Disclaimer: Nothing is owned, only borrowed.
Summary: Set after 3x07. The ghosts from the other side have returned to Mystic Falls and desperate to find a means of killing Klaus to free Stefan from his compulsion, Damon is eager to follow deceased werewolf Mason into the Lockwood Cellar. However, when trouble inevitably finds him, Damon is left with no choice but to ask for help from the people he can only hope still care about him.
Hurt!Damon. Delena if you squint. Damon and Alaric friendship.
Warnings: Moderately graphic description of injury.
Chapter 1
"God, I need new furniture." Alaric shook his head, surveying his apartment as he carelessly tossed his keys into the onto the short, round stand just beside the front door. He entered the residence without so much as a glance back, instead reaching blindly for the light switch, dirtied from use.
Though spacious as it was, the single room living space was admittedly drab. The dimming light of the evening leaked in from two thin windows on the far wall, beneath which was his bed, sitting squarely with sheets cast haphazardly on top. Strolling past his bench press, his old leather couch, and the tiny coffee table just beside, the teacher made his way to the kitchen, deep brown eyes focused on the fridge, plain save a single magnet stuck in the center of the freezer section above. A small round button colored black with the bold red words Bite Me written across, Alaric's eyes glazed over it for just a passing moment before he opened the door to the refrigerator.
"Of course." The teacher muttered to himself, ruefully eyeing the shelves, empty save a beer bottle, opened and half drunk, though not his.
Damon.
Alaric's eye twitched, and with an expression only just shy of a scowl, he reached into the fridge to grab the bottle. Shaking his head, Alaric stood to his full height again, turning toward the kitchen island where the sink was installed. The stainless steel walls of the basin were dry, though as Alaric leaned on the counter, watching with dull satisfaction as he poured the remaining contents of Damon's beer down the drain, small amber droplets collected within their confines, disrupting the immaculate nature of the surface.
"Passive aggressive." Alaric rolled his eyes at himself, though still he moved to throw away the bottle, eliminate the evidence that he'd ever at any time invited Damon into his apartment.
It had been a gesture of trust when Alaric had uttered the words and allowed the vampire entry into his home. It had only been to share a drink, though the act had been something of a validation of their friendship. The teacher wrinkled his nose at the thought. For, now he could now only add the action to his ever-growing list of regrets.
He and Damon were not friends anymore. They couldn't be, after all Damon killed him, broken his neck without so much as batting an eye. Though, Alaric supposed that the logic was there. He had been wearing his eternity ring, and Damon was a supernatural being, thus truly the vampire had not killed him. Perhaps then it had been Damon's abuse of the knowledge that Alaric would come back, or the assumption that he would be inevitably forgiven, that irritated the teacher the most. Lost in thought, Alaric found that his face had settled into a deep frown, and upon becoming aware of himself, he shook his head to banish the memory.
No point in dwelling on other people's shortcomings, Alaric thought to himself, moving away from the sink once more.
Besides, it was not as if he had nothing else to do. Despite all the responsibilities that came with being involved with vampires, Alaric was still a history teacher at Mystic Falls High School, and just like any other teacher, he had papers to grade.
Night had fallen by the time Alaric had settled onto his couch, red pen in hand and his students' historical essays stacked high on the coffee table before him. Paper after paper Alaric graded, making long marks to form letter grades on the title pages to mark the completion of each, and the teacher came to appreciate the monotony of the action. He'd almost wanted to believe himself an exception, but Elena Gilbert had been right in her statement that amidst it all, a bit of normality was necessary to hold on to any sanity left in a town overrun by vampires, werewolves, and recently Klaus' growing army of hybrids.
"Civil War in Mystic Falls," Alaric read to himself, taking a new paper into his hands.
Rubbing his eyes, he began to read.
Taking place during the years 1861-1865, the Civil War was…
Alaric's phone began buzzing in his pocket. Never taking his eyes off the page, Alaric reached into the pocket in his jeans, groping idly for the smooth surface of the device, before extracting it and squinting at the screen where, in bright white letters, a caller ID was displayed.
Damon Salvatore.
The teacher nearly laughed out loud.
"Wow." The word came out strained, tight in Alaric's disgust, and he cast the phone beside him without a second thought.
When the buzzing ceased at last, the teacher lazily rolled his eyes. Damon had tried earlier that day to make amends, and Alaric had almost found amusement in the vampire's inability to apologize. However, the feeling had never quite turned to sympathy, rather anger, as it seemed Damon was too prideful to even utter the words "I'm sorry." Though, it hadn't mattered anyway, for then it hadn't been long before Mason Lockwood had joined them, telling of a weapon in the old Lockwood cellar capable of killing Klaus. As Mason's ghost had explained, Alaric only quietly sipped his drink, listening. Damon had been right to be wary. After all, he had tortured and killed Mason. But, as the vampire had nodded his agreement to meet later on, Alaric couldn't help but have a slight bit of worry. He was angry at Damon, that was for sure, and he was certain that the vampire could take care of himself, but in his desperation to free Stefan from Klaus' compulsion, Alaric reasoned that Damon might be inclined to act recklessly in order to get his brother back.
The buzzing had since begun again, the blue glow of his phone illuminating the tan cushions of the couch where he'd previously tossed the device. Narrowing his eyes just a fraction, Alaric reached again for the phone to read the screen again. A pointless action, as proven, for Alaric needed not read the name to know what was displayed.
Damon Salvatore.
Again, the teacher shook his head, though the bitterness behind the action had diminished, replaced instead by an edge of concern. It was late now. Late enough that Alaric guessed that many of his students were sleeping. Though, surely that could not have been an indication of trouble, especially for a vampire, let alone a vampire like Damon who had little regard for basic boundaries. Unmoving, Alaric simply stared at his phone, nestled in his palm, until at last it grew still again.
The teacher had received messages earlier that night from Elena, confirming that while Bonnie had not been able to destroy the talisman, each of the ghosts that had returned to Mystic Falls had vanished, presumably sent back to "the other side". Further, Alaric had gotten a call when she'd returned home, and despite her efforts to hide it, he had detected the fatigue in her voice as she'd bid him goodnight. Though, he hadn't heard anything from Damon since he'd seen him at the bar. The teacher looked down at his phone again.
2 missed calls from Damon Salvatore.
Perhaps this was the vampire calling to tell him about the weapon he'd found. Or maybe there was another way to help Stefan. Alaric felt his brow crease, it was doubtful. The vampire could be trying to reach out again, though that seemed even less likely. Damon was never eager to lose a friend, for they numbered pitifully few, though the vampire was not one to beg.
"God damn it." Alaric muttered, pressing hard on the keypad as he redialed Damon's number.
A/N:
*Slithers from abyss*
Why reader, have you ventured to my dwelling? You have come here searching for something, yes? Very well, but I must tell you, I'm afraid, that nothing is for free.
*cackles maniacally*
For an alert, I shall grant you passage through my pit, I fear that you shall not survive its depths without a guide. For a favorite, I can promise a glimpse into the future, a taste of what fortune or misery await. For a review, you shall have the most valuable gift of them all. Come forth and I may show you what you seek, another chapter for you, my dear. But watch your step, and do not stray. I know not what monsters lurk nearby, for they are only my creations.