Idiosyncrasies of Death

by AndrianaWarrior7

Kol Mikaelson/SI-OC "Death favors us." Guidelines on how to deal with life, death, life after death and all the general stupidity that, undoubtedly, follows...In hindsight, she realized that she should've just stayed dead. But, let it be known; Zatanna Bennett-Asturias never does things half-arsed. Full Teen-Version summary inside.

13. Chapter XI:

Warnings: Language, PTSD, Death, Violence, Morbid jokes and Dark humor that might offend others e.g. jokes on contemplation of suicide, these are just used to describe the rather morbid sense of humor the character/s may have and are in no means used to offend anyone or make light of the serious topics that may be mentioned. For any sensitive topic used in a joke, I apologize in advance and hope you keep in mind I meant no offense.

Note: The dialogues in Italic show that the speakers are either a form of flashbacks or communicating in a different language, in this case spanish.

---

Betrayal: Definition: (Noun) the action of betraying one's country, a group, or a person; treachery.

'He would stab his best friend for the sake of writing an epigraph on his tombstone.'

-Oscar Wilde-

'~Do you know what Angelica said,

When we saw your first letter arrive?

She said, be careful with that one, love

He will do what it takes to survive.~'

-Burn; Hamilton Musical, Lin-Manuel Miranda; Philippa Soo-

---

Chapter XI:

10th September, 2009; Caercastra Castle, Ancestral Residence of House Asturias; Lancashire, United Kingdom.

Atticus yawned.

He glanced down at the documents, pertaining his magical research, sprawled across the antique mahogany desk in the room he had been so kindly provided by his Uncle. His laptop lay open, its screen, in contrast to the physical documents on the wooden surface of his desk, displayed the emails he had received from his university officials.

Atticus grimaced at the sight of them, before yawning again.

He leaned back against his chair, and rubbed his temples, trying to rid himself of the dull ache emanating from between his eyes. He squinted at the time icon at the bottom of his laptop screen before letting his head flop back.

11:53 PM.

Joy.

Atticus had so much to do the next morning, and had been planning on retiring early that night. Unfortunately, rarely did his plans regarding his sleeping schedule ever go the way he wanted them to.

He frowned up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to his tasks at hand; he would likely have another conversation with his Uncle over breakfast. He also had to remember to make a call to his father and sister, and enquire if the night's proceedings had gone over smoothly.

Then, Atticus had to draft email responses to the university, and potentially, if required, he needed to drop a call to one of his connections who would further make contact with the Rubio Coven in matters regarding–

–Atticus inhaled sharply.

He nearly toppled out of his chair, his hand fisting over his chest, and Atticus gasped trying to catch his breath but–

HECOULDN'TBREATH

ICAN'TBREATHWHAT'SWRONG

He tried to get out of his chair, but found his legs giving away, leaving the Asturias warlock in a crouched heap on the carpeted floor. He was vaguely aware of his magic lashing out; the distant shatters of glass was ignored by the young heir. His thoughts were too chaotic.

WHO?PAPA?ZATANNA?ENZO!

SOMETHINGISWRONGWITHENZO

The large doors to his room slammed open, and suddenly Tío Lazaro was there, in front of him. The older man grasped his nephew by the shoulders and heaved him up to his feet. He was saying something but Atticus couldn't quite make it out.

He tried to rein in his magic, to regain the control he had uncharacteristically lost. His eyes fell shut, and Atticus tried to sort what he felt; his bond tethering him with Enzo and his sister in a three-way bond flared up in distress mostly from Enzo's side.

He wasn't in any physical duress or pain, thankfully, but something had happened and Enzo was continuously spiraling to and from cold misery.

Something significant had happened tonight.

And Atticus was determined to find out what.

He looked up into his Uncle's eyes, and smiled grimly.

"I apologize for my loss of control, Tío" His voice was thin and sharp, "But I will need to make a call immediately. You see, someone dared to target those who are mine."

His Uncle smiled with his teeth bared in great ferocity and said;

"I'll get my dear hermano on the line."

Atticus cracked his neck in anticipation.

---

11th September, 2009; Asturias Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Zatanna did not sleep that night, instead she had holed herself up in her brother's room; sitting in the middle of his bed, she had leaned back against his pillows, and pretended he was there with her.

As opposed to Zatanna's almost serene posture, her thoughts were decidedly chaotic.

The night's proceedings had been nothing more than a blur to her after Enzo had all but collapsed in her and Bonnie's arms. In fact, she recalled very little of the pandemonium that had ensued.

She knew she had been immediately contacted by her Father (her phone had rang incessantly for six minutes, before Bonnie took notice of the incoming call), who himself had been called by Atticus and Tío Lazaro. Bonnie (brilliant, beautiful, reliable Bonnie) had taken control over the conversation with Papa, quickly explaining the entire proceedings to him.

And honestly, everything that happened after were events she could not remember properly.

The young witch glanced out of the windows, noticing the first rays of sunshine breaking through the horizon. She wondered if Damon Salvatore had woken from his impromptu nap. Unlikely, of course, her father had put him in under a spell ensuring stasis slumber, and had stated sternly that the vampire would only be pulled out from said spell when Enzo–and only Enzo–was ready to face him.

Zatanna supposed that made sense. Enzo had to face his own demons, and she couldn't bear his burdens for him. She wasn't happy about it, but she could understand.

(Briefly, she recalled onyx colored eyes; black, black, and unseeing, and haunting, and–)

What she could do was simply become a pillar of support, so that if (when, a cynical voice inside her corrected) he fell, she would be there to hold him up.

Her cell-phone ringing distracted her from her gloomy thoughts. When she glanced at the caller name, Zatanna would admit she had never picked up a call as quickly as she did.

"You're brooding aren't you, pequêna bruja." Came his voice, humorous and like steel both in one instance.

Zatanna rolled her eyes fondly, hearing her older brother's voice was, without a doubt, like a soothing balm to her tumultuous disposition.

"I miss you." She said in greeting.

A pause and then, more solemnly, but no less warm; "And I, you."

"Atticus…I admit, I don't know what to do. Enzo, he…"

"We will endure, we will survive, and we will thrive." Atticus sounded strong, assured, and commanding. He sounded like Papa. He sounded like Bisabuelo. "And Enzo will not shatter. Give him some credit, hermana."

She remained silent.

Atticus could read her doubt clearly, as he sighed deeply, sounding tired, "Zatanna, Enzo has survived the cruelest of lives before we ever knew of his existence, much less encountered him. He did not break then, he will not break now. Have faith in him."

"He was so haunted."

"And that's natural, isn't it? You of all people would understand. Better than even I."

Zatanna closed her eyes slowly.

"You're right, I do understand," She said, "That is exactly why I'm so worried."

---

11th September, 2009; Asturias Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Bonnie bit her lip, she stood beside Uncle Ignacio and Zatanna, shifting from one foot to another in uncertainty.

She glanced up at her Uncle, who had placed a hand upon her shoulder in comfort, although his entire countenance was otherwise stoic. Her cousin, on the other hand, was looking more conflicted and bothered than she had ever seen before, and honestly, it made the Bennett witch suffer with bouts of uneasiness.

Bonnie glanced down at the constant buzzing of her phone with a grimace, she knew the rest of the gang would be curious, but save for a quick text message in their group chat, she hadn't found the time to explain much.

The only reason none of them had stormed the house currently, was because Uncle Ignacio had staved them off for now.

Bonnie had returned to the Asturias mansion as soon as she had woken from her rather fitful sleep. She hadn't seen Enzo yet, and would admit that she was worried. Apparently, Zatanna hadn't seen him either. Not since Uncle Ignacio had carted him away the previous night.

Her head snapped up, facing towards the entrance of the living room, where the object of her worries suddenly made an appearance…and she wasn't sure what she expected, but she had imagined Enzo to look ruffled and out of sorts.

In sharp contrast to these imagining, Bonnie noticed he was dressed more immaculately than ever before, his entire appearance did not for one moment show the breakdown he had suffered the previous night.

Bonnie was fiercely proud of him.

He looked straight at Uncle Ignacio, discomfort flitting across his face before he forced it smooth and blank; as inscrutable as a marble statue. Better to show no expression rather than fake it, she supposed. Or, she amended privately, it was a better option rather than revealing what he was actually feeling.

"Are you certain?" Uncle Ignacio moved away from where he stood leaning against the ornate fireplace, behind Bonnie and Zatanna.

Enzo smiled sharply, "I have waited fifty years too long." He paused, his eyes glazing over in remembrance, "I am certain."

The Asturias Patriarch nodded once before leading Enzo out of the house (the two teenagers trailed after silently, both leaning forward to grasp a sleeve cuff each of Enzo's navy blue blazer, he looked at them and smiled, and Bonnie felt her heart-breaking at the sheer hurt on his face) towards the bunker built a little ways past their property within the thick mass of trees surrounding said owned land.

Upon entering the bunker–Bonnie noticing with interest that it was built with state of the art resources–Uncle Ignacio led Enzo towards a steel braced door that, Bonnie's keen eye noticed, had arrays of magical ritual spells glowing upon the surface of the door.

It wasn't visible to the naked eye, and Bonnie only spotted it because Mister Henry had been teaching her to do so.

Uncle Ignacio glanced back at them, "You both shall remain here. I alone will accompany Enzo. Sí?"

Zatanna did not look very pleased but she nodded her assent with Bonnie following her lead.

The older warlock looked at them for a moment longer, "Fret not, you may observe from the video feeds the cameras provide in the surveillance room." He nodded to another door, "Of course, only if Enzo allows it."

The man turned then to look towards the vampire who was staring at the array marked door distantly, but glanced back when he heard his name.

He nodded, a small smile (the same heart-breaking smile) painted across his lips, "I have nothing to hide. Not from them."

Bonnie felt warm at the sheer trust he placed in them, before sending a reassuring smile his way before she and Zatanna left to enter the surveillance room.

The room was filled with monitors showing high-quality video feeds of the room which Enzo and Uncle Ignacio were just entering. Bonnie noticed Damon Salvatore lay in a pitiful heap upon the floor, a single overhead spotlight illuminating his form, while the rest of the room was bathed in darkness.

Bonnie glanced at Zatanna, and blinked at the stance her cousin had adopted. The Asturias witch stood with her legs spread apart evenly, her back erect, her chin tucked in, and her hands clasped behind her back. There was something distinctly militaristic about her pose. The ease with which she has slipped into such a stance left Bonnie reeling.

It was an ease of movement borne of experience. As if Zatanna had done it a million times before.

She turned her attention back to the feed, observing how Enzo and Uncle Ignacio were both hidden in the shadows. She barely saw the warlock place a comforting hand on the vampire's shoulder before he reached out a hand, above the Salvatore vampire's head, and twisted it elegantly.

Bonnie and Zatanna both leaned forward in tandem to watch the proceedings closely. Damon Salvatore came awake with an echoing crack of his neck, and a sharp gasp. Bonnie heard a barely suppressed snarl from her side and held in the urge to glance at her cousin.

The disoriented vampire blinked rapidly before he tried to sit up, finding himself unable to do so, "What the–?"

"Damon, son of Giuseppe and Lillian," Uncle Ignacio began in a light, but no less hypnotizing tone of voice, ignoring the way said vampire looked at him dazed and angry all at once, "Do you know why you're here?"

"You," Damon sneered, struggling under the magical pressure, "I'll tear your fucking heart out, and after I'm done with you, I'll go after the witch-bitch and make her beg–"

The vampire cut himself off with a strangled hiss, Bonnie watched in morbid fascination as Damon Salvatore's mouth fell open displaying how his own tongue was twisted so that it was shoving itself back into his throat making him choke.

Uncle Ignacio watched the display pleasantly, his features nothing but serene, "Do not refer nor allude to my daughter in any name or form with your–frankly–offensive existence," And then his voice dipped darker, and Bonnie felt second-hand fear for Damon, because she had never heard her Asturias Uncle sound so ambiguously threatening before, "Your quarrel, as of yet, is not with me, Seňor Salvatore, I suggest you keep it that way. Any more words of slight against my family will result in you begging for reprieve."

Damon Salvatore continued to choke on his own tongue, incapable of producing words.

The Asturias patriarch looked at him with vague disgust before saying, "This will be my first and last warning to you."

The warlock's magic receded; releasing his tongue, the blue-eyed vampire took large gasping breaths through hacking coughs. Despite it all, the previously tongue-tied (literally) vampire managed to shoot hateful glares at the Spaniard.

"What do you want?" He bit out in a rasp.

"I am simply overseeing a reunion." Her uncle smiled, seemingly tranquil once more.

Bonnie assumed he had lessened the magical restraints upon Damon, as the vampire moved to sit up, but otherwise, she saw that he couldn't move much.

He had his fangs bared, ready to snarl out against the admittedly vague and confusing reply the warlock gave, before Enzo's voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Hello, Damon."

Damon froze, his eyes glancing around the shadows, confused as to why his usually superior vision couldn't spot the owner of the voice.

Then, as if to finally respond to the incessant question, Enzo stepped out of the blanket of comfort the shadows provided him and into the near-blinding brightness of the spotlight.

Damon Salvatore turned white.

Enzo smiled, thin and sharp, like a razor's edge.

"No, no." The blue-eyed vampire muttered to himself, his eyes not daring to stray away from Enzo, simply drinking in his form. Bonnie imagined, had he been standing in that moment, he would have swayed until he collapsed. He twisted to look at Uncle Ignacio, desperation, horror, relief, and guilt warring within the Salvatore vampire's piercing gaze.

Damon looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Uncle Ignacio had all but melted within the shadows now, leaving Enzo and the Salvatore alone within the light, giving but a poor parody of privacy.

"You look surprised, Damon." Enzo commented, his voice calm but possessing a vicious undertone. "Weren't expecting to see me?"

The vampire in question forced himself out of his stupor, his eyes searching through the shadows, presumably for the Asturias patriarch.

"You sick bastard." He hissed, completely ignoring Enzo, "This is how you wanna play it? Using my own mind against me. Well," And here the vampire smiled menacing, "You can try all you want, fact is, I'll get out of here, and I'll rip you apart."

Enzo clicked his tongue, his eyes growing darker, the whites of them saturating with blood, and the veins surrounding his eyes, growing just the bit blacker, before he seemingly got himself under control.

"You think I'm a conjured spirit come to haunt you?" Enzo laughed in a deceptively light tone, "You are wrong, Damon. I am no spirit," He was suddenly crouching in front of the blue-eyed vampire, "I am your retribution." He snarled, before grasping Damon's neck and lifting him off his feet.

Damon's eyes widened at the fact Enzo could touch him, disbelief was alight in his gaze and he stared at Enzo.

"You're dead." Damon choked out.

Bonnie winced, because, yeah, that wasn't the right thing to say. Her sentiments were proven correct in the next moment, when an inhuman growl escaped Enzo's lips, "Yes," Enzo's gaze was wild now, "No thanks to your attempts at otherwise, friend."

"Get away from me." Damon struggled to move his limbs, as they were still bound useless by magic.

"Speak the truth, Damon Salvatore, what happened that night? I want you to relive that moment."

The Salvatore vampire remained silent. For a man who seemed like he had a lot to say, Damon was very obviously rendered speechless.

Enzo squeezed Damon's neck, and the vampire barely began to choke, his eyes were drinking in Enzo's face, as if trying to imprint his features within memory.

"What happened that night?!"

Damon still didn't answer.

Enzo tossed him on the floor, his breaths escaping in pants which their–Bonnie thought possessively–vampire attempted to control.

"Unbind him." Enzo whispered harshly into the dark mass surrounding them.

The Bennett witch could feel the magic lift from Damon's form, but it remained around him, dark in warning.

Damon immediately slid back on the floor attempting to get away from Enzo.

"You left me." Enzo spoke in a hushed tone of voice, as if something would break if he spoke louder.

Damon shook his head in denial, not willing to believe whatsoever presently occuring was his reality.

"You left me, Damon, to a fate much worse than death." Enzo grabbed Damon's ankle and dragged him back, closer still. "Tell me, what happened that night." He repeated.

"It wasn't my fault." Damon was weak, perhaps because his strength had been leached by Uncle Ignacio's magic.

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I had no choice, damn you."

"What did you do, Damon?"

"Shutupshutupshutup–"

"Look me in the eye, and tell me what you did that night!"

"I couldn't stay there, I couldn't. I had to leave."

"Oh?" Enzo's laugh was harsh like a cold winter breeze in an icy tundra, "Poor little Damon Salvatore. You could barely survive a single year in their clutches, where I had already survived ten." He leaned down, crouching next to Damon's fallen form, "Because of your traitorous actions, I had to endure fifty more!"

"I tried–"

"Then you should have tried harder!"

"HOW?!" Damon thundered, his gaze desperate and desolate. "I couldn't have helped you, the cage was laced with vervain!"

"So, you just left?" Enzo was relentless in his questioning, and Bonnie's heart hurt, because she was finally realizing this was more than just rage speaking.

Enzo wasn't just furious. He wasn't just betrayed.

Damon had been Enzo's first true companion, friend, and partner in a painful, solitary life that had lasted ten years. Damon was the first vampire Enzo genuinely liked and could relate to. Enzo's hope of escaping had finally reached the tip of the mountain, never before had things looked brighter for him.

It didn't matter that Enzo would take the brunt of experiments for Damon simply because he had more experience with them. It didn't matter that he had to give Damon the already meagre blood they received so that the Salvatore vampire could build his strength while Enzo essentially starved.

It didn't matter because Damon had somehow become the crux of Enzo's hope.

And when, Damon abandoned him, his hope–the very core of Enzo's being–shattered.

For a man like Enzo, who had only that flickering faith that one day–maybe–he might taste freedom again; to have that very faith thrown back into his face oh-so-cruelly, well…Bonnie realized that Enzo must have been in a very bad place.

He hit rock bottom.

So she reiterated. It wasn't just Enzo's rage or betrayal speaking.

It was sheer, helpless despair.

"I couldn't just stay there. I would have died too, or worse–" It seemed Damon was hit with a sudden stroke of wisdom as he quietened before he could say any more.

But Enzo was sharp, and caught what he wanted to say.

"Or worse?" Enzo's voice was suddenly mocking and light, and Bonnie felt near-physical pain at its sound, "You mean the very same worse you left me to bear? God forbid, Damon Salvatore die, or wait, face worse. Oh no, he had to leave so that he may terrorize his little brother, and search for a way to free that faithless wench of a lover of yours?" Enzo cut himself off with an almost-hysterical laugh.

Damon Salvatore had tears in his eyes, Bonnie was shocked to see. "I couldn't do anything, Enzo." He gasped out, as if it was hard to breath, "You have no idea, I couldn't leave you even if I wanted to, but I had to survive. I flipped the switch, I…turned it all off just so I could leave."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The answering snarl was low and vengeful, "I bet you even wished that I truly was dead. That way you wouldn't have to be plagued by the thought of returning to help!"

Damon's answering silence spoke volumes.

Enzo bared his teeth, fangs elongated, as he lost his composure to reveal his vampiric features, "Typical! You ran because you cannot for once in your life take a stand. You absolute low-life wanker!"

"Well, what did you want me to do?!" Damon yelled.

"You should have killed me."

A deafening silence followed Enzo's roar.

Something rang within Bonnie's ears as she stared in muted misery at Enzo's heaving form. Damon looked up at Enzo with the same stricken expression Bonnie was sure painted her own face.

"You…" Enzo began brokenly, "You should have killed me, Damon. It would have been a much greater peace to die rather than having to live in the agonizing torment that followed for the next fifty years."

"You can't…I couldn't do that."

Enzo smiled, but this time it was acquiescent, "You very easily abandoned me. If you could have that on your conscience, I'm certain having my death would have been a lesser burden."

"I–"

"You are selfish, Damon." Enzo sat down next to him, holding his head in his hands, before he repeated, bone-tired, and quiet, "You should've killed me."

Bonnie felt oddly wrung, emotionally and mentally; and felt something in her own heart brittle up and wither at the confession Enzo had made. She knew Enzo would never take his own life, but that did not diminish the fact that Enzo had fallen into such a desolation that he had wanted to die.

The Bennett witch could not dare imagine a life without Enzo.

Their Enzo, who had wiped all sorts of vampire stereotypes. Enzo, who Elena admired, whose philosophy of being hopeful–always hopeful–she had adopted as her own. Enzo, who had shown that being a vampire did not make you an enemy of witches.

Enzo, who had shown that life dealt the wrong hand to all sorts of creatures. Enzo, who had their backs, and was a constant, quiet comfort. Enzo, whom they knew would never betray them.

Their beloved, loyal vampire.

The best among vampires, and the best among men.

Bonnie was glad it was Enzo who was the first vampire they had ever encountered. She imagined, if she had first met someone like Damon or Stefan in some other distant life, she would have been under a vastly different impression regarding their kind.

Struck with these thoughts, she could only imagine what Zatanna was going through, her cousin(s) were the ones who shared a physical bond with him.

So when Bonnie turned to look at Zatanna, she stilled.

Painted across Zatanna's features was not fury against Damon, or ever sorrow for Enzo, or perhaps even helplessness regarding the entire situation.

No, not at all.

Zatanna stood there with an expression of resigned understanding.

As if, she knew exactly what Enzo was trying to say and could not find fault in it. As if Zatanna could relate with his sentiments.

Her cousin looked defeated.

And as someone who had known the Asturias for as long as Bonnie did, her entire being shuddered with terror. Her cousin had never looked so crushed and beaten as she did now.

Bonnie finally let her tears fall.

---

11th September, 2009; Caercastra Castle, Ancestral Residence of House Asturias; Lancashire, United Kingdom.

Atticus was watching the live video feed of the confrontation between Enzo and the traitor vampire, and as soon as those words escaped Enzo's lips, the young Asturias heir grasped his head in his hands and cursed lowly, "Hijo de puta…"

He had felt each of Enzo's emotions, as the conflict continued, and for the first time in a very long time, Atticus felt Enzo's despair, had felt the absolute magnitude of it.

Lord help him, but Atticus wished for nothing more than to rush to Mystic Falls and–only after comforting Enzo–tear Damon Salvatore limb from limb.

He had told his sister to have faith in Enzo earlier that day, of course Atticus had meant it; he stood by his words, but that did not lessen his own worry.

Enzo will not shatter, He repeated in his mind, in an attempt to reassure himself.

But then, as if to contradict his feeble attempts of lessening his worries, as if to throw those efforts in the dirt and to dance upon them with a haunting cackle, his mind brought forth a memory from a few hours prior.

"You're right, I do understand," His little sister's voice rang within the forefront of his mind, "That is exactly why I'm so worried."

Oh, infierno.

Atticus leaned back against his chair, and rubbed his temples until the constant ache dissipated. He watched the video feed almost blankly, as Enzo left the room, and their father stepped into the fray to bargain (and Atticus only said that politely, as it was more of informing, rather than bargaining) for the tomb's opening.

"...no need to attain the necklace. In this case, I will unlock the tomb if only to prove a point, you could say, but I will do so on the next full moon. Some conditions must be met, of course." His father was saying coldly; authoritarian in every aspect of his demeanor, "Until, then you will remain here, I am certain that shall be favorable. Fret not, I am not cruel when accommodating my...guests. Even the unwanted, vulgar ones."

For a moment, Atticus appreciated his father, as a fleeting smirk flitted across his lips, before his previous thoughts in regards to his sister returned with a vengeance.

His sister...despite her penchant for dramatic flair, despite all her snark, despite her maturity, had never been quite mentally stable.

Even at her most open of moments, ones she would more often than not (if she could help it) only allow their father to witness, Zatanna would be held back by her inability to speak of trauma long-lost. She would allow their father to delve within her mind to witness them himself, but she could never manage to speak of them, never share her emotions regarding them.

Atticus had always thought that inability; that unknowing action against facing what haunted her, was the main cause of the psychological damage festering within her like an old forgotten wound left untreated.

Their father had agreed with his deductions, but had only smile sharply, and said a few words that were burnt within Atticus' memory:

"I cannot help her, if she cannot face her hurt. Some things take time, mi hijo."

His little sister had this horrible habit of avoiding to confront the memories of a lifetime long passed, the memories that were truly important. She would push them to the back of her mind, yet they would burst forth when something triggered them to.

It was unhealthy, granted that it wasn't as bad, what with their father's efforts at otherwise, yet it wasn't the most ideal case-scenario. Or well...not as ideal as he wished.

He could already hear his sister's excuse if he voiced his concerns to her.

I cannot concentrate on that right now. We have bigger worries to cater to.

Which, considering all things, he could understand. But then, he assumed, these so-called bigger worries might be a cause for her regression as well.

Zatanna has spent so much time invested in the inhabitants of Mystic Falls, making sure they would not be afflicted with negativity, with stress and anguish, that unknowingly she was allowing her own to slowly consume her.

You should have killed me, Damon.

Enzo's voice, smooth, cultured, and broken slowly morphed into the higher-pitched, spanish-accented, cool, and broken drawl of Zatanna's.

Yes, Atticus thought, a bitter smirk twisting his lips, I imagine you do understand him best, don't you hermana?

The thought that his precious little sister might have understood those shattering words of Enzo's, perhaps in a desperate-to-be-forgotten past, or the present still, was a crushing fact to behold.

Oh, pequeňa bruja, knowledge and information...it is a great burden to bear, and t'is an even greater burden to use them.

---

11th September, 2009; Mystic Falls High School, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Elena suppressed a groan. Seriously, why her?

Why couldn't she have been born with another face? A totally original face, that in no way tempted stupid vampires to try and seduce her with horrendous attempts at puppy-dog eyes.

Because honestly, no one could pull it off (save a certain untriggered werewolf). Certainly not Stefan Salvatore, and certainly not with the expertise Tyler had shown to be adept at.

Thankfully, said best friend of hers was standing by her side, looking as unimpressed as she did, if not more.

Both brunettes were glaring holes into the tiny box Stefan had offered the female doppelgänger.

"I hope you don't think this is weird but–"

"Nope, it's weird." Elena interrupted, not even attempting to hide her cringe.

"Real subtle, pal." Tyler deadpanned, though he had to bite the words out through the very audible grinding of his teeth. He was making a habit of that teeth-grinding, she noticed absentmindedly.

Stefan attempted to continue, opening the box, "No, I know, just listen, I've had this necklace forever, and honestly, I've never wanted to give it to anyone, except well...now. I don't expect anything. Just accept this as a gift…"

"Uhhhh," Elena glanced at Tyler who had a frozen smile on his face, although his nose flared as he caught a whiff of...wait, Elena could smell it too. The necklace was dipped in vervain? "Um, listen Stefan, we're not even friends and...oh, wow, look at the time, we've got Spanish class to get to, catch you later, bud, bye."

She then unceremoniously grabbed Tyler and dragged him away, ignoring the protests from the vampire behind her.

"You dork," Tyler said when they were out of range of Stefan's hearing, "We have Homeroom. With Tanner. And baby Salvatore has it with us."

"Eh, meh."

"Eloquent."

"Hush. He's so weird, I really don't wanna think about it."

"He's a fucking pain in the ass is what he is."

"Gah, language, Tyler."

"...seriously? You, of all people, have no right to lecture me on language."

"Blah, blah, blah, not listening to you over the sound of my sweet, sweet voice."

"Yeah, pure honey, I feel my sugar level rising just from listening to it."

"Aw, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"...you moron."

"I know! Now let's forget this unpleasant encounter with a nice laugh. Wanna hear a joke?"

"Elena, I swear to god, if you dare–"

"Sooo, what do you call a fake noodle?"

"Run. My only warning to you."

"An impasta! Get it! Get it?!"

"So help me god, no one will find your body after I'm through with you."

"AHAHAHAHA–Oi, wait, wait, wait. Gah! Tyler, lemme go!"

"Did you just kick me in the gut?"

"Sorry, can't hear you over the sound of me running the hell away!"

"Get back here, you damned heathen!"

"Ohmygodohmygod, get the fuck away from me! HELP! Vicki!"

"Hey, what about language now, you dipshit?!"

---

11th September, 2009; Kol Mikaelson's Private Plane of Existence.

Zatanna blinked awake.

She stared at the domed ceiling in a daze before she finally realized that it was most certainly not the ceiling she was accustomed to seeing in her bedroom.

She glanced around, finding herself standing in one of the upper levels of Kol Mikaelson's library.

"What…?"

"Doňa mía." Came the greeting from behind her. She glanced back to see the tall Original vampire reclining back in a comfortable armchair, his feet propped up on the ancient oak table in front of him. He held a large tome in his lap, and turned the thick pages with a languid ease.

She watched him for a moment longer, appreciating his form, and wondering how she was here, of all places, especially since it was due to no active effort on her part.

"You summoned me." She finally concluded correctly, her eyes narrowing as she heard him hum in agreement, "How?" She asked.

"Ah, ah, first, if I recall correctly, you seemed to have promised me an anecdote, regarding a certain pair of brothers." He finally looked up, his face the picture of utter attentiveness.

Zatanna allowed a dark glare to flit across her features at the mention of the Salvatores, something she could see Kol noting with interest.

"Come now, my dear lady, share away." He smirked.

"There is nothing much to share save my contemplations of boiling their blood while I have them crucified over a vat of vervain, all while having them be skinned alive. I am particularly inclined to see this through with the elder Salvatore."

There was a momentary silence, and Zatanna internally chided herself for losing control and saying exactly what was on her mind. What an elementary mistake, and the fact she made it in front of the man whom she admired and was attracted to in equal parts was rather shameful–

"Attempting to seduce me with bloody mayhem and brutal murder. I'll admit, My Lady, I underestimated you." Kol Mikaelson was watching her with a playful smirk on his lips, and dark intentions rising in his eyes.

Zatanna's heart stuttered, although she showed no particular outward reaction, or at least she hoped so. The witch then proceeded to answer in a controlled voice–too controlled, she hissed to herself–, "Believe me, had I been attempting to seduce you, Seňor Mikaelson, you would have known."

His eyes were blackholes; mesmerizing in their intensity but dragging her into its sunken depths. He blinked slowly as he studied her countenance contemplatively.

"The Salvatore brothers?" He prompted, effortlessly changing the topic, which struck her as odd, as she was under the impression that Kol Mikaelson would have taken advantage of the current exchange of words. He struck her as a man who was well-versed in exchanging innuendos, and using any form of advantage he could to attain benefits in his favor; including but not restricted to seduction.

Still, she went along with it, and inclined her head, "Particularly annoying, and at one point both had been ensnared by Katerina Petrova."

"Ah, the doppelgänger who ran." He smirked, "I'll admit, I had admired her tenacity, she has been the only individual to have successfully run from my brother in these thousand years of our existence, although I find her rather pitiful as well, as short-tempered as Nik is, he is perhaps the best of predators among us siblings." He paused thoughtfully here, "He has let her run for half a millenia, he will wait another half if only to make her suffer more."

Zatanna blinked, it was one thing to analyse the Original Hybrid and his merciless nature to herself, it was another thing entirely to have it confirmed and that too by his own brother.

"I presumed as much," She gave nothing of her true thoughts away, "As it is, Katerina Petrova was rumored to have been killed in Mystic Falls–"

The Original chuckled at that, and she allowed a hum of agreement to escape her.

"–However in accordance with the older Salvatore's knowledge, she was trapped within a tomb."

The Mikaleson vampire laughed louder..

"He seeks to free his long lost love, unknowing of her scheming ways." Kol deduced, "I imagine it was all a very elaborate ploy to fake her own death in the eyes of the vampire society, and therefore in the eyes of my brother."

Zatanna inclined her head in agreement.

"As thick-headed as Nik can be, does she assume him to be a fool? She is a child compared to us." Kol spoke with a sharp undertone in his smooth voice, "I thought her to be tenacious, and yet…she is foolish."

"Desperation makes a fool of us all." Zatanna remarked lightly.

He looked at her like that again; as if she was something particularly intriguing and amusing in the same instance. He suddenly reminded her of a tiger lying in the sun; relaxed limbs, loose muscles, detached and aloof, and yet the keen eyes trained–singularly– on her were distinctly predacious.

"How did you bring me here, Seňor." She asked again, feeling her exhaustion slowly sink its claws into her.

"You have formed a connection with this place, just as you can, now, come and go as you please, so can I summon you when I please." He flashed her a smirk, his canines glinting sharply.

"I see."

There was a bout of silence as she let her gaze wander over the various open scrolls lying on his desk, and he continued to observe her over the pages of his thickly-bound texts.

"You seem tired, my lady." He remarked, flipping over a page of the thick volume.

She looked at him, and uncharacteristically, wished to confess her emotions, simply because this man, as impressive as he was, was still a stranger to her. She had no use fearing his judgment.

"I'm always tired." She admitted after a moment of contemplation, a wry smirk on her lips.

A single brow raised in askance.

In response, words burst through her lips, not enough to be categorized as a complete loss of control, but enough to portray her troubled disposition.

"Do you not–sometimes–feel as if you are a soldier simply traipsing through life…waiting for the inevitable, Seňor?"

"Soldier?" He sounded intrigued.

She huffed out a light laugh, "Are we all not soldiers?"

"You mistaken me," His eyes cut through her, serious and enigmatic, "I am no soldier. I would prefer to call myself a warrior instead."

"Is there really a difference?"

"Oh, but of course. A soldier fights to serve, my lady. A warrior fights to survive." His voice was soothing honey and buttered chocolate. It's allure dragged her in and invaded her senses as she listened to his hypnotic words.

"An individual can only be one or the other." He continued, before pausing and staring at her, the candle light cast shadows across his face, but in equal contrast, they lit up his eyes, so that the orbs looked as if molten rays of sunlight shone within them.

"Which one are you, Doňa mía?"

---

16th September, 2009; Salvatore Boarding House, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Something wasn't right.

Stefan knew this fact with as much certainty as he knew the sky was blue.

He hadn't seen Damon for the past week, and something about it didn't sit quite right with the younger Salvatore brother. It was...unlike his brother to disappear so soon after his declaration of returning to Mystic Falls to torment Stefan.

Especially, since he was sure that Damon was here to fulfill an agenda of his own. And since there was no mayhem or senseless killing; ones that pointed towards vampire huntings (particularly in Damon's style), Stefan was quite sure that his brother had not in fact accomplished what he had wanted.

In fact, it was as if Damon had disappeared off the face of the planet.

So he reiterated, something wasn't right.

It just wasn't like his older brother to be so silent, and honestly? Stefan was starting to feel uneasy.

To add to his worries, he couldn't seem to find a way for Elena to accept the vervain laced necklace he had wanted to give her. To be fair, he should have anticipated it–Damon compelling her, that is–and it made him realize that she was helpless in that regard, the least he could do was protect her.

Although…he couldn't seem to quite understand her.

Who was he kidding, Stefan couldn't even understand his own attraction to her. Was it because she was the absolute antithesis of Katherine that he desired her so? Or maybe the fact that she did look like Katherine, and that no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how much he hated Katherine, his love for her had been real?

Stefan despaired himself with these thoughts, working hard to convince himself that no, none of it was real. Katherine had compelled him for his affections. It was not his choice.

(Then why do you have her portrait with you still? A crooning voice whispered in his ear).

Elena had a life. A life, Stefan couldn't help but want to be a part of.

He knew he should stay away from her. But, but, these things were rarely ever so simple.

Still, for now, Stefan supposed he should focus on first throwing the suspicions of vampire attacks away, he had an inkling that the council was being roused from its previously unconcerned state. And, then next on his list of things-to-do, he had to–somehow–smuggle Elena a supply of vervain.

Neither task sounded particularly easy in his mind.

---

17th September, 2009; Mystic Falls Sheriff's Department, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Liz Forbes sat at her desk, with her head pounding, eyes hurting, and a pile of never ending paperwork in front of her.

She–to put it quite simply–felt helpless; as she had begun to feel with increasing frequency since this past week.

Ignacio Asturias had always been an elusive and mysterious individual, arrogant and aloof, but Liz had been neutral in her opinion about him, his supposed indifference and superiority did little to affect her (although, it did raise her suspicions; he always seemed to know things, and sometimes he was too inhuman to be human), simply because even she could see that he had been–and still was–good with the kids. Even his children were positive influences.

Now, however, she had no idea how to regard him–them. They knew about the supernatural. For God's sake, they were supernatural.

She had been told in her life that the creatures that belonged in stories and nightmares, vampires in particular–

(Who was she kidding, she had been under the assumption that vampires were the only paranormal existences;

Foolish of you to presume, Lizzy, a voice sounding distinctly like her deceased father whispered in her ear, did the police academy not teach you simple deduction?)

–were beasts of the night, abnormal, abominations, and made to be abhorred.

Bill had told her that. Although, Liz suddenly laughed bitterly, why she clung to her ex-husband's opinions made no sense to her whatsoever. They might have divorced amicably, but Liz knew better than anyone else how block-headed and self-righteous the man could be.

According to him, he was always right, and she was always wrong.

Be rational, Liz, He had said as if he was speaking to a child, as if he knew better (and for a long time, he had made her believe that too). Don't let your emotions rule you.

Liz squeezed the bridge of her nose all while banishing the bitter thoughts from her mind. There was no use crying over spilled milk, after all.

But, it also offered her a–damned–different perspective.

The only reason she was even entertaining giving the Spaniard the benefit of doubt was because Miranda trusted him. And damn it all, but she knew Miranda to be an excellent judge of character.

Privately, however, she was also hesitating because of the Spanish Lord's words that were ringing in her ears like a broken tape recorder:

"Do not challenge me, I have seen much, and know more."

"Why, Seňora, I am an Asturias."

"You know nothing, Seňora Elizabeth Forbes."

Slowly, but surely, Liz was starting to believe him.

She didn't want to, but she was starting to.

As if it hadn't been hard enough to handle vampires. And suddenly witches were added to the mix? What else was there? She felt hysteria rise within her.

To make matters worse, Caroline–her daughter; beautiful and confident, the best part of Liz, the only thing she was thankful Bill had given her–knew about this whole other world.

When Caroline had returned home a day after Liz's pseudo confrontation with the Spaniard and the Sommers sisters, she had looked hesitant, and fearful but so, so relieved.

Liz was ashamed to admit it, but she had avoided talking about the whole issue, she pretended as if nothing happened, and–just for a single blissful moment–pretended that Caroline didn't know anything either.

Her daughter, despite her headstrong nature, had been all too eager to go along with the charade. It had been exactly seven days since the incident, and she still hadn't talked to Caroline.

Somehow, she couldn't muster up the courage to do so, lest her anger get the better of her, or even that urge to lock Caroline away from anything that might harm her overtook her senses.

But, that raised another, much more important question:

Could she even protect Caroline?

"Do you know, Seňora Forbes, had your daughter not known, she would have been used as a pawn, and turned into a vampire?"

Liz still couldn't stop the revulsion that passed through her being at recalling that particular statement. She couldn't allow that to happen. No. She had to protect the only priceless, valuable treasure she had left in this world.

Caroline would not be turned into a vampire. Liz wouldn't allow it.

"As our children's parents, it is our duty to handle these circumstances." His words echoed in her mind, and she finally understood them.

She would let heaven and earth collide just to protect Caroline, but unfortunately she couldn't do it by herself.

(Unbidden, she recalled, the display of power Ignacio Asturias had shown her, the shadows that bent to his command, the suffocating intent that drenched the entirety of the room, the luminous eyes).

She realized that the Spaniard was unnatural, powerful, but so unnatural; dangerous.

And he was the best bet she had.

Liz held her head in her hands when she came to that particular realization.

For Caroline, She thought with sudden resolve, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest. For the sake of protecting my daughter, I'm willing to make a deal with the devil.

(Ignacio Asturias lounging carelessly was the image that passed through her mind's eye).

She knew what she had to do.

But before everything, she needed to talk with Miranda.

She needed to know if he was genuine or not.

She needed to know what she was getting into.

(And it had been many years since she had done so, but Liz Forbes whispered a prayer under her breath, hoping she wasn't about to make a terrible mistake).

---

19th September, 2009; Kol Mikaelson's Private Plane of Existence.

"I suggest establishing contact with Elijah first." His voice was neutral and calm. Like a summer breeze. Smoothly billowing along, but with hints of deceptive coolness passing through.

This was the second time Kol Mikaelson had summoned her in his dimension, and the purpose of this meeting was to finally make good on their established agreement. Zatanna had told him much about the major events of the past century, carefully fleshing them out, and choosing to address the details and more minute events at a later date.

It was safe to say that the Original vampire was vaguely intrigued ("Two world wars?" Kol blinked as if he was mystified.) and amused ("Nuclear weapons?" Kol looked entertained before quoting, "Ah, these violents delights have violent ends.") by the impromptu history lesson.

By the end of said historical lecture, he had begun to offer his own opinions on how to handle his brothers, which led them to where they were.

"Why?" She questioned his previous statement.

"My brother fancies himself as the most honourable among us siblings, according to him, he is above the vulgarity we are prone to commit." His voice was now afflicted with a cold sort of anger. Like a thin sheet of black ice covering the frigid depths of a frozen mass of water, ready to crack and give way to a rush of bitter frost. All of him was suddenly like the dangerous stillness of winter. "Unless, of course, the act of vulgarity is from dear Nik, then all is acceptable for noble Elijah and his moral standards. He will do anything for Nik."

"I've been told that your older brothers have been estranged for many decades now. Are you certain Elijah Mikaelson will be amenable to striking an arrangement that might be in favour of Niklaus?"

He laughed long and hard at that.

"Elijah will do anything for Nik." He reiterated, his voice dark and dangerous; certain.

Zatanna observed him. The tense and obviously charged atmosphere of all their previous interactions was slowly easing into something more comfortable and amicable, something more subtle. Yet, despite it all, it did little to lessen the allure that clung to his form, or the attraction that strummed within her own veins, beating loudly in tandem to her heartbeat.

Beneath it, however, lay an invigorating wariness. This man was not one to make an enemy of. He was a walking contradiction.

So accommodating, and yet so dangerous. Charisma was a word given life with his every action, and yet he was just as equally wild and unpredictable. In the shadows of his favoured projection of his library, he was dark and devilish; in all his essence, he was sin. And yet in that forest clearing, where he was bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, he had been detached and angelic; a halo of soft golden-brown glistening in his strands, and his smile was all the careless innocence of a mischievous forest sprite.

I like him too much, It was a humbling realization that hit her.

---

22nd September, 2009; Gilbert Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

It was a light knocking that interrupted the blissful silence that was a rarity in her house.

Miranda lifted her head from the armrest of the couch and glared at the front door, she wanted nothing more than to ignore whoever it was on the other side. But the persistent knocking had her lifting herself off the couch with a muffled groan.

She opened the door, plastering a pleasant smile on her face when she saw it was Carol Lockwood.

"Miranda," The woman greeted, an equally faux smile on her face, "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Oh not at all, Carol, please, come in." Miranda waved her inside.

"Still, I won't take much of your time," Carol glanced around in polite speculation before turning back towards Miranda, "I don't see Jenna, I heard she was back in town."

Miranda very, very carefully controlled the wince that threatened to take over her facial expressions.

Jenna.

One of the sources of Miranda's worries these days.

Her younger sister–after the hysterical tears and shouts of disbelief–had been rather silent to the whole revelation of the supernatural. As if she was numb. And then, Jenna had silently packed a small bag of basic necessities and left for Whitmore College.

"I...I need time, Miranda." She had looked so earnest, so desperate that Miranda could not protest much.

The only small comfort the older Sommers sister had was that Jenna had left most of her things in the spare room she had commandeered for herself when she had moved in. That meant, in more simpler terms, that her sister intended to return.

Miranda knew better than anyone else that when Jenna wanted to run, she took everything she held valuable. Therefore, the fact that their mother's silver bracelet was still in Jenna's nightstand drawer showed that her younger sister's retreat to her campus dorms was not permanent, for there was nothing Jenna held more dear than their mother's bracelet.

"Oh, she is," Miranda laughed lightly, "She moved back to campus for a few weeks to focus on her thesis a bit more," Then for good measure, the older woman rolled her eyes in exasperated fondness, "According to Jen, we're all distractions. But enough about that, would you like some tea, or coffee perhaps?"

"Oh no, thank you," Carol smiled again, "I just wanted to ask you something, I'm sure you remember the founder artifacts we've been collecting for the founders' party heritage display, and just by the way, I appreciate all of your donations, but I noticed an item missing, which I think would have been a wonderful addition."

Ah, Miranda thought suddenly, that artifact.

"Oh?" She feigned confusion, something within her waiting in delight for the inevitable question that would soon follow.

"Yes, the pocket watch?" Carol spoke smoothly, "I remember Grayson, God rest his soul, used to tell us so much about its historical importance. He said it was passed down from his ancestor, Jonathan Gilbert, who was actually one of the original founders."

"Oh, the watch." Miranda began with barely suppressed glee, "Jeremy had it melted down years ago."

Carol stared at her for a long moment, looking completely thrown.

"...what?"

The mother of the terrible twosome smiled patiently, "You see, that watch was passed on to the first-born son of every generation of the Gilbert family, it used to be a coming-of-age tradition. After Grayson died, the pocket watch went to Jeremy and he decided to have it melted down, it was gold-plated you see–"

"It was a priceless artifact!" Carol exclaimed.

Miranda wanted to laugh so hard, but managed to plaster a puzzled expression on her face instead, "Well, yes, but it was Jeremy's to do with as he pleased. Besides, we sold the gold and the metal, and donated the money to Whitmore College...I'm sorry, why is that an issue, Carol?"

The woman managed to rein in her emotions, and smiled tumultuously, "No…it's no issue, I was just shocked, like I said, it was such a priceless artifact, irreplaceable you could say. But, of course, you're right. It was Jeremy's, and he has every right to do with it as he wanted." She seemed more in control, although the disappointment in her face did little to leave, "Well, it seems that this trip was a lost cause."

"Oh, but of course not! It was so wonderful to see you, Carol. Why don't you stay for a drink? It's been so long since we've catched up."

"No, no, I have to visit a few more places for possible donations. But, you're right, it was great seeing you."

It was only after Carol had left the front door, trudged to her car, and drove off the driveway that Miranda gave into her helpless laughter.

She laughed until tears leaked from her eyes and a confused Elena and Jeremy, both of whom had been locked away in their rooms, whispered to each other in confusion:

"I don't get it, did she read my joke book?"

"Don't insult our mother, she doesn't have a cheap taste in humour like you do."

"Kill yourself."

---

24th September, 2009; Lockwood Household, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Caroline sighed again from her place by his side.

Internalizing the groan that threatened to escape his lips, Jeremy glanced at his friend who was looking longingly at the other side of the room.

"You look like you're pining after a guy."

The glare she sent him would have killed him ten times over, so lethal was it in its intensity.

Smiling back serenely, Jeremy opted to look at the object of the blonde's stares.

Sheriff Forbes was standing beside his mother, an uneasy expression painted across her face as she stared at Stefan Salvatore who himself was throwing lecherous (Jeremy was biased, go figure) glances at Elena.

Jeremy was only glad his sister was accompanying Tyler Lockwood to the Founders' Party; he was, after all, the only person Jeremy trusted with his sister (subtext: the only person who could handle his sister, and all her insanities).

"She still hasn't talked to me about…," Caroline waved her hand in a vague gesture, "anything. It's like she's pretending that I don't know."

It was Jeremy's turn to sigh. He was unsure when he had been allotted the therapist position for Caroline's so-sad dilemmas. That was, after all, Mister A's specialty.

"Well, why haven't you started the topic?" He asked, taking a sip of his spiked punch (obtaining said drink had been extremely hard, but it was proving to be the only highlight of his evening) as his bored eyes wandered over some display cases.

"I can't do that." She whisper-yelled, "It has to be her. What if I say something wrong? Besides, she might react badly. I think she needs time to come to terms with everything."

Jeremy blinked owlishly.

"Well," He began, working very hard to keep the tone of contempt from his voice, "If you know the reason why," He paused for added effects (honestly, he blamed all his dramatics on his sister), "Then why the hell are you eating my brain?"

Caroline smiled sweetly, "Because if you don't indulge me, Jerry-Berry, I'm telling your mom that her fifteen-year old is drinking spiked punch, which should be nowhere near your reach."

Jeremy stared at her for a long moment, before slowly, slowly inclining his head in grudging respect.

She was vicious.

"Yeah...that's why," He hummed, before sending her a side-glance, "You're good."

Caroline smirked smugly.

The two of them then caught sight of Stefan Salvatore slowly inching his way towards Elena and Tyler–all while pouring a vial of what Jeremy suspected to be vervain into a chute of punch–a determined expression painted across his face.

In contrast, a disturbingly wide cheshire grin formed on Caroline's lips, "Well, looks like I have damsels to save, and broody jocks to annoy. Wish me luck, Jerry-Berry."

"You don't need it." Came his dry response.

"Good answer."

Jeremy watched, impressed, as Caroline swiftly intercepted Stefan, took the chute goblet out of his hand, drinking it down in one gulp, all while commandeering the younger and stunned Salvatore to a dance.

The Gilbert boy sniggered.

"Really wish the rest of the gang was here." He commented, because honestly, all of them would have taken turns trolling the vampire. Sadly, however, Matt and Vicki hadn't gotten an invite, and were spending the night at the Asturias mansion, with Bonnie and Zee.

He also knew for a fact that Zee and Mister A had, in fact, gotten an invite which they had taken perverse pleasure in burning to a crisp (what with that weird gleam in their eyes, and the smugness of their smirk).

Honestly, if he had a choice, he would have done the same.

Still, as it was, he also knew they weren't exactly having fun. They were probably observing the captive Damon Salvatore who had been seething in silence since his confrontation with Enzo. Speaking of Enzo, Jeremy knew the British vampire had immersed himself within his network and had left town to handle some of its business.

Sighing again, Jeremy decided to refill his smuggled semi-alcoholic drink. Therefore, he turned sharply on his heel, and walked towards one of the more secluded outdoor refreshment tables where a server stood next to the punch bowl.

The server smirked, "Back for more, kid?"

"Yes, please, I'm gonna need a lot more to survive this freak show." Jeremy rolled his eyes.

"Hmm, wait up, lemme get the stash." He winked before slinking away.

Jeremy watched him, bemused.

"Bored?" A female voice asked, and Jeremy turned to look at a pretty Asian girl smiling shyly at him.

He laughed a little, "Oh yeah, you have no idea." He then looked at her curiously, the girl looked a little older than him, but she had a round face that made her look younger. Still, he supposed she was cute.

"Sorry, I'm Anna," She smiled sweetly, looking at him intently.

"Jeremy," He shook her hand, "I...don't think I've seen you around before."

"Oh," She laughed as if embarrassed, "I'm homeschooled, so the library is my best friend and the only place I hang out at."

"You should get out more."

She shrugged, and then spent the next few moments staring at him, which, honestly, started making him feel uncomfortable, especially since her smiling face fell into a more pensieve one.

And then…

...well, Jeremy still wasn't sure what exactly happened, but one moment he was going to excuse himself and the next moment he was surrounded by two dead bodies.

He stared baffled at Anna who lay limply on the ground with her neck twisted in a manner that made it apparent that said appendage was broken, and the server who had offered to spike his drink lay in a similar state behind him.

"What the fuck?" He spoke out loud.

As if to answer his ever so intelligent inquiry, his vervain-laced, magic-infused runic tattoo warmed against his skin from where it was inked around the base of his forefinger, and he finally understood.

First: Anna and the server were vampires.

Second: No duh, that's why they were outside in a secluded and shady place, where, now that he thought about it, no one else was venturing to (although, he supposed he should be grateful for that fact, because he didn't see how he could talk himself out of this one).

Third: They must have wanted to cause him some form of bodily harm, if the protective runes of his tattoo had activated against them (and their intent) resulting in their necks snapped.

Fourth: There was now another Asian lady (and this one was drop-dead gorgeous–Jeremy cringed at his own pun, God damn it, he was turning into Elena, and that was one horrific thought) who was dressed in an elegant and classy manner standing across of him and was observing the fallen bodies before looking at him with a polite smile.

Finally: He really needed to call Mister A.

.

.

.

Well, at least his evening was no longer boring.

---

Anna gasped awake; disoriented and confused.

The last thing she remembered was watching as Ben–whom she had recently turned into a vampire, against the wishes of her dear older cousin–seemed to be overtaken by a sudden bout of bloodlust and was creeping up behind Jeremy, his eyes; saturated with blood, focused on the vein pulsing in the Gilbert's neck.

She recalled feeling that she should have stopped him, and had even intended to do so, but she had felt her own bloodlust rise when she stared into Jeremy Gilbert's face, seeing not the features that were present before her. No, in his face she had seen that damned Johnathan Gilbert.

The same Johnathan Gilbert who had made sweet-eyes at her mother, the same man whom her mother had been so fond of. The same, damned, man who had then betrayed her and locked her up in a tomb.

(Her poor mother, Pearl Zhu must be nothing but a mummified husk by now…NO!, Anna would get her back, she'd burn the town to the ground if it meant getting her mother back).

And so, instead of stopping Ben, Anna too had wanted to take a bite out of the Gilbert boy's neck. She had pushed away the rational thoughts of how she needed the young boy, how she could use him to open the tomb, to get her mother back.

She recalled now that just as she had just begun to make true on her sudden want to make him bleed, when she began to move–in harmony–with Ben, she had felt a sharp pain in her neck and knew no more.

"Good. You're awake." She heard a smooth, cultured voice speak in Mandarin.

Anna groaned, less from pain, and more from annoyance.

"Enough, Annabelle," Ethel's voice was composed as ever, "I warned you to watch yourself."

"Oh, shut up." Anna bit back, lifting herself from her reclining position on the couch. She noticed they were back in the cosy cottage house they were residing in during their stay in Mystic Falls. It was one of Ethel's properties, and was in her own name. Therefore, they didn't require an invitation to enter.

Ben was groaning from his place on the ground, by the foot of the couch, seemingly returning to consciousness as well.

Or, at least, he was, until Ethel delicately reached over from her seated position in the armchair and swiftly twisted his neck once more.

"Though, I suppose, your actions for once resulted in a boon for us." She continued making Anna blink at her, because that had almost sounded like it was a compliment.

"What?"

Ethel smiled, and Anna hated her for how beautiful she looked. Her cousin held a timeless sort of beauty, a sort that favored grace and elegance; weapons that Ethel wielded with great expertise.

"It seems we don't need to put in any significant effort to open the tomb."

"What?" This time she sounded angry, outraged.

"Calm yourself." And Ethel, damn her, did not speak until Anna visibly restrained herself.

Then, she continued, "It seems the tomb will open with or without our interference during the next full moon. I have spoken to the warlock who will do so, and have come to an accord. We will not interfere with this town or its people anymore then we have," And here, Ethel sent a pointed glance towards Ben, "And they will allow us to take Pearl and leave."

"Allow?" Yet Anna's mind was racing, a burning hope took over her senses. When was the next full moon?

Ethel smiled, and this time it was cold, "Allow." She agreed, "These witches are not to be trifled with, I felt their power, and it was greater than any I have felt before. Death is their companion, and arrogance their cloak. They had intended to destroy all the vampires within the tomb. Be grateful we now have a sure-shot chance to get Pearl back."

The next full moon was ten days away; on October 4th, if she was correct. She could possibly have her mother back by then. That was...much sooner than she had thought, she didn't think–hadn't dared to presume–the tomb would open so soon.

She had waited so long already. She could wait a mere ten days more to have her mother back in her arms.

"How do you know we can trust them?" Anna asked her cousin, because as much as she might be irritated by Ethel's mere presence, she knew the woman was no liar, but that didn't mean that those witches weren't.

Ethel had a curious smile on her face as she responded, "They gave me their word."

And if Ethel believed them, well...Anna would believe Ethel.

Hope and anticipation burst forth in the young vampire's chest.

"Wait for me, Mǔqīn, just a few more days." She whispered to herself.

---

4th October, 2009; Fell's Church Tomb, Mystic Falls; Virginia, United States of America.

Vicki was standing to the side, glancing time and time again towards the sky. She was studying the silver ball of light in the night sky, and then she was inspecting the time on her wristwatch to measure when the moon would reach its apex.

There was still a minute and a half left, according to her measurements.

The older Donovan took that time to observe her surroundings, specifically the dense group of people that stood in wait for just the right moment to undo the spell on the tomb.

Mister A and Zee stood together, dressed impeccably as always. The older man was whispering in his daughter's ear and by the small smirk on her face, both seemed amused and relaxed.

Bonnie and her grandmother–who insisted she be called 'Grams'–stood next to them, both in a quiet discussion of their own, and both stood confidently with their back ramrod straight and their heads held up high.

Sheriff Forbes stood at the furthest side, away from the rest of them, her face tense as she was determinedly not looking at any of the other individuals inhabiting the clearing, although the older woman was sending her odd glances in between the ones she threw at Bonnie and Zee.

Standing at a distance from the two pairs of magical beings was a pair of Asian women, one younger looking than the other, and the other was model-worthy gorgeous. Both were silent but the younger one was fidgeting.

And then, finally, the last pair–who were standing at the entrance of the path leading to the tombs–both beautiful male vampires, both wearing severe expressions, and yet only one of them had the label of their beloved vampire.

Enzo looked coldly amused as if he knew what was to come, and Damon Salvatore–despite the uneasy glares he was throwing towards Enzo, despite the faux unrepentant, uncaring expression on his face–looked oh-so eager. Like a puppy; eager to find their master, and eager to please.

She glanced down at her watch and blinked as the seconds hand finally passed the set time limit.

"We're good to go." Vicki announced but when she looked up, a shiver ran down her spine at the sight that met her eyes.

Mister A and Zee were already gazing up at the moon in a careless manner, their eyes set aglow luminously. And Bonnie and Grams looked alive, so much so that even Vicki, a normal human as she was, could feel power crackling around them, their hair seemed to fizz in reaction to it.

"Well, let us be rid of this." Mister A commented lightly, and when he spoke, everyone looked at him. Vicki was sure her admiration for the man was showing, what with the pleased grin that flitted across her face.

The Spaniard's eyes were suddenly hooded; half-closed, his entire posture was leonine in nature, all rolling muscles. Balls of free-floating azure flames suddenly conjured themselves into existence and formed a path way down towards the entrance of the tomb, and then Mister A held up a single hand; suspended mid-air.

He chanted a verse, perhaps eight words long, and through her extensive research Vicki recognized the verse as a Latin one; she even identified a word:

Submit.

Moreover, by the end of that one, eight-word long, softly spoken chant, something snapped audibly within the air, and the balls of fire blazed, shooting up towards the sky before abruptly sputtering out of reality.

"It is done." He remarked carelessly.

For a moment all was still and silent, and Vicki used that time to observe everyone's reactions:

Zee had a small smirk on her face, Enzo looked amused as well, Grams looked impressed and knowing, Bonnie looked proud, the younger Asian girl was staring with wide eyes, the older Asian woman looked composed as ever, Damon was gaping, and Sheriff Forbes looked faint.

Vicki was certain she had a bigger grin on her face, one similar to the one on Bonnie's, because honestly, she understood the Bennett heiress. Vicki was just as proud as Bonnie was to know a person like Mister A.

He was so awesome.

Although, it was all a bit anticlimactic.

The scooby gang did not often get the chance to witness Mister A's displays of magic, yet even this small one had been subtly impressive. Yes, it was over too soon, but had been mesmerizing to look at while it lasted.

Vicki only wished it had lasted longer.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Grams snapped at Damon and the Asians, "Now, remember, you bring who you want out here, they'll get their blood then and only then." The older witch gestured to the portable cooler placed by her feet, filled with blood bags.

Like a rubber band let loose, the Salvatore vampire and the younger Asian girl had snapped and flashed towards the tomb entrance, Vicki glanced at Enzo and followed him at his more sedate pace as he walked towards the entrance.

They watched as Damon moved the stone slab blocking the entrance out of the way, before both he and the girl were gone within the shadowed depths of the tomb.

Vicki took hold of Enzo's hand, squeezing it tightly in assurance. He glanced down at her and gave her a small, fond smile, before he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to his side.

The older Donovan sibling knew Enzo was here to make sure that no stray vampires crawled their way out, and also because he wanted to be the first to see Damon Salvatore after his inevitable discovery of Katerina's treachery.

She watched as Bonnie meandered over to them, walking to Enzo's other side, smiling brightly when their vampire used his free arm to tuck the young witch into his other side. Vicki liked to think that he was taking strength and comfort from their presences.

And then, they waited.

Soon enough, the girl was back carrying a curled up form of a pale, skeletal female. Vicki could feel Bonnie flinch back into Enzo who soothingly ran his fingers through her hair.

Then, they waited some more.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she heard dragging footsteps, and fearing that it might be the other desiccated vampires, this time it was Vicki who burrowed deeper into Enzo's side, but eventually, the one person stepping out the shadows was not one of the tomb vampires like she had thought, but Damon Salvatore.

Damon Salvatore who looked nothing short of devastated.

His eyes; icy-blue glistened with heart-broken tears, resembling the glinting silver of a quarter coin caught in sunlight. His lips trembled, and his entire form shook. Gone was his aggressive bull-like nature, in its place was left a shivering mouse.

"S-she's not here!" His voice, croaky and hoarse, cracked and keened at the last word.

He stumbled out of the tomb and collapsed on his hands and knees and dry-heaved violently, and then broken cries escaped his lips as he repeated her name; like a prayer, like a curse.

And then Enzo–who wore his despair and sorrow with pride, who ambled along his life with all the integrity and humility of a man who had truly suffered–stepped out of his embrace with the two young teenagers. He walked towards Damon, crouched by his head, before leaning down do that his mouth was aligned with Salvatore's ear and whispered solemnly:

"Do you feel that betrayal, Damon? That cold feeling of something breaking? That helplessness? You tried so hard, and it wasn't enough. I want you to feel all of that. Drown yourself in it. Think if it was because of something you did. If it was something you didn't do. Cry. Rage. Stare listlessly into an endless abyss. Retreat into your mind which rings of nothing other than 'She was never there.' Realize that you were a game to be played, and discarded like filth." Enzo's voice was deceptively calm, carefully neutral.

"And by the end of it all, I want to acknowledge that for her, you were nothing. And once you have felt that, Damon, I want you to multiply all these emotions–all of them–a thousand-fold, and then–and only then–will you be able to imagine the state you and your betrayal left me in."

His words were nothing short of haunting.

Vicki blinked rapidly to disperse the tears that had formed in the corner of her eyes, she looked at the pitiful form of the gasping vampire, and then she looked at their vampire who stood looking down at his once-friend with an empty gaze.

"You knew." Damon's voice cut through the silence as he looked up at Enzo, his gaze unfocused and unhinged, "Y...you knew that she…wasn't in the tomb."

Enzo smiled, and it was a brittle thing, "Yes."

Damon gave a snarl of fury and grief and moved to lunge at Enzo before his neck was violently pushed to the side with a snap leaving him a broken heap on the floor. Vicki glanced in surprise at Bonnie, who had steel lining her features, and a hand motioned sharply to the side.

"Enzo." A statement and Zee was there. She did not move to touch the British vampire but there was a smile on her face, soft and comforting, a contrast to her usual expressions.

Vicki had learned long ago that the Asturias family did not possess faces that were meant to inspire comfort and warmth. There were no gentle lines in their features, nor soft slopes. They gave a more harsher sort of comfort; a comfort borne of surety lining their proud cheekbones and in the sly quality of their arrogant smirks.

Yet seeing Zee's face melting into one of warm honey and soothing sunshine had Vicki amending her previous assumption.

They did not inspire gentle comfort and soft warmth in any except those they wished to. Vicki did not begrudge Zee for displaying such a soft and kind expression–one that was not in her nature to show–towards Enzo.

If there was anyone who deserved all that was good in this world, it was their beloved vampire.

"Zatanna." He said, sounding tired and calm simultaneously, before he reached out to hug the Asturias witch, and even Vicki could see how Zee had all but melted in his embrace.

She noted with interest that Sheriff Forbes was walking towards the tomb armed with a–the Donovan blinked incredulously–was that a flame-thrower?

She glanced up at Mister A who had stepped into the space in front of the tomb entrance with Grams following after him. He caught her gaze and smirked playfully.

"We have much to do still, Seňorita." His remark was casual but his eyes were alight with cruel intentions.

And Vicki, she was not like the rest of her friends. No, not at all. Ever since she had connected with the Asturias, since she had discovered of the supernatural, since she had–somehow–accepted their stupid scooby-gang as her own, Vicki had decided:

I don't care if this town goes up in flames, as long as me and mine come out on top.

---

Additional Information:

'Caercastra Castle' is a fictional place of my own creation. Caer is old English for 'Court' and Castra is derived from the name Lancaster, so it is derived from Old English 'cæster' which means 'Roman fort or walled city' or in Latin 'castra' means 'legionary camp'. So, it can mean both 'Court of Lancasters' or 'A Legionary/Roman Court'. I take full credit to naming this ancestral home.

Kol used a Shakespeare quote during dialogue: 'These violents delights have violent ends.'

The basic information regarding the TVD world, including its timeline (used generally), explained or utilized in this chapter is from Wikia.

Regarding the noble title given to Ignacio Asturias; the title itself is real i.e 'Seňor of Lazcano; Lord of Lazcano' is a real title but it's usage in this story is entirely fictional. As far as I'm aware, in real life this title belongs to the Ducal House of el Infantado.

Edit: Credits to the guest reviewer for clarifying who the title of Lazcano belongs to in real life.

Date of Births:

Ignacio Asturias: 12th May, 1968.

Pauline Bennett: 1st January, 1969.

Atticus Bennett-Asturias: 7th August, 1990.

Zatanna Bennett-Asturias: 31st October, 1992.

All other birthdays of canon characters are as have been listed according to Wikia, with the only exception being those whose birthdays have not been given, of which I shall take liberty of giving them specific dates of birth myself.

---

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back sooner than I anticipated, which is great.

I really hope you're all taking care of yourselves and are healthy (both mentally and physically), especially in these pandemic-infested times. I know everything is hard, and our mental health has been affected a lot too (speaking from experience here). But I suppose we can only hang in there and pray for the best.

But seriously, guys, take good care of yourselves, as much as you can in each of your capacities!

On a more lighter note, YAY! I got a chapter out, and with a lesser gap in between updates, especially when comparing it to last time (that had been nearly nine months).

I'm happy with how this chapter turned out, to be honest, and I especially liked writing Enzo and Damon's confrontation and Jeremy's scene.

TO DISCUSS ENZO AND DAMON'S DYNAMIC (You can skip the next four paragraphs, if you want, and jump straight to 'FACE-CLAIMS'):

I'd say they have a pretty interesting bond. These two have genuinely connected in wake of adversity and struggles. Their friendship which had started out as something with so much potential was very quickly something that became drenched in sorrow and betrayal. I wanted to realistically portray how it affected both of them, because logically, (and I can't believe I'm saying this), Damon's action sort-of made sense. He literally couldn't save Enzo no matter what he did, there was no possible way, and logically, it would have been very foolish if Damon had stayed just to die himself.

But that's simple logic speaking, real-life emotional relationships of any kind are rarely so simple. People are not logical, they have invested emotions, so Damon's betrayal, no matter how much logical sense it made, was still one of the grossest betrayals I have seen in the show (right up there with the pile of betrayals surrounding the original family, but that's a whole other story).

Enzo has never truly hated Damon. He's been hurt, and angry and full of so much sorrow. I think after a screaming-fest, after a confrontation, Enzo would just feel tired. Drained because of how much resentment and anger he has held onto. And I think in the back of his mind, Enzo understood Damon's actions too, that's why in the end he felt like Damon should have killed him, if he couldn't save him.

THAT'S NOT TO SAY ENZO WILL FORGIVE DAMON ANYTIME SOON. Damon has a lot of groveling to do, and Enzo has a lot of self-healing to do, they might one day reconnect or might just go on with their lives, or might even find a middle-ground. Who knows?

Sorry, I just needed to discuss them.

Now, the next topic of business, FACE-CLAIMS, I honestly have no problem if some of you would prefer face-claims, or if others would prefer using their imaginations, I use both, to be honest. And I do in fact have face-claims for a few characters, namely Zee, Ace, and Ethel, although I suppose Mister A would look like an older version of the face-claim for Ace.

If you all want, I CAN POST A LIST OF FACE-CLAIMS FOR THE CHARACTERS in the next chapter, or even PM those who're interested in knowing.

FINALLY, I WAS THINKING OF CHANGING MY USERNAME, which has been a long-time coming, to be honest, I will forever think back judgmentally at my fifteen-year old self. I will change it eventually sometime before I post the next chapter, probably. Or I might get lazy and just wait it out, lol. But still, I wanted to give you all a fair warning so you won't be caught off-guard.

Everything is unedited. So please, excuse any mistakes.

Now, on to acknowledgements: Thank you everyone who viewed, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story.

My thanks to: itz jalynn1, Kami no Kage-Sama, voidmarijo, Lumene, Ace Sarina Quinzel, MarvellousFaery (Hope you're healthy and well, Kristina), Wienxia, xenocanaan, Isabelnecessaryonabicycle, CaraCarnage, Guest#1/Dude (Thanks!), Nexue R, marlastiano, Bepo1401, Nmomi2004, DeathScythe1827, SunnydayToday, HuangBaiLian, Dark-Enough-Conspiracy-Theory, RedAro, Chibi Zhel, keikei313, a summers lullaby, Fahdza, RWBYNARUTODBZ86645, Rose1414, Alessandra12, PrincessMagic, Yuguresan, ForeverTwistedLove8814, RiddikulousRay, KyraKuran, Guest#2 (Thank you so much!), Guest#3 (Thank you so much for your kind words!), Jcassie, AyonSage, That2-one3-girl4, kittyrsocute, Crezir, Guest#4 (Thank you!), wildcat717, TheVulcanNara, jgood27, NicoleP1928, EMILCE CULLEN-VULTURI, riddhisoni1213, AthenaOwle, Mabu2101, rheyannahassell, Darknees Queen, Akkatz04, Guest#5 (Thank you!), StarDust2Dust, Three123, Suiryoko, WorlfOfGray, Gothic-Angel342, Chacha Buncad, nerlant, Guest#6 (thank you so much!), and LoveDarkHina for you immense encouragement and motivation!

Further thanks to EMILCE CULLEN-VULTURI, BabyDoll-of-Fandom, BlackDarkRed and gabriellesantos2404 for adding this story in their respective communities; 'Historias para leer', 'Self-Inserts Numerous Noteworthy Entries and Recommendations(SINNER)', 'My Personal favorites of the Vampire Diaries', and 'Self-Inserts transmigration'.

Like/Favorite and Review/Comment, please. I respond to all reviews via PM.

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Translations:

Tío Lazaro: Uncle Lazaro.

Tío: Uncle.

Hermano: Brother.

Pequeňa bruja: Little witch.

Bisabuelo: Great-grandfather.

Hermana: Sister.

Sí: Yes.

Seňor Salvatore: Mister Salvatore.

Hijo de puta: Son of a bitch.

Infierno: Hell.

Mi hijo: My son.

Doňa mía: My Lady.

Seňor Mikaelson: Mister/Sir Mikaelson.

Seňor: Mister/Sir.

Seňora Elizabeth Forbes: Madam Elizabeth Forbes.

Mǔqīn: Mother.

Seňorita: Miss.

Note: All translations were taken with the help of Google. If there are any mistakes, I would like to apologize as I do not know how to speak the language.

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"Mors nobis favet; Death favors us."

-The Asturias Family Motto-

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; I do not claim any ownership over any characters, situations or anything of relation from the TVD world. I do, however, own the Asturias Family, anything related to them, any other Original-Character introduced and the plot of this particular story.