Title: Wings of a Butterfly
Author: Traxits
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (TV series).
Pairing: (eventual) Damon Salvatore/Jeremy Gilbert.
Chapter Rating: Teen for mention of American Civil War era battles and wounds sustained.
Chapter Content Notes: Mention of gunshot wounds.
Chapter Word Count: 3143 words.
Author's Notes: I wanted to thank everyone for all the support I have received for this piece of fiction! It really means the world to me that you're all taking the time to respond and leave me little notes with your thoughts on it. I freely admit that whenever I hit a writing slump, I tend to go back and reread those reviews to get me energized and ready to write some more.
I have had a few questions about the title of the piece (mostly in e-mail and private messages), so I thought I might go ahead and offer my explanation here. I titled it "Wings of a Butterfly," as a bit of a double reference. First, it references the butterfly effect as presented in "The Sound of Thunder," where changing just a few little things in the past can have major consequences in the present. It also references the song by HIM, "Rip Out the Wings of a Butterfly." That song asks whether or not the two lovers are prepared to destroy something beautiful and innocent (namely, a butterfly) in order to prove their devotion.
Now, leaving you with that bit of foreshadowing, I present chapter three.
[[ … Chapter Three: Falling … ]]
Going completely mad couldn't have been any worse than surviving a gunshot in the trenches during the Civil War. Jeremy was pretty sure that he would never be able to read about the war again without the remembering that horrific night he spent dozing in and out, only aware in the vaguest sense of the word that there was anything beyond the dull throbbing pain in his shoulder, anything more than the blistering heat he felt from his skin and the frigid air that blew over him. He knew that at some point, Damon had coaxed water down his throat, he could remember Damon talking to him, although he had no idea what it was about.
Part of him really wished that he would die.
But Damon and Henry and everyone else in the trench seemed determined to keep him there, and he knew better than to argue with Damon. It was always better to give in and go around his back. Too bad Damon didn't leave him alone long enough; Jeremy couldn't will himself to die in the space of time that it took Damon to get another cupful of water.
"—too jagged. The skin would never have held—"
Jeremy was pretty sure that Damon was defending his call to cauterize the wound over stitching it. He couldn't bring himself to care, but as he struggled to sit up, Damon came back over to him.
"Hey, Jeremy." He reached out and touched the backs of his fingers to Jeremy's forehead, and Jeremy laughed. He'd have never imagined Damon being so concerned, checking him for a fever and being serious about it.
Jeremy managed a small smile. "Hey," he croaked, coughing as he forced his throat to work properly. Damon pushed another cup of water into his hands, and Jeremy drank it before he realized that surely he'd used most of his own water ration already. He cast a look toward Damon, but Damon didn't so much as flinch under it. Instead, he just reached up and pulled his kepi down a little more on his head.
"How—" Another cough, and then Jeremy shook his head. "How long was I out?"
"Few hours. Didn't miss much."
"Reinforcements?"
Damon glanced back toward where the guy was propped up, a stretch of cloth tied off around his leg. They had probably cauterized his wound too. "Not yet. Few more days. Doesn't matter for you and me though."
"What?" Jeremy licked his bottom lip, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"
"You can't shoot. Not until that heals properly, anyway." Another moment, and then Damon leaned in a little closer to him. "That man? He's a messenger. They're sending me home. Something came up, back at home. They're giving me leave to head back. You can come with me since you got shot."
Jeremy took a moment to absorb that. Damon was going back to Mystic Falls. It was like a switch had been flipped in his head. Of course Damon was going back; he had to meet Katherine. The vampire round-up would be happening in a few months. That meant Emily would be there, in Mystic Falls, and if anyone could send him home, it would be Emily.
He hesitated, careful of seeming over-eager. "No... No one will care if I go?"
Damon snorted. "You're not eighteen, Jeremy." He held up a finger to silence Jeremy's protest before it even came out. "You're not eighteen, and you've been shot. If anything, they'll be glad that you're gone."
Jeremy nodded slowly, and that was how he ended up later that evening offering Henry and Charles and everyone else a final salute beside Damon. An honor serving with you, he had told them, and he wondered if he could find out what happened to them after he returned home. He was a little more optimistic about his chances of surviving this knowing that Emily was going to be in Mystic Falls.
Damon and he slipped like theives across the darkened field, and both of them breathed quiet little sighs of relief as they hit the treeline with no shots fired. They only had the one horse, and Damon offered him another carefree grin before he hoisted himself up, then pulled Jeremy up to sit behind him.
Jeremy fidgeted, having never ridden before, let alone ridden double like that. To be honest, he wasn't entirely certain of the protocol in place there. It was intense, being pressed up against Damon that way, and he didn't have a choice but to wrap his arms around Damon's middle unless he wanted to fall off. By the time they stopped, well away from the battlefield, Jeremy's thighs were aching.
Damon helped him down, and he studied Jeremy wincing for a few minutes before he started laughing. "You've never ridden a horse?" He said it like he couldn't believe it, like he was making a joke at Jeremy's expense. Jeremy couldn't stop the flush of heat in his face.
"No," he finally muttered, refusing to look up. He sipped from the canteen before he leaned over to refill it from the stream they'd stopped at. "Never have."
"So, you shoot, but you don't ride?" Damon chuckled, snagged the canteen, and took a long drink. "How have you managed to never learn to ride?" He stuck the canteen back into the stream to refill it before he handed it to Jeremy.
Jeremy just shrugged, a little smile on his face. "Never had a chance. Walked everywhere." Until he'd gotten his driving license, but Damon wouldn't understand that. He looked up. "How far is it?"
"Oh, you're going to hurt by the time we get there." Damon crouched down beside him. Jeremy was a little uncomfortable with just how intently Damon studied him, and he nodded, jerking his eyes down to gaze at the sand beside him.
"I figured."
Damon reached out and ruffled his hair. Jeremy supposed that it was something he should get used to; it was a sight better than getting choked all the time though. He reached up and took Damon's hat, pulling it down low over his eyes.
"Let's get started?"
Damon laughed. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" He stood, checked out the horse, and nodded. "All right then. Let's go." He pulled himself back up, helped Jeremy on behind him, and clicked the horse back onto the faint road. Jeremy leaned forward, pressing the side of his face onto Damon's back. Damon didn't stop him, didn't seem to be bothered by it, so he closed his eyes.
He couldn't sleep like that, but at the least, he could rest.
Turned out that riding the horse was exactly like living in the trenches, except with more pain. Jeremy lost track of the days, couldn't even figure out how Damon was navigating since they avoided most cities and large towns. They walked the horse through a few smaller ones, but with their uniforms and muskets, they were given a fairly wide berth.
No one was rude; quite the opposite. If they smiled or tipped the one hat (Damon's) between them, everyone they passed would return the smile. Men would tip their own hats, ladies would curtsey, but no one approached them. Jeremy was distinctly uncomfortable, made even worse the first time someone mistook him for Damon's little brother.
Damon simply grinned, retorted, "I had to fetch him, you know? Mother would be ill to know he was out here," and winked. They got more food that day, but Jeremy's skin crawled at the mistake. He wasn't Damon's brother, and he certainly didn't want to be. He didn't let himself dwell on the thought for too long though.
It was the second— maybe third— day that they were on the road when Damon noticed Jeremy's bracelet. Jeremy was jarred awake by feeling Damon tugging on it a little, and he blinked slowly. Damon was wearing his hat again; Jeremy couldn't sleep with it on.
"What are you doing?" He mumbled the words into Damon's back, and if he let himself think about it, he was a little shocked that Damon even heard him. But Damon kept toying with the bracelet, and Jeremy finally flicked open the clasp, letting it come off so that Damon could look at it.
"This is exquisite," Damon finally said, holding it up so that he could look at it. Jeremy shrugged, rubbed his face against Damon's back in a vain attempt to get the sleep out of his eyes, and glanced up at it. He supposed that it was natural Damon was attracted to the piece. Stefan had 'borrowed' it from Damon before giving to Elena to give to Jeremy. Damon had made certain that Jeremy was aware that his vervain bracelet was actually his bracelet.
"Sister gave it to me. Supposed to protect me." Jeremy smiled as he realized that human Damon was just as fascinated with superantural jewelry as vampire Damon had been. He supposed that the interest had to come from somewhere.
Damon chuckled. "Well, it did the job, didn't it? That gunshot could have been a lot worse."
Jeremy nodded, propping his chin up on Damon's shoulder to look at the bracelet. He smiled. "Why don't you keep it?"
"What? No, it's yours." But Damon didn't relinquish the piece right away. His fingers lingered over the small clasp. Jeremy grinned.
"You're supposed to pass on good luck charms," Jeremy replied, and he leaned back a little. "Keeps the luck good."
"Luck doesn't spoil." Damon didn't stop him though as Jeremy reached up to take the bracelet, as he determinedly put the bracelet over Damon's wrist. As the clasp closed, Jeremy felt his breath hitch, felt a shiver down his back. "Thank you." Damon twisted around in the seat to give him a little grin, and Jeremy smiled as normally as he could. When Damon looked back ahead, Jeremy leaned forward, putting his forehead in between Damon's shoulder blades.
He closed his eyes, waited for the shivers to subside, and twisted his ring around his finger. He had to stop changing things, had to stop influencing the past. Katherine had to seduce Damon, had to claim him, to turn him. He couldn't see the end result of his actions while he was like this, couldn't risk changing anything too much. He swallowed.
Damon must have noticed his mood, because when they stopped again, Damon was unusually gentle as he changed the bandage on Jeremy's shoulder. He took the time to show Jeremy how to do it with one hand, just in case. Jeremy's whole life, it seemed, had become 'just in case.' Damon sat beside him, both of them with their backs against a tree, guns in their laps.
In some ways, it was like they'd never left the trench. Except that they were sitting on grass instead of dirt, they had actual pieces of bacon to eat instead of just hardtack— a kind woman at the last farm they'd passed offered them the bacon in exchange for Damon helping her split a few logs. Everything considered, it was decent enough.
By the time they reached Mystic Falls, Jeremy was pretty sure that he was never going to be able to walk normally again. They went straight to the Salvatore house, and Jeremy laughed as Damon bounded up the small set of stairs, two at a time, before he rapped briskly on the door. Damon twisted around to grin at him, and Jeremy shook his head as he followed, albiet much more slowly.
They were admitted and let into the study that Damon's father clearly preferred. Jeremy felt increasingly out of place in the house, and when Mr. Salvatore arrived, Jeremy ducked his head. Mr. Salvatore didn't even seem to see him though; his entire focus was on Damon.
"I didn't expect you so soon." He didn't embrace his son though, and Jeremy shifted, wondering if it wouldn't have been better to wait outside. But Damon had refused to hear that, so Jeremy was stuck in the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
"I wasn't expecting to be called back." Damon's voice was lower than Jeremy had expected, given his enthusiasm for being home. In fact, most of Damon's good humor seemed to have evaporated the moment his father walked into the room. He must have been expecting to see Stefan first. "Did something happen?"
"No, no. Of course not. I asked that you be sent home for the holidays." Mr. Salvatore shuffled a few sheets of paper around on the desk in the room. He looked up only when Jeremy shifted again, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Who is this?"
Damon glanced back at Jeremy, offering him a brief smile before he turned to look at his father. "Jeremy Gilbert. From Shreveport."
Mr. Salvatore crossed the room, leaning forward just a little to study Jeremy. "Related to Johnathan Gilbert?"
"Yessir. He's my cousin." Jeremy held his head up straight, uncertain of what exactly he was supposed to do. Thankfully, Mr. Salvatore seemed to notice his discomfort, because he extended his hand. Jeremy gave him the very best handshake he could manage. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."
"Giuseppe. Were you serving with Damon?"
"Yessir." Jeremy didn't look back over at Damon though, somehow certain that it would have been a bad idea. "He ah... He saved my life." He rolled his shoulder, and Mr. Salvatore nodded slowly. For the life of him, Jeremy couldn't bring himself to think of the man as 'Giuseppe.'
"I see. Well, I'll have a room made up for you. Johnathan is out of town currently. You can stay here, at least until he returns."
Jeremy hesitated, his initial reaction to immediately and politely refuse, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. Truthfully, he shouldn't even expect Johnathan to house him whenever he returned. He blushed and bowed his head to Mr. Salvatore. "Thank you for your hospitality. I do hate to intrude—"
"Nonsense." Mr. Salvatore reached out and touched his good shoulder. "You were wounded serving your country. The least I can do is offer you a room to sleep in until your cousin returns home." Mr. Salvatore looked at them both for a few more minutes, then waved his hand and returned to his desk. "Show him around, Damon. You and I can speak later."
Damon immediately slipped from the study, and Jeremy followed, right on Damon's heels. He let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding, shocked that Mr. Salvatore scared him where so many life-threatening situations hadn't. Not even the first time he'd gone toe-to-toe with Katherine had terrified him quite the same way.
"He's... intense, isn't he?" Jeremy grinned at Damon, who laughed as they headed down the hallway.
"One way of putting it," Damon shot back, and then they were both grinning, as though they had gotten away with some sort of mischief.
He couldn't tell Damon, but in a way, they really had gotten away with mischief. They had successfully passed off Jeremy as Johnathan's cousin instead of as his great-whatever-grandson. Jeremy wondered if Damon would still find that funny after the whole thing was over.
"Let's see, my brother should be..." Damon glanced in a few rooms as they passed them, and he shrugged. "Well, somewhere. We can find him later. Let's see if we can't get some real clothes." He raised his eyebrow, and Jeremy nodded quickly.
A fresh change sounded absolutely amazing after so many day of only having that poor deserter's clothes to wear.
Damon took him upstairs, and they found clothes, although one of the house slaves had to let out the ends of the legs to make the pants long enough for Jeremy. Everything swam on his slender frame, but he still felt less ridiculous than he had. Damon was closer to his build than the deserter had been.
"Never mind about it. We'll get something made for you." Damon shrugged off Jeremy's polite refusals. Jeremy figured that Damon delighted in an excuse to spend his father's money. "Now, let's locate my little brother, shall we?"
They set off, and they finally found Stefan in the back, staring idly out over the small maze. He had a small leather-bound journal in front of him. Jeremy's grin widened a touch; Elena had no idea how long Stefan really had been writing.
"Hello, brother." Damon leaned over Stefan's chair, reaching out to ruffle Stefan's hair the same way he always did Jeremy's. "Are you writing again? To me this time, yes?"
Stefan laughed, even as he snapped the book shut, probably smudging the page he'd been working on. "Damon! When did you get home?" But he didn't wait for Damon's answer, instead just wrapping his arms around Damon and hugging him.
Jeremy felt like an intruder in that moment, witnessing such a genuine affection between them. He had always seen the undertone of it in their interactions— no matter what Damon did, he would never have actually endangered Stefan— but he had never seen them so open about it. He looked out over the maze.
"Just got back. Stefan, this is Jeremy Gilbert. He's from Shreveport." Damon wrapped an arm over Jeremy's shoulders, pulling him down to his own height.
Jeremy blushed but smiled all the same. "Pleasure to meet you, Stefan. Were you journaling?"
Stefan hesitated, his fingers tight around the little book. Damon had probably teased him more than once for it.
"My ah... My sister journals. I just thought that it was nice to see someone else doing it."
Stefan's smile relaxed, and he laughed a little, tapping the his fingers over the spine of the book. "Father wants me to do it. Says that it is a good practice to be in."
"He's just annoyed that you haven't learned to shoot yet. Jeremy here shoots better than you." Damon ruffled Jeremy's hair too, and Jeremy pulled out from under his arm, reaching up to straighten it back.
"You served with Damon then? In the war?" Stefan tilted his head curiously.
"Yeah."
"You..." Stefan hesitated, then held out his hand, palm up. "Forgive me, you just don't look old enough."
Damon laughed, and he whispered loudly, "He's not." He raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Jeremy.
"I'm eighteen," Jeremy lied quickly. The last thing that he wanted was to cause any sort of trouble. "No matter what Damon says. I'm eighteen."
"Oh, he says it so convincingly!" Damon exchanged a look with Stefan, but Jeremy stood firm. Damon, recognizing when it was futile, turned back to Stefan. "So, little brother, you have us both all to yourself for the holidays."
Jeremy wished that he had been able to sketch that moment too. Damon and Stefan both looked so peaceful, so happy. He wished that he didn't know what was coming.