A/N:
TW: blood.
Dark Side.
Chapter 37: The Descent. Part III.
"Your skin is ruddy
and you're made of rock.
I'm part naivety
and part alcohol,
trying hard to swallow
my need for you to touch me."
—Misunderstanding. Janelle Flora Viser.
By the time Elena makes her way upstairs, Cassandra has the situation somewhat under control. Thank goodness, because the sight that receives her has Elena halting in her step. She can't step further than the door, nails digging into the doorframe until they start to wobble and chip.
Damon's white bedsheets—the very ones that had her stomach stirring with a strange desire only moments ago—are splattered with blood. Droplets and spots big enough to be considered pools stain the sheets, dark red and rusty in smell. More than rusty. It's not similar to a deep paper cut or a scraped knee. It's something more potent, sharper; it smells of oxygen, and metal, and meat. It paralyses Elena, stops her from doing anything but stare.
Stare at a hunched over Rose as she retches, blood spraying from her mouth. Stare as she moans, fingers clutching at the side of her head, before once more hunching over the metal trashcan before her. Her face is obscured, but her back convulses as the distinct sound of gagging echoes around the room.
Cassandra passes one hand down the length of Rose's back, once, twice. Her other hand balances the trashcan half on her propped knee and half on Rose's lap, tilting it closer to Rose when necessary. All the while encouragements slip past her mouth in soft tones, soothing her when Rose's face twists in pain, an intoning of sh,sh,sh,shs Elena thought was only reserved towards new-borns.
Elena can't possibly imagine what the scene must have looked like when Cassandra arrived. She knows this is the less sensitized version of it.
"Oh, it hurts." Rose wails as she resurfaces from the trashcan.
Her face is pale and glistening with sweat.
"Not long now," Elena isn't sure she wants to know what Cassandra means by that. "Are you done?"
At Rose's nod, Cassandra places the trashcan on the floor, catching Elena's eyes as she does so. Elena swallows, unsure. Cassandra doesn't say anything, just helps Rose lean back against the pillows.
"Elena, would you get me a hand towel and a washcloth from the toilet?" Cassandra's voice is levelled, but it doesn't come into focus until she speaks again, this time with more bite: "Elena."
She jumps, startled. She tears her eyes from Rose's shivering form, from the greyish color of her complexion. All the disdain she's sure the redhead must feel towards her is absent from her bright green eyes, mouth softening into an encouraging smile.
"It's alright. Come on in," Cassandra says. One of her hands leaves Rose's shoulder long enough to beacon her closer. "Could you do as I asked?"
This isn't like every other time Elena has found herself having to tend to someone hurt. Somehow, Cassandra's collected presence has her feeling her own shock and helplessness more, to the point where she feels like she's somewhat under water. She's not alone with Rose. She can depend on Cassandra, like many, many times before. It has her stunted. Based on the coaxing glint to her eyes, Elena supposes Cassandra knows it.
With her heart lodged into her throat, Elena hurries towards the en suite. Two sinks sit to the left, a long mirror running along the wall. In between them, a basket filled with soap bars of different colors and shapes. Besides the sink, there's a small hamper. Then, the toilet. The shower is right in front of her, this massive thing made of glass and beige tiles. They could all probably fit in there with space to spare, that's how big it is. On her right is a white porcelain tub, oval rug in front of it to provide a place to step out and dry.
"I don't know where anything is." Elena admits, eyes jumping between the wooden doors below the sink and the cabinet near the bathtub.
"Okay. So, go into the bathroom." It isn't until Cassandra says it that Elena realizes she is yet to cross the actual threshold. "There is a cupbo—a cabinet by the bathtub, d'you see it?"
"Yes."
"Open it. Second shelf is hand towels. Grab two."
Elena does as told, sighing in relief when she spots the folded towels on the second shelf just as Cassandra says it. They're folded into neat squares, considerably smaller than the ones on the top shelf. She grabs the two that lean towards the darker tones—one a midnight blue; the other, a hunter green—she's not sure what Cass will do with them, but these colors are dark enough to cover the blood.
She jumps half a foot in the air as Rose lets out another pained wail. It is quickly followed by a shout of abject horror, so sudden Elena whirls around half-expecting Elijah or Klaus to be in the room. Instead of the terrifying image her brain manufactures—Klaus beheading Cass and ripping Rose's heart out before coming for her—she finds Rose scrambling back in the bed until she hits the headboard, staring at Cassandra like she's the devil herself.
"You—!"
"No, no, no, Rose. Rose, it's alright." Cassandra hastens to explain, hands up in the air. "I am not a bad—I, uh, I'm not here to hurt you."
Elena doesn't miss the way she stumbles through the sentence, like she knows 'I'm not a bad person' would be a lie. Still, it's a testament to her mood, since Elena has never seen her slip up in such a manner before. This whole ordeal is bothering Cass, and Elena can't help but be relieved by it, can't help but feel less alone.
"Get away from me! You—why?" Rose demands, eyes crazed. "I have done nothing to you!"
"I know; I know." Cassandra agrees, voice calm and levelled despite Rose's verbal attack. "I am here to help you, Rose. I'm a friend. In this instance, I am a friend, all right?"
Rose stopped blabbering at the word 'help', though her face is still the equivalent of a question mark, only more panicked. Elena steps forward. Maybe she can reassure her?
"Elena, stay right there." Cassandra lifts a hand behind her without tearing her eyes from Rose. She stops, fingers worrying the towel in her hands. "Remember Damon and Stefan? I'm their friend. We're all friends here, Rose. I'm not—I'm not the Crimson Terror," Cassandra sighs. The what now? "I'm Cass, just Cass."
"Cassandra?" Rose blinks, staring at the redhead like she's the one who just had some sort of attack. "Wh-what happened?"
"Nothing. Now, lean back down." Cassandra dismisses. Rose still looks awfully confused but, lean back down, she does. Cass meets her eyes over her shoulder. Despite her casual expression, Elena catches the worried glint in her eyes. "Elena, the drawer on the left, next to the extra bottles of shampoo? Same cabinet? You'll find the washcloths there."
She yanks the drawer open with enough strength to almost pull it out completely. It's deep enough that the medium-sized shampoo bottles stand one behind the other. They rattle and threaten to topple off balance at the sudden movement. Elena braces her fingers against them, grabbing a washcloth with her other hand as she does.
"Got it!" She calls back to Cass.
"Open the faucet and run a washcloth under it, enough to get it quite wet. Then, squeeze some of the excess and bring everything here."
Despite the bathroom's vastness, Elena manages to stride over to the sink with only three steps. She drops the washcloth inside it, lets the water run directly onto it until the fabric turns darker and heavy. Then, she turns it on itself and wrings with both hands, just like her mom showed her years ago when Elena started helping around the house.
With the hand towels draped over her shoulder and the wet washcloth in hand, Elena makes her way back to the bed. Cassandra only lets go of Rose's fingers when Elena offers her the washcloth. Immediately, Rose groans, digging the heel of her hands into her eyes.
Instead of grabbing the washcloth, Cassandra pulls at the end of one of the hand towels. It slides past Elena's shoulders and down her torso until it lies in a heap on Cassandra's lap. She smooths it out across her thighs, taking the wet washcloth and setting it right in the middle. Hands hovering over it, palms facing down, Cassandra mutters a string of odd-sounding words under her breath, too quiet for Elena to recognise. She hears enough to know whatever language it is, it's not the same Bonnie uses in her own incantations. The washcloth convulses, expanding and contracting into an odd shape, ridged like a map displaying mountains. It glistens much like ice would, with tiny shimmering shards.
Folding the hand towel over it, tucking the sides on the top and sliding a hair tie until it rests right on top of each flap, Cassandra places the burrito-like bundle on Rose's forehead. It makes Rose shiver, lips parting in a shuddering gasp. She settles after a moment. Her hands lower from her eyes to pick at the ruined sheets surrounding her.
"Thank you." Rose hums.
She's not meeting Cassandra's eyes, but finding the sleeves of her robe quite interesting. Cassandra doesn't let that deter her. She grabs Rose's wrist, index and middle finger pressed against Rose's pulse point.
"How do you feel?" Elena asks, keeping her voice soft.
At her words, Cassandra tenses and tilts her face up to observe Rose. Elena fights the urge to huff again. What's the problem now? She knows they had an argument not that long ago, but Elena can still help, and that includes checking up on Rose. She doesn't seem to be the problem now, though, because when all Rose does is send her a weak smile and something like a shrug, Cassandra focuses back on Rose's pulse. Her back relaxes.
"How's your head?" Cassandra asks, dropping Rose's wrist with a delicate touch.
"Better, I think." Rose clears her throat, uncomfortable. "Cassandra, I am so sorry."
Elena can't help the way her eyebrows raise all the way to her hairline. Her eyes jump from a Rose that is all nervous remorse, with her shifting eyes and the way her finger tighten and release the sheets at intervals, to Cassandra. If the declaration has bothered or affected her, the redhead doesn't let it show. Her face is the same inscrutable expression of decorum it has been nearly all day. Even as she rises to her feet and straightens the askew ice pack on Rose's forehead.
"There's no need." Cassandra dismisses, beginning to pull at the ruined bedsheet. It's not really a dismissal, though. It's polite acceptance. It's also enough to get Rose to loosen up some. "We'll get you some new sheets. Try to relax, okay? We'll be right back."
Bloodied sheet twisted into a ball, Cassandra tucks it into her side and turns for the door. The look she gives her is pointed and clear enough that Elena has no problem understanding it. She is to follow, and there's no 'or'.
Truthfully, she was going to follow anyway. That was terrifying, and she's not sure she understands exactly what it was that she just witnessed. Or why it happened. Cassandra clearly does. So, sending Rose one last smile, she makes for the door. Rose softly muttering 'okay, okay' to herself follows her all the way down the hallway, even if it's probably just in her head.
Elena thought she'd get a scolding. No, she was almost certain. For all her talk of never having had children, Cassandra has the whole 'calm angry reprimanding' down to a tee. It's amusing when directed at the Salvatores, but Elena is willing to bet it won't be as fun when it's directed at her.
Except the reprimanding never came. After quickly asking how she was holding up—a question that had a flash of humiliation burning through her once more—Cassandra simply grabbed the second hand towel from her and told her to go downstairs, wait twenty minutes, and then bring back the potion and paste.
She worried it'd land her in even hotter water with the redhead. After all, what does she know about magic? It turned out, however, that, when it comes to potion-making, there is very little magic involved. Cassandra's instructions were very easy to follow, and by the time the timer goes off, Elena has managed to reach a new high score on Bejeweled Blitz, this new game on her phone Bonnie recommended. Not that she is planning on telling Cass she spent most of her time downstairs playing on her phone. That wouldn't go overly well.
Turning off the timer, she lifts the lid on the pot, noting how the potion inside is no longer simmering. Steam still rises lazily from its surface, but it's cooled down enough. She hopes, at least. She plucks a coffee mug from its place on the cabinet, fighting a laugh at the mundanity. She'd expected Cassandra to hand her an ancient bronze chalice for the potion, or something just as mystical, but, no, a coffee mug would apparently 'do just fine'.
Elena dips the coffee mug into the pot, careful not to let the still warm liquid touch her, and catches a whiff of its earthy smell. It's changed again. Where it had been almost spicy before, it is now muted, back to sweeter. The earthy tone is still strong enough that it gives her the impression of having dirt on her tongue, that moist, mineral tinge.
Bringing everything upstairs, including the plastic bag from the drugstore, requires two trips, which she does on her own, because apparently she's become the help. Not that she's complaining! If this is what Cass needs her to do, then she'll do it. It's the least she can do after the woman accused her of not being a good enough friend.
She just doesn't understand why she was the one to do it, she muses as she watches Cassandra apply the paste to the wound in Rose's back. A wound that is worse than it was this morning, all angry reds and dark purples.
She's not a witch. Cassandra made it very clear this morning that not only does she not trust her, she also doesn't want Elena here. So, why is she suddenly trusted enough to go downstairs, look after the potion during its last phase, and bring everything up here? While Cassandra did… what? Maintain idle chatter with a woman she doesn't like? Even if Elena believed Cass to be a big enough person to put the whole Damon entanglement aside, she remembers the air having been tense between the two women from the very beginning.
So, why would she stay here and send Elena down? What is she aiming to achieve?
Her brain hasn't been able to conjure up an answer by the time Cassandra finishes bandaging Rose's bite wound. She helps Rose lie down again, propped up by the pillows in a semi-sitting position, and brings the fresh sheets up to just her hips.
"How are you feeling?" Cassandra asks, back of her hand pressed to Rose's forehead.
"Worse."
Her voice is raspy and so frail it comes as a shock to Elena. She's only been gone for twenty minutes or so, could she really deteriorate so quickly? She eyes the clock sitting on the tallboy by the door. It reads 3:45 PM. Cassandra said she didn't think Rose would make it through the night. Elena is starting to believe her, no matter how disgusted she is with the way her own brain accepts that.
"This will alleviate that," says Cassandra, handing Rose the mug with the potion. "The paste I smeared on the wound should help with the pain there, too."
"What about my head?"
Rose takes a sip from the mug. Her entire face scrunches up before clearing into pleased surprise. She immediately takes a second sip. Elena catches Cassandra's secret smile before the redhead can school her features back into polite kindness. She eyes the mug again, wondering now more than before what it could possibly taste like.
"You can't have the ice pack anymore; it might aggravate your fever." Cassandra denies, firm and without hesitance. "Keep drinking. You're doing great, Rose."
Rose rolls her eyes with a huff, mouth threatening to downturn into a pout. It's clear she doesn't believe Cass, but the redhead doesn't seem willing to provide further encouragement.
"You really are." Elena insists.
There's a beat of awkward silence. All three women do nothing but avoid each other's eye. Cassandra remains seated by Rose's side, but her head is turned to the nightstand, fingers tracing the very same pile of books Elena had been drawn to earlier. No, not tracing. She's almost stroking Gone with The Wind, finger pads following the twists and turns of the words impressed into its spine.
Elena isn't one for reading, despite her love for journaling. That kind of reverence towards books is not something she's ever really understood. Clearly, Cass does. Her fingers tiptoe from book spine to book spine, one-two-three-four, up and down and back again. Slowly, pausing at the middle book, before continuing on her way up. Cass and Damon have more in common than I thought. Not to mention how familiar Cass clearly is with his room. The bitterness that thought fills her with takes her by surprise. So much so that she forces her eyes back to Rose.
She's sipping at her potion, much calmer than she was moments ago, deep in thought. The steam from the mug has her face flushing a dull pink. It somehow makes her look sicklier, brings out the greyish undertone of her skin.
"I just want to go home." Rose mumbles into the mug.
Her voice is this tiny sound, the squeak of a mouse, only more pathetic. Elena can't help herself.
"What's home?"
Rose's mouth stretches into a faraway smile.
"St. Austell."
The words mean nothing to Elena. In fact, Rose looks so loopy she can't help but wonder if she even got a real answer. Or if she misheard. The more tired Rose grows, the thicker her accent gets. Cassandra, however, perks up at the mention of what Elena assumes is some sort of city in some area of England—maybe it's a state, though Elena has no clue whether they have states over there or something else like Canada.
"I knew you were a Southerner!" Cassandra comments like she's just won some sort of bet. "I went there once… I think."
"I have a feeling the one you knew is very different to mine." Rose shrugs, that faraway smile still in place.
She takes another sip, this one longer than the last and only interrupted by the soft giggle that escapes her lips. It sets off alarms in Elena's head. Is… is Rose high? The odd behavior doesn't disturb Cassandra, who simply tilts her head to one side and, with an innocent tone, continues the conversation.
"What do you mean?"
"I came from a peasant family…" Rose trails off to draw a raspy breath in. "I wasn't noble like you."
"We're not that different." Cassandra dismisses with a wave of a hand. Elena stares at her, mouth nearly hanging open. "We both ended up running from Klaus."
It's not the throwaway comments that surprise her, it's the change on the way she sounds, how her mouth forms syllables, accentuates the sound two letters make together and softens others.
Cassandra's accent has always fluctuated. It's subtle usually, subtle enough that Elena doesn't pay attention to it, lets it blend into the background. There are moments—when she's with people she's comfortable with, when she's having fun, when she's furious—where it becomes much more noticeable, when her real heritage and standing become obvious. They like to tease her about it, about the way she says 'water' and 'important', how she can make the simplest words sound snooty. It's never like this, though. Never so prominent and proper and so typically English Elena almost doesn't recognize her. It comes so naturally; it's not forced, or off-sounding. This is how Cassandra naturally speaks, Elena realizes, this is how Cassandra really sounds like.
It brings a spark to Rose's otherwise dimmed eyes.
"You broke his heart."
That has Elena's surprise tripling. Cassandra's telling of the story made the engagement sound like a business contract. Even the very first time she brought it up—weeks ago, before Elena even knew who Klaus was—she'd said the engagement was not one born out of love. Rose's certainty and Cassandra's tensed posture tell another story.
"I humiliated him in front of thousands of people. There's a difference." Cassandra corrects.
"He was a king, a god, and you made him weak." Rose continues as if Cassandra hadn't said anything. Elena's mind is numb, silent as a tomb. "I often wondered what kind of woman could do that, you know? Meeting you I'm not surprised."
Rose lifts her eyes to Cassandra, a secret message there Elena can't interpret. Her eyes are glassy despite the serious look behind them, like she's had one glass of wine too many. Cassandra clears her throat. Her shoulders drop before straightening. She wishes she'd taken a seat closer to Rose, because all she can see from here is Cassandra's long hair, not her reaction.
"Well, that," Cassandra starts in a conspiring whisper. "is because I am really good at doing certain things with my mouth."
"Cassandra!" Elena lets out a gasp that's more a shriek than anything else.
Here she was thinking she couldn't be surprised anymore. Rose laughs. It's soft and shallow, like she's running out of air, but it's the first real laugh they've gotten today from her. Cassandra turns around only enough for the two of them to make eye contact. Her face is the epitome of cheeriness, all toothy smile and bright eyes. She tilts her head down, sobering up long enough to send Elena a look that reads 'just go with it'.
Rose seems to be feeling better. She hasn't complained about the pain in a while, and they do say that laughter is the best medicine. So, steeling herself, Elena takes a step forward and goes with it.
"What about you?" She asks Rose, teasing. "Ever got yourself a king to make weak?"
She doesn't understand the analogy completely. Was Klaus a real king at one point, or is it a figure of speech? Her lack of understanding doesn't matter, because Rose laughs again like she just told the best joke. Cassandra laughs, too, a touch quieter, but just as indulgent, while tapping the bottom of Rose's mug in a prompting manner.
"I'm pretty flexible," Rose admits between sips. She sighs, wistful. "That's got me a prince or two."
"Oh, my god!" Elena can't help the laugh that bubbles out of her.
"No wonder Damon likes you," Cassandra ponders.
It's a conspiring tease. A secret only the two can share. Elena raises her eyebrows, eyes dragging to the bed, the soft cotton sheets, the intricate bedframe. She doesn't mean to, but her brain provides flashes of what could happen in that very bed with Damon Salvatore anyway, and suddenly she has this confusing urge to speak, to point out she can be flexible, too. The words stir inside her, climbing out of her stomach and into her throat.
"So, we can joke about it!" Rose gasps, giggling, and effectively stopping Elena from opening her mouth.
What is wrong with her? Why does she suddenly want to prove she could be just as capable of satisfying Damon? Since when does she even want to know what it would be like? She knows Damon is attractive, and she cares for him deeply, despite all the things she hasn't forgiven him fully for, but she's not interested in him that way! She has Stefan. She loves Stefan.
Blaming whatever that was on hormones and Damon's nice sheets and not seeing Stefan in a while, Elena shakes those thoughts away and focuses back on the conversation at hand.
"I told you!" Cassandra matches Rose's tone.
They laugh again, fullhearted. Despite the insistence that Damon and Rose's little fling can be joked about and discussed, the conversation strays from that and onto other silly matters pretty quickly. Elena stands with her stomach twisting uncomfortably into something heavy. She can't remember the last time she and Cass had fun like that, laughing about boys and music. She's not being ignored. In fact, Cassandra herself is making an effort to include her. She still can't help her jealousy, though, can't help her anger. If Cass can be friendly towards Rose of all people, why does she have to be so harsh with her?
The moon is high in the sky by the time Damon gets back home, claiming to know what is needed, and demanding privacy. Cassandra tried offering to do it herself, death really is her thing, after all. He was right on the money then, even if he'd meant it as an insult. This is something he needs to take care of, though. His actions got Rose hurt, he ought to be the one to end it. He doesn't use that many words. In fact, he's nothing but curt and short with them the entire time, regardless of how many times Elena sets what is basically puppy dog eyes on him, with a delicate hand on his arm to top it all off.
It makes Cassandra's skin crawl. It also doesn't work. It only takes one cold glare and a snap from Damon for Elena to huff and storm out of the library, arms twisted around her torso. It shouldn't fill her with this much pleasure, but she's not that big of a person.
"I'll leave, too." She assures him when he turns to her, hard look still in place.
His features are made of stone. He stands there, in the middle of the library, at his full height, lips a tight line, and icy blue eyes cold enough to burn, and all she can manage to do is feel bad for him.
"The healing paste slowed down the process." She doesn't tell him how each time the infection returned it was worse. She doesn't tell him how the pain still made Rose delirious. How the fever never fully broke, but persevered and returned until nothing she attempted could bring it back down. "I reapplied some half an hour ago, so she shouldn't be in too much pain right now. She's—" Cassandra falters, the word catching in her throat.
Dying is what she means to say. There's no other word for it. Rose is dying. She slowed it down as much as she could, but there's nothing to do anymore. At least the potion kept her out of it enough that her hallucinations weren't as violent and frightening. She only mistook Elena for Katherine once, and was too sedated to physically do anything about it. Elena got an earful, though. The next minute Rose thought she was her sister and Cassandra her childhood best friend, so, thankfully, Elena didn't hold it against her.
"She's weak," she amends.
Based on the way Damon's expression wavers before setting back into that hard, unreadable mask, she'd say she wasn't very successful in covering what she'd wanted to say.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do more."
"You should be glad." He snaps immediately, like it's a kneejerk reaction to her words. "She'll be taking the fall for your little no-humanity splurge."
The words lack a certain bite to them. They somehow sound more like reassurance than a slap to the face. Her stomach churns into a painful knot. Rose doesn't deserve that, but she doesn't think arguing will take her very far. Not with Damon looking more and more like a fuse about to blow.
"Are you sure—" Cassandra starts to ask, hesitatingly taking a step closer to him.
It isn't until she tilts her head up to meet his eyes that she realizes she's basically copying Elena. Her hand freezes mid-air, so close to his her fingertips tingle. Elena got nothing but harsh words for this very same move, and Damon likes her. She's uncertain as to what kind of reaction she'll receive. Especially since she's doing the very thing he asked her not to do this morning: make assumptions about his feelings.
"Cassandra…"
It's a strange warning. More chaotic than anything else. He scowls down at her hovering hand until she lets it drop back to her side. Their eyes meet. So many thoughts battle behind his eyes that she can't catch a single one. She misses him so much her heart aches.
"I'll leave you to it, then."
Her voice comes out small and strained, like it's catching on something on its way out. Nothing like what she'd wanted to sound. She steps forward, aiming for the door, at the same time he does. Her breath hitches.
He looks so lost, like he doesn't know what to do with her, with Rose, with himself. She can't remember the last time she saw him this haunted. She hates that she can't help, because she genuinely doesn't know what it is that's troubling him. Is it just the guilt? The grief of losing a friend? Is it everything else on top of that, or something else?
She reaches out and twists her fingers with his. She's not really holding his hand, more like his first two fingers, thumb stroking the back of his hand. The minimal contact should not be affecting her this badly, like she'd been living with her lungs working at half capacity until now and she can breathe again. It's embarrassing. It's even more embarrassing that the relief washing over her brings tears to her eyes. She blinks the tears away, forces her heart to a normal rhythm.
Damon frowns at her, looking equal parts hurt and confused. His hand twitches in hers, but he doesn't move otherwise, just stands there, so tense he's almost vibrating.
"She wants to go home," she whispers. He nods once, stiff. "St. Austell, Cornwall."
His face hardens into anger. She doesn't let it fool her; she knows that look well. It's the type of anger that covers everything else. She squeezes his hand and releases it, beginning to walk away before whatever he'd wanted to say can leave his mouth. She might understand that type of anger. That doesn't mean she's emotionally stable enough not to be hurt by it.
Cassandra finds Elena in the Boarding House greenhouse, this glass and metalwork building that's big enough to hold rows upon rows of tables filled with plants, tall enough for inside trellises and hanging plant pots. She's never been inside, has only seen it from afar, but it's obvious that while Zack cared for the plants, neither Damon nor Stefan give a damn. Weeds grow in between the grey floor tiles; dead flowers and dried leaves litter the spaces closest to the tables. The glass panels that make up the walls are stained and dirty. So many beautiful plants left to wither and perish. The sight of it is heart-breaking yet oddly fitting of today's mood.
"Hey," she calls, alerting Elena of her presence.
She did good today. She was helpful and obedient—right, that last one is a stretch, but generally speaking she did everything she was asked. Even when Rose's state became too much, too real, she never let her fear or sympathy get the best of her for too long. Cassandra knows that's no easy feat.
"Hey," Elena lets out a sigh, turning to face her.
She offers her a polite smile, eyeing the dead rose in her hand, fingers still gripping one of the petals. Elena drops the flower, looking like a kid caught with the hand on the cookie jar. She's been doing that a lot today, growing embarrassed and turning away in guilt. The rose lands between their feet.
"You were so nice to her today," Elena says, eyes trained on the flower.
"You sound surprised."
She doesn't. It's more like she's tentatively impressed.
"You know what I mean." Elena protests, sending her this look.
She does.
"She needed a friend today. Who am I to deny her that?" Cassandra shrugs.
She will always give her patients whatever it is they need. Be it a friend or a hand to hold or some tough love, whatever they require to get through the day. Rose may have complicated certain areas of her life, but today she was a patient. Trevor is dead. Damon clung to denial until the last possible minute. Elena left her alone to interrogate Cassandra as fast as she could. Rose craved support and someone had to give it.
"And I… kind of didn't want her to haunt me." She admits, somewhat reluctantly.
She's blocking enough ghosts as it is on a daily basis.
"Is it—" Elena asks after a moment of silence. "Did he…?"
Elena trails off, unable to say it. Her eyebrows tilt down. She drags in a shaky breath that Cassandra can see shudder its way into her chest. There's a single warm white light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The soft light it emanates makes the pain in Elena's eyes more noticeable.
"I don't know. He didn't want company."
It hurts to say. It hurts to think of Damon preparing to stake his friend. It hurts to know he'll do it alone. She'd do anything to be with him.
Beside her, Elena nods. She wraps her arms around herself once more, much like she did when Damon snapped at her. Cassandra wonders if maybe she's thinking about him, too. If maybe she's wishing she could be with him, too.
She's not blind; she saw how strange Elena acted today every time Rose mentioned Damon, her peculiar fixation with his room, his bed. What's sad is she doesn't think Elena even knows how her feelings have developed into what Cassandra desperately wishes is just a little crush. If it's anything more than a crush, if it's something stronger she's willing to act on…
Rose mentioned it. Rose dissected everything that was wrong with Elena's plan to sacrifice herself in exchange for her friends' protection. Begged her not to make her same mistakes, not to disrespect the gift that was her life. 'You are so, so, loved by so many. Don't throw it away.' She'd included Damon in that statement. Well, she'd said 'these two brothers', it hurt all the same. Because it meant that at some point in the last two weeks Damon had talked to Rose about Elena. She had thought it wasn't a thing anymore, that Damon didn't feel that way about Elena anymore. Add that to the long list of things she miscalculated.
If Elena reciprocated, if Elena's harmless little crush turned to love… Cassandra doesn't think she could survive that. It'd end her. He'd be so happy, though. It makes her want to cry.
Elena turns to her, looking at her with such intensity that Cassandra feels like she just got caught. How selfish of me, Rose is dying and I'm crying over a boy.
"You're my friend." Elena blurts out. "I know I don't—I haven't been a good friend to you lately. I don't know how to talk to you half the time." She shakes her head. A strangled laugh tears through her throat. "But Rose is dying and if today has taught me anything is that I might die soon, too, and I don't want it to be with things left unsaid."
Cassandra swallows, not knowing what to say or do with the teary-eyed girl in front of her. She didn't say what she did this afternoon to get some apology from Elena. She said it to lay all the cards on the table. She said it and put it behind her. She promised herself she wouldn't make the same mistakes. She's ancient. She's powerful. She can't keep letting everyone she loves treat her like a doormat. Telling Elena the truth was one chapter over and done with.
"I love you. You're my friend and I love you." Elena repeats, stunning her once more into silence. "I know I may not be the best at showing it and I got so scared for Jenna that I—I was a bad friend to you. You've always been there when I needed you, and you're so strong, it never occurred to me that you were struggling, or felt like I wasn't there." The words are just pouring out of her; Cassandra isn't sure she's breathing between sentences. "That's not an excuse, I know. I was a bad friend."
"You were." She agrees because she's not sure what else to say.
Elena nods, lips pressed into a tight line. She's holding back tears, and Cassandra has known Katherine long enough to know trusting that look in a Petrova Doppelgänger's face would not be a wise decision. Except this is Elena, not Katherine. Elena, who is much kinder than Katherine has ever been.
"I'll be better. I promise, Cass. I'll be a better friend to you." It doesn't sound like a lie. It sounds like an earnest promise. "I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."
This is the part where she says 'yes, Elena, I forgive you'. She's not sure she can. She's always forgiven easily. Stefan won her over with cake. He also kept to his promise and has been nothing but a friend to her since. So forgiving paid off, in that case. She doesn't want to say it to Elena quite yet, though, even if she doesn't have a good reason for that.
Something must show on her face regardless, because Elena sniffs once and smiles. She squeezes Cassandra's wrist with trembling fingers.
"So, who's Dorian?"
When she asked the same question this afternoon, it was accusing, almost like an interrogation. Now, it's playful and light. Cassandra laughs, shaking her head.
"I told you, he's my friend."
"Ooh, I see. Yeah." Elena winks. "Is he cute?"
"You have a boyfriend." She mock-scolds.
"So? Just because I can't buy doesn't mean I can't browse." Elena shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief.
She's just looking for a distraction, that much is obvious. Usually, Cassandra would be against it. She's too protective of her friends, especially those who aren't human, to talk about them with just anyone. Elena, however, isn't a hunter, isn't a witch. She's not a threat in any way, not to Dorian. Today has been such a day, Cassandra could use the distraction, too. It would keep her mind off Damon for a little while.
So, with an exaggerated sigh, she gives in and begins a detailed description of what Dorian looks like because, well, he is eye candy, and today is just one of those days.
The Damon that returns is not the same that left. She realizes it the second he walks through the front door. A taut guardedness has replaced the brief vulnerability he showed her earlier. Still, he's a moment away from tearing apart at the seams, she can tell and not exactly because of her powers of deduction.
"What are you still doing here?" He barks at her, strutting his way into the parlor like he didn't carry his dead friend's body out an hour ago. "Rose is dead, you don't have anyone else to babysit."
His bluntness makes her flinch. She rises from the couch, slipping her phone into her bag as she does so.
"Is the—?"
"I took care of it." He interrupts before she can finish.
Just as well because she wasn't sure how to tactfully phrase that question. She eyes him as he gets nearer, shrugging his jacket off with a little more force than necessary, folding and throwing it on the couch like the item of clothing is personally responsible for his troubles. It's a contained gesture, a staccato movement that betrays just how badly he's trying to appear composed.
"You don't have to watch me, Cassandra." He snorts. "I'm not upset."
He used to be better at lying.
"No; you're just drowning in guilt." She shoots back, unable to conceal the sarcastic inflection in her words. "You are hurt."
She may have helped. Pathetic, she'd called him, incapable of decency, among other harmful things in a desperate attempt to get him to walk away and never return. The mere sight of him had her in the brink of flipping the switch on her humanity back on, and she hadn't wanted it. She doesn't know how to even begin to apologize.
"Yeah, well, I'm not turning my humanity off over it." Damon shrugs, turning to face her at last. "What's another disappointment?"
The look he sends her is as sharp as a knife. She doesn't rise to the bait.
"What do you need?"
She keeps her voice gentle. This isn't a snide comment; it's a genuine offer. It's the wrong thing to ask. He goes from mildly annoyed to almost furious within a breath, so sudden she gets whiplash.
"What do I need? I need you to make up your mind!" Damon thunders, eyes widened as he storms toward her. "Do you hate me? Do you have feelings for me? Decide!" He throws one arm out, gesturing around the room like the answer is a physical thing he could grasp or swipe aside. "But I am not dealing with this back and forth anymore."
His face is trembling with anger, but the look in his eyes is broken and desperate. He's pleading. Her chest fills with cold slush, trickling down her torso. She's very, very cross.
"I'm not the one giving you mixed signals!" She protests.
When it comes to how she feels about him, she's been nothing but sincere. Since the very beginning, the day he returned from the war. She may not have said 'I love you', but it didn't need saying. There are other ways of saying it. She is not giving him mixed signals. She's not.
Damon disagrees.
"What the hell do you call asking me to figure out my feelings for you and then cursing my very existence?" He demands.
"Not wanting to turn my humanity back on!"
Her exclamation sounds more like a screech, this high-pitched, exasperated sound she does not recognize as her own. Not quite loud enough to constitute shouting, but rather close to it. Damon rolls his eyes with his entire body.
"You shouldn't have turned it off in the first place!"
Again with the humanity! How many times is he going to bring it up? It happened, there's no undoing it.
"Oh, will you stop bringing it up?"
"Will you stop acting like it had nothing to do with me?"
He requests in that same way that only manages to anger her further, like he couldn't give a damn about the answer, when he so clearly does.
"Stop answering my questions with another question!" She snaps, frustrated.
This conversation is going nowhere. She's not even sure why they're fighting.
"Stop asking me redundant questions!"
If she weren't so angry, she might laugh at the absurdity of this argument. Unfortunately, she is angry, furious, and there is nothing funny about this.
"You know it was incredibly stupid." Damon continues with so much derision she is starting to feel stupid. "And, can I just say? Sometimes, sex is just sex, Cassandra! It doesn't mean anything! You should have talked to me."
Oh, he must be joking!
"Don't you dare." She warns him shakingly. He leans back, stone cold but burning within. "Don't you dare make it out like it was all in my head. It was never just sex, to either of us."
Something flashes behind his eyes at that, too quick for her to interpret. Damon doesn't move, doesn't look away from her, doesn't even breathe. His mouth trembles, downturns, before setting back into a scowl. Two feet between them and it feels like an abyss. He's never been so far away.
"Why can't you admit that?"
Her voice sounds striking against the heavy silence around them. Actually, it doesn't stray far above a whisper. She doesn't want a big declaration of love. She just wants him to own up to that one thing. Wants him to admit that what they had meant something.
"So now you want me to 'give in to sentiment'?" He throws her own words back at her with a snarl.
It shouldn't sting this much, but it does. She breathes in deep, presses her fingers against her forehead to try and relieve some of the pressure.
"No. I—" Cassandra laughs, mirthless. "God, I am so sick of this I can't even look at you."
She shakes her head, grabbing her bag and making for the door. She hasn't taken more than three or four steps when he calls back to her.
"Run away, Cassandra, it's the only thing you do."
Something inside of her snaps. It bursts and crackles like a bonfire, but more dangerous. It may be because she spent so long with no emotions, so every single feeling seems to be so much more than usual, but this is a fire she cannot hold back.
"I'm not the only one who runs. You run all the bloody time!" Cassandra seethes as she turns back to face him.
Her voice rises as she stalks back towards him. It shocks the two of them a little, the strength behind it. She's not one to shout. She may snap, venom might drip from her words, but she never shouts. Her shock doesn't deter her.
Her shouting doesn't deter him, either. It fuels him, in fact, until he's glaring down at her with ice cold eyes and a glower she's only seen him direct at Katherine. She wouldn't be surprised if he hates her, too. That thought ought to give her pause; it does the opposite. It spurs her on.
"You run away from Stefan, from responsibility, from anything good that's ever happened to you in your meagre life! You run away. And I am sick of it." She grits through her teeth, pushing at his chest with both hands.
Instead of taking it, Damon's own hands wrap around each of her arms, taking her with him when her strength sends him back a few steps. She pulls; he doesn't release her.
"You want me to make up my mind about you, Damon? Well, I'm starting to. And if you keep going this way, you might not like my decision."
They stumble back when she pushes him again, suddenly not being able to bear the thought of him touching her or being anywhere near her personal space. His hold on her tightens, his eyes flash dangerously. She's never seen him this angry—all heavy breathing, mind going a mile a minute behind his eyes—which is fitting, because she can't remember the last time she was this mad, either. Her entire body is trembling, and her heart is beating so fast her pulse has disappeared.
"Maybe I will." Damon all but snarls in her face.
Her eyes narrow on their own accord. Nothing in his words suggests an accusation, but that's what it sounds like. Like she's the reason he's glad she might want nothing to do with him now and she's… revolted by it.
"Maybe you will." She scoffs.
Tense silence follows her words. They stare unblinkingly at each other, breathing as hard as if they'd run a marathon. Her mind is an endless expanse of white noise; she can't focus on anything but the blue of his eyes.
His hands tightening around her arms remind her they're still touching each other. She blinks at her own fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. She has half a second to marvel at the slight tremors going through her fingers before Damon's mouth slams against hers.
It's not pretty. It's all harsh tongues and angry teeth and messy mouths, but, sweet Morgana, is it good. His hold on her is unrelenting, so much so were she human she might bruise. Her hands are clawing up his neck, pulling at his hair. They might as well be fighting. Except it's better.
Oh, so much better.
At some point, her back bangs against the wall, the paneling digging painfully against her spine. Damon slips his hands under her fleece sweatshirt, grabs at her waist. The skin to skin contact sets alight every nerve in her body, has the blood in her veins running with something that is not anger but carries the same heat. She arches against him, leg wrapping around his hip, calf pulling at his knee until they're pressed together.
They grind against each other, hands exploring, fingers clutching, and teeth nipping at bottom lips and earlobes, and it's rough and hot and still so, so, angry Cassandra knows nothing else but the way he tastes, how she both wants to kill him and fuck him, how she both wants this to stop and for his hand to move just a little lower…
His mouth finding the spot right underneath her jaw and trailing down in open-mouth kisses ignites her so suddenly she finds herself gasping, pressing against him. Suddenly, the fact that she wanted to be nowhere near him a moment ago seems impossible. The urge to slap him, incongruous. Fucking the anger out of each other, however, appears perfectly sensible.
Except Damon's hands turn from rough and forcing to something that's more like what she's used to—not exactly gentle but more… revering. When his lips press against the dip between her collarbones it's more a caress than punishment.
"I…"
She can't take it, the pleasure followed by heartache. He kisses her again, muting the weak protest. She can't help but melt into it, move her lips against his, cherish every sensation. She didn't think she'd kiss him again. He's so good at it, so good at hinting at what's to come, at teasing her, at igniting this need within her, so good at knowing exactly how she likes to be pleasured…
Maybe one last time. She certainly didn't know last time would be the last; she'd love to have one more night to show him again just how fucking sexy and irresistible she finds him…
No! No! No more making a fool of herself, she can't take it. Her pride won't allow it.
"Damon…" she starts, and it comes out breathy and barely audible but it's something. "Stop."
The word doesn't have a lot of resolve behind it but Damon tenses before it's completely out of her mouth. He freezes, opened mouth on that stretch of skin between her mouth and jaw that isn't quite her chin.
For a beat, they stand there, wrapped around each other, out of breath and hearts beating at the same manic rhythm. Something pulls at her chest. She finds it particularly difficult, disentangling her fingers from his hair, separating her body from his. Damon gets the hint and steps, almost stumbles, far enough back that she can't feel his warmth. It leaves her oddly empty.
"I am not doing this again with you."
Her voice wavers only just. Out of anger, nothing else. How dare he try this again? Play with her like this again? Why does she keep falling for it?
"I'm not." She repeats, more confident.
He either wants her or not. He either loves her or not. She's not succumbing to him and attempting to seduce him into devotion. It doesn't work; it leaves her wanting and longing and hurting. Damon can gaze at her all he wants, steal touches all he wants, defend her all he wants, but unless he's willing to try at a relationship, he's not kissing her again, is not fucking her again. It's all or nothing. No more halves.
In front of her, Damon straightens. His shoulders tense at the same time they seem to slouch. She catches the flicker of hurt across his face before it is buried under cool contempt and wonders why, scolds herself for the guilt dipping her own chest.
"Fine." He nods the one clipped word.
This is the moment when one of them should exit. Neither of them moves, just stand there, seven feet apart, staring at each other like they're strangers.
"Oh! There you are!" The lightness in Elena's voice as the girl walks into the parlor breaks the dense atmosphere around them. "I didn't hear you get home, Damon." She adds, much quieter than before.
Cassandra wonders whether that's a lie or not, after all, their argument was pretty loud. Elena seems oblivious to it as she stands by the door, jacket on and bag thrown over her shoulder. Maybe she was in Stefan's room or somewhere else deep in the boarding house, Cassandra infers, watching Elena send Damon a soft, kind gaze he only acknowledges with another curt nod.
"I'm heading home." Elena points over her shoulder, car keys dangling from her index finger. At Cassandra's blank look, she adds, with that same warm concern as always: "Is everything okay?"
Elena's eyes jump to Damon. She does the same, only to find him already looking at her. Her heart lurches forward.
"Fine," she answers with the same cool and collected tone Damon used on her.
The way he so easily accepted her words, brushed them off like her ending whatever they had going on means absolutely nothing to him boils her blood all over again.
"Do you still want me to drive you home or…?" Elena hesitantly asks after a long stretch of unmoving silence.
"Right!" Cassandra blinks, having forgotten Elena's offer. "Yes, please."
She makes for the door, pausing only to pick her discarded bag up from the floor. Elena bids Damon goodbye and steps outside. He doesn't answer. She forces herself to place one foot in front of the other. I'm not looking back, she chants in her mind, it's over, there's no point. I'm not looking back.
She does. Her heart stammers inside her chest when, instead of spying Damon's face and nothing else, her eyes level with his own. Even as the coldness seeps out of him to be replaced by disquiet, he seems to brighten up the longer she maintains eye contact. She catches the soft look that enters his eyes only briefly before she's completely out of the house.
She wants to go back. She doesn't.
Cassandra gets in Elena's car, quiet, unable to do anything but play that conversation over and over in her head even as she joins Elena in idle conversation.
a/n: There you go! Quick note to let you know I've decided to up this story's rating to M. I will continue to post TWs at the beginning of each chapter, though, so you'll be warned of what sort of subjects we'll be dealing with.
Guest: Thanks! Ooh, hoho if you want jealous!Damon, keep an eye out for next chapter. As for Klaus and Elijah, you might be getting a lil' treat sooner that you think.
Plumsoda: you're right, each person is different so their own opinions would dictate how they see Cass. omg, Damon is so complex especially because he hides so much what he says doesn't match what he feels so it's so frustrating lol Elena is annoying, though I also see where she's coming from. She will be doing a lot of grovelling because she does genuinely care for Cass it's just confusing. I've always seen their friendship as that one friend you've got that you love but at the same time can't seem to get as close to because you don't get each other as much. You wanna be close, but something's in the way and you both don't know what. I love her doing magic too! She's so cute and excited about it it's adorable lol Hope you like this chapter too!
NellyBlue11: Thank you! Also, thanks for pointing that out. Originally when I began rewriting it I was gonna leave it with 22 chapters as it originally was, and so didn't change the status, but then I realized it was gonna be much longer than 22 chapters as I want to do two show seasons per book, but I never changed the status! I've gone back and changed the status to on-going, so thank you for reminding me!
Beth: I'm so glad you like it! Yes, the sequel is probably going to be a little different when we get to it again, but the essence will be more or less the same. When I wrote it season4 had just aired so there were a lot of things I had no idea about plotwise, so there are plenty of holes, which is one of the reasons why I decided to rewrite in the first place. Klaus and Cass are my secret OTP if I'm honest. Like, I know what's gonna be endgame, but I still love the two together so much I'm genuinely thinking about starting an OUTTAKES story where I just give you all the klausxcass scenes from the past lol Hope you like this chapter too!
That's all for now! I'll see you soon xx