A/N: Really didn't want to since I'm allergic to TVD right now, but then I thought: why not tell the story I want to see? So enjoy, dear readers, and thanks for all the love.
Past: Winter
They returned on the last night of snowfall. The snow was thick on the ground, the night air crisp and stinging. Bonnie huddled in the crypt doorway, peering out into the woods with strange, silent eyes.
She pulled the coat closer about her. Damon had prepared well. A parka, thermals, a balaclava, a scarf, even a beanie. She was sufficiently warm, but still she shivered. Perhaps it was the experience of being yanked from perpetual warmth to cold desolation. Perhaps it was the quiet they brought with them from 1994. Perhaps she was just tired. She didn't know. She shivered despite being warm.
Damon was in a corner, angling for reception. The witch he used had left, probably anticipating the snowstorm, and in his haste, he only gave Stefan a vague determination of when he'd be back. Bonnie maintained her quiet observation as he told her without actually telling her. The phone buzzed. He climbed onto a crumpling seat and faced the ceiling.
"Hello? Stef? Where are you?"
Bonnie turned back to the woods. She tried to think of what to when she got to Mystic, where she'd go first, what hot food she'd eat, but the snow and the cold and the dark trunks of trees filled her thoughts. She saw herself sinking and rising, sinking and rising, waves of white rolling towards her and beyond, the frigid wind licking the warmth from her body, the stark trees crowding her in.
"He stalled five miles outside Whitmore," Damon said as he joined her in the doorway. He pulled his coat tighter. "Said he's working on it but the roads are bad and Caroline's no help. Looks like we'll have to wait for morning."
"No," Bonnie answered. She looked at him. His mouth twitched in surprise.
"No," Damon repeated. He nodded. "Of course. She doesn't speak for four hours and when she does, it's in the negative."
Four hours. Really, Bonnie hadn't spoken in two weeks. Why, when she didn't need to? No one to answer to, no one to question, no sound except for her own thoughts, and they were loud enough.
He waited several seconds before asking, "And why not?"
Because she had been searching, listening, hoping for footsteps crunching the snow, muttered voices, a flashlight, watery brown eyes, a wordless embrace. Because she came back, waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting while cold sucked her dry. Because no more waiting. No more wishing and hoping and waiting for the sun.
Bonnie blew hot air into her cupped palms. "We can hike back to Mystic Falls. It's just ten miles to the edge of your property, right?"
Damon frowned. "Uh, you realize this isn't some spring shower going on. Your feet will break off a mile in."
"Cold doesn't bother me," Bonnie shouldered her pack. She pulled the toggles on her parka and stretched.
"Does hypothermia? Death?"
"Damon," she looked at him, "the only thing bothering me is waiting for rescue when I could rescue myself."
When he continued to scowl, she looked off in the direction of home. "I'll see you back in Mystic Falls."
Bonnie stepped out into a blast of icy wind. She kept her shoulder up, and didn't stumble when her foot sunk up to mid-calf. She focused, kept her pace moderate. She didn't feel his touch on her arm until he squeezed.
He pointed a flashlight ahead and they continued. After some yards Bonnie reached for the flashlight and clicked it off. Damon looked at her from under the hood of his coat. He arched an eyebrow in anger. Bonnie only marched on.
He followed, anger building at her stupidity, her intractability, her refusal to properly cinch the straps of that stupid pack she brought from The Other Side. He purposefully let his internal compass spin, hoping they got lost so he could rebuke her. He had a whole paragraph of angry words for her, starting on her insane martyrdom complex to her lack of gratitude to this latest evidence of severe mental lapse. He had it trimmed down to two sentences when the wind suddenly dropped off.
Bonnie paused. The silence was startling. The snow seemed to fall in slow motion. She gazed up at the night sky. The clouds broke apart, revealing the hard glitter of stars. For a moment, the world seemed beautifully surreal.
She turned to him. He already had his eyes on her, and they were of the same brightness as the starlight. An urge to tell him her thoughts overcame her.
"This is the lifting of a spell," Bonnie said. She closed her eyes and inhaled. "The end of a curse. This is the world after a long dream."
"This is magic," Damon said.
She opened her eyes. The beauty faded. Magic. Her skin prickled at the knowledge. Heavy magic.
Damon scanned the woods, then looked at her again. "Did you do it?"
"No," Bonnie turned from him, "but whoever did is gone. The power is receding."
"How can you tell?"
"I don't know," Bonnie resumed walking, "how do you tell blood types apart?"
"The taste."
He walked next to her now, close enough for the fabric of their parkas to brush.
"No, because you are a vampire."
Damon only sniffed. The silence stretched. Bonnie tried to think of what she'd do when she returned to Mystic Falls, who she wanted to see first, where she'd go, but the crunch of snow and the sting of cold pressed, and the yards turned to a mile, then to two, then three, and so on.
"That was some poetry back there," Damon said.
Bonnie glanced at him. "Back where?"
"'The lifting of a spell, the end of a curse'," he intoned.
"Those things did happen."
"Yes, but you didn't know. You weren't scared. You were enraptured."
"Was I?" Bonnie couldn't recall how she felt. It seemed far from her. "Maybe I did know, but knowing hadn't caught up to reason."
Damon groaned. "God, you know, I actually hate that I missed your philosophical bullshit."
"It only comes out around you for some reason."
They made faces at each other before quiet settled between them. Six miles. Seven miles.
"You never asked about being a vampire before."
Weariness cracked her voice. "I never had time to think about it."
"So you thought about me?"
She heard the playful arrogance, but disregarded it. "Every single day since I first met you, I've thought of you."
Being so tired, she didn't dare do more than walk forward, so she imagined his eyebrows pinching together, his mouth agape in a silent question. It amused her.
"I thought about you more after you left. I even cried once because I missed you. I thought it was because I just missed having someone around more miserable than myself, but no, it was because I missed your voice, and your nagging, and all the annoying crap you do."
She stopped to adjust her bag but couldn't catch the straps. Damon came around to do it for her.
"You must be really shocked," Bonnie said. She stared at the black teeth of his parka's zipper. He tugged on strap. "Before you, I never knew fear. Or hatred. I thought I knew anger, but then you came. You came with all these things I never experienced, and ever since they have been on my mind, in my life, a part of me."
The strap over her left shoulder tightened. "And then you were gone. And I had more to fear, more time to hate, more anger to feel. I realized then how important you were."
The other strap tightened to a painful degree but Bonnie was too tired to exclaim. She had been on for six days straight and ate only two of those days. She had forgotten that here, in this world, she was human. She wanted to sleep. That was what she would do when she returned. Rest, turn off the thoughts and rest.
Her eyes swam. She had the curious sensation of passing through something, of falling a short way for a long time.
"Bonnie," Damon said. He was far away.
"Yes? I'm here."
He sighed. "Poor timing, Bennett."
She didn't know what he meant. And then she heard her name echoing through the air in a distinct, near hysterical pitch that only came from one person.
Bonnie turned. They appeared out of the dark, running across the field, eyes wet, laughing, overjoyed. In the second before they descended on her, before the force of their relief made her stagger, dread consumed her. She took a step back, into Damon, but Caroline clung to her and Elena enveloped the two of them. They squeezed so tight, Bonnie struggled to breathe, they were so happy, so relieved, and tears moistened her cheeks, but they were not hers, none of it was hers.
Bonnie wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at herself. She heard murmuring, pots clanking in the kitchen sink. Two days back and the only moments of solitude were when she slept, which she didn't do, and when she shut herself in the bathroom, which lasted fifteen minutes before Caroline came knocking.
Two days back and the dread hadn't dulled. It prevented her from eating, from unpacking, from visiting the lake and the dorms and the Grille and the Manor, from answering texts and calls, from listening to the backlog of voicemails. She didn't speak unless to answer simple questions. She didn't cry at all.
She looked at her reflection. The mask still didn't look right. It was supposed to be a little pensive, a little faltering, always on the verge of collapse, always ready to smile despite the fact. Bonnie tried to pull her mouth into something other than a line but it looked even worse. She had to try today, though. Today was a reintroduction to living.
Bonnie practised for ten minutes, then put on her clothes and waited for the knock.
It was light on the door. Bonnie inhaled and stepped out into the hall.
Caroline frowned at her clothes. "Those pants are killing me. What are they, velvet?"
Bonnie happened to like them, that and the flannel and the leather jacket and the no make-up. But what she liked was not what Caroline remembered her liking, so she sighed and pulled at the fabric.
"It was the only thing I had on hand that fits."
Caroline gave her a sympathetic grin. "Well, Elena put your clothes in storage. We can stop by, dig out some leggings and other 21st century gear."
"You are cramming the day full of errands," she said as they walked down the hall to the kitchen.
"Oh, and tonight we're having dinner. All of us. At Stefan's."
"Oh, me too? How sweet," Sheriff Forbes said. She gave Bonnie a hug. "Feeling better?"
Bonnie nodded and saw a plate of eggs and toast reserved for her at the table. She'd have to eat more than toast this morning. "Much better, thanks."
She took a seat at the table while Caroline and Sheriff Forbes moved about the kitchen, preparing for the day.
"Of course you too. All of us is all of us," Caroline said, peering in the refrigerator.
"Honey, as much as I'd love to be the oldest person at this dinner, I have four files to close before the weekend."
"That's why you have deputies, a.k.a. lackeys."
"Caroline, it's-how many times have I told you not to drink it right out of the bag?"
Bonnie stopped pushing her eggs around to see Sheriff Forbes snatch the bloodbag from Caroline's lips and hand her a glass. She rolled her eyes and poured the blood into the glass.
"Look, random-stranger-that-will-walk-into-our-kitchen, I'm drinking tomato juice without the celery stick," Caroline said.
"Ha," Sheriff Forbes pulled on her jacket. Bonnie almost didn't catch it.
"Alright, I'm off," Liz kissed Caroline's cheek and gave Bonnie's shoulder a light squeeze. "See you girls when I get home."
"Technically you won't be the oldest person at dinner," Caroline called after her. She lingered in the entryway, worry quickly replacing lightheartedness.
Bonnie looked at her friend. She thought of the slight misstep Liz took, the wince as she put on her coat. There were other signs too. Baggy clothes, the rattle of pills in the morning and at night, the quick obedience from Caroline.
She ate a forkful of eggs, swallowed, and said, "What's going on?"
Caroline whirled around, a bright smile on her face. "With what?"
Bonnie held her gaze for a second before biting off a piece of toast. "With you and Stefan."
Caroline widened her eyes in feigned innocence. "Me and Stefan? I have no idea."
"So you're confused?"
"No," Caroline laughed, "no, I mean, we're good. Now. We're really good now, better. In a good place. As good friends."
Bonnie nodded. "That's...good."
"I'm serious. I have no idea what you're implying," she said. She fidgeted with the glass. "Why? Did you hear something or…?"
"Well," Bonnie finished the toast and took her plate to the sink, "what used to be that 'Black hole of horror' is now, in the gentlest of tones, 'Stefan's place'."
Caroline drained the rest of the blood. "Stefan's done a really good job renovating it, so."
Bonnie grinned. "If you say so."
She ran out the kitchen and up the stairs. "I'll get a jacket and we can dip."
"Oh my God, you have got to stop with the lingo!"
Instead of going to the guest room Bonnie went to bathroom. She splashed her face with hot water. The sting lessened the sudden numbness in her cheeks. Her reflection smiled back at her despite the shimmer of tears. Caroline would never lie to her, not about her mother's illness, not about Stefan.
Bonnie splashed her face again. The water scalded her fingers, cheeks, lips. She saw herself clearly in the mirror and recognized the face staring back. It was the same face, same head on the same body, but who looked out had changed, who looked out knew where the lies would lead, where they always led. But things were different now.
She turned off the faucet and dried her face. The dread coiled tightly in her stomach. She left the bathroom and retrieved her jacket, slinging it on as she came down the stairs.
Caroline stood at the door. "Ready?"
Bonnie nodded before stepping out into the cold, hard brightness of living.
They surprised her with people crowding the foyer and lining the staircase. A banner hung from the ceilings. A chorus of voices sang, 'Welcome Home, Bonnie'. Music half-swallowed greetings from familiar strangers, strangers, and friends. They clumped around her, talking and laughing and shaking hands and hugging. The air grew warmer as the party grew louder, and everyone had shed their jacket except for Bonnie.
She kept it on as she weaved through the crowd. Someone pressed a bottle into her hand - Matt.
"Hey," genuine pleasure lit her face, "I missed you."
Matt hugged her, lifting her a little off the floor. "I probably missed you more. It's hard being the only sane one in Mystic Falls," he said, setting her down.
She squeezed his arms and took a step back. Matt seemed taller, more physically imposing, older. The sunny smile had been replaced by a wary grin. His dry eyes looked at her as though there were no surprises left.
"You've always been the only sane one, Matt," Bonnie said.
"Doubtful." He held up his bottle of hard cider. "Cheers to you coming back."
They clinked and drank.
"I gotta go, I only stayed so long to see you," Matt said.
"Go where?"
"Training." Matt laughed when he saw her frown, confused. "Swing by the Sheriff's office tomorrow night and you'll see what I mean."
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before parting through the crowd. Matt Donovan, enigma, Bonnie thought. Who would have thought? She grinned and continued towards the back of the house. She dodged Tyler and Liv, snuck past Caroline, and used a lacrosse player as an invisibility cloak to avoid Damon and Elena to finally make it out to the back veranda.
This what was Bonnie wanted most. Quiet and cold. The stars shone like beaded water. One shake and they'd fall onto the empty yard. She leaned against the railing and looked at the sky, the party thrown for her going on without her.
"Stargazing is best on a night like this."
Bonnie didn't need to look. Being alone attuned her to certain things, the most prominent of them magic. She heard its note in her head the moment she returned to the living world. Sometimes it faded beneath her heartbeat, other times it rang like a distant bell. This time the perception was different. Magic flowed like a current around her, over her. A practiced witch. It reminded her of the last run-in she had with a witch, except this magic was palliative instead of bruising.
"It's more interesting than people watching," Bonnie said.
"Yes, especially when said people are noisy twenty-somethings with an appetite for craft beer."
Bonnie looked over to the woman standing next to her. "You're Kai's sister. Jo. The one who survived."
Jo smiled. "And you're Sheila's granddaughter. Bonnie. The one who also survived."
"You knew my Grams?"
Jo nodded. "She saved me."
Bonnie swallowed a mouthful of cider. "By creating a cosmic prison for your psychotic brother?"
"No, by showing me that I'm more than my magic." Jo leaned on the railing. "I never thought I could be normal, not after what Kai did, but I was. I went to school, became a doctor, a teacher, helped people. Without magic." Jo sighed. "I actually liked being a normal person for fifteen years. It was fun."
"Well, that's the Bennett gift," Bonnie looked at her, "we give other people a chance at being normal for awhile before reality catches up."
She finished her drink. "Who sent you out here? Elena, Damon?"
"Alaric. He thought you might need someone who's been through what-"
"No," Bonnie cut her off, "No one has been through what I've been through."
They looked at each other for a moment. Jo's sympathy nauseated her. A litany of terrible things came to mind, things she could say to send Jo back to their prying eyes, face blanched and eyes wide with angry fear. Bonnie looked away.
"I appreciate the offer, but right now I just want to breathe without having to rehash the past, or discuss my feelings, or work through trauma. Is that okay with you?"
"Yes, of course," Jo placed a hand on Bonnie's shoulder, "whenever you need to talk, I'm around."
Bonnie exhaled when the hand lifted from her shoulder. She sagged against the railing when Jo went back into the house. Alaric sent her out here? Damon, probably. Or Elena. Bonnie felt the questions hanging in the air every time a second of silence happened between them. She wished Elena would just ask instead of pulling her strings. Well, Bonnie hugged herself against the cold, that response should stop any more therapy sessions for the next few months.
She cast an absent glance over the dark field. Her gaze stopped on a figure walking steadily towards the house. She recognized the gait before his face. He approached and her heart thudded with a stab of pain.
They stared at each other for a long minute. Then she was off the porch and his arms wrapped around her, his warmth and his scent and the feel of his lips over hers - Jeremy overwhelmed her senses. Bonnie floated in him, in the memory he provoked.
And for awhile, it was enough to forget who she had become.
From the tree line the house blazed with light. If he chose, a different, hotter light could swallow up all that Southern charm. But destruction wasn't the purpose for his late-night tripping through the woods. He wanted to see her, among her friends, see what she would do now that she had returned.
Two days of lurking produced not a inkling of change. Still the staid, quiet, broken young woman he screwed over months ago. The only interesting tweak was the preference for dark colors and leather jackets and boots. She wore dark well. As much as he admired the shift in dress, he was a little desperate for something more...shattering. A total breakdown. A penchant for dangerous situations, an explosive fight between life-long friends, a trip to the dark side of magic.
But no, none of that. She had stepped back into the groove of old, down to the same pensive look whenever someone hinted at the supernatural. He almost decided to show his hand, force a reaction, but then the gang threw a surprise party and he knew. Something would happen. Something would break.
So he waited. He watched. He saw the tiny cracks in her mask for the first time as she tried to act surprised and grateful. He listened to Jo putting on her Big Sister pants and laughed when she was rebuffed. He stood there with her in the aftermath, wondering which way she would go now that she showed a very un-Bonnie side to her friends, if she would stop pretending and start burning everything to the ground.
And then the guy.
He knew she loved someone. He knew she was loved. He just forgot, like she did. He watched them kissing, practically devouring each other, tripping over the ground to find a secluded area, their breaths rising like clouds. The impulse to destroy something came again, except this time he wanted an implosion.
Well, Kai turned into the woods, he was never averse to a good burn.