A/N
I'm so sorry that this is so late. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and who's written to me asking for a new chapter. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story enough to care And your reviews really do make my day :) I wanted to have a new chapter up at the beginning of August, and if not then, the beginning of September, but it was a crazy, busy summer. I feel like I'm just now coming up for air. However, life is slowing down as we get into the fall. I'm planning to have a new chapter up on October 1. If I'm late again, do know that I'm trying. As I've said before, I don't have any backlog of chapters, so when I post something, it generally means that I don't have anything more written, and then I'm scrambling to meet the next date.
To answer a couple questions from reviews:
-Elena and Bonnie discussed werewolves being created, possibly, in Mystic Falls, in chapter 18.
-If they hadn't been able to revive Elena in the last chapter, she would have died. She was in between the living world and "peace." That's why the Gilberts thought that even if Grams could get Bonnie there, she wouldn't have enough time to give her an entire plan.
-Sajen: You are ABSOLUTELY right that Stefan is more dangerous than Damon. I've always thought that. When I was writing from Elena's perspective in chapter 24, I meant that she originally thought Damon was the more dangerous brother, before she understood the severity of Stefan's blood addiction. Lexi meant well, but set up a really devastating ticking bomb situation, and I was glad when Damon taught Stefan moderation. Either Paul or Ian gave an interview saying that if you met Damon in a dark alley you might be able to negotiate with him, but that Stefan would just eat you. The thing about Stefan is that he never dealt with his emotions. He was probably really repressed and a perfectionist as a human - maybe he would have ended up as an alcoholic, given the blood addiction thing. And as a vampire that was just heightened. Then there's the self loathing. Lexi's method did not have him dealing with his issues. She was just making him drink animal blood. But the blood wasn't the issue. It was his pent-up rage. Ripper Stefan is not an evil twin of good Stefan - he's the rage that's come out to play; he's the pure id of Stefan.
-Special thanks to Lauriebug for explaining that the Civil War had not yet started on the date I gave for Damon's daguerreotype. If I revise at some point, I will definitely correct that date!
To answer a question that I know is coming: At this point, we are officially diverging from The Originals' canon, after the finale of TO Season 4. I actually loved TO Season 5 and the real series finale, but I personally wanted a different ending for Klaus. And I saw a way to give it to him in my story. My story is taking place between the end of Season 4 and the beginning of Season 5, and what Klaus and Freya are doing here will negate TO Season 5.
And of course, a HUGE thank you to my wonderful betas, the real Sajen and Moonstone369. If this chapter is still a little rough around the edges, the fault is all mine.
-Norah
That night
Damon sat in an uncomfortable chair in Elena's hospital room, holding the baby, watching his wife sleep, reassured by the monitors that his girl was okay. Elena, of course, had not wanted to come to the hospital. But Meredith Fell, ever the annoying, uppity doctor, said it was just plain common sense. Anybody whose heart has stopped for a minute, and then—an hour later—for six whole minutes, should stay overnight in the hospital. Damon, for once, couldn't agree more with annoying, uppity doctor.
Which was why he was hanging out in a dimly lit room in Mystic Falls General, watching his wife sleep. She'd been kicking off the covers every so often, so he periodically he'd been rushing over, cradling the baby in one arm, to pull the covers back over Elena, making sure to tuck the blanket around her shoulders, to cover her feet so that they weren't cold. Her dark hair fell over the pillow like she was a mermaid, and sometimes he had to remind himself to breathe, because she was just so damned pretty, and because he was so damned afraid of losing her again.
It was two in the morning. Meredith had peeked in several times, to check on Elena, but all had been fine. His girl was practically un-killable.
Still. This had been the worst day for Damon Salvatore since the day his brother died. For those six minutes, today had tied with the day Stefan, in overall suckiness. Damon was still struggling to breathe deeply enough, to believe without a shadow of a doubt that he and Elena and Summer were all alive, and that the world continued to spin on its axis.
After what seemed like ages, Elena's restless sleep calmed down. Now she wasn't kicking or rustling. She lay motionless, except for her chest rising and falling with breaths, in and out. Alive, but peaceful. Truly asleep.
Damon sat as still as his wife, one of Bonnie's grimoires on his lap, as he fed three-week-old Summer her first bottle of formula. She was lapping up the manufactured milk like it was heroin.
Struggle as he might to stay put in this damned chair, it was getting harder. His damned back had been bothering him a little all day, and now it seemed to be getting worse.
Once Klaus had parked unceremoniously in Damon's grass, outside the Salvatore house, Damon had insisted on being the one to lug Elena from the backseat of Klaus's rented Bentley, throwing her up and over his shoulder in the ultimate guy move. Damon had carried his wife inside, through the door of the boarding house, and up the stairs to his old room. When Damon reached the halfway mark from first floor to second, he buckled just a bit beneath Elena's deadweight. Klaus had tried to take her from him. But Damon had waved the fucker off. Thinking about it now, his back had been twinging ever since, but he'd ignored it.
A twinge was nothing compared to what Elena had gone, through. He'd almost lost her.
A twinge was the least he could offer his wife and his child.
But now, as he sat in this hard-backed chair, that stupid twinge was turning into something else. The dull ache all over his lower back continued. But then, every so often, a sharp pain intruded. A jolt of terrible-ness. But then, just as quickly as it came it would go away. He had no idea if he'd actually hurt himself, or this was just a normal amount of human discomfort. After a century and a half of vampirism, muscle pain, any amount of muscle pain, was just plain weird. And deeply embarrassing.
Thinking that some movement might help, he tried to get out of this damned evil chair. But his back was not cooperating.
"Fuck," Damon said, louder than he wanted to. He glanced at Elena, but she slept on. If he could put both his hands down and brace himself, he could push himself up. Surely. Damon Salvatore could not be felled after carrying one damsel up one lousy flight of stairs could.
But the problem right now was that he had to stand up and hold onto Summer. Could he put her on the ground for just a minute? Probably not the best idea. And wasn't Elena terrified of the germs the baby could pick up in a hospital? Somehow the healing place was the place you could get sickest. So much irony. She did not think this irony was as funny as Damon thought it was. But of course she had grown up with modern medicine: all this was normal to her.
Here was the kicker—what if he put the infant on the floor, then stood up, and was unable to bend down to pick her up again?
What if, regardless of how many ways he attempted to get up from this chair, he couldn't, and had to call a nurse? Or was found, by a nurse, sprawled out on the ground?
Being human suuuuucked.
"Fuck," he said again. Slightly louder. He was reminded of the million times Vampire Damon had flung all manner of humans and supernatural creatures over his shoulder. Vampire Damon had suffered no ill effects from the physical efforts of carrying a damsel up the stairs. Yes, definitely another reason to hate being a human. Could this symptom of humanity be worse than the symptom of not being able to compel people?
After what seemed like a lifetime of trying, he finally managed to propel himself up, out of the chair, without dropping Summer. He groaned deep and long as he stood up, but the pain was a little better. He decided to take Summer for a walk. Maybe the hospital had some vending machines. Ooh, maybe they had Cheetos. And Cherry Cokes. Maybe even Twinkies.
#
Unfortunately, he'd barely gotten out of the hospital room before he ran into one Klaus Michaelson.
"Mother fucker," Damon said. Very much out loud. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd check in on the lovely Elena."
Damon frowned. "Look, Klaus, it's just you and me now. You can drop the nice guy act. I know you're a psychopath.
Klaus feigned a look of shock.
Damon went on. "I'm tolerating you being here, in my town, out of respect for Elena and Caroline's insane desire to see the best in you, and because you might be useful. But I know that you've always got a scheme. It might be a scheme within a scheme within an evil plan. But you've always got something going on. Like you're playing some giant game of chess and we're all just the pieces in your game. So just level with me, cause I'd rather just skip over all the bullshit. For once. Just be honest. Be your actual shitty self. I don't care if I like you, or if you're a good person. I just want to know if you're going to fuck me over."
Klaus barked out a laugh, and then clapped his hands together several times in mock applause. "Such a charming speech, Salvatore."
"Are you here for her doppelganger blood?"
Klaus shook his head, flashing one of his trademark condescending smiles. "It's your lucky day. Hope's blood would do the trick, for creating hybrids, if it came down to that. But, to be completely and utterly frank, since it seems like you're particularly excited about honesty—I've lost my taste for siring a hybrid army."
Damon laughed derisively.
"Taunt me all you want, with your pathetic attempts at disrespect. You see, Mr. Salvatore, there are better ways to build allegiance to me, or to control the masses. It's not as fun if it's not real. And magic always comes with a price. Tyler Lockwood and his little friends broke free of the sire bond. You may remember? Caused me all sorts of trouble and complications. It caused Tyler his poor, dear mother. So sad. That lad was a thorn in my side for years. His idiotic attempts to get revenge—ultimately the whole lot of them were a giant pain in the arse. More trouble then they were worth. By the way, Damon, thank you for helping me out with that thorn."
"What?"
"Weren't you the idiot vampire who killed Tyler Lockwood?"
Damon was shocked at the accusation for just a moment before he sucked in a breath.
In all the craziness of the past couple years, he'd almost forgotten that he'd killed Tyler. Of course, he'd killed a lot of people over the years. He really was a terrible person.
"Are you feeling guilty?" Klaus taunted him. "Come on, the lad was a walking disaster. Emotionally stunted and dysfunctional to the core. And not in an interesting way. I say: Bravo."
Summer started to fuss, and Damon began bouncing her lightly on his shoulder. He didn't know what to say to Klaus's many remarks, or what to think about what the hybrid was telling him.
"Of course you know first-hand the downsides of the sire bond," Klaus was going on with his monologue. For some reason. "The lovely Elena was sired to you, and you didn't like it. Ultimately, sire bonds are unreliable. They are either weak, unpleasant, or they lead to a dozen of your sirelings attempting to murder you in the forest."
Damon glared at the eternally twenty-two year-old Original, choosing not to comment on the sheer stupidity of Elena being sired to Damon. It had been ludicrous, really, like some cheap plot device designed to make them both doubt her love for him, and to keep them apart a little longer. As if God or whoever had wanted them to suffer some more, instead of just being happy.
Finally Damon said, "But what about Summer? Are you going to try to control her life, so that in 500 years you'll get another Petrova doppelganger? Because if you think that you can do anything to my little girl, you should leave town right now."
Klaus shook his head, and placed a very unwanted hand on Damon's shoulder. Looking straight into Damon's eyes, which was unsettling as hell, he said, "Of all the things the malicious things I could possibly do to you, that is the one thing you don't have to worry about. Freya believes Elena's blood can no longer create a doppelganger line. Something to do with the Cure. Very tedious explanation. Besides, I am a father now. I no longer take any pleasure in putting children in harm's way, even if their parents make me furious. Summer is safe from my malice. Though I do have to say, your attitude is a tad suicidal. If I were you, I would think a little harder before you speak."
Damon glared at him. "Why are you still here, Klaus? What business do you have in the hospital? If you want to know where they keep blood bags, I'm happy to tell you. I'd much rather have you drinking from blood bags than from the nurses. So I can help you with that. But you can't talk to Elena right now."
Klaus shook his head. "Let her rest. I want to talk to you. Father to father."
Damon frowned. He searched Klaus's face for evidence that he was lying or manipulating. But for once the hybrid seemed sincere. And tired. Had he looked this tired the entire time he'd been back in Virginia, or just right now? Did Originals need sleep?
"Fine," Damon said. "What is it?"
Klaus pulled a page out of his pocket and handed it to Damon, his hand brushing against Damon's as he passed it to him. Damon felt a jolt as skin brushed against the hybrid's skin. And then warmth rushed through him. Trust. As if someone or something was telling him to trust this man, this strange immortal holdover from the Dark Ages. Still keeping one hand on Summer, he clumsily opened the paper. It seemed to be a spell, torn out of a grimoire. His eyes were so tired, and the blue ink so faded, that he struggled to make out the words scrawled on the parchment. "What am I looking at?" he murmured.
"It's from a grimoire. One of my mother's books," Klaus said.
"I don't really speak witch," Damon said, still squinting at the words, trying to decide if this page was written in English.
"It's a spell to let magic flow back into the Earth. We need to make this happen."
"Oh really? Just because you say so?"
"You bloody idiot. Our interests align, this time. There are a lot of witches in your house, who we need to bring over to our side. The last of the ones you drew in your little notebook showed up tonight. Three of them, together. And very wily, those three, I can tell."
Damon frowned. "How do you know about those drawings?"
"Elena."
"Of course," Damon said with a bitter laugh.
"The point is that alliances are being formed. And you want me on your team."
Damon glared at Klaus. His back began to twinge, even more than before. It was a sharp, nasty, distracting pain.
Klaus looked suspiciously at Damon. After a moment, the Original Hybrid ran a hand through his uncombed, wavy blond hair, and walked over to Damon's side, standing too close for Damon's comfort. "You're favoring one side of your body. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Nonsense. You've injured yourself. I can hear your quickened heartbeat." Klaus bit his wrist and held it out to Damon, clearly expecting Damon to latch on and drink the healing vampire blood, lapping it up a wounded animal would lap up water.
But Damon shook his head.
"Don't be a child. Just take it. Then say thank you."
"Won't work. The Cure means that my body rejects vampire blood. I'll just cough it up, like it's poison."
Klaus raised his brows. Then he laughed. "It really sucks to be you, doesn't it?"
Damon turned and walked away, thinking he should get Summer away from this maniacal bastard.
"Damon!" Klaus shouted after him. Then the bastard vamped away. Damon thought Klaus had grown tired of his pathetic human-ness, that he'd left him in peace. Damon wandered down to the empty waiting room, and sank onto a couch. He began to burp Summer, realizing that he didn't have a burp cloth, that she might ruin his designer black shirt. Surprisingly, he didn't much care. Before he got a burp out of her, Klaus returned. Vamping around so he deposited himself right in front of Damon and Summer.
Damon sighed. He missed the speed of immortality. And now he couldn't get away. He'd never been a match for Klaus, but now his odds against the Original had gone from 1:100 to 1:10,000. Hell, maybe his chances were more like 1:1,000,000. "What?" Damon growled.
Klaus raised his eyebrows, looking pleased as hell, as he held out an icepack,. "Access to ready-made ice was a bit later than my time. But I seem to remember how good a bowl of snow felt on a bruise. And once my father was laid up, his back aching. He was unable to walk. It was the best week of my young life. In any event, he seemed to find moments of comfort when my mother brought him bowls of snow."
Damon considered how long he'd have to wander around the hospital before he could find a nurse, a doctor, or an icepack of his own. Reluctantly, he took the ice from the man he still thought of as an enemy. With his free hand, he tried to prop the icepack between his lower back and the chair.
"There is only one major thing we have to decide. The details can vary. The spells can vary. But at the end of the day, do we contain the magic, or do we let it go?"
"Let me guess. You want to trap it? For your own use? You want to use it to get even more powerful, and you'll justify this with your typical, paranoid, egotistical —"
Klaus shook his head. "You always did think the worst of me."
"When I met you, you wanted to sacrifice Elena. And then you did. You drank every drop of her blood!" Damon spat out. "Seriously? Why should anybody trust you? Everybody, from now until the end of time, should run screaming from you. You're a fucking psychopath."
Klaus grinned, big and wide, like being called a psychopath was the ultimate compliment. "Is that all?"
Damon wanted to hit him, but he didn't think engaging in hand-to-hand combat was wise while holding his three-week-old baby against his shoulder. And he had experienced that very intense moment of trust, when his hand had brushed Klaus's.
Finally, Damon gave up. He slumped back against the chair, and into the melting ice, mumbling, "But you do want to trap the magic?"
Klaus shook his head. "No. And neither should you."
"Why not?"
"Because you want Mystic Falls to be safe. You don't want the same supernatural drama to continue to plague this town, with one big bad after another showing up in this little podunk place for no apparent reason. If the magic gets contained, it will be tied forever to your sweet little town."
Damon frowned. He glanced down at the paper again, bringing it closer to his face until it was just a few inches from his nose. It was written in a language foreign to him, which looked a bit like German, but which was not German. But the illustration was clear. Magic was being poured into Earth, but not getting stuck in one place. It was going everywhere. "So," Damon said, "the alternative is let the magic flow free. Where exactly?"
"Everywhere. It will flow into the Earth itself, and link up with other magic, and it will increase the amount of magic over the whole planet. But not create a problem for Mystic Falls specifically."
Damon dropped the paper to his lap as he said, "And why do you care about Mystic Falls?"
"I was born here too, if you recall."
Damon shrugged. "A thousand years ago. I don't think you'd give a damn if the whole town burned to the ground. Had you even been back, in those thousand years, until you decided it would be fun to kill Elena in your freaky ritual? And would you have stuck around later if you didn't have a weird obsession with being friends with my brother?"
Klaus cleared his throat. "I can't be the one to suggest a plan. None of the witches will trust me. They won't even trust Freya. Apparently she's guilty by association. But they might trust you. They might trust Elena. They'll definitely trust the little Bennett witch, so it would be very helpful to get her on our team."
"What do you gain by doing this?" Damon asked Klaus, knowing that this couldn't be about Klaus wanting to be generous to any of them. And Klaus definitely didn't care about Mystic Falls. "What favor do you want from me, Klaus?"
Klaus laughed humorlessly. "No favor," he muttered. "It's my daughter. This is my way to save her, to save my whole family. I can't see Hope right now, can't be in the same room with her. It's all very complicated and dull and ridiculous. But you see, I'm carrying energy from a witch called the Hollow. It infected Hope, and we managed to take the energy out of her. My siblings and I split it between four of us, so none of us can go near her, or near each other. The Hollow created the werewolf curse, which, by the way, is one reason for the particularly strong and problematic magical signature that looms over Mystic Falls. Freya and I believe that if I'm here when the magic is released, the Hollow's spirit will go back into the Earth. Magic in the Earth is neither good nor bad. It's just the way one wields it. So I win, you win, Hope wins. But you have to convince the witches."