Unleashed lives!

Sorry guys and girls for the veeery long wait. TVD had killed nearly all of my enthusiasm for this fic. It had almost suffered a final death once I went back and reread what I'd written.

Dear God in heaven, but it was awful! You guys are really, really nice people to not have pointed out how wonky my writing was. It was bad. So I rewrote it all. Now, I can't guarantee it still isn't wonky, but it's definitely better. So I get points for trying.

There's just one thing I want to point out: writing Damon is f-ing hard! I've lost count of how many times in the show he goes from buddy-buddy to worst enemy and back in what seems to be the blink of an eye. His character is not really consistent, and that makes writing him all the more difficult. So, I just cross my fingers and hope I managed to portray him well in this chapter.

Warnings are the same as always: not betaed. If you find an error, tell me so I can correct it.

IMPORTANT: All previous chapters have been rewritten. Read for more sarcastic Bella and Damon.

Chapter 8

Damon was making his way back to the Boarding House. He was a man on a mission. He wasn't really sure if what he had heard from Carol was true, so he was going there to investigate.

It didn't take long for him to arrive, and as soon as he saw the suitcases on the porch he knew that Carol had gotten her facts straight. He stepped out of the car, leaned against it and crossed his arms, head tilted to the side, hearing the mumbles and curses Isabella spewed as she seemed to drag another case towards the dor.

He didn't know how to feel about this. Him and Stefan had been discussing her in the last few days. It didn't make much sense to them that someone with such a compassionate nature as Isabella seemed to possess to stand aside as an innocent like Elena was made into a sacrifice. They – Stefan mainly – considered, then, if this went beyond any remnant of gratitude or loyalty Isabella felt towards the Original. What if she knew what Elijah was planning? If that was the case – if she was willing to let things happen – then what were they missing?

It didn't take long for her to appear. Her back was facing him as she dragged a bag without wheels outside. A big and apparently too heavy for her bag.

"You know—" Damon said as soon as he knew he was within her hearing range but was cut in mid-sentence when Isabella let out an ungodly shriek, letting go of the case, and whirled on her feet. Or at least tried to. As she was turning, she seemed to stumble over her own two feet and crashed down. Hard. All the while cursing him to hell and back. His lips twitched. Oops!

She remained in her downed condition for a while, heart beating a mile a minute and breathing heavily. Damon dared to approached her sprawled form on the floor and peered down at her, barely managing to keep his laughter inside. She started glaring as soon as he entered her field of vision.

"You know," he started again, and the mirth on his voice was impossible to miss. Her glare intensified. "This is not the welcome I'm used to getting when dropping in for a visit." It wasn't what he was going to say originally, but he simply couldn't keep himself from teasing her. She made it too easy.

Isabella gave him the stinky eyes. "And are you used to giving out heart attacks when visiting?" She asked as she finally tried to right herself. To his surprise, he found himself extending his hand. He was even more surprised when she accepted it.

"Nah. When I want my victims' hearts to stop beating, I simply pull them out of their chests."

"Charming," she deadpanned.

"Effective," he shrugged, then finally allowed a smirk to form on his lips. "But thanks for the compliment, my cruel lady," he bowed, and she snorted.

Once he righted himself he saw that she had turned back to her bag and was about to start pulling on it again. He watched her for a few seconds, allowing himself to go carefully blank. "So, the rumors are true?"

She paused. "Rumors?" She asked, turning to face him again, puzzled.

"You're leaving," he gestured towards her suitcases nonchalantly, then put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Realization dawned on her, followed by a mix of exasperation and disgust. "I can't believe I'm being the subject of gossip! Don't people have anything better to do?" The way she wrinkled her nose was adorable.

"This is a little town, Bambi," he told her like it explained everything. It did.

She groaned, hands going up to her face in aggravation. "I know!"

He waited a few moments for her to recover. "So?" He prodded.

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, then gazed at him intently. He met her stare head on. "I never meant to stay in town," she said simply.

He exhaled slowly. He would not let his temper get the best of him today. Still, that didn't keep him from scowling. "I can't believe you had me sleeping on Alaric's couch just so you could leave! Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is?"

She rolled her eyes. "You poor baby!" She taunted him. "How will you ever recover from this?"

"You say that because he isn't the first thing you see in the morning. I'm scared for life!" He allowed himself to play along for one moment, drawn by their easy banter. This – whatever it was – was so easy… They could keep throwing insults back and forth all day long. But that wasn't why he was here. He wanted answers. "Why?" Why take the house? Why ally with Elijah? Why make me and Stefan care? Why leave?

She offered him a tired smile. "It's a long story. Not as long as yours, but it takes its toll."

"Luckily for us, I have all the time in the world." She chuckled at his words and Damon wanted to cringe at how hollow it sounded. He had heard more animated corpses. She turned to him.

"You know, I never intended to tell you about me," she tilted her head, contemplating him. He stayed silent. "How about a deal? I'll tell you my story if—" Damon raised an eyebrow, knowing what would follow. Looked like even though she had hoped he and Stefan wouldn't come back to bother her and demand answers, she knew better. "—you tell me yours. The unabridged version."

:::

They were sitting on the porch, drunk. Damon had acquiesced to her wishes and recounted the entirety of his life in its full and gory glory. He had spared her nothing. She was the one who had wanted to know, and by God, he had delivered – 'ask and you shall receive' and all that rot. He had wanted to see how much she could take – how many murders and debauched acts could he describe – before she inevitably turned from him in disgust.

Instead, she had astonished him (and he still wondered why that was, as he had already known her to be the understanding sort). Her reactions hadn't been what he had expected. No, as Damon had spun his tale, Isabella had lived it with him; she had cheered for his victories, laughed with his happy memories, cried for his sad moments and raged when the world turned against him or he had to turn against the world. It was… indescribable, the way she could relate so closely to him.

And he still had no idea why!

Anyway, Damon was feeling raw. And strangely light. He hadn't expected that sharing all he went through would feel like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. Maybe that was why Stefan kept on writing his diaries, so he wouldn't keep everything bottled up. Perhaps Damon should try it too. He snorted at the thought. That so wasn't happening. Besides, what would he write? 'Dear diary, I killed someone again today.' Or maybe: 'Dear diary, Stefan ate Thumper's nestmate and has been brooding ever since.'

Damon decided he was really drunk if those were the kind of thoughts he was entertaining. With that being said, he took the bottle of whatever it was they were drinking from Isabella's hand and brought it to his lips.

Talking about Stefan, he was the reason why they were there, drunk on the porch of the Boarding House. Well, not exactly. They were on the porch because Isabella still refused to invite him in. Still, they were waiting for Stefan to make his way there. Once Damon had finished his tale, she had asked him to call his brother, saying she wouldn't tell her story twice.

It didn't take long before Stefan's red Porsche was stopping in front of the house. His brother left the car and approached them cautiously, taking in their inebriated state. "Did you have a party and didn't invite me?"

Another new thing (or old, if he was to look at it from a different angle): of late, Stefan had been feeling more comfortable in his own skin – more relaxed – enough so to be trading quips with Damon every now and then, whereas before he would look at Damon disapprovingly for every other sarcastic comment.

"Stevie!" Isabella exclaimed from where she was resting her head on Damon's lap. Her eyes were still red and puffy from the rollercoaster that was his life, but her voice sounded upbeat. "Join us!"

She patted the floor beside her and Stefan joined them. Damon observed the frown that formed on his face once he took in Isabella's state. He didn't comment on it, though, much to Damon's surprise. "Is there a special reason for you to be getting drunk so early in the day?"

"Us, Stevie!" She said. "You'll be joining us."

"Okay." Stefan was clearly entertained. "The reason?"

"Do we need any?" When Stefan's only reaction was to raise an eyebrow and remain quiet, she harrumphed. "We're drinking to the misery that is our lives."

"I see," his brother blinked, flabbergasted, and Damon snorted. What could one possibly say to that?

"Well, seeing as you're here, I might as well start," she stated. Damon perked up. "I just ask that you don't interrupt me. I would like to go through it in one go. Just like ripping a band-aid, you know…"

She was visibly nervous, so he passed her the bottle that was in his hand (a different one from before). She took a deep gulp, then passed it to Stefan, who took it, but didn't drink immediately.

"What, exactly, will you start?"

"Bambi here will be telling us her tale of woes," he snarked and Stefan's interest peaked.

"Hey Damy," she said. Damon hummed. "You should totally braid my hair."

He rolled his eyes and tugged on her hair in revenge, ignoring her offended "Hey!". Then became even more aggravated when Stefan started to snicker. With a grumble about them having not reached 'best friends' status yet, he started to run his fingers through her hair, an action she seemed to find soothing, because she relaxed and started humming contently. She stayed like that for a while. Then, after visibly gathering herself, Isabella told them her story.

The beginning wasn't interesting. Divorced parents; a scatterbrained mother and a father from whom she inherited her social awkwardness. Isabella herself was one of those kids who faded into the background. The only thing of importance Damon had gathered from this was that Isabella was fiercely independent. And clumsy. Well, he had seen the way she had met the floor earlier…

He started to focus more once she mentioned going to Forks (what kind of name was that!) and meeting the Cullens. He narrowed his eyes at Edward's hot and cold attitude; the more she talked, the more he was sure the boy had only been playing with her, enticing her curiosity and ensnaring her in his web. Then came the nomads – and his respect for her only increased when she told them of giving Jasper Whitlock (Jasper fucking Whitlock!) the slip – and the birthday party (which had, clearly, been unwanted). And all the while Damon heard as the autonomous girl slowly became a shadow of herself. He gritted his teeth; a sweet human being manipulated by their vampire love hitting a little too close to home.

And when she got to the break up, Damon went rigid. If the earlier comparisons hadn't been enough to drive home just how alike the two of them were, this got the job done. The little stronzo had had the nerve to tell her she wasn't 'good enough' for him! Isabella! Not good enough! The woman who had stood up to Damon and beaten him at his own game! The woman who had snapped Katherine Pierce's neck and walked away unscathed! She wasn't good enough?!

Damon's displeasure left him in the form of a growl.

No wonder she could relate to him so much. They were two sides of the same coin. The difference being that Isabella didn't lash out when hurt, she turned inward, shutting everyone out. Just two distinct ways of devastating themselves and the ones around them. Those who cared, at least.

:::

Stefan observed Damon's angry form warily. His brother was getting more pissed off by the minute. Not that Stefan could blame him, he himself was becoming more infuriated the more he heard about the time Isabella spent with the daywalkers. But this had just become personal for his brother. They had thought before that Isabella's life would mirror Elena's – and it did. What they hadn't expected was for her love life to mirror Damon's.

He wondered if this was why the both of them were so alike, because they were completely screwed over by the vampires they loved.

They managed to calm down a little when she narrated waking up from her catatonic state and getting back to herself little by little. Stefan decided he owed this Angela big deal for being there for Isabella when she needed a friend, for not giving up on her. This was the period when she discovered her connection to the Salvatores. Things got better. Until they didn't.

Those bastardi had left a loose end. A deranged daywalker that had decided it was a good idea to go after the weak link of the coven – the only human.

Stefan had enough foresight to pull Isabella away from Damon before his brother blew up. They sat there, watching Damon pace back and forth. Stefan's arm wound around her, his hand rubbing circles on her back in an effort to soothe her.

"Damon, calm down," he tried to placate his brother and get back on track. The sooner they got back to it, the sooner she could finish. They didn't need to prolong this. And Isabella had asked them to not interrupt her.

"Calm down? Calm down?!" His voice was getting progressively louder in his fury, and clouds were starting to gather. "I can't calm down, Stefan! Quei pezzi di merda…"

Stefan ignored it as his brother went on a furious tirade full of expletives. "Elijah killed the nomad, remember? 'Tore her apart and burnt the pieces'."

Damon turned to him, lips curled in an angry snarl. "Exactly, Stefan. He killed the nomad." Stefan frowned, not exactly following his brother's logic. When Damon realized this, he continued. "That leave us with seven unaccounted Tinkerbells."

Stefan's heart sank to his stomach, his brother's concern suddenly becoming his own. A vampire's feeling was a dangerous thing. And he had absolutely no doubt Edward would be forever haunted by the smell of Isabella's blood and silent mind. How long before he – they – came back for her?

"The Cullens aren't a problem anymore," she said from where she was leaning against him. Stefan looked down. Isabella was frowning. "They left, and I'll never see them again."

Damon let out a mirthless chuckle. "I didn't peg you for a naïve little girl, Swan." When she failed to answer him, he appeared in front of her in a burst of speed and crouched down. He took her face in his hands. Stefan wasn't even surprised anymore to see how gentle he was despite his anger. "Vampire don't let things go. Trust me, I know.

"And that's even if we don't take the Volturi in consideration," he let her go and resumed his pacing.

Stefan closed his eyes. The Volturi. Right. He felt Isabella shift and preempted her question. "One of the leaders, Aro, has the gift of tactile telepathy," he explained. "The thing is, despite the limitation, it's very powerful. He can read every thought that has ever run through your mind." Isabella gasped at this, and he had to fight back the urge to sneer. Looked like even though the Cullens had been kind enough to warn her about their kings, they hadn't told her what they were capable of. "What do you think will happen once one of them sets foot in Volterra?"

He opened his eyes and looked down once he felt her lifting her head from his shoulders, where it had been resting since he had pulled her against him. She looked at Damon in the eye, then locked her eyes with Stefan's. "I'll die before I become one of them." There was fire burning in those axinite orbs, and her face mirrored the determination present in them.

"You could always become one of us."

He couldn't even find it in himself to berate his brother for his offer. If Damon hadn't suggested it, Stefan would've.

Isabella smiled humorlessly. "I suppose it's a blessing, then, that Elijah's been giving me his blood."

Speaking of the Original, Isabella hadn't told them how they met – hadn't been able to get there before Damon's explosion. Still, Stefan didn't feel like asking for her to continue anymore. Elijah had saved her life, that was all that mattered to him.

"But what happens once you're gone?" Damon stopped and focused on her with intense eyes. Stefan felt a pang in his chest; so, she was finally going away…

"I suppose I'll have to ask him to supply me with a stash," she shrugged, refusing to meet either Stefan's or Damon's eyes.

"And when you've run out of blood?" She didn't say anything, so Damon kept on pressing her. "You could always stay."

Stefan remained quiet through their exchange. He knew that Damon had more of a chance of convincing her than he did.

"I'm just a human, Damon. What difference my being here would make?" She shook her head. "Besides, I'm Team Elijah, remember?"

Damon scowled at the reminder and Stefan frowned. "Would you mind telling us why?" Of course, he wasn't really asking why she would support Elijah. They were close and she trusted him implicitly.

Why allow Elena to be sacrificed?

She seemed to understand what he was asking, for she offered him a feeble smile. "You'll have to ask him."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Though he knew he would find out sooner or later.

In the end, she did finish telling them her story, and the appreciation he felt for Elijah for his role in keeping her alive increased once she went into detail.

Now, if only the Original's compassion could be extended to Elena…