A/N; so, this chapter is purely Damon, no Delena interaction, no Bamon and no Stefan. Just purely our favorite, sexy vampire, going back to his old bad boy self that we love so much! Please review, they give me inspiration and determination to write some more: D

Who will love you? Who will fight?
And who will fall, far behind? - Birdy; Skinny love.

Damon was mad, angry, arrabbiato, seething. He had to destroy, he had to take, he had to feed; he had to block out Saint Stefan, and how right about now, he probably had his hands all over Elena; his hands where Damon's had been less than half an hour ago.

After he'd left Elena and his bedroom, he'd turned into a crow and just flew. He'd flown around fells church about three times now, same old boring, crappy small town, he thought bitterly. You would think that after all that's happened here, something would have changed. Obviously not. He hated small towns, he hated Fells Church. He shone too bright to be stuck in a small town like this. He'd travelled the world and never called anywhere home; nothing appealed to him enough. But now, this town had been forced on him, he'd been forced to call it home, even though just thinking about this place made him feel claustraphobic and the backs of his knuckles itch. The whole place looked completely unremarkable, boring, even slightly shabby to his trained eye. You'd never guess by looking, all of the things that had happened here.

A red film seemed to be covering his vision, he couldn't get the picture of Elena and Stefan out of his head. So maybe Elena had said she loved him, but really she wasn't his, he had a small, secret part of her; the wild dangerous part. Whereas Stefan had her, body and soul; all of her, and while she was still with Saint Stefan, Damon could never really have her that way.

In some ways, he hated loving her. Hated just how much it hurt him, how much control she had over him; even more control than Catherine had, and Catherine was a vampire. He cut his thoughts off, and changed back to his human form, landing gracefully and soundlessly outside the only bar worth going to in Fells Church. It was one of the shabbiest, seediest bars he'd ever come across, and that was saying something. Perfect. You see Damon was all about exteremes, the finest bar or the shabbiest. A five star hotel in Paris, or the seediest motel in Soho. He didn't do mediums. He either loved you with a buring, passionate intensity, or loathed you. That was his appeal, and he knew it. He posessed a certain charm, that Saint Stefan, or anyother man for that matter, could only dream of.

He stared down at his chest for a minute, vaguelly realising that maybe he should have put a shirt on before he'd left. Oh well, no point worrying about it now. Without another thought, he strolled into the bar, wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell of stale beer. Perfect.

He sat at a creaky bar stool and ordered a drink.

"Bourbon, neat"

The bartender just nodded, and started to get Damon his drink, sliding it down the bar when it was ready. Damon nocked it back, enjoying the burning feeling it left in the back of his throat. It was the closest thing he could get to Elena's blood; it had that certain kick to it, just like Elena's blood did. He signaled to the bartender for another, and then tilted his head back; surveying the room. The bar was almost empty, only a few wizened old men sat in the booths at the back. His drink arrived in front of him, and Damon automatically swallowed it in one, not even thinking about it, not really tasting it.

He was drinking to try and calm himself, to try and stop himself from doing something that he'd regret. Hell, I wouldn't even regret it, but Elena would be so pissed, but then; so would Saint Stefan. He smiled to himself, the thought of Saint Stefan with his panties in a bunch, pleased him.

"Hey? Can you just leave the bottle this time?"

"You sure?"

Damon merely nodded in agreement, taking the bottle from the bartender when it was handed to him. He took a hearty gulp, intending to get completely and blindly wasted. He wanted to feel numb, he wanted to block it all out; Elena, Stefan, everything. All his pain.

After about an hour and another bottle of bourbon later, Damon was feeling deliciously numb. His head was spinning slightly, giving the bar a softer, more blurry look. He liked it. He was thinking that maybe it was time to move onto another establishment, seeing as the bartender was now outright refusing to give Damon anymore to drink, saying it would be a safety hazard. Damon had merely replied that he had always been a safety hazard, drunk or not.

He stood up unsteadily, having to catch himself on the bar stool. Thank all the demons in hell that I'm a vampire, because otherwise, I'd probably be dead now. Again. He walked out of the bar, tripping slightly on his feet, breathing deep gulps of freezing air as he emerged onto the street. He channeled his power around him; feeling for the place with the most auras crowded together, quickly finding it. It turned out to be a club, a club that you'd miss if you weren't familiar with Fells Church. The door was basically hidden; shrouded in darkness at the back of a seemingly abandoned building. This was defiantly Damon's kind of place.

He walked into the small, crowded area, almost fully covered in dancing bodies, packed in tightly together, submerged in the thrumming music. He walked over to the bar, shoving people out of the way, tripping over passed out people on the floor, not caring. He ordered vodka this time instead, wanting to feel more of this deliciously numb sensation. He couldn't feel anything right now, no emotions that is. He could definitely still feel something; hunger. He was going to bleed tonight, bleed the lovely women of Fells Church, give them the single most momentous night of their lives; Elena didn't know what she was missing.

He pushed his way back onto the crowded dance floor; letting the sound of the heady dubstep take him over, he couldn't think, couldn't feel and he loved it. He let his eyes refocus and started the hunt. The hunt he'd perfected over his five hundred years, the centuries of nights. There was a girl dancing next to him, staring at him, Damon was used to it. They didn't make them like him anymore, his DNA was flawless. He smiled slowly to her, the cocky, arrogant smile that made all women go weak at the knees. She smiled back, her pupils as wide a dinner plates, she was obviously high off something. Damon moved slightly to his left so he was behind her, he placed his hands on her hips, way too low to be chaste, and started to dance with her. His head was pounding with the music and he was boiling, a fine film of sweat covered his bare chest. Another girl was trying to capture his attention as well, he noticed all the signs. He smiled to himself, then flashed it to the girl, watching her eyes widen in surprise when she saw his face fully. He'd save her for later.

He buried his head into the neck of the girl he was dancing with, trying to pretend that she smelled like sunshine and summer instead of perfume and sweat. He breathed past her scent, searching for what was under her skin. It hit him like a bus, the familiar smell of blood, the thing he craved above all others. He bit down sharply, not caring if anyone could see, though he doubted it seeing how wasted everyone was in here. He drank deeply, draining her, sucking out every last drop and relishing the moment when her life force faded out of her and into him. She went limp in his arms as he licked every last drop of blood from around the puncture marks. He let the girl sink to the floor, not caring, let the humans believe that she'd passed out from too much alcohol, let them believe anything. He didn't care.

He let his eyes fall onto the girl who had been giving him the eye earlier. He pushed his way up to her and whispered ancient Italian words in her ear, watching her eyes roll as his breath hit her neck. He started to dance with her, smiling at how truly oblivious she was, oblivious that she'd be dead so soon. It thrilled him. He didn't care if this woman was completely innocent, that he'd never even laid eyes on her before, he needed someone to blame, he was upset and angry and someone needed to pay. He needed to hurt and kill and destroy, so he wasn't the only one feeling like his heart was being split in two.

He bit into this girl's neck, moaning as the hot liquid hit his throat, building him up, making him stronger. He pulled his fangs out of her, then bit down again, making the blood spill faster, stream down his throat and around his body; making him feel more alive than he had all night. All too soon the girl was drained; he dropped her body to the floor and surveyed the room. His head was spinning again; he was bloated, high off the blood and the life force he'd just consumed.

He wanted to brawl now, he wanted to fight and he wanted to kill some more. He wanted to spread pain and destruction; after all, he was Damon Salvatore. He moved over to a man dancing manically near him and slammed into his shoulder, sending the man sprawling.

"Hey! What the fuck man?"

"Well, 'man' I seem to have slammed into your shoulder and you fell to the floor"

The guy on the floor stood, his fists clenched, he walked over to Damon; the floor seemed to have cleared into a circle around them, people anticipating the fight that was brewing. The man threw the first punch; Damon barely felt it, so wired off the blood and life force he had stolen, was he. A low growl erupted in his throat as he threw his whole weight at the man, knocking him to the floor and showering punches at his face. His mind was only full of one thing at the moment; hate. Hate towards his bastard of a little brother and the girl who should have been, could have been his. He was on top of the man, punching everywhere he could, slamming fists into stomach, sides, anywhere. The man passed out quickly, which just made Damon punch him harder, angry that no one could even punch him back, make him feel something other than this deep hurt.

A man tried to pull Damon off his victim, but Damon just batted him off, knocking him clear across the room with a sharp back hand. He wanted to fight, wanted to kill. The man beneath him was dead now, this angered Damon even more, why was everyone so weak? Why could no one just fight back? He got up off the man, leaving him sprawled on the floor, bruised, bloody and dead. It's not my problem; if I'm hurt, then they all deserve to hurt.

He punched his way off the dance floor and out of the club, anyone who got in his way got taken down with a flick of Damon's hand. When he emerged he put his hands on his knees, head bent, breathing heavily. He flicked his head skyward, checking the sky, reading it; he guessed it was around five in the morning, judging by the colour. He was tired now, he was tired and he was hurt and he was done. He sunk down to the floor, leaning heavily on a wall. He was cold now as well, the frigid winter air assaulting him, making him shiver; for some odd reason, people didn't think that vampires could feel the cold. They could.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around himself and rested his head on his knees, taking in deep, shaky breaths. The numb feeling he loved so much was fading now, soon it would be completely gone and he'd have to face reality, face his demons. In a flash he was on his feet, he had to see her, had to see her now, even if she was asleep; he just wanted to see her face, maybe it would remind him who he was, because right now, he had no clue.

He took off into the sky, not bothering to change forms to a crow, who cares if the human see me? I just have to see her, I need to see her. He flew fast, the freezing air making his eyes stream, all of the blood he'd stolen and the lives he'd taken allowed him to push himself. He was determined now, the idea was set in his head, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd seen her face.

He flew straight to Stefan's bedroom window; he knew that Elena was sleeping at the boarding house tonight. The window was open. Doesn't Stefan know what lurks in the darkness? Or more importantly, who? He grinned devilishly to himself before stumbling in through the bedroom window, the alcohol chasing away his usual careless grace; the grace he'd always possessed.

He didn't move from the position he'd taken up when he'd entered through the window, his eyes were fixed upon the bed. They were laying together, Stefan's arm wrapped around Elena's shoulder, her head rested upon his chest. Elena's lips were turned up in a small smile; dreams were obviously treating her well this night. His eyes drifted over to Saint Stefan, anger boiled inside Damon, red once again clouding his vision. He wanted to hurt Stefan, to kill him. His primal, animalistic nature was coming out, he wanted to rip this rival away from his mate; the one person who was his equal, neither competition or food.

Damon didn't know what to do in that moment. When the anger drained away along with the alcohol in his system, leaving him reduced to nothing but a boy, a boy broken by centuries and centuries of hurt. A lost boy, the boy who watched people grow old, watched people die, watched people move on with their lives when his would forever stay in the same place. The boy who watched others love when he could not, who had lived for an eternity without a home, without a place that was his.

Damon didn't know what to do, so he did what never failed him; he turned and fled the room, leaping into the sky with a cry of pure pain.