Alright? Sorry for the wait–shit happened and lockdown sucks, haha! Hopefully you all like this chapter (for some reason I feel the beginning's off and a bit stagnant, but I can't figure out what); favorite, follow, review, do what you do and I'll see you all soon with the next chapter. :)
Cherry red blood swirled down the drain as Damon whistled a happy tune, moving the shower head over his body and soaking himself in hot, steaming water. It was much needed after the hectic day he'd had.
Blood drops began to pelt down alongside the shower water, but he figured it was just what he was washing off of him, until he looked at the shower head in his hand and saw the water running red like blood!
He dropped it with a loud clatter, jumping back a little.
But it wasn't blood, or even red water. It was only plain water. He shook his head and picked the shower head back up.
"Huh…" he said in bewilderment.
But he shook it off and fixed the shower head back into place, finishing up. The slimy feeling of washing coagulated sweat off his skin was disgusting, but he appreciated the deep soak his overworked muscles were getting.
He stepped out of the shower and turned it off, reaching over for a towel to dry himself with. As he wrapped it around his waist, something sticky tacked under his feet. He was confused–water wasn't sticky.
Lifting his foot up, he saw blood smeared all along the bottom of his foot. Frowning, he placed his foot back down onto the floor, only to see the usually gleaming porcelain tiles splattered with crimson blood.
Something caught his eye, and the steamed-up mirror was defaced with the word 'Killer' daubed in blood. He wiped a hand over it, but only the steam disappeared. There was a sickening gurgling sound as it began to bubble up from the small sink.
He leapt back in shock, slipping in a puddle of water and landing on his ass. As undignified as it was, he was relieved to see the pain jarred him back to his senses and the blood vanished.
He got to his feet with a chuckle, shaking his head. He crossed into his bedroom, content to pass off the weird sight as a lingering effect of all the alcohol he'd drunk when the last few millimeters of soil covered Connor's dismembered corpse.
Until he noticed the state of his room; blood was trailing into the center of his room, smeared all over his bed, the carpet, and there were numerous sized bloody handprints on his walls. He tried to blink them away, but they remained.
"What the hell?" he remarked to the empty room as he crossed over to his dresser and pulled out some clothes.
Once fully dressed, he headed over to the small table side unit by his door and reached to turn the lamp off. Thick blood dripped from the bulb, bathing the room in an ominous red light as it was coated in the stuff. It coagulated on his fingers and, with a frustrated growl, Damon smashed it against his wall.
The red light fizzled out as the bulb shattered, but in the dim lit he could see the blood had, thankfully, disappeared without a trace.
"Bit squeamish?" a voice from behind him asked.
He whirled around in surprise at the familiar voice – no, it couldn't be – but there was no-one there, just as there should be. He brushed it off and headed down the stairs to the parlor, heading straight for his liquor cart. Nothing a good old alcohol binge couldn't fix.
He downed a small glass of bourbon with a contended sigh. As he placed it down, he saw a fuzzy reflection in the crystal glass. He turned, fully expecting to see Stefan or Elena, but his eyes widened as he spotted Connor behind him, his white vest dirtied with sweat and grime, and his head precariously balanced on his head, the tear Damon's fingers had made oozing blood onto his chest.
"What the fuck?" he said in shock, backing up a few steps. This wasn't possible. What the hell was Connor Jordan doing in front of him when he buried him yesterday?
"You know it makes sense; guilty conscience," he said sagely.
Damon raised an eyebrow. "I don't have a guilty conscience," he said flatly, "Not about killing you, anyway," he added with a chuckle.
Then he frowned. "I did kill you," he said with certainty, "You're not really here," he added knowingly, shaking his head.
"And how do you know that I'm not here?" Connor retorted, stepping forwards.
"Because I ripped your head off your body?" Damon shot back like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last time," he shrugged.
Connor started moving, walking towards Damon with purpose. He backed up reflexively, even though he logically knew nothing was going to happen. He was cured from the hybrid bite, so why the fuck was he still hallucinating?
"You're a ghost," he said quickly, halting in his tracks with a triumphant smile, "That's gotta be it," he said, although more to himself than his hallucination.
"Can a ghost do this?"
The last word was accentuated with a growl as Connor snapped his hand around Damon's throat. It took him a second to comprehend a hallucination touching him, and he grasped his arm in retaliation. He hissed angrily and snapped his fangs into his arm and wrenched himself free.
Connor advanced again, and with a swift kick to the chest Damon sent him flying across the room where he crumpled on contact with the wall. He glared warily as Connor got back up, walking towards him with his head oozing blood from the tear and gurgling out of his mouth.
Something glinted out of the corner of his eye and Damon reflexively snatched it up, coming away with a letter opener. Narrowing his eyes, he sped forwards and grabbed Connor's arm in a vice-grip. He stabbed the letter opener into his neck, twisting and gouging right into the–
"Damon?"
Damon jerked around, spotting Stefan staring at him in bewilderment. He looked back to where Connor was, only to see his hand curled around a lamp that he had lodged his letter opener into. His mouth opened and closed in shock as he looked to Stefan, then the lamp, then back to him again.
"Are you safe now, or is that lamp still after you?" Stefan asked with thinly veiled amusement.
Damon rolled his eyes, sighing as he pulled the letter opener out of the lamp and tossed them both aside with a loud clatter. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration–what was going on?!
"How much have you had to drink?" Stefan asked carefully.
The hand in Damon's hair came to rub over his face. "Too much…" he trailed off with a sardonic chuckle, "I was celebrating," he declared.
"That hunter's ding-dong dead, and I won," he grinned triumphantly, quirking his eyebrows.
"So, we're all safe?" Stefan asked.
"Unless he has friends, which if you'd seen the state of his trailer you'd doubt that as much as I do," Damon jested, chuckling at the thought.
Then he dropped the line of conversation and strode off towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" Stefan asked after him.
"A bar," Damon said simply, "Got more celebrating to do!" he cheered, pumping his fist in the air.
But he was lying – that had become pretty commonplace lately – Klaus knew more about these hunter's than he did, if anyone knew what was going on it would be him. He got into his car and started the drive to the hybrid's mansion.
Damon shoved the large front double-doors open when he arrived, seeing one of Klaus' hybrids turn and look at him in disdain from where she was lingering in the foyer.
"What are you doing here?" she asked as she folded her arms, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him.
"Where's Klaus?" Damon asked in response.
"Got on a plane to Italy this morning," she retorted.
Damon frowned—that wasn't funny. "No seriously, where is he?" he demanded with a growing sense of urgency.
"He's not here," she said with a flat sense of finality, glaring at him.
Damon let out a low, frustrated growl under his breath. "Of all the goddamned luck…" he seethed, noticing the hybrid woman's glare lessen up briefly as she regarded him strangely.
"I'm not sure luck has anything to do with it."
Looking up, Damon groaned in annoyance as he was fronted with Connor once again.
"More like consequences for your actions," he said grimly.
"I've never been one for caring about them," Damon said with a mocking, sympathetic wince, "Least of all that you're finally rotting in the ground," he added, feeling fairly pleased with that.
"Guess you weren't a super-juiced hunter after all, were you?" he shot back with a gleeful, smug smirk.
Connor gave him a wry smile. "Just know that I'm going to hunt you to your end," he declared, "You won't get away with this; I will keep it up until you either get yourself killed, or do the world a favor and kill yourself," he spat.
With a roll of his eyes and a swipe of his hand, Connor's head flew clean off his body. A resounding thump and a warm splattering feeling caught Damon's attention.
The female hybrid's freshly-decapitated body was crumpled at his feet.
"Oops!" he said non-apologetically, but he needed to get out of here; he wasn't about to tangle with however many hybrids Klaus had lurking around in his mansion.
He strode outside, slamming the doors shut behind him before he shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled up his phone. He was fairly certain he was going to break his phone from how hard he was dialing Klaus' number.
He didn't even let Klaus greet him as the ringing stopped, hissing out a, "Where the hell are you?"
"Italy, it's beautiful," Klaus remarked nonchalantly, "Although not so much on the excavation sites," he added with a thinly-veiled tone of disdain.
In the background, Damon heard faint beeping, the purring of motors and people yelling to each other from far off, both in Italian and English.
"What are you doing there?" he wondered. Weird time for a holiday.
"Remember that hunter I told you about yesterday, Alexander?" Klaus prompted; Damon reflexively nodded even though Klaus couldn't see, "I found the location of his sword–we'll have the map to that cure in no time," he declared.
"How'd you get that?" he wondered.
"He's a charming bastard, I'll give him that," Rebekah's begrudgingly respectful voice floated through on the other line–he must've been on speaker.
"And she wanted one last chance to relive the memories before everything went to hell for them both, the sentimental idiot," Klaus chuckled, with Damon able to picture he was rolling his eyes.
At the soft thump and the muttered curse from Rebekah, Damon concluded with a tiny chuckle that he actually was.
"I'm going to assume you couldn't keep your murderous urge in check for five minutes and killed the hunter, yes?" Klaus asked airily.
Damon grit his teeth in frustration. If 'I told you so' came out of the other man's mouth… "He was asking for it," he defended lamely.
"Well, don't say I didn't try and warn you," Klaus said with a sympathetic wince.
"About what?" Damon asked, feeling nervous apprehension growing in his gut.
"It's just lucky we have another hunter waiting in the wings," Klaus said cryptically.
"What?" Damon blurted out–there was another Connor–esque hunter they had to worry about?!
"You'll see," Klaus said with certainty, "But unfortunately I won't be much help from half-way around the world, so you'll have to wait until I get back," he added apologetically.
"Try and keep a level head and stay away from sharp objects," he continued, making Damon frown as he had no idea what he was talking about, "And try not to pine for me too much in the meantime," he added teasingly.
Damon hung up with an aggravated curse that rang into the silence of the evening around him, fuming. Of course, Klaus knew something, and of course he was being cagey about it.
"Bastard," he remarked as he got into his car and drove off.
As he was making his way back to the boarding house, his phone started to ring. He awkwardly fished it out of his pocket with one hand and answered it, continuing his drive.
"What?" he asked unceremoniously to whoever was on the line.
"Hey," Elena's voice came through, and Damon found himself grimacing slightly for some strange reason, "I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to Whitmore College with me and Bonnie tomorrow," she offered.
"Why would I do that?" Damon asked in utter confusion, "I've already been to college, three times," he added; not that any of his activities there were academia related, but she didn't need to know that.
"Bonnie's going to see the professor who took over her Grams' class; he's got some of her stuff," she explained, "But I meant, to teach me to feed, like you promised," she reminded him, and Damon was hit with the memory that, yes, he had said exactly that. Great…
"It's far enough away from town it shouldn't draw any attention if I have any accidents," she reasoned.
"Sure, why not?" Damon agreed with a shrug she couldn't see–the quicker he got it over with, the sooner he never had to do it again, "I'll pick you both up tomorrow morning," he said in a tight voice.
"Is everything okay?" Elena wondered suddenly, "You don't sound good," she added in concern.
"It's just gonna be a long day," Damon declared as he accelerated his engine and zoomed straight past a lingering hallucination of Connor.
College campuses were a perfect hunting ground for Damon, all the alcohol, sex and partying that went on, especially for freshers, made it easier than most places to feed and compel others. Although, he hadn't really wanted to share a car with a newbie vampire and a judgy witch so he was going to suggest a bar out of town instead, but then figured very quickly that a quick way to get Elena to agree would be to let her call all the shots, less fuss that way.
It was honestly a miracle he got the three of them there without totaling his car. Connor had been hounding him the entire drive, yammering in his ear about this and that, trying to convince him to drive the car into the nearest gas station and burst into a hail of fire. The distractions meant he was slower to react than usual, to the point Elena had teased him about being day drunk and driving, but of course he couldn't tell the truth about what was going on with him.
As he pulled into the Whitmore college parking lot – that name alone made Damon's nostrils flare in anger – he stopped the car and got out, waiting for Bonnie and Elena. He pressed a hand to his forehead, groaning to himself as he fought to try and alleviate some pressure on his brain that was irritating him. Was it the hallucinations causing it?
"Are you sure that you're okay with this?" Elena asked Bonnie hesitantly as they climbed out of the car.
"I don't see how your opinion is relevant to this, you're a witch," Damon interjected before the other woman could answer. Off the look on her face, he added, "Oh, sorry, ex-witch," with a sympathetic wince.
She gave him a sour look. "What's your problem?" she demanded, folding her arms.
Damon rolled his eyes. "Don't you two have a professor to go listen to?" he said with a dismissive flap of his hand.
Elena frowned. "You're not coming?" she wondered.
"Lectures make me itch," he retorted, "You should know, being you give me enough of them," he added shortly, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly at her before he moved off.
He had to pull himself together–Elena could not see that something was sketchy with him since she'd run straight to Stefan and it would box him in a corner he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of. Admittedly, Klaus' compulsion said nothing about it everyone else happened to find out he was walking around by themselves, but he was in too deep to involve anyone now. Not to mention he had no idea what was going on with him, not in the least if it was somehow contagious. Who knew what witchy juju was capable of?
He made to turn around, rolling his eyes and letting out an aggravated noise at the sight of Connor standing before him.
Unamused, he folded his arms. "If you're gonna insist on haunting me, at least make an effort," he grumbled.
Then he punched into his ribcage and swiftly tore his heart out. The hallucination disappeared in a shimmer of air, but something felt wrong; his hand was heavy. And wet.
Frowning, he looked down to see himself holding a human heart in his hand. "This is a really realistic head trip," he marveled, squeezing the squishy organ slightly between his fingers.
He discarded it on the grass and wiped his hand on his jeans, eyebrows raising in surprise when he saw the crumpled body of a freshman at his feet, her belongings were strewn on the ground beside her – her mp3 player was still going – a bloody stain seeped through her shirt and a hole was broken into her chest.
"Damn," he said with a shake of his head. This was bad; he thought it had been a one-off with that hybrid, but if he was close to Stefan or Elena while this happened, he was fu–
"Oh shit!" a boy gasped from beside him, recoiling in horror when he noticed the dead woman on the ground. He pointed a finger at Damon accusingly, eyes bulging at the sight of the blood on his hand.
"You killed her!" he screamed, his voice rising in volume as he bellowed it again, "You killed her!"
With a burst of effort, Damon grabbed the guy and sunk his fangs into his throat to crush any further yelling before it could draw too much attention, simultaneously speeding into the nearby forest so nobody saw him. He didn't stop until he drained every last drop. He wanted more, he needed more. His body physically ached with the craving as that pressure in his brain returned.
When it morphed into a painful, pounding headache, Damon slowly brought himself back into the present. He was sprawled out on his back in the middle of the forest – he could make out the white building of the college over the swaying treetops – with a metallic taste in his mouth and his neck all sticky. The somewhat familiar sight of scattered limbs and milky-white corpses greeted him as he sat up.
"Ooops," he commented out loud into the silence, getting to his feet.
He wiped his mouth and neck clean with his sleeve, walking back over to the college building. His legs felt heavy and clumsy, he staggered into a few trees before he was able to right himself. God, he was acting his real age–the ignominy was going to kill him before his weird situation did.
"Damon?" a voice called out.
He turned to see Elena walking over to him with a little smile.
"Presentation done already?" he wondered. He was no expert to college lectures, but he was fairly certain they were longer than ten minutes.
She nodded. "Was pretty cool actually, was about this guy Silas and his lover Quetsiyah and–"
Damon frowned, momentarily tuning Elena out as she went on about the Professor's story, checking his watch. His eyes widened in surprise. Shit. He had lost three whole hours? It certainly explained the body count he had racked up.
He rubbed at his throat in annoyance. It felt like goddamned sandpaper. He focused back on Elena in time to hear her saying:
"Bonnie's seeing the professor about her Grams' stuff."
"Good," Damon nodded, "Time for some real learning around here," he declared, clapping his hands together.
"Damon…" Elena trailed off, looking at him imploringly.
"This is why we came here, Elena," he said abruptly, before she could launch into some long-winded rant about why she couldn't do it. "Don't chicken out now," he warned, pointing a finger at her.
She sighed heavily, nodding resolutely and steeling herself. He honestly couldn't comprehend why the thought was so abhorrent to her, but then again, he supposed he was no stranger to killing before he became a vampire, having practically grown up on a battle field, whereas she was sheltered for most of her life until his brother stumbled into it.
He placed an arm around her and guided her down to what looked like the central hub of the campus where several people were milling about, talking amongst themselves, sharing books, and exchanging class notes.
"So…" Elena began, pursing her lips as if she had no idea how to phrase whatever she wanted to ask, "How do you, uh, just pick someone?" she asked nervously.
"Usually it's about how easy it is, less stress and mess that way," Damon explained, at least it was that way for him. He could only imagine some very fussy vampire insisting to only feed on the blood of aristocrats or something.
"Sometimes it depends what blood type you're in the mood for," he added.
"How do you even tell that?" she wondered.
"You can smell it," he said, and she nodded in acknowledgment, "But you're new, so you won't be able to for a while," he said, waving dismissively.
"Word of advice though, stay away from the AB negative in the freezer," he went on, "It's pretty bitter," he said with a dramatic shudder that she rolled her eyes at.
As they continued to walk, looking for potential test subjects, Damon noticed a group of students dressed in punk get up laying on large, graphic beach towels and smoking a large joint between them.
"So, stoners and binge drinkers are a no-go, you of all vampires don't want the extra buzz right now," he said to her, slightly grateful the sight jogged his memory. He didn't think he wanted to try and deal with Elena off her head. "You usually wanna go for the young, healthy ones since they heal up a lot easier," he explained.
"Old people will do in a pinch, but just remember you might cause dear old grandma to get the flu," he said with a shrug.
"You could sound less clinical about this," she snipped, sounding annoyed.
Damon fought back his own annoyance. "It is," he said simply, shrugging, "We're not doing this because we enjoy it, we need it to survive," he said, as if she had completely missed that part.
"Enjoyment's just a bonus," he added, trying desperately not to smirk.
He spotted a blonde girl out of the corner of her eye. She was by herself and glued to her phone-screen. "Oh, she looks like a good one," he commented, nudging Elena and pointing her out.
"Now, start with the small talk, then compel her," he advised, "I'll be here if things get crazy," he promised.
He had to give her a 'gentle' nudge to get her feet unstuck from the ground. "Go," he coaxed.
Eventually, Elena got her bearings and headed off to talk to her.
Damon hung back and watched, slightly on-edge. Elena grabbed the girl's wrist after some small talk about her not having the syllabus, but he frowned when he noticed she wasn't compelling her despite having a perfect opening. She was still talking to the girl as she showed her something on her phone that made her face fall.
The girl eventually went away unscathed and Damon sighed in utter frustration, pinching his brow.
He stormed over to her, immediately letting her have it. "What the hell was that? They can't be on vervain this far out here!"
"It was me," Elena admitted, chewing on her lower lip, "I just saw the picture of her niece and I–"
"Well I'm not going to be around forever to chaperone your entire external life and bottle-feed you, so you'll have to – pardon the pun – suck it up," Damon snapped angrily, "Everyone is someone's aunt, mom, sister, or whatever," he ranted, unable to stop himself.
Elena looked shocked and taken aback at his outburst. "What's with you?"
"Just seriously regretting agreeing to babysit," Damon admitted, not caring about the hurt flashing in Elena's eyes, "Y'know, I've half a mind to just let you tear through this place; get all Stefan-martyr bullshit over with quickly," he added, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She looked a mix of horrified and disgusted. "I can't believe you just said that to me," she said, sounding betrayed.
"You thought I was gonna be nice about it?" Damon asked, sounding a little more callous than he meant to, "Your first mistake," he added simply.
"You don't know any of these people, why do you care so much?" he wondered, looking at her in surprise, "I've never understood that about you," he commented as an afterthought. He couldn't imagine feeling such empathy for everyone he came across–it sounded exhausting.
But if Elena had an answer that she could justify, he never got to hear it as Bonnie – for once he was happy she was around – interrupted the two of them.
"What's going on?" she asked, looking between them both, not oblivious to the tension brewing.
"Elena got an F," Damon joked, "Minus," he added, raising an eyebrow to attempt some levity.
Elena rolled her eyes and shoved at him. "Did you see the professor?" she asked, turning her attention to Bonnie.
"Yeah, he found some stuff of my Grams' in his office and he's gonna dig it up for me," she said with a nostalgic smile. "And he gave me this, it's a party later tonight," she added, handing Elena a flyer.
She frowned as she read it. "A frat party?" she said in surprise, and a lightbulb instantly went off in Damon's head, "I don't know, it's not really my–"
"No, it's perfect," he declared, interrupting them before Elena could protest further.
They both looked at him in confusion.
"All the lights and music will make feeding a cakewalk," he explained, deciding to leave out some stories for personal experience of clubs in the seventies, "Not to mention these places are douche-central, so no risk of feeding on good girl Sally from Bible Studies," he said, with a well-intoned look at Elena, who shifted guilty under his gaze.
"We'll be eating very well tonight, Elena," he said with a pleased smirk. It had been a while since he had been able to properly gorge himself, he was going to enjoy it while it lasted, being that it could potentially be his last.
Elena just looked uncomfortable, while Bonnie looked like she had just thrown up in her mouth and simultaneously swallowed a lemon. He looked down properly at the flyer.
A fraternity murder house party. Even better.
"So, what should we go as? Victims or killers?" he asked with a broad grin.
Surprisingly it was Bonnie who came up with the idea Elena should go dressed as a victim, saying that the fake blood would help her blend in and not be too obvious if she got real blood all over herself. But then, of course, she looked disgusted she'd even thought of it.
As reluctant as she seemed, Elena went along with the idea, letting Bonnie douse her in fake blood like she had a slashed throat, and around any potential areas she could get covered. She had decided to go as one of Jack the Ripper's victims, since that was about as gory as things got. Damon and Bonnie had just thrown together a suit and a bowler hat, and an old witch costume, respectively.
When they arrived at the frat house, they were greeted by loud, thumping music and several costumed, and non-costumed, college students dancing under the violently flashing multi-colored strobe lights.
A chubby, scruffy kid with a neck beard and a goofy grin on his face walked over to them. He had a graphic tee on that said "Murder House Party" that was stained already with beer. He was probably the door man.
"Nice costume," he commented when he saw Damon's, "Son of Sam?" he wondered.
"Son of Giuseppe," Damon corrected, "but close enough," he added with a little smile at the inside joke, running his tongue along his teeth in remembrance. Those two had tasted good, fear made it so much better.
"Well, uh," the guy tripped over his words, "Welcome to the Murder House, Bloody Marys are free until midnight," he got out eventually, "Enjoy yourselves," he added with another grin, and moved off.
Damon took a Bloody Mary from a passing tray that an Elizabeth Bathory was handing out and took a sip. He almost laughed at the absurdity. He was an a hundred-and-seventy-year-old at a frat party, drinking a Bloody Mary from a red plastic skull with a bendy straw.
He shook his head and kept at his drink. The things he did for Elena sometimes…
"Oh, there's Professor Shane," Bonnie said to Elena, having to raise her voice over the music, "I'm gonna go talk to him," she decided, giving her a sympathetic squeeze on the arm before she moved off.
Damon tossed his empty drink skull in a nearby planter, pulling Elena closer to him. "Now don't worry, all the fake blood will help us blend right in," he promised, "And the music should cover any screams if you have any accidents," he added, trying to lighten the mood.
He should've known Elena wouldn't take it well, being rewarded with a stern, "Damon."
He just raised his eyebrow. She grumbled and turned away from him, scanning the crowd for potential victims. Her face twisted in revulsion as she spotted a guy slipping something into a girl's drink while her back was turned.
"Think I found one," she decided.
"Roofie guy?" Damon asked, and she nodded. Fine by him. "Have at him," he encouraged with a wave of his hand.
As Elena lead him away, Damon walked over and struck up a brief conversation with the girl, stealing her attention so she wouldn't notice him taking her roofied cup away. He moved off and dumped the tainted one in a trash can.
He heard a cry of pain coming from where Elena had lead roofie-guy, the latter piquing his interest and he followed it. She had him pinned up against a dark alcove and he could just about make them out from the strobe lights flashing from the next room.
"Remember, you're not meant to kill them," Damon pointed out when she looked to be getting too aggressive, too caught up in the frenzy.
She didn't respond, either not hearing him or deliberately ignoring him.
"Elena?" he called, raising his voice sternly.
She made no move to pull away from the guy's neck, and he heard her growling lowly as she kept on drinking. He made the reluctant decision to not intervene. He couldn't keep ripping her away from victims or she wouldn't learn anything.
"Come on, step away from the edge," he coaxed gently, walking forwards with his hands outstretched in case he did need to pull her away.
But to his pleasant surprise, Elena finally stopped and pulled away.
"Leave and forget about this," she said forcefully, staring into roofie-guy's blown-dark eyes.
He left, stumbling in a drunken daze and Elena turned to him, mouth dripping with blood, with a pleased smile.
"Good job," he praised her.
Elena chuckled in surprise as she wiped her mouth. "I did it!"
Then she leapt forwards and crashed into him, flinging her arms around him with a happy laugh. Damon was slightly taken aback at the exuberance but smiled in relief. Baby steps, he supposed.
"I want more," she whispered directly into his ear, her warm breath tickling his skin.
That was more than fine for him.
They started off not too far away together, latching on to any nearby student that took their fancy and drinking their blood, but Damon eventually broke away from Elena, hiding himself more at the back. He needed more than just a few sips.
But the more he drank, it seemed he got thirstier and his throat got drier. He was so aggressive with his current snatched up prey that her head was torn right off her body. Glancing around, everybody was either too drunk or too caught up in dancing to notice, and Elena was lost in her own world of the blood haze. He kicked the body off the dance floor and into a darkened corner.
Elena eventually sashayed over to him, a glazed over and happy look in her eyes as she linked her arms around his neck and began to dance with him. A few months ago, if Damon had been granted this opportunity, he would've taken it with relish, but strangely he found himself closing his eyes and pretending it was Rose with him. If he pretended hard enough, Elena's brown eyes could be Rose's gorgeous olive green, her limp hair a lot spikier.
They'd never danced together, of course, but Damon liked to imagine Rose knew how to move.
He didn't want to open his eyes, quite satiated in his blood drunk fantasy of a former-almost-lover. But a shrill shriek interrupted him and as his eyes snapped open in surprise, he was greeted with the harsh reality of Elena in front of him.
She unlinked herself from him, acting like he had burned her. He raised an eyebrow, watching her as she was no doubt hit with thoughts of guilt about 'dear old Stefan'. The normal lights of the building were flicked on, blinding the room.
"Someone call the cops!" a guy yelled into the silence.
Elena looked horrified as the more sober and less stoned around them fumbled for their phones, glancing down at the mess she had made of herself, then back up at Damon with a confused look.
"What did you do?"
Damon didn't respond, just gently grabbed her by the arm and ushered her outside. He caught Bonnie's eye from where she was still talking with that professor and beckoned her over. Her eyes were blown wide as she looked at the pair of them, hurrying out after them.
"We should hit the road before the cops show up," he advised, calling over to Elena as she rubbed at her mouth with a guilty look forming on her face.
Damon bit back a sigh. He should've known he'd hit that speed bump eventually. Bonnie strode over to the grass as fast as her heels would let her and socked him hard in the shoulder. It was a testament to how pissed she was that it actually hurt for a split second.
"You did this?" she accosted him, raising an eyebrow.
Damon shrugged non-committal. "Just because she's having issues, doesn't mean I can't have any fun," he said dismissively.
"You call this fun?" Bonnie repeated incredulously, looking revolted, "You were supposed to be helping her, and yet she got completely out of control because you were too busy being a self-serving bastard!" she accused him, her voice steadily rising in volume with each shouted word.
"She was fine, she was in control enough to not hurt anyone!" Damon argued back defensively, "She was doing what a vampire is supposed to do!" he hissed right into the witch's face. Of course, she'd never understand.
"You failed," a voice he hadn't heard for a long time told him, sounding disappointed as usual.
Damon frowned. His father was now standing in Bonnie's place, dressed in the casual clothing of the 1860s he died in.
"As you always do," he continued, giving him a scathing look that became almost commonplace in his growing years, "You're pathetic, a waste of a son, a sorry excuse for a man," he said bitterly.
"Hate to break it to you, I'm not a man," Damon shot back as he showed his vampire visage in warning, feeling his anger simmering beneath the surface. This man was a liar, a coward who pulled a rifle on his own sons because they dared believe something different to him! And he was calling him a waste?!
He even yelled as much into the old man's face.
"You could have been great, yet you're a constant disappointment," Giuseppe continued, shaking his head, "A vicious monster," he hissed.
"Try another party line," Damon said dryly, folding his arms. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, and nothing he didn't agree with.
"I only thank god your mother isn't alive to see the disgrace you–"
He was cut off as Damon charged forwards with his fangs bared and sunk them into his neck. A female was screaming close by. God–what if that was Katherine?! He had to get to her, he had to save her from this bastard, he–
He was suddenly yanked away from Giuseppe, stunned to see Elena in front of him. With a sickening feeling, he realized Giuseppe had never been here, he wasn't in 1864, Katherine wasn't being burned in the church…
The screaming had been Bonnie as he tried to unknowingly drain the life out of her.
No words came out of his mouth as her body collapsed on the ground, groaning loudly in pain as her hand pressed on her bloody neck. Damon could've sworn that–
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Elena screamed, rounding on him angrily.
His mind was buzzing and his vision fleetingly blurred. He fought to stay upright as Elena continued to accost him. "I thought she was…"
"Bonnie, I'm so…" But he couldn't finish the words as he felt overwhelmed, struggling to catch his breath as his chest ached.
"Damon?" Elena said, hesitantly reaching out to touch him.
He righted himself before she could make contact, abruptly pulling away. He wiped his chin with a groan, feeling the lingering remains of blood turning sour in his mouth.
"Teach me to give into gluttony, huh?" he joked, but he felt awful, utterly exhausted and wiped out. "Go help her, I'll be all right," he said with a glance at Bonnie.
He saw a brief glance of how much blood was seeping from her neck before Elena blocked his view with her body. He knew he was hallucinating, knew logically his father couldn't have been standing in front of him, yet he let himself fall for it and attacked Bonnie.
If it wasn't hallucinations from the hybrid bite, it was hallucinations from… whatever this was. And he was waiting in limbo for answers until Klaus returned.
The car ride back was one of the most awkward Damon had ever had the misfortune of experiencing; he dropped Bonnie off first so he didn't have to keep seeing her glaring at him in the rear-view mirror, then he had to deal with Elena being all mopey-eyed and guilty over having fun, because she 'didn't want to be like him'.
He sighed as he strode down the road towards the Mystic Grill, shoving his hands into his pockets. He rounded a corner, being met with a man and a woman blocking his path.
He tried to sidestep them, but the man extended a hand and pushed him back.
Damon growled. "What the fuck do you–"
"Damon Salvatore?" the man asked.
"That depends," Damon responded, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"On?" the woman asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Whether I owe you money or killed any of your family members," he stated bluntly.
"Klaus sent us to get you," the man explained.
Damon tensed–hybrids. "Why?" he asked warily.
"He won't be back from Italy until later tonight," the woman explained, "He wants to make sure you're kept safe," she said.
"Thanks," Damon said with a fake smile, "But I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself," he insisted, turning around and making to leave.
One of them grabbed his wrist tightly. He turned back around with an accosting glare, to see the man's amber eyes glowing back at him.
"It wasn't a request, Damon," he said in a low voice, curling his lip back to expose double fangs.
He rolled his eyes; just who in the fuck did this guy think–? Before he could stop himself, baffled by the sheer audacity, Damon snapped the man's wrist off him and tackled him to the floor in a flurry of motion, landing several bone crushing punches to his face. As stupid as it was to tangle with a hybrid, he was older and stronger.
And it wasn't his first rodeo–the hybrid's first line of defense was to snap his poisonous fangs at him to try and infect him with a deadly bite; Damon easily neutralized that with a hard punch to the man's jaw that had him recoiling in pain as a chip of a fang broke off. He wouldn't be biting anyone for a while.
Didn't mean he couldn't punch back. Damon caught a sledgehammer of a whack that made him stumble from where he was on top of him and was flipped to the ground so hard he felt the concrete splinter under him. The hybrid wrapped a hand around his throat, and snarled at him, his chipped fang making Damon grin involuntarily.
The retaliatory punch was dizzying and had blood filling Damon's mouth. He spat it back into the hybrid's face, straight into his open mouth. He spluttered and recoiled in disgust, allowing Damon to grab the lapels of his jacket and bodily shove him against a brick wall.
After a headbutt that likely had the man seeing stars, Damon briefly became lax. The oversight allowed the hybrid to deal a punch to his ribcage that broke straight through and knocked the wind out of him.
He let out a wheezed chuckle as he felt the hybrid slam him against the wall and grip his heart in his hand. Damon shot one of his hands out and went right for the hybrid's eye, sinking his thumb into the socket.
The hand tightened around his heart and–
"Kyle!"
Damon looked down to see the woman holding Kyle's wrist tightly to prevent him ripping his heart out, her eyes narrowed angrily.
"We're under orders not to touch him," she reminded him.
Kyle's lip curled in an annoyed snarl as he turned to her. "Oh, come on, Kim, he's a–"
"If you want to tell Klaus you murdered one of his friends and have him rip your heart out of your chest, go right ahead," Kim said bluntly, cutting him off.
"I however," she gave Kyle's wrist a squeeze purposeful enough to have him release Damon's heart and pull his hand out; he sighed a breath of relief, "would like to keep my head on my shoulders," she stated firmly.
Kyle grumbled unsavorily under his breath, wiping his bloody hand on his jeans and pressing his other over his bleeding eye socket. Damon smirked at the sight, stepping away from the wall and fixing his ruffled shirt.
"What's so special about the guy, anyway?" he asked with an honest to god pout.
"It's not our place to ask," Kim shot back sternly, "We're only here to escort him back to the mansion and lock him up," she reminded him.
"Lock me up where?" Damon asked suspiciously.
"Just in one of the bedrooms," Kim said reassuringly, "Klaus says you'll be safer that way," she added, and Damon wondered just how much they knew about his condition, or how much Klaus had said.
"And if I say no?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow–he was in no mood to be ordered around right now.
"He said you might," she said nodded, "And we're to use whatever force necessary to get you back with us," she said plainly.
"And I haven't bitten a vampire in a while…" Kyle trailed off with a flash of amber in his eyes.
Damon raises an eyebrow. "Gonna have to extend that sabbatical of yours," he said reluctantly, "I'm not stupid enough to go through that a third time," he added with certainty.
"Shame," Kyle remarked dryly.
He reluctantly let Kim and Kyle escort him back to Klaus' mansion–it was clear they took their task very seriously; whenever he tried evading them, one would guide him back on the path like they were looking after a curious drunk. It was comical to see the annoyance on Kyle's face and, knowing the hybrid couldn't touch him, Damon did it multiple times just to aggravate him.
They made it back and Kyle broke away to storm into the parlor, thoroughly frustrated and annoyed with him. Damon tried not to smile when Kim rolled her eyes. She then guided him into a part of the mansion that was unfamiliar–who knew Klaus had a basement?
She opened a large, wrought iron door and gestured with her head for Damon to step inside. He did, eyeing the strange room in confusion, before looking back at Kim.
"This ain't exactly the Ritz," he said in disdain.
"Klaus wants you safe," Kim said simply, "So that means no wooden objects, no sunlight, and no sharp things either," she explained.
"Any idea on when he'll be back?" he wondered.
She gave him a surprisingly sympathetic look. "No idea, sorry," she apologized.
Damon sighed, stepping back to let Kim close and bolt the door. He flopped down in a nearby armchair and looked around the small room. True to Kim's word, there was nothing wooden in the room that didn't have to be the bed had a metal frame, the desk was a metal table, and the armchair only had wooden feet, they were also both bolted to the floor.
There were also no windows, leaving the only light source a large oak lamp. That was bolted down to; Klaus had really covered his bases, although it begged the question why he needed a room like this in the first place.
He flicked at the pen and paper on the desk, a flimsy plastic ball point and a solitary sheet of paper. He yelled towards the iron door:
He grumbled in frustration as his words just bounced off, echoing back at him.
"Could've at least left me some crossword puzzles!"
"Bastards," he muttered under his breath.
The next few hours were utterly excruciating–he felt every single second passing, so much so he strode over to the wall and yanked the clock off the wall, smashing it on the ground and crushing it under his boots for good measure. He was absolutely bored stiff.
He got out his phone and scrolled down to Klaus' contact, angrily texting him a message:
Hurry the hell up will you?
Klaus reply came through ten – and yes, he counted – minutes later:
Patience. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get an ancient sword through customs?
Then another beeped through:
Besides, Rebekah insisted on visiting some tacky gift shop.
Damon rolled his eyes, tossing his phone on the bed in aggravation. He was so bored he resorted to playing the stupid little app games on there. He was a hundred and thirty years old and he was reduced to playing a digital game with stupid bricks and a ball.
"Wow," a voice said dryly.
He looked up over where he had just scored a two-hundred-point combo, seeing Connor standing over him. He rolled his eyes–he wasn't so bored he wanted that type of entertainment!
"I'm rotting in a shallow grave and you're playing Bing Ball?" Connor said incredulously, folding his arms.
Damon shrugged, unrepentant. "I'm bored," he said plainly.
Then he sat up and pocketed his phone. "And sorry, I didn't have the patience to dig deeper," he admitted with a sympathetic wince, "Should've fed you to the wolves, really," he added with a tiny grin.
"I was just doing what I was put on this earth to do," Connor retorted simply, "And you stopped me," he seethed.
Damon raised an eyebrow, letting him go on. Although, he did wonder what he thought was going to happen eventually.
"But I wasn't just a vampire hunter," he continued, "I had a family, friends, a life–now it's all gone because of you," he said, looking betrayed.
"Should've left me and my friends alone then," Damon shrugged, "It's not rocket science," he chuckled. He sincerely doubted Connor actually did–why would he willingly do something so dangerous with a family, so committed to a cause as he was?
"Friends?" Connor repeated with an incredulous snort, "You think they consider you a friend?" he asked with a hollowly sympathetic look.
"They don't care about you," he stated bluntly, "They only care about what you can do for them, how you can help them," he pointed out.
"And as soon as you're done being useful, they'll cast you aside without a moment's thought," he said knowingly.
Damon tried to tune him out, but he hated to admit he was actually right on that one. Elena only accepted his help to feed because there was no other option, then whined about it all the way home.
"That's how it went with Elena, right?" Connor asked rhetorically, making Damon frown; could he see into his head somehow? "As soon as you gave her what she wanted about Katherine, she cut you out of her life," he reminded him.
"She used you," he said with a sense of finality.
Damon huffed a weak laugh. "I know what you're doing, it's not gonna work," he said confidently; that was old news between them, he'd made his piece with it years ago.
Connor looked confused, so Damon elaborated: "You're a hallucination, you're supposed to be playing on my insecurities and messing with me," he said as if it was obvious, "This ain't my first rodeo, pal," he said with a sardonic chuckle.
Connor then grinned, as if something had crossed his mind.
"So, if you think they care so much, why not tell them what's going on?" he asked, "Why keep them in the dark?" he wondered.
Before Damon could retort that, actually, it was because he'd been compelled not to say anything about Klaus to them, and that this counted since it now involved him, Connor was talking again:
"It's because you know they won't. You fucked up, so you deal with it, that's what they'll say in so many words, right?"
"I mean, the last time you were in trouble, didn't Stefan leave you to let Rebekah torture you?" he went on, looking at him for confirmation; Damon gave him none. "Sure, he saved you after, but he kinda dragged his feet there, didn't he?" he added with a smirk.
Damon rolled his eyes and turned away from him, briefly wondering if it was called a 'curse' because they never shut up and babbled on at the vampire with mindless nonsense? He just couldn't bring himself to care about anything Connor was saying, even if some of it happened to be true.
"Face it," he hissed, "You're a vicious, murderous monster without any care or conscience," he ranted on, "You do bad things for the sake of doing bad things, because you're alone without anyone to love you," he finished scathingly.
"You're a monster," he spat angrily, his voice sounding strange on the last word, like someone else was talking too.
He wasn't sure what made him turn around, but when he did Connor was no longer there. In his place stood Giuseppe–he looked different than when he'd seen him at the party, thinking he was Bonnie; his eyes were milky white and clouded, his skin was decayed and there was a bloody stain seeped into his shirt from his abdomen.
"You became the very thing you swore to help me protect the town against," he said, sounding betrayed, "To think, while we were discussing strategy on how to eradicate them, you were in bed with one," he said with an uncomfortable grimace.
Damon smiled wryly–selfish bitch or not, Katherine was still a great lay. At the disgusted sound Giuseppe made, Damon figured, with a tiny smirk, he must've said that out loud.
"And you were such a paragon of virtue? Didn't you fuck a maid behind my mother's back?" Damon reminded him with a raise of his eyebrows, "While she was dying?" he added in anger.
"The family legacy had to go somewhere after you and your brother tainted it," Giuseppe said simply.
"I had high hopes for Stefan," Giuseppe went on with a shake of head, his clouded eyes looking surprisingly wistful, "But you, you couldn't even last in the army for less than a year," he said, disappointed.
"You were always selfish, more concerned with what you wanted than looking out for others." He shook his head in disdain.
Someone had to, Damon thought to himself. Instead he said: "Because you were always so concerned with me, right?" in disbelief, snorting and crossing the room to sit in the armchair, waving Giuseppe off.
"You don't want to listen to your father? Fine," he said sternly.
"Perhaps you'll listen to me," a woman's voice said instead.
Damon's eyes widened–it was his mother. He wondered when she was going to show up.
"Mom," he said in surprise as he turned around, seeing her for the first time in a century and a half.
Unlike his father or Connor, she still looked as beautiful as he remembered, not the withered, haggard shell she became before tuberculosis took her. It was a shame that all the pictures he had of her had either gotten destroyed or lost somehow over the years.
"What happened to you, my little bambino?" she said sadly, her blue eyes twinkling with tears, "You've become so lost, so cold," she said remorsefully.
"You're not real, you're dead," he said, shaking his head. With Connor and Giuseppe, it was just hollow words he could shake off–with his mother they felt different.
"It doesn't make what I have to say any less true," she pointed out, "Do you think I've enjoyed watching you turn into someone I barely recognize? Someone so callous he's committed to making his brother's life a misery? The little boy he promised me in my dying breath he'd take care of?" she asked, looking heartbroken.
"Things changed," he said simply, although inside he felt his stomach twisting with guilt.
"Yes, I can see that," she said, looking him up and down with an unreadable expression, "You've become such a disappointment"–
There was that word again. Logically Damon knew he was hallucinating, but hearing it in his mother's voice, someone that used to be so warm and comforting, someone that always reassured him he was worth something, hurt like hell.
–"and a shell of the man I watched grow before my eyes," she said wistfully.
The fact she wasn't scathingly and angry made Damon so. He got up from the armchair, getting right into her face.
"Well guess what, people have disappointed me too!" he yelled, so loud his mother flinched and he felt bad for the whole five seconds he momentarily forgot she wasn't real, "All my life! So why should I feel any differently about being anything better for them?!" he growled, his vampire visage burning his face in his rage.
His mother disappeared with a shimmer. Damon breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn't last long.
"And let me guess, I was one of those people?"
He let out a disgusted noise as he looked behind him to see Katherine, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. Of all the goddamned people…
"All because I broke your fragile heart?" she said mockingly in a cold voice; then she chuckled with a shake of her head, shaking her curls around her face as she folded her arms, "Of course I never loved you; Stefan is the better man," she said simply.
"He hated you once he figured out what you were," Damon pointed out, sticking a finger out at her smugly, "Don't forget that," he added.
"And he hates you too," Katherine said bluntly, "You're more of a monster to him than I could ever be," she added confidently.
"After his girl, making his life a misery for a century and a half, making him throw everything away and becoming a ripper to save your pathetic life?" she listed with a disbelieving shake of her head.
"Maybe people see something in me they've never seen in you?" he shot back, folding his arms. He was aware that was shaky at best, but there was a reason they hadn't completely written him off yet. He didn't even entertain the tiny part of his mind that said it was because he was just a useful tool like Connor had said.
"Please," Katherine snorted, "You'll be doing him a favor when you finally kill yourself," she finished callously, looking at him in annoyance.
Damon smiled thinly. "Maybe I should kill you instead?" he reasoned, pulling a face, "After all, you're the cause of every awful thing I have ever done, might be good for the soul," he shrugged.
"Oh really?" Katherine arched an elegantly plucked eyebrow. "Your little reign of terror when you arrived back here was because of me?" she said in surprise, "Your decision to turn a druggie into a vampire was because of me?" she continued.
"Your decision to turn Caroline into a chew toy was because of me?" she asked incredulously.
"I mean…" She shook her head in disbelief. "You can't seriously think killing your wolf-bitten lover was because of me, can you?" she asked rhetorically.
At the allusion to Rose, Damon snarled straight into Katherine's face. "Shut up!" he roared. How dare she talk about her! She ruined her life!
Unperturbed, Katherine leaned back with a triumphant smirk. "No…" It grew as her eyes glinted. "You did it because you enjoy it," she summarized, while Damon bit the inside of his cheek.
"Just tell me, just between us ex-lovers," she said, still smirking as she leaned in close to him, "Were you relieved that Rose was gone so you could use her sympathy to get to Elena?" she asked.
That broke something in him; he snarled loudly, grabbing her and shoving her towards the wall. He went to punch her straight in her smug face, but his hand made contact with the solid concrete behind him.
Katherine wasn't here.
She was never here. Connor, his mother and father had never been here.
At the end of his tether, he let out a loud, aggravated noise and he punched the wall so hard a large crack splintered up from his fist as pain momentarily reverberated up his entire arm.
This was going to be a long few hours.
He had no idea when he'd dozed off, or for how long, but Damon was rudely awoken from the peaceful bliss – the hallucinations had just become boring repetitive noise that made him sleepy – by the sound of metal creaking. He blearily opened his eyes to see Klaus opening the door.
He sat up as he walked inside, spotting Rebekah behind his shoulder, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes and stretching to the hilt until his muscles screamed at him.
"Now, I trust you've been a decent house guest and not decapitated any more of my hybrids?" Klaus asked airily.
"That was an accident," Damon insisted, "I thought he was Connor," he said as a last-ditch lame defense.
Surprisingly, Klaus didn't seem mad considering his hybrids already were a dying breed. Then, self-consciously, Damon wondered if any still lurking around the mansion had heard him verbally sparring with his hallucinations; wondered if any of them got a chuckle out of it.
"Wouldn't mind taking Kyle's head off, though," he admitted with a grumble.
Klaus made a face of agreement. "Kim told me about him, I'll deal with him, don't worry," he said with a reassuring wave of his hand.
Then he gestured to Damon invitingly, who willingly followed him out of the room, silently nodding in acknowledgement to Rebekah. He briefly wondered how she was taking Klaus now being free–she hadn't exactly been happy when he was locked up.
They crossed into a spacious room – Damon swiftly recognized it as the one he was tortured in a year or so ago – with a single table that had a cleaver and a shot gun on it. He briefly frowned at the sight; at least there were no bear traps this time.
"So, what the hell's wrong with me?" he demanded as he rounded on Klaus.
"The Hunter's Curse," he explained simply, even though at present that meant nothing, "And I hate to say that I told you so," he added with a sympathetic wince.
"Or tried," he amended as Damon glared at him in confusion, "You took off before I could," he reminded him
"You didn't exactly try and stop me," Damon retorted; that would've been nice information to know before he'd became so obsessed with murdering the guy!
"I don't think I could have," Klaus admitted, "I haven't seen anyone look so murderous in a long time," he added, momentarily looking proud.
Damon raised an eyebrow–clearly Klaus hadn't looked in a mirror for a while.
"But I digress," he continued, holding his hands up in surrender once Damon's glare let up, "You're suffering the effects of the Hunter's Curse because Connor and his ilk were put on the earth to do one thing: kill vampires," he explained.
(Rebekah) "And you stopped him, so now he's coming back to try and make you his final kill," Rebekah chimed in.
Damon was even more confused. How could Connor still kill him if he was dead? "What?"
"That's why it's called a curse," Rebekah pointed out, "They keep showing up as hallucinations to torment you until you kill yourself," she explained.
Damon turned to Klaus. "How did you stop it?" he wondered.
Klaus looked about ready to answer, then looked as if he remembered something, opening and closing his mouth. He frowned slightly.
"I didn't," he admitted with a shrug, "It just miraculously stopped after nine odd decades," he continued, while Damon didn't find it particularly awe inspiring, "In which time, I'll assume a new batch of the Five were formed," he finished.
"I imagine it's more like a hydra," Rebekah reasoned, "Unless you kill the source, the heads just keep on growing," she added.
"But we don't know what the source is," Damon pointed out.
"Precisely," Klaus agreed, "So the way to save you is to help another head grow in Connor's place," he explained.
Damon frowned, about to open his mouth, but Klaus disappeared with a charming smile. He exchanged a look with Rebekah, whose slight smirk betrayed nothing.
"And here's the head," Klaus' voice announced himself before he did.
Damon's eyebrows shot up as Klaus dragged Jeremy inside – he didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight; probably compelled again – and shoved him towards the middle of the room.
"Jeremy could see Connor's tattoo, and he was very forthcoming about the one that's now appeared on him," Klaus explained, while Damon was shocked his key to regaining sanity was Jeremy Gilbert of all people.
His nose was tickled with Rebekah's perfume as she leaned in to whisper in his ear: "Mainly because I threatened his child-making abilities with rusty pilers."
"Ouch," Damon winced; Rebekah quirked her eyebrows.
"I won't become like Connor," Jeremy insisted with a shake of his head, eyeing the weapons on the table in revulsion.
"Oh, yes you will," Klaus said knowingly, not leaving any room for argument, "And I've even been so kind as to line up a kill for you," he added with a soft, disarming smile.
With a sharp whistle, one of Klaus' hybrids shuffled into the room looking despondent.
"You want me to kill one of your hybrids?" Jeremy asked in disbelief, his brows shooting up.
"It's not the first time you have," Klaus shot back dryly, but then waved his hand dismissively, "But, don't worry, he won't put up much of a fight," he reassured him, "He knows it wouldn't please me if he did," he said with a purposeful look at the other man, who swallowed nervously.
Jeremy looked thoroughly disturbed and disgusted, while Damon was surprised Klaus was willing going to give up a hybrid to help him. Again, they were a dying breed–he had what, fifteen or sixteen left?
"Klaus, what's going on?" a woman's voice asked; Damon turned to see Kim walking into the room with a surprised look on her face.
"I'm just going to teach Chris here a lesson about the greater good," Klaus replied smoothly, "Sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself for it," he said bluntly.
"All to save…" Kim trailed off, looking to Damon, then back at Chris as a look of horror spread over her face at the implication. "No!" she cried, "You can't do that!" she said, upset.
"Of course I can, and I will," Klaus said simply, shrugging off the tears that were beginning to glisten in Kim's eyes, "His existence, as well as yours and the rest of you, is to serve me, to please me," he said forcefully, looking to both hybrids in the room.
"Am I making myself clear?" he asked her in a low, dangerous voice.
Damon picked up on a strange tension between the three as Kim looked past Klaus' shoulder to Chris, who looked extremely nervous and on the verge of throwing up as he nodded his head. In turn, Kim then reluctantly nodded at Klaus.
"I understand," she said in a small voice.
"Good," Klaus said bluntly, "Now go and grab Gemma and Ryan, I'll need them for cleanup momentarily," he ordered her.
Kim looked on the verge of spitting out an acid retort before she turned around and strode from the room with a haunted look on her face.
Damon felt something prickling at his arm and looked to the source, seeing Connor standing next to him.
"Oh, not again…" he groaned unceremoniously, rolling his eyes.
"Unbelievable," Conor said as he shook his head, "Killing someone else to save yourself?" he went on with a look of disbelief, "In what world are you the one that gets to live over him?" he asked scathingly.
"Shut up," he hissed in aggravation. Chris was a hybrid anyway, what did Connor care!
Rebekah frowned at him. "Damon?" she asked.
He shook his head, waving her off, "Connor's here," he said simply.
Klaus then clapped his hands. "Right, Jeremy, you heard the man, chop chop," he urged him, flapping his hands.
"I'm not going to kill him," Jeremy said stubbornly.
"Yes, you are," Klaus shot back.
Jeremy folded his arms with a displeased look. "Well, if I have to kill a vampire, give me a stake and I'll kill Damon right now," he said, looking past Klaus at him.
"Easy, Van Helsing," Damon remarked with a frown.
"If you tried, you'd be dead before you hit the ground, understand me?" Klaus said smoothly, "I'm fairly certain I'd only be cursed if you were a full-fledged hunter," he added, looking at Jeremy with a raised eyebrow.
Damon felt a pleasantly surprised look wash over his face from Klaus' statement. Where had that come from? And judging from the look on Rebekah's face, she was thinking the same?
"I didn't want to play it like this Jeremy, but you've left me little choice," Klaus said with a wince of faux regret. He turned to Chris, locking their gazes. "Kill him," he intoned forcefully as his pupils dilated.
When Klaus released Chris' shoulder, the other hybrid stumbled as if in a daze. He rounded on Jeremy as his eyes glowed golden, his lip pulling back to reveal his fangs. Jeremy's eyes widened and he let out a surprised yelp as Chris charged him.
He just about managed to duck out of the way, catching a scrape of fangs on his forearm.
"What the hell?" he cried incredulously, rounding on Klaus with a look of shock.
"I told you, you've left me no choice," Klaus responded with a tiny smile, trying not to smirk. Then he pulled the shotgun off the table, tossing it to him.
Jeremy awkwardly caught it in a fumble as Klaus said: "It was the hunter's; full of improvised shot gun rounds filled with vervain-soaked shrapnel," now fully smirking.
"Good luck," he said simply.
Damon watched as Jeremy was still trying to ward Chris off without using violent means, but it was useless, the compulsion was too strong over the hybrid's brain; whether he physically wanted Jeremy's blood or not, he was going to get it because Klaus said so.
It eventually came to a head when Jeremy's patience snapped and smashed the butt of the gun into Chris' head to stumble him, then in retaliation Chris punched him so hard he went flying across the room.
"You really want this?" his mother's voice asked; he turned his head, seeing her standing in place of Connor, "That boy's going to throw his life away to become a mindless slave to an instinct he wouldn't want," she lamented.
"His sister is a vampire, he'd kill her," she went on as they watched Jeremy and Chris struggle, "Are you sure you could put that guilt on someone that can't turn it off as easily as you can?" she wondered.
"There's an easy way to stop it," Connor said; now he was accosted on both sides from separate hallucinations, "Just take off your ring and walk into the sun," he said simply.
"Kill yourself and end it," he said a little more forcefully.
Damon growled loudly into his face. "I'm not going to kill myself!" he stated, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
"Damon, what's going on?" Klaus called over to him.
Damon ignored him, trying to physically shake out the hallucinations. He thought it worked for a split second, not seeing his mother or Connor, but felt his stomach tighten when he saw Rose standing before him.
"You should kill yourself," she said gently, "Maybe we can be together again," she added with a soft smile.
"Or maybe you should've never been born," two blended voices retorted; his parents were standing on either side of Rose as she continued to try to lure him to end his life like a goddamned siren.
"Then you wouldn't have killed me," Lexi spat, sounding betrayed; her skin was gray and desiccated and she still wore the black dress she died in, a large tear in it that seeped blood.
"Or me," Rose intoned sadly, her hair beginning to lengthen and her clothes turn into that sky-blue dress she'd worn in the dream. Damon had to physically turn away when he saw a bloodstain blossoming through the fabric near her chest.
He was met with Mason Lockwood. "Or me," he hissed, looking worn down and ragged with a hole broken into his ribcage.
They all began to crowd him in a circle, making him back away clutching his hands over his ears as victims from his long past – too many to count – all began to start up a nauseating chant of, "or me" that blended together in a cacophony. There was also the sound of fire and screams; Damon saw some of them erupting into flames or crumpling to the floor with resounding snapping sounds.
When it stopped, Damon realized in the eerie silence he was on his knees, hunched over like a pathetic child. He looked up, spotting Greta in front of him, Klaus' witch from the sacrifice – her head was bent at an awkward angle, but her one of her eyes roved around to glare at him.
"Or me," she spat forcefully.
As she extended a hand, Damon was overcome with a sickening wave of pain as his head began to throb and pound; like someone was driving vervain-soaked nails inside. As his victims returned to haunt him in full force, he dimly heard himself screaming in agony over the sounds of them screaming at him.
"I didn't think hallucinations are supposed to hurt?" he heard Rebekah asking in confusion; he felt her hand on his shoulder.
"Jeremy, you might want to hurry up!" Klaus called over the repetitive sounds that were becoming a buzzing akin to white noise that was making Damon want to rip his flesh off.
Hands grabbed his shoulders tightly; he jerked up, looking up into the face of Alaric, not his real friend, but the twisted, violent version of himself that Esther had created.
"Damon, look at me!" Alaric's mouth was moving, but Damon couldn't register the voice–it wasn't his friend's.
"Damon!"
With a forceful tug, Damon was almost pulled sideways onto the floor. Alaric was gone and Klaus was steadying him with his hands on his shoulders, crouched down with him.
"Look at me," he said forcefully, giving him another shake; Damon reluctantly met his eyes. "Whatever you're seeing, whatever you're hearing or feeling, it's not real," he said reassuringly with conviction.
"They're trying to trick you," he added gently, and Damon hesitantly put his hands on Klaus' arms to anchor himself to the present. He felt Klaus slowly rubbing his arms to calm him down.
He felt himself relaxing in Klaus' soothing grip, despite the many former victims glaring down at him from where they were gathered over the other man's shoulder.
"They're not here," he went on, "You're safe," he promised him.
A gunshot echoed through the room and sent Chris' body stumbling backwards through the hallucinations of Damon's victims, dissipating some of them with a shimmer of motion. Klaus yanked him out of the way before he could crash into them both.
There was a hole blown clean through Chris' stomach – the way the marble floor was visible through it was kind of discomforting – and he was writhing on the ground in agony, blood pouring from his mouth. Jeremy was heaving heavy breaths with exertion, looking beaten about the face and bloody as he trembled.
"Now finish it," Klaus ordered him, still holding onto Damon; he wondered if he noticed, "He's not dead yet," he warned him.
Jeremy swallowed nervously, glancing down at Chris' moving corpse. Even incapacitated, hybrids were still dangerous, as Klaus had managed to prove. Rebekah crossed the room to the table, picking up the cleaver and sliding it across the floor.
It stopped on contact with Jeremy's shoe, and he picked it up with shaking hands. He took a deep breath to try and steel himself as he kneeled down beside Chris.
"Please…" he begged, trailing off as blood gurgled out of his mouth; he coughed, his face screwing up in pain. "Please, I'm–"
Jeremy raised the cleaver with a shaking hand, sweat beading off his forehead. "I'm sorry," he said with a regretful shake of his head.
"End this madness, Damon!" his mother cried imploringly; he didn't even dignify it with a look. Connor was panicking from the cosmos and this was his last line of defense. "Please, you're not worth him throwing his life away over!" she cried.
"If you do this, I will never forgive you," Elena's hard-edged voice spat in his ear.
More voices then started to blend into a mantra as they spat variations of "Kill yourself" at him. Feeling that buzzing again and a god forsaken itch in his brain, Damon shoved Klaus off him to wrench his arms free and clamp his hands over his ears again.
It didn't work, he could still hear them. "Shut up!" he roared into the room.
The sound of the cleaver hitting the tiled floor echoed resoundingly in Damon's mind like a ringing crystal. He looked up warily to see Jeremy splattered with blood and Chris' head rolled to the side as a pool of blood dirtied the floor.
He straightened slowly, pulling his hands away from his ears and looking around warily. The voices were gone; the buzzing had stopped.
"Damon?" Rebekah called to him.
He kept looking around, a small smile appearing on his face when he realized only himself, Klaus, Rebekah, Jeremy and Chris' corpse were in the room. "He's gone," he said confidently.
Then he let out a quiet laugh. "They're gone," he said with finality, breathing a sigh of relief.
About time.
A few hours later, Damon was comfortably sat on his regular barstool with a much-needed glass of bourbon in his hand he was already downing in a gulp. He placed it down and asked the bartender for another.
She gave him a bemused smile as she took his glass.
"You celebrating something?" she asked over her shoulder as she refilled the glass, "That's your seventh inside the hour," she chuckled merrily.
Damon nodded. "Oh yeah," he said with a lazy grin, "The return of my sanity," he chuckled as the bartender handed him his drink.
She gave him a bewildered grin before she moved off to serve another customer who was belligerently demanding peanuts with a patronizing snap of his fingers.
Damon snorted into his drink when she just calmly picked up a glass of water and flung it into his face, telling him to "Cool off" while he babbled and spluttered like an enraged Donald Duck.
"Careful," an amused voice said from behind him.
He saw Klaus behind him, and he came to take one of the bar stools next to him.
"Don't want to drink too much you end up hallucinating again," he said teasingly.
"Ha-ha," Damon said dryly, finishing up his drink in a single swig, "I've had enough to last me a lifetime, first a hybrid bite, then a curse," he listed in annoyance.
"Who'd I piss off in the cosmic forces to make that happen?" he grumbled.
"Well, Mercury is supposed to be in retrograde," Klaus said airily, "Whatever that clap-trap means," he added, waving his hand dismissively.
Damon chuckled, ordering a refill of his drink while Klaus got a glass of red wine for himself.
"But I must say, I'm impressed," he admitted.
"By what?" Damon wondered.
"You handled the hunter's curse better than I did," Klaus said with a faint smile, "You didn't even try to kill yourself once," he said with a hint of admiration as he picked up his drink.
"Well, you had it a hell of a lot longer than I did," Damon reminded him, picking up his own drink when the bartender placed it down; from the look on her face, she was probably keeping a running tally. "And with five hunters, rather than one," he added.
"I still wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy," Klaus said seriously, making Damon privately remark that it wasn't a short list of people.
"Even though I knew they were hallucinations at first, there was a point where they started to get to me," he continued, taking a sip of his wine as if he was talking about something as casual as the weather, "It was the only time in my entire existence I could feel time passing me," he said slowly.
"I went a decade without sleeping properly," he went on, "Eventually I had to get a witch to put me in a coma just so I could rest," he admitted, looking momentarily haunted.
"Damn," Damon whistled with a sympathetic wince, "Guess that's what Connor meant by 'consequences', huh?" he asked rhetorically; Klaus nodded anyway.
"Was Alexander and his lot as annoying as Connor was?" he asked with a smirk, "Preaching about a 'guilty conscience' and all?" he said in disdain.
Klaus chuckled into his drink. "Indeed," he nodded in agreement, "It's ironic that a vampire hunter doesn't really know how a vampire works," he remarked.
"Well, one that's not neurotic, anyway," Damon corrected, "Or Elena," he chuckled.
They both chuckled when their eyes met. Something then popped into Damon's mind, and he was already asking the question before he could fully comprehend it.
"Who did you see?"
"Hmm?" Klaus raised his eyebrows.
"When you hallucinated?" Damon affirmed, while Klaus nodded in acknowledgement. "I didn't just see Connor, I saw my mother, my father, even Katherine," he revealed.
Klaus looked both surprised and bemused. "Why Katerina?" he wondered.
"No idea," Damon shrugged, "Guess it made sense to the curse," he added, taking another sip of his drink. He was surprised he hadn't seen more of Rose or Alaric; perhaps Connor couldn't figure out anything to twist about them.
"I think I saw my father the most," Klaus said, after taking a while to mull the idea over, "Even more so than the actual hunters; he always had something disparaging to say," he muttered bitterly.
"Sometimes I saw my siblings," he continued, "I daggered Elijah for twenty years once, just so I could tell the difference between him and a hallucination," he admitted.
"Wow," Damon was shocked. "Guess that witch who created them thought of everything, huh?" he wondered.
Klaus made a noise of agreement. In that moment, Damon felt the most pity for Klaus he ever had since he met him–they were a pair united in their unique situation of the hunter's curse, and the disappointment still hanging over them from their father figures. It made Damon fume silently when he thought about it–he'd love to be able to give that witch his regards.
"I suppose this might kill me to say," Damon began, breaking the comfortable silence that had swept over them, "But thank you," he said sincerely, "You didn't need to help me," he said, still bewildered he actually had. What did Klaus have to gain from him being alive?
Well, it didn't look like he was going to say anything on the matter, just regarded him with a strange look that Damon couldn't make out. That comfortable silence came over them again as they finished up their drinks and wordlessly agreed to head outside together.
"So," Damon asked as he pushed the door open, holding it as Klaus stepped outside, "D'you think Connor has any friends we need to be worried about showing up?" he asked, rubbing his palms as the cold air started to bite into his skin. It was getting chilly.
"I'd imagine so," Klaus said knowingly, "In which case, I recommend trying to keep some human friends that can take care of them for us," he advised.
"Or we could just compel them to walk into traffic," Damon suggested bluntly as they walked down the sidewalk together.
"I don't think they can be," Klaus said, wavering slightly, "Not that I was calm enough to try," he admitted, chuckling to himself.
"Pfft," Damon snorted, smirking himself, "You'd've slaughtered them like that regardless," he pointed out.
"They deserved worse," Klaus said scathingly, "Besides, I'm sure death by compulsion would somehow be a loophole that means we suffer for it again," he said glumly.
"No way to get rid of them for good?" Damon asked; he really didn't like this. What were they supposed to do with super-vampire hunters that caused misery to the ones who did? He sincerely doubted a werewolf team up was on the list.
"Perhaps with magic intervention," Klaus pitched in, "But I don't even know where to start–"
"Klaus?!" a shocked voice blurted out into the silence.
Damon whirled around in surprise at the familiar voice, seeing Elena and Stefan standing behind him. Their eyes were flickering from him, to Klaus, then back to him, their expressions a mixture of horror and betrayal.
Well, shit, Damon thought to himself.