Part One – Cemetery walk

A white blinding light cuts through the darkness. Damon instinctively raises his arm to protect his eyes from it. There is a noise that he can't quite recognize, rumbling and roaring. But he has no time to move to safety. Everything is happening too fast. Suddenly it dawns on him that this might be the end, and these might be his final thoughts…

What would it be? That one memory that he wanted to embrace in his final moments? His dad holding his hand tenderly whenever they went to the cemetery together? His father's warm embrace and the proud gleam in his eyes when Damon had graduated? The very first Christmas he remembered many winters ago: hot cocoa, the smell of pine and real presents underneath the tree? But there is no time to choose any of those many happy moments. In fact there is nothing but the scared look in big brown eyes on his mind when it all goes down. The eyes of the boy he had just pushed out of the way. He hopes with all his heart that the child did not get hurt.

By the time the impact comes Damon's already succumbed to the darkness. He expects a blissful nothing, like the relief of falling into a gentle slumber. He certainly doesn't expect the pain. There should be no pain when it's so quick.

The fall went too fast for him to even count the seconds, and yet he still feels the excruciating ache as his head hits the pavement. Still even then it doesn't end. He's not sure if he's looking at the sky or if this is all part of an eternal dream. His dad's face comes into vision, and his father's lips are moving, forming words, yet Damon can't understand what he's trying to say. Then the noises fade away and everything appears to be slowing down around him. He can feel how his heart loses its pace, skips a beat every few moments with no guarantee that it will ever pick up the rhythm again…

The sense of slow-motion doesn't last however, a throbbing pain soon starts in his abdomen and shortly spreads throughout his whole body. It's getting uncomfortable now, although he's no stranger to the feeling anymore. Yet then it gets worse, the ache sharp and severe. Still he fights. Panting. He feels himself losing the battle. Then he realizes he's crying, shouting even. The embarrassment he feels comes down just as hard on him as the pain had. The Damon who had once thought of himself as brave and indomitable is now crying on the pavement. What a mockery. Why couldn't he just die in peace?

Then another burning ache forces his attention back to his belly, makes him gasp for air. Is this how his mother had felt when he'd ripped her tortured body in half?

He feels all the fight in him drain from his body, sheer exhaustion covering his bones and skin like a thick blanket. It's getting harder to stay conscious now. Only in his final moments he recognizes the face that's been looking down on him.

It's him.

He made it…

He's going to be alright.

That's all that matters.

Damon hopes the boy will make it back to his mommy.

Of course he will. Soon there will be people dealing with this mess. They'll take care of him.

A small smile tugs at his lips. He doubts it's recognizable but he sees a tiny flicker of recognition in the little boy's eyes. The child understood.

Damon is grateful when his senses shut down before the boy starts crying. It's all been too much.

The last thing he hears is a Christmas carol.

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"What are you still doing here?"

Sheriff Forbes is in no mood when she arrives at the office. She stormed in ten minutes early, expecting Matt to give her a full report. But Matt is nowhere to be found. It's Damon who's waiting for her behind his desk. He was the one relieving her last night. By now he was supposed to be long home.

"Sorry Liz." Damon doesn't bother raising his eyes from the monitor as he addresses her. "Matt didn't show up for his shift so I waited half an hour. Then his neighbour called in to explain that he's sick and he can't even get to the phone himself. I ordered Matt to go back to bed and called a doctor."

Liz shakes her head and disappears into her office. Damon types in peace for ten more minutes before she returns, no doubt ready to preach again. But she's quiet instead. When she still hasn't spoken a moment later, Damon finishes typing his sentence and leans back against his chair, eying her expectantly.

"Yes?" He frowns in confusion as her face looks rather apologetic. "Anything else?"

Liz shakes her head. "Nothing. I mean nothing serious, I just wanted to… apologize. For Caroline. I…"

Damon vehemently shakes his head. "Oh no. Don't you dare. No harm was done and I sort of… had fun. Really. It's alright," he reassures her, instantly aware of what she's getting at.

"I know it must have been awkward…" Liz continues anyway.

"Liz…," Damon interrupts her warningly. "She was quite cute. And she must feel more embarrassed than I do."

"Damn right, I sure hope she does," Liz wholeheartedly agrees before resuming her speech. "Damon, I know my daughter. She can be a handful. I have no doubt she finds you an attractive man, but she must know her boundaries. It was incredibly nice of you to watch over her when she was getting drunk at the bar. And the fact you had to… to turn down her… propositions…"

Liz is struggling with words and Damon knows it's mortally awkward for her. Still he can't help the small smile that plays on his lips. The corner of his mouth twitches as he's fighting a hysterical laughter. He wouldn't want to hurt her feelings by laughing at her heartfelt apology, but he's struggling to stay composed.

Liz stops talking watching his face turning a pink of shade, that's how much he's trying. "You are not about to laugh right, are you?" Liz demands sternly.

One, two… three seconds is all it takes before both of them burst out in a fit of laughter. It miraculously breaks the tension between them. As it dies down, Liz breathes out a sigh of relief.

The sheriff's daughter, Caroline, was home from college last weekend. Damon ran into her at the Grill where she was partying with friends. She did however, forget to count the shots she was knocking back. It was cheer luck that Damon scared off one especially friendly guy at the bar and then escorted her home. In the end it even became quite challenging for him to leave, as she decided he was too hot to pass up. Finally had he found himself having to run out the back door. Luckily she hadn't followed him. Her mom had found her peacefully asleep on the couch a little later. Caroline had probably remembered some of it afterwards and confessed all of it to her mother.

"Okay okay, I'm done here," Liz finally decides. "But you are going home. No arguing. How do you want to serve the law when you're half death on your feet? Go home, I don't want to hear from you for next twelve hours. Understand?" she tells him flately.

Damon bows his head and starts packing up his things. „You call me when anything comes up though, right?"

"Of course."

Damon had much rather stayed. Working his ass off provided a decent distraction from his sad private life. He needed to forget that it was almost Thanksgiving. In truth this time of year he felt nothing but melancholy…

This time of the year, this day, there was only one place he needed to be.

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Although the sun hasn't set by the time Damon steps outside, he knows it won't be long now. He waves at Enzo, one of a few friends he had managed to make in town. Enzo lives in the neighbourhood of the police station with his family, wife and daughter. Damon smiles as he sees him trying to push his youngest child home, it's rather chilly outside today. Betsy isn't having it. She's just as stubborn as her mom. Bonnie is another friend of his. He bonded with the couple soon after he'd come to Mystic Falls and never left.

Damon leaves his car before the station and crosses the street, walking down the alley along the narrow curly path that's become so very familiar to him these past few months. Mystic Falls cemetery is usually a nice and safe part of town. With fall coming however, the dark shadows, and the wind ringing in his ears, it feels rather scary. At one moment he suddenly can't shake the irrational feeling that he's being followed. Not that he fears the dead though, and he feels that the living mostly aren't too dangerous, not to him. It takes more to frighten him. Plus Mystic Falls is a quiet town. So it must be the memories of darker, less safe places that were sending shivers down his spine.

The gate creaks and in a way the sound makes him feel like he's coming home. It might be yet another irrational thought, but frankly, he doesn't care.

"Hi dad. Hi mom," he quietly greets the part of town he calls 'home'.

He sits on a bench facing the headstone of their graves. Words don't come easy and he struggles to find them, to express the love and loneliness he's felt since his return home. Two years ago he had arrived at this same time of year, right before Thanksgiving. He himself had never lived in Mystic Falls but his father had often told him stories from his own childhood, the most precious included his mom. Damon still remembered sitting on his dad's lap or being curled on the bed, next to him, listening to his deep calming voice painting an irresistible picture of this picturesque place. He still remembers asking when they would come back home to live in Mystic Falls, as a young boy. To him home was where his parents had grown up. Giuseppe had always promised him that they'd come back one day.

There hadn't been enough time…

After Damon had graduated his father had already been terminally ill. If he had known they were fighting a losing battle he would have packed their things and brought his dad to Mystic Falls right that moment. But he had wanted him to fight. Meanwhile Giuseppe did fight, he would have done whatever had made Damon happy. In hindsight Damon wasn't sure anymore now whether his father had even believed in recovery in the first place.

Not that he could ever regret those years though. He would treasure their two final years in overtime as long as he would live. Looking back it felt like they had gotten a whole extra lifetime together. That had to be worth something.

Later, Damon had guaranteed the fulfilment of his dad's final wish, to be brought home to his hometown and be laid to rest with his beloved wife.

And after Damon had brought his father back, he had never left either.

Liz, an old friend of his parents, soon became his mentor, giving him work and helping him to put his affairs in order. Over time he fell in love with the quiet little town, and could even picture himself growing old and starting a family here when the time was right. Well, was a place more beautiful than this?

"I miss you both. Take care of each other, okay? I'll come back soon," he promised.

As Damon stands up he feels how his sorrows have dissolved and slowly left his body. Visiting his parents had worked its usual magic. All he needed to do was to just be around them, talk to them… A part of him couldn't help but believe that his dad was still watching over him.

After a few steps Damon freezes. Turns out he had been right before, someone was in fact watching him, and it most certainly wasn't a ghost. Instead he finds himself looking into a pair of big brown eyes.

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The brown eyes that follow his every move are a small boy's. Judging by the looks of it he must be about seven or eight years old, perhaps even younger. He watches Damon intently, and Damon looks right back at him. When he blinks the boy is suddenly just gone.

What the hell? "Oh no, you won't get away... Damon thinks to himself. Children shouldn't be running around alone in the cemetery when it's cold and dark outside. It was dangerous, even in Mystic Falls. And where were the boy's parents? Wasn't he scared at all? Damon takes off after him. He makes a left turn through the bushes to get ahead of the little fugitive. A shortcut. After several moments he stops on the spot to listen. At first, he hears nothing. He almost runs back thinking the boy chose another way to the gate, but then he hears light footsteps nearing the place he's standing. He holds his breath, steps aside to hide in the darkness, and waits.

It doesn't take long. Two little legs bring the boy right in front of Damon. He considers grabbing the child by the arm but reconsiders, knowing it would frighten the boy. The kid doesn't need a heart attack. So he waits instead, right until the little kid is only several feet away, before emerging in front of him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Damon asks questioningly.

The boy halts immediately, taking a few steps back before he stumbles and ends up on his ass.

"Careful, pall." Damon offers him his hand but the boy crawls aside and gets up on his own.

He measures Damon carefully.

"Let me go," the boy demands after a moment.

"Nope, little boys like you can't be alone outside when it's night-time." Damon sing-songs.

"Is it? Night-time?" the tone of the child is a bit high pitched, Damon bets he has somewhere else to be. Someone's must be out looking for him.

"Uh huh, you need to get back home, promptly. And I'll make sure you'll get where you're supposed to be," Damon informs him.

"Fine, I'll go. But not with you," the kid snaps defiantly.

Damon suppresses a small smile. "You don't have a choice. I'm…"

"You are a cop," the boy interrupts him.

That's a surprise. Damon likes a kid with fire. He's courageous, reminds him of a younger version of himself, brave on the surface but inside… "Ah, you know me then?" Damon challenges him.

The boy does not say a word. He just stares.

"What's your name?"

The boy shakes his head.

"You won't tell me? I'm a cop as you know…."

"You are a stranger. I'm not supposed to talk to you," the boy replies wittily.

Damon chuckles mentally. Clever. "But you know me. Cops help people. It's our job."

"But you can't help me," the boy had already decided.

"Then I have to take you back to the station, where we'll have to find out who you are and then we'll call your parents. It may take some time but…"

"You can't!" the boy looks at him in shock.

Damon shrugs. "The choice is yours." He slowly turns and starts walking towards the gate.

The boy follows him obediently, just as he had hoped.

"What are you doing at the cemetery anyway?" Damon wonders out loud.

"I was following you," the child admits reluctantly.

Damon looks at him in surprise. "Why were you following me?"

"Because. I wanted to buy my mom a birthday present. But I got lost. I thought if I would follow you, I would get back to the square."

"And I went to the cemetery istead..." Damon sighs in relief that he was able to catch the little guy before he followed someone else. Or spent the night lost at the cemetery. "What were you going to buy for your mom?" he tries to keep up the conversation.

The boy searches his pocket and pulls out a handful of small coins. "A flower? Guys always get the ladies flowers."

Damon smiles and dares to ruffle the boy's hair. He was right: tough on the outside, but deep inside the child had a big heart. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Tell you what. I'll accompany you to the florist's and then we'll see, alright?" He picks up his step and the boy follows.

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"Aren't you cold?" Damon asks, looking at the tiny figure wrapped up in a jacket that's both too big and too light.

The boy shakes his head, but Damon isn't sure he believes him. "It's not mine, I borrowed it from my friend."

Damon takes the kid's whole attire in: the worn out sneakers looks soaking wet, the sweatpants over… are those pyjama pants peeping out? How the heck did the boy get here? Suddenly Damon realizes there's probably far more to the story than the boy had told him, so he makes a mental note to be extra careful not to scare the little boy away.

He is quite confident he could grab the kid if he tried to run again, but now more than ever he wants to make sure not to traumatize an innocent child.

Trying to keep his tone light, he asks. "What kind of flower did you have in mind for your mom?"

"A white rose?" The answer comes out as a question rather than a reply.

"Does she like them? White roses?"

"She likes wildflowers. I think. But I can't find any now. She likes roses too. She has one in her diary, or so she told me." He stops for a moment to pull his sweatpants up. Sure enough Damon can see the pyjama's he's wearing underneath his clothes. Why was the child not properly dressed? Did he run away?

"And you want her to keep this one in her diary, too?" Damon guesses.

The boy nods and sniffs shortly and Damon's once again reminded of his young self, longing for a parent he couldn't have.

"You know," a newfound warmth arises in his voice, "if you bought her something small that she can keep, she can put it on a shelf or a desk and look at it the whole time. I have a small figurine of an angel and it guards me day and night. I got it from my father. It was my mother's once. You could give her something like that…"

"I'd like to give her an angel. She's an angel too, according to uncle Jeremy," his serious face and loving eyes make Damon's breath hitch. He swallows thickly.

"Your mom is…?" he can't finish. It feels too too familiar… "Where is your mom?" Damon asks softly.

"I have my mom!" the boy raises his voice defiantly. "I do! She will come for me and she will take me home."

The lump in Damon's throat keeps him from responding.

This all hits a little close to home…

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"Don't be scared, Damon. I know it's confusing, you're used to different things and you don't know me that well, buddy, but it's the same for me."

"I know you," little Damon comments looking up at the tall man. He remembers how the man came for him. He instantly liked his voice. He's not scared at all. He's just unsure of what to say, what the man expects of him."That's good. I'm Giuseppe Salvatore. But you can call me as you wish. I'd like to take care of you and if you agree, we can be a family. Of course you don't have to decide right now.""You will take me home with you?" a young Damon asks, suddenly more cheerful.Giuseppe nods."„I will. Do you mind?"Damon shakes his head. It's hesitant but it's there. A fragile yet important trust is born at that very moment."We'll figure it out." Giuseppe smiles and offers him his hand.

Somewhere in the background he can hear a Christmas carol. This isn't right. It's not even Thanksgiving yet.

"Tyler?" a voice asks in the distance.

Who's Tyler?

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The momentarily distraction is just long enough for the boy to take off. Damon hesitates a second before he moves to follow.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" The boy passes through the cemetery gates and Damon is worried he might fall on the slippery surface. "Slow down!" he shouts and eases his own pace to give the child some space.

The boy eventually stops rushing and eyes Damon carefully over his shoulder.

"I know you have your mom. Tell me about her?" he holds his breath not sure if he can manage to calm the kid down at this point.

The boy stops and Damon maintains his distance.

"She's beautiful. And she's good. She tells me stories before I go to sleep," the boy replies.

"Can you tell me her name?"

It takes him a minute to respond, the child sniffs and then frantically tries to stop the tears coming down his cheeks with a gloved hand. "Her name is Elena."

Elena.

The way the boy voices those five letters make Damon think of someone kind, caring, feminine. A hope and light. A mom. Damon feels the ache in his own heart. The longing. And desperation. And grief. He wants to comfort the boy but knows it wouldn't be welcome. Not now anyway, he still remembers what he was like himself at that age.

"All right," he tries again. „You'll come with me, we'll get your present and then I'll take you home, do you agree?"

The boy shakes his head.

"You don't have to tell me anything. I'll take you somewhere familiar and you can lead the way."

"No." the boy starts moving backwards.

"You can't stay here, alone, overnight."

Damon prays he's quick enough. He tries to block off the kid's way on escape route but the little guy dodges him and sets off down the hill. Damon's heart almost stops when he realizes the child is bound to run right onto the street. It's not that busy at this time of the day but it's still risky. One more time he tries to call him but that doesn't stop the boy. Damon suspects he may not be able to stop anyhow due to the speed he's been picking up running down the cemetery hill.

To his horror he catches a glimpse of the oncoming lights. The boy's too close, he either jinks or he won't make it and Damon will be just helplessly watching… No. It's not going to happen if he has a say in it. He gives his best and reaches the boy right when he runs onto the street. Damon only has time to grab his arm and throw him aside. He hopes the fall wasn't too hard.

The lights are too close now.

To be continued…

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This is for you my dearest Carol. You mean the so much to me! Thank you for being there all the years. Without you the world would be a sad place. Love and hugs…Enjoy your day!

Thank you so much Charlotte, this wouldn't be born without your help. I hope your phenomenal stories will return to this site one day. You're greatly missed Short on Words.

All the mistakes are mine, as it's my first try on posting I hope it's readable.

Thank you for reading and hopefully see you with another part.