Dark Side.

Chapter 33: Venator et Hybrida.

"Well, what is this that I can't see?
With ice cold hands taking hold of me.
Well, I am death none can excel.
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.

[...]

Oh, death, please consider my age.
Please, don't take me at this stage.
My wealth is all at your command,
If you will move your icy hands.
Oh, Death.
Oh, Death.
Won't you spare me over 'til a another year?"

—O Death. Ralph Stanley.

Alaric Saltzman would like the world to know that this was not his idea. You know, for the record when this crazy plan inevitably goes south, and he gets hurt. Or worse, dead.

No, this was not his idea. Not his idea at all. Yet, he agrees with it.

He wasn't going to do anything about it. When he heard about the deaths and the attacks, he thought about intervening. He'll admit he even thought about taking matters into his own hands and getting rid of the vampire responsible for the attacks, figuring out what kind of supernatural creature could have been responsible for the other 'accidental' deaths, without telling the Salvatores or anyone else about it. He was going to do it. He was going to do what he originally came to Mystic Falls for. Until Damon texted, and he realized there was no point.

Even if he was skillful enough to take down such an old vampire, which, again, for the record, he is not, he couldn't, can't, kill Cassandra. No one would allow it. Elena would be disappointed, Caroline would never forgive him, and Damon would rip off his head. Alaric isn't sure what his ring's resurrecting properties extend to, but he's pretty sure it draws the line at beheading. Stefan, perhaps, would have considered it a couple weeks ago, but not anymore.

At least that's what Alaric thought until yesterday, when just as the clock struck seven pm and Alaric realized Damon would not be joining him for a drink as he usually did on Mondays and Thursdays—the second time this week he missed it, which couldn't be good news—Stefan slid into the seat to his right with a proposal that left Alaric speechless.

"You want me to kill Cassandra?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"No, no, not kill." Stefan corrected, lowering his voice as the bartender walked past them behind the bar. "Just hunt her down?"

"You realize hunting vampires usually ends in killing." Alaric deadpanned.

"Neutralize her! Capture her." Stefan insisted. "No killing, no hurting her."

He was uncertain. Instinct tends to take over whenever survival is threatened, and Alaric has yet to meet a vampire who lays down their life willingly, or who lets themselves be captured. Cassandra didn't, doesn't, strike him as the type to not put up a fight, regardless of just who is doing the hunting. Also, there was another issue to consider, a very important issue.

"I'm not strong enough." Alaric refused, downing the rest of his drink in one go before beginning to put his graded papers away. "I couldn't even take on your brother."

"I'll be there."

Stefan rushed through his words, turning to him with hands outstretched as if to stop him. Alaric regarded him, silent, noted his scrunched-up eyebrows and the worried glint to his eyes. This was important to him, very important, probably because, if the papers were right, two more innocent people died. That put the death count up to seven since Monday, when the first deaths were finally confirmed by the papers.

They were vampire deaths, fairly clean. At least, Alaric had theorized based on the description given by one Andrea Starr in the eleven o'clock news. She had stood by the woods edge, talking about the victims' death like she was reading off menu items to a waiter, before advising watchers to stay off the woods until the animal responsible had been caught.

Some animal.

Maybe Stefan was right.

"Does Damon know about this?" Alaric asked Stefan, wanting to address the last point giving him pause.

Even then, he knew the answer. If Damon wanted Alaric's help with this, Stefan wouldn't be here alone. He'd have asked himself. Before him, Stefan looked down, face twisted into shame. Alaric realized this was a conversation the brothers had had already, and Stefan was once more defying Damon's decision. This is the Lockwood's Masquerade all over again, Alaric thought grimly, but said nothing, not wanting to remember Stefan's contingency plan.

"Stefan!" He scolded instead.

"My brother doesn't want anyone talking to her, says it's up to her whether she turns the flip back on." Stefan explained, sounding all in all like he's begging him to reason. "But, Alaric, I talked to her. She didn't sound like she would turn it on anytime soon. I don't think she'll ever want to. More people will die if we don't stop her."

"Neutralize her." Alaric repeated.

Cassandra may have been off the rails, but Alaric still likes her enough that he doesn't think he'd be able to kill her. She's his brightest student, and not just because she's been alive for most of history. Sometimes, he even has trouble keeping up with her analytical essays, has to stop drinking and concentrate to catch up. She's the kindest vampire he knows, though maybe that is up for questioning now. She's surprisingly funny, Alaric found in the evenings when she'd join him and Damon at The Grill before the silent argument between her at the Salvatore brothers nearly turned her an enemy in their eyes. Somehow, the redhead became his friend. And he doesn't want to be the one to kill her. A problem, when he needs to hunt her.

"Keep her somewhere safe until she has no choice but to turn her humanity back on." Stefan had agreed.

And that's how Alaric ends up here, late Friday night, by the area of the cemetery that slowly blends with the woods surrounding the town. Armed, he traipses through the cemetery, approaching the woods. Three of the victims were found there, suggesting Cassandra has some affinity for it. How suitable, Alaric begrudgingly thinks, the undead dropping her victims' bodies in an eternal resting place.

His ironic musings come to a halt as he hears movement behind him. He turns, heartbeat quickening.

The drizzle making its way down from the sky seems to be drawing on the heat slowly evaporating from the ground, so that the tombstones are all surrounded by a light fog, lazy and twirling, not dense enough to hindrance Alaric's eyesight, but enough to make him pay extra attention. He passes a furtive look across the old tombstones, paying careful attention to the large tree directly to his left, the perfect hiding spot. Still, he sees nothing out of place, hears nothing but his breathing and the nocturnal activities of the forest. Something is up, though, because his heart hasn't dislodged from his throat and he learned long ago to always listen to his instincts.

He remains unmoving for three consecutive beats. Nothing around him changes, nothing comes barrelling from the woods for his head. The drizzle intensifies, now more rain than before, and he takes that as his cue to hurry. The weather has been unpredictable lately and under a storm he is defenceless.

So, on he walks. Into the woods. Alone. After a homicidal creature that thrives in the night. It may be his job, but it still drips ice into his heart. Though that may be the unsettling feeling that he's being watched. At least the night is clear enough that the dim light of his flashlight covers more than it usually would.

He walks for what he assumes is four hours—maybe a little more, a little less—damp from the rain and with a chill slowly knitting itself into his very bones. Thinking he'd be better off coming back tomorrow, Alaric turns left, steps between a cluster of trees… and ends right by a small clearing.

He halts in his step, breathes in deep to slow his heartbeat.

He didn't expect to find her here. Yet there Cassandra stands, in the middle of a clearing, face upstretched to the sky like she's sunbathing. She couldn't even do that if it was daytime, not in this clearing. It is much too small—only big enough for six grown men to stand one next to the other in a straight line—so the trees surrounding it reach up towards the sky, branches much too wide to allow any sort of light to bleed through, sun or otherwise. Even the rain can trickle down the leaves only just, but Alaric hears its platter-splatter against them with extreme clarity. It takes him a second to realize it's because the woods seem to have quietened.

Only when he knows his heartbeat has slowed down, when his breathing has stabilised, does he step forward. His footsteps are so quiet he doesn't hear them, only senses the way grass and leaves fold under his weight through the soles of his boots. Silent to him, perhaps, but definitely audible to the woman in front of him.

Regardless, Cassandra doesn't move, doesn't twitch. Silence stretches around them, deafening, thrusting loneliness into his head, one he has no reason to experience. One that rings across the empty expanse that is his brain until he finds himself desperately wishing for a wild animal to come gallivanting into the clearing, an owl to fly madly over their heads, anything to stop the disconcerting white noise created by the rain and the unmoving redhead in front of him.

Alaric steps forward, only then realizing he'd stopped. His left hand reaches into his pocket, retrieving the single syringe filled with vervain he carries. His right hand tightens the hold he has on the small flashlight. He knows he ought to turn it off, the redhead has no source of light with her, but he can't bring himself to. She knows he's here. It's just a matter of her deciding when to attack.

Then, it'll be a matter of fighting for his life.

He steps, quiet as a mouse, until he's standing right beside her, as close as it is possible without stepping on the back of her feet, towering over her. From here, he gets a somewhat clear view of her face. Eyes closed, face muscles relaxed, she looks eerily calm. Too serene. This isn't right. At this point she can probably feel his breath on her head, even a human could! Why isn't she doing anything? Did she turn her humanity back on without anyone making her?

You can't risk it, he thinks, slowly raising the syringe until it hovers at the same level as her neck. All he needs to do now is one quick, precise, jab…

He pauses, glancing upward. The rain has stopped, and it sends his body and mind into a panic, even if he's not certain why. He looks back down, ready to drug the redhead and text Stefan, only to find her turned around, staring blankly up at him.

"Shit!"

Alaric scrambles, unable to contain the startled shout that leaves his lips, and jabs the syringe into her neck, pressing until the entirety of its content has entered her blood stream.

The reaction is immediate. Cassandra hisses, hand flying up to her neck as she gasps, eyes wide. Not quite panicked, but definitely in pain. She tumbles to the ground, fingers dragging against the soil as she coughs and gasps, getting weaker by the minute.

"That… was easier than I thought it'd be." Alaric comments to no one in particular, having the need to speak, to somehow expel the fear that had settled in his stomach when this crazy plan began.

The relief is short-lived. Cassandra's gasp turns into a laugh, sinister and empty and wrong, as she pushes off the ground to her feet, the now-empty syringe in her hand.

"Did you really think 10CC of vervain would be enough to weaken me?" She asks, staring at the syringe as she turns it over. "How foolish of you." She adds, eyes snapping up to him, suddenly not amused.

Aw, shit.

He scrambles back as she takes a step forward, effectively landing them in the exact same position. He thrusts his fist down, grabbing the stake expelled by the contraction in his arm, and goes to attack. He may not want to kill her, but it's his survival in jeopardy now.

Cassandra takes a hold of his wrist and twists until his hole arm is behind him, his grip on the stake releasing without his consent. He swings with his other arm, without a weapon, hoping to grab a fistful of hair or something to get the redhead to release him. His shoulder is burning, like it's one slight push away from popping out. Before his hand can connect with anything, Cassandra lifts one leg up and slams her upturned foot against his side, the heel of her boot connecting painfully against his ribs, in one hell of a kick as she pulls at his arm once more.

He probably would have screamed at the sharp, burning pain in his shoulder if the force of the hit hadn't knocked all the air out of his lungs. He lands harshly on the ground and slides, only stopping when he's near the edge of the clearing. Through the oxygen-lacking fog his brain is in, all he sees is the top of the trees going in circles. Everything is a grey-green color under the faint light of his abandoned flashlight.

He forces air into his lungs with two big coughs and a gasp, forces his body into a seated position. His flashlight landed about two feet away from him, but that is not something he should worry about, he notes, because Cassandra is walking towards him again.

He goes for the stakes strapped to his side without thinking; nothing happens. Alaric blinks down at his body, noticing his arm lying limply on his lap. Just as he does it, his brain finally connects the dots and pain shoots from his shoulder all the way down to his toes. It's so sharp he can barely breathe. He glances up at the redhead again as his non-dominant hand finally procures enough strength to pull one of the stakes loose. She's walking towards him at a leisure pace, looking as bored as he probably does at the theatre.

Somehow, the fact that she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get rid of him terrifies him. He scrambles to his feet, throwing the stake her way. She catches it and throws it away, not even pausing. Alaric throws another one. Again, she just catches it, but, instead of discarding it, she flips it and throws it at him. They're close enough that he has no choice but to dive out of the way… and land painfully on his dislocated shoulder.

He shouts out, hand holding to his shoulder. Damn, how do action heroes just go on with injuries?!

"Judas, you're the worst vampire hunter ever!" Cassandra complains. It comes out flat and superficial. "I thought, well, finally, some entertainment!"

Her hand clamps down on his hair, harsh, and his heart starts to beat even more wildly than before.

"My grandmother killed better than you."

She slams him against one of the trees, low enough that he's at eye level with her. The jarring movement sends pain shooting all through his body like an electric shock. His vision goes white. When it clears, it does to her face up close to his. He expected to see ire. To see irritation and contempt. Hell, he'd take hatred, even! Not nothing. Yet nothing stares back at him without a hint of emotion, without a hint of regret. There's barely any recognition. If he didn't know better, he'd say Cassandra didn't know who he is.

"Unfortunately for you, I surpassed my grandmother five hundred and twenty years ago."

Oh, shit. Oh, no, this was a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

"Cassandra, listen…" he starts at the same time he reaches for the last stake he carries.

Note to self, next time bring more than four stakes. If there's even a next time…

She slaps his hand away before he can quite reach it, her face contorting into a look that's all 'really?'. He huffs, if only he could get his other hand to work, he could still turn this around. Almost like she can read his mind, Cassandra's free hand digs into his injured shoulder, fingers twisting at just the right area to provide such amount of pain Alaric can't help but scream.

"Oh, god, okay!" He pants. His vision blurs; he can't even tell if he's standing. His legs are numb. "Okay! Okay!"

He pulls at her hand, scratching and pinching in an attempt at getting her to let go. She does, gazing at him like he's a scientific experiment she's been observing for the last two days without change. He stares back. Oh, he knew he would end up dead! So much for avenging his wife. He should have never come to Mystic Falls; he should have left well enough alone.

"Tell me something, Alaric," Cassandra drones on, tone of voice so flat, so void of emotion, it freezes his blood, which had been running boiling hot with pain. "Are you frightened?"

"No." Alaric snaps.

"No." She repeats, deadpanned.

"No." He grits out through his teeth. She's clearly seen through the lie, but he's not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him crack. "I am not scared of you."

Cassandra observes him for a moment. He stares right back, more of an instinct to keep the present danger within eyesight than a desire to watch her. She always was a little too unpredictable, but at least he knew she had morals. Right now, even that is out of the window, and he's not looking away.

"Good," she comments, and it takes him a second to realize it's in answer to his statement. She forces his head to one side, the cool air slapping against his now-exposed neck. "I do hate the way fear turns blood acrid."

No! She can't feed on him! Kill him, sure, but not like this. No, this is worse than her dropping him off a mountain. The harshest robbery, the most undignified way a hunter could die. He watches, in near horror, as her face changes, veins under her eyes, fangs elongating for maximum reach. She's not quick about it, either, slowly tilting forward until he can feel her hot breath on his neck.

The trepidation and the waiting somehow make it worse. He closes his eyes, succumbing to his fate. It'll be less painful if he doesn't fight it, and then when she's distracted he could maybe get that stake again. Yes, that's a plan; he only has to wait until she's taken enough to be drunk with it. He closes his eyes, any second now…

The bite never comes.

Alaric opens his eyes to the distinct sound of wood snapping and finds none other than Stefan, tackling Cassandra to the ground. Behind them, the twisted bark of a tree is still raining splinters.

"Ah, Stefan." Cassandra sighs, at most thinly inconvenienced, as she pushes the Salvatore away like he weights nothing. "I should have known."

The two vampire rise to their feet at the same time, eyes trained on each other and nothing else. It's a disturbing sight, especially when they're still only illuminated by Alaric's lone flashlight, obstructed by grass blades. Stefan takes a step towards her; she takes one right forward. It's clearly not what Stefan expected, he probably figured she'd step away. Alaric groans. This plan is crumbling around them. She's not doing anything they thought she would.

"What took you so long?" He demands, panting as the effort of righting himself away from the tree sends pain all over him again.

"He wanted to see if I'd hesitate." Cassandra answers after a beat passes and all Stefan does is study her.

Stefan doesn't deny her statement. So, what, he'd been the carrot?

"How does it feel, Alaric, knowing you were nothing but bait? A test?" She asks him as she makes a lazy half circle, sidestepping Stefan and getting too close to him for comfort. "The cheese below a box. Of course, as far as traps go, this one is quite pathetic. No one's attempted to kill me at all."

"We don't want to kill you." Stefan replies immediately.

"Then what is it that you want?"

"To talk."

Alaric watches the exchange, how he's been dismissed without a second thought, and his heart starts beating hard again for a whole other reason than fear: anger.

"Wait—is she right?" He demands.

"Ric…" Stefan starts, turning to him with an apology written all over his face. "This isn't the time."

Like hell it isn't.

"She dislocated my shoulder, Stefan!" He snaps, forgetting for a moment that he should keep his distance, and walking until he's almost between them. "She nearly tore out my carotid!"

The second the word is out of his mouth, he finds himself in a grip so tight he can't even breath right. He is forced to his knees, groaning at the pain the sudden jarring evokes.

"Cassandra, don't!" Stefan exclaims, alarmed.

The redhead stops millimetres from his neck, so close that he can feel the edge of her teeth against that very same artery he mentioned earlier.

"You dangled a carrot in front of me. I'm taking a bite."

Oh, shit. He had to remind her, didn't he? He couldn't just keep his mouth shut.

"No, you won't. You won't! Because you were right; I was waiting for you to hesitate earlier. And you did." Stefan scrambles for a way to save him, pulling words out of what Alaric is fairly certain is his ass. Cassandra didn't hesitate then, and she's not hesitating now. "And now, when I begged you not to do it, you paused. Just like you're pausing right now."

"You're very distracting. I like to enjoy my food in peace." She snarls at him, her hold on Alaric tightening.

"You're not helping, Stefan!" He warns.

"No, that's not it." Stefan shakes his head, taking a shaking step to them. They're both ignoring him, Alaric realizes, and he's not sure if that's good or not. "I know you turned off your humanity because you are scared and hurt, but, Cass, taking away everything that makes you, you isn't the answer."

"I told you. You have no idea why I turned it off." Cassandra shoots back and, Alaric might be imagining it, the annoyance slipping into her voice sounds real. Only slightly, and he might have missed it if he didn't spend who knows how long listening to her speak in a flat, void tone. "And you have no say in when I turn it back."

"Okay." Stefan nods, slowly.

Still, nothing happens. The three of them stand in the clearing, with Stefan having one hand out like he's begging for spare change, and Cassandra keeping him in place. It's like the vampires are waiting to see who will blink first.

"Okay." Stefan sighs, defeated. "You are right. Just—Just let Ric go."

Nothing.

"Cassandra! Let Ric go." Stefan repeats, sharp, like he's scolding her. "This was my idea, not his. He doesn't deserve to die over my mistake."

"I disagree," Cassandra says, going back to that emotionless drawl.

Her hand releases his head, though, and he can finally breathe right. He's too busy gasping breath into his lungs to realize he should have taken the slight freedom as an opportunity to get away. The last thing Alaric sees is Stefan's face contorting into horror, the last thing he feels are Cassandra's dainty hands wrapping around his face. The world goes black, like the sudden turning off the lights.

There is nothing.

The studio is not a place many go to in the Boarding House. It's deep in the bowels of the mansion, made in the image of his father's own studio back in Veritas Estate, which is why Damon has made it a habit of never coming here ever since the Boarding House was built. Whenever he has to sit down and figure something out, get answers, he makes his way to the library. With the Boarding House being the frat house it's become for the past year, this room's near-hidden location makes it the only place where he can get some peace. It's been his studio for the last four days, an attempt at escaping Stefan's judgement, and Rose's meddling.

Also, it turned out Zach was a Scotch man and he hid his best stash in the crook behind the tall bookshelf by the window. It may not be bourbon, but the 25-year-old Scotch whiskey is very good. He's already more than half-way through the first bottle and he only found it earlier this morning. So, he's been quietly drinking, sat at the piano in the corner, lazily playing a random tune. It's only a matter of time before Liz shows up at his door again, demanding an explanation as to why he hasn't knocked on her door with a vampire corpse, especially now that more people are dead. He doesn't have an explanation or believable excuse for it, either.

"I didn't know you played."

He stops playing immediately, rolling his eyes at his last hiding place having been discovered.

"I don't." Damon shrugs, taking another sip from his glass.

"Okay." Rose sounds unconvinced as she steps further into the studio. "It's a little early to be drunk, don't you think? I usually like to wait until the sun is up."

That's enough.

"You're judging me? You?"

He turns around, sending her an annoyed glare as he faces her. Rose likes to say she pushes and nudges because she cares, and he figures to an extent she means it. Still, it's becoming a little too annoying. The only reason he takes it is because… well, he does like her, and he's been lacking friends lately.

"I'm not the one drunk at half six in the morning." Rose crosses her arms.

When her eyebrow rises up her forehead, she reminds him so much of Cassie it actually hurts. The two women look nothing alike, nor are their personalities very similar, but, yet again, he keeps finding Cassie everywhere, in places she has no business being, at times he has no business thinking about her. He passes a hand over his eyes, supressing a sigh. Damn, this is worse than when he thought she was dead.

"You know—you'd feel better if you talked to me." Rose suggests, nonchalant. "It's not like I'll tell anyone, you're the only one in this town that trusts me."

"What makes you think I trust you?" Damon challenges.

Rose balks; her face even loses a little color. He sighs. Great, he's now offending the only friend he's got left.

"Fine. Okay. You want me to talk?"

Rose shrugs, eyeing him from the doorway like he's some wild animal ready to pounce for the kill. When he doesn't, she pushes further into the room.

"It's not that I want you to; it's that I think you need to." She sits on the chair by the desk. "Also, I don't understand you, any of you. You people are… odd."

"Odd?"

He won't admit it, but he's slightly insulted.

"Yes! Odd, with all your secret caring for each other and never showing it." Rose rolls her eyes, chuckling like she's really puzzled. "You and Cassandra, you and Elena, Stefan and Elena, Stefan and Cassandra, you and Stefan! It's like being nice is forbidden in this town."

"And you're Miss Congeniality?" Damon scoffs, though she might be onto something. Just because of that, he adds, sarcastic and with a little bit of bitterness: "subbing in for Dr. Phil."

Instead of showing whether his tone hit a nerve or not, Rose leans back on her chair and sends him an unimpressed look.

"When Cassandra came in here last week, the first thing you did was protect her. The very first thing. You were almost nice." Rose remarks as she stops beating around the bush. "And now she's in trouble, you don't even want to talk to her, which means you're embarrassed, or ashamed… maybe even scared, and I want to know why."

"You're the one who told me she was deadly!"

How dare she suggest he's scared?

"I have a feeling that wouldn't stop you, usually." Rose raises an eyebrow.

There's a pause, when he considers what she's offering. It would do him well to work this aloud, make sense of the tangled mess that his brain has become.

"Cassandra and I met in 1864, when I was human." He relents. Rose nods minutely, like a silent 'go ahead.' "I knew she had feelings for me, back then."

He pauses, considering the words coming out of his mouth. He knew. Of course, he knew. Maybe not at first, she was the most reserved person he had ever met, even more than she is now, but after he returned from the war…

"I chose Katherine, when I should have chosen her." He admits through his teeth, skin crawling with the admission.

God, if Stefan was here, the force of his 'I told you so!' would send him flying across the room.

"Why?" Rose asks, bemused.

"Because!" Damon groans and pours himself some more alcohol. He's not drunk enough to continue this conversation. "Katherine wasn't infuriatingly smart. She wasn't proper. She wasn't everything my father had ever pressured me to find in a wife. Katherine didn't expect great things from me."

Katherine promised him a world without rules, and to him, who felt like he'd spent his entire existence under Giuseppe's rule, under his overbearing fury, a life with no rules and no expectations to meet was a godsend.

"Wait—so you… felt something for both of them." Rose infers. He only nods. "And you chose Katherine, the woman who you knew was also interested in your brother, over Cassandra due to cowardice?"

"It wasn't cowardice." He scoffs.

"It sounds like cowardice." Rose retorts. "You seem terrified of failure, Damon."

"It had nothing to do with fear!" Damon snaps, appalled. "I—I loved Katherine! I wanted Katherine! I didn't see—I didn't let myself see Cassandra when I was human. But when I became a vampire, and she was gone, it was like someone flipped on a light. I saw her everywhere and more clearly than ever."

It was the most painful thing he endured. Realizing that what he thought he'd started feeling for Cassandra before he deserted—before he rationalized it away—had grown into something that was just as strong, just as much love as what he felt for Katherine had been earth-shattering. Earth-shattering and much too late. Knowing he'd let her down, that Cassandra had died not knowing how much he actually cared for her, how much he adored her, haunted him so much he had to block it away.

"I realized my mistake, too late, of course, so I clung to the love I felt for Katherine, who was alive, and adamantly tried to forget her." Damon continues after a moment of nothing but Rose looking at him.

"Except she wasn't dead, either."

Ah, yes, the thorn in his side. Cassandra was never dead; Katherine was never in that tomb. All those years he wasted. All those years he missed Katherine and dreamed of being reunited with her. All those years he longed for Cassandra, relived every memory he had of her.

"No." Damon tilts his glass towards Rose in acknowledgment. "I resented her for not telling me for a long time, and I made her return as miserable as possible, but it's not all on her. There was no proof that she was dead! I could have looked. After so many years, it just seemed like too much pain. I would have Katherine, that would be enough."

How does he even approach her and explain that? That he decided loving Katherine was all he needed because it hurt a little less than holding on to the hope that maybe she was alive. How much more selfish could he get? He can't talk to her about this, about all the times he thought 'maybe?' and turned the other way. It's… shameful.

"She was right there, too!" Damon chuckles, bitter. "I spent a couple years in the 70s killing girls who looked exactly like her for some 'runaway' my friend Will was helping out."

"It didn't occur to you it was her," Rose comments with a kind tone that's almost too much.

"Oh, of course it did!" He rolls his eyes, voice rising without him meaning to. "I just didn't want to be disappointed when it wasn't. I had my humanity turned off, and I still thought I wouldn't survive it."

All those young girls, who looked so similar to each other, who looked so much like Cassandra. Will had given him a loose description: 5'2'', copper red hair, green eyes. His mind had immediately gone to her, and the five girls he killed looked so much like Cassandra they could have been siblings. It nearly had him turning his humanity back on. Will never answered his questions, and no humanity meant he lost interest quickly. But he can't help but wonder… if he'd pushed, if he'd looked for this supposed runaway, would he have found her?

"But you're both here now." Rose interjects with a shake of her head. He'd like to think her eyes aren't shining with sympathy, but it looks a lot like that. "I wasted a whole life because I was too scared, Damon, don't make my mistakes."

He doesn't deserve her, though. Besides, there's no way Cassandra still even wants to be with him. Not after everything he's done since she came back. He's about to tell Rose to drop the subject, and warn her that if she tells anyone she might find herself missing a kidney, when the front door slams open hard enough for the sound to reach them clear as rain, like they're not on the opposite side of the house, followed by his baby brother's frantic voice.

"Damon!" Stefan calls out. "Damon!"

Of all the things he expected to see, Stefan carrying Alaric's no-heartbeat-very-dead body into the parlor and depositing it on the couch was not one of them.

"Oh, my god!" Rose gasps, reaching the parlor just as he does.

"What happened?" He demands, not stopping until he's leaning over the couch's backrest.

Alaric looks worse than the last time he died, though Damon isn't sure if that's because he didn't like Ric then. His clothes are dirty and caked in mud, his sleeve is even torn at the seams. His face is bruised. A thin trail of half-dried blood drips down the side of his face from his eyebrow. One of his arms lies at a strange angle, shoulder sitting lower than usual. Damon looks from his friend's dead body to his brother, expecting one hell of an explanation.

"It's all my fault, I convinced him to go after her—I thought if Cassandra was confronted by a friend who was weaker than a vampire that maybe she would turn her humanity back on!" Stefan rushes through his words in one breath. "She was so close, too!"

That same utter dread that washed over him when Liz showed him the files covers him from head to toe, cooling against the anger bubbling in his stomach.

"Dammit, Stefan, I told you to leave it alone!" Damon barks in Stefan's direction, sending him a glare he hopes weights on his brother's very bones.

"I know. I'm sorry, Damon." Stefan's eyes fall to the carpet, voice adopting that same pleading tone he's used since he was six or seven and suddenly Damon's the one feeling guilty. "I really thought it was the right thing."

"Yeah, you always do." He mutters, catching sight of Alaric's ring and feeling some weight lift from his chest. "He has his ring; he should be fine in a couple of hours."

He pushes off the couch and to the front door all in one motion. Some of his concern might have lifted, but his anger sure hasn't; anger at Stefan for always trying to do what he thinks best; anger at Cassandra's hypocrisy. After all the grief she gave him for trying to kill her friend, all that guilt-tripping, she goes ahead and does this to his closest friend.

"Wait—where are you going?" Stefan calls after him. Damon ignores both the question and the clear spike of alarm that colors his brother's voice. "Damon, I—I don't think it's a good idea."

He may not be able to take his anger out on Stefan, who'll only punish himself further over the fact that Alaric got hurt because of him. God forbid Stefan takes responsibility for his own actions every once in a while. There's absolutely nothing stopping him, however, from going over to Cassandra's house and giving her a piece of his mind.

And he's not leaving until she stops being ridiculous and turns her humanity back on.

No matter what it takes.

A/N: I'm back! I just want to thank you guys so much for the continued support these past couple of months! It means a lot and, just, thank you for being so patient!

onto reviews:

Eennio: Thank you!

WinchesterDixonsBros: Thank you! He's a bit of a wild card sometimes, so I'm glad you think I captured him accurately.

StrangelyBeautiful3: I'm so happy you enjoy Cass! Here's a little more of her without humanity.

WickedlyMinx: Here's a new chapters! Thank you for sticking around!

AB0918: I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Hope you like this one, even if there's no showdown lol sorry

jewels369: Damon CAN be very stupid, can't he? Here's the new chapter, thanks for waiting! x

Guest: I'm happy you love the story! Rose is just looking out for herself, I guess. Enjoy this chapter xx

Guest 2 : Here's the update! THank you for waiting for it for so long! Also, if you're the same guest that should have been writing an essay, I hope it went well 3

TheMaximumExperience: I do find no-humanity-cass oddly fascinating as well, just something about her is very drawing. I don't think we'll ever truly see the extent of what she's done in the past other than in whispers, but we will see similar behaviour when we explore her relationship with the Mikaelsons! Thank you for liking Cass and this story so much!

Alia2209: Thank you for that lovely review about Cass! She is very complex, and set in her ways, and I have a lot of love for her, so thank you for liking her so much. And your English was great, so don't ever apologise for any mistakes (not that you made any)! 3

Guest3: thank you for understanding so much about life getting in the way. I totally get how you feel, I'm the same when my favourite fics haven't uploaded in a while. I get so ansty lol. hope the wait was worth it and enjoy this chapter!

Again, just a huge THANK YOU to all of you who favourited, followed, and took the time to review. These past couple of months have been so difficult for me, and your reviews really helped me push forward so I could finish editing this chapter and publish it now. So, thank you. I don't know when I'll be able to post the next one, but it'll probably be some time next week, so you won't have to wait months again!

Hope you like this chapter, and let me know what you think! Also, just a reminder that I've got a tumblr (sawnsastark) which you can follow if you've got tumblr too. I'll be slowly commenting about my stories there, as well as having a tag for poetry/pictures/etc that remind me of my stories.

Oh, and to anyone who is familiar with my other stories, I am thinking about rewriting A Collage of Broken Hearts, so the beginning of the story matches the level of writing of the end. I hate leaving things unfinished, and I think I really would like to finish that story. Do you guys think that's a good idea? Let me know!