Dark Side.
Chapter 38: Daddy Issues. Part I.
"They told me all of my cages were mental,
so I got wasted like all my potential.
And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad,
I have a lot of regrets about that.
And it's hard to be at a party,
when I feel like an open wound.
It's hard to be anywhere these days
when all I want is you."
–This is me trying. Taylor Swift.
Damon Salvatore is a man of many secrets. Secrets that will never see the light of day. Secrets that are so well hidden even he forgets them at times. Secrets that no matter how hard he tries end up spilling out into the world, glaring under silvery moonlight. After that, they are harder to ignore.
He knew nothing but guilt and pain and regret yesterday. Nothing but disgust for himself and the all-encompassing knowledge that he'd been broken beyond repair a long time ago, that he'd ruined himself willingly and irretrievably.
Rose had hope for him, even in her last moments. She encouraged him to let himself feel and be. She asked him to stop being afraid. He struggles to see the point.
All he could think of was how desperate he is. How it threatens to drown him, at times. Even as he drew that stake into Rose's chest as gently as he could, as the pain spread through him when the connection severed when she died, her words echoed around him, digging that whole in his chest further and deeper. It stayed with him when he showed her to the sheriff, stayed with him as he lied and blamed Rose for all the strange deaths happening around town the past month. It festered when he buried her, eroded a hole through his chest and became an unbearable knot in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes he couldn't shake.
It was selfish. He didn't deserve to mourn her when he was the reason she was dead. And then he'd gone home and ruined the most important thing he had, just because he could, because pushing Cassie away again and again is easier than having her look him in the eye and reject him. He found that out the hard way.
Except it isn't. Nothing about that conversation was easy. Bitter and hurt, he lashed out, desperate to find out if she still cared enough about him to be hurt by him. It didn't bring him any satisfaction, the fractured anger that stained her eyes a dull green, not that he deserved any. He regretted it as soon as the words had left him. Even if he meant them.
She'd asked him what exactly it was that she meant to him. She'd told him she cared about him. He knew she loved him once. None of that betrayed her real feelings for him now, though. The way she'd acted without humanity toward him, her words, had been brutal. Not many vampires are anything but honest without humanity, after all, what is there to hide when you don't care? He'd exploded, used every wrong word possible to express his real question, one that passes his mind so often it is imprinted in his brain: do you still love me?
He can't see how she could. He still desperately wants her to. For so long she was his favorite secret, the one he only allowed himself, the one he often felt too inadequate to have, to want. The one he cherished the most while still never letting it see the light of day. The one he only talked about once, at the end of the line.
Not anymore.
Yesterday wasn't the day to confess. Everything was too sensitive. He was too frayed. Every word out of his mouth only seemed to spur her anger and his in return. He thought that was good. Better than accepting the pain, than admitting out loud how much he misses being human, how badly he wishes to go back. Better than letting himself have her only to ruin it, losing her once was bad enough.
He thought it was good. Until she walked away, said she was done, and he realized he was already losing her. That thought was enough to freeze the blood in his veins.
Yesterday wasn't the day. It'd have been too many secrets in one night, even if he thinks he could grow to trust her with them. Nothing good ever comes out of him admitting to a secret. Not when it was to Stefan, or Katherine. Even confiding in Lexi that one time didn't end well. Maybe she could be the exception to the rule. He hoped, at least.
Today could be the day, if his bourbon-addled brain manages to come up with the right words at the right time. It must. He has no idea what it'll take for her to forgive him for yesterday, but he knows there isn't a bone in his body that wants this to be it.
Cassandra's voice rings in his ears, a memory heightened by alcohol and supernatural senses, as gentle and warm as when she said the words. What do you need? The answer hasn't changed. It never will.
Damon needs her.
Though The Grill is bustling and brimming—dozens and dozens of people have come to honor the lives lost this past year, lighting candles beside pictures and a list of names—Damon feels like he's underwater, everything a little too echoey to feel tangible. His vision is shimmery around the edges. The lights fracture into warm translucent streams and orbs right before his eyes. When he swallows the rest of his bourbon, it doesn't even warm his throat anymore.
He lifts a hand, signaling Donovan to pour him another.
He's supposed to be confronting John Gilbert about his suspicious return. After all, the last time he was in town he almost got him, and his brother, killed. Finding a way to save Elena has been in the forefront of their minds for such a long time now. He's done all he can to protect her. This is important. These are the answers they need.
There's only one problem: he can't concentrate. Actually, that's not quite the truth. He can concentrate just fine, even with so much alcohol burning through his system that's he's starting to get blurry-eyed. Maybe he should have stopped drinking when the sun reached high in the sky, but he didn't, and now his mind is foggy and everything is so loud and quiet at the same time and it was all for nothing because everything still hurts.
That isn't the point. The point is, he can concentrate just fine, only not on what Stefan and Elena expect him to.
He was fine. He drove Elena to The Grill, confronted John in a civilized manner just as he promised Elena he would. After John made it very clear he would not be disclosing any information until he got proof that he could trust Damon—a lost cause, if he ever saw one—Damon returned to the bar, suddenly all too aware of his life being failure after failure. He kept one eye on Elena, and the other on John, just in case.
He had just started to sip at his fresh double bourbon, twisting the bar stool around to where he saw John last, when any and all thoughts on squeezing the information from John's tortured and dying form flew out of his mind. His focus on the task at hand with it.
Cassandra's been sitting at the same table for what he assumes is an hour but could easily be ten, or maybe just four minutes. He's not exactly sure how much time has passed since he turned, glancing over his shoulder in search for John only to find her. He does know he hasn't been able to focus on much else since.
She looks so much better than she did yesterday. Gone are the baggy shirts and comfortable leggings, which had been a bigger hint towards her emotional state than he thinks even she realizes. She's wearing a white shirt made of a thick satiny material, tight across her chest and what little of her torso he can see from her seat behind the table. It's such a stark shade of white it makes the creamy tone of her skin stand out. Her hair is pulled back in this thick rope of a braid. He can't help but miss the curls from yesterday, how soft they felt tangled between his fingers.
Bathed in the soft lowlights of the Grill, Cassie looks radiant, healthy. Relief concaves his chest, loosening the tight knot of concern that had sat there since he realized she'd turned off her humanity. He has this sudden urge to walk over and gather her up in his arms.
"Here you go."
Donovan's voice breaks through the hazy staring contest he's been having with an unsuspecting Cassandra. He turns back to the bar just as Donovan places a new glass in front of him. He catches Donovan's unimpressed look when he lifts the glass to his lips and ignores it. He's the underaged teenager serving alcohol, not exactly the highest ground to judge Damon from.
The liquor has an effect almost immediately, so sudden he really starts considering stopping. His mind is so light, though, it makes the prospect of telling Cassie the truth less daunting. It has letting the alcohol loosen his tongue looking like an excellent idea.
He chances another glance. She still seems oblivious to his staring, or perhaps she's simply ignoring it. He doubts the racket in here is loud enough to hinder her senses, even if the book in her hands is oh-so-interesting.
Damon squints at the front cover. It's some French novel he hasn't heard of before. Les Heures Souterraines by Delphine de Vigan. It's not very long, but she hasn't put it down once since he first saw her, only pausing in her reading to check her phone twice. Truthfully, he's more interested in the fact that she speaks French fluently enough to not need a translated version.
He's telling her. Right now. How hard can it be? 'Cassandra, I love you.' There. He can think it plenty; he just has to work on keeping the words from sticking to the roof of his mouth. He takes a sip of the bourbon, hoping it'll work as some sort of lubricant for the words. They're still heavy at the back of his throat, even if he's only thinking them.
It isn't until she looks up and her eyes meet his across the throng of people around them that he realizes his mistake. He'd been glancing at her sporadically, never for long enough that it'd catch her attention. Until just now, that is, when he got so lost in his thoughts he's been looking directly at her for five minutes, enough time for even someone his age to notice. To Cassie, who is centuries older than him, it is enough time to zero in on the person doing the staring without a trace of doubt.
The stone-cold glint in her eyes, the tense furrow of her mouth reminds him why it's so difficult to say the words. Last night is not something she'll forgive easily. He's still a little mad at her himself.
"Hey, you're Cass, aren't you?"
She breaks their locked stare across the restaurant to look up at the person approaching her. The boy in question is inconsequential. Dark-skinned, hair cut short enough that its curly nature becomes easier to handle, shorter than Damon for sure. Which is saying something, considering Damon isn't that tall to begin with. He scoffs, turning back to face the bar.
"The new girl?"
He hears the boy ask again. Right, like that's going to convince Cassandra he's interesting. 'The new girl', really? Thirty bucks say she doesn't even reply.
"I've been here almost three months, but, sure."
Oh, you've got to be kidding me! He thinks, turning back to her table. She's amused. He doesn't need to be near her to tell she's fighting a smile, tilting her head. Her index finger slips from the book's cover to rest against the pages, but she's yet to close the book.
"I'm Oliver." The boy, Oliver, chuckles.
"Nice to meet you."
It's not exactly dismissive, and the smile she sends Oliver is bright enough to put the sun to shame, but instead of offering him a seat, Cassie goes back to reading. Okay, she's just being polite. Keeping propriety.
He eyes Oliver, gauging his next move. He looks slightly dejected, nervous as all hell when he turns to his group of friends for moral support. They're all at a nearby table, this small group of four over hormonal teenagers. At their eager waving and encouragement, Oliver turns back to Cassie, squaring his shoulders like he's about to go in the ring.
"Hey, listen, I've been meaning to thank you," he starts.
Cassandra takes a breath in, looking up from her book once more. This time, the questioning smile on her face is tenser, genuine enough for Oliver to not catch it, but Damon knows her. She's starting to get annoyed.
"Why?"
If he rescues her from the annoying teenager, would that be enough apology? Probably not, but it's a step in the right direction. He turns in his seat all the way, no longer bothered with watching the scene unfold from over his shoulder.
"I was feeling a little off today," Oliver starts, scratching at the back of his head. "But you've turnedmeonagain!"
The last sentence comes out all in one breath, so quick the words jumble up together to form one single word. His vampire senses have no issue picking them up, though. He did not just say that. Oh, the kid is dead. He is killing him; how dare he—?
Cassandra's laugh, easy and gleeful, ends his thought immediately. He stops glaring at Oliver to stare at her. That was not fake, but a more genuine laugh that he's heard from her in a long time.
"Oh, wow. That's awful." She shakes her head, smiling up at Oliver like he just told her the best joke she's ever heard. "Truly, truly terrible."
Yes, which is why you shouldn't be laughing, Damon inwardly growls. Maybe not so inwardly, if the look Donovan sends him is any indication. He downs the rest of his drink, asking for another before the liquor is fully gone from his lips. Donovan grumbles something about 'functioning alcoholics' under his breath, but does as asked, probably hoping the more Damon drinks the more generous the tip.
"Yeah, sorry." Oliver winces.
Damon smirks as he hears him begin to shuffle away. That boy has no business with a woman like Cassandra. She doesn't need some pubescent boy so desperate for something warm around his dick he'll spend all of thirty seconds inside her before coming, leaving her deeply dissatisfied. She deserves someone who knows what they're doing, knows exactly when to do what to get her high with pleasure, satisfy that need. The mere thought of that someone being anyone other than him has his skin crawling.
"No. No, try again," Cassandra says before Oliver can take more than a couple of steps.
"What?" Oliver asks, dumbfounded.
Damon can't help but share the sentiment. Is she serious? That kid?
"I said that was terrible. I didn't say to go away." Cassandra shrugs, leaning forward. "What else you got?"
Her eyes have this glint to them, sharp like a cat. Damon swallows, itching to rise to the challenge. In front of her, Oliver falters, shuffling on the spot for a moment before making up his mind. He slides into the seat in front of her, confidence renewed.
"Are you a 45-degree angle?" Oliver sniffs, leaning closer to her in a terrible attempt at looking alluring. "Because you're a cutie."
No. No, absolutely not. He's telling her something, anything, before horny boy decides to go further than the awfully cheesy flirting. It doesn't have to be that he loves her, maybe just how he's sorry about yesterday, how she makes him feel.
Whatever it is, he'd better do it fast. Cassie loves math. He's not risking another math-related line, terrible as that was. Now, if he could just get her away from that insignificant human boy…
"Well, that one only works because you're cute." Cassandra points out with a raised eyebrow.
Cute? Cute? Is she serious?! He is so much better looking than Oliver and she's never called him cute. Not that he wants to be called cute. Drop dead hot, sexy, irresistible, now, those are adjectives he deserves.
"You think I'm cute?"
Oliver has this self-satisfied smirk across his face. Oh, what he'd do to wipe it off.
"Now you're getting cocky I don't know." Cassandra giggles.
Giggles! That is his thing. He makes her giggle, no one else. That kid is dead; he'd better have enjoyed his very short seventeen years on this earth because today is his last day. Just his luck as well, he finally accepts that his feelings for Cassie aren't something he can continue to hide from everyone, including himself, and in sweeps Pick-Up-Liner.
"Listen, Cass, I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime. With me?" Oliver stops beating around the bush with a confidence that's put on. "Maybe to the 60s dance?"
She raises her eyebrows at the question.
"Isn't that weeks away?"
"Yeah, but you gotta secure a date." Oliver shrugs, before lowering his voice with a suggestive tone. "Especially when the girl I wanna take is the hottest girl in school."
Damon rolls his eyes.
"The hottest, huh?" She teases, earning a nonchalant shrug from Oliver. "I'm flattered—" she starts. Damon's heart lurches forward, suddenly all too aware that he's waiting for her answer with as much bated breath as Oliver is, maybe more. "But I'm not interested." Did she just glance his way, for a split second? "I'm sorry."
"Nah, don't worry about it. It's cool."
Oliver tries to play it off like he's not feeling her rejection like a punch to the stomach. At least that's what Damon assumes he must be feeling in that moment. Damon turns back to the bar, leaning his elbows against it. He passes the tumbler glass from one hand to the other, fighting a smile. Rationally, he knows he shouldn't be this elated. Cassandra made eye contact with him and did nothing but scowl. Usually, meeting her eyes across the room would earn him the type of smile that has him thinking about her the rest of the day. Usually, meeting her eyes across the room would mean joining her in whatever she was doing.
As he listens to Oliver awkwardly remove himself from the scene, even going so far as to agreeing to talk to some girl named Sadie, who Cassandra insists likes Oliver, only to save himself further embarrassment, Damon can't help but think perhaps not everything is ruined.
His opportunity rises half an hour later. He's still at the bar, going over the things he's resolved to tell her at some point tonight. He'd thought of joining her, but Elena beat him to the punch, and he's not doing this in front of Elena. So, when Cassie stands and begins to approach him, Damon downs his lost-count-ieth drink of the night and straightens on his seat.
She doesn't look at him as she maneuvers through the crowd. He was wrong; what he thought to be a top is actually a fitted mini-dress that shows a lot of leg. It clings to every curve in her body like it was custom-made for her, and Damon can't fault Oliver for trying it. Or the other two boys after him.
The closer she gets the drier his throat becomes. Imagine his disappointment when, instead of going to him, Cassie changes direction at the last minute. She leans against the bar top, six or seven feet away from him, and smiles at Donovan without giving Damon so much as a glance.
"Hey, Cass, want the usual?"
Donovan quits polishing the glass in his hands to lean against the bar, hands holding his weight, rag thrown over his shoulder. The way he speaks suggests he knows the answer and he's just asking for the banter. Cassie's answer only confirms that.
"Yes, please."
"Coming right up." Donovan assures her, though he shows no intention of moving. He looks at her for a moment, pensive. "You feeling better?"
The cover story for Cassandra's falling off the grid when she turned her humanity off was that she was laid up in bed with a bad case of tonsilitis. It'd been Caroline's idea. Cassandra seemed to only hunt at night, and whatever she did during the day wasn't out in the open. That way she could be excused from school and it got her out of trouble with Carol Lockwood, for whom she apparently provided photography services at different events. Damon didn't even know that. She missed two without notice, and Carol would have fired her if it weren't for Caroline's meddling. He's not too sure how grateful Cassandra is for that, but he can't deny Caroline's attentiveness. While they were all thinking of ways to get Cassandra back to her normal life, Caroline was ensuring she still had a life to get back to.
Next to him, Cassandra blinks. Confusion flashes through her face before she buries it under a kind smile.
"I am."
Donovan relaxes. One of his hands drops from the bar as he angles his body, like he's debating whether to continue speaking or not.
"If you need anything, I might not have much, but I'm here," Donovan says. Damon rolls his eyes, impatient. This isn't the time for a heart to heart. "I mean, I know how hard it is, being on your own with absent parents. Might as well look out for each other."
Ah, yes. Another feasible lie. 'My mother is a wildlife photographer, and my father is a journalist and they always seem to be out on assignment, sorry you keep missing them, but they're totally real.' This town really is inhabited by gullible idiots. Blind, gullible idiots, at that. Usually, it's amusing, except today it's getting in his way.
"Thank you, Matty." Cassandra answers, sincere enough.
"No problem." Donovan shrugs.
Okay, enough with the after school special. He moves out of his seat, taking the steps necessary to claim the seat next to her. The one she'd use if she were planning on staying by the bar.
"Have you heard from Caroline? She was supposed to meet me here, but she's late."
He doesn't know where Blondie is, but her tardiness is a subject that can be addressed once he's done talking.
"Can I get another one, too, Quarterback?" Damon asks before Donovan can answer her.
He angles himself so he's somewhat in-between Donovan and Cassie, while still only standing next to her, and slides his empty glass the quarterback's way. The atmosphere changes immediately. Donovan goes from easy-going to guarded. Cassandra straightens. Damon catches her shuffling away from him and pretends it doesn't hurt.
"Sure—and it's Matt." Donovan glowers at him and finally, finally, leaves.
He doesn't waste any time. If he does, he'll start doubting this is a good idea.
"There's something I've been meaning to say."
He expects her to turn around so they may have this conversation face-to-face. Instead, Cassandra takes another step to the left, leaving more room between them, and keeps her eyes firm on the liquor shelves on the other side of the bar.
"We said enough yesterday, don't you think?"
It feels like she just slapped him.
"You're upset—"
"No, I'm angry." She corrects with a tone that leaves no room for argument.
"Let me explain." He requests. "Please," he adds when seconds pass and Cassandra continues to stare ahead.
"You always do this." She laughs, contemptuous. "You treat me like I'm the most important person in your life and then you hurt me."
When she turns to face him, the look on her face makes him wish she hadn't. Anger. Disappointment. Near disgust.
"Maybe it's your tendency to self-sabotage, I don't know, but I don't want it if it is like this." She looks him up and down. Unlike every other time when she's done it, the motion makes him feel nothing but absolute shame. "So, no, I don't want to talk."
She faces the bar again. This time, tenser than before. Maybe this is a sign that he shouldn't say anything... No, dammit!
"Fine. Don't talk, listen." He orders with a tone that's a little harsher than he planned.
Cassandra slowly turns to him, eyebrows raised in a demand of her own. He inwardly sighs. Now she's just getting angrier. An agreement is an agreement, though, even if he made it with himself.
"You hurt me. What you said at your house the other day—it hurt. So, I lashed out because…" Damon trails off. The words 'I am not a good person' die on his lips. "The right thing would be to let you go, but I'm too selfish for that."
Cassandra scoffs, features twisting into an expression that's all 'yeah, sure!' but more condescending. It annoys him. Sure, it's not poetry, it would probably make more sense if he weren't so drunk, or if he were Stefan, but he's trying. She shouldn't belittle that.
"I have feelings for you, Cassandra." He nearly snaps.
She takes a sharp intake of breath, looking at him with big wide eyes. Her lips part to speak but no words leave her. She looks so surprised, like that was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth. He waits for a response, a smile, an 'are you serious?', something. She doesn't move, though, and suddenly he finds himself talking.
"I find you captivating," he continues in a much softer tone. "l never knew eyes could be so many different shades of green until I met you, but I know I'd spend every last moment of the rest of my life trying to learn each color."
"It's just the light." She argues, smiling in thanks for the glass Donovan places in front of her.
It's a tall glass of sweet tea. The commitment to pretenses in a public place like The Grill is such a Cassie thing Damon's overcome with warmth. Maybe it's that feeling combining with the bourbon in his blood, but he finds that he can't shut up.
"You have no idea how much your presence affects me. You are so… beautiful, Cassie."
"Oh, boy." Donovan mutters under his breath, trying to act like he's not listening while pouring Damon's drink.
He ignores him. Cassandra shoots Matt a look but stays quiet, idly playing with the condensation trickling down the side of her glass. Her eyes dart to the side, to him, before focusing back on her drink. Damon's heart lurches forward, this time with unbridled hope. Maybe she is listening. Maybe it's not all lost.
"I love how smart you are; I could watch you do math for hours. It's insanely sexy." He holds her full attention. He knows it by the way she shifts, how her eyebrows inch together. Unwilling to fight the urge to be closer to her any longer, he leans until he's in her personal space. "Just like that spark when you get to cast a spell. You are like fire and ice and I find you irresistible. I love the way you call my name, how you feel around me—" he whispers that part in her ear, close enough to hear her breath hitch.
When he reaches out to touch her face, however, Cassandra leans back, away from his hand. Her face adopts this stern expression, cold and unreadable. She goes back to being unattainable.
Damon sighs, returning to his seat. He takes his glass from Donovan's offering hand, tilts it his way in acknowledgement. Donovan pulls a face. They may not like each other, but there's a universal understanding between the man who's just been rejected and the one who witnessed it.
The bourbon tastes of nothing on his tongue. He grimaces before drinking some more, all too aware of Cassandra's watchful gaze on him.
"You make me feel like I matter, like maybe I am worth something." He confesses, watching the light fracture against the amber color of the bourbon as he swirls it around. "I spent a very long time pulling your image and your voice from memory alone and words cannot begin to describe how little justice it did you. I—I miss you all the time. It drives me nuts."
He clears his throat, lifting the glass to his lips. He was drinking to find courage, now he's drinking to forget.
"What are you doing? What is this?" Cassandra demands, abrupt and desperate.
She still looks angry, but it's a cautious anger, like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop, like she doesn't want to get too comfortable in case he pulls the rug from under her.
"I'm trying." He admits with a small smile. "This is me trying to tell you how I feel."
She looks at him for a moment—the length of three skipped heartbeats, shuddering inside his chest—before turning to the bar, determined frown well in place.
"Matt, how many has he had?"
Donovan stops acting like he's not listening, deeply focused instead on wiping the back shelves. He turns around, glancing between them before deciding whose side he's on. Throwing that stupid, discolored rag over his shoulder again, he leans on the side of the bar that's closest to Cassandra, and levels Damon with the most judging look he can muster.
"In the last half hour or the whole night?"
Damon fights the urge to rip Donovan's neck to shreds with his teeth. He settles for a venomous glare.
"This is trying?" Cassandra asks, making eye contact with him. "Drunk out of seeing straight and slurring a half-assed admission of sentiment?"
The words should not hurt as much as they do. His entire chest aches. He is drunk, drunker than he's been in a while. That's not what hurts. It's the insinuation that he wouldn't mean it if he weren't.
"They say drunk words are sober thoughts." He smirks, unwilling to let her see how much that comment affected him.
Cassandra nods, lips stretching into a bitter smile that turns into a frown as she looks down. When she looks back up at him, it's with resigned disappointment. She shrugs, shaking her head like she's the fool for expecting better of him.
"If only you would act on them sober."
He's not sure whether it's a request or a dig or what, but it shakes him regardless. Something deep inside of him tugs and pulls. He doesn't break eye contact, though. He hopes she can see the honesty in his eyes just like he can see the longing in hers. He'll make it up to her even if it's the last thing he does.
"Hi!"
The eager exclamation comes from his left. He ignores it, already not interested. Sadly, Cassandra doesn't. She turns, face a perfect mask of politeness, openly inviting the two women and ending their conversation.
"Hi, Jenna."
"Hi, Cass, Damon." Jenna greets them. Damon nods, but keeps his eyes on Cassandra. She's the only one he's interested in, and maybe if he keeps his focus solely on her, Jenna and her friend will get that without him having to waste air. "Are we interrupting?"
Yes.
"No, I was just about to leave." Cassandra assures her.
She grabs her sweet tea from the bar, sending him one last glance before beginning to walk away. He acts before he thinks. His fingers wrap around her wrist sliding until they twist around her hand.
"Cassie—"
"I told you I don't want to talk."
She interrupts before he can continue a sentence he has no clue how to finish. Her fingers slide from his when she walks away. He stifles a sigh, turning to a curious Jenna and another woman that looks oddly familiar. She's tall, brunette, with sharp features and a foxy glint to her eyes. If he squints, she looks a little like Rose.
"My friend wants to meet you." Jenna explains, gesturing to the other woman. "Damon Salvatore, this is—"
"You were on the news." He remembers.
She's the one who replaced Logan Fell.
"Andy Starr. It's nice to meet you," Andy smiles a slow, sensual smile. She's almost purring at him. Jenna rolls her eyes with exasperated fondness. "Can I buy you a drink, Damon?"
He looks at the half-drunk glass in his hand. Any other night he'd be flirting with her so hard she wouldn't know what hit her. His eyes go back to Cassie's table. She's watching him. So is Elena, but he doesn't spare her more than a glance.
"I'm done drinking," he tells Andy without looking away from Cassandra.
He catches the surprise flittering across her face, how she has to bite her lip to stop from smiling, and jumps off his seat. He smiles at Jenna, close-lipped, and nods at a disappointed Andy. She really looks like Rose.
The door to the ladies' toilet hasn't closed all the way when he's opening the faucets as far as they will go, desperate for any noise loud enough to produce sensory overload on a vampire. Three faucets at full blast at the same time, plus distance, plus thick, noise-absorbing walls would be enough for him to not catch a single word uttered in this restroom. He's only hoping it'll be enough for Cassandra to not discern their words.
"Lock the door." He orders. Elena, stubborn as usual, huffs in irritation, but lock the door, she does. "Are you going to tell me what is going on?"
Whatever it is, it's obvious that it's bad news. He could see it on her face the second she returned from her phone call with Stefan, white as a sheet and whispering about needing to speak to him privately, away from prying ears.
"Tyler knows about vampires, and what happened with Mason. Jules told him." Elena rushes.
She's trying to copy his tone, but it really just makes her look like a lion cub trying to learn how to roar. Adorable, but nowhere near stern enough. It's the only reason he doesn't snap at her right away. Of course Lockwood knows! Did he or did he not say that letting Lockwood run around as a werewolf was a bad idea? But did anyone listen? No! Because he was the one who said it!
"They kidnapped Caroline!" Elena exclaims. He stops his angry pacing. "They've been torturing her. Damon, we have to do something."
This is worse than he thought. He eyes the sinks, hoping now more than before the noise really is too much for Cassie to eavesdrop.
"Why am I just finding out about this now?"
He can't help the bite in his tone.
Elena sighs, looking up at him with big doe eyes that are a little bit too sympathetic. She doesn't even look that worried about her endangered best friend, but more concern about his possible blow up.
"Stefan was worried that you—"
"That I'll what? That I'd kill him?" Damon interrupts her, voice rising. He's not too sure whether he's angry at the situation or the worry brewing in his stomach. "Of course, it's what needs to happen." He adds with a nonchalant tone and a shrug he doesn't mean.
He kills Lockwood, Jules, and any other werewolf in that stupid little pack, gets Caroline back, and returns to the Grill before they ring last call. Sounds like a good plan. He's not worried. At all.
He is also not entertaining the idea that Caroline might already be dead, which is the lovely image his brain has been providing since Elena mentioned the word torture. Blondie doesn't exactly strike him as the kind of person to endure that kind of thing.
"No, Damon, not Tyler." Elena begs, taking a step closer to him. "Do whatever you need to do to get Caroline back but just leave Tyler out of it, okay?"
It's an order. Too bad Damon doesn't answer to her.
"Why?" He scoffs. At Elena's shake of her head, he adds, speaking like she's an illiterate child and this is hard to comprehend: "He's a werewolf. He needs to die; I'm willing to kill him. It's win-win."
Elena shakes her head again, pleading. Damon sighs. Cassandra would agree with him. Cassandra would help. He knows he should tell her, but if they go get Caroline only to find her corpse—Cassie's gone through enough. On the other hand, he can't see how she'll forgive him for not letting her do something when there was a chance.
"Damon, please, okay?" Elena implores. Her hand finds his arm, fingers squeezing before brushing down to his elbow. "Too many people are dead."
Her hand doesn't drop from his arm but moves further down, giving him another light squeeze. He eyes it, noting the soft look on Elena's eyes.
"You need to stop doing that." He reproaches, not so subtly shaking her hand off him.
"Doing what?" Elena asks.
She blinks up at him in a would-be innocent way, except he catches the mild panic underneath.
"You know what."
"Sorry."
She clears her throat, looking away for a moment as she fidgets with a strand of hair. He fights the urge to dig the heel of his hands into his eyes.
"Stay here. I'll take care of it."
His voice leaves no room for argument, though he drops the sharp edge from before. They're friends again. Sort of. At least since Cassie turned off her humanity, they've been sort of friends again. She's been nicer, more like she was before when he knew they were friends for sure. Maybe she's not trying to manipulate him. Maybe he's reading too much into her behavior lately.
"Promise me you won't hurt Tyler." Elena insists. When he doesn't reply, just turns to unlock the door, she adds, "Damon!"
Damn her. Damn this newfound urge to not be such a terrible person.
"I'll try, but if it comes to it, I'm getting Caroline and leaving Lockwood to rot, clear?" There's no way he's prioritizing Tyler Lockwood's life. Elena nods, eagerly taking a step forward that he's quick to halt with one upheld hand. "Do not follow me, Elena. Stay here."
Elena scowls. She stays put, though, and Damon recognizes that's as good as it's gonna get. He twists the lock on the door, opening it to no other than John Gilbert's ugly face. Because of course.
"What's going on?" John questions, suspicious eyes jumping from Damon to Elena and again.
He opens his mouth, most likely about to accuse Damon of something inappropriate, but Damon beats him to the punch. Because John's inopportune company presents itself as the perfect babysitter.
"Excellent." He smiles with faux-cheer. "First dad duty: ground your daughter. Don't let her leave."
With that, he walks past John and towards the entrance, ignoring Elena's 'I'm coming with you!', cut off by John's immediate refusal. Pausing by the door, he gives The Grill a general sweep, searching for a particular shade of red as casually as he can only to come up empty handed. Cassandra's gone. He has difficulty recalling how long ago he saw her last. He can only hope she left right before that conversation. He'll get Caroline; there's no need for her to worry.
He lost Rose. No way is Cassie losing Caroline, regardless of how annoying her friend is. With newfound determination, he walks out of The Grill, dialing Stefan's number. They have an obnoxious blonde to save.
A/N: Hello! I have resurfaced! Sorry about the long wait, again. I was ill (not covid so don't worry) and then I hit a wall with next chapter in the sense that no matter what I did I could only write a sentence an hour (yay :) ) and then I discovered ACOTAR and... um... I've spent most of the past three weeks fantasising about Prythian, most importantly Velaris and my three favorite bat bois whoops? Anyways, I only have one more scene to write next chapter so I figured I'd give you this!
Onto Reviews:
SomebodyWhoCares: everything is wrong with him smh
AB0918: Yeah, Elena is an interesting character isn't she? Big OOF with everything she does, tho. That scene was my favorite to write! I wrote it almost a year ago and I was so excited to publish it so I'm glad you liked it! It is so freaking raw omg
Guest 1: Thanks so much! here's the chapter x
plumsoda: oh I hope everything is alright with you! Life can get in the way of our hobbies so I totally get it. Rose deserved so much better omg she was such a good soul I feel, even when doing questionable things. they make me wanna scream too lol such stubborn idiots in love. Hope you like this one too!
Guest 2: Hi! Omg I loved this review so much. I can't believe you just randomly think about this fic, that's the biggest compliment I've received omg. So, Cassandra's human life is ! Scotland is a very special chapter of her life that she holds close to heart so she doesn't talk about it much. The Viscountess of Wolves is one of my favorite subplots that I'm pretty sure is gonna end up being one of those no one but me knows but omg it's so good and adorable but powerful at the same time! You will know more about her human life soonish, though it won't be a lot, it will be a very important detail and storyline I've been hinting at since the flashback of the day Damon left the confederacy. Yes! OMG I don't know if anyone else got that the 'sex is just sex' line related back to rose NOT cass, but when you said that I screamed lmao. Miscommunication ruins everything doesn't it? You'll get some Original content soon. I am so thirsty for that too which is funny because I personally don't like the originals that much oops, but Cass and Klaus and their history own me. I'm partly sad that I cut that scene too but after reading it many times I thought the scene that actually made it to the fic (the one last chapter after Rose dies) was more relevant than that one, and I felt keeping both would be too much. I can tell you that it was ANGSTY oof. It hurt to write. Thanks so much for always reviewing and supporting this fic and being so passionate about it! It makes me smile :)
Clairerb: thank you so much! Yeah Cass is a powerful lady. The rest of the season is... how shall I put this... EVENTFUL. I am so excited it for it. Hope you like this chapter and thanks for your kind words!
Eennio: ngl things could be better but hey I at least made some time to post this. I hope things are going well with you as well x
That's all for reviews. Unrelated, but how sad is it that TVD was taken from Netflix UK?! I'm devastated. Anyways, see you hopefully sooner than last time!