A/N: Have to confess, "Into the Wild" left me mostly underwhelmed. I may have something percolate this week, but in the meantime, gentle readers, I hope you'll indulge me digging into TVD archives for this chapter. Thanks to afanoftvd for suggesting it back in December! This is my interpretation of a scene referenced in a conversation between Ric and Damon at the end of S3. It takes place during the couple months after S2 ended and before S3 began. My utmost gratitude, always, for CreepingMuse and her mad-beta skills. I hope you enjoy.

Dancing with the Devil

"All right, kids," Damon says after dealing the last card. "Ante up."

"Damn," Jeremy mutters under his breath. "I fold."

"Pussy," Damon retorts.

"Cheater," he shoots back.

"I don't cheat," Damon says, looking offended.

"Of course you do," I point out. "But maybe not at cards?"

"And you always seem to win," Elena adds. She reaches for the notebook and Sharpie and raises an eyebrow as she leans over the paper, blocking it from view while she writes. "It's definitely shady."

"What? It's cheating to find a game that allows me to capitalize on my assets?" He looks to me. "Ric, I'm being ambushed by sore-losing amateurs."

I smile and shake my head. "You're on your own, buddy. I fold too."

"Ric!"

"Nope. Not talking me into it. I'm already dusting your parlor, changing these two's sheets..."

"Including washing comforters," Jeremy adds, popping another chip into his mouth and chewing loudly while Damon grimaces next to him.

"You eat like an animal," he mutters.

"Yes, thank you, Jeremy," I say, ignoring Damon's commentary. "And I'm picking up the next liquor store tab. This has gotten too rich for my blood."

Damon makes a big show of licking one of his fangs, only the briefest hint of dark veins flashing around his eyes. I've seen plenty of vampires in the past year, and he's the only one who's able to do that, bring them out on demand without losing control or turning his eyes red. It's a trick I don't completely understand.

"Now we're talking," he purrs at me. "Next time, I want Blood Donor written down and on the table from all of you." He stares intently at Jeremy, as if examining him. "Except you. I'll never be that thirsty."

"You're disgusting," Elena says, failing miserably to sound stern. She has the worst poker face ever and must be holding one helluva hand.

"Me?" Damon asks. "Your brother eats like that, and I'm the disgusting one?"

"I think the word you're looking for is incorrigible," I tell Elena.

"Shamelessly so," Damon agrees with a smile.

"Why don't we use money, like normal people?" Jeremy sulks through another mouthful of chip and guacamole, smacking pointedly in Damon's direction.

"Because I have more money than god," Damon replies. "So that would be 'cheating.'" He uses air-quotes, the cocky bastard. "Barter is a much more honest way of leveling the playing field."

"Even though you're a vampire who does everything really fast," Jeremy mutters. "Like that's fair."

"And it's not like we're normal," I ruefully add.

"Normal has been misused to the point of meaninglessness," Damon says. "It's supposed to establish a standard, not magically define whatever it is we all think we want to have. The cast of Leave It To Beaver was never 'normal,' thank Christ, 'cause tedium fucking sucks."

"Language," Elena scolds. Damon grins and winks at her.

Even by blended family standards, I think we're perched precariously out on a limb by ourselves. On the surface, maybe we look good. Jeremy didn't work tonight, so we're sitting around the table, Elena and Jeremy with sweaty glasses of sweet tea, me and Damon with bourbon, teasing each other and playing poker for household chores. Damon fixed dinner, and the warm, spicy scent from his carnitas lingers in the kitchen even though Damon, neat-freak that he is, insisted on putting away the food and washing the dishes before we sat down to play.

But add to that fact I'm not old enough to be their father and Damon looks young but is so old he could be their many-greats grandfather, and Elena's my dead-vampire wife's biological child she had when she was a child herself, and they're the niece and nephew of my dead girlfriend, who was turned into a vampire and then sacrificed by an Original werewolf-vampire hybrid to break a thousand-year old curse, and oh yeah – we're the typical American family.

I swallow the last of my drink as Damon grins at Elena. "I know you're in 'cause you can't be deceitful if you try. What's the bet? Bring it on, sweetheart."

"I'm deceitful!" She looks to both me and Jeremy. "I am."

I shake my head while Jeremy laughs, wiping the last of the guacamole from the bowl with a finger and sucking it clean.

"Love ya, 'Lena," Jeremy says, his finger still in his mouth. "But your poker face sucks. We all know you're rockin' an awesome hand." He turns to Damon. "Speaking of awesome, is there anymore of this?"

"Not at the moment," Damon says, staring intently at Elena. "It's better fresh." He pushes the bowl of salsa towards Jeremy before looking through his pieces of paper and pulling one from the stack. Waving it between two fingers, he holds it up for us all to see. "Kitchen duty for a week."

Elena scoffs. "No way. You do that anyway."

"'Cause your cooking fucking sucks."

She shakes her head. "You're so mean. I want something you wouldn't normally give me. Something good."

He stares at her, and Elena stares right back, unflinching. Damon finally nods, conceding defeat, and picks another offer from his stack of slips. "Wash, wax, and detail your car."

Elena nods her consent before she holds up her own paper, the one she just wrote. "Dinner and Twilight movie marathon with the whole gang at your house, no insults or sarcasm allowed, followed by a lively discussion, which you will lead."

Jeremy and I both stare, open-mouthed, at the bet. She's holding something really great. If he's smart, he'll call it quits now. But I see the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at her. He wants to see how far she'll go, and he doesn't care whether or not he loses in the process. And that is why, as much as I like him, I don't want Elena getting too comfortable around Damon. It's one thing for me, a broken-down alcoholic with a tragic love life, to hang out with someone with nothing to lose. But not Elena. Not on my watch.

"Harsh," Jeremy says to Damon as he steadily eats his way through Damon's homemade salsa. "No way you're going to win this time."

Damon doesn't look away from Elena, stares her down while she tries not to smile back at him. He nods, reaches for the pad of paper, and scribbles his own new bet. His writing, compared to the rest of ours, is insanely elegant. His wager slips look engraved even though he writes so fast his fingers blur.

"I call: mani-pedi-hour massage, performed by yours truly, no flirting of any kind throughout."

"Scratch off the massage," I say. "No way."

"Ric," Elena says still not taking her eyes off Damon. "This is between me and him. Damon, scratch off the massage. You can replace it with a shopping spree."

"Your loss," he says, neatly putting perfectly straight, parallel lines through the massage. "Vampire strength? Stamina? You'd never want another masseur."

"Isn't it masseuse?" Jeremy asks.

"Do I look like a fucking chick to you?" Damon asks.

"Language," Elena says.

"Shopping spree is vague," Damon says, as if Jeremy hadn't interrupted. "What, specifically, do you want me to buy you? Or is it my choice?" He smolders at her, and I kick him under the table. The full force of my boot on his shin scoots his chair away from the table, but he doesn't even flinch.

"Jeans," she says without hesitation.

"Boring," he replies, but writes it anyway. He tosses the paper into the middle of the table. "What about me? What are you offering me?"

"I really don't have to offer anything, since I'm going to win."

"Confidence is high," Jeremy says with a grin. "I like it."

"Wow me anyway," Damon says with a smirk. "Come on, Elena. What are you going to give me?"

"Laundry for a week?" she says.

He scoffs. "Try again."

"Want me to clean your car?"

"I never let anyone touch my car," he says, shaking his head.

Elena bites her bottom lip, thinking. "Okay. How about the same? Mani-pedi and jeans?"

He smiles. "You can't afford my jeans."

"Elena, first rule of gambling, don't write checks you can't cash," I quietly warn.

"I'm going to win," she says. "So I won't have to buy them."

He once more stares her down, and again, he's the one to look away first. "Fine. Write it in. But don't think I won't make you cough up when you lose."

"Elena, you aren't tapping into your college fund to buy this asshole pants."

"I've got this, Ric," she replies.

"Yeah, no interfering from the grown up," Damon says with a smirk.

Elena tosses her slip of paper onto the pile. "Let's see what you got."

"Full house," Damon says. He lays down three tens and two Jacks.

I groan, but Elena beams. "Straight flush," she says, revealing her hand. "Queen high."

"Hearts," Damon quietly says with a wink and a smile. "My favorite."

"Dude, no wonder we both got shit hands," Jeremy say, thumping my shoulder.

"Language," Elena repeats.

"They got all the good cards!" He's smiling though, even as he sulks. "We're out of food."

"Because you ate it all," Damon says.

"And I have to open tomorrow," Jeremy says, ignoring him. "So I'm calling it a night."

"Be sure to brush your teeth before you lick your computer screen," Damon says in a innocent voice, nodding his head knowingly. "And give Bonnie's tongue my regards."

"Fuck you, Damon," Jeremy replies, taking the stairs two at a time. "Stop eavesdropping."

"Language!" Elena says again.

"Stop making out with your girlfriend on Skype!" Damon shouts.

"What?" Jeremy hollers from upstairs. "I can't hear you."

"Boys," Elena says to me, rolling her eyes. She gathers her pile of slips and smiles while she flips through her treasure trove of chores and promised gifts. She tucks them into the back pocket of her shorts and starts piling up the plates and glasses and empty dip bowls. "But they aren't really." She looks at him. "Are they?"

Damon waggles his eyebrows at her. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Tease," she pouts.

As much as I hate to admit it, no amount of frozen yogurt with Caroline or basketball with Matt makes these kids smile like family night with Damon. There's so much to be sad about, so much to feel guilty and brood and be angry over, and it's unexpected because Damon needles and pokes and prods. He's merciless, but he always knows exactly how much and what to dish out so he leaves both of them in good moods, even if they're annoyed with him. I don't know how I'd manage without him.

"Your turn to clean up the kitchen, Elena," Damon say, leaning back in his chair. "I would've had to do it, but you didn't want me to bet that."

"Oh I know," she sweetly replies. "But I'm just going to run some water over these and deal with them in the morning." She smiles at him. "Are you done with your glass?"

"Yes," he grumbles, passing it to her.

"Ric?"

"I'll get it later."

She's quietly laughing while she rinses and piles everything onto the counter. "Goodnight, Damon," she says. She stops by my chair, her hands still warm and damp from the sink when she rests them on my shoulders. "Goodnight, Ric." She kisses the top of my head before childishly sticking out her tongue at him and sauntering out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

She doesn't even make it to the creaking stair just below the landing before Damon's at the sink, running water so hot it sends wafts of steam into the air.

"She really will get them in the morning," I say.

"Yes, but then there are dirty dishes laying around all night. And she accuses me of being disgusting."

"Damon, she rinsed them. Just leave it be." I sigh, but it's not unhappy. Mediating theses little bickering matches is a privilege I wouldn't trade it for anything.

He taps his nose with a bubbly finger. "Shit stinks. It'll only take me a minute. Oh! Hey. It's your theme song."

I look around, not hearing any music, wondering what he's talking about. He nods his head towards Jeremy's iPod docked on the counter.

"No?" he asks. "Can't hear it?"

I shake my head, and he flashes to the little speakers and turns it up.

"All my friends were vampires," Damon sings along. "Didn't know they were vampires. Turns out I'm a vampire myself in the devil town."

I have to laugh when he starts dancing, moving his hips and tapping his left foot to the sultry beat of the song. I'm grateful Elena went up to bed because I'm not blind, and neither is she, and Damon can't help but be... well... Damon, dancing and singing while he cleans up the kitchen in spite of me being here to witness it.

I came here not sure I believed vampires even existed, and I stumbled into the very one I'd been looking for, intent on killing him because he'd taken Isobel from me. This town has given me everything I ever wanted when I fell in love with Isobel and asked her to marry me: a home and a family. Only they're not mine, none of it, and I'm sharing these stolen moments not with the woman I love, but a vampire I wanted to kill. Only now he's my best friend who's singing in the kitchen and helping me keep these kids safe. My only friend.

The song over, the last of the dishes washed and dripping on the rack, Damon turns off the water and punches the power button on the iHome.

"I didn't know you sang," I say, getting up to refill my drink.

"What is it with you fucking people?" Damon snaps the towel and dries his hands. "I kill someone? Rip out a goddamn heart and toss it on the floor, and everyone's all, 'That's just Damon.' I do something nice, like fix a fucking meal that doesn't suck or sing on pitch, and everyone's fucking shocked."

"Don't be a dick," I say. "You know I didn't mean it like that." I pour the last inch of the bourbon into my glass. The empty bottle clinks against two others in the trashcan. Damn. Did we drink that much today? "Are we out, or is there another bottle in the cupboard?"

He opens the door and pulls out a fresh bottle. "Last one, my friend. Liquor store run tomorrow, but for moment, you are saved from drinking Bloody Marys with me." He says it with a smile, nodding towards the fridge. "Although Elena was kind enough to suggest I stash some blood bags over here, so we do have the ingredients."

I shudder. "I had no idea you were actually going to pour the vodka into the glass of blood. Talk about disgusting."

Damon shrugs unapologetically. "Vampire."

I swallow the contents of my glass and set it in the sink, content to drink from the bottle now that Jeremy and Elena aren't around to watch. Damon rolls his eyes at me and washes my glass at vampire speed.

"I think I'll stick with bourbon," I say, cracking the seal on the new bottle and taking a swallow.

"That shit'll kill you."

"So will everything else," I say, flopping onto the couch. Damon wipes down the table before falling onto the other end. He lifts my feet and rests them on his lap before kicking his own legs onto the coffee table. "That was bold, letting her bet a Twilight movie-marathon."

He shrugs. "She overplayed her hand. Caroline won't agree to it."

"Sounds right up her alley," I say.

"She and I, well, when we were, what's the word?"

"When you were head-fucking her?" I suggest, not able to keep the disgust out of my voice.

"Oh, you didn't even know her then. Don't judge. But yes, while I head-fucked her, among other things, we shared a Twilight moment. She'll never agree to the marathon, certainly not with me."

"You do cheat," I say.

He nods. "Fuck yeah I do." He's quiet for a moment, passing the bottle back and forth between us. "New jeans is non-specific. Do you think she'd go for a shopping trip in New York?"

"You aren't taking her to New York, asshole. She's not even eighteen."

"Almost, dick, and I was talking about taking all of us," he snaps back. "Why not take this family fun-fest on the road? I'm sure you can think of something boring and educational. We can get a suite at the Waldorf for a week. Maybe two. Do some shopping, eat at nice restaurants, see some shows, take in some art. Let's get the hell out of this godforsaken town."

"I don't know if I can be responsible for them in New York. I barely manage here."

Damon rolls his eyes at me. "Trust me: they'll be safer there then they are in Mystic fucking Falls. What a death trap." He takes a drink from the bottle and passes it back to me. "I fucking love New York."

I smile. "I can see that."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I compelled my way onto a Broadway performance of Phantom of the Opera?"

I laugh so hard I choke before handing over the bottle before I drop it. "You're kidding me."

He laughs too and shakes his head. "Swear to god. Just the one performance. But oh, it was fun."

"You were the Phantom?"

Damon snorts derisively. "I have some delusions of grandeur, but let's not lose our heads. No, I just wanted to do the Masquerade scene."

"Did you mess it up?"

"Fuck no!" he says, clearly insulted. "I watched every performance and practiced for a week. I found the guy I wanted to be, and I took over for him during the one song. And I was perfect, I might add. Fucking perfect."

I can picture it, Damon dancing onstage, singing a deceptively upbeat song about the sinister dangers of hiding behind masks, a reality he understands all too well. Of course he played his part perfectly.

"How's everything upstairs?" I ask.

Damon closes his eyes and leans his head on the back of the couch. "Jeremy's saying goodnight to Bonnie. He just called me a douche and." He pauses for a second. "Oh gross! She has a flair for description, that one."

"Don't need those kind of details, jackass."

"You asked. Elena just finished brushing her teeth. She's checking her phone for the ten thousandth time. And now she's climbing into bed." He pats me on the knee. "Not to worry, Papa Bear – the kids are alright."

"Does she really think he's going to call her?" I quietly ask. Damon shrugs. "Do you think he will?"

He's quiet for so long, unmoving and unbreathing beside me, that I think he won't answer. He takes a long swallow from the bottle of bourbon, and then a second before passing it to me. Finally, he whispers, "I don't have a fucking clue what Stefan thinks."

"You're sure the bodies you've found are his?" I ask again.

Damon nods. "Yep. And for the record, I am a good masseur."

"I never had any doubt," I honestly reply, allowing him to change the subject.

"She's carrying too much tension in her shoulders. I'd take good care of her."

"Damon," I begin.

"I'll give you a pedicure too," he interrupts. "Next family night? Pedicures for everyone. I bet your toes are nasty."

"They're supposed to be. I'm a guy. Aren't yours?"

He glares at me and snatches back the bottle. "Please. I'm a fastidious groomer."

I can't help but laugh and take the bottle back from him. "You're a metrosexual snob."

I take another long, slow swallow from the bottle. The silence between us is calming and comfortable, and I've never felt more at home than on a sofa that doesn't belong to me with my feet in a vampire's lap.

I swallow again, needing but not wanting to talk about the damn couch, why I won't go back to my loft, but why I won't move into the empty bedroom either. Jenna's room. Why I'm trapped in self-exile on a too-short sofa that doesn't even belong to me.

"I don't get how you can tell they're Stefan's," I finally say, moving the subject to Damon's shit and away from mine. "How do neck wounds from one vampire look different from neck wounds from another vampire? Are his teeth that distinctive?"

Damon sighs and reaches back for the bottle. "Stefan leaves a kind of calling card. Trust me: they're his kills. You don't want the gory details tonight, and I sure as shit don't want to tell you. Not until I have to."

"But what does that mean?" I ask. "That he's killing people, but he hasn't told Klaus Elena's alive? I thought he wasn't himself when he's drinking human blood?"

"He is himself," Damon snaps. "Christ. This version of himself that he's shown you this past year? Stefan the saintly, brooding, guilty, sanctimonious control freak? That's the lie. Fuck."

"I don't understand," I say.

"It's simple, goddammit. It's all about control, and Stefan has none. He's all or nothing. Always has been. Even when we were kids."

"But how..."

"Let's get drunk and not talk," Damon interrupts. He grabs the bottle back from me and swallows steadily. He puts his head back on the sofa and closes his eyes. "Listen to that."

"Human," I remind him, retrieving the bottle before he drinks it all. He can switch to his vampiric Bloody Marys if we run out. I'm shit out of luck until tomorrow. "I don't hear anything."

"Elena and Jeremy, safe in their warm beds, dreaming of sugarplums." He sighs with contentment. "I love that sound, their steady breathing, their heartbeats. Jeremy snores a little bit, not a lot now, but he'll be intolerable when he's older. But Elena." He doesn't finish his thought, but a ghost of a smile raises the edges of his mouth.

"She doesn't snore?"

He shakes his head. "No."

I'm tempted to ask him if Andie snores, but I'm too relaxed right now. I try to muster the energy to sound like an overprotective father-type and defend Elena's virtue, which I desperately need to do.

"As much as I love your lectures, save it for another day," he says as if he can read my mind. "No need to worry, Ric. She's still my brother's girl, and I have no intention of cheating. If I win, it will be fair and square, so she's safe from the big, bad bump in the night that is me."

"You're not as bad as you want people to think," I quietly say.

"Says the man I've killed," Damon snaps. "So how's about you shut the fuck up."

I'm quiet, watching as he swallows from the bottle, cradles it in his hands like it's precious. He hands it back to me without looking and once again closes his eyes.

"You're right to keep her from me, Ric. I've killed so many people." He sighs. "I was a killer long before I met Katherine Pierce."

"That was war," I reply. "It's different."

He shrugs. "No difference. It's death. Me bringing strangers ugly, terrible death. And since then, some people I've killed just for the fun of it. Or boredom. Some really fucking miserable reasons. But really, does the whys of it matter? Since they all end up in the ground? And I'm not sorry. Not for a single one."

"Are you drunk?" I ask.

He smiles. "Maybe. We did start drinking before noon today. You?"

I nod even though his eyes are still closed, knowing he'll be able to sense the movement. "I'm the worst guardian ever."

"Nah," Damon disagrees. "You're doing just fine. Besides, I'm supposedly Stefan's guardian. I mean, that's the current story. Since those two haven't killed anyone this summer, I think that distinction is mine."

We both laugh a little, even though it's not funny, and I swallow again from the bottle, realizing it's nearly empty.

"I don't believe you," I quietly say. "You've been sorry, just since I've known you. For me. For Jeremy. For Rose."

"Fucking Rose," he says, but despite the harsh words, there's no anger or malice in his tone, just sadness and maybe even regret.

"You had to," I say. "She was dying, and she could've hurt a lot of people. I've no doubt you did what had to be done with kindness."

"I staked her in my bed, asshole," he says. "Nothing kind about that. And I did it after I invaded her mind and gave her a dream to die to, a beautiful dream of sunshine and rainbows and rolling hills. All I gave her was a big fucking lie followed by ugly fucking death."

"Damon," I begin.

"Just shut the fuck up already," he snaps. "Jesus."

I swallow the last of the bourbon and let the empty bottle fall to the floor. Damon gently moves my feet, picks it up, and flashes around the house. He takes out the kitchen trash and checks the locks and turns off all the lights. He covers me with the quilt and sits back down, once again moving my feet to his lap. He eases off my boots and lets them drop softly to the floor. I close my eyes, enjoying the darkness that settles over me, warm and friendly.

"You know I'm going to use that against you one day," I finally whisper.

He squeezes my ankle and I can hear the smile in his voice. "'Cause you're a dick like that?"

"Damn straight."

A/N: The song, if y'all aren't familiar with it, is Devil Town, performed by Tony Lucca.