ONE WEEK LATER

"How do you know it's even going to work?"

Damon turned around at the sound of Enzo's voice resonating in his ears. The other man was holding a white washcloth in his left hand, the cotton material drenched in sweat. He could smell it from all the way out in the hallway, the scent of death wafting throughout the small cabin in the woods. Behind the shut bedroom door, that Damon was standing eight feet away from, lay a dying Bonnie Bennett. She had, approximately (if his calculations were correct), only mere hours before her organs shut down due to lack of oxygen. Bonnie had begun spitting up blood a day ago, coughing and hacking, and eventually, after a few hours, her breathing had gotten wheezy.

Looking his old friend in the eye, Damon asked back, "Do you want her to die?"

Enzo shook his head at this. "No. Of course not."

"Then it's going to work," Damon said, trying to keep hs voice calm and level. Every part of him wanted to go out in the woods and tear trees up from where they stood; he wanted to make someone pay for what was happening to Bonnie. But the only person to blame was the man standing in front of him, the man Bonnie loved. And if it weren't for her deep feelings for Enzo stopping him, Damon would've torn his heart out of his chest already.

"You don't know that Damon," Enzo stated, and it was true—Damon had absolutely no clue if his plan was going to work. But it had too. For Bonnie.

"We don't have any other choice, so it either works or it doesn't. But at least we tried," he insisted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He was angry. But not at Enzo. But at himself, because he could've been here, helping Bonnie; making sure she stayed alive and out of The Armory's grubby hands. But no. Instead, he desiccated himself. And she's still dying. The only thing that made him feel slightly better is when he realized that she wasn't dying because of him. That the person who gets to live with that kind of guilt is the man standing in front of him. Damon knew this was a selfish thought—but that's who Damon Salvatore is: a selfish, greedy man who destroys everything in his wake.

As Enzo goes to goes to open his mouth, he's cut off by the sounds of the choked cries of his girlfriend calling his name. Shutting his mouth, jaw clenched, Enzo sends him one last pleading look to figure, silently asking for him to figure something out before speeding away and flashing back to his lover's bedside. Without meaning to, Damon's ears pick up on the faint beating of Bonnie's heart, the organ doing it's best to keep her breathing. But, just like their hopes, it was failing. His eyes shut, the sound of her beating heart trapped in his skull, the image of Bonnie covered in sores and scabs entered his mind and no matter how hard he shook his head, the image had already engraved itself into his brain. Bonnie Bennett was dying and there's nothing he could do to stop it—except, try and take some of the pain away.

The sound of gravel crunching under spinning tires snaps Damon back to reality, his eyes shooting open as someone knocks on the front door. Flashing over to it, weaving his way past the couch, he comes face-to-face with his side of the door. Not bothering to check who it is first, he unlocks it and fumbles with the handle, twisting it before the door swings open to a reveal a very familiar face.

"Valarie," Damon greets the redheaded heretic with a tight smile, gesturing for her to enter.

"Damon," she says back with the same amount of hostility in her voice. Not bothering with a smile, she walks inside of the cabin, scanning her surroundings with her eyes, clutching onto her book bag.

"Did you bring it?" He asks, curious, an eyebrow raised and a finger pointing down at her bag.

Valarie sends him a pointed look. "Of course, I brought it, why I wouldn't I? Unlike some people, I actually keep my promises."

Damon's jaw ticks, remembering the last time they were in the same room—well, car—together. "I see you're still upset and I apologize for my actions. But Stefan's fine now. And you two can be happy—"

"—We broke up," Valarie interrupts him, grumbling something that sounded a whole lot like gibberish, before walking past him and taking a seat on the floor near the couch. The coffee table had been moved out of the way for earlier preparations for Valarie's arrival. On the coffee table laid some items that she had asked for, sending him on a wild goose chase, searching at every witchy black market for the things she had wanted. Turns out, Damon had been right, she didn't need any of the things he had found for the spell. Instead, just two vials, one filled with Bonnie's blood, and the other with his. Getting his was just a simple matter of biting in his wrist and watching as the blood dripped into the glass container. But, with Bonnie, it had proved more difficult. Enzo, even though he had been against the idea at first, had used the blood in the large bowl that sits on the nightstand and is used for when Bonnie is choking on the red crimson liquid. It had been, for better lack of the term, disgusting.

The fire that burned in the fireplace crackled as Valarie opened her spellbook, carefully turning the pages in the old, faded white book until she came across the page that was marked with a long brown leather string for a bookmark. Taking a seat on the couch, Damon watches her, intrigued as Valarie dug through her bag and brought out five candles, a lighter, and a stick of chalk. He had seen this process many times over the course of the many years that he's been alive—or undead as he should say—but it still left him amazed every time.

With the chalk, she drew a pentagram on the floorboards beneath his feet. The pentagram was shaped like a star and surrounded by a massive circle. At each point, Valarie marked it with a candle and had him light them with the lighter while she was busy grabbing the bowl off the coffee table and taking the water bottle that had been stored in her bag and pouring the clear liquid into the bowl before setting it down near one of the candles. Next, she takes out a black silk bag and pours whatever's in it onto her hand. Spreading her palm out wide, a bunch of stones comes tumbling out of the bag and landing in her hand.

She rolls the stones around in her hand, eyes shutting momentarily, and the only logical explanation that Damon could think of was that she was feeling for their energy.

Now, Damon wasn't stupid. Although he couldn't name the stones, he knew what they could do. Witches and stones—particularily, old stones like crystals or Lapis Lazuli (the blue rock that sat on his finger and was enchanted by Emily Bennett back in 1864 ensured him that he would be able to walk in the sun)—had a long history together. He didn't really believe much about how a certain stone could hold such power (besides the Moonstone and his daylight ring), but as he continued to watch Valarie with a cautious eye the stones in her hand come to life. They brighten, flowing with energy that had Damon leaning closer, the stones drawing him in. He could feel the power they emitted, it tickled his skin and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What...What the hell was that?" He asked Valarie, staring down at the stones in her hand, dumbfounded.

She looks up at him, a smug smirk on her lips, a proud glint in her eye. "I activated them."

Damon wasn't sure how to respond. So he didn't. Instead, he smiled and said, "Okay then," and let Valarie continue with getting everything ready. She didn't seem to mind the vampire's silence, hardly noticing he was even there at all, she got to work. With most of the easy stuff done, she turns to her spellbook and picks it up and sets it down in front of her. She had sticky notes stuck to the page, little reminders, and as she read them she realized she would only need one last thing to get the spell up and running.

"Damon?" She calls, glancing up at the blue-eyed blood-sucking creature. She had to call his name one more time, Damon caught up in his head, his eyes having that far-away look to them before he snaps out of his daze and his attention snapping over to her.

"Hmm?" He mumbles, raising a curious brow her way. "Do you need something, Valarie?"

The witch nods, "I need one last thing before I can start the spell—well, it's actually more like two things. Do you have anything of significance with you? Something that's important and you couldn't live without?"

Damon had to think. It took him a minute before he could answer.

"My daylight ring," he says, right hand going over to his left, twisting the ring around his finger before pulling it off and holding it up. He stares at it for a moment, left hand bare, and suddenly, he felt naked. He was so used to the feeling of the ring being there, that now that it wasn't, he couldn't stop himself from clenching his hand into a fist. His finger itched.

He looks over at Valarie. "...Will this work?"

She nods, "A daylight ring. Something you couldn't live without. I can see why it's important to you. But now..."

"Now you need what?" Damon asks her, not meaning to come off as rude, just simply asking a question, but from the way she scrunched her eyebrows together and glared at him, he knew he had offended her. "Okay. Fine. I...I'm sorry, alright? Now, what do you want?"

Valarie rolls her eyes, but says, "I need something of Bonnie's—but considering she's been on the run for the past three years, I wouldn't expect her to be keeping any personal items laying around."

"What do you need from Bonnie?" Both Damon and Valarie's heads snap to the side suddenly, eyes landing on Enzo. Too caught up in the mystical workings of the spell, they hadn't even noticed Enzo had waltzed into the room a minute prior. He had witnessed the stones his old heretic friend had been holding, the rocks glowing in a bright light before slowly dimming, the energy they gave off drawing him closer into the family room. The English vampire had hidden behind the wall separating the two rooms, and while staying out of view he had eavesdropped on their conversation.

Damon's the first one to react to Enzo's presence. But instead of talking to him, he turns to Valarie and mutters, "Ms. Cuddles."

"What's the hell is a 'Ms. Cuddles'?" Enzo and Valarie had spoken in unison, equally as confused.

This time, however, Damon doesn't speak to the redhead. His gaze jumps from her to Enzo, his lips quirked up slightly at the edges. A little too cockily, Damon asks him, "You mean, you've been with Bonnie for how many years—two, three?—and you have absolutely no idea who Ms. Cuddles is?" When Enzo shrugs, Damon has to hold back the urge to let out a chuckle. "Now that's just pathetic."

At his words, Enzo glares daggers at him but doesn't say anything. Because no matter how much he wanted to snap Damon's neck, he knew he was right. It was pathetic. Three years and he had no idea what this 'Ms. Cuddles' was. But Damon did, and that was enough to get his blood boiling in rage.

"What exactly is Ms. Cuddles?" Enzo asks, laying on his charm and pretending that everything was fine. But it wasn't. Because deep, deep down inside he wanted nothing more than to tear Damon's throat out. But he knew if he did that, he'd lose Bonnie—because whether she admitted it or not, Enzo could tell that under all the bitterness and hatred, she still had a soft spot for the blue-eyed vampire that she use to call 'best friend'—and he couldn't risk that. Even though, he was currently losing her death.

"A stuffed bear," Damon answered him as he leaned back into the couch, crossing his legs. Enzo stared at his old friend and wondered how he could say something that casually, like he was talking about the weather but was actually referring to a stuffed bear that was, potentially, supposed to save his girlfriend's life. The idea alone sounded impossible and, quite frankly, stupid. But when he remembered that a bunch of magical pills—magical pills he had given her—we're killing the person he loved most, he held off an voicing his opinions on the matter.

Instead, he blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around the idea, and turned his attention onto Valarie. "...And how is this bear—"

"—Ms. Cuddles," Damon interrupts, correcting Enzo.

He sighs but goes along with it anyway. "Yes, my apologies. But how is this bear—Ms. Cuddles—going to save my girlfriend's life? How is this going to work?"

"Well," Valarie starts, putting her hands in her lap and looking up from the spellbook and to the two men in front of her. "The bear wouldn't exactly be saving Bonnie's life, per-say. Ms. Cuddles would just be keeping Bonnie's spirit at bay, tying it to something instead of floating. As the Other Side is no more thanks to his—" she pauses and gestures with her hand at Damon "—friends, Bonnie's spirit would just be floating aimlessly around in an abyss. Forever trapped. But because of the pills blocking her magic—which is, essentially, blocking the witch part of her—we may be able to stop her spirit from getting trapped in the abyss. And, technically speaking, she's human without her magic, and the pills are feeding off of it, draining it from her system—"

Damon's eyes widening, realizing what Valarie was trying to say.

"—Draining her of her life force."

Valarie nods, dropping her head, sad. "Exactly. And since she's been taking them for the past three years, every day, they've mad her sick. Eating her alive from the inside out. Like cancer. One or two pills are fine, but three years? She's lucky to have lived this long."

With each word that came out of her mouth, Damon's anger grew. The more his heart hurt, pained with the realization that the man that his best friend loved had been killing her. And it didn't matter that he didn't know. It was his fault. It was all Enzo's fault. Without thinking, Damon flashes from the couch to Enzo, grabbing the vampire by the collar of his sweater and pinning to the closest wall.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" He roared in his face, snarling like a dog, teeth grinding together. "You are the reason she's dying! You were supposed to protect her, but instead, you killed her! And I thought I was the one that needed to be locked away in a coffin to keep her away from me. Turns out I'm not the one she needed protecting from! All this time it was you!"

Damon sends Enzo crashing to the floor, eyes stinging with tears and vision blurred as he pulled his arm back, clenched his fingers into a fist, and brought it back down. His knuckles made contact with his jaw, the first punch being the worse. And Damon kept hitting him, didn't stop even when he heard the quiet, but audible sound of Enzo's jaw breaking, or his nose, or his cheek. He didn't care that the man before him was bleeding, face just one giant black and blue bruise, blood dripping from the sides of his mouth, from his nose, and even the cuts that Damon had created with his nails. Because the only person Damon cared about the most—besides his brother—, the only person he could ever really call 'family' or proudly stand up in a room crowded with people and say 'Hey, world! This is my best friend and you can suck it if you don't like it!" was on the verge of death, holding on with slippery hands.

It was the blood on his hands that brought him back to reality. Nor was it the grunts and groans Enzo made. No. It was the man that Damon saw that made him take a step and ask himself: What have I done? Because, a little voice in the back of his head told him, reminding him, that Enzo used to be his friend. His only friend. And because of him, he had turn off his humanity to stop from giving a damn. It was the three words that fell from Enzo's lips, jaw beginning to heal, that made Damon fall to his knees and stare up at the roof and let the tears he had been holding slip down his cheeks for the first time, in a long time.

"I-I'm sorry, mate," Enzo stutter, choking and spitting blood onto the floor. "I only wanted to keep her safe."

Damon's eyes flickered and locked with a pair of chocolate brown ones, and finally understood.

"...So was I."