Sorry this one took so long to update, guys! i just had hardly any inspiration for this at all, and was trying to think of a way to shorten the story without having to use SO much from season 4, but still have it go in the direction I wanted. Hopefully you all like this chapter, kindly let me know with a review, and I'll see you next time. :)
Dazed at the impact from hitting the ground, Damon swore loudly as he began to register the searing pain in his chest. His muscles were screaming at him as he rolled over to where his suit jacket had been discarded, pulling it on. By some miracle, it hid his bite from outside view.
He felt exhausted now his adrenaline was wearing off, able to feel the hunter's bullets lodged into his body and the venom burning its way through his bloodstream and leeching every inch of power and strength the hunter's blood had given him.
He was so confused by what Klaus had said – not the least by the sense of deja vu he was having from seeing him – to him. What was he talking about? Since when would Damon willing do anything Klaus wanted him to do? Even when they aligned in their views at the best of times, he was wary of the other man.
And the more pressing issue – how in the name of Hans Christian Andersen did he get free from the crypt? He had placed his beef-jerkied, chained to oblivion corpse in there himself!
"Damon?" a voice called out to him.
He turned, heard hurried footsteps, then another cry of, "Damon?"
"You out here?" It was Caroline.
"Over here," he called out to her.
He tried to get up from the ground, feeling himself collapse like a newborn pony on his unsteady legs. He swore angrily again, trying to pull himself up from the ground by grabbing a low tree branch.
Thankfully Caroline arrived before he could embarrass himself any further.
"Oh my god!" she cried when she caught sight of him, hobble-rushing over as fast as her heels would let her, "What happened to you?" she asked in shock, looking him up and down.
As she helped him up, pulling one arm around his shoulder to support his weight, Damon felt the bullets shift inside his body, twinging against arteries and scraping bond, giving a pained yell that made Caroline almost drop him in surprise.
(Who the hell was this guy?)
"Word of advice," he began in a strained voice, "If you're gonna try and eat that hunter guy, attack from behind," he warned her, grimacing through gritted teeth as every aided step caused him agony.
He honestly wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact Caroline's body was accidentally pressing up against his hybrid bite, or the bullets inside him. Never mind it not being his day, it just wasn't his whole week!
"So, what happened in there?" he asked, vaguely aware of how shallow his breathing was.
"Mrs Lockwood managed to get everyone out without them suspecting anything," Caroline explained as they ambled through the church ground together, "My mom's just gonna run it as some sort of gas leak, or something," she added, not sounding like she stuck around for the details.
"Impressive fog, by the way," she continued, turning to raise a knowing eyebrow.
"I aim to please," Damon said, forcing a smile. "What about that kid I saw? On the balcony?" he wondered. There had been an awful lot of blood for it to soak through the ceiling like that. Wouldn't be surprised if the poor thing was dead.
"You mean April Young?" Caroline wondered; Damon shrugged. 'Young', was she related to the dead Pastor? "I gave her a bit of my blood and compelled her to remember a decent service for her dad, and forget what happened with her and the hunter," she explained.
"Where's your car?" she asked as they got to the car park.
"I walked," Damon said simply, hearing Caroline sigh, "Elena called me in a fit of panic, figured I probably shouldn't stop to get gas," he explained with a shrug.
"I'll give you a ride back, then," she decided, starting to steer them both towards her own car; one of the last in the lot, "Stefan and Elena already left," she added.
Damon raised an eyebrow. "Without me?"
"Elena was really losing it, so Stefan took her home," Caroline informed him, "She almost drained April," she relayed with a slight shudder.
"Would do her some good if she did," Damon remarked.
"I know that, and you know that, but she doesn't wanna believe that," Caroline said, sounding vaguely frustrated with Elena herself.
Eventually they made it to her car, with Caroline having to physically manhandle him into the passenger's seat. He slumped against it as she headed around to the driver's side, feeling lethargic. He had thought a wolf-bite was bad, but for some reason Klaus being a hybrid seemed to make it worse right out the gate. He remembered having at least a few days of feeling normal before the effects of the bite started to set in last time.
Of all the goddamned luck.
A short car ride back to the Boarding house later, and he and Caroline were sat in the parlor with twin glasses of bourbon. He figured he could at least offer her a drink for her troubles, not the least being because he felt like downing the entire cart.
Caroline finished her drink and put the glass on the small table.
"Come on, I'll help you get those bullets out," she said.
Damon wished he could say he forgot about them, but every single bump they drove over on the way back here had exacerbated the dull agony and caused a sharp shock. And by some cruel trick, the roads were scheduled to have the potholes filled tomorrow.
He sat up, downing his fourth drink as Caroline went to go get a few things. He undid his jacket as far as he was able to keep the bite hidden – God knows she wouldn't be able to keep it a secret to save her life – and just undoing the few bottom buttons of his ruined shirt. Luckily, the hunter had just shot him in the stomach area, and Klaus had bit him around his chest.
Caroline returned armed with a long, large pair of tweezers and a bag of blood. Presumably that was for after.
He let her just do her thing, as hackneyed a job she was making of it. He felt too woozy to even speak up and his throat felt so dry it was agonizing. He winced as she pulled the first bullet, one of the curved edges catching the raw skin on the way out.
She was looking at it, still in the tweezers, with a curious look on her face. She looked unnerved as she dropped it into her empty glass of bourbon.
"They're the same marking as the ones Tyler got shot with, a few nights ago," she informed him with a nervous swallow.
Damon leaned forwards to peer into the glass, noticing a strange little marking on it. "What's the symbol?" he wondered.
"No idea," she shrugged, gently pushing him back down so she could start removing the other bullets, "Bonnie says it's nothing to do with magic," she added.
Damon huffed out a breath and let Caroline get back to work, trying to push down all the awful memories and feelings the sensation of feeling a medical tool wiggling around inside him brought out. That reminded him, he wondered if any Whitmore's were around? It had been about twenty years.
He shook himself out of it. He had more important things to be dealing with rather than the ghosts of his tormented past.
"How's Bonnie doing?" he wondered.
Caroline sighed heavily. "Not good," she said simply, "Another one of her friends became a vampire and she's so traumatized she can't do magic anymore," she explained.
"I was gonna rent a bunch of movies and go over there and have a girl's night with her, to try and take her mind off things," she added.
Damon found himself smiling, marveling that a creature like them could actually be so caring in a way that seemed genuine. "You're too sweet for your own good–"
His remark was cut off by a loud yell as Caroline accidentally went too deep with the tweezers, jabbing against his kidney. The pain had him spamming violently, but she managed to hold him still.
"Sorry!" she cried apologetically, steering the tweezers back to what she guessed was the right track, "Oh, you do have a heart after all!" she jested.
"Caroline!" Damon growled.
"Oh, it was just your appendix," she chuckled, smirking playfully at him.
But he didn't feel in a playful mood. He felt a sudden, intense spark of rage like a white-hot fire, wanting more than nothing to take his hand, punch his twitching fingers through her rib cage and—
He stopped short, feeling the rage disappear almost as quickly as it had come. What was with him?
He forced himself to relax as best as he was able. Eventually all the bullets bar one were out, dropped into the little glass beside them. The last one was proving to be stubborn, so Caroline had to go in with her fingers.
She thankfully didn't notice the shudder that ran through him at the feeling, or the way his nails raked into the couch under him to stop himself shaking. He had to remind himself in a mantra that she was not them, she did not want to deliberately hurt him. She was trying to help him. She was a friend, or whatever she was to him.
With a final, harsh tug, the bullet came away pinched between Caroline's bloodstained fingers.
"All done," she said triumphantly, dropping it into the glass along with the others.
Damon handed her his pocket square from his suit to wipe her hands clean, then snatched up the blood bag and drained it as quick as he could, feeling his mouth water from the taste. He felt the bullet wounds knitting themselves together, good as new, but he could feel nothing beginning to penetrate the surface of the hybrid bite.
"Thank you," he said sincerely as he tossed the empty blood bag on the floor.
"Damon Salvatore actually thanking me?" she said in an exaggeratedly shocked tone, her mouth hanging open comically, "Color me surprised," she added.
As he got to his feet, Damon rolled his eyes at her.
"Goodbye, Barbie," he intoned intentionally, looking deliberately towards the front door.
She chuckled. "You're welcome."
As she headed out, Stefan passed her in the doorway. They exchanged passing "Hey's", then Damon heard Caroline's car driving off. He grabbed the empty glass and headed over to the liquor cart, getting out the whiskey. He was gonna need something stronger.
"There you are," Stefan called over to him, heading over. "What happened to you?" he asked, looking his disheveled state up and down.
"I got shot," he replied simply, nodding his head towards the glass of bloodstained bullets.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Stefan muttered, shaking his head as he picked up the glass of bullets to examine them.
"That's what I would like to know," Damon replied, an edge to his voice as he poured his whiskey like it was water. "Apparently he's already been after Tyler once before; might've been trying again at the service," he explained, taking a good, hefty swig of the alcohol.
He coughed and spluttered as it burned it's way down his throat.
"Good thing I was there," he continued.
Then he looked around, noticing Stefan without his little vampire shadow for the first time since she had transitioned.
"Where's Elena?" he wondered, "I thought she'd be with you?" he asked.
"She wanted to be at home after all this," Stefan said.
"Is that a good idea with Jeremy there?" Damon wondered, knowing from experience that it seemed to be the person closest to you that you first hurt when you were new – Stefan killed their father, Caroline tore chunks out of Matt… and he knew Elena would rather kill herself before she hurt her brother.
"She swore she just wanted to go upstairs and sleep," Stefan explained, "I'm pretty sure Jeremy wasn't there when we got in, anyway," he added, although he looked briefly uncertain.
"Whatever," he shrugged with a wave of his hand and another mouthful of whiskey, "We need to talk, it's better she's not here," he decided. He needed to try and get through to Stefan without having Elena chiming in and becoming a hindrance.
"She needs to be taught to drink human blood properly, whether we like it or not," he began, "Whether she likes it or not," he corrected insistently.
"Call it some weird doppelgänger juju or whatever, but she clearly can't drink any blood that isn't straight from the source," he explained, deciding to spare Stefan the gory details of what happened in the church bathroom.
"I could do it," he offered.
Stefan narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. "Why would you do that?" he asked, folding his arms.
"Hello? Easy meals with no effort," Damon retorted simply, watching Stefan scoff and roll his eyes, "And because, in case you forgot, you can't get within a five-mile radius of human blood without turning into a vampire Cujo," he reminded him.
Stefan sighed in discomfort, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
"I don't like the idea," he admitted eventually.
"You think I do?" Damon responded, flinging a hand in the air, "Like I really wanna be stuck with her Mother Theresa ass and coddle her all the way through it?" he added in exasperation.
"I could be half-way to the Maldives by now, but instead I'm stuck babysitting," he went on, getting frustrated, "Again," he finished with a growl.
"Who else could do it, though?" Stefan wondered, "Maybe Caroline?" he suggested.
Damon shrugged and finished his whiskey. He had a hunch Stefan would prefer anyone over him teaching Elena how to feed properly.
"Leave it with me, I'll talk to her about it later," Stefan decided.
"Sure," Damon agreed.
And that was that on the subject. He had to bow out to take a shower, trash his ruined suit – seriously, fuck Klaus, that cost a hundred and fifty dollars – and get his raging headache under control. As he turned the shower on and stripped down, he stared at the angry, red bite on his chest in the mirror.
Klaus' words kept echoing in a mantra in his head, something deep inside pushing him to respond. He wanted more than anything to be able to scream the words out loud to someone, to warn them – whatever the bastard was up to wouldn't be good for anyone – but as soon as the idea formed in his head, his throat became painfully dry and he found himself unable to talk.
He just stepped into the hot shower stream with a sigh. All he could realistically do was hope that whatever Klaus needed him for either wouldn't come to pass, or wouldn't be as bad as he thought
But he was a massive pessimist.
God, he felt like a teenager again, sneaking out of the house at night to risk waking those inside. But instead of sneaking out for a midnight rendezvous with Katherine under her favorite lemon tree in the grounds, Damon was sneaking out to help Elena sort out her blood issues.
Sure, it was sneaky, sure it was incredibly underhanded, but it was for Elena's own good. Stefan would just have to get over himself for once–he wasn't trying to steal his girl or whatever he thought he would do.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Elena asked him nervously as they walked through the woods near her house, wringing her hands.
"Elena, you need to do this so we can rule out if you have a legitimate problem or not," Damon responded patiently, for what felt like the hundredth time, "If you won't try fresh human blood, how else are we supposed to know if you can't keep it down?" he added evenly, turning to look her in the eyes.
"I guess," she acquiesced with a reluctant nod, "But what about Stefan?" she asked, "I feel like I'm going behind his back, here," she added in disgust.
"You are," Damon said bluntly as they resumed their walk, "and you did when you fed off me," he added callously.
"But for a good reason," he continued, holding up a hand before Elena could cut in with a remark, "He couldn't be here when we do this, past problems not willing," he went on.
"You need to be able to do this without feeling like you're disappointing him somehow," he finished, knowing that was a small portion of her problem. She didn't want Stefan to see what she could potentially become and break the illusion of the Elena that he thought she should be.
Thankfully that was the last line of verbal defense Elena had, and she gave up trying to purposely drop metaphorical roadblocks in their way and just trudged behind him.
He followed some rustling sounds, relieved to find a lone camper packing up his supplies rather than a fox.
"Perfect," he said, quietly clapping his hands together.
He was about to walk forwards, but Elena grabbed his sleeve, hovering.
"Damon, I can't," she said with a frantic shake of her head, "What if I hurt him? What if I–"
Whirling around, Damon felt frustration surge through him as he grabbed her shoulders a little tighter than he meant to. At the startled look in her eyes, he relaxed his grip.
"Calm down," he said gently, stopping her before she could start babbling incoherent nonsense.
"I'm here for you, okay?" he reasoned, "I won't let anything happen," he added softly.
"I promise," he swore, looking at her intently.
Elena chewed on her lower lip, looking at the floor for a good few minutes before she looked up at him. She nodded and Damon let go of her with a pleased smile.
He headed over to the camper, catching him before he could get into his truck and drive away.
"Excuse me," he called out.
The man turned around and Damon, quick as a flash, snapped a hand around his throat and caught his eyes into his unblinking gaze.
"I was wondering if you might help my friend out with an experiment?" he wondered, watching the man's pupil's dilate as he compelled him.
"Sure," he replied in a daze.
Damon smiled and motioned for Elena to walk over.
"Stay still," he ordered, pointing a finger at her. She nodded shakily, bunching her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater.
Damon bared his fangs and ripped them into the surface flesh of the man's neck. As dry as his throat was feeling, he had to fiercely remind himself that he was here for Elena, not to feed himself. He could take his pleasures later.
He pulled away and let the scent of blood waft towards her. She exhaled extremely sharply, her eyes framed by dark veins and filling with black as it got stronger.
"Okay, come on," Damon beckoned her forwards, holding out a hand.
She edged forward hesitantly, like she was approaching a spooked animal. She took Damon's hand, the latter rubbing his thumb over the back when he felt her shaking uncontrollably. Out of fear or out of hunger, he had no idea.
He helped her forwards to where the dazed man was, his blood beginning to run in rivulets down his neck.
"Go ahead," he urged her, rubbing her back encouragingly before he gave her a tiny push.
He watched her steel herself by taking a large exhale, then she buried her fangs into the man's throat, gripping him tightly to her as she fed.
It was going smoothly at first, Damon heard the little gulps she was taking, but then Elena started to growl lowly in the back of her throat like a caged animal and her grip on the man became so strong her knuckles were bleaching white. He also noticed the loud sound of slurping in the silent forest.
"Elena," he called to her as she began to get more frenzied and the color from the man's face began to drain.
She didn't respond, lost in the hunger.
"Elena!" With a harsh yank, he tore her away from the camper. He fell against his truck and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Elena bared her fangs and snarled at him defensively, spraying tiny bits of blood and saliva at him.
"Stop it!" Damon ordered, holding her at arms' length.
She did, blinking her vampire visage back. When her regular doe brown eyes returned, Damon saw them widening in horror as she looked at the heap of the man on the floor behind them.
"Oh, God…" she trailed off, swallowing hard.
"It's okay, we'll work on self-control later, we just needed to get you fed," Damon reassured her, purposely standing in front of her so as to shield the man from her view, "How d'you feel?" he asked in a serious tone.
"About the same as every other time before I threw it back up," she responded, shrugging a little.
As Damon handed her a tissue to wipe her mouth clean with, he noticed her eyes still flickering behind him and she was looking a little uncomfortable.
"Aren't you gonna help him?" she asked, chuckling nervously.
"Oh, yeah."
Damon hauled the man up from the floor with ease, baring his own fangs and sinking them into the wound he had already created. He drained the man dry in record time, the blood easing the sandpaper feeling of his throat somewhat and dropped his body on the floor. He could faintly hear coyotes in the distance–they would finish him off.
"Damon!" she cried indignantly, looking at him in shock.
"What?" he responded, shrugging his shoulders, "I didn't say I wouldn't kill him," he reminded her.
Yet the sandpaper dryness in his throat was coming back almost as quickly as it had disappeared.
"C'mon," Damon said with a flick of his head, diverting Elena's attention from staring at the dead body, "Victory drink, on me," he promised, walking her back the way they came.
"Think you're counting your eggs before they hatch," she muttered sourly.
"Ever the optimist, Miss Gilbert," Damon retorted.
Splashing cold water up into his face, Damon groaned in aggravation. He had a hell of a rough night, trying to sleep through hot sweats, bouts of coughing blood and bile. Not to mention the vivid nightmares, horrific shows of the phantoms from his past coming back to haunt him.
First there had been Katherine from 1864, cooing in his ears promises of an eternity together, then her face morphing horribly into a twisted sneer and spitting at him that she never loved him; then came Ric, seething angry for his life being snatched away before his time because of vampires, turning most of the unfounded blame on him; then there was his mother, bless her soul, lamenting the soulless creature he became over the years, lamenting that her first-born son was a monster and a disappointment.
The one with Rose had hit him the hardest, causing him to startle himself awake with an anguished, embarrassingly loud, cry of her name.
Even when awake, she stood at the foot of her bed looking as withdrawn and lethargic as she had the day she died, yelling at him that she shouldn't have died, that Jules had been coming after him and he should have been the one to get bitten that day. Her screaming 'Why did I die instead of you?!' with tears streaming down her face was still fresh in his mind when dawn broke.
Thankfully he had a distraction. As it turned out, the vampire hunter – Connor, Damon reminded himself – was a lot more resourceful than he thought, having snuck into the mayor's house and ambushed Tyler while he slept, syringing out some of his werewolf venom. Not that he needed an excuse to kill the bastard, if anything that just made his case more urgent.
He got dressed, after yet another shower to wash away the sweat that seemed to be attracted to him at this point, and made to go after him, exchanging brief pleasantries with Stefan about him having a mid-life crisis when he found him out front fixing an old motorcycle he had for years just gathering dust in the garage.
He was remiss about how a motorcycle ride would help Elena forget about how she was miserable as a vampire, but he didn't dwell on it, didn't care really. He just waved Stefan off when he warned him about going after the hunter and got into his Camaro and drove off.
He managed to pick up Connor's scent in the midst of the woods, having to park his car the road over just in case he heard it and got suspicious. He watched from a distance as Connor came out of his RV and got into his jeep – with the door somehow reattached – and drove off.
Killing him could wait, he supposed, destroying the supply of surefire vampire poison he had was a much more pressing matter. When he was sure Connor was far enough away, Damon made his way over to the RV.
The lock broke off with ease and the door swung open, sticking to the side of the truck. Damon edged his foot towards the threshold, letting out a surprised noise and raising his eyebrows when it passed over. Connor either didn't own it outright, which would be the more favorable outcome, or he was in some way supernatural which negated the whole needing an invitation shtick. That would not bode well; he had his fill of super-vampire hunters recently.
An unpleasant, prickling sensation of power came from behind him. He turned, a sour expression twisting his face when he saw Klaus standing there.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in aggravation. The hybrid was the last damn thing he needed right now.
"Let's just say I'm as intrigued by this hunter as you are," Klaus said cryptically, his nose wrinkling as he surveyed the hunter's living conditions with a look of disdain.
Damon ignored him and headed inside. He spotted a small distillery system on the coffee table in the cramped space. The bastard was refining the venom to produce more of it. Now he really needed to get rid of it.
A newspaper clipping by the distillery about the townhouse explosion caught his interest. He bent down to pick it up but was interrupted when he heard a trigger mechanism go off and pain flared up in his leg as an arrow – of all things – embedded into his thigh.
He yelled in pain, trying to turn and see where it came from, but another shot him in the chest. The agony from that one was much worse; it had shot straight into the hybrid bite there. Through his momentarily blurring vision, he looked from the arrows to see string. Then he followed the string with his eyeline to see—
To see them attached to two claymore mines hidden in the opened cupboards.
"Fuck," he groaned, with feeling.
Damn his luck that was the moment Klaus decided to walk inside and grace him with his presence. The other man whistled in surprise when he noticed Damon trapped there.
"Well, that's quite a pickle," he remarked, looking him up and down.
"Oh, can it and get me out of here!" Damon growled in exasperation, in no mood for whatever game Klaus was playing today.
He just chuckled condescendingly at him. "No need to get testy, dear," he chastised him, raising an eyebrow, "All good things to those who wait," he added, smirking.
Damon narrowed his eyes, fuming silently as Klaus stepped past him to search among Connor's things, deliberately taking his sweet ass time. He saw him pick something up, his brow furrowing a little as he examined it.
"Some man, Pastor Young, wrote a letter to his daughter about a 'greater evil' arriving," he relayed, not taking his eyes off the letter.
"We have enough of that with you," Damon sniped, rolling his eyes. If there was anything truly worse than Klaus, he was out of here, no ifs, ands, buts or 'Elena needs us both's. He was out.
Klaus paused in his reading long enough to smirk at him. "And something about sacrifice and an on-coming war," he continued, sounding both intrigued and bewildered.
"The guy blew himself and eleven other people up in a crappy town house," Damon scoffed, "I'm gonna go ahead and say he wasn't the poster boy for mental stability, Klaus," he added with a roll of his eyes.
Klaus folded the letter up and put it into his pocket, about to turn around but something caught his eye. He picked up a little piece of wood that, from what Damon could see, had a carving on it. It looked like a bigger, slightly more elaborate version of the ones on the bullets he was shot with.
He saw Klaus frowning at it, turning it this way and that in the palm of his hand.
"You recognize that?" Damon wondered.
"It's a vegevisr," Klaus explained, shrugging to himself.
"In English?"
"A Norse binding rune, the short version the meaning is protection," Klaus explained, looking over at him, "Not entirely sure it actually does anything, but then again, I did spend most of my young life tossing carved runes in the air to have Odin answer all my troubles," he remarked, chuckling to himself.
"Well, all the same, give it," Damon ordered, "You're the only immortal one here," he reminded him.
Klaus gave him a half-smile as he walked over towards him, slipping the carving into Damon's front trouser pocket. He then turned away – the sensation of his hand brushing him was too fleeting for Damon to be sure – to examine the distillation kit in further detail.
"Hey!" he cried indignantly.
"Oh hush, you'll be fine if you just stay still," Klaus said airily, hand-waving his concerns away.
He picked up a vial from the kit and sniffed it, his nose wrinkling. "It's werewolf venom," he said in surprise.
"Courtesy of your little bitch-boy Tyler," Damon groused. Now the throbbing of his wounds was starting to get irritating. "Now get rid of it," he demanded.
Klaus raised his eyebrow. "You're ordering me around, now?" he asked with an amused laugh.
"It's vampire poison in a bottle, moron," Damon sniped back with a growl, "And I don't like a vampire hunter having it, so–"
He hadn't realized he had been moving forwards until another arrow shot out and impaled him in the throat. He started to choke on it, feeling the slivers of the arrow move with every swallow. Blood began to ooze out of his mouth and gather in his throat. Klaus raised his eyebrows at the sight.
Damon wrapped a hand around it and made to pull it out of his throat, but Klaus was in front of him in an instant, grabbing his wrist to stop him.
"Careful," he stressed, his eyes wandering to the other connected arrows that were dangerously taut.
He steadied them by holding them still, one in each hand. When Klaus nodded he was all clear to pull it out, Damon did with a firm yank, dropping it to the floor and coughing blood all over himself.
"Aww, someone's not having a very good day, are they?" he cooed mockingly at him, flicking him under the chin with a finger.
"Oh, bite me," Damon growled, fed up.
Klaus then leaned in very close to his face, making Damon lean away a little to look at him. "I already did," he whispered quietly, his eyes briefly glowing gold.
Damon was suddenly confronted with the fact they were extremely close, a weird tension mounting between them. There was a moment where he was fearful Klaus would kiss him. He thankfully didn't, just stood there looking at him.
He sighed loudly in aggravation when Klaus turned away.
"Stop doing that!" he cried in frustration.
"Doing what?" Klaus asked innocently, deliberately playing dumb.
"I don't know," Damon admitted, grumbling, "But you know, and I want you to stop it," he added.
Klaus smiled and went to rummage around Connor's things once more. Damon was about to ask for what, but he got his answer when Klaus opened a flick knife. He began to get where this was going when Klaus came back over to him.
He groaned in discomfort when the knife pierced through the already reddened and sensitive skin, trying his best to stay still. Even if it was ever-so-tempting to move and blow Klaus up along with him.
The other man then paused, raising an eyebrow at him as if he just read his mind. Damon ignored it and tried to focus on a large mold stain on the wall opposite, but groans and the occasional curse word kept slipping out of his mouth whenever Klaus came to the conclusion he needed to dig deeper in a certain area.
He let out a strangled cry as the knife sliced jaggedly down and around. Klaus' free hand came to press over his mouth.
"Shhh," he hushed gently, "I do need to concentrate," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
His thumb brushed against Damon's lips as he withdrew it, and he was seriously considering snapping the digit up between his teeth. He was already dying, what did he have to lose?
"Got it," Klaus said after a short while, putting the knife down.
He gripped the arrow shaft with both hands and carefully eased it out, twisting it and turning until it slid free with a slick, squelching noise. Damon let out an appreciative groan as it clattered to the floor, bringing a hand up to rub the irritated skin under his shirt.
"Ready?" Klaus asked him suddenly.
"What?" Damon barely had time to catch onto his plan before Klaus shoved him backwards.
The arrow still attached to his leg blew the claymore mine and the resulting explosion sent them both sprawling to the forest floor. Damon crashed down, back-first, completely winded. Klaus was on top of him, shielding him from bits and pieces of shrapnel.
Over his shoulder, he watched the other bombs placed transform the trailer into a brilliant ball of amber fire, black smoke leeching up into the air.
He let out a surprised whistle at the sight of the carnage surrounding them.
"Damn," he chuckled, "Paranoid, much?" he asked rhetorically.
But at least the werewolf venom was destroyed and Connor had nowhere to safely hide away. If he checked into any hotel or rented anywhere, Carol's patrols would find him. Well, that would be if Damon didn't get there first.
Belatedly, he realized Klaus was still on top of him, straddling him to the floor. He was about to turn and shove him off, but his phone began ringing in his pocket.
He looked at the caller ID – Elena. He sighed; did she have to do this now?
"What?" he answered unceremoniously.
"I think you were right, Damon," she said, thankfully getting straight to the point for once, "I haven't thrown the blood up yet, and it's been longer than the other times," she explained; she sounded relieved.
"There's a shock," Damon replied, rolling his eyes even if she couldn't see him. Klaus watched him with a bemused expression.
"I've been thinking," she began, sounding hesitant, "Maybe you should be the one to teach me how to feed," she got out slowly, "Stefan can't and Caroline's too good at it; she doesn't understand how hard it is," she reasoned.
Damon saw no problem with it, Stefan would just have to suck it up. "At least tell your beloved your grand plan?" he pleaded with her, "I'm already starting to feel like a dirty little secret," he added.
Then he hung up the phone, didn't see the conversation going anywhere of merit after that.
"Trouble in Paradise?" Klaus teased, the corners of his lips twitching in a smirk.
"Not sure I was ever there," Damon shrugged.
Klaus was starting to get heavy. He tried to move under him – why was he even still there anyway? – but he wouldn't budge.
"Can you get off of me?" he asked airily.
Klaus raised an eyebrow in response, pulling him up from the ground with one hand. Damon had to grab onto his shoulder when he was back upright on shaky legs.
"I'll let you know when I've tracked this hunter down," Klaus informed him.
"Fine, but I get dibs on ripping his head off," Damon demanded seriously.
Klaus just nodded, disappeared without another word.
As Damon made to walk back towards his car, he felt a twinge of pain up his leg. The arrow was still there. He muttered under his breath and yanked it out, throwing it onto the burning remains of Connor's RV.
Through the smoke and ash, he could've sworn Ric was looking at him. When he blinked, he was gone.
Something was seriously wrong when Damon realized even a steaming hot shower did nothing to ease the severe ache all throughout his body. The skin surrounding the bite on his chest had started to swell slightly and turn a nasty purplish color, with his veins becoming more visible through the skin.
He was also starting to sweat again, the latter being the reason he was even showering in the middle of the day, for a second time; he had sweat right through his clothes. It was slimy and cold, even under the steaming heat – even the floor-length mirror had completely fogged up – of the shower.
Giving up at any chance of semi-relaxing, he turned the shower off with a heavy sigh and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist, mopping at his damp hair with another. His phone vibrated on the counter-top.
Damon wiped the screen down and looked at the lock screen. From the looks of it, it was an old message from Elena:
I'll tell him later. Not you.
(He would be a filthy liar if he said he wouldn't want to be a fly on the wall for that conversation).
The pounding in his head, like his brain throbbing against his skull, returned with a vengeance. Damon stumbled into the countertop, wincing as his aching body collapsed into the hard granite.
Something streaked down his backbone. He was being watched.
Whipping around, Damon frowned in utter confusion when he saw who it was.
"Rose?"
That was impossible. She was dead, no-one knew that better than him. He still from time to time felt the phantom weight of her snuggled into his arms in a rare moment of peaceful sleep. She was wearing the sky-blue dress from the dream he had given her and her hair was down in beautiful sun-bleached brown waves. That really should've been his first clue she wasn't real.
He had been down the road before, with a werewolf bite. He knew hallucinations were a part of the package deal. But that still didn't stop him from briefly wishing with all his heart – or what little of one he had – that she was really here, that they could just run away together from this town, all this bullshit. She was one of the few who appreciated him for who he really was underneath, saw through his bullshit and challenged him.
But she was dead.
Over the pounding in his head, Damon could faintly pick up the sound of something sliding, then a whole load of clattering. He turned towards the noise, unable to properly pinpoint where it was coming from.
When he turned back, Rose had disappeared. He found himself staring wistfully at the space for longer than what would be considered healthy before he turned around and headed into his room.
The noises were still continuing as he did, getting louder and louder the closer he reached his room. As he crossed the threshold, he spotted Elena throwing one of his drawers open and tossing everything in there out onto the carpet, eventually sighing in aggravation.
The fact her back was turned and she was preoccupied gave him ample time to grab the towel he had been drying his hair with and drape it over his shoulders to shield the bite from view.
"You know"–
Mid-rifle, she whirled around in shock, her mouth slightly ajar.
–"thieves used to get their hands cut off," he said lightly, surveying the mess she had made of his room as he strolled over.
Everything from his shirts, to his jeans, even his books were strewn all over the floor. If he hadn't come out of the shower when he had, Damon half-expected his bed would've been overturned too, with the pillows pulled out of the case and everything.
"I need alcohol," she stated as a matter-of-fact, "Your bourbon is better than Stefan's," she added, a slight nervous waver to her voice.
"A lot of my stuff is better than Stefan's," he joked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, rather than calling out her flimsy excuse with that she knew where his alcohol was–it was downstairs, in the parlor in the liquor cart, like it always was. It was seldom in his room unless he was having a very bad day.
He moved aside to pick up a shirt – one of the black ones Elena had flung on the floor – and turned his back to her to put it on. He didn't need her seeing his bite and raising a stink about it, not the least being because he couldn't explain Klaus wasn't locked in the crypt they thought they had locked him in.
(Perhaps he could try writing it down? but perhaps that also constituted 'telling'...)
"So, how's it going?" he began conversationally, pulling the shirt over his head, "Still no bloody vomit?" he checked as he turned back around.
"No," Elena said with a heavy sigh, "Took a while the first time though," she explained, grimacing a little.
"Just hoping it doesn't happen at Rebekah's party, if it does," she added, chuckling nervously and wringing her hands.
Rebekah's party… Damon's brow furrowed, then the lightbulb started to turn on. Elena was going to a party that more than likely would have alcohol there already, organized by Rebekah, an Original vampire, whom she despised.
She was looking for the white oak stake.
The fact she thought she would be able to take down Rebekah when Alaric needed to be super-juiced by Esther to even get a hit in on Klaus, was laughable. A tiny part of him wanted to watch her try, just to see her get her ass handed to her. Maybe it would humble her some..
"Mm, that would be something," he remarked, keeping his voice even.
"Bourbon's in that drawer, by the way," he added with a flick of his finger, indicating the one closest to where she was that she had yet to open.
She gave him a smile, then eagerly opened it. She turned back around with the smile replaced with an unimpressed look and a pair of black boxers looped on her finger.
"In your underwear drawer?" she asked dryly, sounding impatient.
"Nope." He snatched the boxers off her finger. "But you don't want alcohol, do you?" he guessed, looking at her expectantly.
She didn't even try to hold his gaze. She broke it instantly and looked down with a heavy sigh, looking like a guilty child caught stealing cookies. Damon smirked, about to unleash a retort, but his phone rang and blasted through the silence.
He picked it up, frowning at the unknown number. "Hello?"
"Damon!" Klaus' voice chirped happily from the other end, instantly souring his already low mood, "Still alive, then?" he continued.
"What the fuck do you want?" Damon growled down the phone.
Luckily, Elena had gone back to the task of rifling through his drawers to notice Klaus' voice was on the other end of the line. Even though he wasn't sure she had mastered how to utilize her new vampire hearing, he wasn't taking any chances and turned down the speaker volume on his phone.
"Easy now," Klaus retorted silkily, "I told you I'd contact you when I found the hunter, didn't I?" he reminded him.
All right, maybe this day had some sort of silver lining after all. "Where?" he asked in a low voice.
"Word has it, he's heading over to Mystic Falls general," Klaus explained, "Apparently, he's taken a shine to Jeremy Gilbert and he's manipulating him to head over to the hospital," he continued.
"Jeremy's actually usually for once?" Damon asked in surprise, his interest peaked. He quickly glanced over at Elena–still searching obsessively, she hadn't heard anything. "Small world," he remarked, huffing out a laugh.
"Well, I did have to compel him to forget seeing me, so he thinks he came up with the idea himself," Klaus chuckled, "And it's just lucky one of my hybrids has a background with rigging explosives," he added.
"Why are you interested in this guy?" Damon wondered with a slight frown, figuring you had to be a pretty remarkable person if you stood out to a guy whose lived a thousand years and seen a lot.
"Well, as you used to say, that's for me to know and for you to, dot, dot, dot," Klaus responded cryptically.
Damon rolled his eyes and bit his tongue to keep from retorting. "All right, I'll be there soon."
Then he hung up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Elena was still rifling through his drawers like an obsessive wife.
"For someone with a boyfriend you have an unhealthy amount of interest in another guy's underwear," he noted.
The repeated clunking of the wood was starting to irritate him. He sped over to her and snatched up her wrist. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, letting out a sharp gasp. He slammed the
drawer hard enough to rattle the entire unit. Elena reluctantly relented.
"Who was that?" she asked, trying to get the subject away from her.
"Telemarketer," Damon lied, "Apparently the warranty for a TV I don't own has expired," he relayed with an exaggerated shrug.
He dipped down to pick up a pair of jeans, tossing them over onto his bed, along with the boxers he had picked up earlier.
"You're not gonna find it," he said nonchalantly as he went over to his bed.
"What?" Elena asked in confusion.
"I did learn from the moonstone in the soap dish, regardless of what Ric thought," Damon insisted, turning around to needle her with a look, "You think I'd just leave an extremely powerful weapon laying around where anyone could just waltz in and grab it?" he asked incredulously, scoffing a little.
He shook her head at her, partly enjoying the annoyance flashing across her face–like a little child being told no snack before bedtime.
"Now, are you staying for the show, or…?" he trailed off, grabbing his towel knot.
He wasn't remiss to the sharp hitch of her breath when he slowly undid it, allowing it to fall open but still keeping it clutched securely in his hand. She glared at him and turned around, making to leave.
"I'll get that stake," she said in complete determination, her jaw setting as she stormed out.
"Not from me you won't!" he called after her in a merry tone, waving her off with his other hand.
He whistled as he looked around the carnage of his room once more, dropping the towel and slipping his boxers on. What had Rebekah done to piss her off so badly that she physically wanted her dead by her own hand?
He shrugged it off, grabbing his jeans and dressing fully, slipping on some socks and a pair of boots. Then he walked over to his fireplace, reaching up inside the flue to grasp what was hidden there.
The white oak stake slid down into his hands and he smiled, rubbing the soot off it with his sleeve. Luckily Elena's obsession hadn't gotten so that she looked in the really obscure places yet. Nevertheless, he placed it inside his underwear drawer, covering it well with the garments littering the floor.
She had already looked there once, methodically, so wouldn't be inclined to do so again. He briefly entertained the idea of using it to barter for Klaus to heal him, but he realized it would be useless. If Klaus didn't want to, he wouldn't, and he wouldn't be bought, bulled, or reasoned into anything.
Damon just hoped, with a subconscious itch at the bite area, he had a change of heart before things got really nasty for him.
Hospitals sucked. All the beeping and nattering of patients and doctors were grating on Damon's dulling senses, and all the blood being transported around was causing an unbearable itch in his veins.
He skulked in the corner, spying Meredith walking past. He made to go after her, at least give her the courtesy of a warning that things might explode, but a familiar scent stopped him in his tracks. He smiled to himself.
"Is the hospital really the best place for a germaphobe?" Connor asked him airily.
Damon turned around, face-to-face with him.
"Hospitals are actually very clean nowadays," he reasoned, stepping closer, "It would've been a nightmare if I was still in 1864," he added with a shudder. Some of those triage tents on the battle front had been atrocious, and don't even get him started on that one oddball 'medic' that still used leeches…
"I guess I have you to thank for my trailer blowing up?" Connor asked, raising an eyebrow with a stern look.
"Guilty," Damon grinned, holding up his hands briefly in surrender. "But you shot me, remember?" he reminded him, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
"Guilty," Connor repeated.
"You remember how it went last time, don't you?" he asked.
"Yeah, I almost killed you," Damon said flatly, in no mood to mess around, "Don't start getting too big for your boots, only one of us is practically immortal here," he warned, pointing a finger at him.
"It's just a shame I can't kill you now," he continued in dismay, mock-pouting a little, "I need answers first, wouldn't be proper etiquette," he decided, shrugging to himself.
Connor fumbled for his belt. Before he could pull out a weapon, Damon had scruffed him and was speeding towards the storage closet nearby. He kicked open the door and threw Connor in, where he landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor. He slammed the door behind him, standing in front of it.
Dazed and still on his knees, Connor pulled his sidearm and aimed it at him to shoot him. Damon smiled at the familiar trigger sound, watching as an arrow shot straight for Connor's shoulder and rooted in the soft skin there.
He dropped his gun with a grunt of pain, the weapon clattering away. Ever the determined hunter, he reached out to grab it. Damon's smile became a full-fledged grin as he got shot in the bicep with another arrow.
"Payback's a bitch, isn't she?" he laughed, "Go on, make it a three for all, I dare you," he goaded, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Connor ignored him, still attempting to grab his gun.
"No, no, no, none of that." The shadows flickered and Klaus emerged, swiftly kicking it away from him.
Connor looked up and spotted him, his brow furrowing. Klaus smiled back down at him.
"Hello, mate."
Damon quirked his eyebrows in amusement when Connor realized he was well and truly trapped. The only way out was to blow the whole room sky-high and get out in a body bag, but Damon doubted he was on a suicide mission if he came all the way to Mystic Falls to kill vampires.
Well, he thought he wasn't. The amount of wriggling and shifting Connor was doing was making him think otherwise.
"Now, now, human remains are notoriously difficult to scrape off walls," he chided him, looking down at him like he was a small child.
"And these are filled with several nasty pieces of shrapnel," Klaus added, gesturing to the claymore mines hidden in between the empty storage shelved, "Nails, glass, wood shards, the like," he continued with relish, smirking.
"Hope you got your tetanus shot," Damon remarked, chuckling. He never thought he'd say this, but God bless those hybrids!
"You two are just gonna kill me anyway," Connor said flatly, looking between them.
"I'd love to," Damon snipped, forcing a smile his way.
"Unlike my friend here, however, I feel there's time for us to get to know each other," Klaus said pleasantly, taking something out of his pocket. He unfolded it and Damon recognized it as the letter he had stolen.
"Perhaps you can tell us about this 'greater evil'?" Klaus wondered, giving the letter another brief peruse before waving it in Connor's face.
"If it's worse than him, you're gonna need to point me in the direction of a good beachside condo," Damon said with slight unease, "I'm not sticking around for that," he stated quickly, folding his arms.
"I'm not telling you anything," Connor insisted defiantly.
"Fine." Damon waved a hand dismissively. "Decapitation, or hanging, drawing and quartering?" he asked, turning to Klaus.
"Perhaps we could build a rack?" the other man suggested, "Bat him around a little first?" he added, raising an eyebrow. "Or get a small glass chamber, a fire and some rats?" he wondered.
Damon smirked, patting a hand down on Klaus' shoulder in excitement. "Now you're talking," he smirked, the two of them chuckling.
"Even if you kill me, there's another waiting to take my place," Connor piped up, as if it somehow would dissuade them.
"Then I'll kill them too, and so on and so on," Damon shrugged, nothing he wasn't already doing with Whitmore's, only difference was he was letting them crop back up all over the place, "Just tell me it's not a doppelgänger situation, 'cause I really don't wanna go there again," he pleaded, grimacing.
Connor set his jaw, turning his head away and ignoring him like a petulant child. Behind him stood another man and–Damon did a double-take. Not another man, Ric. He frowned; his friend gone as quickly as he had appeared.
"And I suppose this 'someone' has something to do with your disappearing tattoo, correct?" Klaus guessed, Connor averting his eyes further.
Damon frowned in complete confusion. "What?"
"We can't see it," Klaus explained, "but Jeremy was adamant," he insisted. "It's on your right arm, correct?" he said knowingly, raising an eyebrow, now addressing Connor directly.
He looked down uncomfortably–they had him. Damon snorted to himself, not a poker player this one, then?
"So, Jeremy can see a tattoo that no-one else can?" he said out loud, turning to Klaus, who nodded at him, "Great, tack that onto the ever-growing mystery pile," he added, grumbling. With all this bullshit piling up, it would be a miracle if he made it out of here by winter.
Klaus tilted his head curiously, looking down at Connor. He eventually kneeled down in front of him.
"There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?" he said in a low voice.
If it wasn't for his vampire senses, Damon wouldn't have seen how fast Connor whipped out a stake and attempted to drive it into Klaus' chest, how quick the hybrid snatched up his wrist in an iron grip and held it at arm's length with ease.
"And what do you think you can do to me?" he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, "I'm an Original hybrid," he stated, and Damon watched Connor's eyes widen briefly with a look of fear. He clearly hadn't been expecting that.
Klaus snatched the stake up from him with a look of disdain, but that disdain soon turned into a frown of confusion. "You're one of the Five," he muttered, looking between Connor and the stake in bewilderment.
"And I'm not your usual hunter," Connor said with a smug smirk.
Damon saw what he was about to do before his brain caught up with him and forced him to react; Connor reached for the arrow embedded in his arm and pulled the string completely taut—
"Damon!"
He felt Klaus shove him in the direction of the door, speeding out of there just as he heard a loud clicking noise. The resulting boom of the explosion had his ears ringing and the force bodily shoved him into the door, simultaneously blasting it open and off it's hinges.
Crashing heavily into the ground, he nestled his face into his arms, feeling all the improvised shrapnel shooting past him, above his head. A large piece – most likely a nail – cut into the back of his head.
He eased his head up as the emergency alarms and fire alarms all blared up into the air, patient's screaming in utter terror as pandemonium erupted around him.
Damon eased himself onto his back, watching as the massive fireball behind him began dispersing and leaving a large, mushrooming cloud of ash and smoke. He huffed out a surprised breath; maybe the hunter did have a suicide mission after all.
What did he care thought? It was one major crisis averted.