Lungs made screaming protest, the very oxygen she gasped seemed to burn deep within. Knees trembled, having exerted all the energy the body contained and were still being asked to exert more. Again and again, feet pounded the ground carrying a body leaning forward to maximize the forward impetus.
Tonight she would die. The knowledge screamed through her soul, an awareness of finality and the fragile mortality of her life. Moving as quickly as she could, Bonnie weaved her way beyond the trees and into the clearing that had been the battlefield to Klaus' end.
The canopy of trees was familiar, painfully familiar. In the deep heart of her nights, the lacy shadows of these forest guardians had imprinted themselves into her brain. Her body, abused and torn had lain beneath them just as a corpse lies beneath the marker in a cemetery. With the shadows heavy in this place, each tree trunk seemed to have a mocking grin, laughing at the futility of her struggle to survive.
'I WILL NOT DIE!' Bonnie swore, her breath coming in deep heaving shudders. 'There has to be a way out!'
She had escaped the predator for the past three days. After the discovery of the slaughtered children and teachers on the school bus, her days and nights had become a pattern. Each night she would dream a new scene of death, and each day, she would arrive to find the horror just after it happened. The only change in the pattern was that the creature was moving to a more nocturnal setting. Usually, the carnage was discovered late afternoon or early evening.
And it always left a present at Bonnie's front door. A gross, icky, nothing she wanted to keep type of present that sent her gagging. If nothing else, dying would effectively end her receipt of such lovely gifts.
Bonnie licked her lips, tasting blood on her tongue. She had bitten hard, to stop herself from screaming at the pain of the first slash the demon made on her. What had possessed her to go to Mrs. Flowers' boarding house, in the first place? It had been foolish, very foolish, especially in light of her precognitive anticipations. The demon had the same freedom that Stefan and Damon enjoyed, sunlight did not stop or hinder it.
From the moment she stepped onto the front steps, the door had swung loosely open from her first knock, and the iron-based smell of blood lashed out to her senses. Nausea over whelmed her, the stink of death and the taste of fear her instincts allowed brought tears to her eyes. Mrs. Flowers was dead, and her death was horrible.
In the last few years, Mrs. Flowers had become more and more erratic in behaviour. Bonnie was no doctor, but the signs of mental instability were clear. It had become a habit for Bonnie to visit the elderly woman on a weekly basis, just to check up on her. Apparently, Bonnie's enemy had not missed those weekly visits.
'I'm sorry.' Bonnie whispered, miles away from the house. Bending slightly to catch her breath, she tried to suppress the tears in her eyes. She'd cut things too fine by arriving at the house before the killer had left. The scratch down her back, weeping blood copiously, bore testimony to it. 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Flowers. I couldn't protect you. I'm so sorry. It's my fault!'
A gravelly chuckle filled the air around her, a deep sound of endless hunger and menace. The sounds of life around her, the birds and crickets all paused, silenced in the presence of a greater hunter. Rabbits took to their warrens, and groundhogs burrowed deeply.
Bonnie choked back a fearful sob, lifting her head slowly. She could feel it now, she could feel its' presence around her. There was a tangible darkness, or an aura of evil that made a physical and psychic stink in the air. Twisting slightly, she jumped.
Swathed heavily in black folds, glowing green eyes filled with an unholy light glared down at her. The face was concealed, but from what little she could see, the skin was charcoal, not black, but charcoal, inhuman in both texture and tone. The only thing it left loosely visible were its' hands, the long claw-tipped instruments it used to kill.
It was like David and Goliath, a distant part of Bonnie's brain identified. At best, she was 5'4" while the demon had, at least, two feet on he. The sheer body mass outweighed her tremendously just by a glance at the bulk contained it the black cloak and clothing. 'And I left my pee-shooter at home.'
Step upon step she took backwards her mind ignoring the sting of her back for the focus of survival. Keeping her eyes fixed on its' covered chest, she watched for any betraying hint of movement. All the books she had ever read had the hero or heroine do that, surely all those writers weren't wrong! To her, the forest of trees not only caged her but offered her escape. If she could hide in them long enough to bore the demon, perhaps she would yet survive the night.
Facing down Klaus had been easier than this. Klaus had wanted to kill her swiftly, just to get to Stefan and Damon. Staring up at him in defiance had been so easy to do. This thing, however, wanted her screams to echo through the trees before allowing her the grace of death. A part of her almost wanted to let it happen, so that inevitably, she would find a final escape in death. Fortunately, her Scottish stubborn streak protested giving-up strongly.
The first pounce was unanticipated. There simply WAS no sign of movement from its' entire body, and then suddenly, it was inches from her, the clawed hand sweeping down. Instinctively, Bonnie threw her body backwards, rolling back and away, but not before receiving a long deep diagonal cut from left shoulder to abdomen.
'Matching set, great!' Bonnie thought irrationally. The roll followed through with her smoothly rising to her feet and running like hell. It hadn't thought her capable, she knew. Previous victims had fallen and wept their pain and fear, they hadn't fought on to survive.
Speeding through the clearance, she passed the tree that defined the border of the open area to the forest, and almost screamed her relief. Freedom was almost hers, and another day of life purchased.
It was eerie, how the sound had a deeper meaning that the feeling. The loud 'thunk' of a heavy object slamming into contact with a soft body was unmistakable for severity. It made a person wince in empathy. Like the sound a spoon made sliding into a bowl of jello, that slick slurping sound marking the spoon's trespass of another object, Bonnie heard it in relation to her body.
Pain caught up with her brain only after Bonnie realized she'd been hit, badly. The weight of the knife lodged into her back slowly took on a cold rigid precedence to her nerve-endings, and then the tormenting pain from assaulted muscles and tissues nearly brought her to her knees. Breathing, already painful, took on new levels of agony. Gasping, she pushed her body forward, stubborn tenacity keeping her on her feet.
Her feet fell with an eradicate rhythm, sometimes a result of stumbling. Weaving carefully through the trees towards the northeast, there was the remote hope she'd find both the cemetery and help. 'Not going to make it.' She couldn't even gasp the words she could only dimly think them. Her body throbbed painfully, and her head spun. 'Lost too much blood, already!' She knew too much about just how serious her wounds were, Mary had been thorough in sharing her medical knowledge. Night after night, her older sister had memorized her required texts with Bonnie's aid, never realizing just how much her baby sister learned in turn.
Still, despite the abuse done to her body, the creature hadn't caught up with her yet. Triumph surged through Bonnie's tired heart. It was so confident in her helplessness, as a result of the knifing, it never thought she'd persevere. 'Screw you, bugger.'
A fallen branch caught her trembling feet, tripping her face first. With a loud "humph" followed by an unwilling scream as the knife slid deeper, Bonnie fell face first into a hollow. The velocity of her body's fall kept her sliding down into the hollow until she fell into an opening of the catacombs for Fell's Church. 'No!' She whispered, the tears burning in her eyes sliding now.
Pushing against the ground, muscles in her arms trembled, and the left shoulder burned, the knife wound weeping more blood again. She was too weak to lift herself up, the fatigue in body needing the momentum of continued motion to stay upright. Defeated, Bonnie slumped forward, cradling her face in the softness of one arm. 'Please, lord and lady, don't let it find me... let me die. Please.' Gasps faded softly, and a warm blackness covered her, granting her a painless escape.
Of all the God-forsaken places he had to pass through, Fell's Church was the worst on his list. Grumbling incessantly, Damon stalked up the steps to the Boarding House as if he felt all the world's grievances on his shoulders. The best he could hope for was that Stefan wasn't staying here anymore, and he could leave town before Stefan could discover he was here.
One night to get some sleep and food, and a few hours to beat the shit out of the car engine that just HAD to die in this hellish town. For the cost of the damned car, it had no business dying, much less here. "Never buy domestic." He growled, curving around the porch to the front door. "They never..."
Words failed as his vampiric senses kicked in with a vengeance. Blood wept from the very walls, it seemed there was so much of it. Boldly, Damon stepped into the house, wincing at the sheer violence around him. Mrs. Flower's head, torn from her old body, lay in the old wicker rocking chair, her eyes wide and confused. The brightness of her eyes was dimmed with no soul behind it, but shock and disorientation left a permanent mark on her face.
Around the room, pieces of her body littered the furniture and floor, each piece no bigger than Damon's hand. It was sickening, even to him. The aroma of blood was intense, so fresh that the murder had to have occurred in the past half-hour or so. Working his way from front door to back, Damon winced at the wastage. Blood had been liberally sprayed on the walls, indicating that the killing had been for pure pleasure. 'Stefan REALLY can't find me in town. I just know somehow that he'll blame this on me! What a waste!'
Careful not to breathe too deeply, as it made his eyeteeth itch, Damon stepped through the backdoor and into the night air once more. Gulping fresh air, a familiar scent paired with a distinct impression of intense fear appealed to his awareness. He knew that fragrance oh so well, having held the body issuing it in his arms once before. The fear, though, that was not the same.
Before, Bonnie's fear had always been of the moment. Startlement and nervousness more than actual life and death fear. This stench, this feeling was of impending death mixed with a fragrant smell of her blood.
Damon's stomach knotted instantly, a picture of Bonnie has he'd last seen her popping clearly into his mind. Red hair, in a wild mess, streamed down her thin back as she encouraged him with expressive eyes to accept Stefan and Elena's offering. In the moment he had glanced at her, willing her to understand his decision, she had looked like an earth-Goddess, all that red hair and white skin. Even exhausted, power shined about her with all the glory of innocence.
In that moment, God, he had so wanted her. Not like what he had felt for Elena, that overpowering "must have", but a want that set his blood thrumming amongst other instincts. It had scared him, more than anything else they faced had. More than Klaus destroying Stefan, or his own death, he had felt an irrational fear for what she was doing to him.
And yet, that fear had thrilled him beyond measure too. The unknown had always been Damon's greatest weakness. His intelligence demanded that any unknown riddle had to be unraveled, preferably by him. Walking away had been the hardest thing he had done, but it had been the only way he could say thank you to the girl.
She had saved his life, and his brothers. He owed her. Where he had fallen in the fight against Klaus, a mere slip of a mortal had stood and been victorious. Supposedly, 'nothing living' could stand against Klaus and survive, but Bonnie had stood, triumphant and alive. Granted, it had been by invoking the dead of Fell's Church but that was a triviality.
Sighing, Damon launched himself off the porch and ran for the forest. Powers moved as he ran, letting his body smoothly slide from that of a human to a dark brindled wolf. Paws leapt with secure bounds, tearing across the terrain as if it were a Sunday walk.
Bonnie's scent was with him; he followed the markings on an instinctive animalistic level. Each turn or tuck he made guiding him to a stronger source of the scent. Claws dug deeply into the earth as he burst from the cover of trees into the clearing, the human part of his brain recognizing the battlefield instantly.
His dark head shifted side to side, night-vision making each blade of grass as identifiable as if in daylight. Sweeping across the field, Damon marked where the grass had been depressed under the weight of a body. To the side of it, footprints and the weight of a cloak had shifted the direction the grass bent.
The blood marking the ground was fresh, no more than fifteen minutes old and tasted like the wild raspberries of a forest. Deep with a sweet tangy taste, holding more juice and kick than the cultured version. The girl had still been alive when this blood had fallen.
Falling back on instinct, Damon crouched low to the ground his belly practically dragging across the grass while his battle skills helped him plot the events that had recently taken place in this field. Her opponent had lunged, and Bonnie had gracefully swept her body clear and run for the other end of the forest. There were no indications that the hunter ran after her, though. His trail was less 'noisy', indicating he had walked at a controlled pace.
Thoughtfully, Damon turned to study the enemy's former place, the eyes narrowing to slits as he recognized a pattern whereby one depression at the rear was heavier than the other, but the toe of the other had a depth not normal in walking or stature. It was, however, a normal result of a heavy throw.
Head swerving back to Bonnie's former positioning, Damon padded silently through the clearing, along the trail Bonnie had fled. Again, the scent of fresh blood assaulted his senses, wetting his palate. The object thrown had made contact hereabout. The wound was grievous and life threatening based on the amount of blood fallen to the ground. Bonnie could be easily tracked now, dangerously so. The blood was as easy a path to follow as cookie crumbs... it stained the dark earth, but any hunter could follow a path of blood. As weak from blood loss as she likely was, she was a sitting duck. The wolf huffed, disdainfully acknowledging that the Hunter had a head start already.
Growling lowly in his throat as a sign of his displeasure, wolf now became hunter, turning the predator into his prey. Racing through the forest, he nimbly jumped over fallen branches, and slipped between trees as if they were intangible. The brain focused only on Bonnie's scent, filtering all other smells and impressions for later analysis. The girl had managed to keep moving for a goodly distance, but that was to be expected of any child with the mental strength to refuse a vampire's command and stand resolute against an Ancient. Sprinting around a corner, Damon froze completely, stilling his strong and stealthy animal body.
The Hunter was in front of him, with his back turned. Long black robes shrouded the Hunter, and the only thing Damon readily could identify was massive size. Broad shoulders and a humanoid structure left him with the impression of masculinity. Hesitantly, Damon tested the air. By nature wolves were wary beasts with solid instincts. Coupled with Damon's vampiric senses, and human intelligence, it didn't take much to identify a distinctly inhuman smell. It was like no other creature that he had ever encountered or heard of. Ignorance advised caution, something Damon's arrogance and self-confidence rarely exercised.
Bunching up his muscles, Damon lowered his body into a crouch. His tail lashed side to side in the silent air, a signal of anger. Deliberately, he issued a low growl, and felt irrational pleasure as the Hunter turned, glowing green eyes in a shadowed face narrowing at the sight of the giant wolf.
To the hunter, Damon was nothing more than an overgrown dog out of its league. Powers earned through years of feeding on humans and cultivating heightened skills allowed Damon to mask his true nature when taking another animal form. The danger was that he could accidentally be so caught up in the form that his identity as a man would be lost. Keeping beast from man was difficult, but not impossible.
The hunter raised an' arm, preparing to deal with what it perceived as a minor triviality. This suited Damon perfectly, since fighting the creature was the last thing on his mind. One did not battle the unknown, rather one found out all it could, determined it's weaknesses and then went to battle. He'd spent a few years at the Universite in Paris to learn that one. Springing, Damon's four paws made contact with the tree trunk diagonal to him, and he twisted his body to land behind the Hunter. Scrambling quickly, he jumped into the hole Bonnie had fallen into.
The girl was very still, her breathing uneven and heartbeat frightfully weak. The knife was still imbedded in her back and had punctured her lung judging by the rasping gurgle of each breath. Unless he did something fast, she would die. Hell, even if he did something fast, there was still a good chance she would die. Bonnie was working pretty hard it.
The Hunter was clawing at the Earth, trying to widen the hole. Snarling, Damon shifted from beast to man, setting a hand on Bonnie's back to brace her body, and wrenching the knife out with one swift upward movement. In triage, it wasn't the best move, but the creature was certainly determined and Damon needed whatever physical weapon he could lay his hands on. The knife was solid. It had a good weight to it, and it was proven to be sharp.
He was a product of his century. The noblemen of Italy in the late fourteenth century took pride in ensuring their son's had the skills of a warrior. From archery, to swordplay, Damon had learnt every skill required of a noble child. His father had hired only the best tutor for his sons. And, for the vampire, time stood still. Centuries came and went, but time did not diminish some disciplines. Standing directly below the Hunter, Damon smiled upwards with bared canines, and then launched the dagger into the Hunter's face.
He had the distinct pleasure of seeing the blade sink into one eye and hearing the Hunter's unearthly scream, before he turned and scooped up Bonnie's fallen body. She reeked of blood. Blood coated the front of her body and the back, soaking her clothing with her own life fluid. The slashes were deep and long, sufficient enough to lead her to death were there not the trauma of the knife wound.
The catacombs of Fell's Church were a marvelous maze. Katherine and Klaus had mastered them for their assaults on the town, somehow figuring out where one passageway led to in correlation to a starting point. Damon lacked that same skill. He did, however, have a profound sense of direction on a compass-scale. The cemetery lay in a northeastern direction from Mrs. Flower's house, but since this route had no northern path, Damon chose to follow the eastern until he came to a northern passage.
Instincts on the guard, he listened for sounds of the Hunter following, and was grateful that there were none. His feet splashed into the thin layer of water that lined the catacombs, likely fed in by sewer drains and well openings. There was precious little light down here, barely enough for Damon's vampiric eyes to see by, but he managed. Bending to get past an incredibly low area, rational logic kicked in and he stopped. The Hunter was too massive to make such a clearance, for now Bonnie and Damon were safe.
Finding a dry stretch of ground, Damon sat down cradling the redhead in his arms. 'You're not looking good, Red.' He murmured, his finger's parting her torn shirt to eyeball the tear across her body. Whatever that Hunter had for claws, it sure was sharp. The thin wool of her sweater had parted like it had been soft butter, and the ragged tear reached smoothly across her. A good quarter inch wide, it stretched at least twelve inches down but only parted the epidermal layer. It was enough to slow her down, Damon supposed. Probably, however, it had been pure chance that Bonnie managed to escape with just that cut, the first time. Her back was far worse. It was as if an entire clawed hand ripped down her back, shredding her sweater.
Frowning, Damon stared down at Bonnie's pale face, noting the bloodless colour of her lips. She was dying. The trauma and rapid blood loss were killing her, first by sinking her into a coma, and then by suffocation as her lungs drowned in her own blood. At this point, a hospital couldn't help her.
It put him in a mighty awkward situation too. "I don't need this." He grumbled softly to the unconscious girl. "I wasn't even going to stop in town, you know. Just keep on going, right out of all your happy little lives. You'd think one town could stay out of trouble for a couple of years!" Okay, apparently they had stayed out of trouble for three years, but for a vampire with a lifespan easily over four hundred, he was hoping they could have done without him for fifty odd years. At the very least, with St. Stefan around the peace should have held for a decade.
Bonnie gave him no answer. Her heartbeat was sluggish, slowing down gently.
Sighing heavily, Damon lifted his hand to his mouth, slicing deeply with one fang. A narrow cut formed through the vein, and blood flowed. Gently cradling Bonnie as if she were an infant child, he raised his hand to her mouth, stroking the blood onto her lips.
She didn't react.
"Come on, little one." Damon murmured. "Drink Uncle Damon's nice undead blood, and you'll be all better... assuming you don't mind nightmares, psychotic episodes, and mild occurrences of blood lust. They can be kind of fun, actually. If you want to terrify friends and family."
Nothing. The psyche ruling her mind had removed itself deep into the body taking away the reactive impulses that should have started a feeding cycle, Damon realized grimly. Short of breaking her jaw to part her lips, he couldn't get his blood into her. And if she didn't drink voluntarily, and soon, his blood would bring her across, not just heal her.
Some people were just so stubbornly inconsiderate by insisting on dying after other people had fought to save their life, and ruining a perfectly good pair of fine Italian leather shoes in the process. "Bonnie McCullough, if you don't drink this blood, I'll suck you dry!" Damon threatened irrationally. "Elena really won't be happy with you."
The heartbeat stuttered, as the pauses between each beat became interminably longer. With each beat, he expected it to be her last. "Why do I even care?" Damon murmured, running his free hand over her soft hair. "You're less than nothing to me." Except for his debt to her. His brother's life bought by her courage.
The heart stumbled finally stopping, a death rattle echoing in her chest. As her body died, the shields about her mind faltered, leaving her psyche finally vulnerable, and her psychic powers exposed. The churning vortex of energies that destiny had vested into her tiny body screamed to Damon's senses. It awed him.
And, it was the ultimate in last-minute survival backup. Latching onto the fading awareness of her powers, Damon fed some of his own into her, nudging her fleeing soul to take interest in life. Images of safety, sanctuary and protection flowed from Damon to Bonnie. Each vision was carefully selected to offer the maximum comfort, meaning, and he judiciously concealed who her savior was from the blossoming awareness of her mind.
Her lips parted on a sigh, the tongue finally fluttering to lick the blood wet on her mouth. Lifting her up, cradling her wounded back against his chest, Damon pressed his wrist to her mouth and gently nudged her with his mind to drink. Brown eyes flashed open, almost gold from the power of her mind, melding with the vampiric blood sliding down her throat. It was a merging of power too intense for comparison, lighting the very veins beneath her skin.
The heart pulsed once, a violent surge pumping blood throughout the body, and then began to labor once again. Power released itself into the major arteries and veins of Bonnie's body, power that graciously clotted the wounds her blood could not, and offering a different type of strength to her weak body. Damon took all this in, vaguely. The forefront of his mind and attention was still focused on her fight for survival, not the mending of the body. "Come on, little kitty, claw!" He muttered. Her heart-beat wasn't yet ideal, and her breathing still shallow. If she didn't completely turn the corner, there was still a powerful chance she would rise as a vampire.
Her eyes drifted close, and a soft sigh tore from Bonnie's throat. Curiously, Damon parted her torn sweater to study the flesh, pleased to see how healed it already was. A fine lace of skin threaded across the gaping. "Isn't this interesting?" Pushing her upright with infinite care, he examined her back and shoulder. The hole made by the knife was still visible, the blood dried around the edges and the area scabbing over. Around the tender flesh, Damon watched a network of veins pulse, pushing blood to the wound. He could feel power in the wound, like some sort of bandaid that protected fledgling new veins. "Very interesting." He muttered, filing away all this for later consideration.
Now her pulse was stabilizing, and she was breathing on her own, the slow even rise and fall of her chest was natural to a sleeper. Apparently, the patient was going to live, yet again. As what, though, was yet to be determined.
Gently, Damon eased her back, letting her body rest against his. Keeping her down here in the catacombs wasn't ideal. Whether or not she hovered between true vampirism or not, the chill and dampness would damage her still weakened lungs. 'I can't get you into your house.' He thought to the silent girl in his arms. It wasn't odd that he knew where she lived, not precisely, at least. Several times, after Vickie Bennett's death, Damon had used his exile from the defending group to shadow Bonnie. It had been amusing, to keep watch over her as he had. Following her at a safe distance from the school to her home and wherever else she might go. If Klaus had attacked her, he would have intervened.
Meredith was too cautious to be caught unguarded, and Stefan never strayed far from Elena. Only Bonnie had been truly vulnerable, and yet, she should have been the least defenseless. As for Matt? 'I'm not into pretty little boys; he could take care of himself.' Other contemporaries of his time might have felt otherwise, but Damon preferred to guard where he saw the most opportunity for personal gain.
So, now in this time and place, what was he to do with her? Obviously they had to leave the catacombs, but to go where? Her parents were susceptible to his powers, but even they couldn't help but notice the blood soaked clothing on their daughter. Stefan would accuse him of doing it to her, and Elena... seeing Elena would bring the past he stridently tried to forget rushing back. He wasn't sure his wounds had healed enough for that.
That really didn't leave many options. "Alright, Bonnie. What am I going to do with you?" He sighed, wondering absently why he was getting involved. His priorities should have been simple: fix his car, and get the hell out of this hellhole of a town.
He was NOT staying in this town. Absolutely not, no matter what. There was no force, no power, in the universe capable of making him stay. Nothing anyone said would change that.
Never.
Bonnie moaned, her body twisting slightly in his arms. Accommodatingly, he let her roll to her one side, wrapping an arm about her waist to support her. Her breath fluttered against his chest, the warmth of it seeping through his fine white shirt. Dark lashes fluttered, finally parting over brown eyes.
"Good Evening, cara."
Her flinch made his undead heart feel pride. Centuries of developing a despicable reputation had finally paid off. His voice alone could scare people. What more could a self-respecting vampire want? Still, after all his hard work to save her, watching her scramble to rip those scarcely healed wounds open would be wasteful. Firmly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.
"Damon!" Bonnie's struggles were weak, but at least she made the attempt.
Smiling wickedly, he rubbed his hand sensuously up and down her arm. "Very good, cara. And now, do you know who you are?"
She must have focused, assembling all her strength for one leap. Pulling away successfully, she scrambled to get clear of him, her eyes darting wildly about the catacomb.
Damon's eyes narrowed, lazily, as he studied her features. She was still too pale. Her naturally fair skin had an almost ashen quality to it. Her recovery was far from complete, and if she pushed herself too hard, she would make things far worse. "I'm not going to bite you, Bonnie." He advised calmly.
Bonnie turned her head back to him, brown eyes tired but disconcertingly clear. "I know that." She had an assurance in her voice he had never expected. "We can't stay here." It was an oppressive feeling, a need to keep running. "It's still out there."
Amused, Damon took to his feet, strolling nonchalantly closer to her. A good meter in front of her, he dropped into a crouch with such speed her breath caught. "It, as you so delicately put it, is of no moment. You are not worth pursuing to this level."
Her body shuddered. Concerned that her temperature was dropping, a known side affect to mortals who took in too much vampire blood and yet continued to live, Damon shrugged out of his leather jacket, and wrapped it around her shoulders tugging it snug in the front. "Now, if you have any idea where I can take you, before my brother sees the mess you're in..."
Her lip warbled and eyes filled with tears. "Stefan's gone. They left." She whispered brokenly. "No one believed me, they just went."
In another time, and another place, his heart would have gone out to her. In the here and now, it would not. Or so he sternly informed the undead organ that was definitely softening to her doe-like eyes and trembling mouth. A mouth streaked in his blood, which just reminded him of his responsibilities to her should she not survive the next few days. "What do you mean, they left?"
Tears escape her eyes and made woeful trails down her cheeks. "They left. All of them, except me. They didn't want me to go." She was nearly hysterical, an unusual state for her. Excitable, definitely, but hysterical? If Klaus did not throw a soul into hysterics, nothing would.
The hard, unfeeling heart turned to mush. Careful not to scare her, he scooped her up, cradling her like a sick child, mindful of how tender her shoulder still was. Resting his chin in a mass of red hair, he soothed her like his mother had soothed him all those centuries ago.
Hysteria faded into a soft cry, likely outsourced from fatigue, and then into a quiet silence. When her hand reached to wipe her eyes, Damon was certain the storm was past. "Now, explain all this to me." He requested using that autocratic authority expected of his father's son. "Why is it Stefan has left, and how are you involved?"
Bonnie drew in a shuddering breath, her mind finally latching onto sanity and updating her on the fact that she was cradled in a known killer's arms. Still, Damon was a familiar face, whether or not friendly, and seeing him was oddly enough a welcomed relief. "They're in Europe." She murmured softly, into the fragrant leather of Damon's jacket, still wrapped about her. Oddly, she remembered Elena wrapped in another of his jackets. The fall of light on her blond silvery hair in contrast to the light absorbing darkness of the leather that protected her exposed, newly reborn, human flesh. "All of them. Except me. For a vacation."
Damon made a sound, rather like a grunt of acknowledgement and disdain mixed together. "Why not you?"
"Seventh wheel."
He almost smiled-almost. The phrasing was deliciously cryptic, but not as vague as he was capable of. So, Matt had moved past her already. "And a seventh wheel is not welcomed amongst friends?" The sarcasm was not missed.
She shifted, pulling away from him. Dropping to her knees, she carefully pushed herself upright, using her right arm for support rather than the still sore left. Discussing her feelings with Damon, especially the resentment she harbored towards the others, was not what she wanted. "No."
Her abdomen itched, insanely. Reaching across her stomach, she inhaled sharply at the bruised and uneven feel of scarred skin. Whimpering, she ran her hand up along her abdomen and across her breast. It was healed, all healed! Turning sharply, she looked down at an amused Damon, only now noting how easily she was seeing him in the darkness. "What's happened to me?" Even to her ears, her voice was unnaturally shrill.
Damon shook his head. "You died."
Breath died in her throat. Bonnie swallowed hard, suspecting there was far worse to come.
"And I revived you." He continued, watching as her hand raised to her throat and then mouth. "I would strongly recommend against dying again in the near future, unless, of course, you crave a life in eternal darkness."
Her whimper wasn't quite what he expected. It was as if she had already been condemned to vampirism. The pallor of her face seemed to deepen, and her heart-rate increased unevenly. "No. No. No. No." She shook her head, taking awkward steps backwards.
"Bonnie- " Damon began, standing up without any predatory pretense.
The red hair did not frame a Goddess' young face, not now. All that was left in that pale face was a frightened young woman who knew far too much more than she wanted. "He's going to kill me." She answered his unspoken question sadly. "Again, and again. He'll always come after me. He'll always kill me."
"I think once is normally sufficient, Bonnie." Damon advised, referring to her mortality. "It will believe..."
Her scream shocked him, as did her fist's pounding on his chest with a strength he never dared imagine she was capable of. "Don't tell me what to think!" She raged. "You weren't here! No one was here! It wants ME!"
The first thing Damon did was seize her hands, stilling them from pounding at him. The next thing was to spin her around and sink his fangs deep into her throat, drinking on her scarce blood. It was a heady elixer, sweet, intoxicating, wonderful as it flowed from her into him. She didn't make a sound, having had no time to even realize what was happening before he lifted his head and licked his lips.
Images sorted themselves out in his mind, a cascading series of events that were blood-chilling to even he. The nightmares that were actually visions were defined, richly clear images he could identify from her blood alone. And the carnage she had already witnessed, the poor little bird had faced much with Klaus, but this shocked even his jaded mind. "My gods." He murmured black eyes wide.
She turned in his arms, her hands reaching to bury themselves in the soft folds of his shirt. "I just wanted to die." The admission came softly, the sincerity in it staggering to Damon's ears. "I just want it to end. I can't do this alone, I tried, I can't. I just can't."
Where the words came from, and who said them, escaped Damon's notice, but surely he wasn't him. There was no way in his right or wrong mind that he would willingly volunteer to help, there just wasn't. Yet, it sure did sound like his voice saying "You're not alone. I'll stay."