Title: Wings of a Butterfly
Author: Traxits
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (TV series).
Pairing: Damon Salvatore/Jeremy Gilbert.
Chapter Rating: Teen.
Chapter Content Notes: Mild references to violence.
Chapter Word Count: 2944 words.
Author's Notes: I freely admit that I played a little fast and loose with the canon timing here. In the show, they have the Founder's Ball during football season (the fall), but in order to comply with a few other scenes, I have pushed the ball up to the early spring. I have also tweaked a few other scenes in order to make this story flow a little better.
Warning: Spoilers for season two, episodes eight and on are in this chapter.
[[ … Chapter Six: Rising … ]]
The holidays came and went— Damon had gotten him a very fine set of imported pencils; Jeremy had gifted everyone with small charcoal portraits— and Johnathan was still apologizing, still offering excuses for not letting Jeremy move in with him. Jeremy had stopped asking by January, and by the time February rolled around, he was almost looking forward to returning to the front lines. He could get Damon away from Katherine.
The two had become foolishly close, and Damon was beginning to show secret smiles whenever she was mentioned. Jeremy had no doubts that they were sleeping together. The worst part about that was the fact that it had made Jeremy almost wish for the nights when Damon and Giuseppe would butt heads and fight, because on those nights, Damon still came to his room, still slept in his bed.
Jeremy wouldn't have mentioned it to another soul, but he slept better when his bed smelled like Damon. Sadly, that meant each night that Damon spent with Katherine, Jeremy tossed and turned, his head filled with images of them together. He sighed as he straightened his uniform jacket.
"You're not ready yet?"
Jeremy jerked his head up, a faint smile on his lips. "I am whenever you are," he said, cheerfully picking up the kepi of his own that Giuseppe had located for him. He wasn't dependant on stealing Damon's whenever the opportunity arose any longer.
Damon snorted, but he let his bag slide down to the floor just beside where he stood. He cast a glance over his shoulder down the hall, then stepped into the room. "You don't have to go back," he finally said quietly, his eyes narrowing over Jeremy's shoulder.
Jeremy instinctively shook his head. "Of course I do," he said, and as though to prove the point, he purposely put his pack on the injured shoulder. It hurt, but not as bad as it could have. He drew a slow breath to keep from wincing. "Unless you're having second thoughts?"
"You're not eighteen, Jeremy," Damon said, crossing the room and pulling the bag from Jeremy's shoulder. Idiot that Jeremy was, he couldn't stop himself from smiling when he noticed that Damon was still wearing the Vervain bracelet. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No, Damon. Of course not." Jeremy sighed and schooled his expression before he looked back up. "I thought you'd dropped this. I'm eighteen. I can fight for my country just as well as you can."
Damon hesitated, and he took another step toward Jeremy. It took everything in Jeremy not to step back in a vain attempt to maintain the distance in between them. "Jer..." Damon reached up, his hand stilling for just a moment before he finally let it rest on Jeremy's good shoulder. "If something happens to you—"
"It doesn't matter." Jeremy lifted his chin, arching an eyebrow. "I'm not about to desert, Damon. I wasn't even supposed to come back with you to begin with." Not that anyone would miss him since he had never enlisted. "Come on. Let's get on the road." He grabbed his pack, ducked under Damon's arm, and headed toward the door.
They made it all the way to the front door before Giuseppe stopped them. He was waiting for them, a small stack of papers in his hand.
"Leave was extended," he said curtly. "Both of you should go change."
He didn't offer them any further explanation, just slipped back into his study, and Damon and Jeremy were left staring after him. They exchanged looks, and finally started trudging back up the stairs.
"Why was our leave extended?" Jeremy asked curiously, and Damon shrugged, already peeling the jacket off. No doubt so that he could spend the day with Katherine, Jeremy mused.
"Who cares? We don't have to go back. That means we will be attending the Founder's Ball." Damon grinned widely, and Jeremy, for just a moment, found himself caught up in his enthusiasm. He would get to see the first ball, get to meet all of the original founding families. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Or not, given that it looked as though he wouldn't ever be heading home. He sighed, locked his room door, and changed back out of the uniform and into his regular clothes. After a minute, he folded it and tucked it in the bottom of his pack, with the letters from the poor deserter that he'd taken the bag from. His fingers lingered over the stack; then he shook his head, checked his pockets for Vervain— he really wished he had a second bracelet— and sat on the edge of the bed.
He stayed there until he heard a quiet knock, and he briefly considered not answering before he stood. He forced a smile as he met Katherine's smile. She stepped into the room, not waiting for his invitation, shutting the door behind her.
"I heard that you and Damon will be staying a little longer." She walked the length of the room, glancing at everything except for Jeremy himself. He sighed, not feeling up to playing her game. He was so sick of lying, of dodging her every chance he got, of avoiding looking at her even. He sat back down on the edge of the bed.
"Get out, Katherine," he muttered, reaching up to rub his face. He just wanted to sleep.
She scowled and moved to stand in front of him. "Who are you really, Mr. Gilbert?" She bent down to peer into his face, and as her eyes narrowed to pinpricks, he simply snorted.
"You don't want to try that," he popped off. He felt a shiver down his back, but he ignored it. He had been walking on glass as far as she was concerned, and he couldn't do it. Jeremy needed just a few days away from everything, even a single day without the constant threat of death looming over him. He stood, his own eyes narrowing sharply. "I know what you are, Katherine."
She went perfectly still, and he watched as she tried to figure out how, tried to pinpoint what might have given her away. "What are you talking about?"
"You're a vampire," he said smoothly, a small smile quirking his mouth. "Got Damon drinking your blood already. Too bad you'll have to compel Stefan, isn't it?"
Her hand was around his throat before he saw her move, and as he reached up instinctively, his fingers digging into the fleshy part of her hand, he realized how bizarre it was to see those dark eyes, the fangs, the entire vampire look on Elena's face. She pulled him closer to her, breathing in deeply, looking for something.
"You're human," she murmured, and Jeremy managed a faint smile even through the yellows and reds beginning to burst over his eyes. "So easy to break." Her other hand lifted and trailed the backs of her fingers down the side of Jeremy's face.
"What do you think Damon will do without his dear army friend to keep him company? It will be so sad, watching him realize that you marched off to war anyway, don't you think?" She leaned down, and for one terrible moment, Jeremy was scared that she was going to kiss him. She did, but on his forehead, and her grip tightened.
He coughed, struggling to get enough air into his throat to speak. When her grip relaxed slightly, he spat out, "Elijah will know."
Her eyes widened, and her grip lightened a fraction more. "What?"
"If I die, Elijah will know. He'll come for you." It was a desperate claim based on theories that none of them had been able to confirm yet, but from the wash of anger on Katherine's face, Jeremy was damned certain that they had hit the nail on the head. Her hand squeezed tighter.
"Liar," she hissed. "He doesn't know where I am. Elijah doesn't know."
She kept talking, kept insisting on that, kept asking him questions, but he couldn't focus, couldn't feel anything beyond the pain in his throat. He was pretty sure that he could hear his trachea crushing under the pressure that she was putting on it. Finally, blackness swallowed him, and he drifted.
It was blessedly quiet.
He woke to the cold, his eyes blinking against the midday sun. Sighing, he sat up, reached for his own throat, and closed his eyes for just a minute before he pushed himself up to his feet. He leaned back against the nearest tree, tilting his head back to look at the sky. He could still feel her fingers against his throat.
The pressure was still there as well, still trying to soffacate him, but with the sun shining down and the crisp air blowing past him, Jeremy found that he didn't care. Katherine had declared war. He shook himself, grabbed his bag that had been abandoned nearby— Katherine was a stickler for the details— and started walking back.
He was whistling the whole way, a peace he could ever remember knowing draped over him. He managed to get back into the house without anyone seeing, and he left the pack poking out from under the foot of the bed. He changed into a higher collared shirt— a feeble attempt to hide the bruises— and drew a good, fortifying breath before he headed down to the study.
Mr. Salvatore was in town at this time of day, and Jeremy glanced out the window as he rifled through the desk, looking for... something. Anything. He was sick of drifting, of not being certain what was happening. It was important for him to know why Giuseppe hadn't wanted them to return, why he had turned both of them into deserters. After all, Jeremy's leave couldn't have been extended; he didn't exist.
He found a small stack of papers, but before he could go through them, he heard a noise from the hall. Immediately, he shoved the papers into one of his pockets, and he had just gotten over to one of the bookcases when Damon stepped in. Jeremy smiled at him, pulling a book from the shelf.
"Jeremy. I've been looking for you." Damon was frowning, and Jeremy tilted his head curiously.
"Have you?" He flipped open the book, his eyes not focusing as he glanced at it. "I haven't left."
Damon hesitated, and then he shut the study door and walked over to Jeremy. "I thought you might have," he finally said quietly. He took the book out of Jeremy's hands, putting it back on the shelf. "I... Your bag was gone."
Jeremy folded his arms over his chest, and he licked his bottom lip. "It's under my bed, Damon. Where it always is. What is this about?"
Another step, and Damon was almost uncomfortably close to Jeremy, but his eyes had narrowed and his frown was deepening. He reached up without warning and pulled Jeremy's collar down. Jeremy sighed, looking up toward the ceiling. He'd let himself forget just how impulsive Damon really was.
"Are those bruises? Who did this?" Damon was almost aggressive as he crowded Jeremy a little more, his fingers sliding over the bruises.
Jeremy shook his head, but he knew better than to fight this. He had to let Damon step back on his own accord, or Damon would only pursue the issue more. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
"Did he do this?"
Jeremy's mouth went dry, and he quickly shook his head. "No, Damon, it's fine. It wasn't him." The last thing that he wanted was for Damon to pick an even worse fight with his father based on injuries caused by someone else. "I am handling it." He offered Damon a smile. "What were you talking about this morning? A Founder's Ball?"
Damon raised an eyebrow, clearly aware that it was a pathetic attempt to change the subject, and he gave Jeremy a look that informed him that they were no where near done with that conversation. But he did at least indulge Jeremy for the moment. "It's something that my father and Mister Lockwood thought of. A celebration for the town, hosted by the founding families."
"Oh, that sounds nice." Jeremy glanced back at the books, wondering if there was even anything in the study wasn't in Italian. He doubted it, given Giuseppe's clear affection for the language.
"Nice indeed. You and I will be attending by decree of my father."
A small grin touched Jeremy's lips. "Katherine is going with Stefan?"
Damon sighed loudly, which was more answer than Jeremy needed. His grin widened.
"Well, that's for the best, isn't it? I hear he's a better dancer than you." He laughed when Damon lightly punched his arm— good shoulder only. "What? Ladies talk, Damon."
"How well do you dance?"
Jeremy paled, and he quickly shook his head. "I don't. Never learned how."
Out of all the possible reactions Damon could have given him, he wasn't prepared for Damon to laugh and hold out his hand. "Come on," Damon said, a smile finally lighting his face. "I'll teach you. Well, I'll teach you what they'll be doing at the ball. It's hardly anything difficult." When Jeremy hesitated, Damon wiggled his fingers. "Don't trust me?"
Jeremy felt like he was in some kind of fairy tale. Cinderella perhaps, although he couldn't remember someone having to teach her how to dance. Damon finally leaned forward and took Jeremy's hand, pulling him away from the bookshelf. Jeremy, realizing that Damon was being completely serious, blushed darkly.
"You're going to teach me the right part of the dance, aren't you?" Jeremy laughed, attempting to cover how strange the entire situation felt to him. "I don't want to be embarassed because I only know the ladies' steps or whatever."
Damon's grin widened, but he shook his head. "I wouldn't do that," but there was enough amusement in his face that Jeremy wondered if he had just put the idea into Damon's head. "Who do you think taught Stefan to dance?" He tugged Jeremy a little closer.
"You know I have nothing to wear to this thing, right? Teaching me to dance is useless." Jeremy was protesting more for the sake of protesting than anything else. Damon was already showing him how to stand properly, and Jeremy obediently stayed wherever Damon put him. It was easier than trying to get away.
"Nonsense. Father is having something made for you to wear. He ordered it when he ordered mine and Stefan's. Now, stop arguing."
Just as Damon stepped back to study him, the door burst open, Katherine calling, "Damon! Damon, dearest—" She stopped midsentence when she saw Jeremy, and he offered her a smile.
"Miss Pierce," he said warmly, arching an eyebrow at her. He let his arms drop to his sides. Emily was staring at him with the same look of shock that Katherine wore, and for exactly one minute, Jeremy basked in the fact that he had outplayed her. Then Katherine swallowed— Jeremy watched her throat work— and she pasted a smile on her face.
"Mr. Gilbert... are you practicing for the ball?" She recovered quickly, stepping close to him. "Would you like a partner to practice with?" She batted her eyes, and Jeremy glanced past her toward Emily.
"No, I was just finishing up. You could help polish Damon's skills though." He shot a quick look at Damon, who blushed very lightly at the idea.
"My skills are just fine. You're the one who doesn't know how to dance."
Jeremy laughed. "Well, let's hope I don't have to; I would fear for the lady's safety. Thank you for the lesson, Damon." He bowed and excused himself from the room, needing a minute to recover. With the pleasure fading, fear was rapidly replacing it, and he could feel his hands beginning to shake. He leaned against the rail of the stairway, catching his breath, trying to keep calm.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he scowled at Emily the moment he realized who it was. "What are you doing?" He whispered, quietly as he could, and they both looked back toward the door to the study. Emily shook her head and tugged him to the door.
They stepped outside, crossing the yard as quickly as they could. Another look toward the house, and then Emily hissed, "What happened?"
"Katherine... tried to kill me," Jeremy whispered back, rubbing his arm instinctively. "She choked me this morning." He didn't offer any further explanation, and finally, Emily nodded.
"She thought she had killed you. But no, the spell. The spell is rebuilding itself. How long ago did she try?"
Jeremy shrugged. "A few hours. It was this morning. What do you mean the spell is rebuilding itself?"
Emily bit her bottom lip. "It was weaker when I first sensed you this morning. Must have been when you were coming back to the house." She reached out and touched his arm, her fingertips dragging over the white fabric of his sleeve. "Her attempt to kill you must weaken it."
"So if she does it again, you can undo the spell? Was it weak enough for you to cast over it?" Jeremy grabbed her arm, his eyes widening.
She nodded. "I think so."
Jeremy sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He would have to provoke Katherine into killing him again, and this time, he'd have to be sure that it was somewhere that Emily could locate him, could cast her spell openly. He couldn't put Emily at any more risk than he already had.
"I might have a plan," he murmured.