AN: THANK YOU for the awesome reviews. To those who weren't signed in and the anonymous reviewers, THANK YOU as well! I say it every week, but I'm not lying. I really appreciate it.
This chapter shouldn't be quite so hard on your hearts. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not all hearts and schmoopy flowers, but it's a little easier on the angst. ;p
Chapter Fourteen - Beyond the Pale
At a crossroads just over the South Carolina border, the last light of the setting sun reflected dully off of the weather-beaten wooden siding of a roadhouse. An old Phillips 66 gas station occupied another corner, but judging from the prices on the marquee and the way the weeds were overtaking the cemented lot, it had been abandoned long ago. Pausing in the middle of the intersection, Katherine crossed her arms, silently observing the only vehicles in sight. Knowing the façade of abandonment was a deliberate ruse, she dismissed the old beat up Ford and only slightly newer Cadillac. Their presence told her nothing.
The bar had no name and, to those living within fifty miles, it was at once alluring and forbidding. Many a missing person was rumored to have last been seen within its four walls, but investigations by authorities had never born any fruit. The odd concerned family member who took matters into their own hands came away with nothing but an inexplicable certainty that whatever had happened to their loved one, it hadn't happened there.
Those who did frequent it called it simply The Crossroads.
"So, this is it," Katherine said, curling her lip in disgust at the rundown building.
"This is it," Damon replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking back over his shoulder. "The entrance is in the back. You coming?"
Katherine raised a mocking brow.
Do I have a choice? she wondered. Not that Damon would force her to join him on his revenge mission. In fact, she was fairly certain he'd prefer it if she turned around, walked back to the copse of trees where they'd stashed the car, and waited for him like an obedient sidekick.
That wasn't going to happen, however.
Helping Damon on his quest for vengeance had started out as a promise to Stefan, because she loved him and understood that he needed his brother. That had changed somewhere along the back roads of the southeast and as she stood in front of the decrepit building in which Damon intended to seek retribution, she realized she'd made a promise to him, too. She'd do more than make sure he made it back to Mystic Falls alive…she'd see to it that Damon got his revenge as well.
She understood where the need stemmed from.
In taking on his mission of retribution, Katherine had developed a keen desire of her own to see Landis pay for what he'd done to Elena. Not on account of her annoying doppelganger, but as punishment for the suffering he'd inflicted upon Damon.
Illogical as it seemed in light of everything she'd done to him, Katherine didn't like it when other people put the elder Salvatore through hell.
Katherine had never loved Damon the way that he'd loved her, but she'd turned him, had had a part in making him into the man he was today. She would deny it until her last breath, but over the years, even as she'd kept close tabs on Stefan's activities, she'd also kept an eye on Damon. Not to the same extent, but she'd paid enough attention to witness his metamorphosis – from a naïve, love-struck boy she'd known into a ruthless and notorious vampire – with pride. She'd developed a measure of respect for him and it had been that respect that had fueled the pit-stop at the Salvatore home the night Damon had been dying to deliver Klaus's lifesaving blood.
A vampire like Damon deserved a better death than the slow agony and descent into madness brought on by a werewolf bite.
He deserved his revenge.
Of course, she hadn't told any of that to Damon. That wasn't how they operated. Katherine knew that he – like herself – allowed only one person to see his vulnerability, the soft parts beneath the Teflon exterior, and it certainly wasn't her. An offer of sympathy or any other showing of sentimentality would have been ignored at best.
At worst, he'd go for her throat.
"Of course I'm coming," Katherine snapped, shaking off the uncomfortable sentimentality that had settled over her during the trip down memory lane. Leading the way, she sauntered around the side of the building, barely noticing when the pointed stiletto heels of her boots sank into the soft earth.
The only thing resembling an entrance along the back of the building was a set of weather-beaten doors leading to what, she assumed, was a root cellar. Bracing a hand on her hip, Katherine looked at Damon skeptically. "The bar is underground?"
"What were you expecting?" Damon sneered as he reached for one of the rusted metal handles. "A red carpet and velvet ropes? Help me open this."
Rolling her eyes, Katherine reached down, gripping the other handle. The doors looked so old, she half expected the handle to come off in her hands with one solid tug, but, to her surprise, it took both her and Damon's combined strength to break the locks that held it shut from the inside.
Sunlight spilled down a set of rickety steps, leading to a dusty wooden floor. Wrinkling her nose, Katherine crouched down, peering through the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams into the impenetrable darkness. "So, what will we find down there?"
"Not much," Damon replied, brushing the rust and paint chips off of his hands as he followed her gaze. "A few vampires who passed out and didn't wake up before sunrise, maybe a couple of half-dead humans," he paused before adding with a sneer. "And Gregory."
"Ah, the brother," Katherine murmured.
"He never leaves," Damon said, smirking as he held out a hand. "Ladies first."
"You're so kind," she snorted, straightening up before slowly descending the steps, letting her eyes adjust as she went. Damon hadn't been far off in his prediction – the scent of stale blood hung heavily in the air, radiating from the far corner where three vampires were slumped over on a table, two drained humans on the floor at their feet. Sconces along the walls and bare bulbs overhead cast a sickly yellow glow over the otherwise empty bar.
The brother, however, was nowhere to be seen.
"Well, you were half right," Katherine announced, staying in the safety of the pool of sunlight while she continued to scan the bar. Not that she was worried about the potential threat from a bunch of vampires in a blood stupor, but she hadn't outrun an Original for five hundred years by taking things for granted. Expecting the creek of the stairs to signal Damon's descent into the dusty depths, she waited in silence for a few moments before looking over her shoulder. "Damon?"
Standing frozen at the top of the steps, Damon visibly started at the sound of his name. Katherine's keen eyesight caught a flash of pain flit across his features before he rushed down the steps.
"Everything okay?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he came to a stop at her side.
"Perfect," he assured her, the picture of nonchalance as he offered her a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Shit.
Balancing a cooler of stolen blood bags against his hip, Damon slipped his key into the lock of his apartment door and pushed it open. Instantly, Elena's soft, familiar scent alerted him to the fact that she was home from class. A half second later he saw her, sitting with her back to him at the dining room table, hunched over her laptop as she typed away at the keys. Glancing at the clock in the kitchen, he knew she couldn't have been home for more than ten minutes, yet she'd already changed into her pajamas, thrown her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head and dove headfirst into the paper she'd been working on non-stop for the past two and a half weeks.
"Hey," he said to her in greeting, knowing she'd most likely ignore him. He shook his head with a smirk when she proved him right and continued typing. The paper was for her journalism class if he remembered correctly, a class in her major that she cared about even if it wasn't directly related to the specific field she wanted to get into. It also counted for forty-five percent of her grade. Trying not to disturb her, Damon closed the door behind him before making his way silently across the open living space and into the kitchen area. Setting the cooler on the counter, he reached for the refrigerator, stopping with his arm outstretched as he caught sight of the sink.
Or more specifically, the pile of dirty dishes still sitting in the sink.
Sighing, Damon closed his eyes. The previous night, Elena had promised to take care of them in the morning before leaving for class. That morning, she'd given him yet another promise that she'd take care of them first thing after she got home from class.
A promise that remained unfulfilled.
Not that it's a big deal, Damon thought, turning away from the annoying sight and restocking the fridge with a fresh supply of blood. She was his girlfriend, not his roommate and he wasn't trying to have some kind of tit for tat competition over who did the most around the apartment. Generally, the housekeeping fell to him, which was fine. Back in Mystic Falls, Stefan had rarely emerged from his despair and self-loathing long enough to pick up a dust cloth and now – between school, work and studying – what little free time Elena had, Damon preferred she spend with him, so he'd gotten used to it.
And, okay, maybe, he was a bit of a neat freak. Maybe.
But really, what was so freakish about taking five extra seconds to rinse off a plate and put it in the dishwasher? Or taking two minutes to make the bed in the morning, or ten to vacuum the rugs and sweep the floor once a week? What was so goddamn hard to understand about his desire not to have every article of his clothing lying on the bedroom floor?
Closing the stocked fridge, he returned the empty cooler to its place in the hall closet before returning to the kitchen – and glaring at the sink of dirty dishes.
Elena had promised to do them and because he knew that it bothered her that he paid the rent – even though the fifteen hundred a month was barely a blip on his financial radar – he'd left them for her.
He'd also assumed she'd take care of it before the leftover food turned into some kind of at-home biohazard.
"Don't do it, Damon," Elena warned before he'd taken more than a single step toward the sink. "Don't you dare."
Frowning at the dishes he had yet to even touch, he raised a brow and glanced over his shoulder. "Do what?"
"That. The dishes," she replied, looking up from the pile of textbooks spread across the table and pointing at him with her pen. "I told you I'd do them and I will. I just need to finish this section without any distractions."
"How is doing the dishes a distraction?"
Making a sound of disgust, she tossed her pen on the table and massaged her temples. "Because," she began, drawing out the word into half a dozen syllables as she sighed dramatically. "You're going to turn on the water and spend ten minutes prewashing them – which is completely pointless because you're just going to load them into the dishwasher."
"Elena-."
"Then," she continued, her full lips pinched into a disapproving frown as her voice rose in agitation. "You're going to run the dishwasher. And if there's even one dish that's loose it's going to clank around during the entire, already loud cycle – which is distracting."
Damon usually found the way she could predict his every move amusing, but at the moment it made him bristle with irritation. "I haven't even touched them yet."
"Oh, but you will," she replied with such condescending certainty that he couldn't decide whether to leave the dishes out of spite or spend the entire evening hand washing every plate, bowl and cup in the kitchen.
"Maybe if you'd done them when you got home from class like you promised, I wouldn't have to do them now," he retorted.
"I didn't know I had a deadline, Mr. Clean," she shot back, her cheeks flushed in a way that he would have found adorable if he hadn't been so goddamned annoyed.
"Mr. Clean is bald," he pointed out. "If you want to insult me, at least try for a comparison that fits."
"Oh, believe me, it fits," she declared, leaping to her feet and stalking toward the counter.
"How?" he demanded. "I have a head full of hair."
"Don't try to change the subject with your snarky little comments," Elena growled back. "I'm so tired of you distracting me when I'm trying to do my homework. I know that you think college is a big waste of my time, but it's important to me. You could at least pretend to respect that."
"Now who's changing the subject," Damon scoffed, after a brief moment of shocked silence. It had been awhile since they'd had a real fight and he'd forgotten how cutting she could be. "You think I don't respect how important college is to you?" He would have laughed at the absurdity of the statement if she hadn't been glaring at him with real anger in her deep brown eyes. "I'm the one who convinced you to apply, Elena. I helped you get scholarships and found this damn apartment."
"Oh, so now you want to take credit for it?" she demanded incredulously.
"Jesus Christ…That is not what I…," Damon sighed, closing his eyes as he practically growled in frustration. He'd been cutting her slack for the past couple of weeks because of the paper, but he'd caught himself fighting back more and more in the last few days.
At the rate they were going, they'd kill each other before Elena could turn in that paper.
Enough of this, he decided, blurring around the counter and throwing her over his shoulder. He'd carried her down the short hallway to their bedroom before she'd managed a single protest.
"What the hell are you doing?" she cried, beating at him with her fists as he deposited her on the hardwood floor and blocked her escape through the doorway.
"Get dressed," he ordered. "We're going out."
"Uh, no we're not," she argued, crossing her arms and glaring at him insolently. "My paper is due on Monday and I'm not even-."
"It's Friday night, Elena," Damon interrupted, eyeing her stocking feet, shorts and tank top. "You're going to put on something sexy and we're going out for a few hours so you can relax and enjoy yourself."
"Oh really?" she challenged, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "Just because you're faster and stronger than I am doesn't mean you can order me around."
"You're right. You can refuse," he agreed, shifting to lean one shoulder against the doorframe. "Then again, I can refuse to move and let you go back to your books, and we can stand here and glare at each other until the wee hours of the morning. Either way, that paper isn't getting finished tonight."
For a few seconds Elena continued to glare at him, her eyes glittering with silent fury, before she abruptly slammed the door shut in his face. Despite his frustration, Damon couldn't help the smirk that curved his lips. Elena Gilbert was beautiful when she was angry and if he hadn't been so irritated with her, he might have prolonged the fight just to enjoy it a little longer.
Crossing his arms, Damon settled in for a long wait, certain that Elena would take her time out of sheer spite – if she even followed his orders at all. Within minutes, however, he heard drawers opening and closing followed by the soft rustle of fabric and the tell-tale sound of heels against the hardwood floor. Then silence.
Fifteen minutes later, the door flew open and Elena strode past him in a flowing black dress that left her arms and miles of leg bare. Damon watched her walk away in a pair of the sexiest black heels he'd ever seen, enjoying every exaggerated sway of her hips before following after her.
"Aren't you going to change?" she demanded, running a hand through her hair as she waited impatiently by the front door. The bun was gone, instead, her hair hung in loose waves halfway down her back, making his fingers itch with the need to run through their softness.
Grabbing his keys off of the kitchen counter, he glanced down at his black pants and dark blue button-down. Lifting a shoulder, he grinned. "Why mess with perfection?"
Elena scoffed in disgust. "You are so annoying."
"And you look amazing," he replied, taking a moment to appreciate the subtle smoky eye makeup and red lipstick she'd used to enhance her already gorgeous features. Opening the door, he tipped his head toward the hallway. "Let's go."
She rolled her eyes, but not before he noticed the slight twitch of her lips over his compliment. They walked to the elevator, riding it down to the first floor in a silence that was only slightly less strained than their argument had been. Opening the passenger door of the Camaro, she ignored his offered hand and settled into the front seat without assistance.
This is going to be fun, he thought, steeling himself for the challenge that he knew the night was becoming. Clenching his jaw resolutely, he slid into the driver's seat and shifted the car into gear.
Goddammit, she was going to have fun tonight.
Even if it killed him.
Sitting primly in the passenger seat, Elena stared straight ahead as Damon drove through the streets of Atlanta. Vowing to force her to break the silence, he stole quick glances at her now and then, watching the steady degradation of her resolve. He drove without hesitation, clearly heading toward a very specific destination, and he could feel her curiosity growing with each block they passed. By the time he pulled up in front of a brightly lit nightclub, she was peering through the passenger window with obvious interest.
"Where are we?" she asked dubiously, eyeing the double doors of the club and the clumps of people heading inside. The place was classier than the dives Damon took Alaric to when he came to visit, but not so posh that he'd have to compel his way past a velvet rope. It was the type of place people frequented to dance, drink and enjoy themselves rather than see and be seen.
It also happened to be karaoke night and a little blonde bird had informed him of Elena's dirty little secret.
His girlfriend and love of his life…was a karaoke-aholic.
Winking at her, Damon said nothing as he climbed out of the vehicle. Accepting his hand this time as he opened the door for her, Elena climbed gracefully out of the low slung seat despite the heels and the dress. Slipping an arm around her waist, he escorted her into the club.
The place was crowded, but not packed and he found a spot at the bar with little effort. He groaned as the opening strains of Don McLean's "American Pie" poured from the speakers. "Really?" he asked, signaling for the bartender. "Who in the hell thinks it's okay to pick an eight and a half minute song for karaoke night? Seriously, who?"
"Apparently, that guy," Elena replied, biting her lip to hold back a grin as she pointed toward the stage. A synthesized dance beat took over the acoustic instrumental as he ordered his usual bourbon and a vodka tonic for Elena. He nearly gagged as the man started to sing. Horribly. "He's doing the Madonna version," Damon said dully. "Great. At least it's only four and a half minutes." Four and a half minutes of hell.
Despite her efforts, Elena burst out laughing. "You sound ridiculous."
"What?" he asked as the bartender delivered their drinks. "Some songs…and people," he added as the hapless performer's voice cracked. "Should be banned from karaoke."
"I'm surprised you don't think all songs should be banned," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "You hate karaoke."
"Yes, I do," he agreed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out what angle he might be getting ready to play. Picking up his bourbon, he took a sip.
"Did you know tonight was karaoke night?"
Damon shrugged. "Maybe."
Fiddling with the straw in her drink, Elena raised a brow. "I suppose you expect me to go sing or something."
"Elena," he said with a sigh, sliding an arm along the bar behind her back as he leaned in closer so he could be heard over the familiar chorus. "I expect you to have a good time. If that involves getting up on that stage and showing me your best Katy Perry, so be it."
…and then he smirked at her.
She tensed, heat radiating off of her body as her skin flushed. Taking a delicate sip of her drink, however, she pretended like nothing was wrong. "So, Caroline told you."
"In great detail," he confirmed, grinning as he took another drink. The last time Caroline had visited them, she'd practically had to carry Elena from the elevator to their apartment door after their top secret Girls' Night Out. They'd kept the details from him, but with Elena stumbling into the bathroom to throw up half a fifth of vodka, Caroline had gone into disaster-recovery mode. She'd revealed how much Elena had enjoyed singing karaoke at one of the bars they'd hit in between her excuses and explanations as to how his girlfriend had ended up so intoxicated.
As if Damon had any room to comment on anyone else's alcohol intake.
"I'm going to kill her," Elena fumed.
"You're going to have to get in line," he replied. "I'm pretty sure I already owe her five or six painful deaths."
Shaking her head as she fought a rueful smile, Elena downed half of her drink. "I don't care. What happens on Girls' Night, is supposed to stay on Girls' Night."
She wasn't snapping at him anymore, so Damon chose not to remind her that what had happened on Girls' Night had ended up in the toilet of their apartment. Well, most of it had. "Come on," he said, trailing his fingertips up and down her bare arm. "Get up there."
"No, karaoke is Caroline's thing," she insisted. "I was just along for the ride."
"But I want to hear your rendition of 'I Kissed A Girl'," he said, chuckling as her eyes widened and her blush deepened exponentially. "Caroline said it was epic."
"There is not enough alcohol in this bar."
"Fine, I'll make you a deal," he offered. "You sing one song and I will help you finish your paper."
Whipping her head toward him, Elena eyed him suspiciously. "How do I know you won't renege?"
Feigning insult, he placed a hand over his heart. "I am a lot of things, Elena, but I am not a welcher."
Daring her to accept the challenge, he held her gaze as she stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Come with me."
"Ha. Not on your life," he retorted with a laugh, leaving no room for argument. It didn't matter if he could carry a tune in a bucket or not, he wouldn't. Ever. "I do not sing. Not even for you."
Expecting her to refuse out of spite, she surprised him a moment later by quickly finishing her drink and offering him a taunting smile. Setting her empty glass on the bar and winking at him, she quickly made her way up to the stage.
Impressed, Damon grinned after her before signaling for the bartender and ordering Elena another drink. "She's going to need it in about five minutes," he murmured, turning back around as she took the stage. He honestly had no idea if she could sing, although he had no doubt she'd be an improvement over what he'd heard so far.
"Hi," Elena said softly into the microphone, tucking her hair nervously behind her hear as she looked out at the crowd. She took an audible breath as the musical intro started and scanned the room until she found him. The defiant spark that had given her the courage to take the stage in the first place returned as she lifted her chin and added. "This is, um, dedicated to Damon. Who never fails to remind me that he's cooler than me."
Bemused, he listened as she began singing the first verse, laughing outright when he recognized it as a more than passable version of a Top 40 song from a few years ago. He couldn't remember who it was by – Top 40 was not his music of choice – but it had been played so incessantly on the radio for months that it had been impossible to escape. It had reminded him of the guy's version of "You're So Vain."
The crowd loved it and by the time Elena got to the second chorus, she'd loosened up enough that it looked like she was enjoying herself as well. She finished to a round of applause and Damon had to admit, his girlfriend could carry a tune.
Breathless, she rushed back to the bar – her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling – and gratefully snatched up the fresh drink.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, taking another sip of his bourbon.
"Maybe," she replied coyly, looking up at him through her lashes as she stirred her drink.
"Maybe," he scoffed, setting his drink on the counter and pulling her into his arms. She came willingly – a nice change from the day's animosity. "You can thank me later."
"Thank you?" she repeated, eyes wide as she stared up at him. "I'll thank you on Sunday night when we finish my paper."
Chuckling, he nodded. "A deal's a deal," he promised, kissing her forehead. He'd planned on helping her whether she'd done the song or not, but she didn't need to know that.
Music began to pour from the overhead speakers as the karaoke portion of the evening came to an end. Elena took another drink before reaching behind her back to curl her fingers around his. "Dance with me."
"That I'll do," he agreed, stealing another kiss before letting her drag him onto the dance floor.
Peering into the gloom, Damon shook off the memory, trying not to notice how quickly and thoroughly it had snuck up and surprised him. For a moment, as he'd stood at the top of the rickety wooden stairs, he'd been able to smell Elena's perfume.
Not the goddamn time, he thought angrily, burying the thought of her with a comforting ease. The switch was fine. He was fine. He'd just let his guard down for a minute.
It wouldn't happen again.
"Gregory!" Damon bellowed, his voice rousing the half-conscious vampires who started in their chairs and blinked at the sunlight. "I know you're in here, Greg," he continued after a few moments of silence. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away." The swinging doors that led to the back storeroom parted as Gregory entered, a hulking vampire flanking him on either side. They were carrying crates, like overgrown stock boys, but Damon knew the way the old bootlegger's mind worked and recognized bodyguards when he saw them.
"Who're your friends?" Damon asked, nodding toward the silent walls of moving flesh and muscle.
"These guys?" Gregory asked, watching smugly as the vampires set their crates on the scuffed wooden bar and returned obediently to his side. "They're not friends. They're insurance."
Damon smiled grimly. "I'll bet."
"I could ask you the same thing, you know," Gregory replied, crossing his arms as he gave Katherine a dismissive once over. "But I think I already know. Is Elena Gilbert playing dress up and pretending to be Katherine Pierce again?"
Katherine raised her brows in surprise, placing a hand on her hip as she slowly turned her head toward Damon. "Excuse me?"
"Oh yeah," he murmured, enjoying the look of astonishment and offence that crossed Katherine's features. "I might have forgotten to mention the time Elena and I were here before."
"And she pretended to be me?"
"Please," he retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "A little attitude combined with a slutty outfit and it's not that difficult."
"Well, I'm not Elena," she said, addressing Gregory after shooting Damon a death glare. "You'd be wise to keep that in mind."
"Yeah, right," the bartender scoffed. "That's why you're still standing in the sun where my associates can't reach you."
"You don't believe me?" she demanded, utterly stunned as she turned to Damon. "He doesn't believe me."
"Fool me once, shame on you," Gregory shrugged, showing his disregard for his own safety by turning his back on Katherine and opening one of the crates. "Fool me twice, and all that."
Damon had seen Katherine mad plenty of times over the years, but it had been awhile since he'd seen the level of indignation and fury pouring off of her as she tried to burn Gregory into a pile of ash with nothing more than her fiery gaze. For several seconds, he watched her fume, nearly able to see the gears turning in her head as she considered her response. After a few moments, a sly smirk curved her lips.
Damon's pulse jumped. This is going to be fun.
"Damon," she began, licking her dark red lips as she turned to him. "I think a demonstration is in order, don't you?"
"What do you have in mind?" he asked, returning the smile. Before Gregory had a chance to register the threat, Katherine blurred across the bar, her dark curls streaking out behind her like a banner, and ripped out the heart of thug number one. Thug number two met a similar fate before the first could choke out a gurgled cry of surprise and collapse to his knees. Both oversized vampires hit the floor facedown, the impact stirring up a cloud of dust that wafted through the air.
"Nice work," Damon said approvingly.
Holding a bloody heart in each hand, Katherine flashed him a grin before turning to a justifiably terrified Gregory. Stepping over one of the bodies and sauntering over with the grace of a catwalk model, she tossed the hearts to the floor before gripping the quaking vampire by the throat with a single bloody hand.
"Vampire 101, idiot," she snarled, pressing Gregory into the bar so hard that Damon winced. "Size. Doesn't. Matter."
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered.
"You just turned those morons, didn't you," she continued in disgust. "You fucking naïve little shit. How the hell have you survived for the past ninety years?"
"Katherine," Damon cautioned, making his way to the bar. "Don't kill him yet."
"Why not?" she muttered. "I'd be doing him a favor. His stupidity is offensive."
"I know," he agreed, reaching over the bar and picking through the rail drinks for a bottle of bourbon. Making a face at the brand, he unscrewed the top and took a drink. Tipping the bottle toward Gregory, he added. "It really is, Greg. I should let her kill you."
"Please…," he begged. "Wh-what do you want?"
"Nothing from you," Katherine snorted, tightening her grip.
"We're here for your brother," Damon replied, offering the bottle to Katherine. She took it with a bloody hand, taking a large drink without easing her grip on the other vampire's throat.
"He-he's not here," Gregory stammered. "Honestly, Damon, I swear. He's not here."
"Oh, I know," Damon nodded, smirking at the vampire's confusion. "But he will be."
Stretched out on the couch in the library of the Salvatore house, Jeremy closed his eyes, massaging his temples as he listened to Bonnie mutter under her breath. She was trying – and failing – to find a way to track down Damon, but the location spell she'd used to find Elena didn't seem to work on vampires. No matter what she tried, the drop of Stefan's blood refused to move across the map.
They'd ruined three maps of the Southern United States already.
"Why the hell isn't this working?" she cried suddenly, rising so quickly from the desk that the oversized, wheeled desk chair slammed back into the bookshelves. "I've tried, Jeremy. I have tried every variation I could think of and nothing is freaking working."
"Maybe it's not meant to work on vampires," he said without opening his eyes. He felt like they'd had the same conversation half a dozen times in the three hours since Caroline had taken Elena up to Damon's room. "Maybe it's only supposed to find living people."
He made the comment easily enough, but Jeremy's stomach turned at the thought. Living. Alive. Vampire's were technically dead – or, well, undead.
Whatever that meant.
Elena was going to be a vampire. She was going to be undead.
How the hell was he supposed to feel about that?
Bonnie fell silent, the scrape of the chair on the floor signaling her return to work, and leaving Jeremy alone in contemplation. The curtains in the library were drawn – they'd been drawn throughout the house in deference to Elena. When she woke up, she'd gradually become more and more sensitive to the sun until she completed the transition and it became lethal. She's going to need a ring, he thought, the surreal notion just as unsettling as the fact that she'd be drinking blood and living forever.
Well, not really living.
Fuck, why does it have to be so damn complicated?
Jeremy had no real problem with vampires. Stefan and Katherine made him nervous, but he'd been around Damon and Caroline so much in the past few years that he barely thought of either of them as vampires anymore. The Gilbert family legacy of hunting down their kind had well and truly died with his Uncle John and Jeremy had long since gotten over any lingering feelings of obligation to take up the family business, but that didn't mean he wanted his sister to be one.
Of course, he didn't want his sister to be dead dead, either.
What was he going to do when he saw her? How was he going to act? The questions had started the second he'd accepted that Caroline had been right and that Elena was in transition. Even now, they tumbled through his head, overlapping and making it impossible to get any rest.
The most damning question of all…
Would being a vampire turn her into a monster like it had done to Stefan?
He shivered at the mental image of his sister, vamped out and deadly, lunging for the throat of some poor human and draining them dry without a second thought.
She'd rather die than be like that, he thought, vowing to do whatever it took to make sure that didn't happen. Elena wasn't going to be a Ripper like Stefan, he vowed. If he had to turn himself to help her, than that's what he'd do.
"Stefan, where the hell are you?" Elena's voice carried from the front of the house all the way back into the library, making Jeremy open his eyes and sit up with a start. Dragging her nose out of her spell books, Bonnie met his gaze with wide eyes.
"She's awake," he breathed, swinging his legs to the ground and launching off of the couch. All of his questions disappeared in his sudden desire to see Elena. Racing out of the library, with Bonnie close on his heels, they came to a halt at the end of the hallway just as Stefan and Alaric exited the living room.
Stefan's shoulders sagged with relief as he greeted her in the middle of the foyer. "Elena, you're-."
"Damon thinks I'm dead," she snapped, striding right up to the younger Salvatore and putting her hands on her hips. Barefoot and wearing what Jeremy assumed was one of Damon's shirts, she glowered at him like a petite storm cloud of anger. "Why the hell does Damon think I'm dead, Stefan? Why haven't you called him?"
"We've tried," Stefan said, shooting a look over his shoulder at Caroline. Standing on the bottom step of the staircase, the blonde shrugged helplessly. "We're trying," he amended when Elena scoffed in disgust. "His phone is off, Elena."
"Well, what about Katherine?" she demanded, sneering as she spit out her doppelganger's name. "You sent her with him, right?"
"She's not picking up," Stefan admitted.
"Of course she's not," Elena sneered, crossing her arms. "Do you even know where Damon is?"
"Do you?" Stefan retorted, forcing her back a step as his own temper briefly flared.
"No," she replied, refusing to be intimidated. "But I've been a little dead."
Whistling softly, Jeremy shook his head in awe. He hadn't seen his sister this upset in years. She'd never really had a temper, but Elena knew how to channel her inner Mean Girl bitch when the situation called for it.
And as her younger brother, Jeremy had often given her cause to call on it.
Slipping the headphones over his head, Jeremy plugged them into the audio jack on his computer. Choosing a playlist at random from his vast collection of mp3's, he settled back into his desk chair for an afternoon of God of War III. Losing track of time, he was beginning his third attempt to get through a particularly tricky spot when someone slapped him on the back of the head, knocking his headphones into his lap.
"What the hell?" he demanded angrily as he watched Kratos die at the hands of his enemies. "Dammit, Elena, I've been trying to beat that level all day!"
"Were you at the Salvatore's last night?" Elena demanded, standing next to his desk with her hands on her hips. Her cheeks were flushed as she glared at him with a mixture of fear and anger in her eyes.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, playing dumb as his brain scrambled for a viable lie. He'd been certain that no one had noticed him leaving the house with the bottle of vervaine and the shoddy wooden stake. Obviously, he'd been wrong.
"Cut the crap," she insisted, holding out a warning finger. "Stefan already told me you were there, so don't bother lying."
Fucking Stefan, Jeremy groaned internally, plucking the headphones from his lap and setting them on the desk. He wondered if Damon had ratted him out or if Stefan had been in the house at the time. Not that it mattered now because Elena knew. Jeremy liked his sister's boyfriend well enough, but for a supposed creature of the night, Stefan was such a freaking goody-goody. "Well, if you already know I was there, what are you asking me for?"
"Because I want to know why," she fumed, forging ahead before he had a chance to form a response. "You went to see Damon, didn't you?"
"I-."
"Oh, don't even bother, I know you did," she interrupted, chewing on a thumbnail as she paced his room. "You never listen to me. You never listen to anyone. Not me, not Jenna. Half the time you didn't even listen to mom and dad."
"Do you have an actual question for me?" Jeremy bristled at the mention of their parents, swiveling in his chair to glare at his sister. "Or do you just want to stand there and yell in my general direction for awhile?"
"I told you to stay away from that house," she replied, her brows forming a solid line of worry as she scrunched them together. "I told you to stay away from Damon. He's dangerous, Jeremy."
"This town is dangerous."
"He killed you!" she shrieked, her voice rising to an uncomfortable pitch.
"Yeah, well…it didn't really stick, did it?" he muttered, recalling his disorientation when he'd woken up on the floor in Elena's arms. Tearfully, she'd told him what Damon had done, filling in the blanks in Jeremy's memory that hadn't allowed him to recall the actual moment when the vampire had snapped his neck in a fit of bitterness and rage.
Jeremy's anger and sense of indignation had sparked a desire for revenge. Armed with the vervaine and the wooden stake, he'd called upon his latent juvenile delinquent skills and broken into the Salvatore house.
Although, given the fact that the Salvatores rarely locked their door, it hadn't been breaking in so much as walking in, but Jeremy refused to quibble over semantics.
Reminding himself that he was a Gilbert and killing vampires was in his blood, he'd poured vervaine into every bottle of liquor he could find and settled himself into a chair to await Damon's return. The elder Salvatore had taken his time, however, and by the time he'd finally sauntered through the front door and into the living room to pour himself a drink, Jeremy's anger had faded.
While he'd been waiting, doing his best to nurse his anger by thinking about the night Damon had killed him, Jeremy had remembered a bit more. The actual moment of his death had remained elusive, but he'd remembered Damon's face before it happened, remembered the expression in his eyes.
The memory of that despair had been intense. It had surpassed the loneliness and grief that Jeremy had been drowning in since the night his parents had died and for the first time he'd believed that someone other than Anna might have understood. That feeling of understanding – of sympathy – had made his outrage seem pointless, especially considering he'd been willing to die at his own hand only forty-eight hours earlier.
He hadn't told Damon all of that, but the weirdly unspoken camaraderie had stopped him from letting Damon drink the vervaine laced alcohol.
Elena swallowed convulsively, wrapping her arms around her middle. "How can you joke about it?"
"I got my neck snapped by a fucking vampire and came back to life a few minutes later because of a magic ring," Jeremy replied with a derisive snort. "It's fucking funny."
"You have to stay away from Damon," she said, ignoring his macabre humor in favor of issuing yet another order. "Promise me, Jeremy. He's dangerous and you can't trust him."
"Oh really? Aren't you and Ric going on a road trip with him this weekend?" he asked, raising a brow at her incredulous expression. "Yeah, I know how to eavesdrop, too. Stefan's not the only one."
Elena's jaw dropped as she sputtered out an excuse. "Th-that's not the point."
"Than what is, Elena?" he asked, tired of the verbal assault and more than tired of being told to stay away from the supernatural by a well-meaning, but over-bearing sister who happened to be sleeping with a goddamn vampire. "You want to know why I went to see Damon? Fine. I went over there to kill him. An eye for an eye, right? I figured it was about time I lived up to Dad and Uncle John's expectations. I mean, I've spent the past sixteen years failing miserably, right?"
Elena's face paled as her eyes widened in horror. "Jeremy, you didn't-."
"Relax," he said, rolling his eyes. He would never understand why she acted like his freaking mother when she was only one year older than him. "Damon knows. He doesn't care. Hell, if anything I think I earned a little of his respect."
"Respect?" she repeated, shaking her head. "I don't think you understand-."
"Maybe it's you who doesn't understand," he countered, rising to his feet and towering over her. He'd heard it all before from Elena and Aunt Jenna and he was sure he'd hear it again, but not today. Today, he was done. "Elena, I love you. You're my sister, but until you quit dating vampires, don't tell me I have to stay away from them."
Turning sideways, Jeremy slipped by his sister, leaving her standing slack-jawed in the middle of his darkened, messy bedroom and headed down the stairs. Maybe I'll go see what Damon's up to, he thought as he pushed through the front door and flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt against the light drizzle that had started falling from the sky.
He almost hoped Elena would follow him, just to see the look on her face.
Apparently dissatisfied with Stefan's excuses, Elena shoved at his chest, forcing the older vampire back a couple of steps. Jeremy smirked, amused by the look of surprise that briefly flashed over Stefan's face at her new strength.
"You have to do something, Stefan," Elena insisted, trying to shove him again. This time Stefan caught her wrists, holding her in place. "Damon can't think I'm dead. You have to go after him."
"We don't know where he is, Elena," Stefan explained again. "We don't know how to find him. Damon didn't tell me where he was going. If he had I'd be out there right now, tracking him down, I promise."
Elena's shoulders sagged in defeat, making Jeremy's heart constrict with sympathy. He'd read enough of the Founders journals to know that transitioning was hard, a whirlwind of mood swings, cravings and confusion. Without Damon there – worse, knowing Damon was out there thinking that she was dead – Elena must be about to lose her mind.
Forgetting the fact that mere minutes ago, he'd been wondering how to act around his newly turned sister, Jeremy made his way across the foyer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Elena, they're doing the best they can," he murmured, surprising himself with the admission when not long ago he'd been berating Stefan in similar fashion for not protecting his sister. "We all are."
Elena whirled around so fast, Jeremy barely distinguished the movement. One second, she was standing with her back to him, the next she was twisting in Stefan's grasp to stare at him with wide eyes.
"Jeremy?" she gasped in disbelief. In that moment, the only thing different about his sister was the fear in her eyes. He hadn't seen her looking so lost in a long, long time.
"Nice to see you, sis," he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he offered her a lopsided grin. Stefan had released her wrists, allowing her to bring her hands to her mouth as tears glistened in her eyes. She threw herself at him in the next instant with an astonishing strength and speed, forcing Jeremy backwards several steps. "Wow."
"Sorry," she whispered, as hot tears hit the bare skin of his neck. "I'm not used to the super-strength yet."
"No problem," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her as he buried his face in the wavy curtain of her dark hair. Vampire or not, she felt and sounded like Elena. Like the sister who'd cried with him when their parents had died, who'd been there to pull him out of his descent into drugs and juvenile delinquency and who'd annoyed the hell out of him in her efforts to keep him safe from the supernatural world that had grabbed onto them both and refused to let go.
So, she was going to be a little bit moodier, her diet was going to change and she'd have an aversion to sunlight. Who the hell cared? A part of him had always expected this, he realized. The more he'd watched Damon and Elena together, the more Jeremy had known deep down that it had just been a matter of time. They'd become so intrinsically connected that he couldn't imagine either one ever leaving the other. Smoothing a hand down the back of her head, Jeremy sighed with real relief for the first time in days. "Believe me, Elena, it's not a problem."
The only thing that matters, he thought, as he closed his eyes, is that I get to keep my family.
AN Pt 2: A fellow author put out a plea to her readers not to judge fic by review count in light of the fact that the site now allows you to sort by number of reviews. I'm going to reiterate that and take it a step further. Please, if you like a fic - any fic, not mine specifically - take the time to let the author know. Even if it's just an anonymous/guest "Great chapter!" that lets the author know that people ARE reading and hopefully will keep some of the really great, hidden gems from falling through the cracks.
Now, I'm going to get off of my soapbox and go follow my own advice on some fic I've read recently that I haven't replied to. LOL