Set in 3x10


Each a monster, part 26: Quick, harsh, painful

"I had warned you not to fight back or there'd be consequences."

The phone call had been brief, laconic, and utterly unhelpful, since Alaric had no recollection of such a conversation with the original hybrid, but at least, it had been enough for the hunter to rush to the entrance door and see Jeremy standing still in the middle of the road, a car coming at him at full speed. It had been enough of a warning for him to realize that said consequences were imminent. It may still be enough to prevent one death, though at the cost of another one.

Problems had arisen long ago, Alaric had to admit, but that he'd have never guessed. Tyler, completely and supernaturaly brainwashed by Klaus, and Jeremy, compulsed to get himself killed.

So Ric had run, and he had seen the car coming closer.

So Alaric had pushed the teenage boy out of the way, and he had seen the car coming closer to him.

So the hunter had stopped, and he had seen the car touch his clothes, only seconds before he had felt it hitting hard against his body.

It had been quick, but the pain had been terrible, and for him at least, it had been too long.

Alaric felt it for too long, and yet, it was only happening, now.

His legs broke. Simple as that, when the car came first into contact with his body, an aggressive, hainous contact. Broken. Quick, harsh, painful.

Three ribs broke. His legs having given away, he had fallen against the front of the car, and the calander had pressed down three of his ribs, and the broken ribs had pierced his guts. Broken. Quick, harsh, painful.

His spine broke. The impact had sent him into the air, and after that he had landed on his back, on one side of the still moving car, and had as soon been thrown on the road as the vehicle sped away. Broken. Quick, harsh, painful.

His right arm broke. He had landed on it, once on the hard ground of the road, but really, with everything else, he couldn't care much, even if such considerations wouldn't alter the truth. Broken. Quick, harsh, painful.

His neck broke. After that, he had no idea. He was dead, after all. He was broken, too. But he could say one thing: it had been quick, harsh, and painful.

Dead.

He was dead, once again. Alaric got up on his feet, and wondered where he was.

He recognized the place in itself – after all, Mystic Falls wasn't large a city enough for him not to know where he was. Actually, he was somewhere East from the Gilbert home, and he could go back there in one hour. He started walking.

Make that two hours. Because he wasn't feeling well, as if his body was a wreck.

The teacher looked down, and he couldn't honestly say he liked what he saw.

Two ribs out of the three broken ones were protruding out of his torso. He was leaving a trail of blood behind him. And his legs were bent in an unnatural angle, as was one of his arms. There was an odd twinge in the small of his back and in his neck, too, as if they weren't in their right position.

And the worst, he wasn't feeling so bad. Bad, sure, but not as bad as he should have. After all, he was currently walking with broken legs, spine and neck, and a mess instead of a chest.

He stopped when he heard a voice, and turned to see a blond woman, sitting on a bench not far from him. He could say she was with him in here, wherever "here" was, unlike the other people he had crossed path with so far, who seemed to be alive, unlike him, and not seeing him, and that at least wasn't surprising. If living beings could see ghosts, situations-with-magic-pendants put aside, Ric was certain he'd have seen one by now.

"I can help you with that, Alaric."

The woman's voice, as herself, came from another realm, or that was what he thought at the moment. She was one of the dead of the place, and that was probably why her voice sounded so strange, near and far away at the same time.

Eitherway, as he was here, amongst the supernatural dead people of Mystic Falls, everything felt strange. Other dead persons were there too, like the woman, but unlike her they didn't seem to distinguish one another. It was as if every single soul jailed in here, the Other Side, as Anna had called it, were in their private prison, and could only perceive shadows of the other prisoners. He was no exception.

Another thing was that he couldn't hear the silence anymore. In this place, there was no silence. Only a strange and undefinable sound echoed forever and ever, because that unnerving sound was silence in this world of shadows.

Ric looked at the woman, still sitting, and he could have sworn he knew her from before. From where and when was another question.

How could she navigate between one's shadows and another's, how, while being dead just like himself, could she even talk to him?

"And what do you propose to do about those?"

The woman smiled genially.

"Just push your ribs back into place, and it will do wonders."

The teacher complied, suspicious, but soon noticed the wounds were closing, even though he still felt something was wrong. It wasn't painful, for he'd have been in agony before if he had been able to feel real pain in this dead state, but it wasn't right either.

"Now, get your limbs back into shape too. You look ridiculous."

Usually, Alaric would have scowled a bit at that, but now wasn't an usual time or situation.

With his most able arm, he bent the other one until he felt the two parts of the broken bone fit. He then found out he could use it normally again, and almost eagerly went to work on his legs, spine and neck. Once finished, he walked straight again, and was certainly pleased he didn't look like a broken living doll anymore.

"It's not healed, is it?"

It didn't feel like it was, at least. Then again, he was dead, and feelings were misgiving.

The blond woman walked to him, frowning a bit.

"Ah. It isn't, but it should be. I guess that's because you died too many times. When you'll wake up, it will hurt a lot, and you might need to go on a journey to the hospital."

"You've seen others like me?"

Ric was curious, and reached out to show the ring that would bring him back amongst the living once again. Well, hopefully.

After all, she seemed to know what she was talking about.

"Why would you think that?"

"How else would you know about resurrected people and their injuries?"

The woman looked lost in calculative thoughts for a second, but she soon enough got a hold of herself. She took to walk in the street, in the general direction of Elena's and Jeremy's house, her back to him, as if she didn't want him to see her facial expressions.

Alaric followed her, walking easily now, though he felt like his body – was it even a body, in this ghost reality? – was a bit too numb to be honest.

"What does the Other Side evoke to you, Alaric Saltzman, you cursed and thrice-resurrected man?"

The teacher didn't answer right away, considering. But when his answer came, he saw the woman tense. Perhaps she had never actually met a Falkenbach in here? Could she even speak to the other ghosts, when most of them couldn't do so between themselves?

"Home."

Nothing to be surprised about, really, or even bitter for the matter. Death had always been his home, in some sort of a strange fashion.

Death felt like home, and he didn't care.

"Home it is, then. But what I meant, Alaric, is that you came here before. Thrice. And each time you died I was there to wait for you and guide you back to your for-now-dead body."

Thrice. The number of times he had died before this one.

"I don't remember you."

"You don't, but..."

That was when she turned around, and faced him, looking him intently in the eyes, as if searching for something, as if searching for someone in his eyes.

"... still, you do."

And it happened again.

Everything was of no interest, all of sudden.

Alaric closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he wasn't the same anymore. He was Alaric Saltzman, no mistaking it, but he wasn't "Alaric", or "Ric", or anyone else. He was the hunter.

He looked around, saw the twisted scenery of the Other Side, and so he looked at himself, still unsure of why he had died exactly.

Of course, he remembered what had happened to "Alaric", but he couldn't quite believe his other self, even being much gentler than he himself was, was dumb enough to die for a teenager, even one he considered as family.

Because it was true, the hunter thought of Elena and Jeremy as of family, and he'd have thought of Jenna exactly the same. The others were a shame, monsters, the lot of them, or friends to monsters, for the humans. Shame, as much as "Alaric" was. Far too much of a sentimental, that one.

Damon... Well, the vampire was a sore spot in his reasoning.

The hunter could tell he still loved the man, behind the vampire, the man Damon Salvatore had once been, the man he had never met, to be frank, because he had been alive years before his time, but a man he could still surmise, hidden behind the monster. But if only for that, the hunter knew he couldn't, and wouldn't, bear the sight of a man he so loved being brought down to such a shame. Damon would not remain a soulless blood-sucking monster if he had a say in it.

Still, even if he knew he loved Elena and Jeremy, and Damon had he been human, the hunter also knew his crusade was too important for him to sacrifice his life in any way. Not even to save theirs.

If he died, it'd be bringing down monsters, such as vampires and werewolves, monsters that feasted on the innocents and thought nothing of it.

"Alaric" had had no idea if the driver was supernatural or not, and though the hunter could tell he was – otherwise he wouldn't be here, but simply dead alongside his other personality – he could also say "Alaric" hadn't thought twice about it. He had been ready to sacrifice himself for the teen.

He really couldn't fathom how "Alaric"'s mind worked.

The hunter looked back at the dead witch standing not far away from him.

"Esther."

She smiled happily, but there was no warmth in her smile. There had never been, unless she was talking about her children and her husband. Always in the past. Always as they had been before everything happened. Always as they had been when there still was humanity in their heart.

"So you're back, hunter."

He didn't flinch at the use of the nickname she had given him the first time he had died. He used to get angry, but speaking of him as "Alaric" didn't seem proper, somehow, so he had just accepted it.

Yet, he yearned for a day when he would call himself with his own name without feeling a sham. He was confident that day would come. But for now, he felt "Alaric" deserved it more than he did.

But soon enough, he'd be the real one, the stronger one, and "Alaric", the one who was always hurt, always used, always tossed aside without even a second thought, would go to rest.

"So it seems."

"Your body is waiting for you, you know?"

"I know."

They walked to the Gilbert house, and the hunter felt a bit sad the teenagers living in there weren't able to see how they were compromising themselves with those monsters, because they wanted to believe they were still a bit human.

But he knew the truth, and he'd make them see it, as soon as he'd have become Alaric Saltzman.

While they walked, Esther talked. She talked about how everything that had been stolen from him had been that way because of vampires. How they had to disappear, so that the world would be safer, and happier. How this reality needed men able and willing to fight for all the others.

He knew what she was hinting at, and he mostly agreed. There was only one detail he didn't agree on, and didn't tell her about.

What had robbed him of his life weren't vampires, but magic in all its forms – curses. And witches.