Dark Side.
Chapter 28: Rose. Part II.
Saving Elena Gilbert is not something Cassandra has ever looked forward to. She has nothing against the girl, but rescue missions tend to go South, in her experience, so she tends to leave people to fend for themselves. You have to be a real special person in order for Cassandra Woodhouse to rescue you.
Spending six hours in a confined space with Damon and Stefan Salvatore with no possible escape route is also something Cassandra has never looked forward to. Especially since the two brothers seem to be about ready to take a break just to exchange blows. She hopes they won't, as that would only extend the journey in length.
Around hour three, she slips the bakery cardboard box from her bag, dying to dig into the red velvet goodness. She's not exactly hungry, but it's a distraction from the tension and awkwardness in the car. Not to mention the trepidation over what she might find when she gets to where Elena is.
"No food in the car," Damon says as she brings the second forkful to her mouth, tone that of a reprimanding father telling his unruly child the same rule for the umpteenth time.
She shoves the forkful of the chocolate and cream cheese goodness into her mouth, anyway, meeting his warning look straight on through the rearview mirror. Swallowing, she goes for another forkful, enjoying the way he grows increasingly annoyed.
"Cassie."
"What do you call the cooler with the blood bags?" Cassandra points to the cooler behind the driver's seat with her fork.
Ignoring Stefan's tired exhale, Damon follows the fork's movement with narrowed eyes.
"Blood doesn't leave crumbs," he motions with his hand, tilting his head the other way, "that attract ants."
Clearly, he's never left a bloodstain unattended for several days out in the sun, blood attracts all sorts of creepy-crawlies. Instead of pointing that out, she drops the fork back in the box and makes an exaggerated motion of closing it, putting it back.
"Fine."
She relents because, well, it's already pretty frosty in the front seat, and she doesn't want to make it any worse. So, she returns to gazing out of the window, pretending like her mind isn't screaming at a constant rhythm.
Who could have done this? Who has recently—by that she means the last century or so—betrayed the Mikaelsons? She supposes whoever told those hunters in Chicago where they were could count as a possible suspect, but she never found out how those hunters found them, and they only had acquaintances in Chicago, no real friends or relations that would seek clemency after a betrayal. After that she went back to hiding, only listening to whispers about Niklaus, and it leaves her at a terrible disadvantage, she realizes.
And what if this has nothing to do with the Originals? What if this is just some werewolf who stumbled against the Curse and its history, wanting to break it? What if she's worrying about nothing?
What if she's not?
The highway flies by her to these thoughts rolling around her head, slamming against her skull as they reach a more alarming peak, settling for a moment when she somehow manages to rein in her anxiety. When thoughts of Niklaus himself having been the one who kidnapped Elena rear their ugly heads, and her magic quivers and pours into her veins from the center of her chest at the same time, she releases a controlled breath, and turns back to her companions.
Stefan has one arm against the windowsill, face turned towards the scenery rushing by as his fingers rub at his chin. He's the living, breathing image of pensiveness. The Thinker before me, she thinks with a minute smile, overwhelmed by the fondness warming her blood. He's suffering quietly, and she won't be able to do anything about it. Will she?
Could she?
Her mind does not produce a satisfactory answer to those questions, so she turns to Damon, to the way his hand wraps around the steering wheel, knuckles tight, to how relaxed he is, and comfortable, driving his beloved car, despite the knitted eyebrows and the storm brewing behind his eyes.
The brothers throw each other sharp glances and say nothing.
This time, she does let out a sigh as she slides to the middle of the seat, leaning her elbows on each of the front seats' backrest, chin resting on her propped-up hands.
"Are you two going to spend the rest of the way there silently glaring at each other?" Cassandra asks. Stefan only spares her a glance, but Damon grants her with a half-hearted eye-roll. "We could, maybe, turn on the radio?"
"We won't get any coverage here." Stefan shoots down the suggestion in a strangely flat tone.
She turns to Damon, fingertips brushing against his arm, regards him with a look that's all please. They don't have to speak, some random radio station yapping about this or the other, music replacing the quiet, would be enough to distract her from the questions and scenarios her mind keeps spawning. He strays his attention from the road for a moment, looks at her long enough that she thinks he'll comply, until his eyes find Stefan.
"What he said." Damon smiles, bitter, before turning back to the road.
Cassandra furrows, unsure whether this was him being too engrossed in the strains on his relationship with Stefan, the fact that Elena is still hours away, or if he's still mad at her. You are making it very, very difficult to like you. The memory of their last argument slips into her mind; it hurts just as much as it did yesterday. She leans against the backrest, looks out the window again. This time, however, her mind is plagued by an entirely different torment.
Cassandra didn't speak for the rest of the drive. When Stefan admitted to wanting blood, confessed he'd been drinking from Elena, she made sure her face revealed nothing. Not a cloud of what she thought of that crossed her face. As Stefan finally broached the subject of Damon's feelings for Elena, she bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood, but no one got even the smallest of insight on what she thought of the subject.
Around hour five, Jeremy sent them an aerial mapping of the area Cassandra's spell zeroed in on. It leads them to a decrepit house, abandoned decades ago, if not more. Racing towards the front door would benefit nobody, so they park about a mile away, far enough that they can't be heard, but close enough that it won't take them long to get there.
Armed with pretty much every stake Alaric gave them, Stefan and Damon ready themselves for what Cassandra assumes they think is going to be a fair fight. Her plan lies elsewhere, but she's curious as to what exactly their plan is. After all, they spent six whole hours doing nothing but glower at each other, before having an awkward, tense argument that lasted all of fifteen minutes. No word on a plan worth saving lives.
"Wait, I got a lot more experience than you do with these sorts of things."
Damon's statement stops Stefan from walking further. You... do? Cassandra wonders, skeptic, but says nothing.
"What is your point?" Stefan turns to him, impatient.
Well, his point is probably the fact they have no plan, and Stefan doesn't seem to be in the mood to come up with one.
"My point is, whoever has Elena is probably old and strong." Damon continues, pointing out facts Stefan doesn't seem to be listening to. "If we go in that house, we may not come back out."
"He's right." She tells Stefan.
Stefan only hesitates for a second. His eyes jump from his brother to her before he shrugs, decision made.
"Alright, then I won't come out."
Judas.
"So noble, Stefan." Damon scoffs, disregarding the finality in Stefan's statement.
"I can't think of a better reason to die."
Ju-das. She doesn't say anything, but her face betrays her before she can stop it. Stefan sends her a defiant look that's all I said what I said.
"Let's go," Damon says. The brothers nod at each other and, again, Cassandra can't tell if it's an understanding, or a silent conversation. She's willing to bet on the later, especially when Damon turns to her and adds: "You, stay here. Man the getaway car."
"Excuse me?" she scoffs.
"We may need to make a speedy exit."
"Why isn't Mr. Animal Blood manning the getaway car?"
"Elena is the love of my life!" exclaims Stefan. "I am not manning the getaway car!"
"No one is asking you to." Damon waves at Stefan, dismissive, before turning to her again, eyes made of steel. "Edward Cullen here is willing to die for the cause."
Oh, I see. Realization dawns, showering her in coldness. She isn't. Willing to die for the cause, that is. She's said it before, and she'll say it again, Elena is lovely, but she hasn't been a friend to her lately, and Cassandra doesn't lay her life down for just anyone, least of all someone who is only 'lovely'. Stefan shuffles, no doubt remembering her words at the school. She's in Mystic Falls because of Caroline, because of the man staring her down with too much purpose behind the ice blue of his eyes.
"And you are?"
It comes out more accusing than she planned.
Damon's eyes squint, his lips part in search of words that seem to escape him. He looks away, to his brother, turns back to her with undecipherable features. What am I accusing him of, exactly? She thinks to herself. Because the answer to the question she thinks he's about to utter doesn't bring her anger, or desire for justice, it brings her nothing but pain. A reminder of that sound decision she made after they gave Isobel the device, the only sound decision she's made since she got here: leave Mystic Falls and the Salvatores behind forever.
"No." Damon nods once, curt, definitive. Even Stefan seems surprised. The relief makes her eyes sting. She can live with her and Damon being nothing but casual fuck buddies on occasion, but she cannot live with the knowledge that he died for a woman who didn't love him. "But I'm willing to go farther than you are."
Well, there's no denying that.
"I'm not manning the getaway car. You two are so out of your depth, you'll end up getting yourselves and Elena killed without my help." Cassandra argues with a shake of her head. "Or a plan. A real plan, not whatever half-assed plan you just came up with."
Damon sighs, fed up, eyes stone hard. Stefan perks up, takes a step closer, gives her a look that's all gratitude. She supposes that's because she spent the entire ride here a muted, distant passenger.
"Do you have a plan?" Stefan asks her, brooding.
"Yeah, actually. I mean, kind of." She admits. With a grimace, she adds, "um... I think."
Stefan frowns. Damon rolls his eyes with his whole body. They share an unconvinced look. She doesn't blame them, that was a weak delivery. She's just not sure if it'll work until she walks through the door. She might not even get a word out before she's killed. Talk about not being willing to die for the cause.
"Fine. Let's hear it." Damon prompts.
"I'm gonna talk to them."
The reaction is immediate, both brothers shoot out a reply within the second.
"What?" Stefan, all disbelief.
"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard." Damon, all contempt.
"It's called a decoy, dumbass." She snaps at Damon, scowling. "The people in there are old, they likely know me or have heard of me. I can distract long enough for you two to find a way out that doesn't include the front door."
She could also slip in, cast an invisibility spell and walk out the door with Elena by her side, but that's one spell she hasn't tried in five centuries, and today's not the day to find out whether she can still cast it or not. Maybe if she had an amaranth wreath, but even that would be a gamble. This is the only way to ensure minimal collateral damage.
"You're not that well known." Damon scoffs. For some strange reason, he looks hurt. "Trust me, I've checked."
"Then I'm afraid you haven't been checking with the right people." She argues.
She doesn't like it, isn't proud of it, but people know her, people gossip about her, the supernatural world has ten hundred different versions of her. Whoever is in there, must be close to Niklaus, who else would know of the doppelgänger? The Curse has turned to myth, to a bedtime story. This is good because it means her chances of bargaining and being heard, being listened to, increase. It's bad, it's terrifying, because what if she opens the door and a fucking Original stands before her? What are the odds of her surviving after today?
In front of her, Stefan and Damon are having a silent conversation amongst themselves, one she doesn't bother trying to make out. After two heartbeats, they nod to one another, before nodding to her. No more words are needed as they walk in the direction of the house.
She's happy with her plan. Well, as happy as she can be about being bait, but happy and comfortable all the same. Until she's close enough to the front door that the familiar voice announcing what sounds like Armageddon is too distinct to be anything but mind-numbingly recognizable.
The urge to throw a tantrum at the Universe returns full force, and it takes every ounce of inner power she has to wrap her hand around the doorknob. Actually opening the door, however, proves to be an arduous task.
"Excuse me—to whom it may concern, you're making a great mistake if you think that you can beat me."
She squeezes her eyes closed; her fingers let go of the doorknob without her wanting to. He sounds exactly the same, that same low timbre, and in her mind's eyes she can picture his face like they saw each other yesterday. Which means no way in hell he's not recognizing her.
"You can't. Do you hear that?"
Move, she chastises herself, he'll kill them; you need to move.
"I repeat: you cannot beat me." Her hands find the doorknob on each side of the double door. "So, I want the girl. I'm—"
The creaking and whining of the doors opening as she pulls halts him mind-sentence. She breathes in deep, schools her features into believable calmness, and steps into the derelict house as he turns around.
Elijah Mikaelson, in front of her again. With a coatrack turned stake, no less.
The doors closing behind her is the only sound echoing in the room, but Cassandra can still hear Elena's ragged breathing and she prays to whatever deity is listening that her friends get out of here quick. Preferably within a timeframe that would also allow her to escape.
"Cassandra." Elijah acknowledges, impassive.
She'd think he isn't affected if it wasn't for the small glint in his eye. He's just as surprised as she is that they crossed paths.
"Hello."
"Still running with the wrong crowd, I see."
He narrows his eyes, and though he abandons the makeshift stake on the floor, when he takes a step closer to her it takes everything in her not to run.
"Elena is a nice girl, intelligent, kind." She shifts slightly. "She doesn't deserve to die bloody."
"So, you storm in with a small army, steal her from under me." His raised eyebrow says everything his tone didn't reveal.
"No. No, that was my friends being stupid. One of them's in love with her." She explains, casual, like they're two friends catching up over brunch. "Actually, it may be both of them, and you know how love turns anyone into a fool."
Elijah pauses, regarding her as if she were a rare creature in a zoo. It's a welcomed relieve, considering the space between them has shortened a couple feet in too short a time.
"You have proved that many times." He quips.
I'm still proving it, it seems, she thinks, taking a step closer.
"So have you." She scoffs.
The way Elijah's face darkens warns her of some line having been crossed. She fights the urge to cringe and plants her feet firmly on the ground, unmoving.
"Why are you here, Cassandra?" Elijah asks, resuming his walking.
"A negotiation. You should soon find it's in your best interest to let us all go." When he effectively starts to circle her, she doesn't move, grows annoyed instead. That's the oldest intimidation trick in the book. "Including Elena."
"Is it, now?" Elijah muses, doing a whole 90 and ending by her right.
"Elena's boyfriend, his name is Stefan Salvatore." Cassandra doesn't miss the recognition flashing over his face. She smirks. "You may know him as the Ripper of Monterey."
He may know him as Stefan Salvatore, Niklaus's best of buddies, but Stefan doesn't know, and she's not about to reveal that right now. Elijah narrows his eyes in thought, but her words bring him pause, and that's enough confirmation for her. Elijah and Niklaus are still not in the best of terms, just like they weren't in the 20s. Good enough terms for him to trust Elijah to come pick up Elena—and probably her now, which is, you know, excellent—but not good enough terms that Elijah killing Stefan won't grant him a dagger through the heart.
"You think I am afraid of what a ripper younger than two centuries can do to me. Cassandra, you might not know me at all, then." He sounds disappointed. She purses her lips. Now he's just being a dick. "Why are you here, Cassandra? The truth now. Are you here to save the kind, intelligent doppelgänger, or yourself? Or maybe someone else."
He's stalling as much as she is, she realizes. It lightens the knot in her chest.
"Let us go, Elijah." She repeats with newfound confidence.
"Or what?" Elijah retorts within a breath.
"Katerina—"
"—is underneath the church ruins in Mystic Falls, with the moonstone. You'll find you have no bargaining chip left. I have all I need."
She narrows her eyes at the interruption. Especially since that wasn't what she'd planned on saying at all.
"I was going to say," she starts. "If you don't let us go, unscathed, I'll rip her heart out and send it to you in the mail, after I destroy her body beyond restoring."
Elijah has the audacity to laugh. Anger bubbles in her stomach, and her magic lashes out. Not yet, she admonishes it, sending it back into its cage.
"Excellent, saves me the trouble of having to do it myself. Of course, you won't be leaving here alive."
She ignores that threat, even if it feels like a promise.
"You think I'm being insincere." She turns to him fully, scowling.
"I know you are," he says, upturning a hand. "Katerina is like a sister to you, you love her."
"She betrayed me." She snaps. "How do you think she ended up down there to begin with?"
"So, some things never change, after all." Elijah assents.
The insinuation bothers her more than any insult or taunt she and Elijah have been throwing each other's way.
"You're one to talk." Cassandra grits out through her teeth.
How dare he bring Anastasia into this? Her sister is not a topic she discusses with anyone.
"I never betrayed any of my siblings to such a degree." Elijah dismisses.
"No? So, we still would be here if you hadn't fucked up majorly about five hundred years ago, give or take?" she sasses back.
Elijah's face contorts into an expression of such pure anger, the blood freezes in her veins. When his hand clamps down around her neck and he slams her against the wall with enough strength that the wood behind her cracks in protest, or maybe that's her spine, she can't help but cry out in pain. Ugh, she'd forgotten how much it hurt, getting battered by someone much older than her. Elijah's snarling face is only inches from hers, if that, and he has murder in his eyes. Still, satisfaction runs through her veins. He's still not been forgiven; he's still atoning for his mistakes.
"Finally." She laughs, sounding unhinged, no doubt.
Elijah hesitates, his hold loosens until she can finally breathe right.
"I should kill you right now."
"Why don't you?" Cassandra challenges. Elijah does nothing, stares at her with unrelenting fury. "You're not one to make small talk before murder. What's going on, Elijah?" she asks, confused.
Elijah looks troubled, anxious, almost fearful for a split second. He releases her neck, but doesn't step back, and she doesn't feel any less threatened.
"We have history."
"Not nearly enough."
He says nothing, quietly glares down at her, cages her in with his hands on either side of her. Time stretches, she counts to ten in her mind, eyes locked on his, half wonders if the Salvatores are gone with Elena by now—though she's heard nothing in a while—half wonders what the point of all this is.
Why do they still want to break the Curse? They're the most powerful vampires in history, they don't need the upper hand on a species that is all but extinct now. There's something questionable about the whole thing, the different versions of the curse, how they're the same but culturally diverse, the insistence, the unbridled desire to break the curse that led them to her in desperation at a time when werewolves were still a very present threat.
"Why do you even—" the question dies in her mouth, replaced in turn by another one that forms after she notices whatever it was that just flashed across his eyes. "Are you saving me for him?"
Her voice doesn't go higher than a whisper, maybe even less, and while she'd like to pretend it's because she doesn't want Stefan and Damon to hear that, she knows it's because terror has resettled around her heart.
"You were always too smart for your own good." He sounds almost sorry for her.
She breathes in through her nose, releases the breath through her mouth: the only weakness she's willing to show at this moment. She tries to look over Elijah's form, wondering if the Salvatores got to make their escape, praying if they did, they're not stupid enough to come back for her. Elijah seems to have realized Elena might be out of his grasp, but she's right here for the taking, and no one else has to die today.
"Maybe." She acquiesces.
With a minute nod of her head, Elijah flies through the air until he collapses against the staircase. The left side of it splinters under the strength and speed at which he lands.
"I was also very stubborn." She reminds him. Elijah struggles to his feet. If he was angry before, now he's furious. "And incredibly powerful, but I'm sure you remember that."
"Cassandra..." he growls, stalking towards her.
Her name twists in his mouth until it sounds like the most disgusting insult in the world, like an oath for pain.
She tilts her head, focused. His ankle cracks and shatters before he can fully reach her. He stumbles forward, and she merely sidesteps to get out of his way. She is going to die. Niklaus is going to kill her, there's no way Elijah isn't telling him where she is now, who she's allegiant to. Nik may have looked the other way for the past 90 years, but if he finds out she wants to protect the human doppelgänger, there won't be any more leniency. She's going to die. Fine. It'll be under her own terms, though. She's not being taken prisoner while in a rescue mission for Elena Gilbert. She just has to distract Elijah enough to find an opening and run.
"I am going to rip you apart limb by limb."
"Go on, then."
She means it, she's shocked to realize. Cassandra's never been suicidal, has never craved death even during torture. Death is either for the weak, or for those whose time has come. Her time will never come. Except in this moment, she wants it to. She could have escape earlier, in the second it took Elijah to recover from slamming against those steps. She's so tired, though. So, so, so tired. Maybe the Other Side will be kinder to her than life has been. Maybe she'll see Owen again, even if she doesn't love him like she once did. Maybe she'll find her brother, Aunt Penelope, Mother, Father. Find her sister, Anastasia, and beg forgiveness.
Elijah straightens, shrugs his suit jacket back in place, reaches for her. She breaks his wrist out of boredom, idly wondering if she angers him further, will he grant her a quick death? It'll surely beat whatever Niklaus devices once he learns the truth. She doubts he'll give her a third chance.
"Wait!" Elena's caught voice stops both of them. Elijah turns to her, curious. Cassandra, on the other hand, is surprised. They're still here? Why? "I'll go with you. I will. Please, don't hurt her. Or my other friends."
The request brings tears to Cassandra's eyes. It's enough for Elijah to lose interest in her. He walks towards the stair, reluctant to give her his back, but confident, nonetheless. Elena looks at her, sends some kind of message her way Cassandra roughly translates to 'I got this.'
"Elena, wait." Cassandra warns, stepping towards the stairs.
"What are you hiding?" Elijah wonders.
Because Elena is hiding something, and badly. Her hands behind her back, she shuffles across the landing at the top of the stairs sideways, much like a crab, careful to not show either her profile or her back.
"I'll go with you." Elena repeats, swallowing through her nerves.
"What game are you playing with me?" Elijah questions, slow, as he traipses up the stairs with deliberate movements.
Wooden stairs, she notes, nearing the far-right balustrade herself. Elijah might not die by regular wood, and the ire momentarily killing him would evoke in him is not something Cassandra wants to direct her way, but it'll slow him down enough for them all to get the hell out of here.
When Elijah reaches middle ground, Elena reveals her secret weapon, which Cassandra notices is no real weapon at all, not against an Original. The vervain grenade explodes not close enough to Elijah to slow him down as much as Cassandra hoped, but it ails him enough that he halts, fingers crawling up the injured side of his face.
Elijah lets out a primal growl. The sound of it, the unadulterated rage in it, resounds inside her head, has every hair in her body rising tall. Elena quivers before it, flinching as she scrambles backwards in a desperate attempt at cover. Stefan is at her side in a breath, stake in hand, nothing compared to Elijah's might. Movement to her left alerts her of Damon walking into the room, a woman who looks strangely familiar right at his heel. He, too, has a stake at the ready.
She makes the decision in the two seconds it takes Elijah to recover, and later she'll regret it, but now it seems the only option. She kicks the thickest wooden beam in the balustrade off, catching it in her hands as it falls from its place. The bigger the 'stake', the larger the damage, the longer it takes for Elijah to heal, the faster they can run, regroup, plan. At least that's what she tells herself when she draws the beam through Elijah's back and into his heart.
"Forgive me." She whispers in his ear.
"Mark my words," Elijah struggles for breath, back arching as she dips the stake further in. "I will kill you."
"Not today, you won't."
With that, she twists the stake into his heart. Elijah screams, body convulsing as his heart stops beating, as his skin decomposes, as he dies. His body slumps against her. She lets it slip down to the steps beneath them.
"Elena!"
Stefan's exclamation brings her attention away from Elijah. She glances up just in time to see the pair fall into each other's arms: Stefan, burying one hand in Elena's hair, planting chaste kisses to the crown of her head; Elena, tightening her grip on him to such a degree Cassandra wouldn't be surprised if it hurt her, her face pressed to Stefan's chest.
"Are you okay?" he asks the quivering human girl in his arms.
"I'm okay, I'm okay." Elena nods meekly, swallowing.
They embrace again, and Cassandra averts her eyes, her gaze returning to the desiccated Original before her. His eyes are closed, face muscles slack. If it weren't for the grey skin, the darkened veins, he'd look peaceful, more serene than Cassandra has ever seen him. Her stomach coils and she has no idea if it's out of fear, or regret. Kol she tormented, Rebekah she ridiculed, but Elijah—Elijah she had respected, had owed her life to, had almost admired in the end. And now he would kill her. How poetic.
How long does she have? Until Elijah revives, plans, arrives at Mystic Falls, and rips out her heart. Her first instinct is to flee. It's the only thing she's ever known. She's tired, though, so, so, so tired. It's time to face her past and fear full on. She has lived for five hundred and thirty years, that's enough. Somehow, that remark, that acceptance, fills her with panic, terror, from head to toe. Her stomach clenches so painfully, she's tempted to retch all over this putrid, rotten staircase. Ice drips into her veins.
"Cassandra?"
It isn't the call, but Elena's careful hand on her shoulder that brings Cassandra's attention back to the world around her. She and Stefan stand in front of her, no longer touching, but standing so close together they might as well be. Stefan's brow dips. Elena's rise as her eyes dart around Cassandra's face.
"Thank you."
I didn't do it for you. Cassandra forms the words in her mind, tastes them on her tongue. It's a remark born from contempt more than anything else, a grudge over Elena's face when she tried to help Jenna. She doesn't think she means it, because until that moment Cassandra cared about Elena, liked her enough to consider her a close friend.
"Are you okay?" Cassandra asks with the same breath she lets go of her disdain.
Elena nods. Cassandra turns, descends the stairs without another word. Damon stands at the bottom, alone, Elena's kidnapper long gone. He looks between her and Elijah's corpse, eyes unreadable, features hard.
She meets his eyes but for a moment, before continuing towards the front door, pushing both doors open with her hands. The others hurry behind her.
The whole drive back to Mystic Falls Cassandra feels like the walls are closing in. Stefan and Elena drive in the back, not kissing or doing anything inappropriate—in fact Cassandra is almost sure they're not even holding hands—but the atmosphere still feels heavy, thick. It doesn't help with her panic. Neither do the side glances Damon keeps sending her way that she's trying her damnedest to ignore.
So, she keeps quiet, rests her head against the window, tightens her blazer around her, briefly considers turning her humanity off. After all, the switch is right there, all pretty and tempting, and feeling nothing would make dying oh-so-much easier.
The thought bounces around her head all the way back to the boarding house. She eventually lets go off the idea, but it comes back as she waits for Stefan and Damon in the parlor. Turning off her humanity would do more bad than good, but, heaven, it'd feel good. Too good. Oh, it'd feel great. She deserves a fucking break.
It's a bad idea. A terrible idea she is only entertaining for the night. Yes, that sounds like a plan. She's going to go home and play with the idea of turning off her humanity, dancing with temptation, but she's not falling into it. Stefan and Damon can play twenty-questions with her tomorrow.
"Where are you going?" Damon asks as she's about to reach the door, tone of voice much lighter than the situation would call for.
For some reason, it rubs her the wrong way. Irritation starts to swim through her veins. It probably has to do with how emotional today has been, so she should know not to give into it. Knowing one thing and putting it into effect are two completely different things.
"I'm going home." She informs him, turning to him standing by the stairs.
"Why?" he asks, sly smirk turning his face into an expression that angers her so much she's stunned. Maybe she's a little on edge. "We could celebrate."
She stares at him, disbelieving. Celebrate what, exactly? The fact that the world now knows Elena exists? The fact that they managed to piss off one of the most dangerous vampires in history? Or, maybe, that they are in mortal peril now? All of them. Especially her.
"What now, Cassie?" he sighs.
Her eyes find the staircase, heart stammering. Elena is home. Stefan is upstairs, alone. They're still broken up, which is ridiculous in her opinion. The world is burning down around them and they're pretending. To not love each other. To not be lonely. Pining. Longing. It takes her a second to realize she's no longer thinking about them. It's just she's so... afraid.
She looks back at Damon. The fear running through her veins doesn't diminish. If anything, it increases until she cannot breathe. The past month has been a mess of betrayal, lying, and sneaking around. She's not sure he even thinks of her as an ally anymore. She's probably half-enemy, half-lover. Less than that. She has too few days left to remain unknowing. She refuses to leave this world uncertain.
"What am I to you?" she asks after a beat.
"What?"
"What am I to you?" Cassandra repeats. The conversation she eavesdropped between the Salvatore brothers almost two weeks ago speeds through her mind like a bullet train. "I mean—you don't trust me, and yet, somehow, you have no trouble bedding me."
Damon blinks, stepping forward until they're a mere five feet apart. His features harden, but his eyes seem to soften. Talk about mixed signals.
"I trust you," he tells her.
"Oh, really?" Cassandra's voice is drenched with sarcasm.
She's appalled at the blatant lying. He thought she compelled Jenna to stab herself in the stomach. He devised a plan to kill her best friend and didn't tell her. When his brother stated, point blank, that Damon didn't trust her, he agreed. And today, today he told her to stay behind, despite the fact she is the oldest, strongest of their little group, all because she implied she knew who kidnapped Elena.
"Cassandra—" Damon starts with a tone that suggests she's being unreasonable, and he's having none of it.
"Don't 'Cassandra' me, please." She requests. Damon walks closer to her. She tilts her head back, locking her eyes with his. "Just answer the question."
"You're my friend." He shrugs, one hand going up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Your friend, huh?" She raises an eyebrow.
She can't remember the last time a 'friend' casually tucked her hair behind her ear and lingered. If he knows where she's going and doesn't want it, he should just come out and say it. It'd be better, more painful, but better.
Before her, Damon hums, his hand trails down her cheek until it finds a home in the hollow of her throat. When he dips down and kisses her, hard, like he wants to swallow her, she returns it with anger-fueled intensity. Because she knows damn well what his plan is: seducing her into submission. And she's not falling for it anymore.
"You kiss all your friends like that, or am I just special?" she whispers against his lips with venom in her voice. He steps back, confused frown pulling at his features. "I can't—I won't do this anymore."
Damon takes a step further back. Cassandra straightens, hands going up to hold on to her elbows. Her irritation evaporates, replaced in turn by trepidation. She's been holding this in for too long until she feels like she's going to explode. Not anymore.
"Do what?" Damon asks.
He looks at her like he truly doesn't know where she's going with this. Something shifts behind his eyes, adding depth to them. It resembles distrust, a caution that freezes her blood and makes her wonder whether she should abandon ship while she can.
"I care a lot about you." She finds herself saying.
She doesn't use the phrase 'I love you', though really that's what she means. She loved who he was in the past, she's half in love with who he is now, even if there's no such thing as being half in love, she'd just rather , however, isn't a hundred percent on board with this conversation. She's not about to worsen it by uttering the L word. And perhaps that should have been her cue, and perhaps it is, but she started already, she might as well finish it.
"And I can't keep having meaningless sex, because it's not meaningless to me. Last time—last time actually caused me pain." Cassandra admits. Her eyes find the staircase again for a split moment. Maybe she should have done this somewhere another vampire couldn't eavesdrop. "So, what I mean is, who am I to you, Damon? Am I your enemy? Your really hot friend? Or am I someone you could see yourself with?"
Damon frowns, glancing away from her with his mouth pressed into a frown. She can see the wheels turning in his head. Funny, she'd figure that her question would grant her a pretty quick answer. It's a simple proposition, after all. Damon turns back to face her, lips parted slightly, eyes wider than usual. He looks torn. Her eyes narrow.
"Figure it out, okay?" she suggests, unable to contain the scoff that tumbles from her lips when seconds pass and Damon just... looks at her, like a fucking idiot.
With that she turns around and walks away, slamming the door closed behind her. Damon doesn't even try to stop her.
It takes Cassandra thirty minutes to walk to the high school to retrieve her car. It takes her fifteen minutes to drive back home. Ten to realize Damon might not have spoken, but she received an answer anyway. Damon Salvatore is using her for sex, and she let him by convincing herself that he felt something more. How embarrassingly naïve for someone her age.
No matter, she thinks, walking up the steps to her front door, at least I know now. That doesn't mean it hurts any less. One thing is for certain, the urge to turn her humanity off has taken a step back, giving space for feelings that border on self-wallowing. Only for tonight; tomorrow she's getting over it. That's a promise.
So caught up by her thoughts, she doesn't notice the presence beside her until her key is in the door. She turns to the left. There in the corner where the porch turns and opens towards the house's side stands a woman. Taller than Cassandra, slim, with a brunette bob styled to frame her face. Of most import is the fact that this woman is none other than Elena's kidnapper. And Cassandra did not think her stupid enough to follow them here.
"I live alone, you could have waited inside," Cassandra says, casual, wondering if this is going to turn into a fight.
She really doesn't want to have to fight.
"I know who you are." She replies instead.
With that, she steps out of the shadows and into the dim light Cassandra's porch light emits. Cassandra hadn't been sure in the brief glance she granted the woman within that house, but now, with no present danger, there's no doubt who this woman is. She's never seen her in person, only a couple drawings and a verbal description from Katherine, but it's definitely her.
"And I know who you are." Cassandra turns to face her. "Rose-Marie."
She's the woman who turned Katherine. She's the woman Katherine condemned to the death of a traitor. Rose seems shocked to be recognized, but she doesn't let it deter her.
"Cassandra Woodhouse." Rose exhales with a shake of her head. She sounds remarkably British, Southern, perhaps. "The Runaway Bride, The Crimson Terror, the most dangerous woman of the 15th and 16th centuries in front of me."
Cassandra can't help it, she laughs. Mostly because Rose is looking at her like she can't believe her own eyes, and mostly because, Morgana, people are so overdramatic.
"The Crimson Terror?" Cassandra repeats. Her laughter dissolves into giggles, dissolves into a smile. "I never heard that one. It's a little unimaginative, don't you think?"
Rose ignores the remark. Instead, she steps closer, face upturned into a look Cassandra knows too well. Whatever bullshit Rose has heard, she believed, and it has her thinking Cassandra might be the fix to her problems. She's not.
"For the longest time, I thought you were a myth. A fairytale."
"Believe me, that is not me."
Whoever that woman, that myth, is, it's not her. Cassandra may be many things, but she's not a fairytale, and she is definitely not the most dangerous woman of any century. Most days, she feels tiny, not strong, or dangerous, or anything worth going down in history for.
"You are the Dowager Princess," Rose starts, seeking affirmation.
"Yes, I am." Cassandra interrupts before the woman can start to name every title and epithet attributed to Cassandra. She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. "But those stories are just stories. I'm only a girl, nothing more."
"You're a true hybrid. I hardly doubt you're nothing more than a girl." Rose argues back within a beat.
She should find it surprising, the fact that this woman Cassandra has never met knows what she is. After all, only a very short list of people knows about it. Not even Will does, and they've been friends for a century. Outside of the Originals, Katherine, the Salvatores, Bonnie, Caroline, and Elena, only three other people know. And the Grand Coven, but she's not counting them. Even then, the number is under twenty people, a large amount, but an amount that pales in comparison to the amount of people Cassandra knows, the amount of people who have heard of her.
She should find it surprising. Instead, she's annoyed, because Elena told them what Elijah did before they arrived, and now here is Rose, revealing she knows Cassandra is a hybrid.
"What are you doing here, Rose?" Cassandra asks.
She suspects Rose is here because she heard Cassandra was, is, a necromancer, and, well, Rose just lost the most important person in her life. Except vampires are harder to resurrect with the magic Cassandra knows well—the one that might be dark, but safe, and won't mess with The Veil beyond repair. And even if resurrecting vampires weren't tricky, she's not risking releasing that much magic into the world regardless. She could lose control. It's been centuries since she's attempted any spells larger than domestic ones.
"I—I want to help you and your friends."
That is not what she expected. Still, it presents as an excellent opportunity. Rose, after all, looks sincere, down to the nervous shuffle she's trying to cover.
"What do you know about the Curse?" Cassandra asks. "Have you ever read it?"
"I—no, I've heard of it." Rose frowns, pausing. Her hands tighten into fists. "I certainly don't know more than you."
She doesn't know that much more either, she's starting to suspect, but Rose doesn't need to know that. Especially if Rose knows enough to back the theory developing in Cassandra's mind.
"Come on in." Cassandra offers, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Tell me everything you know."
Rose takes a step forward, before stopping, suddenly hesitant.
"Like I said, I am not sure how much I actually know." She warns.
"It's okay." Cassandra shrugs. She walks inside, standing by the opened door. "I want to hear your version."
Rose blinks, even more diffident now.
"My version? It's a curse. There aren't any variants." She argues, skeptical.
"Rose, if you keep giving me excuses, I won't let you borrow my guest room." Cassandra sighs, not in the mood. "And you want my guestroom. It has a shower, and a duck feather comforter."
"You're gonna let me stay?" Rose asks, surprised, but the promise of a shower is enough to get her to step forward.
"For the night." Cassandra clarifies. "And as a thank you, you'll be doing something for me tomorrow, bright and early."
She expects Rose to protest at that. Instead, she nods. Maybe it's the kind, benign tone of voice Cassandra used, the one that can make even the deadliest of threats feel like a promise of happiness. Maybe it's the prospect of being warm. Maybe it's Rose trying to prove herself. Regardless of what makes the decision for her, Rose steps forward and crosses the threshold.
A/N: Here's the final part for 'Rose'. A lot happens in this chapter, and a lot more will happen in the future because of it. To those of you pulling at your hair because you know, like good responsible people, you realize that Damon and Cass need! to! talk!, this isn't that talk... but it kind of is, too?
Thanks so much for the follows, and favourites, and reviews, though! It means a lot!
I hope you guys are all staying safe during this pandemic. I am currently trying to finish all my online classes, whew who would have thought it'd be such a hard thing to adjust to, though?, finishing projects, and working from home, which doesn't leave me with a lot of free time, unfortunately. Ironic, since everyone is joking about free-time being the only thing they got.
Onto reviews!
StrangelyBeautiful3: I'm excited you're excited! Her relationship with Klaus is... complicated, to say the least. A lot of things went down there that no one, not even Katherine, knows about. It's like her little secret, and it's one of aspect of the story I can't wait to start exploring!
Eennio: Here's the chapter! I hope you like it! Her relationship with Klaus and Elijah is complicated. A lot of lies are involved. Do they want to kill her, though? Well... she definitely thinks so? Elijah might think so too? There's a lot going on that not even Cassandra is aware of, though.
WinchesterDixonBros: Yeah, her human life makes me soft :( there's so much that she misses from it. You might see more of it soon! Though, not flashbacks specifically. It'll be a while before we get one of those again.
nerdalertwarning: I know! It was a little annoying how magic was only deemed good or important if it served Elena. I'm glad you like Cassandra's past, or some of it, at least! It's one of my favorite aspects of her backstory and I wish I could find a way to show more of it, or incorporate more flashbacks into the story. Fear definitely is one of the reasons, if not the main one, why she doesn't practice as much magic/why she's always desperate to be in control. It ties back to her human life. I'm glad you think it makes her realistic! That was my aim-sometimes people hold back for reasons in real life and no one questions it as much, but most people notice that and can't help but continuously as why she never acts out if she's 'so powerful'. So, to hear you say it makes her realistic is very refreshing! Thank you. I hope you're staying safe too!
Guest: Elijah's here! hope it doesn't make you too nervous now!
VickieDillard1: Thank you!
For the record, UPDATED: 06/04/2020.