A/N: Hi! First off, thank you all so much for all the love I gobbled up in your reviews on the last chapter! This fandom really is the best, and I'm so honored to not only be a part of it, but to have you guys welcome me back in such an amazing way.
Keeping this short, all mistakes are mine - Trogdor19 is busy making the rest of us look bad by breaking every writing record on the planet. Seriously, she wrote an entire book in about the span of a week. How awesome is that?
Without boring you by babbling about anything else... Enjoy!
CHAPTER 2: THE EIGHTH DIMENSION
"So I finally make out of the 90s prison world, and after I grab my hello hug from my brother, I'm ready to see my girl. I'm thinking maybe pick up some wine on the way, possibly some flowers, and then I get the news. Forget about scoring a Welcome Back from the Dead blow job, because I can't even get her to open the door. And once she did unlock the damn thing, she jumped out the window before I even got my foot over the threshold."
Paws patter and scrape on tile, putting him in the kitchen. I blur from the living room into the former office of Lockwolf's dead dad.
"The reason for my lack of a homecoming party?" I continue. "While I was flipping pancakes and waxing poetic about Elena to her bestie back in 1994, Elena was having Ric compel away all her memories of us." I lean back against the desk in the office, crossing my arms. "Every. Single. One," I tell the dog, who just jumped up on the couch in the living room, based on the scratch of nails against leather. Pushing off the desk, I head into the kitchen. "I got her back, though."
She never could resist me when we danced. Worked like a charm, too, 'cause she dumped that Express wearing douche, and even before she could remember where I took her on our first date, she knew where she wanted to be five years in the future. And it was a whole bunch of me and her playing house above a bar in New York like some punk rock fairytale.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I pour a glass of bourbon, recalling the first time she kissed me after I was back. How that was the moment I was hit with the uppercut of a realization that when the girl you love only remembers how much she hates you, and then falls in love with you again anyway, the restart button she slammed doesn't only apply to her.
I take a quiet sip, leaning back against the kitchen island. All the new gets layered on top of everything that was already there, and I'm suddenly back in my own kitchen at the boarding house: Elena's eyelashes sweeping down as she moans around a bite of Bonnie's birthday cupcake. My fingertip daring out to wipe the chocolate frosting from Elena's lip, and then tasting the sweetness of sugar on her tongue as it slipped against mine...
"It was good for a minute," I say, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, "but because fate wants my balls at its mercy, I lost her. Again." I throw back the rest of the bourbon in my glass, although it sure as shit won't erase the acid reenacting Hurricane Katrina in my gut. "She took the cure, but before we could pack a single bag in order to bail from this town and start over as humans, picket fence and all, Kai—the sociopathic siphon I was telling you about—dropped Elena into a magic coma. Now, she won't wake up until Bonnie is being prepped for an autopsy." I set down the glass without making a sound. "And in some weird twist of guilt, Bon Bon thought me picking up your crap equated to a reason to keep living my life while I wait out the next seventy years."
The dog scampers into the kitchen, his tail wagging like crazy as he hops around in front of me.
"Personally, I would have preferred a big box of porn to keep me busy," I tell it. "Because you suck at tracking."
I break off a leftover piece of bacon from this morning, throwing it to the dog. After he swallows it without chewing, the animal whimpers for more.
"No, you jumped on the couch before you found me. Newsflash: I don't have the ability to be invisible. That particular gift belongs to witches, heretics, and dead siphons who turn my ass-kicking girlfriend into a helpless Disney princess."
He stretches up, his front paws on my shin as he whines, but his tail is still about to wag itself off. Groaning, I reach down and pick him up, and then set him on the counter.
"Only because you didn't stop to piss on the rug in the office."
He dives after another piece of bacon when I toss it down between his feet, and I snort as he does a somersault to go after it. When Elena told me about that loft in Tribeca, she never said whether there was a dog bowl somewhere in the corner. Bar, bed, rings, kids. Those she mentioned. Because those were non-negotiable. Probably because she knew what my reaction would be to owning a pet.
The dog looks up at me, tilting its head, and I push at its face. It's the same bullshit I get from everyone now. That silent pity, with more than a little disapproving judgment, because I know, I fucking know, they're all waiting for me to snap.
Right on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
"The thing about being on the run," I tell Stefan when I answer, "is that you can't call your big brother and ask him to Fed Ex your hair products. Dead giveaway of the location of your safe house."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And taking note of the fact that your tone is suspiciously lacking any hints of imminent death, I'm guessing you've still managed to give Stabby the slip?"
The dog rolls on his back, panting at me. I shake my head, and then set him down on the floor. He's off like a shot. I don't even know if Elena likes dogs.
"Nice to know you're concerned about my well-being," Stefan says.
"More like maybe a little bit jealous that you get to snack on all the wholesomes at Disney World, and I'm stuck here guzzling juice boxes."
A tennis ball knocks me in the ankle, and when I glance down, the dog is flat on his stomach while nosing it back toward me, looking up with eyes practically the size of its paw.
"I don't care," I breathe.
Stefan clears his throat. "I'm not heading that far south."
"Ah-ha," I drawl. "Gonna pay a visit to your boyfriend? Bat your eyelashes, maybe give him a wink, and see if you can flirt your way into a favor?" I click my tongue in disapproval, the dog taking that as some kind of signal to see if he can stick his head inside the bottom hem of my jeans. I shake him off. "Have to say, Stef, I'm a little disappointed in your taste of men."
"He can help. More than I can say for you."
"I help you out all the time." The beast barks at me, and I pick it up by the scruff, setting it back down on the counter. "Besides, what's the point of being burdened with a brother throughout eternity if he doesn't let you down? Your hero hair would never get the chance to spring into teased action."
The dog runs over to the far edge of the counter, and I throw my hand out. It barks at a cabinet on the other side of a four-foot jump.
"You at a dog show or something?" Stefan asks.
"More like dealing with Witchy's idea of a cruel joke."
"Bonnie gave you a dog?" Stefan says. "And she's still alive?"
I roll my eyes. "She interrupted my afternoon Mystic Falls Clean Up campaign with the promise of a goodie bag. So I come home to her shoving the mangy thing at me, she rattles off a list of instructions that specifically excluded punting it, and then she walked out. So if I'm lucky, it'll get eaten by a wolf." I shrug. "Basically, it's like having a smaller version of you around."
"Sure, Damon," Stefan says. "And let me guess: you named it Brunch."
"I'm not Blondie. I don't name shit." The dog barks again, and my brow furrows. "What the hell do you want?"
Bark.
"Right," Stefan drawls. "I must have confused you with my other brother, the one who is a glutton for giving people nicknames."
"As long as he's not better looking than me." I smirk, setting down a bowl of water on the counter. The dog wrinkles his nose but doesn't go near it. Another bark. "Dammit," I mumble, going over the cabinets and trying to remember which one I stuffed the dog food into, because more than being gross, it's fucking embarrassing.
Stefan snorts. "Damon Salvatore: Dog Whisperer. What I wouldn't give to see this in person."
"Yeah, we're all having a big laugh."
I finally find the food behind the canned spinach and lima beans. No one eats that shit, equaling no one finding what was behind it.
Set the food down on the floor. Put the dog on the floor. He attacks. Kibble, paper, him, all skittering across the tile as he growls and shreds the bag with his teeth, and then chases after the bites of food on their path of escape.
I snort. "Swear to God, the thing is brain damaged."
"Male or female?" Stefan asks.
"Who can tell with you these days? The hair style was always making your sexuality questionable, and when you factor in your wardrobe choices..."
Stefan sighs. "The dog, Damon."
"According to Bonnie, but based on its lack of balls making it seem questionable, it's apparently a male."
"Butch, Fido, Cujo, Rocky..." Stefan rattles off.
Rolling my eyes, I crouch down, gathering up the mess and putting it back into the food bag. "I'm not naming the dog."
"What's wrong, brother? Worried you'll start to care about it?"
As though he can understand what Stefan is saying, the annoyance in question bounds over and licks at my face. I shove him off, gathering the last of the kibble. "Isn't it bad enough I'm already living in the eighth dimension of reality where Elena is playing Sleepy Beauty, Bonnie is now my frenemy, Care Bear is Ric's Baby Mama, and I own a damn dog? Especially one who thinks it's not dangerous to provoke a predator who could crush his body like a paper bag."
"Buckaroo."
My brow furrows as I stand, dropping the bag of food onto the counter. "What did I tell you about trying to guess my safe word? A: It's disturbing. B: I don't have one."
"Name the dog Buckaroo," he says. "Because we are living in the eighth dimension if you're going to be spending your days playing fetch and hanging out at the dog park."
I groan, refilling my glass with more bourbon. "Word of advice? I wouldn't boast about your abhorrent taste in 80s movies*. Especially that one."
"Aw, come on, brother, you can't still be mad that Peter Weller dumped you to go be RoboCop in 87."
My eyes narrow as I set the bottle back on the counter—harsh enough that small teeth tug at the back of my jeans. "No one fucking dumps me, Stefan. Except for Elena. And why are you so cheerful? Considering your girl is busy changing diapers instead of dancing on your lap, I figured you'd be tilting a little more into the mopey spectrum of your personality disorder."
Stefan clears his throat. "How's Mystic Falls?"
I take a drink. "Still boasting a fang count of about a hundred too many."
"You planning on doing something about that?"
"Ask the four guys I erased from the population count yesterday morning. Unfortunately, I'm also a little busy with figuring out how to murder the evil bitch who drove my brother out of town. 'Cause rumor has it he thinks he's got a plan, but usually that just spells a couple of extra bodies in the ground and me doing all the digging."
"It'll work," Stefan tells me. "Just give me a chance to talk to him."
"I don't need your plan to work. I need your plan checked off as complete so you can get back here and help me de-vampire our town. Myself excluded."
Stefan scoffs. "Sorry my being hunted is inconveniencing you, brother. Especially considering it's your fault."
Can't really argue with that. So I hang up on Stefan.
Turning around, I take another drink from my glass. The dog tilts his head at me, wagging his tail, and I scowl.
"I can't trust you to stay here and not chew everything, and I can't take you vampire hunting until you figure out how to track. So this is your last chance, or the next time Party Planner Barbie throws a soiree, you're getting served on a silver platter with crème fraiche."
The dog barks, and after I finish off the last of my glass, I blur out of the kitchen.
Something soft nuzzles my cheek, and I smile, my head sinking deeper into the pillow.
"Hate to break it to you, Elena," I mumble, "but on the list of Best Ways To Wake Up A Man, you're landing around number six."
She chuckles, pressing another kiss to my cheek. Something in my stomach loosens as I drown in the comfort of having her beside me, her hand moving from the curve of my bicep to the center of my chest.
"Getting warmer," I breathe. Her nails dig into my skin. I hiss, the sound quickly melting into a chuckle. "Getting hot now..."
She nips at my chin, a moan rumbling from deep in my chest and vibrating all the way up into my throat, my arm curling back to tangle in her rich brown hair. My fingers search and come up empty, breaking away the last whispers of unconsciousness.
My eyes open, finding a small black and white creature standing on my chest, his face close enough that he doesn't even have to lunge when he nips at my face again.
"What the fuck?" I burst out, pushing him off me. The dog rolls onto the empty half of the bed, landing on his back. He's on his feet in a wiggled blur, stomping back toward me through the sheets and comforter.
I stare at it. I distinctly remember putting it in a shoebox before I went to sleep. The dog barks.
"You want a keeper? Go back to Bonnie's purse," I tell it, rolling over and hugging my arms around the pillow.
Like I've done every morning since the wedding, I blank my mind of the problems to solve and the list of people to kill, focusing instead on Elena. How warm her skin is in the morning, and how years of her trying to beat tardy bells have hardwired her to wake up long before I ever want to.
Something chews at the sheet near my ankle, and I kick at it. Usually, she starts with a touch. Her fingers drawing through the back of my hair before smoothing down my back or my chest, whatever side of me she happens to find. A dropped kiss to my arm or shoulder after she scoots closer, her leg winding over me in a claim I'm ready to make every kind of permanent.
Melting more into the memory, the ache in my chest and bitterness in my stomach is soothed by the curve of her breasts pressing against my side, the softness of her hips, and how crazy silky her inner thighs are. There's a tug at the back of my hair, a scrape to my scalp. But I'm not drunk or tired enough to trick myself into thinking it's Elena anymore, and I bat at the dog biting at my hair.
It barks again, scrambling to stand on my back. Reaching behind me, I grab it by its scruff and hold it out over the side of the bed. It squirms, and I glare at it. "Nouns that fuck with my morning fantasy hour are quick to get put in the blender."
I drop it onto the floor, its paws scraping over the hardwood as it runs around. My arm falls limply off the bed, my eyes closing once more.
Elena.
Naked.
In bed, beside me.
In the loft of the barn, her newly-human heart beating wildly beneath me as I kiss her deeper.
A bark makes my eyebrow twitch, followed by a nip at my fingertips. Slamming my hand down on the bed, I throw back the covers, the dog hopping around and darting between my feet as I head to the closet. It attacks a box on the floor, chewing on the corner as I get dressed.
"Fond of ingesting lead paint, too?" I pull it away from the cardboard box of Elena's school stuff. The second it goes after her clothes—still hanging up because I haven't gotten around to boxing them up yet—its lifespan is getting diced into pieces.
Still, I tuck its body, wagging tail included, under my arm. All the way downstairs, it sniffs at my clothes, and I lean back away from it. The feeling is not mutual, in any way.
"Here," I tell the dog, setting it down on the floor of the kitchen.
Grab one of the two bowls I bought at the pet store, fill with water, and before the plastic even touches tile, the little asshole dives for it—his head dunking into the bowl as his paws hit the edge, sending water all over the floor. Not to mention sopping its blue collar where the polka dot bow tie sits under its neck.
What the hell do I care what it wears? Besides, that collar was the one closest to my hand while I was knocking shit off the shelf, letting it bounce off the head of the dog and land beside it in the basket as I made my way quickly through the aisles.
"Idiot," I tell it, dropping down a dishtowel and cleaning up the mess. Something completely pointless, because as soon as I pour food into the second bowl, the dog jumps in with all four feet, trying to eat the kibble it's busy tromping on.
Sighing, I pick him up and set him down outside the bowl, pushing at its front legs when he tries to step back into the food. The beast wiggles against me, scarfing down food like it's starving.
"Figures Bonnie would find the Ripper version of a canine and pawn it off on me."
My hand on his chest keeps the rest of his body out of the bowl, but his teeth are chomping in a way that reminds me too much of Stefan on a bender.
I push back the dog and take away the bowl, setting it on the counter. He barks.
"Moderation," I say, and he goes after the hem of my jeans. Its teeth snap at denim, paws locking around my ankle as his whole little black and white body tussles with my foot. "You seriously think you're going to win?" I shake him off, but he comes right back, attacking me once more. Crouching down, I pin him on his back, my palm covering its entire chest and stomach. I let blood paint my eyes, my teeth descending. The dog stares at me, completely frozen. "Scared? 'Cause you fucking should be."
He sneezes and I jerk my hand back, wiping snot off on my jeans.
"Disgusting."
His nails scrape over the floor as it runs after me, and it bounds outside as soon as I crack the back door. My eyes drop to my hand, still on the doorknob, and my muscles twang eagerly to give the one tiny push that'll permanently shut the rat outside. Not my fault if he runs away.
Heading back to the kitchen, I grab a blood bag from the freezer and pour it into a mug. Couple of mindless pressing of buttons on the microwave later, I take out my phone.
Want to join me for breakfast? I text Bonnie. Pancakes are off the menu, but I hear dogs taste just like chicken.
A yelp outside pulls my gaze toward the window, and when I check, the rat is tangling with a rose bush. My brow furrows as he licks at his paw, straightens, and then growls and plunges back toward the rose bush, tearing off petals with abandon.
I said feed him. Not for him to feed you. And give him a name.
I roll my eyes at Bonnie's text, grabbing my mug of blood from the microwave. The heat scorches my tongue and sharpens every instinct I have to kill, torture, and maim, and I head to the living room, collapsing into a chair.
Taking another deep pull, my eyes dart to the stack of books sitting out, but Rayna Cruz is on the move. Mystic Falls is a cesspool. And both problems need to be solved before Bonnie trips over a banana peel and lands on an ax, bursting Elena's dream bubble.
Without warning, the dog hops up into my lap, and I push him off. But it's obviously stupid beyond even Matt and Tyler levels, because it jumps right back up, lying down on my leg. It licks at its paw, the sound grating on every one of my frayed nerves as I finish off my breakfast.
"In the future, go for the daisies." I pull the paw out of reach from its tongue, checking out the problem. I may not be able to do anything about my lack of hearing Elena's voice anytime in the next half-century, but I can deal with a thorn.
The dog whimpers when I yank out the evidence of his dipshitness, but then he goes right back to licking his paw. My sight catalogues a blot of blood creeping into his white fur, and I nip my fingertip, holding it out to him. He goes straight for it, his gash fully closed by the time I wipe his slobber off my hand and onto my jeans. If only everything else were that simple.
I need a way to take out Rayna and Julian's gang at the same time, with minimal-to-no casualties. If Elena wakes up to a smaller friend roster than she went to sleep with, I'm going to hear about it, big time.
Tilting my head, I watch the dog already romping through dreamland on my lap. His leg kicks as he growls in his sleep, and curiosity, or maybe just procrastination, prompts me to dip into its mind.
It's a soft blur of sensations instead of images; smells tugging at instincts to destroy or maybe just claim as my territory. Mostly, it's just testing its strength with a playfulness that reminds me of newbie vampires. I reel my mind back into my own, my fingers scratching him behind the ears.
He doesn't have memories. Maybe he will, but he's too young. Or maybe dogs don't work the same way. The dog kicks again in its sleep, waking himself up. He stands, circles, and lies down on my lap once more. I flip his ear—fucker should've let me sleep in. He huffs, but doesn't move, and I turn his ear back the right way, rubbing the soft fur and absorbing the fragile strength of the muscles beneath it.
The entire time Bonnie and I were doing crosswords in the prison world, all I could think about was Elena. Seeing her again, breathing her in before I ever opened my eyes in the morning. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that my Grinch heart came out more in love with her than I was even before I drove us, and my Camaro, to our collective deaths. It's also not like it was ever a big secret that I don't want to breathe anything but her, but now…
It's different when you're the lucky bastard that got two first nights with her. Two first morning afters. Two first everythings. And one plus one does not equal fucking zero.
My fingers go still against the dog.
I grab my phone.
"Don't tell me," Stefan says when he answers, "the dog mysteriously ended up skewered in the fireplace."
"Not yet. But tell your boyfriend that I got me a baby-less Blondie in dire need of a distraction, and if he's willing to collect in person, I'll throw him a party. One we need him not to miss."
"I'm not using her as bait, Damon."
"It's not bait." I lightly flick at the dog's ear, and he raises his head to look at me. When I jerk my chin toward the floor, he jumps down, and I head to my room. "It's just a little bit of temptation to get him to Mystic Falls."
Stefan goes quiet.
Straightening from pulling on my boots, I grab my jacket and my keys. "Better a douche bird in the hand, than two douche birds in the bush, Stef."
He sighs. "I'll take care of it."
Dropping my phone back into my pocket, the house is silent on my walk toward the front door.
"Banzai," I call out. "Time to earn your keep."
Silence.
I whistle. "Banzai, let's go. I got a list of vampire squatters to eradicate, and you're killing my time table."
Still nothing.
Fuck, the back door is open.
"You have two seconds to reveal yourself or you're getting mailed to Stefan, who happens to be particularly fond of picking fur out of his teeth."
I head into the living room, but no black and white rat. Check outside, and the back yard is clear. Shut the back door, head into my room.
"What the fuck?" I yell. "You just went out!"
The dog buries his head farther underneath my pillow, which doesn't hide him for shit. His hind legs are stretching out behind him as he squirms closer to the headboard, and his tail is pointing right at the puddle of piss on my comforter.
I take out my phone, texting Bonnie.
You owe me a new bed set.
*The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension - an absolutely ridiculous 80s cult classic where Peter Weller is an adventurer/surgeon/rock musician, and decides to take on evil alien invaders (The Red Lectroids from Planet 10) who have arrived to steal Buckaroo Banzai's perfected version of the oscillation overthruster—a device that allows him to travel through solid matter by using the eighth dimension. Oh yeah. We're talking Oscar GOLD. Take note: Buckaroo Banzai's absurd resume and team of helpers (The Hong Kong Cavaliers) are only outmatched by the most god-awful special effects and plot line of the century. If you have the chance to watch it, DON'T, unless you want to be dumber. But if you're not worried about your IQ and want to laugh your ass off at how bad some movies can be, then by all means, enjoy. I did :)
A/N: A plea: NO SPOILERS FOR THE LAST TWO EPISODES OF TVD IN REVIEWS PLEASE! I haven't yet watched the crossover episode, or the one after it, because life = not bowing to my TVD watching needs. CRUELNESS! ADULTING SUCKS! REVIEWS HELP! ;) Hope you guys enjoyed, I can't wait to hear your responses, and I'll see you next week with the next chapter! In the meantime, you're always welcome to check me out on twitter ( AT goldnox ) where I may be posting snippets of Damon + Dog life from Banzai's POV :) Happy reading!
-Goldnox