Dance With the Devil

by Halia Stone

He was caught up in a deadly game with the world's most powerful supernatural being, Klaus Mikaelson, through events beyond his control; Damon wasn't sure if he was going to make it out alive. Hunter!Damon AU

2. Whispers in the Dark

So, here we are with the second chapter (finally, stupid internet). Please do let me know if you liked the story or not, I do genuinely want to continue this one 'cause I think it's a good storyline, different from what I've done before with this pairing, but I'm not sure I can if I don't know people are reading/enjoying it. Have TVD related things just ran their course? (I mean, it did end like three or four years ago)

Can't promise I won't take ages to update – well, a two year gap won't happen again, that's for sure – but I plan on finishing this within the year, so that should keep me honest, haha!

---

The first thing he was aware of was cold metal underneath his back. Damon stretched, hearing a loud metallic clang as his foot hit into something, unable to go any further. He opened his eyes to see blurry orange obscured by black lines.

"Where am I…?"

Another attempt to move resulted in another metallic clanging sound echoing in his ears. He rolled over onto his knees, feeling hard metal under his knees and hands. Blinking to clear his vision, he frowned in confusion when he saw cage bars.

"What the hell?"

A queasy feeling of dread bubbled up in his stomach as he looked around him through the cage. Across from him, in a small cramped room, were several other cages with people inside. He jumped back in shock when he realized all the inhabitants inside were dead, mercilessly slaughtered.

The dread gave way to his blood turning to ice as he recognized each of them in turn—the hunter's he was trapped in Florence with. Leila, completely ripped apart as if by a savage animal; Seth, a mass of burnt flesh; Ray, his eyes gouged out—

He angled himself away, unable to look. There had been fifteen of them to start with, fifteen, whittled down to just one in a haze of fangs, blood and fire.

"You really thought you were free, Damon?" a familiar voice accosted him softly.

Jerking towards the sound, he saw Klaus standing tall outside the cage trapping him. A sympathetic look crossed his face as he crouched down to his eye-level. Damon felt sick.

"You've been here all along," he continued, "Trapped in an artificial freedom of my own making," he revealed, his eyes shining with mirth.

"What?"

Klaus' smile turned into a wolfish grin. "You're still in Florence," then he reached a hand through the bars to put a hand on Damon's shoulder, "With me." His grip tightened possessively, the twinge in his shoulder sending chills throughout his body.

A crimson puddle caught his eye. He looked past Klaus' shoulder to see a blood pool stained into the concrete floor. He followed it with his eyes, jolting back with a shocked yell as he saw what was.

It was a brunette woman with short, spiky hair, gutted from neck to stomach—neck to pregnant stomach.

His back hit painfully against the cage and breath spluttered up from his lungs as he tried to make sense of it. It wasn't possible. How?

"No…" he shook his head slowly. "Rose," he breathed, his chest tightening painfully as he saw the milky whiteness of her eyes and the sallow color of her dead skin.

"You actually thought I'd save her?" Klaus asked sympathetically, looking at him like he was a fool.

He chuckled smugly as Damon's eyes widened in horror.

He shook his head, trying to get the god-awful, ringing sound out of his ears. "No," he said through gritted teeth.

"This isn't real," he insisted stubbornly, refusing to believe what was right in front of his eyes; vampires could play tricks. This was a trick, it had to be. "She's alive," he swore.

"I spoke to her a few days ago," he added, although more to himself than Klaus. He remembered the phone being pressed against his ear, Rose's laughter and the sound of her daughter crying in the background.

"This isn't real," he said resolutely, staring into Klaus' face.

But he was gone, leaving behind the echoing traces of a wicked laugh. Instead, in front of him was the animated corpse with Rose's face – had to be, it wasn't her – with pale eyes, her gray tinted skin gaunt, and a river of blood trailing from her lips.

"Why didn't you save me, Damon?" she gargled, her voice a croaky whisper. Blood spurted from her mouth and the gouge mark leeched fresh blood blossoms into her ragged clothes.

Damon's eyes widened in complete horror as a tiny, bloody baby hand slowly edged its way out of the incision.

"Save us?" she asked, looking betrayed and haunted.

The sound of a newborn baby wailing filled his ears. Besides Rose, her dead friend Trevor stood accosting him too, his head placed precariously back onto his shoulders. They both started repeating the same thing in a nauseating mantra in his mind; over the sound of the wailing it was too much. Damon clapped his hands over his ears.

One by one, all the dead hunters in the cages slowly started to reanimate in their dead states, repeating the same and all needling him with scathing looks. Save Ray, who's sockets just leaked fresh blood and Seth, who's unrecognizable mass of a face had a hole which didn't look like a mouth, moved tunelessly.

He squeezed his eyes shut as every person in the room yelled out in a distorted voice, "Why did we die instead of you?!"

It repeated on and on until it blended together in a horrifying cacophony. The newborn's cries were drowned out by the sounds of fire crackling and roaring. Heat blasted against his skin and the smoke choked his throat and lungs.

He couldn't take it anymore; this wasn't real, this wasn't—

"Shut up!" he roared over the frenzied sounds, smacking a hand against the cage.

It fell silent like a switch had been flicked, the clanging of the cage being the only thing echoing out, still ringing in his ears like Klaus' laughter. Damon felt a jerk behind his navel and dared ease his eyes open.

There was pressure against the side of his body, hard and cold. His eyes were open, yet he couldn't see anything at all. Did he even have eyes? Feeling out blindly, his fingers fell through the darkness until his arm stretched to its limit, the same with his legs when he eased himself out of the ball he had been curled up in.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, shakily gathering his breath. The voices had stopped, the ringing had stopped. Pulling himself to his feet, his mind swam, and he lurched forwards, throwing up the contents of his stomach.

They splattered nosily across the ground in the silence. Damon staggered away, wiping his mouth and fumbling blindly. He couldn't make out any shapes, just an endless sea of black that—

"Fuck!" The epithet tore from his mouth as his kneecap smacked into something rock solid, the shock jarring up his whole body.

Something rolled along it – wood, it sounded like wood – and smashed to the floor. A vase, maybe? As he moved, something crunched under his boots. He had to get the hell out of here, wherever the hell that was.

There was a blinding flash of sudden light that had Damon yelling in shock and flinging his arms up, shielding his eyes with his hands. He blinked slowly to force his vision to adjust, reluctantly lowering his hands.

He wasn't alone.

Several men were surrounding him in a circle—no, not men, their eyes were demonic and framed by dark veins. Vampires, and they looked familiar. Damon couldn't figure out where from until he looked at the one behind him and saw his badly charred flesh.

They were all the vampires he had killed in Florence. They looked angry, and hungry. How was this possible? They had been destroyed, by his own hand.

"You've come home to us, Salvatore," one crooned happily, a large hole caved into his chest.

He scrambled backwards, shoving through the other vampires behind him. He collapsed to the floor, backing up until he hit against a wall. They continued to advance on him, bracketing him against the wall.

"We've missed you…"

The light was blanketed out as they crowded around him with low snarls. Damon tried to lash out, kick back, scratch, punch, do something, but he couldn't move. Desiccated fingers grabbed at him, groping at his arms. One snatched up his hair and pulled his head back.

He squirmed and struggled as best he was able but couldn't budge them. He cried out in pain as fangs tore through his neck, his legs, his abdomen, anywhere they could get to.

Laughter drifted into the room, then it stopped. The searing pain dwindled down to tickling. His neck was sticky with blood and his clothes were ripped. He rolled over onto his knees, opening his eyes. The vampires were slowly collapsing to the ground, their dried limbs crumbling under their weight.

Out of the corner of his eye, one burst into flames and fell to the floor with an eerie smile. Others had limbs fall off like a child tugging on an action figure. Some had their heads roll back so far they fell off and bounced to the ground. Others just desiccated and withered, collapsing as their energy left them.

The lights exploded out, leaving Damon in darkness once more. His only source of light was the orange glowing of the few vampires on fire. Even then, they did nothing to penetrate it. His stomach was starting to twist with dread, and something streaked down his backbone.

Someone was in the room with him, but he couldn't see them. Muffled footsteps didn't sound too far off.

"I thought we could play a game, Damon."

He froze. It was Klaus' voice.

"Where are you?" he called out to him, trying desperately to look around for him.

"If I catch you, I get to kill you," he continued smoothly, ignoring him.

Damon's breathing quickened as he hurriedly swept around the ground to find something he could use as a makeshift weapon, then frantically checked his pockets. There was nothing, and he couldn't see where Klaus was.

"I'm feeling generous, so I'll give you a five second head start," he decided.

"What?"

He yelled out in pain as cold iron snapped around his wrists, locking him in place. He tugged hard and struggled, but the tell-tale clinking of chains told him he wasn't going anywhere.

"Five, four…" Klaus began to count down, causing Damon to panic.

The chains were getting tighter, digging into the scar tissue on his wrists and gouging them back open. He groaned and forced himself to stand up, being bent weirdly as the chains stretched his arms to the limit.

He gathered one up with both hands and began to yank it up.

"Three… Two…"

With a tremendous tug and a loud grunt of effort, the chain tore away from the ground. The other snaked out with it, despite him not having touched it. He stumbled backwards, managing to stay on his feet even as the momentum wanted to take him down.

"One."

The lights filled the room once more and Klaus loomed out of the fading darkness, coming to a halt several feet away from him.

"Damon…"

He looked around quickly, spotting an open door past Klaus' shoulder and the solid thing he had walked into earlier. It was a small dresser unit, with remnants of a shattered vase littering the floor around it.

Damon levelled a hand under it and launched it in Klaus' direction with all the strength he could muster and took off running as quick as he could towards the open door as it sailed in the hybrid's direction.

It provided a distraction for him to slip past without Klaus trying to grab him, but as he passed the threshold of the door, he heard a loud splintering sound, briefly looking back to see Klaus lowering a hand as large wood shards sprinkled to the floor.

Another door swung open at the end of the small, barren hallway he was running down and he instantly ran to it and shouldered it open. He didn't give a damn what was behind it – there could've been a pool of lava for all he cared – he just needed to get away from Klaus.

There was a dwindling staircase just below him and he had to grab onto the door frame to stop himself falling. He started to make his way down as Klaus' footsteps began to sound from behind him, but the chains snaking around his ankles caused him to slip and lose his footing.

He felt the imprint of every single stair on his back and stomach as he rolled down, feeling a sickening snap in one of his fingers as he put out a hand to try and stop himself. A warm, wet feeling blossomed up in his hairline when he finally crashed down to the bottom, blood dripping into his left eye.

Everything in front of him blurred and he felt sick, but Damon forced himself to his feet as shadows began to whip and flicker at the top of the staircase. He couldn't make out much of the room he had landed into, but he spotted a shelf with a large space behind it not too far away.

The temperature dropped rapidly as he rushed over and took refuge there, taking a moment to gather his breath, trying his hardest not to wince at the throbbing pain in his hand. The footsteps eventually reached his level and a light was flicked on, bathing the room in a dim yellow glow.

Damon peered through the shelves as Klaus slowly made his way into the room, taking his time.

"Damon?" he called out to him softly.

He clamped a hand over his mouth to quieten the sound of his breathing, watching the other man like a hawk. Don't turn around, don't turn around… he mentally chanted, don't do it.

"Why prolong the inevitable?" he asked in a sympathetic voice, "I always win," he added simply, for once there was no hint of gloating in his tone.

His fingers slid over the surface of the shelves as he strolled along—Damon had to hunch down, so they didn't brush against his hair. He came to a stop dead ahead of him, effectively trapping him.

"Don't you know I can smell you, Damon?" he wondered, shaking his head a little, "I can smell your blood." That last was tinged with a threatening growl.

Damon's breath was trapped in his throat. In a few seconds, Klaus would turn around and spot him. As quietly as he could, he gathered up the lengths of chains in his hands, holding one end in each and readying a long length like a garrote.

Inching slowly to his feet, he burst into a run and leapt towards Klaus, catching him with the chains as he turned in response to the noise. He wrapped the chains around his neck and his weight pulled them both down to the ground. The momentum allowed Damon to throw Klaus off him before he had a chance to retaliate.

He scrambled to his feet and ran down the expanse of the room, only being able to see as far as the light carried. Luckily, there was a boarded-up window leaking cracks of light into the room. He was in what looked like a basement, with shrouds of fabric covering stacks of boxes.

Nothing of consequence as he walked past, except for the multiple pairs of red eyes looming from the darkness. He squinted, seeing several gargoyles dotted around, and they were moving.

Stony hands outstretched and their wiry fingers snatched for him as he made his way through the room. His throat was grabbed in a crushing grip, just as the door behind him was violently flung open.

Klaus watched him with a slightly raised eyebrow as he headed slowly towards him. Damon grabbed hold of the gargoyle's arm and wrenched himself free from its grip, the stone arm disintegrating to dust as it let out an ungodly screech.

Heart hammering, he looked around for a way out. He spotted a door through the thicket of animated arms. Throwing his arms up to protect his face, he ran through the barrage of claws and kicked the door open. Ahead of him was a cramped wine cellar, maybe ten feet long.

The door just didn't seem to end. He rushed to the one ahead of him, trying to push it open, but to no avail. He clutched at the handle, or where he thought the handle was—his fingers clutched at thin air.

"What the fuck?!"

He squinted downwards. He could just about make out a flat rectangle of metal with a tiny square hole in it. What kind of door didn't have a handle?!

Looking around, he spotted it atop of a filled wine rack. Klaus' shadow blanketed the light out from the doorway as he crossed the threshold. With a hard yank, Damon brought the wine rack crashing down to the floor.

Glass shattered and wine splashed up over him as it was crushed under the unit. The handle clattered as it rolled across the floor and bumped against the wall. Klaus crossed into the room, taking deliberately slow steps to taunt him.

Damon struggled to pick the handle up as the sound of cracking filled his ears when Klaus walked onto the wine rack. He grasped the cold metal, feeling his fingers go numb with just how cold it was.

"Give up now, darling and I'll kill you quickly."

His words chilled him to the bone, making him shudder and causing the handle to miss the hole and gouge into the wood around it.

"No chance," Damon shot back, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

As he attempted a second time to shove the handle into the door, the cracking of wood from behind him was getting louder and louder. Klaus' fingers dug into his shoulders and the sound of his snarling filled Damon's ears.

There was a sharp sting as his fangs nicked his neck. He struggled even harder as Klaus' fingers caught his hair in a vice grip and yanked his head back.

"No, get off!" The last was punctuated by his elbow hitting into Klaus' mouth. His fangs scraped his elbow, his grip faltering as he swore under his breath.

Damon took advantage to force himself forwards, finally getting the handle in the door and wrenching it open. Whipping around as he passed through, he slammed it shut with all his strength. He eyed a large grandfather clock next to the doorframe, going to the other side and shoving it down to the ground, with an almighty crash, as a makeshift barricade.

Slow, monotonous banging came from the other side of the door. Damon took a breath and tried to ignore it. He headed towards the only door in the cramped room – piled high with boxes and crammed-full bookshelves – and shouldered it open.

His foot tangled into the chains around his wrists and he fell through the air with a surprised yell, groaning in pain as he landed heavily on the ground, right on his broken finger. He swore as he got up and peered down a long, spanning hallway. Where the fuck was he?

"It's only a matter of time before I catch you, Damon," Klaus' voice sang, directly into his mind as he walked down it slowly, "You've no weapon, nowhere to run," he added, chuckling.

"Nowhere to hide." That phrase was decidedly more ominous, making Damon's blood run cold.

An explosion and sound of splintering wood came from far behind him. Klaus had made it through the door—he knew he would. Damon sped off down the hallway, stopping in confusion when he came to an old elevator shaft, with the old-fashioned looking elevator stuck half-way up it.

Another hallway was shrouded completely in darkness. He didn't fancy his chances, and slipped through the gap in the elevator shaft, dropping down to the bottom. He crouched down as best he could in amidst the spikes of wood and metal sticking up from the floor.

Klaus' footsteps echoed in the hall above him. Damon was shivering all over as he tried to gather his thoughts, figure a way out, but he couldn't hold a train of thought that had any semblance.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…" Klaus' voice was a taunting purr as he strolled closer and closer, Damon swearing each step he took was magnified in his ears, "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

It hung in the air, then everything stopped.

No footsteps, no voices. Nothing except the faint roar of wind from outside and Damon's strained breathing he was trying his hardest to keep quiet. He felt a lump forming in his throat that he tried to swallow back down.

The silence was turning into a deafening ring of white noise in his ears, and the thundering of his heart was becoming painful. Had he—

"Little kitty unhappy in his cage?"

Two footsteps thundered from above him as Klaus' hands hauled him up out of the shaft so fast Damon didn't even have time to react. His back was pressed against Klaus' solid chest; he struggled, his hands scrabbling to grab onto him to pull him off, but he was too strong.

His lips brushed against his ear as he purred, "No-one escapes me, Damon."

Then his fingers carded gently over his hair, moving it away from his neck. There was a soft hissing noise filling his ears, then white-hot pain flared up as Klaus sunk his fangs into his neck. His blood-curdling scream echoed painfully in his ears—

A hard smack against something solid jolted Damon awake with a gasp. He was struggling to catch his breath, becoming slowly aware of a dull throbbing in his arm. He looked around, realizing he'd hit it against his dresser in his sleep.

His dresser. He glanced around, looking slowly around the room, cataloging everything almost obsessively as he took long, deep breaths to calm himself. He was in his room, in Mystic Falls. He wasn't back in Florence, and Klaus wasn't here. He wasn't even in the same town. He was on course for Bolivia.

Belatedly, he became aware of a cold, slimy feeling and slickness around his legs. He flicked on the lamp beside him, looking down. He was tangled into his bed sheets and they were utterly soaked with cold sweat, and it was gathering on his skin and making him feel clammy.

He wiped a hand over his forehead, smearing thick rivulets across there. Then he froze, staying absolutely still, listening out for any sign that Giuseppe or Stefan had heard him, any tell-tale footsteps they were heading towards his room.

Luckily there weren't any, and his father hadn't burst in to shake him awake – was the old man even home? – so he must not have been screaming. But even if he had, Giuseppe had forbidden Stefan from engaging with him when he was like that, ever since he had accidentally lashed out in his sleep and gave Stefan a black eye.

(Only Stefan would've forgiven him so quickly for that.)

God, he was a fucking mess. Pushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes – it was getting long; he could do with a haircut – he threw the covers off him and got up. He thrust his arms through his dressing gown he'd picked up, feeling a slight sting as he tightened the robe around himself to warm up.

Feeling a sense of dread, he slowly rolled up the arm that had the stinging. There was a fresh gash there on his elbow, exactly where he had hit Klaus' fanged mouth in his dream.

"Shit…" he swore, louder than he meant to, into the silence of the room.

If that had been real, he dreaded to think that there could be any truth to the fact Klaus had been manipulating parts of his reality. No, not her, she had to be—

Urgently, he flung open his shirt drawer and tossed everything out until he found his hidden treasure, breathing a loud sigh of relief. He picked it up, as if it would break in his hands, smiling faintly as he looked at the picture. Solid proof.

It was of Rose and her newborn daughter after she had given birth in the hospital. They were both alive and safe, she wasn't dead and a phantom haunting him. She was alive, she was alive. He repeated the mantra in his head until the words started to blur together and become nonsense.

Rose was alive. Alive with a baby girl and, as it turned out, by pure chance she decided to move from England to Mystic Falls. Damon had no idea until he had bumped into her outside Angelina's diner pushing a baby stroller. Lisa, the little girl's name was, and they both lived not too far away from Fell's Church.

She had given up hunting vampires altogether after Florence happened. After Trevor was killed she was resolute Lisa would have one living breathing parent. He could've told her that moving to Mystic Falls was a bad idea – the place was vampire central – but he supposed vampires were usually low on the radar unless you came after them. All he could do was hope that, even though she had her feet firmly out of the pond, she took necessary precautions to protect them both.

Sighing heavily, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

"Damon?" Rose's bewildered voice answered, "It's three in the morning," she said, not unkindly.

Damon winced apologetically, looking at the bright LED letters of his clock with a pang of guilt. "Sorry, Rose." He licked his lips nervously. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked hesitantly.

To his surprise, Rose barked out a quiet laugh that had him smiling a little. "Are you kidding?" she asked incredulously, "I've got a baby, sleep is a thing of the past," she chuckled.

"I just managed to get her back down to sleep after a two-hour screaming fit," she said airily, "if only it was socially acceptable to drink at three in the morning," she joked.

"If needs must," he replied with a shrug. He decided to keep to himself the secret whiskey stash hidden in his underwear drawer, and the fact he was almost out, despite putting it there a week ago.

"Is everything all right?" Rose asked softly.

He was silent for a good five minutes. He heard her soft breathing through the phone, patiently waiting for him.

"I had a nightmare," he admitted after thoroughly chewing through his lower lip, "I just needed to see if you were still alive," a lump was forming in his throat and his eyes were burning, "it was bad, Rose," he got out, the words getting caught. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes.

"Oh, Damon…" she said with a pitying sigh.

But luckily that was all she gave him. She understood he wasn't the type to want a constant pity party, understood that telling him to see a therapist wouldn't do any good – not the least because he didn't have a hundred and fifty dollars laying around to fling at one for an hour – and she understood when he didn't want to talk.

Instead she took his mind off it by delighting him with tales of her daughter's recent escapades and a congratulatory party that ended with one family member announcing their own pregnancy, another announcing they were gay, and Rose severely wishing they could've had alcohol by the time the punch-up started.

Even as relaxed as he felt when they eventually hung up at five in the morning after exchanging many a crazy family member story, Damon didn't attempt to go back to sleep.

---

Cold water splashed up into his stinging eyes as Damon flung his wet hands up. They were so dry with tiredness it was painful. Bedside him, the stove-top kettle began to reach boiling point, bubbling steam up into the kitchen. He groaned, rubbing his wet hands into his eyes for good measure, and turned the tap off, turning his attention to the stove-top.

He felt the prickling sensation down his back of someone watching him as he poured the boiling water into the coffee mug.

"Stefan, it's impolite to lurk," he sang, chastising him as he stirred the coffee granules.

Turning, his lips twitched in a smirk when he noticed Stefan hovering in the doorway. Eventually, he moved forwards.

"Everything all right?" he asked in concern, his brow furrowed.

"Fine, why wouldn't it be?" Damon shrugged, reaching for the sugar.

"You were having a nightmare again, weren't you?" Stefan guessed.

"So, what if I was?" Damon asked, shrugging as he dropped a teaspoon of sugar into the coffee and stirred it, "I'm a big boy, I'm fine," he added dismissively.

"Didn't sound fine," Stefan said, trying to catch his eye, but Damon didn't let him—so he had been crying out in his sleep, after all. "Who's Klaus?" he wondered.

Damon froze. And talking, rather loudly, apparently. He was about to pull up a lie, but it died in his throat when Stefan then added:

"And why are you sorry to Rose?"

The sudden jerk of his elbow knocked into the coffee mug. It slid off the countertop and shattered onto the floor, splashing the contents over both of their feet.

"Great," Damon snapped with a sigh, ignoring Stefan and grabbing a kitchen towel to clean it up with.

He bent down, starting to mop up the hot coffee. He then looked up at Stefan, mustering the sternest glare he could.

"Look, just shut up about it, all right," he ordered, momentarily pointing a finger at him, "You don't know what you're talking about," he added, shaking his head in disbelief. This was not happening.

"Damon," Stefan began, but he waved him off.

A sharp pain bloomed up in his hand as he inadvertently put it down onto a large piece of the china mug. It gouged a slice straight through his hand, cutting right through the bandages he already wrapped there.

"Shit!" he swore loudly, watching as blood started to bubble up under the bandages and leak through the slice in them.

"Here, I'll help," Stefan offered, already bending down to help before Damon could say anything.

This was all getting too much; he was starting to feel crowded, closed in. He made a helpless, frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?!

"No, just go away!" he yelled harshly, not really realizing what he said until he caught sight of the hurt look on Stefan's face. Something in his chest hurt at the sight.

"Stefan, go on," Giuseppe's voice advised gently—great, just what Damon needed more people, more crowding, "I've got it," he added, shooing him away.

Reluctantly, Stefan stood up and left, trying to catch Damon's eye all the while. He didn't let him, slumping tiredly against the cabinets as Giuseppe walked over with a dustpan and brush.

"That's going to need stitches," he said, looking at the gouge in Damon's hand as he bent down to start cleaning the shattered mug.

"I can do it," Damon responded in a clipped voice, getting to his feet.

He headed to the medicine cabinet, pulling out the needle, thread and fresh bandages, as well as some tissues and a bottle of painkillers. Damon sat down at the nearby dining table, laying out the supplies and pulling off the ruined bandages.

His knuckles were caked with dried blood and the thin slices in his palm were still tender, not as deep as the fresh gouge there to need stitches, however. Damon tossed the bloody bandage on the table and set to threading the needle.

"Why didn't you take care of that last night?" Giuseppe wondered as he briefly looked over at him, shoveling the broken mug pieces into the trash can.

"I was tired," Damon said simply, "By the time I got home it was half-one in the morning," he explained. Not to mention the late-night phone call from Klaus hadn't done his mind any favors—it had been so scrambled by the time he went up to bed that he put his boxers in the trash can rather than his hamper.

Focusing on his hand, he relaxed the wounded one and poked the needle through, jumping only slightly. He took slow, deep breaths as he began to knit the skin together. With a heavy sigh, Giuseppe came to sit with him at the table.

"Son, this can't go on," he said, sounding drawn and tired.

Damon ignored him, averting his eyes and focused on finishing up his stitches. If his father was talking to him, he couldn't hear it. He sewed the last stitch and wrapped the wound up with the roll of fresh bandages. Just as he was about to reach for the painkillers, he heard:

"Stefan told me he heard you screaming in your sleep last night."

"Just how I like to greet the morning," Damon responded tersely. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Damon–"

As his hand reached out for his own, Damon backed away as quickly as he could, sliding the chair backwards. It looked too much like last night, when Klaus had caught hold of his hand and exposed one of his scars. It was all getting too much. Why was everyone trying to coddle him?

"Don't touch me!" he cried suddenly, glaring at him.

Giuseppe looked shocked at the sudden outburst. Damon gathered his breath, feeling his chest tightening.

"I need a drink," he declared, abruptly standing from the chair.

He headed over to the liquor cart in the parlor, while he felt Giuseppe's eyes on him as he followed him there. He ignored the scrutiny as he grabbed his decanter of bourbon and a glass.

"It's a bit early for that, isn't it?" he asked tentatively.

Damon shrugged, pouring the amber liquid into the glass like it was water. "Sun's down somewhere," he said dismissively.

As he began to sip at the alcohol, sighing in relief at the warmth burning down his throat, he noticed Giuseppe heading back towards the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow when a granola bar was eventually shoved into his field of vision.

"Obviously I can't stop you," Giuseppe began warily, "but at least don't do it on an empty stomach," he pleaded, with a well-intentioned flick of the granola bar.

Damon rolled his eyes but took it anyway. Refusing it would just lead to an argument he didn't have the energy to get into right now. He ripped the wrapper open and bit off a large chunk, choking it down under his father's gaze. It tasted slightly funny, kind of stale tasting.

Once he swallowed, he washed it down with a gulp of bourbon. Giuseppe sighed, but didn't make a comment. He alternated between the two until the bar was completely gone.

"By the way, had a midnight phone call from Klaus yesterday," he piped up.

Giuseppe frowned. "What did he want?" he asked cautiously.

"He knows where the other staff pieces are, and that we've got it," Damon explained, nervously looking down as a vein in Giuseppe's forehead began to throb.

"What? How?" he asked in surprise, letting out a scoff of disbelief, "Now we're going to have to screen everyone and check for the leak–"

"It was me," Damon cut in, ending the tirade before it could begin.

"Excuse me?" Giuseppe looked like Damon had just grown two extra heads.

"Turns out he was digging around in my head," he explained bluntly.

"You're not taking your vervain?" Giuseppe asked with a look of shock, "Damon–"

"It's not really the most important thing in my life right now, dad!" he exploded, perhaps unwarranted.

He sighed shortly, downing the rest of his alcohol. He poured some more, and Giuseppe cleared his throat. He looked to see him holding a small vial with a clear liquid in it.

Damon rolled his eyes and took it, drinking the vervain straight from the vial.

"Called me from the airport last night," he went on, "He's on his way to Bolivia," he relayed.

"What?"

"I know, he couldn't have done us a solid and gone for Australia first?" Damon asked with a scoff, "Least the stopover in Singapore would've bought us an extra day or two to figure something out," he added.

"I'll have to contact those with the pieces, tell them to get somewhere safe," Giuseppe sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Like it's gonna do any good?" Damon wondered incredulously, "He's just gon—"

He fell silent, noticing a look on Giuseppe's face. He was peering at something over his shoulder. Damon turned to view what he was looking at, finding Stefan standing there.

"Stefan," he smiled, "Didn't we just have a conversation about lurking?" he teased when he walked closer.

There was a weird tension between them as Stefan walked up to him, but neither acted on it. Stefan just tossed his phone back and forth between his hands, before looking up at him.

"I was just making lunch plans with Elena, she was wondering if you wanted to come with us," he offered.

"She wants me to third wheel on your date?" Damon asked with a frown.

"Bonnie and Caroline are coming too," Stefan corrected.

"Oh," Damon nodded, then he pulled a face. He really didn't want to spend an afternoon with teenagers. Not that there was anything wrong with them, he just didn't have much in common with Caroline or Bonnie. "Well, I don't know, I'm pretty busy with work and–"

"He'll be available," Giuseppe cut in quickly.

As Stefan looked down at his phone, Damon shot him a glare that could've burned the house down.

"It'll do you good to get out," he continued, unperturbed, "Spend some time with your friends," he added, giving him a meaningful look.

"You said we needed to go over things," Damon reminded him, "Important things," he emphasized.

"That can wait till tomorrow," Giuseppe responded, waving him away, "I'm sure we can survive one day without you," he finished.

Damon narrowed his eyes. Of course the bastard was going to weasel out of his promise wherever possible. Fine, he could always drop by the headquarters and research more about Klaus himself later.

"Fine," he gave over, turning to Stefan, "I'll be there," he said, watching him shoot him a tiny smile, "But I need to shower, I'll meet you there," he added. He still felt clammy and gross from his abrupt wake-up this morning.

"Great, I'll let her know," Stefan said, looking pleased, "We'll just be at the Grille, for about one," he explained.

He left the room, patting Damon on the shoulder.

"Why did you that?" Damon asked as he rounded on his father, "Now you've condemned me to a day of mindless teenage drivel," he said accusingly.

"Good," Giuseppe said in a blasé manner, "You could do without thinking about Klaus or vampires for a day or two," he added.

Damon just rolled his eyes. "That'll be difficult knowing he's on his way to getting the staff pieces he needs," he said with certainty. How was he supposed to sit and chew the fat with Stefan and Elena when that was going down?

"I'll send reinforcements," Giuseppe said, although he looked as if he knew it would be a feeble attempt, but nonetheless it was better than letting it happen, "Knowing Klaus, he'll probably have people helping him," he added.

"But you're benched for the next few days," he continued, playing every bit the authoritarian as he pointed a finger at him, "Go out with some friends, make sure you eat dinner every day, I don't know," he listed, flapping his hand mindlessly.

"But no vampires," he insisted.

"Dad–" Damon tried to protest, but Giuseppe made a noise and held up a hand, not hearing it.

The final straw was when he took the glass of bourbon with him, leaving the room without a backward glance. Damon sighed, mildly infuriated, rubbing a hand over his brow.

"Prick," he swore into the empty room.

He would rather be doing anything else, but he did effectively make a promise, admittedly that his father had roped him into. Fuck him. What good would 'benching him' do? Other than make him bored out of his mind.

He headed upstairs to his ensuite bathroom, turning on the hot water. He stripped down and grabbed a loofah, stepping under the hot spray with a comforted sigh.

He stood there and let it warm him up for a solid five minutes, the aching in his muscles easing up exponentially, then focused on wiping off all the sweat soaked into him.

He tried his hardest not to hyper-focus on his scars whenever one appeared in his field of vision, but he found himself just staring aimlessly at one on his thigh, five tiny scratch marks reddening under the heat of the shower.

"You should save your strength."

He winced briefly at the stinging feeling on his thigh as Klaus' nails broke through the skin in his possessive grip. He felt his eyes drooping as his head was gently tilted back, with Klaus' fangs brushing his neck. There was pressure there, but not hard enough to break the skin.

His lips trailed up to his chin, then over, dangerously close to his own. Damon stared up at him as he brought his eyes level with him—they were two golden pinpricks among a sea of black, framed by dark veins.

"You'll need it," he said, bringing a hand up to stroke over his hair, and when he spoke Damon could feel his breath over his lips, "I'm far from done with you, yet," he promised, those golden eyes glinting in the fire-light around them.

"Did you have to tie me up?" Damon wondered, huffing out a barely-there laugh as he looked up at the ropes around his wrist, tying him to the headboard; there were ropes around his thighs too, keeping his legs slightly apart.

"I like you tied up," he said simply, chuckling slightly, "Like a little present I can unwrap," he purred appreciatively, looking him up and down.

He felt himself burn under the scrutinizing, predatory gaze. He felt the rope around one of his thighs go completely slack as Klaus' nails cut through it effortlessly.

"Slowly," he added, pulling the cut rope away from his thigh as if it was the silk ribbon of a present box.

Damon let himself relax as his thighs were gently nudged apart and deceptively soft kisses trailed down his neck, his chest, his stomach, then lower, and lower—

He continued to stare at the scar as the hot water pelted down around him, wondering if the phantom pain would ever stop.

---

How he wished he could turn water to alcohol in his mouth. Damon had been sat at the Grille for all of twenty minutes and was bored stiff. He hated being idle, he would much rather be doing something, something that involved him using his hands, rather than listening to gossip.

He really didn't care about Layla and Jeff's bust-up in the school cafeteria, or about how Mr. Tanner was 'such a douche' – although he was silently proud to hear about Stefan schooling the dickhead on history dates – or about Tyler and Vicki Donovan splitting up for the last, no seriously, the last, time.

He leaned in across the booth towards Stefan, nudging him in the side to get his attention.

"Is this all you guys talk about?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth as Caroline, Bonnie and Elena nattered on, low enough they couldn't hear him.

Stefan just gave him a look that said, 'yeah, pretty much'. Damon raised his eyebrows in surprise, slinking back to his seat.

"So, have you guys got your outfits picked out for the winter formal yet?" Caroline asked excitedly, looking around at everyone bar Damon.

"Nothing yet," Elena said with a shrug, taking a sip from her milkshake.

"Elena! Seriously!" Caroline cried indignantly, leaning forwards in her seat. "It's in three weeks!" she added in exasperation.

Damon snorted a laugh into his water glass, choking some down. Caroline narrowed his eyes at him, while Bonnie was grinning from beside her, sensing an on-coming rant.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to go since I was so behind with History work," Elena explained with a dismissive shrug, "I'll see if Jenna has something I can borrow," she decided.

"No offense to Jenna, who I love dearly," Caroline reached out and squeezed Elena's hand, "her wardrobe is two words," she said knowingly, "Retro, chic," she enunciated with a serious nod.

Elena just pulled a face and reached into the peanut bowl, flicking one at Caroline's face while trying not to grin.

Unperturbed, Caroline barreled on: "Maybe perfect for the 80's decade dance next spring, but not for a winter formal," she insisted, "All those bright colors, erugh!" she said with an over-dramatic grimace and shudder.

Damon cupped a hand over his mouth and mimicked a siren-sound. The table next to them gave him a bewildered look.

"Uh-oh, the fashion police have arrived," he teased in a sing-song voice.

Caroline grinned, playfully kicking him under the table. Damon smiled back, bending down to rub his ankle.

"I'll probably wear the same thing I wore to the fall one," Bonnie piped up, sounding about as bored as Damon felt.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed strange with Bonnie. He knew the signs of spacing out all too well, being he did it himself. It didn't feel right to ask, but he still felt unease bubbling in his gut when he looked at her. She also barely met his eyes, even when talking to Stefan, she would angle her head to not accidentally look at him too.

Caroline shook her head, her face twisting into a displeased expression. "Nu-uh, the colors will be all wrong!"

"Care…" But Bonnie was grinning, even as she shook her head and tried to look annoyed.

"We should all get our colors done so we match," she cried, like she had just had a huge epiphany, reaching out to take Bonnie and Elena's hands, "We can make a whole day out of it and go buy our outfits together!" she said excitedly, grinning wildly.

Elena was looking like she was trying not to laugh. Bonnie pulled a face of approval.

"I assume Stefan can just make his tie match yours, Elena?" Caroline wondered, looking at Stefan expectantly.

"I guess I will be," he chuckled.

"Pfft," Damon scoffed, "And Salvatore men pride themselves on having a backbone," he said, playfully ribbing Stefan in the side.

"You're doing our ancestors a disservice, little brother," he continued, mockingly shaking his head in disappointment. Stefan, straight-faced, flung a small handful of peanuts at him.

Damon was surprised at the genuine laughter bursting out from his mouth. At any rate, it pleased Stefan, who grinned at him.

"Did you want to come, Damon?" Bonnie asked, meeting his eyes for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived, "It falls at the same time as one of the Lockwood's fundraisers, so they'll be opening it to anyone, not just school students," she explained.

Damon pulled a face. "Hang out with a bunch of rowdy teenagers for the night? While I'm in my thirties? And when there's no alcohol?" he listed incredulously.

"I'd rather poke my eyes out," he chuckled.

"I'd rather poke my eyes out," he spat defiantly up at him, backing up as far as he was able before his back hit against the wall.

Klaus chuckled from above him. "And they are very pretty eyes," he purred appreciatively, smirking.

A hand reached down for him. Damon slapped it away petulantly. Klaus pinched his brow, looking frustrated.

"Surely you must see this foolish crusade of yours is making you ill?" he said gently, raising an eyebrow, "I'm sure your fever will drive you to delirium if it carries on," he added in concern; Damon knew him well enough by now to know it was all hollow.

"Then get me a fucking Doctor!" Damon yelled, the room spinning briefly as his head continued to pound. Groaning, he slumped back and pressed a hand there, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.

"You killed the only Doctor here," Klaus pointed out knowingly, shaking his head with an incredulous look, "Murray?" he reminded him.

Damon swallowed hard as he remembered decapitating a hulking beast of a vampire a few days ago—just his luck. "Oops," he said with an apologetic wince, not meaning it.

A pained whimper heaved from his mouth at the insistent aching in his stomach. He was burning up all over, sweaty and in agony. His limbs felt heavy, his throat was clogged and his nose was raw.

Klaus kneeled down to his eye level with a deceptively worried look on his face. Damon looked away stubbornly. He 'tutted' softly and tucked a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at him.

"For someone who fights so hard to live, you would really rather die than accept my help?" he wondered in disbelief, looking at him like he genuinely didn't know what to make of it—it was somewhere between disbelief, exasperation and incredulity.

"Well, I can't have that."

There was a short pause, then the finger under Damon's chin became a crushing grip on his neck, holding his face up. Before he could comprehend what was going on, Klaus forced his wrist to his mouth. He struggled against it when the iron taste hit his lips, grabbing his arm and attempting to tug it away. When that failed, he tried in vain to keep his mouth closed to prevent any more falling through.

But Klaus was using his other hand to carefully pry his jaw open, so as to not hurt him. He felt his tense muscles screaming from the pulling and eventually conceded. He began to drink.

"There's a good boy, come on," he coaxed him, his free hand going behind his head to steady him.

It felt a strangely intimate thing; neither of them broke eye contact and, ever-so-slowly, Klaus was rubbing his thumb over the back of Damon's head, encouragingly stroking his hair. As more blood flowed into his system, Damon felt the pains in his stomach easing up and the pressure in his head subside a little.

When Klaus released him, he lurched forwards and coughed what he didn't swallow up onto the floor between them. He couldn't stomach the thought of having Klaus' blood in his system—he was having to fight vampires! What if one of them killed him?

A sharp sigh came from Klaus' mouth, then he grabbed Damon's face and forced him to meet his eyes, a stark contrast to the softness of moments ago. His eyes also looked hard as steel.

"If you're that eager to meet death, I'm sure one of my vampires would love to introduce you," he said with a humorless chuckle.

With a smile, he released him. Damon caught his breath as he sagged against the wall, cuffing his sleeve and wiping the tacky blood from his lips.

"Leila's dead," a voice announced.

Damon looked up to see another vampire standing there, just as Klaus rose to his full height with a derisive snort.

"Never thought she would've lasted this long," he said in surprise, his eyebrows raising a little, "Cocky, arrogant thing," he added, with a disapproving edge to his voice.

"Isaac's itching for another fight," the other vampire informed him, "He wants him," he said, pointing down at Damon with a predatory smirk.

"I'm flattered," he shot back dryly, "Tell him he's not my type," he added, forcing a smile in his direction.

Klaus chuckled at his ire. "He'll have to make do with one of the others, I'm afraid," he said with false pity, "Damon needs rest," he explained.

Then his eyes glinted with something that made Damon's blood heat up. He could've sworn he saw Klaus' tongue run across his lower lip, but it was too quick to be sure. "Not that you'll be getting much of it," he added with a wicked smirk.

"Take him up to my room," he addressed the other vampire, moving off and patting him on the shoulder.

The room swam around him again as he felt his aching body being roughly hauled to his feet by the other vampire's hands, his feet dragging on the floor as he walked him along.

"Damon?" Caroline's voice and a light slap broke him from his thoughts.

"Huh?" He looked up to see all eyes on him.

He looked around to where Caroline did, seeing Vicki behind him. She was looking down at him and held a pitcher of water in his hand.

"Need a refill?" she asked, despite the polite smile, it clearly wasn't the first time she'd asked.

"Oh, yeah," he nodded, pushing his water glass towards her, "Thanks," he added quickly, remembering his manners.

She took it and refilled it. When she put it back down, Damon snatched it and gulped it down quickly, hoping to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

Without comment, Vicki poured him another refill.

"Matt's in the kitchen today, guys," she informed them as she reached across the table for Bonnie's glass she held out to her, "So any extra fries you want are on him," she said with a smile, "and I might even be able to wrangle your burgers for free if Darren's feeling generous," she said, lowering her voice so the nearby tables didn't hear.

Stefan clapped his hands together, grinning. "Great!"

Vicki left after they ordered – he ordered a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, Stefan got vegetarian burger with ketchup, Caroline had a shrimp salad, Elena got another milkshake and a small sandwich, Bonnie had a turkey burger – and Damon tried in vain to pay attention to whatever turn the conversation had taken, but he couldn't focus properly.

He tried to eat his food when it arrived but couldn't. Despite it looking great – it was literally the same thing he got from Angelina's, minus the sesame bun – and his stomach growling in hunger, every bite he attempted to eat just tasted stale in his mouth, either turned sour on the way down or churned uncomfortably in his stomach.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Stefan watching him in concern as he pushed the plate away from him. He rubbed his temple, hearing the talking come back into his hearing like tuning up an old radio with static.

"…and Mrs. Lockwood is letting me be head organizer for the whole event!" Caroline was saying excitedly.

Elena raised her eyebrow in surprise. "How did you swing that?"

"How did you swing that?" Rose asked warily.

Damon refused to answer, averting his eyes. She grabbed his shoulder and looked at him imploringly.

"Damon, what did you agree to do?!" she demanded, looking briefly horrified.

He swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter," he decided, shaking his head dismissively "You're getting out of here," he told her firmly.

She started to shake her head in disbelief, tears shining in her eyes. "Damon–"

"Why her?!" Julian – the annoying prick – yelled petulantly, looking like he was seconds away from pouting, "We've all been locked up here too! It's not fair!" he cried.

"She's pregnant, in case you missed it, dumbass," Damon sniped back with a growl.

He didn't have the patience for this. The kid had been whining nonstop for weeks but did nothing. How Klaus hadn't just killed him on the spot, he had no idea. The man had the patience of a saint when it suited him.

Rose looked weeks away from dropping her child and he refused to let a baby be exposed to this sick game they were all trapped in. It wouldn't be safe here for it. He didn't think any of the vampires actually would harm a newborn but he wasn't taking any chances. Not to mention it put Rose back as fair game, and she would be in no condition to fight; she looked worn and emaciated, her cheeks sunken and hollow.

Damon had been sharing whatever pieces of food he managed to get for himself with her, or sometimes giving it to her entirely, but it wasn't enough. She needed to get out of here and get urgent medical care. The chance for his own freedom would come, he just had to be patient and wait it out. A few more weeks couldn't do him any more harm.

Julian's nonsensical whining was still going, beginning to grate on his ears. He turned and leveled a warning glare at the caged young man.

"And if you don't stop whining I'll stop waiting for Klaus to do it and rip your tongue out myself," he hissed coldly.

"If he doesn't stop, I'll gladly hand you the pliers, darling," a familiar voice chuckled.

Damon turned to see Klaus standing there, flanked by two other vampires.

"Ready to go, love?" he asked Rose expectantly.

He offered a hand to help her up, but she belligerently ignored it. Instead, Damon offered her an arm and she began inching up to her feet. She wobbled a little when she got to her full height, Damon having to steady her. She winced in pain, placing a hand to her rather prominent bump.

He felt for her, the most out of everyone. She and her husband Trevor had been caged up for at least three weeks together before Damon had arrived, but Trevor had been killed a week or so ago. The agonized wail that came from Rose's mouth when Trevor's killer callously flung his corpse and decapitated head into the small room would haunt him until he died.

(Damon had driven a stake so hard into that bastards chest that he broke through his breastbone when it had been his next fight.)

Klaus was a complete bastard, but not unreasonable. He made one vampire open his cage so he could go and console her, and he stayed curled up on the ground with her cocooned to his side until she managed to sob herself to sleep.

"You're all going to pay for this," she swore, looking at the three vampires with venom in her dulled eyes.

"And I'm going to burn in the fires of hell for all my misdeeds and sins," Klaus interrupted with an extremely bored look on his face, folding his arms, "I've been around a long time, darling, to try to give me a spiel I haven't heard of," he advised her.

She turned to Damon and wrapped him in as tight a hug as she could, he had to go at a slightly strange angle to not squish her bump.

"Thank you," she breathed into his ear, brimming with gratitude.

"Get out of here," Damon encouraged, holding her at arm's length and rubbing them comfortingly, "You'd better name that kid after me for this," he said, pointing a finger at her.

Despite the situation, Rose let out a merry laugh. "It's a girl," she informed him, "You can be the godfather," she offered.

He smiled, the first genuine one since he had been locked up here and accepted the offer with a nod.

"How touching," Klaus drawled from beside them, making Damon stare at him with complete hatred.

Reluctantly, Damon had to let go of Rose and trust that the vampires would actually escort her to the hospital – later, Klaus would admit he compelled them to do it – and refused to take his eyes off her until she disappeared from his view.

Klaus was then right by his ear. "I never pegged you for the selfless type, Damon," he remarked, looking impressed.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Damon shrugged, "You just think you do," he added, giving him a forced smile.

The other man huffed out a quiet laugh. "I guess I'll have to see how far you need to be pushed to sell the rest of this lot to slaughter, won't I?" he summarized, looking at the hunters still caged around them.

"What is this? Some last man standing thing?" Damon asked in bewilderment.

"I haven't decided yet," Klaus admitted, "It's quite interesting to watch you all though; in these sorts of situations, you really do learn what someone's capable of," he marveled, giving Damon a pointed look.

When he looked down uncomfortably, remembering what he was inferring, he chuckled.

Klaus then turned to Julian. "If you're so eager for your freedom, why don't you fight for it for a change?" he addressed him directly.

He whistled and a vampire walked into the room, bringing up a key from his pocket and unlocking the cage. He grabbed Julian's arm roughly and hauled him out.

"This is bullshit!" he spat, struggling against the other vampire's grip. He was just tugged to his feet and made to stand.

"Because your father can't pay your way out of this one?" Klaus asked, sounding unimpressed, "I've seen the others do much more than you while you're content to lounge around stealing the fruits of their labor," he informed him, 'tsk'ing him softly like he was a little child.

"Now it's your turn," he decided.

"Fuck you!" Julian hollered back as he was dragged from the room.

"You're not my type," Klaus responded smoothly, giving Damon a playful wink.

He rolled his eyes.

Klaus left the room along with the other vampire, the door swinging closed behind him with a loud clang. Damon huffed out a long, purposeful breath, looking around at the other hunters.

"Five minutes of peace, at least, huh?"

Damon felt bile rising in his throat. He shoved it down and got to his feet.

"I need something stronger," he declared as he made his way out of the booth.

"Damon–" Stefan called after him.

He just waved him off, heading towards the bar. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Caroline asking:

"What's up with him today?"

"Today?" Stefan repeated incredulously, "Caroline, he's been weird for weeks," he murmured worriedly.

Damon hopped up onto his regular barstool, quickly ordering a bourbon. His head was starting to ache painfully, his thoughts swimming around. It was making him feel nauseous.

"Excuse me? Damon?" an unfamiliar female voice asked.

He turned, taken aback when he saw a woman standing there that looked eerily close to Rose; same spiky bob haircut and similar leather jacket get up she often wore. If he didn't know any better, he would've said the woman was her twin, but she had a fully American accent, brown eyes instead of olive green, and looked a handspan shorter.

"Do I know you?" he asked, not unkindly.

"You are Damon Salvatore?" she asked, completely ignoring his question.

Damon nodded, frowning a little as he watched the woman rifling in her pocket. He was a little on-edge, briefly thinking she was a vampire, but realized she most likely wouldn't be able to walk in the sun.

"I was told to give you this," she explained, pulling out a small manila envelope. "Klaus says you'll like it," she added with a smile.

Damon's eyes widened. It was only then he took in the dazed look on the woman's face, the heavily dilated pupils and glazed over eyes, and her insistently jabbing the large envelope at him. She had been compelled.

"Son of a–" He stopped himself short, looking at the woman who was giving him a bewildered tilt of the head. "He said you have to give this to me?" he asked warily.

"A friend of his did," she corrected, "Then said Klaus would want me to kill myself when I was done," she relayed.

"But I don't want to die," she said fearfully, her voice quivering as some semblance of her own psyche began to break through.

"Then I'll take it from you," Damon proposed, already edging his fingers towards it before the woman could raise her hand again, "You didn't give it to me, so you won't have to kill yourself," he explained.

"Really?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with relief.

"I guess," he said with a nervous look. Compulsion was a tricky thing, finding loopholes was even trickier.

"You suppose?!" she repeated, panicking.

"It's better than nothing!" he argued back – god, did he had to do everything? – and snatched the envelope from the woman's hand before she could move it.

He waited with bated breath, sighing quietly in relief as the woman blinked the daze out of her eyes. She frowned as she looked at him.

"What am I doing here?" she asked in confusion, "Who are you?" she wondered.

Opening and closing her mouth, she looked around the Grille. "I was just at a bridal dress fitting with my sister-in-law. How did I get here?" she asked, shaking her head as she walked off towards the entrance.

Luckily Damon could see the entrance from the bar, decided to carefully watch her as she crossed the busy road. He relaxed, feeling all the tension in his body bleed out when she made it across unscathed.

He turned his attention to the envelope, pulling it open and sliding the contents out onto his hand. He almost dropped them in shock when he realized just what he was looking at.

It was a picture of Sarah Fell, posed to look like Sleeping Beauty, both hands over her chest in a relaxed pose and her auburn hair fanned out on the ground. But unlike the fairytale, her neck was deeply slashed and crimson blood leaking all over the staff piece placed on her chest.

And in a macabre, sick touch, underneath there was also a postcard. It was in Klaus' handwriting. 'Wish you were here – K' it read.

"Fuck," he swore, feeling a chill run down his back.

"Sir?" the bartender called.

Damon turned; his bourbon had been placed down on the bar.

"Uh, change of plans," he said with an apologetic look at the man, then a brief one back to the postcard and picture in his hands, "I don't need it," he added.

He rushed back to the booth before the bartender could say anything, hurriedly grabbing his jacket off the back of it and throwing it on. Elena frowned at him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Work emergency," he lied, forcing a smile in her direction, "it's been fun, though," he added, forcing another.

"I thought dad said you weren't needed?" Stefan wondered in confusion.

"Well, Logan's brain is the size of a peanut and Ric's too hung over to deal with him," Damon said quickly, shelling out his contribution to the lunch and leaving without a backward glance.

A flimsy excuse, but he didn't care, he needed to go. He wasn't sure if Klaus had one sent to Giuseppe or not, so he had to warn him. If he had found Sarah, that meant the others were in danger. He knew the man well enough to know he had helpers.

He dumped envelope and postcard in a nearby bin and shoved the photo into his jacket pocket as he rushed past, heading over to his car and climbing in. He slammed the door and pulled out his phone, sending a text to his father.

So much for a day off. Klaus found the piece in Bolivia. I'll spare you the gory picture details.

---

The crumpled photo of Sarah Fell was laid out on Giuseppe's desk. It turned out Klaus had in fact sent one to Giuseppe—it was of Jeffery Lockwood and his piece. Damon didn't air travel much, but he doubted it was possible to get to Romania from Bolivia in a decent amount of time. He had to have people helping him, vampires, he corrected himself, if the teeth marks in Jeffery's neck were anything to go by.

"This is troubling," Giuseppe muttered, rubbing his brow.

"No shit," Damon said humorlessly.

"That means he'll be here in no time," Giuseppe continued worriedly, "We need to increase security patrols around the staff," he decided, already going to the tannoy system over at his desk.

"Well I can–"

"No," he interrupted before Damon could say anything, making his face flame with indignation, "You're staying right here," he ordered, pointing a finger at him.

"Why?" Damon demanded, folding his arms.

"There's paperwork that needs doing," Giuseppe said simply.

Damon fumed silently. What was he, a ten-year-old on a time out? "We're vampire hunters not a corporate chain," he grumbled, annoyed. It was stupid they even did reports anyway.

Giuseppe raised an eyebrow. "You refuse to take time off; this is the least you can do," he said tiredly, "Besides, John's not here to go over inventory," he added.

"Stop fucking patronizing me, I'm not a child!" Damon exploded suddenly, feeling his coiled rage hitting boiling point.

"Why are you acting like this?" Giuseppe asked, looking exasperated.

"Why are you acting like this?" Klaus asked with a bewildered chuckle, "I've done you a favor," he asked, having the nerve – the sheer fucking gall – to sound offended.

"Favor?!" Damon repeated incredulously, "You're off your—"

"Hey!" one hunter called over to them both – Damon didn't care to know his name – "How come he gets special treatment?" he asked, sticking a hand through the bars of his cage to fling it in his direction with an annoyed look.

"I seem to remember it was because of him you even had food at all today, I'd show a little more gratitude," Klaus warned him in a tight voice.

"If not to me, at least to Damon," he added, briefly placing a hand on his shoulder, "God knows he deserves something for having to put up with all of you whining," he finished with a roll of his eyes.

Damon would never admit to the hybrid's face that he was right. All the 'we need to get out of here' was grating on him. 'We' being the operative word. He didn't know these people; he didn't owe them anything.

Seth actually had the audacity to chew him out for, in his words, 'cozying up' to Klaus and getting a few days out of his cramped cage. He couldn't exactly spit to Seth that he was in Klaus' room, with him, so he shut up pretty quick.

"Ray, shut up…" Lisa hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"Besides," Damon jumped as he felt Klaus' breath hot by his ear and his hand on his leg, "he'll be dead within the hour, mark my words," he whispered knowingly.

Damon tried his hardest not to look rattled, but he was so exhausted he couldn't disguise the shudder that had the chains around his wrists rattle.

"You're sick," Damon said scathingly, shaking his head.

"And you will be if you don't eat," Klaus reminded him, purposefully nudging him to get him to look down at the plate of food.

It did actually look really good, but Damon wasn't about to admit it.

"But if you insist on acting like a child, I can always spoon feed you like one?" Klaus continued, giving him a stern look and raising his eyebrow.

Leveling the most withering glare he could muster at the other man, Damon reluctantly started to eat the plate of food in front of him. But he still had to get the last word in:

"There's no spoon."

"It's like you're on some mission to self-destruct!" he continued, his voice rising.

"I went through Hell in Florence!" Damon yelled back, angrily yanking the table upright with a loud thud, the contents scattering everywhere, "And the only person I can talk to about it is the person that put me there!"

That was what it boiled down to in the end. Even if he had the money to talk to a therapist, he could only go so far; with Rose he could only tell her the bare minimum; Stefan couldn't know any of this; and his father just wouldn't understand. He would probably disown him or look at him in disgust if he knew what he did and what he felt.

"I'm sure that would fuck anyone up," he finished, his voice shaking from his anger.

He stormed out of the room before Giuseppe had a retort. On the way down to the file room, he heard him calling some other hunter's up on the tannoy system. He bumped into – quite literally – Rayna as he flung the door open. She was just on her way out.

"Damon, hey," she greeted him with a smile, "I thought you wouldn't be caught dead down here?" she teased.

Damon just shrugged. "Been benched," he said pathetically, letting his bitterness color his voice.

He crossed into the room, coughing back the tickling in his throat as the dust wafted up his nostrils. He shrugged off his jacket, turning towards Rayna when he heard her wince.

"Ouch," she said, looking at the bitemark he had gotten from Marissa, "They got you there," she added sympathetically.

"It's not as bad as it seems," he shrugged.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Klaus whispered reassuringly, his weight heavy on the back of Damon's thighs.

"It doesn't have to hurt," he went on, leaning down blanket his full weight over Damon to pin him in place, "You just need to relax."

Damon jumped as he felt Klaus' lips on the back of his neck, moving the hair away to softly kiss him. He hated this, hated feeling so vulnerable. He let out a quiet gasp as Klaus' fingers slid smoothly into his hair, tugging his head back so his naked upper body was lifted off the bed. He pressed his forearms down onto the mattress to steady himself.

"Relax."

He felt the warmth of Klaus' lips on his skin, warm like one of them had a fever, then a sharp sting as his fangs broke into the skin. He grit his teeth and tried not to tense up. The feeling of his blood being drawn out wasn't as uncomfortable as Damon thought it would be, his body was flushing with heat and his muscles were relaxing of his own will.

His thoughts were starting to jumble into an uncoherent mess, to the point where he couldn't think anymore, only feel. Feel the blood flowing through him; the warm pressure of Klaus' free arm coming to wrap around his chest; the pressure of his back cocooned into the other man's chest.

Grasping onto Klaus' arm, Damon was desperate to try and ground himself to something; it felt weird, like he was floating higher and higher.

"Fuck…" It slipped out of his mouth, barely audible to his own ears over the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears. There was growing pleasure coiling in his abdomen—he was too far gone to care.

He felt Klaus tugging him higher off the bed, growling lowly in his throat as he continued to drink from him. The hand in his hair slid around the front of his neck to grip it, causing black spots to dance at the edge of Damon's eyes.

He was starting to get light-headed as more and more blood was drawn out, and the pressure around his throat tightened each time he tried to take a breath. He writhed around as the coil in his abdomen was becoming unbearable. Then something gave inside him—

Molten rainbow lights exploded in front of him and he felt his body go completely limp, held up completely by Klaus' grip. He let out a quiet wince as his fangs slid out of his neck, shuddering as he ran his tongue ran over the hyper-sensitive marks.

The softness of the bedcovers pressed comfortingly up against the side of his face as he collapsed forwards, trying to catch his breath.

Blood was dripping over his neck from Klaus' lips as he leaned over him, whispering something in his ear that he couldn't make out, and he could've sworn his boxers felt sticky, but he couldn't be sure.

When Damon walked into the cramped quarters, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw the piles of paperwork, and loose-leaf sheets strewn across the tiny desk lit by a small table lamp.

"That motherfucker," he said unceremoniously, flopping down at the desk.

He tried his hardest to focus on the paperwork – it was something, he supposed – but a few reports in and his eyes were burning from strain and his hand was already cramping. He needed something to break the monotony, and found it when he came across a file flung across the desk. It was labelled 'Klaus Mikaelson – potential threat'.

Abandoning the reports, he opened it and peered at the contents inside. There was only a single sheet of paper, briefly detailing the possibility Klaus wasn't a normal vampire and rumors he was born of a werewolf bloodline. Old, outdated information it seemed, especially if the grainy, black and white picture of Klaus tied to a chair was anything to go by—he had one of those mop hair cuts from the seventies!

There was also a little cassette tape duct taped to the inside of the file. He picked it off and looked around the room. They clearly never threw anything away down here, as there was an old TV set, one of those large, clunky ones, and a VHS player.

Damon strolled over to it, blowing and wiping off thick layers of dust. He pressed the button on the TV, pleasantly surprised when it spluttered to life. He slid the cassette into the VHS tape and leaned back against the desk, watching with interest as a black and white picture flickered onto the screen.

He spotted throughout the constant spots blooming over the film, Klaus tied to a chair and being accosted by a man with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Even with the bad quality, Damon recognized his great-great-grandpa Salvatore. Just how long had this headquarters been operational?

The even more pressing question, how had they managed to catch Klaus Mikaelson of all vampires? Even if he hadn't broken his curse back then, he was still over a thousand years old. Perhaps he did it to play a game? Damon knew full well the extents he would go to when looking for some entertainment.

"Old home movie, Damon?" a teasing voice asked him.

He looked to the voice, acknowledging Kara with a small smile and a nod as she went passed him to grab something from the columns of stacked files. "Not quite."

"Old security film of Klaus Mikaelson," he revealed, "they caught him at some point back in the seventies," he added in surprise.

"What?" she asked in shock, "Seriously?" she added, looking like she thought he was pulling her leg.

He just nodded, motioning towards the film. She leaned in, squinting a little. She made a noise of surprise when she made out Klaus in the film.

"Honestly, I thought he was a myth," she murmured, giving the TV another surprised double-take.

She then left the room, leaving Damon alone. He reached forwards and turned the volume dial up to where he could hear the voices on the tape.

"They're like animals, you keep them alive and bleed them," great-great grandpa Salvatore was saying, but Damon couldn't see who he was talking to, "He'll provide information," he continued, turning to Klaus.

Klaus leaned back in his chair, looking perfectly calm and not the least bit bothered about being trussed up in a hunter's headquarters. "On what, pray tell?" he asked in a charming voice.

"Every single unholy creature like yourself that you know," great-great-grandpa Salvatore spat in disgust.

"Well, there's no creature quite like me," Klaus said with a dangerous glint to his eyes that Damon could make out even in the bad quality footage, "And I would love to," he added with a brief smile.

"But we're not typically a social species," he went on, a mock-apologetic look on his face, "I keep to myself, as do many," he finished, shrugging.

When great-great grandpa Salvatore started spewing out the usual anti-vampire rhetoric in Klaus' face that Damon had never been partial to – not to mention half of it sounded ridiculous when saying it out loud – he fast forward the tape, stopping it when he came to something that looked interesting.

It was timestamped from a few weeks later to the first recording Damon had been looking at. Klaus was slumped forwards in the chair, unresponsive. Damon could hear his heavy breathing from the speakers, it sounded exaggerated. He also looked wet, and he didn't think vampires sweated that much to look drenched form head to toe.

"Foolish of you to think I'm staying," Klaus said after letting out a heavy breath.

Damon watched as great-great grandpa Salvatore walked closer to Klaus, bloodied weapon in hand. Klaus reared up, his vampire visage showing, and the shock sent great-great grandpa Salvatore tripping backwards and crashing to the floor.

The cigarette dropped from his mouth and rolled onto the floor, still-lit. Klaus ripped off the restraints with ease, getting up with a malicious laugh.

"Did you actually think this pathetic attempt at a jail cell could hold me?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Damon watched as a trail of fire began to snake from the cigarette, burning a line through the floor and heading straight for the large boiler that Damon could see just at the edge of the frame.

His mind was screaming at him to turn it off, before the sight of the fire could drag up the unpleasant memories hidden away in his brain, but he wasn't quick enough and watched it, blankly, as his own thoughts overwhelmed him.

One of Klaus' lackeys stumbled backwards with a pained cry as he began to rapidly desiccate, a stake sticking out of his chest that he was desperately trying to pull out as he continued to wither.

Damon stood up out of his cage, stretching out the large kink in his back as he stared at the vampire's shocked expression. Blood was trickling from the side of his mouth as he scrabbled to pull the weapon out.

With a wolfish grin, he reached forwards and yanked the stake out, using his foot for leverage. The vampire tumbled backwards, careening towards the wall behind him. His legs gave up, completely crumpling underneath him.

He collapsed to the ground, straight into the candlestick. It fell to the floor with a resounding clang, some still-lit candles rolling away. One caught onto the heavy, velvet curtains blocking out all the light.

The fire leeched upwards and a horrifying screech came from one of the cages as the hunter inside was caught in the rapidly growing flame. He jerked in the cramped confines of the cage and tried to move, twist, get away, to extinguish the fire growing over him, but it was too fast.

"Seth!"

Tearing his eyes away, Damon clutched hold of the bloody stake in his hand and made for the door, shouldering it open as heat began to swarm his back as the flames got fiercer and higher, crawling up to the ceiling.

"Don't leave us here!" a frantic voice cried.

He halted in the doorway to see a red-headed woman outstretching her hand with a desperate look on her face. All the hunters had it, starting to yell and plead with him. Damon looked around—the vampire with the keys had begun to catch fire, the amber flames spreading right over his pockets. There was nothing he could do.

A strange trance came over him as he watched the fire consume everything in its destructive path. The hunter's cries were becoming drowned out over the whirring in his ears and the crackling of the flames.

Smoke slithering into his throat choked him and blanketed his lungs. He had to get out, or else he would never get the chance again. He crossed over the threshold of the room as it caught completely ablaze.

The hunters were curling up meekly in their cages to try and shield themselves, some were still yelling and begging for Damon to help them. The beams holding the ceiling up were completely rotten with embers, beginning to creak precariously.

Damon leapt backwards as one crashed thunderously down onto the floor in front of him, barring him from entering the room. There wasn't anything he could do; he steeled himself and turned away from the panicked cries of the trapped.

Black smoke began to billow forth from the room as he sprinted off down the hallway, the sounds of the screams getting further and further away.

Instead of them, Klaus' own voice began to echo in his mind: 'I guess I'll have to see how far you need to be pushed to sell the rest of this lot to slaughter, won't I?'

The loud explosion on-screen rendered the footage into static, white noise screeching in the quiet room as Damon felt a lump forming in his throat.

He shoved it down. He didn't know those people, not really, and he did what he had to do to survive. That was the end of it. He was willing to bet any one of them would've done the same thing, anyway.

His curiosity satiated, Damon switched off the TV and forced himself back to the desk. He picked up a pen and, at a snail's pace, resumed the paperwork his Dad wanted him to finish. The sooner he got it done, he supposed, the sooner he could disappear to the Grille and meet up with Ric for a drink.

As he worked through report after report, he tried to push out the encroaching thoughts of blood and fire, high-pitched death-screams and guttural yells of agony… he felt his knuckles tensing around the pen, going white as he continued to write, pressing through the paper so hard it tore a little.

---

"Code red, we got a code red!"

The frantic yelling and thundering footsteps forced Damon's eyes open, made him start in his seat. He blinked heavily, looking around. His pen had trailed off mid-word, he must've drifted off.

More footsteps rumbled past and Damon looked towards the noise, seeing several hunters running past the room. Curious, he got up and followed them. They were heading towards the entrance room.

When he got there, he saw three hunters crowding around a sobbing woman. A man was with her, perhaps her boyfriend. He had a protective arm around her, rubbing her arm comfortingly. As Damon got closer, he heard her voice shaking.

"His face was like a–"

"It's going to be all right now, okay?" one of the hunters said reassuringly.

Damon's stomach dropped when he moved around him and the woman came into his eyeline.

"Bonnie?" he asked in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly.

She frowned, looking up in confusion. Her eyes widened when she noticed him standing there.

"Damon?" she said incredulously, her frown increasing, "What's going on?" she asked in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering.

"Salvatore, you know this girl?" the hunter with her and the man asked as he walked closer.

"Yeah, she's one of my brother's friends," Damon said lowly, not taking his eyes off of Bonnie.

"Well, you can handle it then," he decided, clapping him on the shoulder, "Boss is out on recon, so I need to go head up the patrol with the staff," he explained.

Damon just nodded, waved him off and went over to Bonnie and her male friend. He didn't recognize him, maybe a boyfriend she was keeping secret? Her brother? He didn't know much about her family.

"Are you both all right?" he asked the two of them in concern.

Bonnie continued to sob, bunching her sleeves up around her hands and dabbing at her soaking eyes. "What's happening, Damon?" she asked fearfully.

"I can't really explain right now," he said apologetically, reaching out to comfortingly rub her arm. "But I will, all right?" he promised.

Oh hell, he spotted blood staining the collar of her shirt and her hands. How was he going to explain that one? There were only so many animal attacks Liz and Logan could spin before people started getting suspicious.

He turned around, motioning to a woman nearby. He wasn't going to get anything out of Bonnie while she was like this.

"Lily, can you take Bonnie to get a coffee?" he called over to the redhead, "Might calm her down?" he suggested.

"Sure," she said as she came over.

With a kind smile and a few murmured words, Bonnie began reluctantly following Lily towards an open door off to the right of them. She hesitantly looked back at him, and Damon nodded reassuringly. She eventually let Lily take her around the corner.

Damon let out a heavy sigh, pinching his brow. Of all the goddamned luck—at least it wasn't Stefan or Elena. He turned to the man she had been with.

"Did you see what did this?" he asked.

"Just came out of nowhere," the man said, letting out a shaky breath, shaking his head back and forth in utter disbelief, "There was blood everywhere," he went on, bringing a shaking hand to run up his hair.

"What did they look like?" Damon continued evenly.

"About your height, blond hair," the man started, pausing briefly as he looked up to the ceiling, then back to him, "British accent," he added, nodding to himself.

That made Damon's throat go dry. "He's back already?" he muttered to himself in surprise.

"Who?" the man asked.

"Never mind," Damon shrugged, waving him off, "You're certain?" he asked, refusing to acknowledge the nervous shudder to his voice.

"About what Klaus looked like?" the man said, eyes slightly wide with disbelief, "You don't forget someone that bites into people's necks for fun in a hurry," he added with a shudder.

Damon opened his mouth to ask another question, but then something dawned on him and he closed his mouth, feeling a sense of dread building within him.

"I didn't say what his name was," he pointed out.

The man frowned. "Didn't you?" he asked airily.

"No," Damon said, a hard edge to his voice as he shook his head, "No I didn't," he added firmly.

The man smiled, exposing two fangs as his eyes reddened and became laced with veins. Damon started forwards, only to have the vampire grab him tightly around the throat and crush the breath out of him.

"Let me guess," he coughed out, trying to pry the vampire's hand off, "Klaus says 'hi'," he guessed with a grimace.

The vampire nodded, his smile turning into a malicious grin.

He then flung Damon through the air. He collided with a nearby counter, his back throbbing painfully when he crashed to the floor. The commotion had another hunter running in and towards him with a concerned look.

"Damon!"

The hunter's body spasmed as his head was jerked in an unnatural motion, a sickening snap echoing through the room as his neck broke. He dropped to his knees, falling limp to the ground. Damon looked up at his killer, freezing as he saw Klaus standing there.

As he turned to his vampire, Damon scrambled to his feet to try and get away. The other vampire sped over and punched him in the jaw, sending him sprawling back down with throbbing pain in his mouth.

He swore under his breath through gritted teeth as the vampire seized his hair, yanking his head up. Shocks of pain were shooting up into his scalp; reflexively, Damon's hands shot up to try and pull him off.

"Be careful, Ryan," Klaus warned the other vampire, stepping closer to the pair of them, "If you break him, I'll kill you," he

"Don't worry about your precious little whore," Ryan waved him off dismissively, sneering down at him with a look that made Damon's stomach turn, "I was just going to bat him around a little," he said defensively, smirking.

He punctuated that last by delivering a hard punch to Damon's stomach that had him yelling out in pain, all the air yanked from his body. He shuddered the the man's grip.

Then he leered appreciatively at him. "Maybe have a go of him myself before–"

His grip on Damon's hair instantly released and gargled noise bubbled from his mouth. Damon looked up to see the vampire frozen in place, his eyes bulging with shock, Klaus' hand punched through his back with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Now, that's not a polite thing to say, is it?" he scolded him, thinly-veiled fury dancing in his eyes.

With an effortless tug, Ryan's heart came out in his closed fist, the vampire's desiccating body thudding to the floor.

"Even if he does scream like one," he added with a chuckle, looking down at him with a knowing wink.

Damon struggled to his feet, shaky and winded. He leaned against the countertop he had been thrown against – spying an undisturbed glass of water out of the corner of his eye – and accosted Klaus with a pained wince.

"How the hell are you here already?" he demanded.

"Caught my flight this morning," Klaus said with a small smile, walking closer to him, "I had no idea witches could transport objects via magic, did you?" he asked with a mock-dumbfounded look on his face.

He pulled the chain from around his neck and showed Damon the now completed amulet hanging there, then let it drop.

"It's quite something," he remarked, still smiling, "And those hunters," he began with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "They didn't fight at all," he whispered, now so close his clothes were brushing against Damon's.

He held his eye, while reaching for the glass of water behind him. Luckily he was angled so Klaus couldn't see it. He felt a tiny soar of relief when his hand closed around it—there was vervain pumped regularly into the water system here.

"They just surrendered," Klaus continued, sounding unimpressed, "Not like you, of course," he said admiringly, playfully flicking him under the chin.

"Go to hell," Damon growled, and he swung his free hand towards his smug face.

Klaus leaned back, catching his wrist with ease. He looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you were better than that?" he wondered, looking disappointed.

"I am," Damon said bluntly, forcing a smile before he picked the glass up and smashed it towards the side of Klaus' head.

It smashed, and water sprayed over the pair of them. Klaus released Damon's wrist as he backed off, growling lowly in pain as his drenched skin began to sizzle and burn.

Damon darted off through the entrance room and shoved his way into the hallway, hoping he could get to the security patrol in time to warn them. The emergency alarms started blaring and wailing as hunters ran to get weapons, as vampires swarmed the place, some leaping through the windows.

He halted in his tracks, briefly transfixed at the sight. "Shit…"

"Klaus wants the staff!" a vampire was yelling as he stormed the place, flanked by others as the hunters bellowed orders to each other, "Anyone gets in your way, kill them!" he ordered, rushing off in a blur of air himself.

Damon ducked into the room as the chaos descended into complete pandemonium – sounds of yelling, snarling, screaming and ear-splitting alarms – and rushed over to the weapons cabinet, flinging it open to grab a crossbow and a wooden bullet gun.

"Damon Salvatore."

The crossbow slipped from his shaking fingers at the sound of the voice. He whirled towards it, brandishing the gun and holding it in warning at the vampire standing across from him.

"Klaus would pay a me pretty penny for you," he said with a pleased tone, "His little hunter pet," he added with a chuckle.

Wryly smiling in response, Damon fired a shot off into the vampire's leg. He buckled slightly, groaning in pain. He then leapt across the room, tackling the vampire to the floor. It was caught off guard and he managed to rain down several punches to its face before it threw him off, making him fly backwards into the wall.

Damon caught his breath, yanking up the cord from the lamp as the vampire went to grab him, snarling angrily as his fangs popped out of his mouth. He let him get hold of him, using it to his advantage to wind the cord around his neck, again and again.

The vampire choked, but Damon kept it up and pulled harder. His fingers scrabbled to pull his away, but he ignored it and managed to get one of his hands around the man's chin, narrowly avoiding the snapping fangs.

Wrenching the vampire's head to the side, its neck snapped and it fell limp to the floor, Damon collapsing on top of him with numb fingers. He got up, grabbed the gun and walked out of the room.

Bodies were littering the floor as the alarms continued to blare around them. Damon could hear explosions over the sound of the screaming and could smell smoke. The power had also been cut out, bathing everything in the crimson red of the emergency lights.

By the time he reached the room where the staff was being kept, his chest was heaving and his throat was burning with exertion. Those who had been in here were slaughtered mercilessly, drained of blood and tossed aside like nothing.

In a macabre touch, Damon saw some stabbed into the wall, ran through with their own weapons. He grimaced at the sight of one with a stake rammed down his throat.

He stepped past the corpses, flinging open the door to where the staff was, but it was gone, wrenched from the metal holdings fastening it to the inside of the small cabinet. His heart was in his throat, that meant that—

"Looking for something, Damon?" Klaus called.

He spun around to see him holding the staff with a victorious smile. Damon narrowed his eyes, letting out an infuriated sound, and went to shoot him with the gun. But he was grabbed from behind, both left and right, by two other vampires.

The gun slipped from his fingers when the vampire holding onto his right arm bit into his wrist, the shock and flaring pain causing him to drop it with a clatter. He wriggled as best he could, but their iron grip only tightened, forcing him to stay still.

Klaus walked over to him, that smile on his face seeming ever-present. "It's a shame your father isn't here to watch all his hard work protecting this to be for nothing," he remarked, sounding briefly disappointed.

His eyes lit up when he looked Damon up and down, flicking him under the chin with the tip of the staff. Damon jerked his head away in frustration.

"You'll have to do," he decided smugly.

"Hold him," he ordered in a tight voice, nodding to the two vampires.

Damon struggled in their grip but was punched hard in the stomach. He wheezed out a breath and felt the vampires forcing him to his knees, letting out a strangled groan when his kneecaps crushed into the ground. One vampire tugged his head up by his hair, and the other stretched one of his arms until he cried out, feeling it seconds away from popping out of the socket.

He shuddered as his body throbbing with pain, all the wind taken out of him. Any attempt to turn his head away from Klaus' smirking face was met with the vampire holding his hair twisting it until his fingers were on his scalp and yanking it back so hard tears burned in his eyes.

There were grunts of exertion and several expletives echoing as someone else was hauled into the room and forced to their knees in the same way Damon was. His suit was ripped and his face was almost a bloody, non-recognizable pulp.

Almost—it was Richard Lockwood.

"Mayor Lockwood," Klaus addressed the man with a smooth smile as the other man looked up at him with venom, "Perfect," he added, pleased.

"I seem to recall this whole staff charade was your idea," he continued.

Damon watched as Richard just slumped in the grip of the vampire's holding him, all the fight and energy gone from him.

Klaus was reaching into his shirt, ripping the amulet off the chain. It began to glow faintly, intensifying as it got closer to its setting on the staff. He wriggled around with a sense of urgency as Klaus clicked it into place, being rewarded with a punch to his face that had his nose cracking and dripping blood.

His head exploded with pain and he forced himself to watch, even through his blurring vision. Klaus had now grabbed Richard's face, pulling him up to meet his eyes as his werewolf claws dug into his chin.

"And what perfect irony," he noted, "The one who started it all, falling on his own metaphorical sword," he said with a humorless chuckle, giving the staff a little theatrical twirl until it was in his hand end-up.

It wasn't until he released Richard and caught it with both hands did Damon realize what he was about to do.

"No!"

His aimless cry fell on deaf ears and he was rooted in place by the vampires as he watched Klaus stab the staff through Richard's chest with a hiss of satisfaction. The man's mouth bulged open in a mixture of shock and pain, before his eyes fell closed.

His body fell to the ground as Klaus pulled out the blood-stained staff and the vampires released him. Damon felt the intensity of the vampire's grip holding him increase as Klaus gripped the staff and raised it above his head.

With a downward stab, Klaus slammed it straight through the ground with a resounding crash that echoed in Damon's ears, vibrated through his entire body, and jarred his bones. The foundations of the entire building seemed to shake as he was yanked unceremoniously off his feet, crumpling on the ground.

He heard two sickening cracks before white noise hummed in his ears. He blearily looked in the direction, seeing the vampires that had held him down slumped on the wall and completely motionless.

Damon attempted to push himself up onto his feet, but a sharp, shocking pain flooding into his right arm caused him to spasm back to the ground with a yell. Lightning started to whip and crackle around him.

He looked over at the staff to see a blinding light emanating from the middle of the tree branches at the top, several beams of it shooting out in tandem and hitting into the walls. One hit straight into Klaus' body and he froze, grimacing before his mouth twisted into a vicious smile.

"You all thought you could stop me?!" he growled, laughing as his body contorted under the strain of the power. The sight looked utterly demonic, bathed under solid red light, Klaus was struggling to stand under the effect of the staff's power, his eyes rapidly flickering golden and black.

Damon inched his way onto his feet with great difficulty, if he could just get to the staff and—

The sound of it snapping in half like a matchstick as Klaus swiped a clawed hand through it seemed amplified in Damon's ears. The light fizzled out and Damon went flying on shaky legs at the second shockwave.

He collided face-first with the wall, sliding down it with a groan. His head was pounding, felt sticky and wet, and he lay pathetically folded on the ground, his body vibrating with agony. His vision was rapidly blurring, dark spots teetering dangerously at the edges, as he struggled to hold onto consciousness.

He tried to crawl away, inch along the ground, towards his gun that had skittered away, but a firm hand on his shoulder made him freeze when his arm was outstretched.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this, Damon," Klaus said, sounding a mix between smug and grateful, "Without you, I wouldn't have known where the remaining pieces were," he pointed out with a soft chuckle.

Damon grimaced, looking up at Klaus' blurring face as he crouched down next to him. He could feel the raw, dark power emanating from him like a dark heartbeat. It made him shudder as it brushed against his nerve-endings when Klaus reached out towards his face to move away his blood-slicked hair from his eyes..

"People seem to have a habit of dying because of your actions lately, don't they?" he continued, tilting his head to the side, "If you keep it up, you'll have more blood on your hands than I do," he said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Now," Damon shivered as Klaus brushed a hand over his face, "What am I going to do with you?"