I can't believe I really wrote that...
Anyway, going from Klaus' good mood to Damon's misfortune in love was weird.
Adjusting to our reality, part 23: The point of no return
"I do not care how many days, weeks or months it'll take, but Klaus, I can assure you I'll find you. And I'll make you suffer for those years I spent without a drop of blood. Not only for the last forty-two years, but for the sixteen years from the time before, the seventy-three years before that, and I can go on and on. I have four centuries worth of resentment, out of seven centuries of existence, thanks to you. Maybe I can't kill you, but getting rid of me won't be easy either. Now that it's said, goodbye, dear. Enjoy your time, I'll figure out how the modern world work soon enough."
Klaus woke up feeling uneasy.
The changes in the world had been big enough to buy him some time, but the vampire would find his track soon enough. Everything was going way too fast in the modern world.
It had always been the same story.
He would wake up, one way or another, almost make Klaus regret to have let him free, then calm down, go back to his friendlier personality, enjoy years of perfect friendship, think about his dead wife, go crazy once again, and the Original would put him to rest in a cell once again.
Klaus wasn't willing to kill the vampire. He was one of his rare friends. And well, it was more or less his fault if the vampire always ended up going ballistic. More like, one of his brothers' fault, but Klaus was the one who had daggered the culprit. So it was his fault.
Well, he had nothing to worry about. For now, at least. The full moon would come way before the vampire would even set foot in America. Once he would have taken care of the formalities – three sacrifices and an annoying ritual – the Original would simply leave and the vampire would have to search for a long time before finding him. With a bit of luck, he'd have calmed down by then.
Anyway.
It was time for him to go teaching some students, meeting his new doppelganger, fooling people in making them believe he was who he seemed to be, that is, a high school history teacher.
...And he had almost forgotten the obvious.
Pop quiz for Katherine, then her orders for the days. Simple stuff, such as being lovely, quiet, and stabbing herself in the leg repeatedly, so she'd have some fun while he'd be out. He'd have asked her to clean the loft too, but he didn't want to be too severe with her. See, he cared about people.
That's when he found the crossbows and everything else.
"Maintaining family traditions, as I can see. But given the supernatural population of Mystic Falls, this Falkenbach, since the family obviously hasn't died out, is not out killing humans, I guess."
That was a strange thing to say. Eitherway, the Falkenbachs had always been killers, even though they were human. But, still, Klaus could feel the difference between this human and others he had possessed.
The whole hijacking thing had this flaw, that the borrower was bound to feel the strongest natural feelings of their host. Warmth, when the body heard the voice of a loved one. Disgust, for something that was hated from the bottom of the heart of the vessel. Panic, if something very dangerous came after them. Terror, amongst other things, when the host made them do things such as killing or torturing. Or, sometimes, excitement.
Guilt, at least. Some people loathed guilt, and anything that could make them feel guilty. Others loved it so much, they'd do anything to feel it again. Those were mostly psychopaths or masochists.
Klaus didn't feel anything other than his own satisfaction watching Katherine tear open her leg again and again. Being a Falkenbach was surely a strange thing, if only being in a Falkenbach's body was this odd.
He should really leave. He had a class to teach in... well, if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late.
If he wasn't exactly in character, nobody seemed to notice.
Even he felt kind of sad for the teacher.
It wasn't nice that no one had understood there was something off with him.
Klaus wouldn't complain, though. It served his plans, so, all the better.
And, from what he understood, the man had had difficulties keeping up with his life lately. Maybe his friends were only happy to see he was doing better.
As he entered the classroom, mumbling about the Sixties, Klaus looked around. That was supposedly Elena Gilbert's class.
A voice corrected him about the Watergate happening during the Seventies by calling him "Ric", and the Original froze for a second.
This time too, it was exactly the same voice. Not the same intonation, not at all, but the same voice.
Doppelganger spotted.
And Bennett witch spotted.
But no Salvatore in sight. Such a shame. It wasn't really important, but he'd have liked to see the younger brother in a high school classroom. Would have been ironic.
The Ripper of Monterey in a classroom.
Well, Elena Gilbert was obviously not Katherine, so the doppelganger thing was certainly true. As a matter of fact, she wasn't stabbing her own leg over and over again, and she wasn't locked in Alaric Saltzman's appartement, so she couldn't be Katherine.
Klaus almost didn't believe it.
He had found other doppelgangers during the millenium he had spent on this earth, but for some of them he had come too late, and the young girls with Katerina Petrova's face had become old and died by the time the rumor had catched up to him, and for others they had died trying to escape.
But Elena wasn't going to die anytime soon, he'd make sure of that.
Not before the curse would be lifted, anyway.
And there it was. Those bloody residual emotions.
Apparently, the history teacher cared about the young girl. A lot. As if she was his daughter. Such a shame he'd have to lose her once the ritual would be over.
Some people really had no luck in life.
Compelling one of his host's students to deliver a message to Elena was amusing, even though Klaus hadn't exactly liked hearing Dana mocking his first name. Klaus was a perfectly fine name. Why did the new generation had problems with ancient names? Klaus wasn't lame at all.
At least he wasn't the only one to be mocked. Alaric Saltzman too had troubles with his name. And Klaus was utterly surprised when his fist slammed violently against the wall, startling two idiots who were whispering about him. That was one hell of a ghost emotion for sure.
During the afternoon, Alaric received a message from the older Salvatore about an anti-Klaus meeting. That was hilarious.
Passing a threshold without being invited in was definitely one of the pleasures of the day.
Well, making fun of himself was certainly great too.
Here it was.
That was the reason why he kept on borrowing other persons' bodies once or twice a century, even though he felt so vulnerable when he wasn't in his own, virtually indestructible, original vampire's body. Being someone else, for a day, a week.
Damon watched Alaric leave the boarding house, thinking that something was wrong.
But maybe he was overthinking it. The hunter was a little too cheerful for someone who had just lost their wife, but it wasn't the first time. Nor the second, to tell the truth. Their encounter, months before, had been one more funeral for the woman that had held his heart for some many years.
Isobel had been dead for a long time for Ric. Her suicide might have been nothing more than a relief for his best friend. A little sadness, maybe, but he had to stand strong, now more than ever.
After all, they were awaiting the visit of the biggest bad guy ever, weren't they?
No time for feelings.
Damon went back to his room. He had to change for the decade dance. He cared for Elena, after all. Not loving her romantically speaking didn't mean she was unimportant to him. Elena was his brother's girlfriend, and even something of a little sister, now. Damon certainly didn't want her to be killed because of some silly curse.
Wait, did Isobel's death make Ric actually single?
Or, more single than before?
No.
The vampire knew it couldn't be.
No matter what Jenna and Alaric were going through, the hunter loved Elena's aunt. Why would he ever love the psychotic vampire next door? No way, no way, no way.
Half naked – because he was changing clothes, and not for any other reason, get your mind out of the gutter – with his shirt open and his shoes removed, Damon couldn't help thinking about that man he loved and he would never have.
Alaric Saltzman.
He had to be crazy to fell in love with this man.
He had to be crazy to be friend with this man, too.
But he was, and he couldn't help it.
As if his mind wasn't enough to make him acknowledge that, a part of his anatomy began to harden to remind him it had needs too.
The vampire winced. He really didn't have time for that right now.
But he hadn't had sex in days. Last time he had taken such a long break from it was at the beginning of the century. The twentieth century. Almost forgot how it felt, to be this needy.
Andie wasn't enough, now. They were still friends. But he simply couldn't do it.
Ashamed of himself, not because he was horny, but because once again he was losing himself over someone he would never have, Damon closed the door to his room and sank into his bed.
The vampire waited a moment.
Still as hard as before.
This time, he apparently wouldn't get to do as if nothing had happened, as when he had been waiting for Alaric the day before, in the corridor, in front of the teacher's door.
His hand went to his pants, that he undid hesitatingly. Fear. Guilt. Despair.
He whispered, almost crying.
"I'm sorry, Ric. So sorry."
Damon didn't want to use Alaric to get off – not like that, not without Ric's consent – but he needed to, this time. Things would never be the same after that, he knew it. But who was he kidding? Things were already way past the point of no return.
Damon closed his eyes.
Now, he could imagine it as if the hunter was right beside him. The vampire still remembered the night he had felt Ric's breath on his neck. A chill tormented his spin.
A hand touched his cock, and even if he knew it was his, Damon chose to think it wasn't. If only Ric could have been the one to stroke him, the world would have been perfect.
But the world wasn't perfect, he knew it, and that wasn't Alaric's hand.
Imagine. He had to make it true, or he wouldn't ever be alright, not even for one single second.
The pain was to much. In his heart, as well as on his body.
The vampire clenched his teeth. That wasn't what he needed. He needed so much more, but he just couldn't understand what, and that was driving him crazy.
Alaric.
Right beside him, naked, on this very bed. Please.
Smiling to him, with this smile, that could revive a dying star, the star splinters that were all that remained of Damon's broken heart. A spark, in the darkness of what was left of his capacity to love. The remaining light of decades of depravity.
Of course. Ric was a man. What Damon needed from him wasn't what he needed from a woman.
While he stroked his cock with one hand, the other went searching for his ass. He had never done this before, but thinking about the hunter, it could only be right. If only those fingers weren't his, but Alaric's. There, with him, on an absurdly large bed.
Damon moaned in a hushed voice. Imagining it were Ric's hands that were making him feel so good, working him open and releasing his cock from the pain of a hard on that wouldn't go away any other way. The vampire gave himself up to an unbearable pleasure, just for one moment.
Then it was gone. The Alaric Saltzman from his dream disappeared, and Damon was alone in his room, with cum on his hand and shame written all over his face, as tears rolled down on the sheets.
He couldn't go on like that. He had to do something. Even if it would destroy everything.
