A/N: Hi guys! This is my first attempt at uploading a fanfiction on this site, so please bear with me! I'm not sure if I'll continue this, but it was fun to write nonetheless! If you enjoy it, I would really appreciate it if you let me know! :)
(I listened to Finally / Beautiful Stranger by Halsey while writing this—for some reason it really resonated with and influenced the mood of this fic for me, so I recommend doing the same while you read it!)
Side note: I don't own TVD or any of the characters associated with the universe, just using them for some AU fun!
Summary: Set around fifty years after Damon's tragic death in 5x22, there seems to be little hope in getting him back from the prison world. While the rest of the world has moved on, Elena refuses to, and spends her days devoted to finding a witch willing to help her bring him back.
He was always there.
A flash of raven hair, the back of a leather jacket clad figure, even a deep baritone that slightly resembled his bedroom voice...they all brought him to the forefront of her mind in the most painful way.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? He was always there, haunting her mind, but he wasn't there.
No, he wasn't there with her where he was supposed to be because almost fifty years earlier he had been sent to a prison world, with no means of escape.
She could be mad, she could spend every waking moment of her existence full of resentment and anger toward an unchangeable fate...and for awhile she had been.
No, she had never let her anguish cause her to act out on her reckless vampire impulses as he had once upon a time, but she had obsessively devoted her life to finding a way to bring him back.
And according to Stefan, that was just as bad, if not worse than succumbing to the insatiable blood lust that walked hand-in-hand with vampire grief.
When she had experienced her brother's death as a new vampire all those years ago, she vividly remembered declaring it the most painful tragedy of her life due to the extent of her heightened emotions.
Looking back, she almost found the thought laughable. Losing a brother was painful, as was with any blood relative, but losing a soulmate? It was debilitating.
Shaking her head in an attempt to clear herself out of her reverie, Elena pulled into the parking lot of a tiny bar in southern Texas. One good thing about driving a '69 Camaro was the fact that even in the tiniest of tiny parking spots, it still had plenty of space without receiving door dings from neighboring cars.
After Damon's car had been obliterated in the explosion that took its adoring owner as well, Elena had vowed to find an identical version to keep the memory alive.
After ten years, she had finally found one for a decent price and deemed it her partner in finding a witch that could help her bring him back.
And she had dedicated the last few decades to doing just that. She checked in on the people she loved every now and again, of course, but she knew that they didn't need her to be happy anymore. Once upon a time, maybe, but the death of her boyfriend had rocked her so deep to the core that her former self that so passionately prioritized family and friends felt like a different person entirely. Now, bringing him back was the only thing that mattered.
Everyone else had moved on with time, and they struggled to comprehend why Elena couldn't. Go to college, they said. Start fresh; he wouldn't want this for you.
No, he wouldn't. But she knew just as well as they did that he would have done the same thing for her had the roles been reversed. Not just because they owed it to each other, but because there was no other way to move forward without your soulmate.
As she made her way out of the Camaro, she felt his presence weighing on her mind like a boulder. As with everything, her grief ebbed and flowed on a daily basis. Some days, she was so wholly consumed by it that dragging herself out of whatever hotel she had bunkered down in for the night seemed too great a task to even consider. Other days, her heart seemed light and fluttery with false hope that this lead would be the one; this witch would magically have the answer after nearly half a century of searching.
Today, she forced all unethical thoughts out of her mind. She needed to focus on the task at hand: schmoozing this witch into trusting a vampire with a reputation.
It wasn't like she had a bad reputation—quite the opposite, actually. People in the supernatural community didn't know her for the few times she lost control or gave in to her vampire urges. No, what she was known for was much more sad and embarrassing than that, and she knew that said reputation wasn't excluded from this part of Texas as she sat down at the bar and made eye contact with the witchy bar manager.
Haven't you heard? She lost her boyfriend in a spell-gone-wrong and has spent every waking moment since trying to get him back. It's kind of sad...she must be one delusional vamp.
She knew people talked; primarily, witches. It was almost funny, knowing they warned each other about her when she had never once laid a finger on a witch who had refused to help her.
Currently, the one in front of her was unimpressively eyeing her as she made a drink for a fellow bar patron.
He was tall—probably a little over six foot, and blonde. He almost reminded her of Stefan in the way he squared his shoulders and held his posture so rigidly, which was a welcome thought. She hadn't seen him since...God, how long had it been? It was no secret that Stefan had always viewed her obsession distastefully. For the first ten, fifteen years, Stefan had faithfully tried to coax Elena into coming back home.
He had finally given up on that around the same time he started giving into his undeniable attraction to their blonde friend, but that was a story for another day.
"Bourbon, please." Elena nodded politely at the witch as she made her way down the bar to her. She was short, with dark curly hair and eyes that stated just what she thought of Elena's unexpected presence in her bar.
"Oh, honey, I hope you plan on paying for this drink. I know what vervain is—your little tricks won't work on me." She smiled tightly, a vein in her neck protruding as she easily poured Elena a glass.
"I know you've heard the stories...you know I won't hurt you. I believe in gaining someone's trust through friendship, not mind manipulation."
The witch almost looked relieved at the statement, watching Elena closely as she downed half the contents of the glass in one gulp.
"So my friends were right...they said you would come here looking for my help. I wasn't sure if it was you."
"My name is Elena Gilbert. Nice to meet you." Elena smiled her best believable smile, and it frightened her when she realized that she couldn't remember the last time she had done it sincerely.
When the witch only crossed her arms in response, Elena took it as an invitation to continue.
"Since I'm sure you know why I'm here, I'll cut to the chase. Assuming you somehow know of a spell that will help me out of my current predicament, is there any path of conversation that will lead to you trusting me enough to do the spell?"
Elena could tell the witch was judging her, could feel the way her eyes were raking over her almost week-old curled hair and smudged mascara, but silently prayed that if anything it would make her feel sympathy for her.
"Even if I did know of a spell, which I don't, why would I want to release a murderous vampire with a vendetta against people like me from a prison world? I know you're an exception, honey, but that little boy toy of yours isn't. Witches talk, you know."
Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't stopped at a hotel and slept in three days, or maybe it was just some part deep inside of her resigning, but somehow she knew in that moment that this lead was a dead end. With one last swift drink of the bourbon, she adjusted the lapel of her light brown suede jacket and stood up.
"Thank you for the drink. If you ever change your mind, I'm sure you'll know where to find me."
And with that, Elena tugged on the deep indigo summer dress she was wearing and left the bar with what little dignity she had remaining.