw, after I saved your sorry butt? When you first told Logan the truth?"

She did what exactly? Damon instinctively reached for his pockets, knowing full well that he had come to the Grille unarmed. "It was your sorry fault I had to in the first place."

"Uh-huh." She whistled softly, circling him as if he were her prey and she fully intended to devour him for dinner, rather than some poor sap at the bar. "You didn't have to help Vicki. She would've transitioned with or without you, and well… she needed a better life, one with a future that didn't involve teenage pregnancy or drugs. How was I supposed to know that you'd march in and save the day?"

There was no remorse in her voice; if anything, her entire demeanor had changed as she stood straighter, with an unflinching stare that betrayed her innocent act. Damon returned that stare, pressing his hand to the side of his head as he mentally recited the incantation—

"Anna!"

Saved by the stupid bloodsucker. Bonnie cut in between them, reaching for Anna's hand and pulling her towards the crowd. Although Bonnie refused to meet his gaze, Damon noted the faintest hint of a smile as she turned away from him. Maybe he hadn't soured their relationship as badly as he'd once thought.

As they headed inside, Anna mouthed to him, "Just think about my offer."

Before he had time to reflect on her words, Stefan and Tyler rushed into the Grille, nearly knocking over him with their (combined) physical strength as they headed for the door. Swerving to grab his arm, Tyler steadied Damon, waiting until Damon could stand straight.

"Hey, you shouldn't stand there," Tyler was saying, with a slightly exasperated expression as Stefan looked on. "You're a sitting duck in the middle of those steps."

"You okay, Damon?" Stefan gestured towards the door, as Tyler held it open for them.

Damon could only blankly nod as he followed them inside. "Yeah," he said, ruffling Stefan's hair, "I think I'll pull through."