Title: Wings of a Butterfly
Author: Traxits
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (TV series).
Pairing: Damon Salvatore/Jeremy Gilbert.
Chapter Rating: Teen.
Chapter Content Notes: Kissing, mild references to violence, underage (sixteen year old) drinking.
Chapter Word Count: 2761 words.

[[ … Chapter Seven: Planning … ]]

It wasn't until he undressed that he even remembered the papers that he had stolen from the study. He smoothed them out as best that he could, his eyes widening as he skimmed through them. Most of them were private correspondence, and while it hadn't bothered him before, it seemed a little rude to be reading it now that he knew Giuseppe as a person and not simply a historical figure.

A crash from downstairs, and Jeremy discovered that his moral high ground slipped away much more easily than he expected. He read through everything quickly as he could, and stashed the entire stack of paper in the back of his sketchbook. He moved to sit on the top stair just outside of his room, trying to sort through everything he'd read.

It did at least explain why Giuseppe hadn't wanted either of them to return to the war. The Third Conscription Act had been issued, extending the conscription to include men ages seventeen to fifty. That meant Stefan, and possible Giuseppe himself, although Jeremy couldn't be sure. Had Damon returned to the fight, he'd have discovered that and been forced to mention his younger brother. Giuseppe was protecting Stefan. Jeremy blew out a breath, reached up to rub a hand over the side of his face, and stood at the sound of the door being thrown open.

Damon stormed out, shouting, and Giuseppe wasn't far behind him, actually reaching for him right there in the middle of the walk way. He stopped the moment that he saw Jeremy, and Jeremy checked Damon's face before giving Giuseppe the best go-to-hell expression that he had ever managed. It probably wasn't a good plan, given that he was still living under the man's roof, but Jeremy couldn't let that stop him.

He didn't even have to guide Damon to his room. It had become such a frequent thing that Damon simply went there on his own. Damon peeled off his own boots this time, pulling his legs up until his knees were against his chest. Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed just beside him, wished that there was more he could do, and simply reached out to touch Damon's arm.

Damon grabbed his hand, and before Jeremy could protest, had moved so that he was holding Jeremy, his arms wrapped tightly around Jeremy's middle. Jeremy closed his eyes, and he patted Damon's arm. He wanted to comfort, wanting to help somehow, but everything seemed ridiculously understated. Damon didn't seem to care though, he simply buried his face in the crook of Jeremy's shoulder.

If Jeremy let himself think about it, really let himself think about it, he knew that Damon's attachment to him was unusual, but as it stood, he couldn't let himself think about it. He needed the touch just as much as Damon needed it. Then Damon had pulled back and his fingers slid against the bruises on Jeremy's neck. Self-consciously, Jeremy pulled his shirt up, trying to dislodge Damon's hand.

He should have known better— did know better. Within only moments, Damon had pushed him down against the bed and pulled his head to one side, so that he could look more easily. Jeremy squirmed for only a minute before sighing and letting Damon look, trying not to focus on just how close Damon really was to him, on the feel of Damon trapping him so neatly.

"Who did this?" Damon's voice was low, and Jeremy closed his eyes, fighting the urge to just tell him.

"I have it under control, Damon," Jeremy replied wearily. He didn't look at Damon, not even when his head was tilted to face him. That was why he didn't see it coming, couldn't stop Damon from upsetting himself. One minute, he was sighing, wishing that he could tell Damon everything, and the next, there was a warmth against his mouth, the faintest trace of tongue.

He melted into it, wanting it more than he could admit, and Damon's hand slid around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Jeremy made a low noise into the kiss, and when that touch was gone, his eyes slid open. Damon dropped him back against the bed, leaning back, his fingers touching his bottom lip. His eyes widened, and then he was scrabbling off of the bed.

Jeremy reached for him, caught his sleeve, but Damon jerked away from him. "Damon! Damon, wait!" But the door was open and Damon was gone. Jeremy fell back against the bed, reaching up and pressing his fist against his forehead. "Stupid, stupid," he muttered, and he waited for only a moment before he got up and shut the door.

He slid down, his back against it, and folded his arms over the tops of his knees. There was no sense in chasing after Damon, not if he was having the kind of crisis that Jeremy was pretty damned certain he was having. If anything, Damon would run harder toward Katherine now, reassuring himself of his own sexuality. Jeremy licked his bottom lip, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"Shit," he whispered, and then he couldn't stop the tears. He stayed right there on the floor, crying until he didn't have anything left, until he was a shaking mess, his throat tight and aching. He finally leaned over, hissed because he put too much weight on his shoulder, and then rolled to lay on his back.

The next few days— days or weeks?— were a blur. It seemed like the entire world had simply forgotten that Jeremy Gilbert even existed, and truthfully, the world was well within its rights. He wouldn't even be born for another hundred and thirty or whatever years. Damon didn't come by to see him, Giuseppe was clearly pretending that Jeremy had never even entered the house, and Stefan was as smitten with Katherine as Damon was.

By the time the Founder's Ball came around, Jeremy was tempted to not even go. It wasn't as though anyone would notice. He pulled on the suit tailored for him though, and as he studied himself in the small mirror he had, he found himself reaching up to touch his hair. It was longer than normal, although he'd gotten Damon to cut it just before their little ... hell, he didn't even know what to call it.

He brushed it back as best he could and checked for any traces of the bruises. Satisfied that there weren't any, he grabbed the hat that accompanied the suit. He didn't miss the fact that Damon wasn't waiting for him, and he muttered under his breath as he headed toward the Lockwood house alone.

Johnathan was at the front door when Jeremy arrived, and he hesitated before he stopped to greet his ancestor. The man was flustered, and Jeremy's eyes narrowed on the watch in his hand. The vampire detector. A smile touched his lips.

"Is that one of your inventions?" He leaned close, raising an eyebrow.

Johnathan hesitated, and then he leaned close. "Has Giuseppe told you then?"

"Of course not. He still doesn't trust his own sons with it, let alone me." Jeremy sighed. "But I'm not a fool. I know the signs, Uncle John." He held out a hand, and Johnathan quickly put the watch in it after casting another quick look around them. Jeremy flipped it over, then glanced back at the needle, which was spinning wildly.

"I'm not certain what it means, but it's detecting something." Johnathan leaned over his shoulder.

"Clearly." Jeremy handed it back with a small smile. "Perhaps there are too many for it to narrow down further. Is there a plan yet?" Johnathan started to say something, then stopped himself, and Jeremy's smile widened before he pulled a small piece of dried Vervain from his pocket. "I'm human, Uncle. Never fear."

"Can't be too careful," Johnathan muttered, and then he nodded slightly. "There is a plan. Come by the house tomorrow? We can discuss it then."

Jeremy nodded, then bowed. "Until tomorrow. Noon?" When Johnathan nodded, Jeremy smiled and headed on into the house. He offered his polite greeting to the hosts, signed the original Founder's Ball paper— that would be something fun to look at if he ever got home— and reached for the first glass of anything that even resembled alcohol.

It was sweeter than he liked, but he drained the glass all the same, ditched it on a table, and found another. He had almost finished it when he felt something cold wash down his spine.

"You shouldn't be drinking it that quickly."

Jeremy rolled his eyes and turned up the glass. Confident that he was sufficiently braced, he turned around and smiled as warmly as he could to Damon. "Oh, so... you do remember who I am. I thought you might have forgotten, given that you haven't spoken to me since—"

"Not here, Jeremy." Damon's frown was serious enough that Jeremy wondered if something had happened. Then he looked over Damon's shoulder, and he pursed his lips before he nodded slowly.

"Sick of watching Katherine dance with Stefan?" He set the glass down, wondering if he could grab another. He hadn't realized just how much he missed the pleasantly warm sensation that alcohol put in his belly. He was aware that picking a fight with Damon on what Elena had described as 'the worst night of his life' was probably a dumb idea, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

It wasn't like the night was any better for him, after all.

"Did you drink before you got here?"

Jeremy snorted. "Wasn't that smart. Is that George Lockwood?" Jeremy nodded toward the young man trying to steal Katherine away from Stefan. Damon cast a quick look, then nodded and turned his attention back to Jeremy.

"Don't change the subject."

"Damon, don't worry about it." Jeremy reached out and lightly patted Damon's shoulder, plastering his very best— maybe his second best— smile. "It happened, you didn't like it, no harm done. Just..." He glanced across the room toward Katherine, hoping, praying that she was involved enough in her conversation that she wasn't listening it. "... Don't worry about it. ... Think I've been here long enough that your father won't get annoyed if I leave?"

Damon sighed. "Not hardly. Let's make the rounds."

They did, greeting and smiling and flirting outrageously with everything in a skirt in the room. It was like they both had something to prove to one another, and Jeremy didn't let himself linger on it. He didn't let himself remember the feel of Damon pressed against him, didn't let himself remember the taste that had lingered for hours. Instead, he focused on the pain in his chest, the fact that this was the first time Damon had spoken to him since.

It was easy enough to stay mad.

By the time it was finally over, Damon made their excuses, and they went home together. Jeremy wished that they hadn't, because he was in a mood. He would have sneaked into the study, taken plenty of Giuseppe's best, and gotten completely wasted. He didn't even care that he would have had little control over what he said after that. As smashed as he was planning on being, no one would have been able to understand him anyway.

But Damon wasn't having any of it. Instead, they ended up in Damon's room, Jeremy laying face-first in the bed as Damon pulled off his boots. It was a nice change of pace. He buried his face in the pillow, breathing in as deeply as he dared. He wanted the scent to linger long after Damon was sick of him and threw him out. The bed sank when Damon sat beside him, and Jeremy didn't move.

"Jeremy?"

"What?" He was muffled into the pillow, but he was pretty sure that Damon could understand him anyway. He wasn't planning on moving until he had to anyway.

Damon drew a breath— didn't need vampire hearing to hear that— and he reached out, his hand heavy on Jeremy's shoulder. "I didn't think—"

"You never think. Just act." Jeremy sighed as he pushed himself up. His fingers lingered over the pillow though, and he wondered if there was a way for him to smuggle it out. If he were a girl, he could just throw a fit and storm out with it in hand, but he felt strange considering that option.

Damon nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "It's true."

"Don't do this, Damon." Jeremy crawled off of the bed then, sighing as he realized that he hadn't taken his suit jacket off beforehand. "I should have seen it coming." He straightened his jacket and waved a hand before he headed toward the door. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

He didn't wait for Damon's response before he practically ran back to his own room. As much as he was itching for the confrontation, he couldn't do it. Not knowing that he'd probably still have to face Damon back in his own time, assuming he could even manage to get Katherine to kill him again with Emily close enough to do her thing. He figured he only had one more chance before Katherine figured out it was his ring keeping him alive.

Jeremy fell into his bed, reaching immediately for the set of pencils, for his sketchbook. After just a moment, he opened the book to the last page. All of the papers he'd stolen from Giuseppe were there— he wondered idly if Giuseppe even noticed that they were missing yet— and he set those to the side. He stared at the back of the last page for a few more minutes, and then he hesitantly flipped forward a few pages and put the pencil to the page.

He spent the entire night writing. By the time he had to go meet Johnathan, he could understand why Elena and Stefan did it. It was strangely lifting, being able to simply write the truth, especially since he couldn't tell anyone here anything.

Johnathan was waiting for him at the front door, but Jeremy noticed that Johnathan didn't invite him in. He simply held the door open. Jeremy raised an eyebrow as he stepped through. "I thought we confirmed this last night," he said vaguely as he walked into the main sitting room.

"Just making certain. Doesn't hurt." Johnathan smiled at him, and they both sat across from one another. Johnathan fidgeted for a minute more, and then he finally asked, "What do you think of the Salvatore brothers?"

Jeremy hesitated, for a moment thinking of Katherine, and then he shrugged. "As vampire hunters?"

Johnathan glanced around the room and nodded jerkily.

"They're loyal enough," Jeremy finally said quietly. "Why? What exactly is your plan?"

"Lockwood came up with the plan. Well, Lockwood and Giuseppe. You know where Fell's Church is?" Johnathan waited just long enough for Jeremy to nod, "Well, we're going to round up the vampires, one at a time, lock them in, and burn it."

"How will you keep them in the church?" Jeremy leaned forward, genuinely curious. The plan was a solid one, and he already knew for a fact that it would work. He was just a little fuzzy on the how.

Johnathan offered him a little grin. "I have created curtains for the windows that are soaked in Vervain, and the night before we do this, Honoria Fell has agreed to have her girls mop with Vervain water. That should be enough to keep them down if we can get a little Vervain inside of them."

Another nod, and Jeremy leaned back in his seat. "That's... quite brilliant actually."

"Elegant, isn't it? We even have muzzles for once we get them captured, so that they can't bite anyone else." Johnathan leaned over and pulled a small box from the nearby table. He held it out, and Jeremy opened it slowly.

His stomach sank at the sight of something so clearly sized for a human face. He couldn't stop himself from imagining one on Damon, and he quickly closed it. He pasted another smile on his face. "Clever."

Silence fell between them, and as Jeremy handed the box back, scarcely able to touch it, Johnathan tilted his head a little to one side. "Jeremy?"

"Yessir?"

"How did you know about them?"

Jeremy smiled again. He couldn't let himself think; not about Katherine or Pearl or Damon. He had to stay focused on getting home. "I'm a Gilbert."